Birthday gift to notjustanyfangrl! It's a sense8!AU :D Please be sure to leave a review when you're done reading! I'd really appreciate it!

Limbic Resonance

Part One: The Good, The Bad, The Dirty

{if you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch}

He doubles over, clutching at his stomach as a spike of pain rips through him, tearing him apart from the inside. A fever burns at his skin, his hands trembling as he pants for breath. The bricks are cool against his burning skin, soothing him, and he curls closer, resting his temple against the rock, uncaring of the way it bites into his skin, drawing a thin cut across his bare arm. A gasp pulls from his throat as a second wave of agony hits him, his skin rippling as it whips through him. Gritting his teeth, he closes his eyes, running a shaking hand through his messy, red hair.

Tears burn at his eyes, but he holds them back, not allowing them to spill over despite the pain—despite feeling like he's going to be ripped to pieces. He can't quit now, not when he's so close. He has to protect this cluster, his kids. He can't have them.

The shadows can't have them.

His hands clench into fists, palms shaking at his sides, and he hears a scream split the air: his scream, hoarse and throaty, strained from speaking, from calling for help. Dark eyes snap open, and he quivers as he looks down at the locket in his hands, polished gold glinting in the flickering light, darkness creeping closer, threatening to swallow him whole. His head aches, thoughts muddled together, blurring as he remembers his own birth, his second birth. He remembers his friends, his cluster—gonegonegone. The shadows took them away. All but one. They can't have his children too, he won't let them.

A hand latches onto his arm, familiar and warm, a scar on the man's palm, one he's known for years and years. He glances up, eyes locking with familiar dark eyes, shaggy, auburn hair pushed off his face. There's a flash of worry in his eyes, something like terror that makes him wince. The scarred hand slips into his own, a reassuring squeeze grounding him, keeping him from floating away. The touch says I'm here, I'm here, and he wonders how long it'll last.

A second presence settles on his other side, a shadow. He doesn't look at it, doesn't dare meet its eyes. He made that mistake once before, he won't do it again. He ruined them all because of those eyes, because he wasn't careful. It cost him his cluster.

"Take care of them," he murmurs to his friend, pleading. He needs to make sure they're okay, that the shadows won't find them. He won't let them end up like his own cluster—he won't. He'd kill to keep them safe—his brats. Nothing's going to hurt them, not the shadows and not Him.

White blinds his vision, his back arching against the wall—pain, then relief. And that's when he sees them.

A man with maroon hair crouches before a glass tank. One dark eye glints in the light, a wicked scar cutting through the right. His head tilts to the side, a black snake winding up the side of his throat, ink staining his skin. His hand presses against the glass, and something moves, slithering closer before striking at the wall of the tank: a cobra.

A camera clicks, a woman with pale blue hair sits between two laughing men. A blond says something. The girl giggles. The other man shakes his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. The girl pulls them both in, tossing an arm around the man with dark hair, red eyes. She grins and the men lean in, kissing her cheeks as the flash goes off, blinding them all.

A broken bottle lays on the floor beside a tall man, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He flicks through a book—a photo album, and stops, gaze resting on a single photo. He reaches out, fingers grazing a pristine picture of a young girl, blue hair pulled back into pigtails, a white cat clutched in her arms. The man smiles, blinking back tears. They escape him, dripping onto the album. He tosses it aside, burying his face in his hands. A black cat mewls, pawing at his thigh.

Wild, pink hair is pulled back into a low braid, strands falling into bright, green eyes. She sits beside a tall man on a couch, blue hair messy as he drinks a cooling mug of coffee, a birthmark covering his right eye. She laughs, shoving at his shoulder, gesturing wildly towards a blinking computer. He rolls his eyes, jokingly shoving her aside, and she growls at him, swatting at his fingers as he ruffles her hair.

A man yawns, blue eyes drooping as he runs a hand through his dark hair. His breath creates a fog, smoke billowing out before disappearing into the air, wisps becoming nothing. He stretches, fingers drumming against the counter he rests against. A dark vest is shrugged off his shoulders, left to pool against the floor, and he fidgets with a deep blue tie, pulling it loose just before a hand reaches out, smacking him. He yelps, hands slipping away from the fabric, and turns to glare at a smirking man with icy, amused eyes.

Ballet shoes hang from a hook, swaying lightly. Golden eyes and golden hair reflect the light in the room, a girl spinning on one leg, the other stretched high above her head. A room of mirrors reflects her movements, capturing every twitch of muscle. A constellation curls against her collarbone, white ink barely visible against creamy skin. She smiles as she stops, lowering her leg back to the ground, humming to herself. She stills suddenly, glancing up. Her eyes lock with his in the mirror. She blinks, slowly, then turns, reaching for a gym bag.

Bloody hands shake beneath a faucet, knuckles split and bruised. A man looks up, green eyes locking on the mirror. He shoves back his messy, pink hair, gently prodding at a split in his lip. His tongue flicks across a ring in his lower lip. Blood swirls down the drain. Black letters are carved into skin, END in bold ink, knuckles pale from the pressure of him gripping the sink. The water runs clean, red gone. He glances down at his wrist. Fresh ink. Seven. Seven. Seven. He looks up at a picture tapped to the mirror, a man with red hair and dark eyes. Missing.

He reels back, startled, and his friend shakes his head frantically, "Igneel," he asks, desperation thick in his voice, "what are you doing?" The shadow on his right slinks closer, face hidden from sight. Igneel blinks, ignoring it, not wanting to see.

Igneel looks up at his friend, the pain ebbing away. "You have to promise to take care of them," he slurs, exhausted. He fumbles for his bag, hands shaking as he reaches inside. "Dammit, Clive," he sobs, looking up at his best friend, his only friend, "promise me!"

Clive nods, frantic. "I promise," he chokes out. Satisfied, Igneel continues searching through his bag, trembling as he pulls out a small bottle of pills. "He's here, isn't he," Clive murmurs. It isn't a question. He glares across Igneel, at the empty space. "The Shadow Man." Clive can't see him, can't hear him. Igneel can.

"One of your cluster?" The Shadow asks him, daring to come closer. He cocks his head to the side, staring across Igneel, eyes on the wall. He reaches forward suddenly, fingers skimming Clive's cheek, though neither can feel it. Igneel winces, fighting the urge to attack The Shadow. It won't help. He can't protect Clive from nothing. "Is that really smart, Igneel?" he asks, glancing down at the pill bottle.

Igneel snarls at The Shadow, leaning into Clive, who grips at his arm fiercely, ready to fight something he can neither hear nor see. "What does it matter?" Igneel asks The Shadow, laughing. "You already killed the others." He's tired of the voices, tired of the shadows. He has no one else, not anymore.

He locks eyes with Clive, apologizing silently, and Clive manages a small smile, his eyes glossy. Igneel doesn't want to go, but he can't stay any longer, not with the shadow, not when Clive could be hurt. Not when his brats could be hurt.

"I did," The Shadow affirms, a sick smile creeping across his face. "And I'm going to kill your children, too," he promises. Nails dig into Igneel's arm, drawing blood, and Clive makes a low sound as he sees thin cuts bloom on Igneel's skin. He makes a low whining sound, barely audible over The Shadow's hisses.

Igneel dumps a pill into his hand, staring The Shadow in the face. Red, empty eyes greet him, rage boiling beneath. "Not if you can't find them," Igneel spits, hand clenching around the pill. The nails dig in harsher, The Shadow snarling at him.

"Don't leave me," Clive whispers, choking on a sob.

"Tell me where they are," The Shadow demands.

Igneel smiles at The Shadow. "Go fuck yourself," he cackles, downing the pill.

He opens his eyes and suddenly he's alone.

Edinburgh, Scotland | July 7 | 7:00:00AM

Natsu swears as he leans over the counter, shoving back his hair and yawning, nose wrinkling as he glances up at the clock on the wall squinting to see how early it is. Groaning, he huffs when he realizes it's only seven, a good three hours earlier than he'd like to be awake, but there isn't much he can do about that now. Sleep doesn't seem like it'll be coming easy to him in the next few days, between his training schedule and the migraine pulsing in his head. He tried ignoring it, simply going back to sleep, but it only got worse the longer he stayed in bed.

He's never been one for headaches, they've never been an issue for him unless he hasn't gotten enough sleep or his nightmares have begun acting up, but that hasn't happened since he was sixteen, nearly seven years to the day. Natsu doesn't know why they would start up again, not after nearly a decade, but he doesn't dwell on it. The nightmares aren't something he likes to remember, none of it is.

The only good thing to come from those nightmares was Igneel, his adoptive father, and now Igneel is gone too.

The counter creaks behind him, Natsu leaning back against it, uncaring of the sharp edge digging into his spine. Shuffling slightly, he reaches for his favorite mug, another yawn slipping passed his lips. His fingers curl around an ugly red lump, paint chipped and the handle half-broken off. It's lopsided, and he almost always manages to spill his coffee on himself with this mug, but Romeo made it for him back when the kid was younger and going through a pottery phase. It's cracked and misshapen and so damn heavy Natsu thinks he could knock a man out with it, but it's his favorite. He wouldn't give it up for the world.

Humming to himself, Natsu pours coffee into the mug, nose wrinkling at the taste. He mumbles a curse as he takes a sip, grimacing as he realizes it's bitter and cold, clearly Macao's doing. The man couldn't make a decent cup of coffee if his life depended on it. Natsu isn't much better, but at least he can appreciate good coffee. Macao will drink anything, so long as he gets the caffeine rush. Though, he supposes Macao waters it down with so much damn whiskey that he doesn't even notice anymore.

Shrugging, he takes another sip of the nasty concoction, briefly wondering if maybe Macao has the right idea. Whiskey is at least tolerable. Natsu chuckles to himself, debating whether or not he should just dump out the drink, but decides against it. He needs it today, he won't be able to fight tonight if he doesn't.

He can steal Macao's good whiskey when he wins.

Natsu runs a tired hand over his face, fingers knotting through his hair. He glances down at the fresh tattoo on his wrist, tracing the roman numerals with a careful eye. Wetting his lips, he resists the urge to trace them with his finger, wanting to feel the raised skin on his arm. The sevens turned out nice, symmetrical and exactly the way he wanted them. He was relieved to see them turn out well, he would have hated for something so important to turn out so badly.

It's not his first tattoo, and it probably won't be his last, but he thinks this one is the most important—perhaps the most painful to look at. It's a reminder, that's all he needed.

His gaze slides across his arms, searching out the ink staining his skin. His fingers are marked with letters, E.N.D. spelled on his right and X's on his left, a shitty dare from Max when he was in his final year of school. He doesn't know why he chose the word end, maybe because he was bitter over Igneel disappearing, maybe because it was December, maybe because for the second time in his life he just wanted things to be over. Regardless, it got him his name. One of them, at least.

In the ring some of them call him END—the end of them—most call him Salamander for the red dragon on his right arm. He hates the first and doesn't understand the second, but they're better than some of the things people have called him, so he tolerates them.

Natsu's head snaps up when he hears a loud bang. His mug slips back to the counter, sloshing lukewarm coffee across the white surface. Natsu's fingers curl into tight fists, a sneer on his lips as he glares at the entrance. He knows for a fact that Macao isn't home right now, and no one else should be awake this goddamn early, not during summer.

He reels back, prepared to punch the fucker's face in, but freezes when a sleepy Romeo stumbles into the kitchen, smothering a yawn with his hand and squinting at the bright lights. Right, he forgot about Romeo. The teen sends him a dopey smile and plops down on the nearest chair, falling face first onto the table and curling up as best he can, clearly about awake as Natsu feels.

He manages a smile, but it doesn't stay for long, Natsu suddenly feeling very heavy—exhausted.

His toes hurt, though he doesn't understand why. It's a deep ache, sharp whenever he wiggles them, and he can't for the life of him figure out what might have caused it. They've never hurt before, not like this. It almost feels like he's broken something. He shouldn't have, broken anything that is. He mostly fights with his fists, and he's always been careful not to stumble around in the dark.

"Natsu, are you okay?" Romeo asks him suddenly, the boys eyes locked on him, concern shimmering in his dark gaze. Romeo always has been perceptive, able to read people better than most, though Natsu almost wishes the kid couldn't, if only because Natsu doesn't much feel like sharing his thoughts.

Startled, Natsu forces a grin for Romeo, hoping it doesn't seem too fake. Romeo's frown deepens, disbelief in his eyes, and Natsu sighs, dropping his smile to frown down at his mug, lifting the cold coffee back to his lips. "Yeah, Kid," he mumbles back after a moment, wetting his lips and staring out the window, fingers drumming against the counter. "I just didn't sleep well." It's a half-truth, but it's all he's got.

Romeo bites his lower lip, hesitating as he plays with his lip ring, a present from Natsu on his sixteenth birthday. "Are you sure?" Romeo eventually asks him, staring up at him in concern.

His lips twist into a small, genuine smile, Natsu's gaze softening as he stares at his younger brother. Sometimes he forgets which one of them is supposed to be older. Between the two of them, Romeo seems to be the more emotionally stable one. All Natsu has going for him is his height and more scars than any twenty-three year old should have.

