Mila
patreon
Plans [a short story] — Happy Birthday Phoebe/Phoenix!
🕑 Added 2022-05-27 07:04:22 +0000 UTCPlans [a short story]
⇢ P’s past and what a potential future could look like with the MC.
Happy birthday to my favourite witch/warlock.
I think P started off as being very underrated and as the story progressed and I wrote more about them in drabbles etc., they’re probably much more of a fan favourite.
They’re intelligent, emotional, kind, suave, and everything you’d want in a friend… and a lover, especially if you plan to/are romancing them.
Hope you enjoy this short story for their birthday, do tell me what you think.
—
Whilst there are some that are afraid of it, P has always had an interest in the future. Whether it comes from the magic flowing within them, or the urge to know what happens next in their lifetime, the future has always been a personal interest. Right from the start. If it wasn’t, they wouldn’t have left their small town, travelled, and made a large city their new home.
They initially had a plan, but that changed drastically, more than they could’ve ever imagined. The aim was to study, be, I don’t know, a teacher, or an architect maybe because they know their way around sketches and a paintbrush — but the supernatural world had other ideas. Not that P’s bothered by that. If it didn’t, they wouldn’t have met the other three people that would play such a huge part in their life, become their best friends, and mutually, their pain in the ass at the best of times.
And, technically, if their academic and planned out route had worked, it’s the possibility that they wouldn’t have met you.
So, small victories. Or very large ones, actually.
The witch/warlock bundles into your home, phone clutched between their ear and shoulder as they carry the rest of the bags in. You can hear their footsteps, the rustling of the bags, and then their soft, melodic voice comes next. They’re not talking in English, that’s easy enough to tell, so it’s obvious who they’re talking to. The language changes from Dutch to French with ease before they’re silent for a moment.
“Okay, I’ll think it over,” P murmurs before saying goodbye and ending the call.
You jump up and slip onto the kitchen counter to take a seat. “I can’t tell whether that was a stressful conversation or not,” you say, watching as P flashes you a smile and drops their phone and bags on the table.
“Hello to you too,” they greet cheerily. “I was talking to my dad.”
“I figured.” You raise an arm and use your hand to beckon P. Family has always been a topic that you feel you have to tread carefully on when you talk to P, they had a complex childhood to say the least, which isn’t all that common for magical beings from Europe. But it always feels like you’re peeling back a layer from the guards that P doesn’t realise they have up when they mention their family.
They’re Dutch and Belgian. An only child, something the others joke about and say that it’s why they’re terrible when it comes to sharing. Originally brunette, that came from their dad and his side of the family, their mum is the blonde one — which P clearly envies even though you’ve encouraged them to stop dying their hair for a little while. They’re considering it, they truly are, especially if it puts a smile on your face. Also grew up with a pet dog that they adored, much to their parents’ dismay because a magical child and an animal has its tendencies to cause chaos.
“Is he hoping that you’ll meet him in the Netherlands next month?” you ask P. They nod. “What’s stopping you?”
P’s gaze is downwards, their head tilts a little as they move to stand in between your legs and rest their hands on your thighs. “Nothing really.”
“Yet you’re not snapping up the opportunity. Why?”
They shrug before smiling. “Believe or not, I like it here.”
You snort. “Don’t let the big city rub off on you.” You gently tap your fingertips over their knuckles. “You think your dad’s going to try and make you stay if you go over to the Netherlands for a few days.”
It’s easy to pick up on P’s conversations sometimes. The tone of their voice, their facial expression when something isn’t going right.
“Not think, I know,” P sighs.
“Understandable,” you murmur, a statement that P arches a brow. “He’s pissed you fell in love with someone human.”
“That’s not true.”
“Hm, it totally is,” you say back. “Not that I mind, tell him I think his kid is a catch,” you say playfully with a wink, enough for a chuckle to fall from P’s mouth. They bring your hand up to their mouth and place a kiss on it — that’s something you’re used to as well.
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that,” they mumble before their expression turns serious. “If I go on this trip, will you come?”
Your eyebrow arches. “Me, a human, come and meet a bunch of magical beings in a small town?”
“You handle my magic just fine.” You do, that’s clear. Even now, with a wave of P’s hand, the bags on the table float into the kitchen and the contents begin arranging themselves in the correct drawers and cupboards.
“Yeah, but that’s different. You’re different.”
“Oh?”
“I’m used to it all. I live with you. I love you.”
Their eyes sparkle at your last three words. That’s an expression you’ve taken notice of more than once. The three words always seem to calm P in a stressful situation, just having affection returned has the ability to do that to them. You remember months ago when the two of you were lying on the sofa, your head in their lap as their fingers delicately ran up and down your arm, tracing aimless patterns as they murmured all the ways they fell in love with you.
You were both unbelievably tired, jobs in the supernatural world tend to do that to the body. P’s eyes were closed, they were speaking softly, letting the words roll off their tongue before you both fell asleep right there.
You remember what they said with ease.
“I’m used to falling for someone really fast, and before it ended up not working out. I changed my approach after that, tried falling gradually instead of all at once… I’m not sure it worked when I started liking you though. It just… happened. I couldn’t stop it, didn’t want it to, admittedly. It’s the best I’ve felt and even though we’re together, live together and everything, I still feel like that.”
You fell asleep with a smile on your face that day, woke up with a smile too and P had asked why you were so cheerful, almost forgetting that they had spilled their heart out to you at 2am.
You’re brought back to the present when you rest your hands on P’s cheeks. “If your dad tries forcing you to stay and live in the Netherlands, I’ll fall out with him big time — I’m not joking.”
P chuckles. “I don’t think you are. Does that mean you’re coming if I go?”
“I’ll think it over,” you tease before pushing their shoulders back so you can slip off the counter. “I’m on the night shift today.”
P groans as you walk past them to go to your bedroom, they follow behind. “Did you ever actually think you’d get a job in the supernatural world?”
You snort. “Of course not,” you chuckle as you take a jacket off the hanger and slip it on. “No regrets though… well, only when I need to work stupid hours but it’s worth it. Most of the time.”
“Do you want me to wait up for you?” P asks. Dumb question. Whether you say yes or no, you know they will. You smile at them.
“I’m sure I’ll come in and see you on the sofa.”
“You’re not wrong,” P says with a casual nod as they hand you your backpack. “Be careful.”
“I always am.” You grin at their protectiveness.
“And call if you need anything.”
“I always will.”
P tugs you into them, and the two of you sway a little, their forehead pressed against yours. “Will you stop off at that café down the road in the morning and get those pastries we like?” they mumble against your lips.
You roll your eyes as you take a step back. “I’m going.”
P lets out a hearty laugh as you leave your bedroom and move towards the front door. “Have a good night.”
“Uh-huh, you too,” you say back playfully, keys in the front door and you hear their voice again as you’re about to twist the handle.
“Check the front pocket of your bag, by the way.” You turn behind you, an eyebrow arched as you expect to see P still standing there, but they’re not. You do as they instructed, rummage through the front pocket and pull out a piece of paper. You stare down at it and chuckle.
Another sketch to add to the collection P randomly likes to draw for you.
Only this isn’t a drawing that’s from today. It’s the memory you recalled earlier, the two of you asleep on the sofa after P poured their heart out to you; and below it is their neat handwriting.
‘I love you — don’t forget the pastries’.
Comments
call-me-mothman
my heart, my love, it grows after every P drabble🤍
Skippy Hugo
Damn, stuff like this makes it onto the list of reasons I like P.
