Chapter Text
You stare at the women in the mirror with a widened, challenging glare.
"Claire. You are Claire."
Then you- no, Claire, swing your work bag over your shoulder and check your make-up, hair, clothes and accessories like you're going to war. Because, well, you are. With your- ahem, Claire's job.
At the entrance with some shoes on the rack, and others kicked out haphazardly, you lean down and thread the straps of your heels over your feet. Claire's heels clack against the floor, expertly navigating the mess, and out the apartment door you go, popping keys out with a jangle and locking it shut.
You take the subway, get some coffee along the way, complete your daily commute, and check in at your office cubicle.
Now, Claire is a woman who is put together.
She can handle both work and life like a champ and still smile like an angel on customer-service-level professionalism.
1. Q: Juggling five different projects, all due in a week?
"Hey Claire, how's that-"
"The draft report? I sent it with the edits to your email."
"Oh, perfect, thanks. And about those figures-"
"Yep, I got Amanda to work on those."
A: Claire's got that.
2. Q: Handling clients with her high interpersonal skills?
"I'm so happy to know you're our person of contact! I've heard great things about you, Claire."
"Really? Haha, that's pretty flattering. You know, now that I've got a good look at you, you have a very familiar face. I think I've seen you on social media. Gardening, right? The way you built your trellis from scratch is impressive!"
"Aww, you saw me? Thank you! What a coincidence huh? haha!"
"The world sure is small! Now, to get back on track, about our potential collaboration..."
A: Yep, that too.
And now let's run through some other Q/A's with a flash...
3. Q: Workplace conflict and social events with the colleagues? A: She'll navigate them perfectly.
4. Q: Being there for friends and family, giving advice when they need it, planning and celebrating events while looking like she's having a blast on social media? A: Yeah, that's Claire.
5. Q: ...so what about the person behind Claire? A: Um, let's not talk about that right now.
Because right now, on the way back from work while being bone-dead tired...
...is a suspicious Xavier-shaped human in a shady alley.
Normally you would keep your eyes straight on the road and hurry on by, but maybe it was because of a god's whimsy that your head turned and glanced into that spot between two high-rise buildings. You weren't thinking much about it, but then there was this boot on a human leg that you weren't expecting. So you double-checked and nope, it wasn't a hallucination problem.
There is a whole ass hunk of a man collapsed against the wall, head hung low but somehow still photo-worthy with his posture.
It's really dark now after the long commute, but somehow even in this low lighting, his warm silver hair appears to shimmer like the stars hanging above your head, currently invisible by light pollution.
And his uniform...
Heart beating and mysteriously enchanted, you walked into the alley, hand clutching your bag hard in preparation to swing if he woke up screaming and then you started screaming, rom-com worthy-
-but well, that didn't happen.
Slowly you crouch, tilting your head far to try to get a good look at his face. At first you grimace at the bruise and split skin on his cheek, did he get into a fight? but soon your breathing ceases. You never knew what it meant to empty your thoughts because inevitably you're always thinking, but now you know.
Head empty, no single thought.
And then it's just your pounding heart rate drowning your ears in a thunderstorm. The adrenaline exploding in your nerves is dangerously too much, but it feels so good.
Can cosplay make-up do this good of a job? A doubt slips into your mind at how natural his features look.
As if he knows there's another creature breathing in his vicinity, the man's eyelashes tremble like the beating of butterfly wings, and they crack open. And-
S-sh*t. Holy sh*t!
-Xavier's eyes are blue.
But if you look more deeply...
...the ring around his eyes are lighter, like the touch of a supernova in space. In other words, his eyes look like the universe, a detail you wouldn't see unless you look closely. And in person, how beautiful can they be?
MFB. Mind-f*cking blowing. You could watch them forever.
Not hearing the screaming in your mind, from confusion the light in his eyes focus, settling on your face before it hardens.
"Who are you? Tell me, where I am..."