"I'm sure, Romeo," he promises, feeling his tongue burn from the lie, hoping his guilt doesn't show in his gaze. Romeo stares back at him, gaze calculating, and Natsu thinks he's been caught, but then Romeo merely nods, smiling. He feels like shit for lying, but he doesn't think telling the truth would make him feel much better.

Romeo stares at him for a moment longer, so Natsu sets down his mug and grins, clapping his hands together loudly to snap Romeo out of it. "Now, go get your stuff," he tells his brother, shooing him out of the kitchen. "You're watching Asuka today, right?"

He wrinkles his nose, clearly not pleased with being the designated babysitter, but nods. "Yeah."

Natsu laughs, shoving Romeo gently when he stands, groaning and dragging his feet. "Get ready," he urges, giving him another teasing shove. "I'll make you breakfast." Romeo grins and bolts out of the room, scrambling towards the stairs.

As soon as he's gone, Natsu lets his smile slip away.

Sighing to himself, Natsu's shoulders droop, something like defeat creeping into his heart. He shakes it away, head pounding as he reaches for a knife and one of the cantaloupes Macao brought home the other day, knowing that it's one of Romeo's favorites. Moving to the center island, Natsu hums to himself as he slices slowly, cutting it in perfect halves.

Last night he dreamed of Igneel. He remembers seeing his face, gaunt and haunted, eyes blank. Sleep wouldn't come back to him after that, not easily. Natsu doesn't want to see that face anymore, he hasn't for a long time. He misses Igneel, he does, but it's been years since he just up and left, and Natsu's tired of waiting.

Footsteps alert him that Romeo is returning, and he looks up with a smile, surprised that the teen got ready so quickly, considering Romeo usually drags his feet quite a bit.

His eyes lock with dark, empty eyes, stringy red hair falling into a familiar face. The knife slips from his hands, hitting the edge of the island and clattering to the floor. A slice of cantaloupe splatters on the wood, juices seeping into his socks, staining the white fabric and making his toes sticky.

He sucks in a shuddery breath. "Igneel?" he whispers in disbelief.

His father stares back at him for a long moment, lips twisted into a grim frown Natsu has never seen on the man's face before. His lips part, mouth opening to speak, and Natsu stares back, hands trembling at his sides.

"Natsu!" someone shouts, a loud bang coming from the entryway. His head snaps around so quickly that his neck cracks, the sound splitting the air, wide eyes locking with Romeo's as the younger male barrels into the kitchen, gaze locked on his older brother. "Natsu," he repeats, horrified gaze locked on Natsu's hand, "you're bleeding."

His gaze snaps to his palm, a shallow cut bleeding on his palm from when he dropped the knife. "Fuck," he swears, whirling around to grab a towel, pressing it tight against his skin. Natsu glances across the island briefly.

Igneel is gone, like he wasn't even there.

Natsu has to remind himself that he never was.

"What happened?" Romeo asks, bolting to his side and grabbing Natsu's arm, yanking his hand around for a better look. Natsu lets him, too shaken to pull away. His hands tremble at his sides, Natsu unable to rip his gaze away from the spot Igneel was standing in. He shouldn't have been there. He didn't even look anything like the last time Natsu saw him. He doesn't know what kind of delusion that was, but it was a sick one. "Are you okay?" Romeo asks, gently tugging on Natsu's hand.

Natsu wets his lips, shaking his head slowly. "I'm fine, Kid," he mumbles, pupils blown wide with horror. He swallows, letting Romeo wrap the towel around his hand, and gently places his other hand on Romeo's head, ruffling his hair playfully and forcing another smile. "Just wasn't payin' attention."

Romeo shakes his head, sending Natsu a nasty but relieved look. "You're gonna lose a finger one day," he grumbles, shaking his head. He pulls the towel away, the cut on Natsu's palm already beginning to clot. He's always been a fast healer.

"Yeah?" Natsu says, bumping Romeo with his elbow and making the younger male glare up at him. "That'd be pretty badass," he jokes, grinning.

Romeo stares up at him like he's nuts. "No, it wouldn't!" he sputters, absolutely horrified. He swats at Natsu, who only laughs in response, smoothly dodging out of the way to avoid Romeo's too slow punches.

He snorts, slowly feeling the color return to his face, the panic ebbing away. He just didn't sleep enough last night, that was all. He'll just have to take some pills tonight, hope they help. "Yes, it would," he argues with Romeo, winking at him. "Girls love scars," he teases, laughing when Romeo flushes.

"Yeah," Romeo agrees, snorting softly as he crosses his arms and sends Natsu the nastiest look he can manage. "But girls don't like idiots," he points out, smirking when Natsu sputters, offended. Romeo looks at him like he's won, and Natsu doesn't have the heart to argue today, especially not with Romeo looking as happy as he does right now. He's been moody lately, not quite as happy as he used to be, and Natsu doesn't know how to help him.

Instead, he grins, shrugging slightly before crossing his arms. "Well," he laughs, ducking down to pick up the knife he dropped, holding it gingerly, not wanting to cut himself again. "You got me there!"

He scoops up the fruit as well, tossing the splattered remains without hesitation, juice dripping from his fingers, making them sticky and slimy. Natsu grimaces, turning towards the sink to wash up, mindful of his cut.

Again, he glances at the place where Igneel stood, frowning to himself. Finally, he tears his eyes away, shaking his head and blaming his weird dream the night before. Igneel took a handful of pills and Natsu knows it couldn't have been real. Igneel never liked drugs of any kind, he wouldn't even take pain killers.

"Are ya trainin' today?" Romeo asks him, nibbling on a piece of cantaloupe with a frown. He peers at Natsu almost nervously, concern clear in his gaze. Natsu doesn't blame him, he would have had a heart attack if he walked into a room to find Romeo bleeding, especially since the kids practically under his care at the moment.

Natsu hesitates a moment, playing with the ring in his lip. "Aye," he admits. Romeo casts him a wary look, something sad in his eyes. "Just for a bit," he promises, winking at Romeo when he catches the teens eye. "Yer old man wants to make sure I'm ready." Natsu snorts, rolling his eyes.

He's always ready, Macao should know that by now.

Romeo fidgets in his chair, chewing his lower lip. "Natsu, are you fighting tomorrow night?" he murmurs, keeping his voice low, as if someone might be listening in. Natsu glances back at Romeo, drying his hands before digging in the drawer for gauze, knowing that Macao keeps it stocked everywhere. Eventually, he nods. Romeo makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat, but doesn't protest. "Be careful, okay?"

Natsu smiles ruefully. There's no such thing as careful, not for him or any of the other fighters in the ring. The little tournaments they hold aren't regulated—aren't legal—and it's all too easy for someone to take something too far. Natsu's had more than his fair share of broken bones because of it, but it pays the bills, and that's better than Natsu could have hoped for. "I promise," he lies smoothly, sending another smile Romeo's way. "Now, I gotta go," he mumbles, glancing out the window, grimacing when he realizes it's going to be another gloomy day in Edinburgh. "We'll do somethin' later, yeah?"

Paris, France | July 7 | 11:00:00AM

Lucy sighs to herself, feet moving in quick steps as she whirls around the studio, music pounding over the speakers. She spins, eyes wide as she slowly lifts one leg over her head. Her muscles burn with the stretch, Lucy's chest heaving, her toes aching from the complicated steps. Sweat slides down her back, her skin clammy and paler than normal. It's not from the dance though, Lucy knows that.

She's still shaken from the night before, from the dream she had. It was scarier than anything Lucy has ever known. She was alone in the dark, somewhere damp with a chill soaking her to the bones. She felt like she was being ripped apart, her insides twisted, yanked at. There was screaming and then suddenly she wasn't alone anymore. A voice was whispering in her ears, something she couldn't quite make out. A man's face kept flashing through her mind, terrified eyes and messy red hair. He looked beaten down, exhausted, alone, and then he met her eyes, expression grim.

He only said one word but it chilled her to the core, an icy hand curling around her heart and squeezing.

The man looked her in the eyes and whispered, "run."

She woke in a cold sweat, thrashing in her bed, and the only thing that calmed her down was her cat, Happy, nosing at her, cuddling up against her chest until she calmed down. It took her a good hour to settle, her throat constricted and her head pounding furiously, but Happy helped, he always helps.

After her mother's death and what her father did, Lucy never really considered a therapy animal. It seemed silly, at the time, but then the nightmares kept coming back and she didn't know what to do anymore. Happy was only a kitten when she adopted him, a pretty Russian Blue with big eyes and too big paws that he was still growing into. It was love at first sight for Lucy, and she knew without a doubt that she was never going to let that cat out of her sight for as long as she lived.

As if hearing her thoughts, the little cat trills from where he sits nestled in Lucy's jacket in the corner, dozing while she dances, watching with big, sleepy eyes as she races around the studio, jumping and twirling and doing anything to forget those haunted eyes from her nightmare. Happy seems more than fine with curling up and napping, his presence alone enough to soothe her frayed nerves.

Lucy falls into a series of familiar steps, a dance her mother taught her when she was still young. It was her mother that made Lucy want to dance—how free she looked when she was on stage, how powerful. Lucy was five years old when she realized that's what she wanted to be: alive.

While her mother was a classically trained Ballerina, Lucy didn't force herself to stick to one style, combining them when she wanted. Ballet was her first, yes, but it isn't her only. She's taken ballroom lessons since she was twelve, and started dabbling in hip-hop back when Cana still thought she was straight and started dating Bacchus.

She still dances with him, at times, the man harboring no ill feeling towards Cana or her new girlfriend Kagura.

Despite the other styles she's trained in, ballet is the only one that makes her feel connected to her mother, the only one that chases away the nightmares. Lucy wishes she could make them go away, but she supposes that some things never heal.

Happy meows again, and Lucy slowly dances to a stop, slipping into one final promenade before falling still. She pants, chest heaving and toes aching. The burn of her muscles makes her smile, Lucy knowing that she's done well for the day. She'll have to thank Aquarius later, of course. It was early when she barged into her trainers home and demanded a key to the studio. Usually, Aquarius would have argued, but she must have seen something in her eyes, because she handed Lucy the spare key without a word.

She grabs the remote from the pocket of her workout shorts, lowering the music as she stumbles towards the nearest wall, falling against it easily, forehead pressed to the cool glass. Aquarius will throw a fit over the sweaty mark later, but Lucy thinks that would be better than the woman treating her like glass.

Lucy's tired of breaking.

Panting, her breath fogs up the glass. The room is called the hall of mirrors, and it's one of the most unnerving places Lucy has ever been, with mirrors covering every inch of the walls. While the room is meant to make dances tighten their movements, lest they crash into a wall after a too large step, Lucy thinks the room is better meant for facing oneself. No one can escape the mirrors, they have to look at themselves, truly look.

The room terrifies her, but she needs to face herself, at times.

Over one thousand kilometers away, Natsu gasps for breath, gripping the edge of the sink hard as he stares into the mirror. Blood drips down his chin, his lip split and nose bleeding, though he hardly notices. He wets his lips, grimacing at the taste, and shakes his head, panting harshly.

A warm puff of air ghosts the back of Lucy's bare neck, making her still. She locks eyes with herself in the mirror, suddenly feeling a heavy weight on her back, a presence behind her. The breath keeps fanning across her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Lucy wets her lips, pushing away from the mirror slightly.

Natsu forces his eyes open with a groan, his limbs tired as he slowly lifts himself from the sink, the edge digging harshly into his stomach. His feet ache again, and his legs, and he frowns at the sensation. Shaking his head, he shoves his hair back and looks at himself in the mirror, checking the damage.

His eyes are the color of glinting gold.

Green eyes stare back at her from the mirror and Lucy lurches backwards, gasping. Happy suddenly growls, bristling, and Lucy whips around, heart pounding in her chest. She's alone in the room, surrounded by walls of mirrors and her own reflection. Wild, brown eyes stare back at her from the mirrors and Lucy sighs, falling back against the wall as she realizes it was merely a trick of the light.

Happy spits, hissing at something just in front of Lucy, and she stiffens, breath catching in her throat. His tail puffs up, three times larger than normal, and he growls, slowly standing up and backing against the mirror behind him. Happy bares his fangs, claws digging into her jacket, and Lucy can only stare, confused.

Natsu frowns, confused and the eyes go back to green when he blinks. He laughs, thinking he's been clocked one too many times today. He really needs to watch his defense more. Wiping the blood from his face, Natsu freezes as he hears a low snarl, a hiss coming from his right.

He turns slowly, frowning as he sees a small, gray cat backed into the corner, tail puffed out threateningly. It hisses at him, a warning growl spilling from the cat, and Natsu holds up his hands in surrender. The cat watches him, eyes narrowed, and Natsu slowly lowers into a crouch, making himself smaller. The cat stops hissing, and Natsu beckons it forward gently. "Come 'ere, kitty cat," he murmurs, wiggling his fingers towards the animal.

The cat slowly edges towards him.

Lucy watches, bewildered as Happy slowly pads over to her, stopping just beside her and sniffing at the air. Slowly, his fur settles once more, Happy curiously rubbing against nothing, as if something's there. Wondering if she's being haunted, Lucy considers grabbing her cat and bolting out of the studio.

