EUPHORIA; [F. Hargreeves x Reader, DISCONTINUED]

1: THE CHASE

Five cleared his throat, adopting his usual I-am-aloof-and-untouchable demeanor. "Right. We still need to figure out who manufactured the eye."

"Why does this eye matter so much, anyway?" asked Luther with a frown.

"The person who caused the apocalypse had this eye," you explained. Five nodded sharply, looking nauseated at the memory. In reassurance, you reached out to squeeze his hand, an action not unnoticed by the other Hargreeves.

"Ben says you two are so cute together," said Klaus, twirling a cigarette in his hands.

"We're not dating," you said stiffly.

"Really?" Klaus tossed the cig across the room. "I was just planning your wedding."

"Anyways, we should be going," Five said, changing the subject. "To find the owner of the eye. If you all don't mind, we're working."

"I do mind. Have a scone — it'll make you less grumpy," said Klaus cheerfully. "A-ha! Marshmallow scones would be perfect for the starter course —"

"I don't care," interrupted Five, rather rudely. You made a mental note to yourself to make it up to poor Klaus later.

Five nodded curtly at his siblings. With a ripple of blue light, you both disappeared into the monolithic company headquarters.

"Excuse me?" he asked a passing surgeon in a polite voice. "Might I ask whose eye this is?"

"Of course," said the doctor in a genial voice. "Just give it to me, and I'll return it to them."

Five glared at him, spurring you to elbow your hot-headed friend in the side. "You're not touching this eye."

"Pardon?"

"I said, you're not touching this eye." Five shot a contemptuous look at the man.

"I've come a long way for this. Through some shit your pea-sized brain couldn't even comprehend," Five hissed. His audacity was astounding, yet it would be a lie if you didn't said it wasn't wildly attractive.

Perhaps you had hit your head rather hard when traveling through time.

"I'm sorry. What my friend means," you said apologetically, after he finished his spiel, "is that he kindly requests that information for some very important business."

"Which is?" the doctor asked, suspicious but relieved that he was no longer subject to the tirade of an angry teenager.

"It's confidential," you said, emphasizing the last word. "We can't say. The assistants weren't available today, so they sent us to ask you."

The doctor scrutinizes you both before sighing. "I'm sorry, but I'm not permitted to share such information. The law is the law. There's not much I can help with, since your friend appears unwilling to sacrifice his precious eye." Five's empty fist quickly clenched — and unclenched, after you shot him a withering glare.

"Thank you, sir. We'll be on our way now," you replied, gently taking a seething Five by the arm. The second that the doctor disappeared from sight, Five jumped you both to his car.

"Great," Five fumed. "You were overly nice to that jank-ass imbecile, and he didn't give us any information. I don't know why I brought you with me in the first place."

"I did what any polite person would've done," you retorted. "Some people actually treat others with common courtesy."

"Courtesy? Who gives a shit about courtesy? I'm trying to save the world from destruction, and all you care about is kissing some douche's ass?" he snapped. "Courtesy didn't save us from death, what, seven times? Courtesy didn't save us from near-starvation during the apocalypse!"

"Five Hargreeves, don't you pull the holier-than-thou card!" you shouted. "I don't appreciate your usage of logical fallacies to assert your self-righteousness." His eyes narrowed, teeth chewing on his bottom lip to stifle any further retorts.

He was seething. For a fifty-eight year old, he seemed to have regained the temper of sixteen-year-old (which he was, physically). Perhaps he was going through puberty again.

"Come on," you said gently. "We can try again later. Head up, Five."

"Why should I?" he said sardonically, though you could see the fire fade from his eyes.

"Come on," you urged him. "Five. Gramps. Skippy."

"What disturbing names you've conceived! Perhaps you've gotten brain damage from that fall."

"I hate to agree with that..." you paused, leaning in closer. "Skippy."

He sighed melodramatically. "Fine. Why Skippy, though?"

"Simple. You skip through space and time."

He rolled his eyes, concealing a hint of a smile. "Okay...Copycat."

A moment passed, his hands intertwined with yours, and you swore his eyes darted to your lips. Then he shifted his gaze, peering out the window at some unseen enemy while your heart whined.

"Whatever," you laughed. "Let's go to your home."

"It's your home, too," he said softly. "By association, you belong here."

"I'm flattered, but I can't just barge in on your home like that."

"You breathe the same air we breathe. You fight the same fight  we do. You care, more than anything, about justice, others around you, people and things you might never meet or experience. You grow with us, you weep with us, and you hope with us." He let out a sharp breath. "That's what Dad never understood. That the Umbrella Academy should've been about nurturing a brighter future, not about plastering our successes like trophy children."

In the quietest of voices, he added, "I want you to find home, here. Even if it's not for long, and we might never see each other again if it ends." He paused for a moment. "When it ends."

Five devoured you with his eyes, as if you would slip through his fingers the second he turned away. "You're home to me."

He had a sad smile painting his face that ached with an unknown longing, and no amount of love or dedication could fix his broken canvas. You tried to tell him how much he mattered, how much they all mattered, but the words remained unspoken. Yet he understood — his smile widened; there was a twinkle in his eye. He understood, even though you hadn't said anything. His sense of stability had become so intertwined with yours that it was hard to see where his began and yours ended.

"Shall we?"

Interlacing his fingers with yours, you teleported back to the mansion in a whoosh.