Twelfth Knight

by Alexene Farol Follmuth

And fine, I may have logged on to my fan fiction account to read a few modern AUs, but that’s between me and my emotional support villain, okay? It’s called self-care.

just wheezed (I can relate)

“Don’t sell yourself short, Vi,” he says in one of his falsely cheerful voices. “You’re not just any girl. You’re a fun little tyrant.”

“You can’t convince me that you’re heartless, Viola,” he says, and it’s low and soft, close to my ear, a little rustle through my hair like a breeze. “I hate to tell you this, but you’re not as cleverly disguised as you think.”

He smiles, and I ache.

screaming crying throwing up

Now is when I’d reach out to close the door, but I don’t. And he … lingers. Like someone who has no idea who or what I really am.

“You,” I inform him, “are the bane of my existence, Jack Orsino.” “As you are mine,” he assures me, and shuts my door for me.

He takes a few backward strides in retreat, eyes locked on mine before turning away, and the moment slips out from under me. It’s drawn out and fleeting at the same time, acute like a throbbing pain, and then my headlights are momentarily blinding, the outline of his face still there when I blink.

the amount of yearning in this ya book

Someone who keeps colliding with you, over and over. In everything you love, he’s there, too, and real or not, you can exist in every universe with ease because of him. Because for every version of him, there is a corresponding one of you.

this has nicolibby vibes

wanting someone in your life doesn’t have to mean you’re weak. It doesn’t mean you’re soft. It just means there’s someone in this world who makes you like everything just a little bit more when they’re with you, and in the end, isn’t that something?” She looks at me again, half smiling. “Life is hard enough without depriving yourself of joy.”

What do I need? Someone I trust. Right or wrong, yes or no. Someone who’ll be honest with me, be real with me, whether it’s what I want to hear or not. And I know exactly who that is.

“Vi,” he says. His eyes are soft, and I am wretched.

I’m not sure how or when I reach for him. How my fingers become coiled in his sweatshirt, my forearms braced against his chest. Why I breathe when he breathes, almost like we practiced this. Like every contact until now was just a rehearsal for what we might one day do, for what we’d maybe feel. For how close we could one day get.

“You’re not ready,” he says, leaning away. I nearly follow, pulled into his orbit. “But I’ll be here,” he adds. “If and when you are. This isn’t a one-time offer or anything.”

☹️☹️☹️☹️

The laugh that escapes from his mouth to mine almost crushes me with sweetness. It’s tender and sharp, authentic and free. He cradles the back of my head, relieved and amused and helplessly fond, and I feel it, emanating from him to me: joy.

This time it’s slow and honest, like he knows exactly what it means to kiss me and he’s planning to do it right. He touches my cheeks, my jaw, my hair, the side of my neck, and it’s only when headlights flash from afar that I jolt back to myself, up from oblivion and down to reality, tugging him to the sidewalk just in time to stumble out of the road.

“We’ve got tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after.” We trip our way forward and he kisses me between words, trying hopelessly to word between kisses.

There’s no way he can feel the mix of things inside my chest, ugly and garish and bright. But then he opens my car door, jokingly straps my seat belt for me, and draws into the moisture of my window: I LIKE YOU VI REYES.

i am v fond of you jack orsino

If she leaned back even a fraction of an inch her spine would meet my chest, so to make sure she knows it, I rest my arms on either side of hers, pretending to linger there casually.

I lean closer for further pretend inspection, my chin brushing the line of her shoulder, and she inhales so sharply I think she scares herself.

wonder if she feels the way she gives in to me, vertebra by vertebra, breath by breath. It’s like she’s calculating each degree she relaxes against me, slowly, and I relish it. Temporarily. Then I step away and she catches herself. “Dickhead,” she mutters. “As a reminder,” I point out, “you could have me if you wanted.” She lifts a brow. “Aren’t there some kind of Neanderthal sportzboi rules about admitting things like that?” “Probably.” I tip her chin up and mirror the face she makes, a little scrunched-up look of irritation. “Cute.”

then I focus my attention on the person in the audience I’m happiest to see. She catches my eye, smiling faintly, and I think she’s proud of me.

It’s enough to be here, to take part; it’s enough that she sees me. It means everything to have come this far. I hope you change me—I like to think you already have. That’s what I said to her.

How could I not have recognized her? No matter what forms she and I take, I know her. I know her because of what she makes me know about myself. I know how it feels to have her in my life.

nicolibby IS THAT YOUUUU

Jack kicks the door shut behind him and sits on top of one of the planters. I follow his lead, hissing a little at how chilly the cement is beneath my woefully thin jeans. Wordlessly, he takes off his jacket and hands it to me.

the fact that he’s mad at her but automatically gave her his jacket bc shes cold oH

“You were my friend,” I say in a small voice. “You were my friend when I needed one, when I had no one, and maybe if I were a better person—” “Stop saying you’re a bad person, Viola.” He sounds annoyed. “Well, obviously I’m—” “You’re not a bad person. You’re just a weirdly difficult one.”

The fact thathe's mad at her yet when vi looks down on herself he's still quick to tell her it's not true

“I will forgive you if you ask me to,” he says. “I don’t need you to say you’re sorry. I know you are. What I want to know is if you can ask me to stay instead of letting me leave.”

He cuts me off with a real mindblower of a kiss. Honestly, I hesitate to even call it a kiss, because it’s about ten things rolled into one—you’re an idiot and oh my god and also some fireworks, plus the victory of winning a fake quest for fake knights. His teeth bump into mine and I laugh and he grins and kisses me again and his hands are freezing, so I pull them inside of his jacket, winding his arms around my waist. “I couldn’t even hate you enough to let you keep shivering,” he admits in my ear.

In response, I hold him tightly, gratefully, and so, so painfully fond that it feels like my poor aching heart is bursting from my chest. But I give in to it, this feeling, soft as it is. As tender and as terrifying.

the words there. “Are we still going to fight about it?” I’m not really afraid of it, the fight, like I was before. I kind of look forward to it, actually. “Um, yeah? Definitely.” He kisses my cheek, then my lips, then comes back for another tight bear hug. “Just as soon as I get warm.”

I say, because Vi might choose to make light of it, but I thought she really had a good concept. I would have watched it.

Cries

“Oh my god, you totally get it,” Vi says, gripping my arm with her usual intensity. “That’s such a good point. I’m telling the internet you said that.” “Okay,” I agree, because I have not worked out the details of stan Twitter, if that’s even what she’s talking about.

Chronically online gf x chronically offline bf

WORST, MOST PANDERING FINALE EVER! THREAD, 1/??, she types into her phone, her actual expression placid with purpose, and a wave of affection comes over me. “You’re a maniac,” I tell her when she gets to her fourth post. “I’m aware,” she replies without looking up. I tuck an arm around her and kiss her cheek,

feeling so ill this is so cute

Vi looks up at me with all sorts of hope. It’s a different version of her, the kind who wants to share things with me, who’s ready to be seen for everything she is. It’s a private version of her, and as grateful as I am that she’s as tough as she is, this is a rare glimpse of Vi Reyes that I feel lucky to be allowed to experience from time to time.