Happy blinks suddenly, ceasing his rubbing, and plops down on the floor in front of her. He stares up at her, imploring, and slowly reaches out to paw at her leg, trilling to get her attention. Lucy drops into a crouch, reaching out for the feline, and Happy purrs as he stands up on his back legs, his front paws pressed against her knees as he leans into her touch, rubbing against her chin when she ducks her head.

Lucy slowly reaches for her kitty, Happy easily hopping into her arms and curling up beneath Lucy's chin, his purrs comforting her, the vibrations echoed in her own chest.

Natsu reaches for the cat, and, though hesitant, it sniffs at Natsu's fingers, curious. He smiles down at the little cat, rubbing its ears and making its small body rumble with a loud purr. "Quite the noisy thing, aren't ya?" he asks, laughing lightly as the cat rubs against him.

"Lad, what the fuck are ya doin'?" Natsu looks up suddenly, grinning at a confused Macao, who looks at Natsu like he's lost it. Natsu frowns back, about to tell Macao he's playing with the little cat, but suddenly stills. He looks down and the cat is gone, Natsu's hand stroking nothing. "Water breaks over," Macao tells him, "back to the bag with ya."

Natsu nods slowly, frowning at the empty space on the floor as he rises.

Lucy cuddles Happy close to her chest, tickling him under the chin as he wraps his legs around her neck in some strange sort of hug. Giggling, she gives him a squeeze, burying her face against his fur. Happy meows sadly in her ear, nosing at her, pink tongue swiping across Lucy's sweaty temple. Deciding he likes the taste, Happy continues to lick her, purring, and Lucy snorts, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder.

His nails prick at her neck, but Lucy doesn't mind, leaving the cat be as she turns back to the mirror. Yawning, she glances at her watch, realizing Cana and Levy should be coming to get her any moment now. While she would have liked to get in another few minutes of dancing, she figures she's done for the morning. Besides, she has the room booked for later in the evening, so she'll finish her workout then.

Humming to herself, Lucy rubs her fingers down the length of Happy's spine, the cat making a pleased chirping sound against her ear. She yawning, turning to fix her hair in the mirror and freezes, eyes going wide with horror. Happy nearly slips through her fingers, the cat meowing against her ear and nosing at her when she stops petting him.

Lucy takes a terrified step backwards, her breath catching in her throat when she sees someone staring back at her in the mirror, someone that wasn't there before. A man stands behind her right shoulder, across the room from her.

She can't stop herself from screaming in surprise, her grip tightening around Happy when the cat suddenly hisses, staring at the person behind her.

It takes her a moment to recognize him, but it doesn't make her feel any better to see the familiar face. Stringy, red hair falls into his face, and the man shoves the locks back, revealing impossibly deep, dark eyes. Her throat goes tight, Lucy unable to breathe as his gaze locks with hers, holding her in place. A little choking sound leaves her, icy fingers curling through her chest. Her fingers tremble against Happy, and the cat yowls, spitting at the stranger.

The man doesn't move, doesn't blink, and Lucy can't make her legs work. "Run," the man tells her, lips the only movement in the mirror. The word is whispered into her ear, a warm breath against her ear, and Lucy shivers, feeling him right behind her, though the man in the mirror hasn't moved a muscle.

She finally pulls herself out of her panic and whirls around, ready to bolt if she needs to.

The room is empty.

The door to the practice room is suddenly shoved open wide, a panicked Cana and Levy shoving their way into the room, both staring at her with wide eyes. "Lu?" Levy gasps, running straight up to Lucy and grabbing her by the arms, shaking her slightly when Lucy keeps her gaze locked on the mirror across from her. "Lucy, what's wrong?" Levy asks, searching her for injuries as Cana peers around the room, brandishing a bottle of wine like a weapon, prepared to beat the hell out of anyone trying to hurt Lucy. "Are you okay?"

Lucy sucks in a shaky breath, shaking her head slowly to clear her thoughts. There's no one there. She's fine. "There was a man…" she trails off, the words sounding silly when she says them. She needs to calm down. Lucy closes her eyes, sighing as she rubs at her eyes with one hand, deciding she needs a nap later. Happy trills, nuzzling her cheek, and Lucy instantly feels a bit better.

"A man?" Cana murmurs, glaring around the room, her knuckles turning white as she grasps at the bottle tighter. "Lucy, what the hell happened?" she hisses, staring at the walls as if they have eyes, waiting for something to spring out at them.

Shaking her head once more, Lucy grins at her friends, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Nothing, nothing," she reassures, reaching out to squeeze Levy's hand. Worried, brown eyes lock with hers, Levy unconvinced. "I'm fine," Lucy promises, glancing between her closest friends. "Just tired, I think."

Cana purses her lips, slowly lowering the bottle, looking slightly pleased that she doesn't have to smash it over someone's head. Lucy knows she would do it, though Cana would spend the next week bitching about how expensive it was and how good it would have tasted. "Are you sure?" she asks Lucy, sharing a quick look with Levy.

Lucy manages a tense smile, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to worry them either. "Yeah," she tells them, going for a half-truth. "I didn't sleep well last night." The nightmares kept her awake, just as they always do around this time of year. She's only glad they didn't wake up her friends last night, she would hate for them to lose sleep as well.

"Is your headache still bothering you?" Levy asks softly, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from Lucy's eyes.

She gives a wry smile. Despite taking some pills earlier, it won't seem to go away. Lucy's never had headaches before, not unless she stayed up reading for hours, and she hasn't had the time to do that in months. "A little," she admits.

Cana instantly hands over a steaming cup of coffee, Lucy already able to smell the vanilla blend, a favorite of hers. "Here!" She grins, smiling widely as Lucy takes the cup in a shaking hand. Happy tries to dip his paw into the liquid, but Lucy holds it out of reach. "Have some coffee," Cana suggests, winking. "Maybe it'll wake you up a little bit."

Lucy nods and the other girls lead her out of the room, Levy being kind enough to gather Lucy's coat and gym bag. Cana prattles on in her ear, Levy walking backwards to face them, giggling at the story Cana is telling. A man suddenly shoves passed them, knocking into Lucy, who stumbles. He's quick to catch her, eyes locking with hers, and they widen when they see her. He shoves back the chestnut hair falling into his eyes, releasing her with a gasp, and stands there, stunned as Cana hauls her away.

Rome, Italy | July 7 | 12:00:00PM

If Gray hears one more tourist make a "when in Rome" joke, he thinks he might just slap them with an ice cream scoop. Ur wouldn't be happy about it, and Gray would probably be in for a world of hurt, but he thinks it would be worth it. He's absolutely had it with the tourists in their khaki shorts and big hats, cameras slung around their necks as they crack a joke while he hands them their ice cream, Gray forcing a smile despite wanting to peel his own face off with the scoop. Sometimes, he wonders who he must have hurt in a past life to be punished like this.

He supposes it's his own thought for staying in Rome with his family. It's a tourist city, after all. He should have known better, but he loves his family, even Lyon, and Lyon is an ass most of the time. Besides, he likes making and selling gelato with his family. They own a popular place and they make enough to get by happily. Gay is content with his life, even if the customers make him want to scream sometimes.

Gray never wanted to work at the shop his entire life. He wanted to sculpt, to do something with his hands, but when his internship fell through, he ended up right back where he started. Perhaps it's where he's meant to be. He still works with clay in his free time, making gifts for people and selling things on Etsy. He makes a decent profit with them, enough to afford a flat across the city.

Maybe someday he'll be able to travel, to go far off places. He would miss his family, of course. Ur would be upset, but she would wish him well. Ultear would scream at him for wanting to leave so close to her wedding—she wouldn't forgive him for leaving, but he would make it up to her, maybe surprise her on the big day. Lyon would pretend he didn't care, but would be the one to remind Gray to eat something every night.

He'd like to visit London someday.

Gray winces as his head throbs, a vicious headache coming back to bite him. He doesn't know what brought it on, considering he wasn't drinking the night before, but it's been causing him problems all morning. He considered calling in sick today, but remembered that Ur and Ultear were wedding planning for the day, and Gray knows better than to disrupt them, lest he want a damaged kidney.

Ultear wasn't a champion martial artist in school for nothing, after all.

He rubs at his eyes, blaming his headache for his bad mood. Usually, he can grin and bear it when customers tell him horrible jokes, but today he seems to be losing his temper far quicker than usual. He's always prided himself in his level head, but it's been hard to maintain it today.

Luckily, Lyon will be here soon and Gray will be able to take his lunch break. He thinks he might need it.

Another customer walks in, and Gray busies himself with pretending to be interested in what they're saying, vaguely listening for what they want. It's another tourist, this one attempting to speak Italian. She asks for shoes on her gelato and Gray blinks at her stupidly for a moment before smiling and reaching for the sprinkles, moving slow enough to gauge her reaction. She grins at him, and Gray relaxes, holding back a heavy sigh.

Honestly, it would be easier on all of them if they just stuck to English. There wouldn't be so many misunderstandings and it would save Gray a good dozen headaches every week. These customers are the reason he goes home and drinks, as awful as it sounds.

Time slips by slowly, Gray growing more and more annoyed with the tick of the clock on the wall. It's loud and he wishes he could get rid of it, but it was some present to Ur from one of her past relationships. He thinks it might have been from Lyon's father, but he can't be sure. The man was a tinker, he loved to build things, but he ditched Ur as soon as he found out she was pregnant. The bastard.

Gray's own father did the same thing, disappearing as soon as he heard Ur was pregnant with a third child two years after Lyon was born. He left one day when Lyon was two and Ultear was five, went out to get groceries and never came home. He'll never forgive the man for that—for hurting Ur like that.

Ur's string of bad relationships seems to have bit them all in the ass, except for Ultear, of course. Lyon can't keep a girlfriend for more than a few weeks and Gray has long since given up on trying. He's stuck with seeing people for a night and forgetting their faces come morning. No one gets hurt that way.

Ur may not approve of his bad habits, but Gray figures it's better to go in with no strings attached than to up and leave like his shitty father did. Gray won't ever be like him. He's careful, he doesn't do anything without protection, and he sure as hell wouldn't just leave like that. He wouldn't run away like a coward, not after promising to come home.

She waited for him to come home, Ur did. For three weeks she waited. She filed a police report, thought something happened to him, but nothing came up. It wasn't until she got a call from the man telling her to stop looking that Ur finally gave up, realized he left all on his own.

Gray doesn't think he's ever hated someone quite as much as he hates his sperm-donor.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Gray shakes his head. He sits on the stool behind the counter, fisting his hands in his hair as he leans against the surface. All he wants is to sleep, but he has another three hours on his shift, Lyon able to handle the night crowd on his own. Noon is the worst, it's too hot and they always have a rush that they barely manage to handle.

He opens his eyes and suddenly he's not in the gelato shop anymore. Gray inhales sharply, freezing as a breeze whips passed him, ruffling his hair. Frantic, his gaze darts around the area, Gray finding himself settled at a small, iron table, a pretty umbrella over him to block out the sun. A crowd walks by, Gray following them with his eyes, realizing none of them seem at all familiar.

Someone laughs to his right, and he turns to see two women walking towards him, speaking in hushed tones as they near his table. They come closer, a brunette talking loudly, gesturing wildly. For a moment, Gray can't understand what they're saying, the language foreign to him—neither Italian, German, or English, the three he prides himself on being near-fluent in.

A short woman with bright, electric blue hair grins at him, murmuring an unfamiliar name, and then something clicks in his mind and he can understand them.

"I'm just saying," the brunette says, huffing as she drops down across from him, seeming completely at ease with sitting beside a stranger, "bigger is better." He chokes on his spit, the brunette sending him a curious look before turning back to her friend. She shoves a glass of what he thinks might be lemonade into his hands, and Gray fumbles with it, confused, though the woman doesn't appear to notice.

The girl with blue hair rolls her eyes, popping a grape into her mouth and glaring at her friend, settling in beside Gray and even propping her elbow against his shoulder, sending him a cheeky smile. "Cana," she hisses, sighing in exasperation, "do we really have to do this now?" She pouts as she fiddles with the fruit on her plate, pushing it around gently.

The brunette—Cana—narrows her eyes and shoves a pastry into her mouth, chewing slowly and annoying the other girl. "Yes," she stresses, hissing at her friend, "Levy, we do."

"I don't want to talk about this in public," Levy hisses back, keeping her voice low. She glances questioningly at Gray, gesturing to the pastry she's slide towards him, and he lifts it to his mouth slowly, taking a bite as the girls continue to bicker.

He hums to himself at the taste, liking the explosion of flavor on his tongue. It's an éclair, he realizes dimly, recognizing them from a food network channel Ur likes to watch. Frowning, he glances around again, catching sight of a tall, metal tower rising just above the rooftops. He squints at it, unable to make out what it is, and nearly chokes as he catches sight of a sign with a familiar French word on it.

He's in France. Gray blinks, confused, and briefly wonders if he's fallen asleep on the job.