In a trance, you listen to the comforting notes in his voice you've heard the inflection of thousands of times. Words flowing into your ear don't string together into a coherent sentence.
His gloved hand reaches up, brushing against the vein on your neck, before he suddenly collapses forward. Unprepared, you catch all of his weight, and then your precarious balance of crouching on heels break.
"Ack!"
You let out a sound of distress as you fall onto your back, and you swear, you hear a crack somewhere, because there is an explosion of pain- sh*t, your tailbone!
So without being able to register the weight of pure muscle squishing your ribcage, you try to ride out the waves of pain until it fades to a bearable point.
You've got to have broken a bone, right?
Falling on your tailbone is arguably worse than stubbing your toe.
But touching it- no, it appears to be still intact. Grunting, you shimmy your way out from underneath the pinning weight while trying to push him into an upright position. But an unconscious ragdoll of a human is very uncooperative and twice as heavy.
There we-
You watch as his head lulls backward, and your hand flies out instinctively.
The hard bone of a skull and the rough texture of brick sandwiching your palm makes tears spring to your eyes. But seeing his face again, you lapse into a daze, ignoring the sting. You sacrificed your flesh for his comfort, good job hero.
("He-")
("Hey.")
("Hey!")
Someone's smacking your brain mentally. The 'Claire' persona voice has started up again.
("What are you doing right now?")
Ummmm, helping Xavier?
("Uh-huh. An unidentified man with no history you know of, no ID, in a random alleyway, hurt and passed out. Make it make sense.")
...
The Claire voice in your brain is always mean to you (ahem, the voice of reason). You can't do anything to argue against that. But who could this be except 'Xavier'?
("You trust that?")
Yes.
You'll eat a keyboard to swear by if you have to. No doubts.
With your decision made, the Claire voice quietens down. And now you think about your next steps. Hm.
You could take him to the hospital? Yes. ...no. Uh, yes? Hold on, you're getting confused.
Let's do it this way!
⭐ Option 1. Hospital. He's injured, buuuuuuut it could lead to an escalation of issues. What, can you say, 'Oh yeah, he's a character from Love and Deepspace, an alien prince who has light powers and is immortal, who somehow found his way into our world, so-if-he-doesn't-show-up-in-the-system-that's-why-hahaha?'
No! The staff will look like you've got several screws loose and call the police. That would be a BE. And it's not like you can explain why he doesn't have an ID, or any possible insurance about him not spawning out of nowhere. So in logical conclusion-
⭐ Option 2. -your house it is. With your sh*tty first-aid skills.
There are no selfish motives attached to this. Definitely not.
Are you drunk? You sure didn't drink a drop today, but you feel like you are HAHAHA! Bad sleep, maybe?
Well, maybe it's because the reality of the situation hasn't caught up with you yet. Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a puff of breath.
Alrighty, no more dwelling on it. It's time to move Xavier.
Sliding your bag securely over your shoulder, you crouch down, slinging his arms over your shoulders. Pressed close, you can feel the warmth of his body transmitting to your back. His head lulls over your shoulder and you shiver when his hair tickles your neck.
And up-!
Using a burst of energy you rise onto your legs like a trembling fawn on its first steps, and your heels ring out with unsteady staccato. Because well-
He's heavy!
What is this man made of? You thought you got used to it because your younger brother would annoyingly dump all his weight on you after his growth-spurt like he wanted to show off, but Xavier is completely different. You wanted to give him a piggy back ride, but you don't think that's possible anymore. You're doing all you can to keep him from sliding off. Gripping his arms in a death-grip, you move forward like you're pulling a sled.
And as expected, his feet are dragging against the ground.
One moment of silence for his boots.
Actually no, he deserved it. For being so heavy and tall.
There, you said it! You can't believe you would one day say such a thing! Damn it!
But when you're wearing heels and carrying the full weight of a grown-ass man, and every joint in your body is screaming...
