EUPHORIA; [F. Hargreeves x Reader, DISCONTINUED]

PROLOGUE

For years, she had been a muse of misery.

She had become achingly familiar with the numbing stretches of silence that accompanied her ever-drudging despair. The taste of sunshine lost on unfettered lashes; the veil of sallow sirens absent from her skin.

It had been so long since she had seen civilization. She no longer knew if this was real, or just some nightmarish dream. Delirium had driven her mad, craving sustenance for her loneliness through the bodies that littered the streets. All she knew was him — stubborn, compassionate Five — and the endless seas of ruin.

Then he fell, like an angel to his death.

•••

"Shit," Five cursed, rubbing his bruised head.

"Long time, no see," chirped Klaus, clearly high. "Is that Five? The chances of that seem as slim as finding good old Number Eight."

"Slim doesn't mean impossible," said Five, gesturing to the unconscious figure sprawled besides him. "Through some tricky maneuvering, I was able to get her back in one piece. Seems like we both de-aged in the process, though." He sighed. "Knew I should've trusted Delores on those computations."

"That's her name?" asked Diego.

"No, she's..." began Five. "You know what, never mind. Let's go inside." With a swift motion, he lifted you in his arms. "We have things to discuss."

The other Hargreeves listened with wide eyes as Five recounted how he had rescued and been stranded with you. Minus Klaus, who was too high in the clouds to care.

"You're telling me that you broke into this Commission's headquarters, got into multiple fights, and almost died for this girl?" questioned Luther.

Klaus whistled. "You must've been lonelier than I thought."

"What's her ability?" asked Allison, shooting a look at a snickering Klaus.

"Mimicry. She can take on anyone's identity and emulate their powers. Pretty neat."

"How do we know you're not her, then?" asked Vanya with suspicion.

"Easy. Old man over here is always grumpy, while (Y/N) is all sunshine and rainbows," piped Klaus. Five glared at him.

"There's one problem, though," said Five, as he absentmindedly stroked your hair.

"Which is?" asked Luther.

Five winced, wondering how to break the news. You were always better at this "social interaction" thing than he ever was, but you were still unconscious in his lap.

"That's something we need to discuss, once she's awake. We don't have much time."

You opened your eyes to a faintly lit room, surrounded by strangers and...Five, but a younger version of himself. At least it wasn't the Commission all over again.

"Sleeping beauty decided to join us, eh?" asked a tired but cheery man you assumed was Klaus. Five spoke a lot about his family in the future, especially Klaus. He was every bit as vibrant as Five had described — and you loved it.

"While I appreciate your concern, we don't have time to dilly-dally," you said, returning to consciousness.

"The world ends in eight days, and we need to stop it," said Five. Everyone stared at him in stunned silence.

"Way to ease them in, Five," you groaned.

Five scowled. "I said what I said. Now, if you all don't mind, I need a shower. No amount of soap will wash away this bullshit," he lamented, "but it's better than nothing."

The Hargreeves quickly shuffled off the table to their rooms, preparing for their mission. Five took your hand, spacial jumping to his room in a flash of blue light.

"You're a little on edge today, aren't you?" you commented. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Come on, spill."

"Later. You need rest, (Y/N)," he said in a uncharacteristically soft voice.

"Why so concerned? I'll be fine. You, of all people, should get some sleep for once."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I don't need sleep. I have coffee."

"Five, sleep deprivation is not healthy. Go to bed."

"Charming." He let out a sweet smile. "But I'll pass, thank you very much."

"Fine," you relented. "I'll find somewhere  to sleep. Good night."

"Sleep with me," he said firmly, not letting go of your hand. A second later, he blushed, realizing what he had just said.

"I thought you had a vendetta against shut-eye?"

He tilted his head in thought. "I'd rather spend time with you than alone. Even if it means I have to sleep."

"Five Hargreeves, not being antisocial? Who is she?" You teased. Five rolled his eyes, unable to suppress the slight grin on his face.

"I like you, that's all."

"Shh, don't tell Dolores!" you whispered, gesturing at the mannequin. "Dolores, sweetie, your man's disloyal!"

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing you to his chest. "She says she doesn't mind. We're just friends. Friends can cuddle." Your heart sank at his words.

Silence stretched on between you. Five, fidgeting with his tie, let out an awkward laugh.

"Yes," you agreed. "Yes, we can."

He snuggled into the blanket besides you, his fingers like starlight tracing across your waist. His head, drooped on the crook of your shoulder. It was still hard to believe that Five, despite his untouchable poise, was an immense sweetheart.

"Five?" your murmured.

"Yes?" he asked sleepily.

"Can we do the tracing game?" you asked. "The one we used to play when you couldn't fall asleep."

"Did you just ask a fifty-eight year old to play a children's game?" he mused. "I'm in."

"Your turn."

His hands trailed up your back, delicately tracing a string of letters. "C," you recited. "O, F — Coffee? A little obvious, don't you think?"

"Trust me, I'm going easy on you."

"A sore excuse from a sore loser. My turn!"

With a finger, you traced out the windy figure of an S — then a W, spelling out "sweet."

"Scoot?" he asked in confusion. "'M'sorry," he muttered, shifting away with his sheets.

"Hey!" you protested. "Don't be selfish." A quick yank of the blanket sent a rush of warmth through you.

"Now I'm cold," he complained. "How dare you force me to scoot in my own fucking bed."

"The word was sweet, you charlatan," you said lazily, eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. He didn't miss how you stifled a yawn with a weak smile.

"It's been years since we've slept on a real mattress, and I damn well am taking full advantage of it. Night, (Y/N)."

"Sweet dreams," you whispered, letting the caress of dreams relieve your weary mind.

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt the faintest of touches on your arm. An "I," then "love." If you wished hard enough, you could feel the trace of a "you" ending his confession.

When morning arrived, and sunlight trickled through the tall windows, he was gone.