"Then you shouldn't have taken me out in public," Cana comments, oblivious to Gray's panic. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and counts to ten, thinking that when he opens them again everything will be back to normal and everything will be fine. He's just having a really fucking weird dream, that's all. He's going to wake up and Lyon's going to be bitching at him for sleeping on the job. He just didn't get enough sleep and his head hurts and everything is going to be fine.

He opens his eyes.

"Please stop," Levy groans, glaring viciously at her friend, practically hissing at her. Gray ignores them, pinching himself, and nearly yelps when it hurts like a bitch and he still doesn't wake up. There's a soft meow from his lap, and Gray looks down to find a cute little cat sitting on his lap. It blinks at him, confused, and yawns, clearly just waking up.

The cat suddenly starts growling at him, bristling slightly, and Gray panics. He's never been much of an animal person, and he has no idea who this cat belongs to or how he got here, and he really doesn't want to get scratched by some potentially diseased animal. Not that he's trying to call someone's pet diseased—the cat does have a collar and what looks like tags, but Gray doesn't dare try to look at them, lest he get clawed—but he doesn't know how strict France is about animal vaccination.

The cat sits up suddenly, standing on its back legs to sniff at Gray's face. Its little claws dig into his shirt, nails pricking at him, and he isn't sure where to put his hands. Tilting his head out of the cat's reach, he grabs for the drink Cana brought him, taking a long gulp with wide eyes, confused and a bit terrified by the situation.

Cana shakes her head, ignoring Gray's panic as the cat continues to sniff at him before finally rubbing against his chin, chirping at Gray for some strange reason. "No, Levy," Cana says suddenly, gaining his attention, "we're talking about dicks."

He chokes on his drink. "We're what?" Gray wheezes, sputtering and turning very pale, paler than normal, anyway. Cana simply waves him off, and Gray shifts uncomfortably. The cat continues to climb on him, purring as he finally gets Gray to pet him. He's a bit rough with the cat, but the little gray ball of fluff doesn't seem to mind all too much, rumbling happily and kneading at his thigh.

Gray's really beginning to wonder if he got drunk last night and simply didn't realize it.

Levy groans, setting her own drink down before reaching into Gray's lap to pet the cat. If anything, he freezes even further, hyper aware of her touching him so casually, especially so close to his crotch. "Cana," Levy tries again sighing, "I'm begging you, don't." She pouts, lips pulled down in a frown and her eyelashes batting at her friend.

"Listen," Cana hisses, waving Levy off and smirking. She leans in close to the two of them, bending over the table and giving Gray a very nice view down her shirt. He looks away, not wanting to be impolite and knowing that Ur taught him far better than that. "I think we can all agree that the bigger the dick, the better."

Someone kill him.

Levy seems to have a similar idea in mind. "Shut up, Cana!" she hisses across the table, a look that promises death clear in her eyes. Gray thinks he's about to witness a cat fight, but luckily there are no tables flipping or clothes being ripped off. He wouldn't know what to do with himself at that point.

Cana merely holds up a hand. "Listen, I'm going to tell you a secret," she whispers to the two of them, looking between them with a wink. "The perfect blowjob is achieved by very, very lightly using your teeth." Gray's brain short-circuits and he chokes on his drink, sputtering slightly. "Don't worry about taking it all into your mouth," Cana continues, "just worry about the head." She turns to Levy, grinning almost maliciously, ignorant to Gray's very awkward boner forming. "Use your tongue, Levy," Cana winks, "it's there for a reason."

"Gray!" a familiar voice snaps. He blinks and suddenly he's back in the shop, a scoop of gelato slowly melting in his hands and a very prominent, very awkward boner straining against his pants. "Gray," the voice growls again, fingers snapping in front of his face, blinding his vision. He jerks backwards, gasping, and drops the scoop in his lap. The melting gelato splatters across his front, white dots spotting his clothing, and the chill wakes him up entirely. "Hey, Dumbass, I'm talking to you!"

He looks up to find his very disgruntled older brother looking down at him, white hair falling into his eyes and his lips twisted into a familiar frown. "Lyon?" he mutters, blinking when his brother rolls his eyes, looking at Gray like he's an idiot. Gray bites back an insult, his irritation growing. "How long have you been here?" he asks, more confused than angry.

He doesn't know what the hell is going on, but he really doesn't like it.

"Like five minutes," Lyon tells him, crossing his arms and glancing down. He quirks a brow at Gray's problem, sending him an odd look, but doesn't comment on it, much to Gray's relief. "Thanks for ignoring me, Asshole," Lyon says instead.

Gray watches Lyon slip behind the counter, his brother fixing his vest and tie, straightening the deep blue fabric of his shirt. He watches Gray out of the corner of his eyes, a hint of concern in his gaze. "I wasn't…" Gray trails off slowly, turning to face Lyon directly. "Was I sleeping?" he asks.

Lyon snorts. "Not unless you've leaned how to do it with your eyes open," he murmurs.

Shaking his head, Gray wets his lips, noticing that they taste like lemonade.

Vancouver, Canada | July 7 | 6:00:00AM

Her head hurts like a bitch. Like, a fucking huge bitch and it's really starting to piss her off. Meredy groans, lying down on the couch with a pout. Honestly, she shouldn't even be awake right now, it's too damn early in the morning for this. She doesn't even like to be awake before ten, so why is she awake at six? She blames her headache for that, or maybe Jellal. He's the reason she had to be up so early, which is stupid, because this is her apartment and she shouldn't have to wake up early for her damn best friend.

In fact, Jellal is no longer her best friend. No best friend would have her awake this early on the Friday she has off from work. She doesn't care if Jellal is getting married or not, they are no longer friends and she is not going to tolerate this, not from him.

Meredy sighs, pouting as curls up tighter on the couch. She considers texting Jellal to fuck off and come back at a more reasonable time, but figures that he won't get the message until he's already here, and by then Meredy would have already had to drag her ass off the couch and answer the door, and by then there's just no point to it.

With a groan she drags her blanket over her head, not caring that it's summer and she'll be sweating in only a few minutes. The heat can fuck off, too. No one wants it and it needs to go, because she's not having that being sweaty all the time thing, and the humidity turns her hair to shit. Besides, she's pretty sure that one of these days Juvia's just going to melt and become a gooey mess on the pavement, and Meredy is not cleaning that up.

She loves Juvia, she really does, but Meredy isn't in the business of cleaning up other people's messes. That's more of Jellal's thing.

On cue, there's a gentle knock on the door, Jellal waiting patiently for her to answer and let him in. She knows he won't leave until she gets up, and he'll knock exactly every twenty seconds until she does. Jellal is both annoying and punctual, and Meredy thinks there are worse things he could be. Meredy debates whether or not she wants to make him squirm a little. After all, he did make her get up pretty damn early in the morning. Though, she doesn't want to send Jellal into an even bigger panic. He's already about two seconds from snapping and tossing a chair at someone's head, and she'd rather not test his patience.

Huffing, Meredy rolls onto her back, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. Another soft knock sounds through the quiet apartment, and Meredy bites back a smile. "Get in here, Dummy!" she barks, knowing he can hear her just fine. Besides, Jellal has a key and already knows she's home, because no one besides Jellal wakes up at fucking five in the morning.

It's too early for wedding planning shit.

The front door opens with a click, shutting just as softly, and Meredy pulls her blanket over her face as Jellal comes closer, keeping it just low enough that she can send him a nasty look, Meredy pouting up at him. Jellal smirks when he sees her, and dangles a Styrofoam cup of her favorite coffee in front of her face, Meredy lighting up when she sees it.

She goes to snatch it up, but Jellal pulls it just out of her reach, laughing when she whines. Meredy stretches for it, but feels too lazy to actually sit up. Jellal quirks a brow at her shoving a blue lock of hair out of his eyes. "Will you forgive me if I give you coffee?" he asks, mostly joking. There's a hint of concern there, one that Meredy recognizes well. Jellal has always been nervous about things, needing constant reassurance that he's good enough for them.

If she could beat his demons away, she would do it in a heartbeat. Anything for Jellal.

"Jellal" she coos, reaching for the drink with grabby hands, the cup just out of reach, "you could kill a man and I would look the other way if you give me that coffee." Meredy's dead serious about that, too. She's dying inside and Jellal could literally get away with anything so long as he gives her that drink. She stretches, fingertips skimming the side, and he pulls it back just an inch.

He stares down at her, aghast, and has a look of faux horror on his face. "Meredy," Jellal chastises her, tsking and shaking his head, "I do believe that's illegal." She makes a face and he cracks a smile. Jellal never has been the best at being stern, that's more of an Erza thing. He tries though, so she'll give him that.

"Piss off, Jelly," she huffs, trying to snag the coffee and pouting when he lifts it over his head. "Gimme the coffee," she demands playfully, sticking her tongue out at Jellal when he laughs at her expense. Finally, he drops it into her hands, Meredy eagerly pulling it close to her chest and cuddling it, beaming at Jellal.

Grinning, he reaches out to ruffle her hair, laughing when she swats him away. "You're such a brat, Mer," he tells her, lifting her legs off the couch so he can plop down beside her. He settles her legs back onto his lap, smiling fondly as she guzzles her drink, sighing happily as she sets it down.

"And you're rude," she tells him, pouting slightly. First, he wakes her up at fuck no O'clock and now he's being a big meany. How is that okay? Meredy digs her feet extra hard into his thigh as she wiggles down, situating herself into a more comfortable sprawled position on the couch. Jellal doesn't complain as she uses him as leverage, only tickles her toes as revenge for a particularly harsh dig.

They lapse into silence for a moment, and Meredy gasps as she feels a familiar chill tickle at her skull. She hisses doubling over in confusion and making a face. Jellal stills, gaze concerned as he leans towards her, gently coaxing her to look at him. "You okay?" he asks, rubbing Meredy's arm until she nods, wrinkling her nose and frowning.

"Yeah," she tells him, staring down at the drink in her hands in bewilderment. That wasn't supposed to happen, she thinks dumbly, staring at the warm drink in her hand. "Yeah," she repeats, frown only deepening as she wonders what the hell that was, "brain freeze…" she trails off, realizing how ridiculous that sounds.

No one gets a brain freeze from drinking something warm.

Jellal snorts, his lips twitching in amusement as he raises a brow, leaning back further into the couch. "You do know you're drinking coffee, right?" he asks her, trying to hold back a laugh. He holds up his hands in surrender when she glares at him, placating her with a small smile that they both know Meredy can't resist.

Jellal's always had the best puppy dog eyes and she hates it.

"Screw you, you big bully," she jokes, kicking at him gently. It turns into a strange slapping fight between them, with Jellal swatting at her toes whenever she nudges him in the ribs. He hisses at her, laughing as he pinches the bottom of her foot, making her yelp. Meredy nearly tumbles off the couch, but Jellal reacts faster, steadying her with a firm hand.

He flicks her nose before she can pull away, and Meredy pouts as she curls up on her end of the couch, tucking her feet safely beneath her. "Now that's not very nice," Jellal jokes, prodding at her side. "And here I was, going to ask you the most important question of your life." Jellal scoffs shaking his head, though there's a nervous look in his eyes. Meredy stills at the serious edge to his words, confusion sweeping through her as she peers back at him.

Not knowing what else to do, Meredy makes a joke out of it, hoping to soothe Jellal, who's paled metaphorically. She grins at him, giggling. "Jelly," she teases, "as much as I would love to marry you," he sends her a dirty look, wrinkling his nose and she bites back a laugh, "I simply can't. You're not my type." Besides, he's more of an older brother than anything else. Marrying him would be weird and kind of creepy.

Plus, she has more of a thing for the cool, but turns into a pile of mush around her type. She likes them a bit prickly on the outside.

"Really?" Jellal asks her, scoffing as he crosses his arms. He sends her an odd look, quirking a brow at her and pursing his lips. "Not the fact that I'm already engaged?" There's an incredulous note to his words, and she giggles, shaking her head.

She waves him off, shrugging. "We could work around that," Meredy jokes.

On a more serious note, Erza would probably kill her for trying to marry Jellal, and Meredy would very much like to stay alive. She doesn't really feel like dying at only twenty three, there's still so much she wants to do. Like eat a hotdog on every continent. Also she'd like to try escargot at least once, even if snails really gross her out.

She once found one in her sock drawer and it was the most disgusting thing. Juvia and Jellal stuck it there as a prank, and she was all of two seconds from killing them both for being total assholes.

"Mer," he groans, a slight warning in his voice. His nerves are back, she can tell, and the joking only seemed to make them worse, which was the last thing she wanted to do. She knows Jellal has trouble asking people for anything, but he should know by now that she would do absolutely anything for him if he asked her to.

She holds up a placating hand. "All right," she drawls, curious "what's this oh so important question?" she asks, more serious than before.

He takes a deep breath, wetting his lips before twisting around to face her. "You know you're my best friend, right?" Jellal asks, eyes searching her face for an answer he already knows.

"That's a dumb question, Jellal," she replies softly, sending him a smile as she sits up on the couch. The blanket slips into her lap, pooling around her waist, and Meredy sets her coffee off to the side, focusing all of her attention on him. "Of course I know that." They've been thick as thieves since he was sixteen and she was fourteen, the two of them both on the same debate team in high school. "You're my best friend, too, you know," she murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ear.