At least your apartment unit is not far. F*ck, it's not far!1!1!! Jia you!
Screaming internally to the stars above, you successfully pull Xavier into your apartment. The only thing you hope now is that you didn't come off as suspicious on the security camera, and the police won't be knocking on your door the very next day...
The door behind you latches closed.
Looking down from the entrance, you can see the messy array of shoes, and then the hallway that hasn't been cleaned in a week. Ahhh...it should be fine, right? Ignoring all the screeching voice of pain and betrayal, you take your first mighty step into the house with your outdoor shoes.
You feel like you're doing something wrong.
'Clack, clack, clack', you advance to the guest bedroom where your brother occasionally crashed at over on visits. Your fingers struggle and scramble with the handle while you continuously shuffle Xavier upwards to keep from slipping. After having an epic battle and winning, you *gently* place Xavier onto the bed. Luckily, he fits. Throwing off your heels, ah, sweet freedom, you return after retrieving your first-aid kit.
You tackle the first visible wound: his cheek. His brows subconsciously furrow from the sting of antiseptic, making you hesitate. However, they relax after you put on a large bandage.
Next is...
You eye his shirt and gulp. Your hand reaches out to the collar, and then-
-slides off his gloves. Yeah, you're not ready for that yet. Keep it PG13 friendly (for now).
You pull his wrist up, turn his palm inside out, but luckily from your quick scan, his hand doesn't appear to have any wounds.
Instead, you think to yourself how warm and smooth it is.
Fingers subconsciously rub against the rough calluses from his years holding a sword. It's a touch that makes everything surreal.
.......he's a real human being, huh?
Quietly, you watch the rise and fall of his chest that comes from someone alive, and something soft swells in your chest. Then Xavier's brows furrow, and his breath hitches. Alarmed, you let go of his hand.
Is he about to wake up?! Wait, what do you say or do when he opens his eyes? You're not mentally prepared-
The sound of wind slapping against ass cheeks rings out.
...
......eh?
With eyes as wide as saucers, you watch in real time as Xavier's knitted brows smoothen out just like his pace of breathing.
That undeniable sound.
...did he just fart....?
...ah...
..............human indeed.
What are you supposed to feel when your lovely bunny just farted? You look on with blank eyes. Should you instead feel relieved that he didn't wake up or that it wasn't a stinky fart...?
It's a natural human instinct. A natural human instinct. Yeah. You fart, he farts, all arctic hares in the North fart. Patting yourself on the back as you rewrite your outlook on life easily, you reach over and pull off his jacket. Somehow, in your eyes, he has lost some of his halo...
But maybe, where you don't recognize, that bridge between you and him shortens with just one fart.
Subsequently after rolling up his shirt, you frown at the ugly green and purple bruising marking his pale skin.
Why does he look like he fell down several storeys and hit the railings on the way down...
...and hold up, why is that thought oddly specific?
Shaking your head, you check the first aid kit for any creams for bruises. But unfortunately, your basic first aid kit doesn't carry such a thing. Muttering a curse under your breath, you pull out your phone and search for a pharmacy near you that is still open.
You look at his unconscious form on the bed worriedly, but in the end, you've made up your decision.
"Be back soon, Xavier," you whisper, and then with shuffling feet down the main hallway you slip on sneakers at the entrance without properly tucking your feet in.
He surely doesn't have broken bones, right?
You're thinking about the worst case scenario the whole way to the pharmacy, back out in the cool night air. Situations where he's in critical condition because a broken rib stabs into his lung, or he's bleeding out internally because you decided not to bring him to the hospital intrude your mind. You're not a trauma specialist, for crying out loud! Nearly biting your nails, after a quick, "have a good night, bye" to the worker, you're practically sprinting with urgency nipping at your heels.
The slow arrival of your elevator, subsequent jabbing of the bottoms in a bid to urge the clunky guy to go faster only serves to lengthen the wait. And as soon as those doors open again-
-you rush down the hall, fling the door to your apartment open, not even bothering to take off your shoes this time, and rush to where he is.
