Another chapter and again many thanks because I swear I came all over myself at the number of reviews I received (and while comparatively minimal, have in mind this is my first story. Yes, I'm that silly). School has started but thankfully, I have a one hour brake I can use, so don't despair, I'll keep posting if albeit far not as often the reason being I want the chapters to be longer. On top of that, there is an announcement I'll place at the end, because your opinion matters to me quite a lot~. I'll be trying to update either every Friday or every Saturday and I would also like to know who is willing to toil and labor through beta-testing this monster (my personal nickname for PSI).
I want to thank Jackie, hootpoot12, koreto-chan, Hyarou, OpiumPoppy, CloakedUnkown, krazykiwi16, TheNinjaVampire, NeverLookBackSamurai, Jackyll, SoundofImagination and especially, Karaii, who's reviewed both chapters and Masked Hatter who left an especially huge comment that made me blush at the girth of it (teehee, girth).
Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and their boys are not mine. I merely use them for my sick and twisted enjoyment.
Have you gone to a date? I'm not talking about going out with your friends, or those nice family outings. Oh, hell no, I'm talking about an actual date. And not even with the cute guy from History 1301 you've seen and talked to at least once either, I mean a total stranger that you have met only three times and thus, you only have a name and tiny details. Now that we're fully into the situation, you can guess how Shaun felt Friday evening. He was just about ready to start pulling his hair and smash things, very a la Hulk (although this is a bad comparison. Hulk could destroy a city if he felt like it. The biggest thing Shaun could do was throw the microwave out the window because like hell he was going to throw the plasma screen). He didn't know what to wear, he had no idea what they would talk about, and he didn't know if the three date thing applied here, what with Desmond's sudden disappearances into nothingness.
Rebecca in the meanwhile was having the time of her life watching the history student quietly panic. While most people trembled, paced, rambled and finally broke into a sweat (or tears), Shaun tended to go into a sort of 'Oh my fucking God' catatonic state. He'd stiffly go about normal activities, would become unnaturally silent and would zone out, as if the previously mentioned panic was taking place in his head.
"Shaun, man, c'mon, calm down." She tried, although her voice carried on her mirth. He only turned to glare at her momentarily and kept going with his research. How he didn't get whiplash was beyond her. "You can glare all you want but it's not going to change the fact that it's almost seven. He's going to knock on that door any minute now."
If looks could kill, Rebecca would have been shot, poisoned and mauled all at the same time. "Why thank you, Rebecca! I obviously need the extra pressure on top of my growing apprehension to this 'date' as you call it. Would you like me to send you a detailed list of when each of my projects are due so you can remind me every little instance of the day as well?"
"You'd do that? I knew you loved me! I can bet it'll be real fun to watch you have an aneurysm because of the pressure!"
She dodged a flying book and laughed harder than ever as he tried to kick her out of his room, emphasis on tried. "No, but seriously, stop working on that, I know from a viable source that you don't have anything due until next Wednesday. So get up, take a bath and I'll pick something nice for you to wear. No" She held a hand up as his mouth opened ready to retort, effectively shutting him up, "-I don't want to hear anything. Now go or I'll wash you myself."
With defeat imminent and knowing she wasn't going to quit (and that she was dead serious on the washing part), he grumbled under his breath (it sounding suspiciously like murder plans) and made his way to the bathroom. The shower soothed his nerves a bit and he felt somewhat better when he came out wrapped in a towel. The little confidence boost decided to bail with a well said 'fuck this shit' when he saw what she had picked out.
"I'm not wearing that Rebecca! As a matter of fact, I don't even think those clothes are mine!"
"What are you talking about? Of course they are! Now hurry up and get dressed!" If, unlike Shaun, you pay close attention to Rebecca's foot, you'll see it push what seem to be carton bags behind the dresser.
"No! Most certainly not! I think I'll pick something myself, thank you very much. I don't want to look like I'm draped in, in whatever that is, or look like some cheap whore."
"It's just a shirt and some jeans, Shaun, don't be a pussy."
"A shirt and jeans-! Excuse me if that's not what it looks like! It looks like it'll become my second skin the moment I put it on! And why in the Queen's name is it all in dark colors?"
"…your lights are on."
Shaun sputtered for about five minutes after this. Then the door decided to chime in that it was being knocked and he made the intelligent response of sputtering again. Rebecca gave a sigh, rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion with her hand.