He smiles back at her, nodding slowly. "I know, Mer." He clears his throat, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. "That's why I wanted to know if you'd be my best man?" It's a question more than anything, and Meredy blinks at him stupidly for several seconds, unable to process that bit of information. Jellal takes her silence as a bad thing, clearly flustered as he runs a hand through his hair. "Or best lady?" he corrects. "I don't really know what we'd call you…"

Meredy tries to think of something intelligent to say, but ends up gaping at him like a fish. Her eyes start to burn, becoming itchy and wet and Jellal's eyes go wide. He winces, looking ready to apologize, but Meredy cuts him off frantically, blurting the first thing she can think of. "Did you know the best man used to be the best sword fighter in the village?" she asks, sputtering slightly. Jellal makes a face, confused. "He had no relation to the bride or groom, he was just there to protect them."

"I think Erza can protect herself just fine," Jellal says gently, grinning back at her. His gaze is imploring, seeking an answer, and Meredy can barely breathe she's so elated.

She scoots forward on the couch, leaning in closer to him. "Jellal, are you serious?" she murmurs, smile slipping away as she stares at him. There are better candidates for best man, she knows, like one of his brothers, though she knows Siegrain is in Italy on business. He could ask Simon, Jellal's known his since they were just kids. Even if he is visiting his sister in France, he should be back before the wedding.

"Of course I'm serious," he tells her, smiling. "I wouldn't choose anyone but you, Meredy."

She throws herself at him a moment later, tackling him against the back of the couch, and Jellal laughs as he pulls her in for a fierce hug, both of them smiling. "I…" she looks up at him, trailing off slowly, unsure what to say. "Yeah," Meredy tells him. "Yeah, I'll be your best lady."

She's always wanted to plan a bachelor party.

New York, New York | July 7 | 10:00:00AM

Gajeel sighs, running a hand down the side of his face as he shrugs his jeans on over the small, sparkly jockstrap he was given to wear for the night. It itches, the strap biting into his hips, and he thinks it's a good two sizes too small, but there's not much he can do about that. honestly, he just wants to go home and sleep all day until he has to get up again at eight to get ready for his shift at the Blue Pegasus.

He never wanted this job, but when Porla gave the option he figured it was better than the alternative. Gajeel has already fucked up too many times in too few months, and he's never going to find Wendy if he keeps making mistakes. He'll play Porla's game, at least for now, but he won't be patient for long.

Tossing his bag over his shoulder, Gajeel sneers at the glitter in his hair, knowing it won't ever come out, and yanks it into a high ponytail, grumbling to himself under his breath, careful not to let the others hear. As much as he hates working at a strip joint, he doesn't mind his coworkers, even if they are an odd bunch with rainbows coming out of their asses. Their fine enough, though Gajeel hopes he doesn't know them for much longer.

He supposes the club itself isn't too bad, though the name is stupid and he's getting closer and closer to snapping the wrist of the next lady that tries to squeeze his ass. He's never been the most violent of people, but he absolutely hates those who touch other people without permission. It's unforgivable, in his eyes, and working at the Pegasus only reminds him that most people are garbage.

Not everyone is bad at the joint. Jenny, Hibiki's friend is nice enough, polite, even if she has tried to make a pass on him one too many times. She clearly can't take a hint, but she isn't awful, just a narcissist. The owner, Bob, is a character, to say the least, he's an oddball, but it has nothing to do with the way he looks. Gajeel can deal with the dress and the makeup and fairy wings; it's the conspiracy theories that make him cringe.

Aliens can get fucked, Gajeel's not having any of that.

He's also not having it that he has to work at a strip club for another three months, but he'll deal with it so long as Porla gets him the damn information he wants. Gajeel's sick of being patient, it's been months with no word about his baby sister, and he's not going to tolerate it any longer.

He's going to find Wendy if it's the last fucking thing he ever does.

Gajeel shakes as much of the glitter off his clothes as he can, cursing under his breath before picking up his gym bag and stalking towards the door, ignoring Hibiki and Ren calling after him, not wanting to deal with the pair at the moment.

He's tired, pissed, and needs a cigarette.

Resisting the urge to pull a stick from his pocket, Gajeel shoves open the doors to the club, letting the early morning sun beat down on him. He curls his hands into fists, shoving them in his pockets as he navigates through the city, head pounding from the club music. His ears ring faintly, hardly noticeable, and he swears again, trying not to think about Wendy and where she might be right now.

She would have liked it today it's sunny, but not too hot. She probably would have taken Carla and Lily outside onto their tiny ass porch, let them have some of the catnip she'd been planting. They would have liked that. Carla would have been happy.

Wincing, Gajeel shakes his head, hands shaking slightly. He hasn't seen the little cat happy in weeks. She's barely left Wendy's room and for the first week she didn't eat. Gajeel had to take her to the vet in a panic, not wanting his sister to come home to find her beloved cat dead and gone. Gajeel doesn't blame Carla though, not even a little. He didn't eat for the first week either, and he probably would have continued to stare himself if it weren't for the cats.

He keeps finding himself in Wendy's room, staring at the walls, everything exactly where it was months ago, nothing changing except the growing layer of dust. He considered cleaning, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't pack her things away or move the musty sweater off her desk to wash it.

She was wearing that sweater the last day he saw her. It was her favorite.

Gajeel mumbles to himself as he continues down the street, staring up at the sky and keeping one hand over his wallet, not taking any chances with pickpockets this early in the morning.

Feeling eyes on him, Gajeel slows to a stop, standing at the street corner with a frown. He glances in front of him, eyes narrowing when he sees a tall man with red hair standing across the street his expression blank as he stares at Gajeel. He sneers at the man, recognizing him from the strange dream he had last night.

He shakes the thought away, wondering if it's simply a coincidence. Wendy once told him that all of the faces they see in dreams are those of people they've already met, if only in passing. In a city as big as New York, Gajeel doesn't doubt that they may have unknowingly crossed paths before.

The man doesn't look away, doesn't blink or move, and Gajeel takes a step back, unnerved by the haunted look in the man's glossy eyes. Gajeel considers calling out to him, asking if he's already, but ultimately decides to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to draw attention to the pair of them.

Gajeel watches as the man takes a sudden step forward, his eyes still locked on Gajeel. A car comes speeding down the road, but the man doesn't notice. Gajeel starts to call out to him, to tell him to wait, but the car is faster.

He squeezes his eyes shut, expecting to hear a crash, but he opens his eyes and finds the street empty.

The man is gone.

Wetting his lips, Gajeel shakes his head and decides to go home.

Gajeel slams the door to his apartment, uncaring of the way it makes the walls rattle, a picture of him and Wendy nearly falling off it's hook. He lashes out, steadying it with one hand, and curses, angry with himself for nearly destroying something so important. He rips his hand away from the glass, not wanting to smudge it, and checks to make sure he didn't damage the glass.

Wendy's smiling face greets him, and Gajeel swallows back a pathetic sound, his eyes itching. He ignores the burn, biting his cheek until it bleeds to distract himself from the ache in his chest. He reaches out slowly, locking eyes with Wendy's in the photograph, noticing how happy she looked that day. With a sigh, he reaches out once more, brushing his knuckles across the picture of his smiling sister.

The tinkling of a bell reaches his ears, and Gajeel looks down to see Lily at his feet, the mangy, scarred black cat trilling when he meets Gajeel's eyes. Lily rubs against his leg, meowing loudly for attention, pissed at Gajeel for being gone all night. Gajeel snorts, smirking down at his cat. "How ya doin', alley cat?" he mutters, dropping into a crouch to scratch under Lily's chin. It isn't enough, because the cat scrambles into his arms, clawing at his chest before settling. He swears, nearly dropping the cat, but stills when he sees something shiny on Lily's head.

Glitter.

"Oye!" Gajeel barks, jerking Lily away from himself and holding the cat beneath his front legs, Lily hissing as he's pulled away from Gajeel's chest. "You're getting' glitter everywhere you mangy cat!" Lily snorts, shaking himself, and struggles in his hold. Rolling his eyes, Gajeel pulls Lily close, deciding to let him do what he wants. Happy to be freed, Lily immediately climbs onto Gajeel's shoulder, balancing easily and rubbing his face against Gajeel's mop of hair, grooming him.

Gajeel wrinkles his nose at the action, but decides to simply let Lily do what he wants, knowing the cat will only throw a fit if he puts him down. He has enough scars from claw marks for one lifetime.

He remembers the day he got Lily. Gajeel found him outside one Christmas, bloody from a fight and the meanest fucker Gajeel's ever seen. It was Wendy that wanted to bring him in and take care of him, and Gajeel begrudgingly agreed when Wendy sent him the most pouty eyes he's ever seen. She always did have him wrapped around her finger, not that she was devious about it.

And Gajeel brought the damn alley cat inside, fed him leftover chicken from the night before, and received a handful of scars when he tried to bath him. It was by far the worst Christmas Eve Gajeel ever experienced, but he doesn't regret it. It took Lily awhile to warm up to them, but after a few weeks he was practically attached to Gajeel's hip, despite the fact he was supposed to be Wendy's.

She never seemed to mind, of course, content with cuddling with Lily when they watched movies and not seeming to mind that the gruff cat seemed to prefer her gruff older brother over her. She called them a perfect match once, and wouldn't explain what she meant when he asked. Wendy only smiled at him, giggling, and shrieked with laughter when he tried to tickle it out of her.

Lilies are Wendy's favorite flower.

He shakes thought away, deciding to go check on Carla now that he's home, wanting to make sure she's been eating. Wendy would never forgive him if something happened to the little cat while she was away.

They got Carla exactly a year after Lily, Gajeel wanting to surprise her with something special. They'd been wanting another cat anyway, just so Lily wasn't alone all day, and when Gajeel went to the shelter and saw the fluffy, pissy white cat he immediately knew she was the one for Wendy, he somehow knew that the cat was going to love his baby sister for the rest of her life. And he knew that Wendy would love her too.

Wendy cried when she opened the hastily wrapped bag he shoved Carla into, a sloppy bow tied around her neck and a scratch still bleeding on his arm. She cried and hugged him and she didn't let that cat go for hours, holding the fluffy white ball like a lifeline. Carla was instantly in love with Wendy, too, happily curling up on her lap and falling asleep, purring so loudly it put Gajeel's snoring to shame.

That was the happiest he's ever seen Wendy in his life.

Gajeel takes slow steps down the hall, hesitating outside of Wendy's room, hand hovering an inch away from the wood. His heart squeezes in his chest, Gajeel knowing that when he opens that door she won't be there. He drops his hand back to his side, taking a step back, and squeezes his eyes shut, a shaky breath leaving him.

Sensing his hesitation, Lily trills, rubbing his cheek against Gajeel's before hopping off of his shoulder and slipping through the crack in Wendy's door, long tail swishing as he pads into the silent room. Gajeel watches him disappear, swallowing as Lily calls for him on the other side, urging him to come in. It takes him another moment to steel his nerves, his movements slow as he pushes the door open just enough so he can slide through.

On the bed, a soft, gray head lifts off Wendy's pillow, green eyes blinking at him sleepily.

Gajeel stumbles back, knocking into the door roughly, the knob digging into his spine. His heart stutters, eyes going wide as they stay locked with green. "Fuck," he hisses, pain ripping through his already sore back. Gajeel's eyes squeeze shut as he grits his teeth, rubbing at his bruised back gently, the pain a dull ache, annoying but tolerable. He mumbles another curse before straightening, gaze snapping back to the bed quickly.

Carla stares at him, blue eyes big and sad. Realizing it's only him and not Wendy, she turns away from him, curling up on her side and ignoring him. Lily hops up on the bed beside her, making a soft sound before lying down beside her, his back barely brushing against hers. Gajeel stares at them, shaking his head as he realizes it must have been a trick of the light, nothing more.

He probably hasn't been sleeping enough, with his nightshifts and the guilt that plagues him during the daytime.

Gajeel rubs a tired hand down the side of his face, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he leans there against Wendy's door. His shoulders quiver, Gajeel fisting at his long hair as his eyes grow wet, his vision blurring. This time, he doesn't try to stop the tears, uncaring as they trail down his cheeks, catching on the short hairs on his jaw, his stubble growing thick and long.

He keeps forgetting to shave. Wendy always used to remind him to do so, complaining that he looked like some kind of Neanderthal. Gajeel would purposely rub his cheek against hers after that, Wendy shrieking with laughter as she tried to shove him away, complaining the whole while. He would comply, of course, and when she was younger he used to let Wendy put his shaving cream on him, allowing her to draw flowers across his face before finally smothering him with it, making a mess.

Gajeel bites his lip until it bleeds, the tears coming faster as he sobs, doubling over as pain wracks through him, his heart seizing in his chest. Lily looks up at him from the bed, but Gajeel ignores the cat's worried trill. His back scrapes down the door, his fingers pulling at his hair roughly as he curls in on himself. Gajeel presses his face against his knees, cringing when he tastes blood in his mouth.

