We Are Bulletproof

I don't think Brayden went for groceries

@Niall Gallagher

Niall my darling
I need you to look out the window
Tell me if there's a blue sedan parked outside

@Niall Gallagher

[Past nrn]

————

"...guild meetings every Friday night... the boys can go to Sunday school together..."

Ken speared a roasted carrot on the tines of his fork and brought it slowly to his lips, careful not to drip sauce all over his nice, clean shirt. He chewed carefully—at least twenty times, as prescribed by every adult he ever knew—and kept an ear open to the conversation, even if it didn't directly relate to him. His father taught him to pay attention at all times. That way, he couldn't be caught-off guard and he wouldn't appear silly. It was Very Important never to look silly, especially in front of people who mattered.

Seated between the one called Niall and his brother Daniel, Ken was quiet. He ate slowly and he kept an eye on his parents for clues—when to start on the appetizer, when to finish, when to begin the main course. Bolting down food was akin to a sin in their household, as his father insisted on sitting down to meals together and leaving the table together. Primly, Ken took a sip of water from his glass and ate another carrot. He liked the food; there was a roast, smashed potatoes, roasted carrots and broccoli, and crisp, warm rolls. Ken had a little of everything to be polite and was rewarded by praise from their host, to which he smiled—but not too much—and said his thank-yous the way his mother taught him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the swift motion of a hand going under the table. Ken turned his head very slightly and saw Niall hiding something into the napkin laying across his lap. It looked like a floret of broccoli, from what he could see. That napkin also looked rather full, as though Niall had been sneaking food that he disliked into it throughout the meal. A leg swung back and forth under the table and a pair of gray-green eyes flicked over to him. Something mischievous about his smile—as though he was trying to tell Ken to hush up about what he saw—made Ken stare at his own plate again, feeling complicit in his crime.

"Ah, dessert," said Ken's father, as their plates were cleared away and a large, imposing chocolate cake made its grand entrance into the dining room. Ken's eyes widened; he followed the advent of the towering delight. Chocolate cake was his favorite! Ken folded his hands in his lap primly as pieces were cut and doled out onto plates. A large piece was pushed towards him and he didn't hesitate to dig his fork into it, but no matter how much he loved chocolate cake, Ken still ate slowly. Beside him there was a flurry of activity and even the older boys seemed eager to inhale the delicious dessert. Soon, plates were cleared and longing eyes returned to the cake at the center of the table, but it seemed that children were only permitted one serving.

Ken had more than half of his slice left. He dug out a small mouthful, savored the flavor. When he went to take another bite, there was an obstruction on his plate. Another fork had come in search of cake, sneakily crossing the divide. Ken looked up, a little startled, and while he was surprised a piece of cake was taken from him. He opened his mouth as if to protest but it didn't seem like it would do any good. Niall's grin wasn't contrite in the least. Slowly, Ken took another mouthful. He ate it pensively as he watched Niall licking his fork as if to get every last bit of frosting off of it.

"Aye, the little sneak," he heard one of the older boys say disapprovingly, and felt his laser glare even though it was directed at the curly-haired ruffian sitting beside Ken. Almost imperceptibly, Ken eased his plate closer towards Niall. He didn't mind sharing but it would have been nice if Niall had asked because then... they might have had something to talk about...

Did they teleport? Was teleportation a thing? Ken was sure that in some pocket of the universe, it could be. In his exhaustive travels tracking down the wee beasties that went bump in the night, none of them were able to pluck two people from one place and deposit them into another with the kind of speed that he felt he and Niall exited the fairgrounds and suddenly were home.

Did they bus? Did they get a taxi? Ken didn't drive that night, he knew that much. Niall didn't drive either--they had no car.

So how did they get home? It all flew by in a whirlwind of exhilaration. This was the first time since Niall left Ireland that Ken felt young again, like that teenager with the awkwardly serious manner who couldn't seem to avoid being seen as a 'young adult.' His heart pounded--palpitated--as though he was experiencing a heart attack. Breath short, knees wobbly, hands and eyes on Niall, following the flicker of his lashes, the part of his lips, the shift of an expressive shoulder...

Stumbling up the steps to their floor, Ken laughed softly at something completely nonsensical that Niall had just said. His arm was around Niall's waist, pulling him intimately close, and he felt so... so giddy. So punch-drunk on the strength of their naughty little escape, leaving Gregg and Aldon by themselves at the fairgrounds while they snuck away. Ken didn't even have anything to drink, but Lord his head spun.

It was an understatement to say that Ken was and had always been--and likely would always be--completely smitten with Niall.