"Look, just get dressed and I'll talk with him to get you some time. And you better put it on or I'll start telling him about Kate."
Shaun's eyes became slits and the grip on the towel made his knuckles turn white. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me." Thus is the tale of how Becca beat Shaun and made him wear what she'd bought- what she'd picked for him from his own closet. She chuckled under her breath as she made her way to the door. He was easy to beat if you knew where to press. Peeking through the eye-hole, still thinking about Shaun having a seizure from his date made her reaction time a bit slower. She frowned in confusion when she saw no one in the hall. But someone had just knocked, right? Shrugging, she opened the door ready to crane her neck to search about and gasped when she almost collided with Desmond.
"Geez man didn't see you there!" She laughed, even if her heart was hammering in her chest. But just a second ago there hadn't been anyone. Maybe he'd slid away for a bit? Yeah, probably got a little nervous and paced about or something, after all, the eye-hole could only show you so much.
He gave a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry I scared you. Is Shaun ready?"
"In a minute, he was having a woman fit because he didn't know what to wear, so you can wait inside." She left the door open and walked in. "So where are you guys going to? Nice movie and romantic dinner after wards? It's pretty cliched if you ask me but-"
Rebecca really couldn't help but stare when she turned to look him up and down (known in some cultures as 'snaking') and saw him still standing at the door. He was looking at the thin line of wood that separated the hall and the apartment itself with a frown, almost in annoyance and turned to look at her with another sheepish expression. "Uh, Desmond, aren't you going to come in?"
"Call me old fashioned, but I don't go in a house unless I'm expressly invited." He admitted, hands digging into his pockets in a shrug. She rolled her eyes and, with an exaggerated gesture, took a little bow.
"You may come in, Desmond, he who had the stomach capacity to invite Shaun out." They both laughed at this and he stepped in, looking at the room with genuine curiosity. "So, date places?" Oh hell yes she was going to leech out any and all info out of Desmond. She couldn't wait to tell Lucy!
"I was actually going to ask Shaun where he wanted to go." He smiled and Becca visibly deflated.
"You either got no brain capacity for romance, I hope not, or you're just really mellow."
There was a quizzical smile on his face, like he knew something and he chuckled, although it sounded… off. "Yeah, probably mellow." Rebecca stored that little bit in her mind, because it wasn't only odd, but for a slight minute there, he'd seemed jaded, depressed even. It flashed in his eyes but vanished far too quickly. She was into mysteries and Desmond was proving to be the biggest one yet. Well, if in doubt, ask. And she would have done so if the door to Shaun's room hadn't opened. Damn! The universe conspired to keep her from being informed! Although to be honest it only helped to make her even more curious.
Of course all thought consequently went out the window when she saw how Desmond's eyes light up when they landed on Shaun. Must remember to suppress glee and immediate need to squeal or might shy Shaun away. "You ready?"
To say Shaun was jittery was an understatement. If Becca compared him to a statue she might insult the marble piece. "Yes, yes, now let's leave before she starts babbling. I hope she didn't embarrass you too much, she has a tendency to go for the balls. The jugular seems too quick for her."
As they exited the apartment (with a quick 'Bye Becca!' from Desmond who was now being dragged away by Shaun) and she closed the door, she really hoped the spectacled man had fun. God knew he needed it, and maybe he'd get something to replace the stick in his ass. But for now, she was going to text Lucy.
"She's really excited for you isn't she?"
Shaun was trying his best to be nice, because this was a friendly outing (not a date, I assure you), and he was the invitee after all. But the bloody git was bloody teasing him from the moment they'd gone into the elevator. And while it was getting his temper, it also helped to pretend he wasn't internally boiling himself to a nice Roast Hastings. Desmond chuckled and shuffled a bit and it occurred the spectacled man that maybe he wasn't the only one about to have a nervous fit.
Now he was bloody leaning into his bloody personal space, with a smirk and that scar seemingly laughing at him. How a scar could laugh at you was beyond him, but it was doing it. "Am I making you angry or are you just as nervous as me?"
He snapped. "Oh no, I'm jolly good, Desmond! I am going Queen knows where with a bloody stranger of all things who decided he'd like to kiss me like we knew each other or god forbid we were in some sort of, of relationship, but apart from that? I'm bloody well fine, thank you very much!"