Something sharp jabs at his thigh through his pants, and Gajeel sucks in a shaky breath as he fumbles to yank the object out of his pocked. Something cool and metallic presses into his palm, smooth surface familiar beneath his fingers. He raises the object to eye-level, blinking away the tears in his eyes as he tries to see what it is.

His NYPD badge glints in the low lighting, gold twinkling, the letters bold and familiar. Hands shaking, he stares at it for a long moment, gritting his teeth.

Gajeel sneers at the badge as he tosses it across the room.

Tokyo, Japan | July 7 | 11:00:00PM

The blankets rustle around Yukino's hips as she shifts, stretching on the bed, fingertips grazing the wall behind her as she hums, shifting happily to find a more comfortable position. She stares up at the ceiling, counting the silly, glow-in-the-dark stars that Sting and Rogue helped her place back when they first moved into the apartment. A fond smile slips onto her face, Yukino giggling softly as she looks at them. While some are placed to mimic the constellations, something Rogue was very particular about helping with, her brilliant boyfriend actually calculating the distance between each plastic shape, others are placed haphazardly along the ceiling, several of them stuck into a smiley face. While Sting is a sweetheart, he's also the goofy boyfriend, doing anything to make her and Rogue laugh.

Though, the ceiling stars nearly started a spat between them, Rogue horrified to see Sting ruining his careful work. It sent the two boys into a wrestling match, the two unceremoniously sticking stars to each others faces, barking insults at each other and laughing. Somehow, Yukino was dragged into the fight as well, stars stuck to her face and collarbone, the boys lit up like the string of lights hanging from the ceiling.

Eventually, their bickering dissolved into cuddling, and Yukino had laughed herself to tears when Sting reached across her to stick a star onto Rogue's nose, the man going cross-eyed to look at it, unamused until Yukino leaned over to kiss them both goodnight, giggling as they kissed each other, Rogue swatting at Sting for the sloppy, wet kiss he placed on Rogue's lips.

That was just under two years ago, and it was the happiest day of her life so far, they were all so at ease, something she never thought would happen between the three of them.

She met them both three years ago in September, Rogue moving with his family to Japan from France, his father doing business and requesting his son's help. Sting came from the U.S. to study abroad, and Yukino was tasked with showing them both around. None of them got along at first and it was awkward, but by the second month of them being forced into each others company they all fell into an easy friendship.

The three of them were dating by the end of the sixth month and moving in together by the end of the year, much to Yukino's sister's confusion.

Sorano thought they were moving a bit too fast, but didn't try and stop Yukino, much to her relief. Instead, Sorano simply wished her luck and said to call if she needed anything, guessing correctly that the boys would be a handful. While the three never have many issues, Sorano is always there with her significant other, Macbeth, to help them when they need it, and Yukino loves her dearly for that.

Yukino winces suddenly, the blaring music coming back to her full force. She's been hearing it all morning on and off, some unfamiliar club song that Yukino has never heard before. It's nothing that typically plays in any of the places she's been, and it hurts her ears to listen to. Neither of the boys seem to notice it, however, and Yukino is beginning to think she's simply imagining it.

Sighing to herself, she curls up tighter under the blanket, leaning into Rogue's side sleepily, seeking out his warmth. He glances down at her, quirking an amused brow, though his expression sobers when he sees the deep crease between her brows, Yukino's face twisted in pain.

"You all right?" he asks softly, setting his book down in his lap and reaching for her, gently stroking her hair away from her face. Rogue blinks down at her in concern, lips pressed into a thin line as feels her forehead for a temperature, utterly serious as he looks her over for any injuries.

Giggling at his worried face, Yukino gently pulls his fingers away from her head, tangling them with hers instead, squeezing gently. "Yeah," she murmurs into a pillow, tracing the scar on the back of his hand with her thumb. "I'm fine, Rogue," she promises, smiling up at him when he frowns. She brings their connected hands to her lips, kissing his fingertips, and Rogue softens.

"Are you sure?" he asks again, expression gentle as he watches Yukino kiss each of his fingertips reassuringly. When she's done, she nuzzles into his hand, slipping her fingers from his and letting him cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin softly. He sends her a small smile, no more than a quirk of his lips, but it makes her beam back at him, her heart swelling at the tender look in his eyes.

Yukino grins as she reaches up, poking him in between the eyes and watching his expression jump from concern to shock, crease between his brows disappearing. "Yes, I'm sure," she promises again, not wanting his to get wrinkles so soon. She and Sting should get him on their beauty routine, he could really benefit from it. "When did you become the worried one, anyway?" she gripes, yelping when he pinches her nose.

She pouts up at him and Rogue only laughs. "I've always been the worried one," he reminds her, sending her a small grin and a wink. "Sting is just more vocal about it," he mock-whispers, a teasing edge to his words, and she laughs along with him.

"Remember that time you stubbed your toe and he tried to carry you to the hospital?" she asks Rogue, cracking up when he laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges. That was a funny day. The three of them were busy hanging lights from the ceiling to celebrate Christmas, upon Sting's gentle demanding, and Rogue barely bumped his foot against the ladder, sending Sting into a panic.

He had Rogue slung over his shoulder and was half out the door before Yukino managed to stop him, yanking the two of them back into the apartment before they could see Sting wearing only his boxers and a pair of reindeer antlers.

Sting suddenly pokes his head out from behind the bathroom door, glaring at the two of them suspiciously. "You assholes talking about me behind my back?" he asks, sending them each a nasty look as he steps into the doorway, hands on his hips and a suspicious look in his eyes.

Rogue snorts, quirking a brow at Sting when he turns to face their other partner. "If you want to come in here," he says casually, a sly look in his eyes, "we'll talk about you to your front." Yukino busts into surprised giggles at offence on Sting's face, his expression wounded.

"Rogue, you bastard!" he hisses, glaring and taking a running dive for the bed. Yukino squeals, curling up tighter, and Rogue shields her the best he can before Sting plops onto both of them, starting a dorky slap fight with Rogue, who shares an exasperated look with Yukino.

She's nearly nailed in the face by Sting's elbow, and that's when she decides she's had enough of that.

"Sting, calm down," she chastises, clucking her tongue at her boyfriend. He freezes just centimeters from slapping Rogue across the face and turns to her with an expression akin to a kicked puppy, looking very much like the one she had as a child.

He crosses his arms, pouting, and flops over onto the other side of her, tossing an arm across her side so that his fingers brush against Rogue's hip. "Why do you always take his side over mine?" he whines. There's no heat to the words, so she knows he isn't truly angry and hurt over it.

Rogue snorts in response, replying before Yukino can. "Because I don't act like a literal two year old," he grumbles, patting Yukino on the head once more before going back to his book, frowning when he realizes he's lost his page. Giving up on reading for the night, he tosses it on the nightstand. He removes his reading glasses as well, Yukino pouting as he takes them off.

He raises a brow at her, hiding a smirk as he pretends to look confused. Yukino huffs, swatting at his arm in annoyance. He knows she thinks he looks hot with his glasses on, and he takes every opportunity to tease her about it, the jerk.

Sting takes no notice to this, prodding at her ribs until she glances at him over her shoulder. She swats his hand away with a yelp, Sting knowing that she's ticklish there, He grins at her, sending her an impish look that she knows means trouble. "Yuki," he coos, calling her by his favorite pet-name, "he's being mean, again." He looks at her like he expects her to do something about it, and Yukino nearly laughs.

Yukino can control these two about as well as she can control the weather or play piano, which is, to say, not well at all.

"What do you want me to do about it?" she asks him, mostly sarcastic, and realizes that's a mistake very quickly, Sting's brows shooting towards his hairline and a wicked look flickering in his eyes. Yukino shares a terrified look with Rogue, who merely laughs at her expense, shrugging and being very unhelpful.

"Defend my honor, Yuki!" Sting demands playfully, hands immediately darting towards her ribs, tickling her sides until she's shrieking with laughter and likely disturbing the neighbors. His fingers wiggle against her ribs and she thrashes, kicking at him when he prods a spot that makes her squeal, Yukino flushing a deep red, uncaring of the hair getting in her mouth or how loud they're being.

He pinches her hip and she snorts. "Sting, stop it!" Yukino giggles, swatting at his hands. Sting is faster than her, trapping her against the bed as he pokes and prods at all of her ticklish spots. She makes the oddest sound when wiggles a finger against her neck, and Sting throws his head back in a deep laugh. "Rogue," she whines, pleading with her eyes. "Help me!"

He frowns, eyes narrowing in thought, and seems to consider it. "Nah," he decides, twisting around and lunging for her as well.

Somehow, they dissolve into a tickle fight, the boys ganging up against her and teasing her until she's crying with laughter, unable to contain herself as she squirms and giggles, as happy as she always is with the pair of them by her side.

Eventually, she gets Rogue on her side, and the two of them go after Sting, the most ticklish of the three of them. He flails as she pokes at his belly, wheezing with laughter, and allows the two of them to pin him to the bed, Rogue trapping his hands and Yukino sitting on his stomach as she attacks his underarms with her fingers. He cries mercy, but they don't stop, Yukino wanting revenge and Rogue simply wanting to see Sting squirm a little.

As they slowly tire, returning to their previous positions, Yukino prods Rogue's hip, making him yelp, and Sting snickers on her other side.

Yukino never liked to sleep in between them at first, finding the heat stifling due to Sting's clingy nature, but she's come to like it, being surrounded by them, their scents comforting and familiar. It makes her feel safer than she ever felt before she met them. Nothing will ever happen to her so long as she has her two favorite people right beside her, that she knows for a fact.

The loud music blares in her mind once more, but she simply ignores it.

"I had a weird dream the other night," she tells them as they're lying together, curled around each other in the quiet of the night, the sounds of the city muffled by the walls around them, a comforting background noise. She has her nose buried against Rogue's throat, Sting wrapped around her waist with his nose pressed against her hair. Rogue is curled around them both as best he can, one hand drawing patterns across Sting's skin and the other playing with her hair, soothing them both.

Sting shifts behind her, nuzzling against her, Rogue quiet but attentive, his fingers winding through her hair. "What was it about, Yuki?" Sting mumbles, warm breath fanning over her neck. She shivers, but it isn't because of Sting.

She worries her bottom lip, not wanting to think about what she saw, but knowing that telling them will make her feel better. She curls up closer to both of them, their legs a tangled mess beneath the sheets.

"I saw a man," she murmurs, low against Rogue's throat, and she can hear the way his breath stutters as he notes the nervous edge to her words. Sting squeezes her around the waist, reassuring her that they're both there for her whenever she needs them. She smiles to herself, relaxing into the pile of limbs they've made as she tosses one arm around Rogue's waist, her other hand slipping into one of Sting's.

It's quite for a long moment, Rogue not one to speak up when someone else is already there, and Sting apparently lost in thought, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Was he better looking than me?" Sting asks suddenly, sounding completely serious, and Yukino giggles as Rogue swats at his shoulder, telling him to shut up and let her finish. Sting whines in response, huffing and calling Rogue mean.

Yukino smiles, nosing at Rogue, who kisses her forehead gently. "No, Sting," she chuckles, patting his hand. He relaxes, murmuring something that's lost against the fabric of her shirt, Sting relieved to know there's no one more attractive than him. "He was too old for me anyway," she jokes, Sting hissing at her, pinching her side gently. She sobers quickly, thinking about the strange man and his empty eyes, his expression lost and terrified. "I think he may have killed himself," she mumbles, wincing as she says the words out loud.

Rogue makes a sound above her, but it's Sting who speaks. "What?" e hisses, sitting up slightly to look down at her, his eyes wide with alarm. He shares a look with Rogue, who looks equally as troubled, though he says nothing, only squeezing Yukino a bit tighter. "Yukino," he murmurs, making her wince. Sting only ever calls her by her full name when he's serious. "What do you mean?"

"He looked scared," she tells them, expression softening, though her boys don't lose the tension in their bodies. "And he told me to run," she whispers, as if it's a secret she needs to keep close. "And then he swallowed some pills." This seems to trouble the boys and she shrugs, worrying her lip. "I don't… I don't understand it, but it felt so real."

"Limbic resonance," Rogue murmurs against her ear. "It's empathy, a type of connection," he explains. "It's a network of feeling."

Yukino nods, knowing they'll chase away her nightmares tonight.

Berlin, Germany | July 7 | 10:00:00PM

The cobra stares at him through the glass, hissing at him as it stretches up, flaring its crest threateningly. Erik smirks back at his namesake, amused by its show, knowing the snake can't hurt him from behind the glass, unable to reach him or Kinana from so far away. It glares, tongue flicking out at him, the snake scenting the air. It hisses, fangs on display, but doesn't strike at him, smart enough not to bite the hand that feeds it.

His fingers drum against his thigh as he watches the snake grow bored with their staring match. It slips away, disappearing towards the back of its tank, and Erik stands, stretching out his stiff muscles before twisting on his heel, instead walking over to the tank holding his beloved Burmese Python, a pretty thing he calls Cubellios, a gift from Kinana when they were only children.

