definitely maybe i will live to love || Five x Reader/OC ||

running just as fast as we can

I Think We're Alone Now

You don't want the entire family to come together like this. They're already...jaded enough as it is, so pressed together under strenuous circumstances makes them, well, volatile.

"I guess we should get this started," Luther says, standing. You cross one leg over the other and keep your posture straight. You've worn a simple, slim, long-sleeved black dress for the funeral accompanied by sheer black nylons. A delicate gold necklace hangs around your neck. The outfit is somewhat offset by the casual black sneakers you have on.

"Eight, I'd first like to thank you for helping Pogo out with the funeral arrangements."

"Yeah," Diego says snidely, "thanks for helping cremate Dad's crusty body."

"So responsible, so reliable!" Klaus calls from where he's making a drink. "That's our Eightie!"

Luther goes on for some time after. He tries to be the leader, but too many years and too many hurts have made him hard to listen to, let alone follow. The conversation about where to have Dad's memorial service quickly devolves into, hey, Dad might've been murdered by one of you.

That really brings the family together.

As they all leave to roam about the house, away from Number One, you stay. Luther sighs. "That went well."

"I don't think any of us killed Dad," you say. "We may have resented him, hated him, but not to the point where we'd deliberately go through all the steps to kill him. He didn't deserve that kind of attention from us."

You stand and pat Luther on his arm. "If one of us had decided to kill Dad, though, we certainly wouldn't have let him off with something as easy as a heart attack."

The corner of Luther's lip quirks upward. "That's...a fair point, I guess."

"But you're onto something with the monocle. Keep it in mind. It might be important later on."

Eyes lighting up, Luther quickly says, "So you believe me with that?"

"Yeah, of course I do." The smile on your face slips. "Luther, are you...are you okay? I was worried about you up there, all by yourself."

"Ah, well," he says, trying to brush off the sorrow immediately welling in his eyes, "I had my plant. And, and I had all that stuff you sent me—which, by the way, I never got to thank you for, so...so thanks. It kept me sane."

"Good. I'm glad to hear. And you know if there's anything you ever want to talk about, I'm always here, right?"

Conflict briefly crosses Luther's face, but he shoves it down. Dad made you all experts at boxing away emotion, believing that weakness resided in it. You've tried to unlatch the box, little by little, but you still struggle. More goes in than comes out. Everybody else struggles, too, with Luther being one of the worst. He's Number One. Just Number One. Dad's chains continue to bind him.

"I will, Eightie. Thanks."

-

You haven't been back into your room since the day you left with Vanya in tow. There's not much left over. All you cherished you took with you, including Mom's cross-stitches, pictures, posters, and figurines. Your finger runs across the small bookshelf in your room. The novels, magazines, and comics you left behind hadn't been moved in over a decade. Origami animals stand like sentinels, dust their armor. The frog you made who knows how long ago still jumps when you thump your finger against it.

One magazine stands out. It's more worn than the others, dog-eared and creased. You flip open to a page. Nostalgia fills you, and you smile.

The mid-century modern fantasy never came true. You like to remember dreaming about it, though, dreaming about a life where you could all be together with those high windows, where Five didn't leave and Ben was still alive. Where you dreamed at all.