They were quietly staring (in his case glaring) at each other for about five seconds (it felt like an eternity) when Desmond smiled from ear to ear and chuckled, although it looked like he was trying his absolute best to not laugh himself stupid.
"You talk a lot. Anyone ever tell you that? I-it's not a bad thing!" He assured, hands in a surrender pose, as Shaun began to sputter indignant noises ready to launch himself into another rant. "Just, well, it's the first time someone talks to me with bucketfuls of sarcasm."
"Well I'm glad I amuse you." Snapping irritably at someone was supposed to be insulting but instead, the moron only smiled. "Anything else you would like? Maybe a punch would do you good."
"How about another kiss?"
Have you ever felt your brain freeze? It's a really odd little process where your brain just tells everyone at work to halt and just wait for your soul to go back to its proper place. After all, if the body keeps going the soul could get lost, or maybe you could turn into a zombie. You know, like om nom nom delicious brains. That's a no because being a zombie is not particularly sexy or attractive (unless you were into that sort of thing, which if it is, you are disgusting).
"A-Absolutely not! W-Why should we kiss? That is inappropriate and, and either way, why would you want a repeat? Maybe you want to prove something to someone or this could even be some cruel joke! Well I'm not falling for it! And either way, only couples kiss like, like that night and we are not a couple, and I certainly do not swing that way!"
"Maybe it's because I liked the way your lips felt."
The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Desmond walked out practically laughing his arse off at the blank expression on Shaun's face. Being red as a tomato could be a probable cause of his laughter. He stopped and rolled his eyes, grabbing Shaun's hands and dragging him out.
"Fine, fine, no kisses, not until the third date, right?"
"What makes you think we're on a date? No, no, what makes you think there will be a third one? We are tentative friends for now, you quack, and you should count yourself lucky that I even got ready for this, because if memory serves me, Becca agreed, not me." Ignore that he's holding your hands, that they're warm, and that he's smiling at you or that he's missing a finger or- Wait what?
"But you came and you even got all dolled up. You look very handsome by the way."
"How charming of you. I hope this isn't part of your clever scheme to bonk me. The kiss was a one off, so don't keep your hopes up for an encore. And either way, if I hadn't attended that would have been rude, and while sarcastic, I still have manners, thank you very much." Insert Shaun Hastings' infamous death glare. How the hell the twat managed to brush it off like the snow falling on them was beyond the Brit.
Desmond let go of one of his hands, the other firmly clasped and being lightly swung between them as they kept walking. Maybe he'd ask later about the missing finger. The moment was nice, one Shaun wouldn't confess to even under severe physical torture. Then Desmond had to hash it by saying with that ridiculous smile of his, "I think I love you. Can I? I'll let you insult me as much as you want. Or we can start slow. Can I like you first?"
"What sort of question is that? Are you barmy? I think you are. Why are all the people I associate with off their rocker? Am I a magnet to strange people? Maybe god thinks it's a jolly good joke to stick Shaun with the nutters, that's probably it." No, he sure as hell was not blushing again. Haven't we discussed manliness before? Yes we have. It's completely manly for two grown men to walk about at night, hold hands and have one flirting at the other...
Yeah, really manly...
He was losing his own argument wasn't he? It wasn't helping that he hadn't even tried to let go. Desmond: 1 Shaun: 0
"So where do you want to go? Or do we keep talking and walking around? I think it's good, we get to know each other this way." And you get to be all touchy feeling with my hand, you wanker.
Shaun stared incredulously. "You don't have a car? So then my friends are cheap and crazy." He's not a gold-digger, but he ain't messing with no broke. Even if said broke was good looking. And well, the parkour thing, while impressive, wasn't a means for Desmond to go around the city, right? Right?
A knowing smile again. Did he believe himself master of the universe or something! "I have a bike. It's actually parked in the corner, but I'm not sure if you'll be ok riding it."
"Did you just call me a nancy?" Oh, no he didn't! ...he could somehow picture Rebecca snapping her fingers and moving her head. This was horribly, terribly racist of him, wasn't it? It was Becca's fault, in his defense! She had the oddest taste in music! Stealing her mp3 player was a mistake he lamented even now, but she deserved it! Uploading those pictures to her facebook, he had to get back to her somehow.
"I just said-"
"We're going on your bloody bike to, to a park or something. I don't know! You could at least take me to dinner! If this is a d-. A d-"
"Date?"