Erik flips the latch on the tank, Cubellios slithering close to him, eager to see him after so many days of being gone. He hates to leave Kinana alone with the snakes, afraid of what could happen to her while he's gone, but he can't help it at times, and Kinana has always been careful, calling Richard to feed them and never taking them out of their tanks unless they're familiar with her.

She would never touch the cobra, he knows, and he would never want her to.

Cubellios comes into his arms willingly, the heavy snake easily winding around him, a familiar weight resting over his shoulders. Her tongue flicks against his ear, the aging snake resting comfortably against him as he settles into his chair, glancing around at the other reptiles in his possession.

The gecko and corn snake are Kinana's favorite. He's seen her walk around with the like stripped snake curled around her wrist almost like a bracelet, protective, in a way. The first time she held it, she beamed at him, proud of herself for doing so. She was afraid of snakes for the longest time, after an accident when they were only twelve. He was the one bitten, the snake catching him just above the eye and leaving him with a nasty scar. It scared her more than it scared him, but Erik figures he didn't see all the blood.

If it had been Kinana that was bitten, he knows he would have been terrified.

Cubellios winds down his arm, allowing Erik to scratch under her chin, the snake leaning into his touch as Erik slowly pets his friend, humming to himself.

A forked tongue flicks at his hand, but Erik ignores his snake, one hand reaching up to skim the scar that left him blinded on his right, the eye left milky and unseeing. It unnerves people, he knows, makes them afraid, but he uses that to his advantage. No one ever bothers him with his eye and his scar, and no one dares to bother Kinana for the same reason, not wanting to risk Erik finding out about it, knowing who he is and what he's a part of.

Kinana's the only one that's looked at him the same way since he lost his eye, always smiling at him, not caring that he isn't perfect—that he isn't whole. He's broken, chipped at the edges, but she's only ever loved him despite his flaws.

He tries to do better by her.

Closing his eyes, Erik allows himself a small smile, completely at ease in his reptile room, with the lights low, room illuminated only by the snakes lights, the scattered lamps creating shadows on the walls.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and Erik smiles when he sees a text from Kinana asking if he's home, saying she's been worried about him. While he appreciates her concern, he hates that's she's afraid for him, hates that there's nothing he can do about that unless he wants to get them both killed.

He would do anything for Kinana, even at the cost of his own life. He knows she hates that, but he made her a promise years ago, he said he would protect her, always, and he meant that. His own happiness can be damned to hell, so long as she's okay.

Something snaps behind him, so soft he almost doesn't hear it, but his senses are sharper than most. The snapping sound registers in his mind, as does the realization that Kinana isn't home yet. His breath catches, Erik's eyes snapping open wide, and he reaches for the gun at his hip, ripping it out from under his jacket as he spins around.

He catches sight of someone standing just behind him, a tall man that shouldn't be there, and Erik pulls the trigger without a moment of hesitation, knowing that it's a choice between his life or this man's.

He won't put Kinana through that.

The gun clicks, Erik realizing with growing horror that he emptied the chamber earlier while on the job. A wave of panic rushes through him, but he shoves it back. Dropping the gun, he balls his fists, sizing up the stranger, ready to fight if he needs to.

The man doesn't move, just stares at Erik from across the room. Frowning, Erik realizes he's seen him once before, in the dream he had while away. He remembers those glossy eyes, the red hair, dark, more garnet than a natural ginger color.

"Who the fuck are you?" he snarls at the man, fingers itching for a weapon, anything to defend himself. There are too many dangerous snakes in this room for them to brawl. He can't risk the cobra getting out, not with Kinana coming home.

To his horror, he hears the apartment door unlock, the door creaking loudly. "Erik!" Kinana calls from down the hall. "Erik, are you home?" He inhales sharply, head snapping around to stare at the door, praying she doesn't come this way.

"Kina!" he calls, an edge of panic in his voice. "Wait!"

He snaps back around and the man is gone.

"Erik!" Kinana calls again, rushing into the room. He rips his gaze away from the empty spot where the man was just standing, instead turning towards his excited fiancée. Kinana's smile widens when she sees him, her eyes lighting up, and Erik finds himself relaxing into her. A grin pulls at his lips as she rushes towards him, throwing her arms around his neck and yanking him down to her.

She presses a chaste kiss against his lips and Erik pulls her into a tight embrace as she pulls back, not letting her go far.

"Kina," he breathes against her cheek, tangling his fingers through her dark hair as he curls around her. Her fingers fist at the back of his shirt, gripping him tightly, and he chuckles when she refuses to let go. His free hand sweeps up her spine, tickling her bare skin, and she giggles against him.

Her hands slide around from his back, cupping his cheeks and leaning up on her toes. Her nose bumps against his, and Erik stiffens as he sees tears in her eyes. "You're back," she whispers, thumb brushing the scar beneath his eye before tracing the shape of his lips.

He nips at her finger, making her squeal with laughter. "I promised I would be," he reminds her, tugging at a lock of her hair before brushing the dark strands away from her face. He'll always come back to her, no matter the cost.

Cubellios slips to the floor, winding around their legs as he pulls Kinana close to his chest, tracing her features with his eye.

She's as beautiful as she always has been, smiling and practically glowing. He'll do anything to keep her smiling like that, so long as he's alive.

"I know you did," she whispers back, leaning up to give him another quick kiss, pulling back before he can wind around her and never let go. "Are you okay?" she asks, gently brushing her fingers against his bruised jaw, touch feather light against his skin. It stings, the bruise angry and dark, but he doesn't flinch, not wanting to worry her.

He traces the seam of her lips with his finger, one hand cradling the back of her head as the other creeps up her side, palm flush against her cheek. "I am now," he tells her. It's cheesy, he knows, but it makes her laugh, and that makes his chest feel just a bit lighter. Erik noses at her cheek as her hands slip down his neck, seeking out any injuries he may be hiding.

"You're a terrible flirt," she tells him, palms sliding down his ribs, fingernails dragging against his skin, ripping a groan from his chest. She thumbs at the bottom of his shirt, teasing the top of his pants and tracing his belt buckle with a finger. He inhales sharply as her deft hands slip beneath the hem of his top, cool fingers teasing the skin just above his pants, her thumbs tracing the v between his hips.

His breath catches as she brushes against a scare on his hip, an old bullet wound. "I didn't see you complaining before," he reminds her, tilting her head until they're breathing into each other, Kinana filling his lungs. His fingers slide back to her bare back, greedy hands sliding across her skin. She leans into him, lips ghosting across his.

She hums against him, hovering just out of reach, teasing him. "How was work?" she murmurs against his mouth, pulling back when he tries to seal their lips together. Her hands slip higher on his chest, dragging his shirt with her. One hand leaves his burning skin, Kinana working quickly to unbutton his shirt, movements sow and torturous. He nearly growls at the sensation, and Kinana smiles as she hears him.

"I don't wanna talk about that," he whispers against her, threading his fingers through her hair, tugging gently, impatient. Her fingers tickle his bare skin, his shirt falling loose around him, catching on his elbows as she pushes it off his shoulders, hands flat against his chest, sliding slowly. Gently, she links her arms around his neck, chest arching into his.

"Oh?" she murmurs against the curve of his jaw, placing delicate butterfly kisses from his chin to his ear, Erik tilting his head to give her better access. "And what do you want to talk about?" she asks, impish as she nips at his bare skin.

Nothing, he thinks. He doesn't want to talk about anything, he just wants to feel her against his skin. He wants to taste her, wants to hear his name on her lips.

Instead of answering, Erik, tilts her chin and leans into her, his lips smothering hers. Gently he guides her head backwards, drinking her in as she wraps herself around him. Her hands fist in his hair, and Erik trails his fingers down her back, sighing at the feel of her soft skin beneath his palm. Kinana presses up on her toes, kissing him harder as she pulls his down to her, their lips molding together.

Natsu pants, wiping a line of blood from his chin as he watches his opponent. The other man stares back at him coolly, fists raised in front of him. Wetting his lips, Natsu doesn't tear his gaze away from the man circling him, expression calculating as he watches the stranger take a small step to the left, keeping Natsu on his right side.

He has a slight limp, Natsu notices. A bad knee, perhaps.

He locks eyes with the other man, Natsu flexing his bare fingers, feeling Romeo's eyes on his back, knowing he can't lose this fight. The other man's dark eyes narrow. He grins.

He lunges.

Erik grabs Kinana's thighs, lifting her suddenly, and her long legs wrap around his hips, her fingers curling into his hair and pulling, mouth working against his roughly, her tongue slicking across his mouth. She devours him, eyes hungry as they lock with his, and Erik spins them around, dropping her onto the glass case housing a python, trusting it to hold them up.

She murmurs his name against his lips, and he yanks her against him, lips leaving hers to place slow, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. Kinana tilts her head to the side, baring her throat to him, and drags his teeth across her skin, dragging a shiver from her.

Ducking, Natsu avoids the fist thrown towards his face, twisting to evade the second blow, a knee aimed for his gut. He stumbles backwards, tripping over his feet, and hears the crowd roar around him, Romeo cheering his name. He grits his teeth, hands clenching tightly at his sides, and dives back into the fray.

The other man is taller than him, bigger, but Natsu is faster. He lands a blow to the man's face, his head snapping around as he stumbles backwards. Not wasting a moment, Natsu lashes out with his foot, catching the man's bad knee.

A crack splits the air.

His shirt is pushed further down his arms, Kinana pulling at him impatiently, and Erik releases her long enough to drop his shirt to the floor, letting it pool at his feet. He's tugging at hers a moment later, lips never once leaving her skin, and she breathes his name against him as his fingers slip between her top, dragging it up slowly. He works a bruise into her skin, growing bolder the more she moans his name.

The man stumbles, wobbling on his feet, and hisses as his knee gives out beneath him. He catches himself before he can fall, gaze promising malice as he catches Natsu's eyes. A fist suddenly cracks against Natsu's face, making him trip. He yelps in pain, gritting his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as the other man goes down.

Blood drips down from Natsu's nose, coating his lips.

"Erik?" Kinana suddenly gasps, reeling back with a squeak. He pulls back immediately, concerned, and sees Kinana looking at him in a mixture of horror and confusion. Something red spots her neck, sliding across her skin, and he frowns, leaning forward to inspect the spots. She stops him, tilting his face up to meet hers. "You're bleeding," she murmurs, violet eyes wide.

He jerks away from her, cursing, and brings a hand to his nose, feeling something slick coat his fingers. He cringes, ripping his fingers away as pain ripples beneath his skin, making him hiss. His fingers come away red, blood spotting his fingers. It drips down, slipping over his lips until he can taste it, warm and metallic, thick on his tongue. It drips from his chin, droplets splattering across the floor, staining the carpet.

"What the fuck?" he murmurs, wiping at the blood on his face, not understanding the sudden pain. Erik glances up, locking eyes with a horrified Kinana, who reaches out to cradle his jaw, pulling him in closer to inspect his bloody nose.

Edinburgh, Scotland | July 7 | 10:00:00PM

The roar of the crowd rings in his ears as Natsu throws a punch, cracking his fist across a tall, blond man's jaw, making his stumble. He lashes out with his other fist, a low hit this time, Natsu's fist colliding with the man's stomach. The blond, Orga, he thinks, doubles over, wheezing, and Natsu jerks his leg upwards, cracking his knee across the other man's face. Blood spurts from his broken nose, spraying Natsu's bare knee and dribbling down the other man's face.

His opponent stumbles away, grasping at his injury, and holds up one hand before Natsu can lunge. Warren, the announcer for the night, calls time, and rushes forward to get between them, shoving Natsu back a step. A break is called, Orga stumbling back to his side of the ring, glaring at Natsu nastily as he slides up to his coach.

Natsu spits on the floor before turning back to Romeo and Macao, plastering a smile on his face.

Lucy stares into her reflection, inhaling slowly, eyes on the glossy surface before her. The music starts slowly, a soft, violin cutting through the air, so quite she can barely hear it. Her eyes slip shut, Lucy fingering the hem of the red dress she slipped on earlier. The lace tickles her bare thighs, gauzy material soft against her skin. She trails her fingers down her sides, humming along to the music, listening as it swells.

She lifts her arms above her head, Lucy opening her eyes, staring into the mirror as she rises onto her toes, nearly en pointe, ignoring the pinch in her feet. Her bare feet slip against the floor, and Lucy lowers back onto her heels. She raises her left leg, extending it over her head, smiling to herself.

The music changes suddenly, becoming faster, more upbeat, and she grins.

There's a shrill blow from Warren's whistle, the announcer leaping out of the way as the crowd screams and cheers. Romeo calls his name, cheering him on, and Orga stares him down across the ring, sneering at him, blood dripping from his face. Natsu glares back, ignoring the jeers from the crowd, the bets being placed, the calls of his name: Salamander, END, Romeo is the only one that calls him Natsu when he fights.

Orga shouts as he lunges, Natsu roaring in return. They collide in the center, diving straight into the fight rather than dancing around each other. Natsu doesn't want to drag this out longer than he needs to, his limbs already sore, head still pounding from earlier in the day. He grits his teeth, pushing through the pain, and meets Orga halfway.

