Chapter Text
He wrote, frantically underneath the flickering lamp of your bedroom. It casted warm edges on your items. You have picked it out just for that purpose, no doubt, but the constant on-and-off of the lights killed the cosy vibes. The bulb was old and faulty. If you were around, you’d fix it at the first flicker but you weren’t. Five’s chide for your laziness died in his throat. His heart sank.
You weren't here.
The quiver of the light was (unnervingly) equal to the dramatic thumping of his heart which seemed to delight in ruining what was left of Five’s self-perseverance by pumping dread throughout his body. It seemed to tease him for the shitty situation he has gotten himself into.
Your blanket on his lap has been long forgotten, and the comfort of your bed was the last thing on his mind.
Everything has gone to Hell. He wasn’t even gloating about getting his calculations right any more. He couldn’t gloat, not when his pride was rudely shoved into what he deems as his ‘Well of Failure’, the sinking feeling painfully and incredibly humbling.
Why did he feel so lost? He felt nothing when he first read your suicide note yesterday. He had placed the note carefully where he found it, took a shower, redid his laundry and laid on your bed. He had felt numb, and numbness was a better feeling than being lost. He remembered how he couldn’t sleep for the first few hours, his mind racing while he stared at your ceiling.
It was very unlike you, so bubbly and boisterous, to change so much in the expanse of four years. Then again, four years was a very long time. Have you been depressed when you were with him? He was always very attentive and would notice anything amiss. He could’ve SWORN you were fine when he left. Or was it caused by something that happened AFTER he left? What was it that could shake you, normally so level-headed, so much that you would take such drastic measures? Was it a financial issue?
When he awoke, Five perfected his maths. The tip of the pencil’s graphite was blunt by the time he was done and he sharpened it with the pocket knife you kept beneath your pillow.
With the blade between his fingers, Five tried to ignore how his heart dropped at how you truly never left home without your pocket knife. He remembered how you mentioned that you had never felt safe sleeping alone when you moved out from your old home, just as how you never felt safe walking through the streets all by yourself. Five remembered the sinking feeling he had when he heard it and filed it away into a corner along with the other unexplainable feelings he had with you.
Nevertheless, he had tried to remedy your fear by walking you home as well as visiting whenever he could.
He remembers your small little smile.
And it reminded him that he could not make any more mistakes so he pulled out his notebook yet again.
The day he first tried jumping through time was the 11th of November 2006. Which according to his watch, was yesterday. However, the date of the day he is currently in is the 23rd of September 2010, which meant that he had miscalculated and took a jump too far into the future. He is still seventeen, and his body has barely changed, which means that even if he jumps too far back or forward in time, his physical body ages normally and is not affected by the current timeline he is in.
Five’s scribbling stopped, he decided that a life without you would be quite dull.
That’s why he will first jump back to the 22nd of September 2009, to check on your mental situation. Maybe he could understand the reason for your sudden departure and see if he could prevent it when he goes back to the original timeline.
He sighed. Pencil and treasured notebook tucked away safely in his coat, Five rose from your chair with a grimace.
It is what it is.
He disappeared in a flash of blue.
>>>>>
2nd jump: 15th February 2005
When he reappeared in your room, the first thing he noticed was your wide-eyed stare from your bed.
“What. The. FUCK.” He heard you scream.
Relief washed over him.
You were fine. You were safe. You are yet to enter your spiralling depression which was going to result in that stupid letter he had received in his last jump. You were safe. He was safe. But was this the original timeline? Because you looked… off. Even if it isn’t, he can still work with this. He will recalculate to go back to his original timeline with you, yes, but in the meantime, he could nurse his broken ego from his failed time-jumping endeavours right here, right now, with you.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM YOU FUCKING PERVERT!!!!!!”
Well, if you’d allow it, that is.
He was bewildered. He looked down. Ah, so that was the source of your anger: you were nearly naked, only in your comfortable sleeping underwear, with reddish pillowcases strewn over your shoulders.
His face burned, you were nearly naked.
His head pounded, your bra was in a very cute shade of green.
He feels faint, you have exposed too much skin.
He can feel a nosebleed coming, you are exceptionally pretty like this under the soft morning sunlight.
A pillowcase hit him squarely on the face. That’s his cue for leaving.
Mind still reeling, Five made his way to your kitchen. He sat on one of your kitchen stools with the solemnity of a convicted murderer.
He felt like he had committed an unforgivable crime.
Was it seeing you in your underwear? Because he had seen a fair share of naked women during his heroic missions. Those that got their clothes singed or torn… There was nothing special about boobs and asses, everyone has them.
But your flushed skin that seemed to glow under the sunlight… Fuck his head HURTS, there's that feeling of guilt again. He was frustrated, what was he feeling guilty for?? It’s not like he did it on purpose!
He was antsy and it was starting to show. His fingers drummed on your table, and his eyes flit around your apartment. It was muscle memory that made him pull out the notebook you had given him, along with his pencil. Fingers thumbing the pages, his eyes skim over cramped but decipherable equations and calculations, his calculated date for this jump was the 22nd September of 2009. He looked at the calendar on your wall, it was the 15th of February, but what year was it?
His bruised ego took another critical hit. Not only were his calculations way off, but he was one day too late to make it to Valentine's Day. Poo, if his past self would see how spectacularly he fails in time travel, maybe he of three days ago would reconsider jumping rashly and hot-headedly like the short-fused bigot he is. He could have spent a few more restless nights, a few more silent contemplations, and mastered this thing but no, he didn’t. He could’ve had bragging rights when he MASTERED time travel, he could’ve IMPRESSED you, he could’ve-
“You should drink up.” He heard you say and a ‘thunk’ of something heavy in front of him.
He did not hear you walk into the kitchen and based on the steaming cup of what smells like chamomile that you have placed in front of him, he had failed to hear you prepare tea too.
His eyebrows furrowed at the ugliest cup he had ever seen. Shaped crudely, this cup was in the dullest shade of greyish-white ceramic. The thing looked like a child had made it. “Thank you?” he said. He was slightly bewildered, did you not have other cups?
He watched your eyes rake at him from top to bottom.
“You look like shit. And you stink,” you said, your eyes narrowed and arms crossed. “I will not allow you to dirty my new apartment like this. Go home and shower. This is not a germ christening.”
Five got slightly more bewildered, “I stink?? I just showered yesterday!”
You got angrier, “It’s 11 in the morning right now, were you so busy yesterday night you forgot to shower before coming here?” You threw up your hands, “Oh my gosh do not tell me this is your walk of shame. You are so gross. Do not touch anything here. I am going to spray you with a disinfectant like, ew bodily fluids.”
“What are you accusing me of? I did nothing yesterday I- Wait. What year is it?”
Your eyebrows furrowed when you said, “You hit your head or something? It’s 2005.”