"Yes that, isn't it customary to have dinner before the whole business in-" Insert audible gulp, here. "Well, you know! And stop smiling like that, you wanker, you should feel honored that I'm actually playing along with your fiendish schemes!"
Why did it feel like he was the butt of some joke? The answer (along with a shit-ton of bricks, ninjas they are) came to him when they finally rounded the corner and he looked at the bike in question. It occurred to him that motorcycles had one seat, and thus, they would have to sit together in close proximity. And if parkour meant going very fast, then this bike probably went very fucking fast. Oh, now he got the joke alright, ha ha, real funny, he'd dug his own grave, wonderful humor there, great job lad.
"You ok?" Shaun blinked out of his quiet (seething, angry) stupor and looked at Desmond who was already sitting on the bike, one helmet on his hand, the other under his arm. "We can walk if you want."
Feeling a burst of bravery (and later he'd admit, a burst of plain idiocy), he stomped towards the scarred man and viciously took the offered helmet. He pocketed his glasses in a safe enough place and practically shoved the helmet on his head (which as luck would have it, he hurt himself in the process. Charming Hastings, just charming). "I told you to take me somewhere didn't I? And make it quick!" He sat behind him as far as possible and gripped the back of the seat, glaring at him (even if it was futile. Both of the visors were tinted. Further proof that the fates and the universe were against him).
"You sure about that?" He turned the bike on and it roared to life. It was too late to turn back now, not that he could. Becca would make fun of him for the rest of his life. "She's pretty quick. And, uhm, you should probably hold yourself on me."
"I'm not falling for that! It's only an excuse to get me to-AAAAGH!"
See, sometimes, you don't need to do anything to shut someone up. Making a bike go from 0 to a whooping 30 MPH in 5 seconds flat tends to quiet anyone up with the added bonus of the victim holding on to dear life and, consequently, you become their lifeline, the center of their universe if you will. Shaun was glued to Desmond as the hell-thing sped up and he reasoned it had to be illegal. This was quick? If this was quick then what was fast? He'd done it on purpose to shut him up because he'd seen the git rolling his bloody eyes at him before he'd lowered the visor and had just pedaled the thing into motion. He was going to get him back, you just wait and see! "You alright?" He heard Desmond yell over the roar of the wind.
"Just peachy!" He yelled back. After about two minutes of holding to dear life (not to mention ignoring just how close they were, or the feel of Desmond as he breathed, or when he leaned one way he could feel the muscles underneath the hoodie- ok, stop train of thought, right now) he finally deemed it safe enough to open his eyes. The city lights bled around them, the only sound distinguishable being the roar of the engine as it seamlessly wove around the traffic. Shaun was amazed at just how easily Desmond dodged obstacles and objects, not to mention how smoothly. This was actually soothing if, you know, you forgot that they were so close, or that they were en route to dinner, or that maybe he was actually considering allowing Desmond to be his friend (and only that. Manly, remember? Although..).
Shaun didn't know how much time passed but all too soon they were slowing down and he was actually wishing it didn't (it had nothing to do with the proximity. At all. More like the impending horror of this actually starting to shape out like a date). They stopped at a quaint little diner downtown, the people inside visible by the windows. Happy people, smiling people, content couples. Shaun wanted to puke. He wanted to turn tail and run because let's be dead honest, he was close to nervous collapse. He'd never gone on a date except with Kate and that had been disastrous, so this one could turn sour in a matter of minutes. Maybe, after that, Desmond would never want to see him, or talk to him or anything and in a way, that made him even more nervous (synonym: afraid).
"How about we go somewhere else? I'm not that hungry anymore." Or just plain leave, he thought wildly, eyes darting from the nice dinner to his pseudo-date. For a minute, he thought the scarred man would start teasing him, maybe even make fun of him. He was surprised when, instead, Desmond turned on the bike, looked him straight in the eye and smiled.
"To be honest, I already had dinner. I was hoping you wanted to go somewhere else. If you don't want to be here, we can go anywhere else you want."
"Yes!" Maybe he answered a bit too fast. A bit too dramatic too. For Chrissake's he was acting like some goddamn woman! Breath in, chap, grab a hold of yourself. While you're at it, take another deep breath because the limey twat just burst ahead again. He felt like he was stuck on a flytrap. As much as you try to fly away, you're stuck as close as possible; your life depends on this. The contradiction here being that if he didn't hold on he might slip and broken heads were a no no. Haven't we discussed zombie status as well before?
