#a fic for you exchange

[dcxdpdabbles]

Damian: In the name of everything holy, stop speaking in cursive.

Danny: Aw you think I sound fancy?

Damain: I think all of your letters are attached to the other whenever you open your mouth. Put some space between your words. It sounds like you cast a spell when you say ICanGoForSomeBurgers.

Danny: Sorry, I talk fast when I'm excited or nervous. IJustThinkYoureReallyPrettyAndCoolandIWasWonderingIfYouLikeToGoOnADate?

Damian: Stop it! I can't understand you!

Danny: I-dot-think-dot-that-dot-you-dot-!

Damian: This is not an old, timely telegram! It's a verbal conversation!

Danny: *Sobbing and switching into Ghost Speech by accident* You're just so hot, I can't do this.

Damian: That wasn't even words! I know several languages, and none of that screeching was sentences! Are you issuing a duel with me!? Attempting to blemish my honor with this silly mockery!?

Danny: Oh dang, you speak in cursive? That was fancy as hell.

Damian: HOW DARE YOU. I ARTICULATE PERFECTLY! MEET ME AFTER SHCOOL IN THE WEST PARKING LOT FOOL!

Danny watching Damian stomp away: Task failed successfully.

Tucker: In what world was that successful!?

[improvapocalyps]

You have 90 minutes to complete. (original poem: r.a.)

In participation of the MCYT Recursive Exchange 2024 hosted by @mcytrecursive!

Inspired by know that all my love will be your breath (i will save you when your lights go out)

[text under cut]

1. Have you ever been in love? (Please circle your answer.) a. It's me and him b. Our hearts beat in sync c. Our lives intertwined

2. Do you understand what you’ve done? (Please circle your answer.) a. I couldn't do anything b. I lost my balance c. I doomed us both

3. It's been god knows how long since you felt phantom hands on your neck and there is no one in sight. If you were soul-bound to him and both of you died at the same time then why are you still waiting in the void? Please answer clearly, in full sentences. (Not a correct answer：I just wanted to see him one more time).

4. Define two (2)： Fate | The feeling of his forehead against yours Curse | The moment you realise he isn't linked to you anymore

5. True or False： i. It was your fault. ii. You wish you had met him under different circumstances. iii. You can’t regret a single moment that you had him. iv. You would do it all over again if you could. v. It ended long before either of you said anything.

thumbnails:

sketch cover thing for imgur link:

[strayingawayy]

easy like sunday morning...

...the one where morning breath can't stop you and chan from being in love

{this is part of the stay secret gift exchange by the wonderful @starlostastronaut and is written for @fenya-scribbles. thank you so much for this wonderful exchange, teri !! i had a lot of fun writing and can't wait to see what others have written too 🙂‍↕️💗}

for someone who was easily disgusted by the idea of morning breath, you find all your mornings spent in kissing your boyfriend, chan, senseless.

you’re not even sure how it started. one minute you were blinking the sleep from your eyes, and the next, chan had you under him, palms on either side of your head, lips moving lazily against yours like you were some kind of morning prayer.

"we should really brush our teeth," you mumble between kisses, except your hands are already threading into his curls and you’re not exactly keen on stopping him anytime soon.

"mmm," chan hums, not disagreeing, not stopping either. "too far."

"the bathroom?"

"yeah."

"it��s literally what—" you tilt your head to look, "like five steps away."

"too many steps," he says, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to smirk softly. "besides, you taste fine, love."

"that is objectively false," you mumble, even as your thumb brushes his cheek and he nuzzles his face into your palm. he looks like the morning. and you're so grateful he is your morning.

"maybe i’m just in love, then. love makes people stupid."

"you were stupid before you met me, bang."

"ouch.” he grins. “but fair."

you giggle and he swoops in again, kissing you until you’re breathless. it’s slow and lazy. like you’ve got all the time in the world. your upper leg shifts to wrap around his waist lazily as he shifts and lies beside you. chan sighs like he’s never been more content.

"what’s the plan for today?" you ask, voice muffled against his shoulder. he’s moved down now, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone.

"this," he says. "you. me. this bed. repeat."

"you do know we’ve got laundry, yeah?"

"ignore it. the laundry can do itself."

"that’s not how laundry works."

"we’ll manifest it. or we'll have berry help."

you snort. "alright, mystic chan. tell me what the cards say."

he lifts his head, eyes squinting at his open palm like he’s pretending to focus. "they say… ‘stay in bed, kiss the pretty thing on your bed senseless, avoid responsibilities at all costs...pancakes?"

"how convenient."

"you mean how wise."

you both giggle. chan's little squeaks in between laughs and dimples on full display have you falling in love with him all over again.

there’s a moment of silence after that. comfortable. you look at him, and he’s already looking at you. you reach out to trace the curve of his jaw, and he leans into it like a cat seeking warmth.

"you’re kind of gross, you know," you whisper.

"you kissed me first."

"allow me to do it again."

"threats don’t work on me, babe," he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “especially not when they’re promises."

you pull him in, kiss him again, longer this time. one hand in his hair, the other resting on his bare shoulder, fingers idly tracing nonsense. he tastes like sleep and the chan you've always known.

he whispers your name between kisses, ever so tenderly.