"Sshh, sshhh they'll hear us," he whispered directly into Niall's ear, and then nuzzling ever so gently into the dark curls peeking out over the shell of his ear. Ken grinned as they stumbled slightly; walking around pressed up against each other wasn't exactly easy! Laughing again, he found the correct door--sandwiched between a witch and a drug dealer, God help him--and pressed Niall up against it. Ken's hands went low, fingers flicking past Niall's belt as though headed someplace indecent... but teasingly only dipping into a pocket to fish out the keys.

The grin that evolved on his lips was shades of the young Ken who let down his hair (so to speak) once they were away from prying eyes and hidden away in their secret green cave out in the woods. Except now they were out in the open and he still felt the same--free, alive, good about himself and confident. He felt ready now. All of the past doubts and fears tonight were muted. There was something in the air tonight--some kind of magic.

"Yes," he whispered with his lips against Niall's, fumbling behind him to unlock the door. Harder than it looked when he wasn't looking at what he was doing.

Time slowed, finally, but all of a sudden it had slowed to a crawl. Even his heart beats became a dull roar in his ears as his lips only just brushed Niall's, chaste and sweet and innocent. Tonight he wasn't afraid of the hurt, wasn't afraid to be hurt... wasn't afraid.

"Yes Poodles." You can have me.

@Niall Gallagher

After the funeral and after everyone had left, Ken felt the loneliness more pronounced and heavier throughout the house. The only sound now was the thump of his footsteps as he traveled from room to room, aimless and bereaved. From drawing room to sitting room through the hallway into his father's library, Ken wandered blindly. He ran gentle fingertips over a row of books on mythical creatures. His father was a great scholar; he collected many tomes over the span of his lifetime. Always be prepared was his motto. Ken's father armed himself with knowledge.

He walked slowly to the wide mahogany desk and touched its cool, smooth surface. His index ran over a groove in the hard wood...

~~~~~~~~

"Kenneth, dear, you must be on your very best behavior today. The Gallaghers are very important people." His mother fussed with the bow tie at his neck. It chafed and tickled under his chin; Ken didn't like it. He nodded obediently nonetheless and his mother smiled at him and gently cupped his cheek.

From behind him, Ken heard the scraping of a chair. His father had stood up from his desk; it was a massive thing, an antique that they had brought all the way from their old house. It belonged to Ken's great-great-grandfather and his father was very attached to it. Ken watched his father sleeking down his blond hair. His mother bustled over to straighten his tie, too, while Ken meandered over to the desk and leaned his elbows against it. He traced a long groove in the reddish wood boredly as his father and mother discussed the Gallaghers.

As it turned out, the Gallaghers were an important family, because they lived in the biggest house that Ken had ever seen. They were shown in and their coats were taken from them and stored away into a cloak room. Ken was quiet as Mrs. Gallagher ushered them into a large sitting room, where a tall man with a stern face stood beside a long line of children.

"Conor." The tall man came forward and shook his father's hand. The women exchanged pleasant, but meaningless, small talk and Ken peered around his father to look at the children. There were five of them, lined up according to height. They had neat dark hair, all parted at the side, and their faces were shining and well-scrubbed. One of them, Ken noticed, had a teeny tiny smudge on the bridge of his nose, but above that were the most mischievous sparkling green-gray eyes that he had ever seen. His eyes were funny; every tiny tilt of Ken's head, even the smallest shift, seemed to make them change color, dancing between green and gray and back again.

"Childen. Attention." The tall man's voice was full of command. Ken watched them stand straighter, backs rigid to attention. Behind him, he felt his mother's hand at his shoulder and he, too, stood taller. "This is Junior. Padraig." The man went down the line to introduce his children, placing a hand at their shoulder as he spoke their names. Junior nodded faintly, looking every inch as stern as his father, while Padraig slightly lifted his head in a superior kind of way that Ken immediately disliked.

"Daniel." When his father moved on, Daniel lifted a hand ever so slightly by his side and waved. A flash of the fingers, a swift wiggle, and then he was back to his former stance.

"Niall."

The boy with the changing eyes and the smudge grinned.

He grinned broadly and widely, showing a set of white teeth. The grin seemed to almost hurt his cheeks; it was the kind of grin that irradiated his entire face and seemed as if he was pouring everything he had into it. Ken didn't know what to make of that. Suddenly, all he could see was the smudge and the green eyes and the smile. Vaguely, he heard "And Lorcan, our youngest," but he had already stopped paying attention to Colm Gallagher Sr. He just stared at the boy called Niall and he kept staring until his father pushed him gently in the back.

"O-oh! I--I'm Kenneth Branagh. P-pleasure to meet you all."