Regardless of his... behavior, or the close contact that would make anyone blush, Shaun was enjoying this. The speed, the weightless sort of freedom brought on by a two-wheeled motor, completely different from a car, or a bicycle. The air becoming hard, tangent and sharp, like glass against exposed skin, cuts deep inside but it makes you feel alive. And maybe this date thing wasn't so bad. Maybe this Desmond guy, maybe, they could have a nice friendship. Maybe something more, maybe, who knew. Brown eyes closed at that thought, because for the first time in the whole night, it didn't sound that bad.
Their first date would be summarized as follows. Shaun had been adamant about being seen in public. Desmond had seemed to understand and had taken him to a quiet place, a park with a great view and a nice little lake. They talked there, no complications, no strings, just words and common interaction which Shaun found himself terribly out of practice (having Becca as his only social contact was jarring). For every sarcastic comment the history major had, the scarred man had a joke, some witty show of flippant nonchalance. It was nice, having someone listen and laugh, not make a face at you and call you an asshole (thank you, I'll be here all week). They shared another kiss, though this time more cautious, a tidbit less conspicuous (Desmond insisted they could use him being Italian as an excuse to a kiss in the cheek. He was further impressed when the man began fluently making his point in actual Italian). Bonus points were added when Shaun tried discussing several historical occurrences and Desmond easily followed through.
"What? Did you live through it or something? You sound like some old man relieving old memories." He snapped, but there was no sour tone to it.
"I did. Not as nice as it seems." He'd answered. Shaun wasn't sure why he felt this was said with no humor, even if it was accompanied with a smile.
They went to a bar afterwards, after much probing from Desmond (he should have said whining, lowers his man points a bit, ha!) Two guys having a drink, nothing wrong with that. Except for the fact that Shaun had zero alcohol tolerance. Well, that was an exaggerated thing to say, but after his fifth beer he felt like a nice, warm idiot. Desmond, he noted with slurry anger, hadn't drank a thing. The other said it was him being designated driver. The bespectacled man called it date rape tactic. What with how completely smashed he was, the idea actually sounded inviting. His body though, being the goddamn nancy it was, decided it was high time to bail on him and he passed out. He woke the next morning with a throbbing headache (not the throbbing he expected, by the way), a laughing Rebecca, and a text message telling him they could meet up again if he wanted. Fuck yes he did.
The remainder of the week he texted with Desmond, but only because the man send him a message first! It was... strange, having someone inquire about his day, ask if he was alright, be genuinely interested in his activities, so on and so forth. At times, he would look up at the buildings, some tiny (emphasis on the word, if you will) hope in him thinking he would catch a glimpse of the scarred man, but no such luck. Although one time, he did see from his window a white blur go from one roof to another. Desmond said he wasn't in the vicinity but had strangely warned him to stay indoors.
Don't go out was the only thing he'd texted.
To his horror, Becca had gone and tattled on Lucy. This had the blonde come over with a knowing smile and a shaking head. "I thought you were always saying you were straight."
"I had that thing with Kate!"
"One time thing, man. Didn't even get to first base, so she doesn't count." Rebecca had a thing about going for your balls, if you remember. Jugular? Fuck no, she left you alive, in pain and scarred for life. The worst part? She was being nice with this comment. She still had quite a lot of ammo for worse emotional wounds.
"She's right on that, Shaun." Oh sure, team up on the poor hapless bloke here, thank you. He raised his hand in an inverted peace sign and she laughed. "So who's the lucky guy that managed to thaw your heart out?"
"Desmond Miles! The hunk's got junk!" Becca piped up for him.
"Rebecca, can you let the adults talk here? Is it so hard for you to shut your trap for more than five seconds? Or are you really that childish?" They didn't really get to discuss anything else after that because of the nasty scuffle that came afterwards. Maybe if they'd paid attention, they would have seen Lucy's shocked face. There might have been recognition there.