Lucy slips into a fast paced step, a freestyle, spinning, uncaring as she dances around the mirrored room. There's no one watching, Aquarius long since having left her there alone, and Lucy relishes the freedom. The music swells and swells, music pounding in her ears, and Lucy's heart rate spikes, matching the fast beat.

Closing her eyes, Lucy allows herself to relax, feet moving on their own accord. She mixes a combination of ballet steps, movements precise, and she knows Aquarius would be proud. Her hips sway to the beat, Lucy putting to use the moves Cana's been teaching her, a fast, Latin dance that Cana learned in Spain years before she met Lucy.

She falls into a rhythm, losing herself to the music.

Natsu gives the first blow, a fist cracking across Orga's jaw with so much force that Natsu hears a nasty crack, from his fists or Orga's jaw he can't tell. Orga snarls back at him, spitting out blood onto Natsu's feet before lashing out with his right foot, his leg catching Natsu across the chest and forcing him backwards. Not to be outdone, he catches Orga's foot in one hand and jerks him forward, sending the other man stumbling before knocking him clean across the jaw. He releases Orga, watching him nearly fall, his grin smug.

His victory is short lived, Orga coming back with a vengeance. He catches Natsu twice across the jaw, the blows stunning him, then lands a third blow just above his eye, hitting him hard enough to split the skin and draw a line of blood down the side of Natsu's temple. He gasps, wincing, and doesn't have time to recover before he takes another heavy blow to the face, one that sends his head snapping to the side, blood dripping from a split on his lip.

He tastes blood on his tongue and snarls.

Lucy suddenly tastes blood in her mouth, frowning in confusion and wondering if she's bitten her cheek. Finding no source of the blood, she shrugs and continues dancing throwing herself into a fast spin, one leg raised high in the air. The music crescendos and she throws herself into the air, one leg cutting through the air as she spins once more. Lucy lands lightly on the balls of her feet, not pausing to rest before she's racing across the room, feet moving in a fast, complicated step, trying to recall more of the salsa moves Cana taught her.

A thrill rushes through her, her bones humming, and Lucy grins as she sways her hips.

In the next second, Natsu lunges forward, his right fist striking Orga across the jaw, the other colliding with his cheek, snapping his head around to one side. He doesn't stop there, the roar of the fight slinking through his veins, warming his blood. Heart pounding, his right arm swings back around and he drives a fist into Orga's gut. The taller man doubles over, spitting up blood, and Natsu swing up with his knee, cracking Orga across the nose once again, sneering. The other man should have learned the first time. He hears another snap and knows for certain that the cartilage is broken.

Orga doesn't go down, not yet, and Natsu snarls at him, beckoning him forward with a grin. Orga takes the bait, lunging for him with a cry.

Before Orga can reach him, Natsu blinks, his breath catching as he finds himself somewhere strange. He freezes, heart stuttering, and locks eyes with himself in the mirror in front of him. Natsu stares, blood going cold, and can do nothing but stand in silence, hands shaking as he realizes he's alone, that he doesn't know where he is. He swallows, gaze tracing his reflection slowly. Blood still leaks from the cut on his temple, his lip split, and he tastes iron in his mouth, familiar. Bruises line his jaw, his chest, his arms, mottled black and blue spots staining his skin.

Blood crusts his knuckles, Orga's or his he doesn't know—doesn't think he wants to know. His fingers are stained red, droplets, slipping from his fingertips and splattering across the clean, white floor. He glances down, watching them swirl and stain the marble beneath his feet, the only color in the glass room.

Soft music trickles from a speaker, quieting into nothing, leaving Natsu to his silence, no sound in the room but his heavy breathing. He swallows, panic rising in his throat. His palms shake, arms tensing as he clenches his fingers, balling them into fists.

The music goes silent, and Lucy's eyes snap open, confusion creeping through her. She frowns, gasping when she hears people screaming, blood pounding in her ears. Her head snaps up, Lucy glancing around wildly, and her gaze lands on a man standing just before her.

A strange man stumbles backwards, blood coating his lips and dripping down his chin, a wild look in his eyes that makes her still. He snarls at her, murder in his eyes, and his teeth are stained a violent red. He lunges for her, but Lucy is faster. She bends over backwards, fingers latching onto the man's tattered shirt collar, and yanks with all her might, using his own momentum to send him over her head. She'd never been thankful for the self-defense courses her father forced on her, but she's suddenly glad that she kept them up.

Daintily, Lucy springs back on her hands, bridging before following the momentum of her body into a handstand, landing lightly on her feet. She balls her fists the way Bacchus taught her to, holding herself firm as she waits for the man to right himself, unsure what's happening, but having no time to look around.

Slowly, Natsu spins around, pivoting on his foot to rotate in a small circle. His own reflection winks back at him, staring from all sides. He's surrounded by mirrors, the room circular and barren, stark. Natsu swallows, avoiding his gaze in the mirrors and looks for anything else, something to tell him where he is or how he got here.

His gaze locks on a bag on the floor, unzipped, it's contents spilling across the floor. He takes a step closer, crouching, and reaches for the bag. Slowly, his fingers ghost across the fabric, tracing the letters of an unfamiliar word, French, he thinks, but he can't be sure.

Natsu peruses the bag, but it's nothing but worn gym clothing, nothing special, female, but that's all he can tell. Shaking his head, he stands once more, glancing around the room once again, wondering if he's missed something. He can't find a door, nothing in the room but mirrors and an abandoned bag that leaves a sour taste in his mouth, his stomach twisting sickly.

He slows his spinning, coming to a sudden halt when he catches sight of something strange in the corner of his eyes.

Red ballet shoes.

Lucy watches in utter fascination as the man struggles back to his feet, snarling at her and spitting something she doesn't catch, an insult she knows, but not one familiar to her. The man gasps, wheezing, and presses a hand to his now bloody temple, a long, thin cut above his brow. Lucy's eyes widen, the realization that she did that hitting her hard, but she has no time to dwell on it. Blood drips from the stranger's broken nose, staining the floor beneath him.

Over his shoulder, Lucy catches sight of a boy, no older than seventeen, his fists raised in the air, his eyes locked with hers. He shouts something that's lost to the roaring crowd, lips forming a word she doesn't know—no, a name she doesn't know. Lucy simply stares back at the boy, watching him cheer and jump in place, a smile creeping across his face.

Unsure what else to do, Lucy smiles back.

The teens face twists in horror suddenly, his eyes going wide, and Lucy's head whips back to the man she's fighting, ducking just in time to avoid a blow to the face. She gasps, stumbling back, but steadies herself as he glares at her.

Natsu steps closer to the shoes, frowning, and reaches out before he can stop himself. His hand comes down on one of the shoes, a long, red ribbon tangling between his fingers, soft and silky against his calloused hands. Natsu's frown deepens, his thumb rubbing against the fabric, gently. Realizing he's smearing blood across the fabric, he jolts back, dropping the shoe.

It bounces across the floor, rolling to a stop, and stares back at him accusingly. Natsu is about to grab it once more when a sharp pain rips through his skull, making him double over with a gasp.

The man lunges for her, hands outstretched, fingers scratching at her face, but Lucy easily dances out of the way, slipping under his arm with no trouble, movements fluid and graceful. He stares back at her, bewildered, she grins at him, almost mocking as he swings for her again, punches sloppy, growing slower as he begins to tire.

Growing tired of this game herself, Lucy decides she's had enough. When the man comes in close, she swings around on one leg, lashing out with her right foot, striking him across the face and watching him drop backwards, his head hitting the floor with a crack.

Natsu's head snaps up, the crowd roaring around him. Confused, he blinks rapidly, Orga on the ground in front of him. Natsu stumbles back a step, glancing around wildly, and cringes at the volume, too loud after being in that silent room. Macao and Romeo call his name, congratulations on their lips, but he barely hears them, spinning in a fast circle as he gasps, searching for an explanation to what happened.

From across the room he catches sight of a young woman that looks just as lost as him, her lips twisted into a frown, eyes nervous. She looks up at him, their eyes locking, and he realizes with startling clarity that he's seen them before.

He can't help his eyes from wandering, drinking in the sight of her bright, honey eyes and ruby lips, her hair pulled into a messy twist, half-falling in her eyes.

Her dress is the same color as the ballet shoes.

Lucy sees movement behind her in the mirror, someone standing just behind her shoulder. She turns slowly, unconcerned, and swivels on her heel, eyes locking on a pair of brilliant green that Lucy thinks she must have seen once in a dream. She leans back against the mirror behind her, glass cool against her bare back.

Blinking, Lucy glances down at his bloody hands, one of her ballet shoes cradled in his palm, matching the color of red staining his fingernails. He swallows when their eyes meet, his breath catching, and he drinks her in, gaze curious. She finds herself doing the same, Lucy mapping the bruises on his jaw, the sweat clinging to his bare torso, his chest heaving just like hers.

A flash of silver catches her eye, and Lucy finds her gaze drawn to the ring in his lip, his tongue flicking against it nervously. More piercings line his ears, three studs in his right ear, a bar through the cartridge of his left. What makes her pause, a small smile tugging at her lips, is the bright, messy strands of pink hair on his head.

Natsu watches as the girl smiles at him, slow and nervous, and he finds himself smiling back. She takes a hesitant step forward, biting her lower lip as she takes another, bare feed padding across the floor, her dress swishing around her knees. The chaos in the room never once touches her, the people seeming to move aside before they can touch her, an intangible force keeping them just a step away.

Natsu takes a step towards her in return, ignoring Romeo and Macao calling out to him as he slips from the ring. The girl smiles when he hops over the rope, head tilting to one side, and Natsu feels himself smiling as well.

They meet in the middle of the mirrored room, nose to nose as they stare at each other, only a breath away. Lucy smiles up at him, grin widening when he sends her a crooked one in return. The smile suits him, she thinks, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Where are we?" Natsu asks her, glancing around the room curiously. The mirrors wink back at them, glinting in the light, and Lucy follows his gaze, the pair of them staring at themselves in one of the mirrors. Natsu wets his lips as he looks back at her, wondering if she's real.

Lucy grins back at him, slowly reaching for his hand. He meets her halfway, their fingertips grazing each other. A breathy sound escapes her, Lucy surprised to feel warm skin beneath hers. Natsu is just as surprised, Lucy's soft fingers ghosting across his. "A dance studio in Paris," she replies, accent light, voice soft.

He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ya gotta be fuckin' jokin'," he murmurs back, his own brogue thick on his tongue, making her eyes widen. It startles her into her own laugh, Lucy's free hand coming up to cover her mouth, shoulders shaking.

"And where are we?" she asks him in return, lacing her fingers through his. Natsu glances up, finding them back in the tavern, the boisterous crowd moving around them, dancing and swaying, pleased with the fight. A man claps him on the back roughly, sending him stumbling into Lucy, who catches him, delicate fingers curling around his bicep.

He smirks down at her, slowly winding an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't pull back, her fingers squeezing around his. "Welcome to Edinburgh, Love," he murmurs, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. Her anchors himself to her, unsure if she'll disappear if he lets go.

"Scotland?" she asks him. Natsu nods back at her, grinning at the look of wonder she sends him. "Who are you?" she whisper, fingers tickling his skin as she drags her palm down her arm.

He worries his lip, glancing to the side and meeting his own eyes in the mirrors, seeing the two of them so close together, the two of them wound tight, and again he wonders if this is only a dream. Her fingers tug at his expectantly, and he turns back to her, swallowing thickly. "Natsu," he tells her after a moment.

"I'm Lucy," she tells him, lifting their connected hands and peering at the tattoos on his knuckles in amazement, her fingers tracing the letters gently. His breath catches in his throat, his palm pressing against her back firmer, their torsos flush together.

His green eyes search her face. "Lucy," he repeats, tasting her name on his tongue. She smiles when he says it, a shiver going down her spine. Natsu glances around them again, a drunk man nearly spilling a mug of whiskey over them as he shoves by. "Lucy. how are you here?" he questions her, wondering if she knows what's happening to them.

Lucy only shrugs, her grin widening. "I don't know," she tells him, giggling slightly. He laughs along with her, wondering if he'd been hit too hard during his fight.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, Natsu's head whipping around, his eyes locking with those of a confused Macao. His fingers squeeze around Natsu's shoulder questioningly, his eyes asking what's wrong, and Natsu turns back to Lucy, wondering if Macao can see her too.

Lucy is gone.

AN: Thanks for reading! Please be sure to leave a review when you're done! This is a 7 part fic, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to update considering the chapters are long as all fuck.

Some notes!

Natsu is 1/3 Filipino and 1/3 Japanese, but was adopted and raised in Scotland.

Erik is 1/2 Black.

Jellal is of Cuban descent.

Yukino is Japanese (clearly lmao). She is also pansexual. Rogue is asexual/biromantic. Sting is pansexual/romantic.

Cana is a lesbian.

In this fic, sensates in a cluster do not share a birthday, but instead were fated to meet at one point, but never did.

Example: Lucy and Rogue are both French. Lucy was supposed to study abroad in Japan (much like Sting), but circumstances prevented this at the last minute, thus preventing Yukino and Lucy from ever meeting outside of a cluster bond.