On the contrary to your disheveled self, the first relief is that he still looks alright, and the second one is that he is still there, and hasn't disappeared.
Walking closer, you roughly tear the package in your arms, open the lid to the cream you purchased, and apply it to what you judge to be a good amount to those ugly bruises. Into the air a pleasant, plain smell emerges, a bitter scent belonging to herbs. You sniff your fingers, somehow finding it comforting.
Rolling your stiff shoulders tense from the past anxiety, you pull back down his shirt, and help slip his boots off his feet (shoes on the bed?! How dare- Nah, be quiet. You're tired.). Opening the cupboards, you pull out a warm blanket and spread it out over his body, tucking him in until he becomes a caterpillar. And only then do you step back in satisfaction.
Well, you did all that you could.
His pants stay on.
When he wakes up...he can probably apply the cream to his wounds himself? You gotta keep your flimsy human decency. But those nips...you almost touched. No, you can't commit assault on an non-consenting, defenseless man.
Haha, but why are you even entertaining these intrusive thoughts?
Sagging to your knees, you lean against the mattress of the bed, the aches of your body finally able to rise to the surface with your attention. You raise your armpit and give it a good whiff. Yeah, it's time for a shower.
So after one nice hot shower that feels heavenly at the end of such a long day, and a comforting fit of PJs over your body, you're prepared to go to bed. But as you're about to pass the guest bedroom, you can't help but stop in place.
Shaking your head, you walk past only to pull up a chair and slide it into the quest bedroom.
Yeah, so it's creepy but uhhh...
You really want to look at his face?
Feet pads against the cool wooded ground as your hand reaches over to pull on the night-stand lamp as you turn off the lights, then close the drape curtains with a satisfactory 'shhaaa'. With the set-up complete, you walk back over and plop into the seat, pulling your legs up to hold against your chest.
In the background, the refrigerator hums beyond the door.
The warm light of the lamp casts his face into a softer glow, while defining the shadows more. Your eyes trace his patterned locks smooshed against the pillow, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his brows, the fan of his eyelashes, and his lips.
Looking at him makes your heart settle.
You feel at peace.
Is it because you can never tire from seeing him? Yeah. Or is it you're trying to convince yourself that he is really here?
...maybe.
Maybe it's a little of that too.
.
.
.
"Mm."
You're a bit groggy and confused when you come to. It's warm and comfortable at first. And then like the painkillers wore off, your whole body is suddenly aching, especially your neck because you-
-wait, did you fall asleep???
Your eyes shoot open as you nearly leap from the bed- ah sh*t vertigo - and subsequently lie back down.
?
Hold on.
When did you get on the bed to sleep last night?
Your memories suddenly cut off, probably because you somehow fell asleep in-between, but you're pretty sure you were sitting on the chair, watching over Xavier.
Xavier.
Where is he? He should have been sleeping here...
Throwing off the covers, your stomach is pulled taut by a dark, urgent emotion. You feet, once warm under the covers, now are cold from the wooden boards underneath.
There's no one in the kitchen or main area.
Not the entrance, nor the washroom.
Pads on the sole of your feet slap against the floor as your speed picks up, and-
-the door to your bedroom is left ajar. Entranced, you move toward it and push it open.
What greets your vision is a broad back, and a head of warm silver hair. The person who should have been sleeping is awake and moving, pulling an item down from your shelf. His body is blocking your view, but something is tingling at the back of your head, whether out of excitement or alarm, you're not certain.
It's unknown if it's because he notices your urgent breaths, but he turns around.
And then you remember.
That...the spot where he plucked something from...
"Who is this Xavier?"
...is your Xavi shrine where you've collected merchandise over the years, from the innocent ones to the scandalous ones.
Aaaa, AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH-
It's complete nightmare fuel. In his hand is fanart merch from his Lingering Lust banner!!!