The second date is as follows. As now seemed usual, the twat attempted to give Shaun a heart attack by appearing, without a sound and out of bloody nowhere right behind him as he exited the library (he failed, by the way). He apologized like always and was called a lunatic which he shrugged off easily, normal, normal. Except for the invitation to go out and take a walk. Which they did, and it was nice and calm and normal. Until shit hit the fan. Actually, no, shit did not hit the fan, the previous statement is added for amusement and over exaggeration, really, shouldn't you be used to this by now? Almost five thousand words and the snark still amazes you? You should feel ashamed, really.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand or the action that has already transpired, what have you. They had a nice chat again, and Shaun was feeling a little less queasy (which meant he was less likely to vomit himself stupid). They actually now had something to talk about. Turns out, Desmond had a personal adoration for history, something about holding on to the memories of the world. This trait greatly impressed the historian because on top of his accurate knowledge of dates, locations and personas, he had actual priceless artifacts.
"You're not pulling my leg here? Not another ploy is it? Because I think I might bend this time." To bloody hell with dignity, these were real you-don't-ever-get-to-see-them-in-your-bloody-lifetime-much-less-touch-them artifacts. Hell, he'd wear a dress to see them (maybe not a dress. Oh, who was he kidding, of course he would)!
Desmond chuckled. "No joke. Just tons of family heirlooms, in good shape of course, but we could check them out anytime. You can keep whichever you like best, if you want."
"Oh now I know you're trying to get in my pants. Keep up the good job, you might succeed." He raised the paper cup with the coffee Desmond had insisted on paying for him in a cheer and he bloody laughed, just like always. The idea made him shiver, but it was cold anyway, so ha, ninja abilities. He had them.
On the third date was Shaun close to an aneurism. The bloody wanker gave him the original sketch of the Mona Bloody Lisa. His reason?
"I'd thought maybe you'd like it. I'm a little fond of it, but I guess you can keep it."
Shaun had never jumped someone in his life. He was British, and the denomination held with it several rules and mannerisms. But when a man trying to woo you gives you the original sketch of the Mona Bloody Lisa, you tell all those things to kindly get themselves fucked in the arse and you throw caution to the wind because, are you bloody reading this right? This is the motherfucking original sketch of the motherfucking Mona bloody Lisa. He hugged the man without even thinking it twice, everybody be damned to hell and back. This was also kind of a big deal because it marked the first time he kissed Desmond, not the other way around. As he was feeling unabashedly grateful and completely out of his mind (sketch! Mona Lisa! I think I came), the kiss turned rather heated after a bit. He didn't know how it started from a simple peck of the lips to full blown making out straight down to second base. Up yours Rebecca! They only stopped half-way through making it to home base when it clicked on Shaun that they were very close to fucking in his apartment. He was pretty sure the nasty wench would have a wonderful year with these bits of news but he really wasn't ready to have someone fuck his brains out (or the other way around! After all, he was not going to be the lady in this relationship!). When Desmond left with a quick peck of lips (and a chuckled statement that he'd probably bring more things if it would make the historian a bit more 'active') he fully understood what had just transpired.
They had made out, had almost fucked (he vividly remembered calloused hands under his shirt, hips grinding, tongues dancing… Excuse me, I need alone time) and Desmond had backed off without so much as a complaint (balls of steel, he had to admit the man had them). Did this mean they were a couple? Well, not your garden variety, no, what with Desmond's strange night time schedule and Shaun's sudden sarcasm and acidic comments but they were getting there (if the thirty texts per day were any sign). The steamy dreams afterwards did not help with sexual tension, but it made him accept (grudgingly) that he did have a thing for Desmond and that he wasn't all that upset about it. After all, he'd gotten a first handed experience of just how good a parkourist was with his hands (he couldn't get over the fact that it had only been second base). Becca wouldn't shut up about it for the rest of the week. The only good thing out of this was when Shaun described in graphic detail how this had transpired in Rebecca's room. She didn't think it was funny anymore and shut up. Life is good I tell you. Life is good.
So sorry, so sorry! I should have posted this AGES ago, but school, and I got sick and, and and *fidget* Not to mention I wanted this chapter to be pretty fucking big. Alright, enough crying and whinning! The thing I talked about in the beggining! I am accpeting ideas. That's right! After chapter four, there will be five 'night-to-night' chapters which show the relationship as it grows before, you know, shit gets real. Top five ideas (mushy, fights, ridiculous, what have you) will be made into chapters and the winners will be given a real quick cameo, not to mention a one-shot of choice. So get crackin' and get me what you'd like. The dead-line is the end of Fevruary, so give your best shot! If you see any errors, feel free to point them out. Ta-dah!