Antigravity (Flynn Rider x Reader)

XVII

Published: August 3, 2022

"Okay, okay, I was looking for you," he says. Although the sentence is seemingly sweet, his tone has that bored, impatient feel to it. He's annoyed. You can feel an uncomfortable anger creep up your spine like ants are in your bones as you think to yourself, He has no right to be upset with me when he left.

"And why were you looking for me?" you ask, plastering a sweet look into your face as you continue walking out of the inn. You make your route up as you go, having never been in the building before, and soon, you successfully find the entrance. It would have been embarrassing if you hadn't, so you let out a mental sigh of relief. Outside, you recognize the road, but you don't exactly know where you're heading. Ignoring the pain that the sun shoots through your skull, you proceed to just follow it, Eugene-Flynn trailing behind you, trying to slow you down.

"(Y/n). (Y/n)!" he repeats. As you pass a bench,  he swiftly grabs your wrist and pulls you down into it, sitting beside you casually.

"Don't touch me like that, please," you say calmly, refusing to otherwise acknowledge him.

"Look," he states. "You'll want to hear me out."

You can only think of one good reason, so you reluctantly turn to face him. You convince your mind not to get your hopes up, but you can already feel the jitters forming in your limbs. You watch his dark eyes carefully as you become aware of just how much you're slouching.

"No, we didn't find her, but there are these rumors-"

"Who's 'we'?" you interject impatiently.

"I'll explain later."

"You'll explain now," you correct.

"Jesus, you really did change. What happened to you?"

"Rumors. Go on," you rush.

"That's what I thought. So-" He stops suddenly, causing a confused look to cross your face. You realize that there is a couple dawdling by, and a few moments later, once they're out of earshot, he continues. "I'm a very well-connected person, and I hear everything around where I'm from."

"Where you're from? What, like the orphanage?"

"If you're going to interrupt me every goddamn time I speak, how do you expect to get your answers?"

You stare at him begrudgingly.

"Anyway," he huffs, "there's talk about some chick with crazy long hair being herded around by a young woman, which is news by itself, but apparently, someone caught it glowing through a window. Nobody believes it, though, especially since some eccentric fool is the one who started the rumors. Thing is, it sounded a little familiar."

"Where is she?" you ask quickly.

"The Veins."

You pause. "Huh?"

He sighs. "It's a network of old sewers that run under, yes, my old orphanage."

"Why would she be there?"

"It's underground. Literally. Picture black market folk, criminals in hiding, general wronguns."

"Ah. So, you're a criminal in hiding?"

He kicked his legs out, put his arms behind his head, and leaned back against the bench. "I prefer the term 'general wrongun', personally."

"Classy. Let's go," you say, standing up and wiping your hands on your dress awkwardly.

"Where? Now?"

"I have to stop back home," you say, thinking of Mirabelle.

"Why? You have a home?" he asks incredulously.

"Well, unlike some people, I'm not one to vanish without saying goodbye. You can stay here, if you'd like," you offer, thinking about how awkward it would be to introduce Mirabelle and Flynn.

"Yeah. I'll do that. That sounds good," he says, letting out a crackly breath as he speaks, somehow finding comfort in the uncomfortable bench. You turn and walk away, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the way you walk. You don't usually walk this way, but you find the old shop on no time, finding the shop empty. It's Saturday, you realize. Mirabelle must be at the market stalls today. Leaving a note would be easier than facing the woman and her questions, anyway.

You rip a piece of paper from an unmarked page in the business ledger and grab a pencil, scrawling a message to Mirabelle.

I'll be back, but it might be a while. I'm going to look for her again. I'm sorry to leave so quickly, but the opportunity is now. I appreciate you more than anything

Your (Y/n)

You leave the note plainly on the counter and your eye catches on the artwork section of the store. Some of the paintings you've made are missing, meaning either that they sold or that Mirabelle felt comfortable enough with them to take them to the stalls. There's one in particular that you notice missing; a gouache painting of a girl, the top of her head cracked open with no gore as a fog spills out of her scalp. Lightning crackles from her ear and rain falls from her eyes, catching on her nose and chin. You made that painting after being told you have a 'clouded mind'.

Your other paintings that Mirabelle labeled "mildly very disturbing" are gone, too, and your heart aches in a strange way. Are you really going to just leave her? It's for Rapunzel. I'll be back, anyway, you tell yourself. "What if you're not?" anxiety says. You drown it out with the thought of food, and you grab three loaves from a pantry, shoving them into a satchel.

A satchel. Oh, how that brings back memories. Things were so simple back when a satchel was the only worry. Eugene was so much more simple. You were so much more simple. Reina was alive, then.

Things change.

A/n: Y/n is starting to give emo vibes and i'm not exactly sure how i feel about that one