"easy like sunday morning," he mumbles into your skin.

and you think, yeah.

you could do this every day. besides, chan would keep div1 away.

[valeovalairs]

I went and read Alice in Wonderland for this (silly book i liked it)

This is my gift to @skittlespizza for the @jrwi-art-exchange myths and fairytales event!! Shilo in wonderland!

I actually also started writing a fic based off of this idea cause the book gave me too many ideas but didn’t manage to finish it in time (it’s long)- so I will share that eventually!!!

[mrtequilasunset]

Unprovoked

[toasttt11]

almosts

summary: five times macklin almost caught the secret relationship between his best friend and older sister and the one time he did find out

thank you @wyattjohnston for making the entire exchange and my fic is for @lam-ila, i hope you like your fic !!

wk: 3.5k

will smith x celebrini!reader

zero 

“Hurry up!” Macklin chirped as he walked quickly down the hallway of his apartment building or rather his sister’s apartment building they he bugged her till she say yes that he can live with her in San Jose now that he would be living in San Jose again.

His sister is the oldest of out of five Celebrini siblings and she is current attending Stanford University in her junior year as Macklin was about to start his rookie year in the NHL.

She followed her Mom’s path and has been playing soccer since she could walk, she has been the starting goalie at Stanford since she joined as a Freshmen.

“I’m coming.” Will sighed exasperated as his new friend and teammate rushed him to the apartment.

“Hellooo?” Macklin called out as he opened the front door and walked into their shared apartment with Will right behind him

“Yeah?” A softer voice called back and Will just followed Macklin helplessly into the kitchen seeing a girl with darkand longer hair wearing a emerald green hoodie and black shorts while standing at the kitchen making a coffee.

Will immediately raised an eyebrow seeing how much caramel she was putting into the coffee and he slowly smiled.

“Smitty this is my sister.” Macklin gave Will a proud grin as he tossed an arm over his sister’s shoulders making her look at him and fondly roll her eyes, “And this is Will.”

Will watched her glance at him, immediately his breath got caught in his throat looking at her being completely captivated by her but especially by her bright shining eyes.

Her eyes slowly looked across Will’s face and she gave him a tiny smile holding out his hand, “So you’re the blonde my brother doesn’t shut about.” She sounded amused as she spoke. Macklin hasn’t stopped talking about Will since they became friends during the summer.

Will set his hand in her hand ignoring how much he liked the touch with a stranger, “Oh he talks about you constantly.” Will felt like he knew her already with how much Macklin talks about his favorite sibling.

She gave him a sweet smile not realizing they were still holding hands looking at each other, Macklin didn’t realize either as he was more focused on stealing his sister’s coffee.

“Mack!” Macklin laughed as she shot around realizing what he was doing.

Two months later it had become common for Will to spend most of his free time at the Celebrini’s apartment and most of the time he ends up staying over in the guest room.

Will and her have had quite a lot of quiet moments where Will thinks she might feel the same for him.

Will’s been completely whipped her since the day he met her in the end of August. Will knows he likes his best friend’s older sister.

She was the more hesitant one, she knew she felt something for Will that much was obvious but he’s a year younger and her little brother’s best friend, there is lines there she doesn’t want to cross or rather she is trying to not cross but she could only ignore the pull to Will for so long.

She was currently standing in the Toffoli’s house for a Sharks party after finishing the first month of the hockey season. Macklin dragged her to the party on one of her rare free nights.

She excused herself my the conversation feeling a familiar pair of eyes on her and needed a second. She let out a tiny sigh of relief finding one of the quieter patios that currently was unoccupied.

The sliding door opened behind her making her nose twitch smelling the extremely familiar cologne, the same cologne that is now glued all over her apartment.

“Hey.” Will’s tone was soft while he slowly walked over to her. His eyes glued to her side profile.

“Hi.” She let out quieter and softly and then she glanced over making eye contact with Will, who was already looking at her.

Will took a small step closer making her slowly swallow glancing up through her lashes.

“This is a bad idea.” She muttered once she saw Will’s hand reach out to touch her waist.

“Maybe.” Will lowly agreed before flashing her a sunny smile, “But i don’t want anything else.”

She softened just slightly as his words making him set his hand on her waist for the first time.

“Mack will hate it.” She mumbled trying to not focus on how close Will has gotten and stare at his lips.

“Is that a yes?” Will whispered in a hopeful tone his eyes glued on her lips.

She barely started to nod before Will cupped her cheek and finally kissing the girl he’s been waiting to kiss.

Her fingers went into Will’s blonde curls pulling him closer as she kissed right back.

Will kept his forehead rested on hers watching her eyes open back up and look at him.

“We should keep it to ourselves.” She barely got out her words before Will was kissing her again.

“Whatever you want.” Will muttered against her lips happily.

She just smiled fondly, she could worry about the secret later for now she was going to enjoy kissing the boy she has wanted.

That night was the start of a relationship that they would desperately try to hide.

one

She was sitting at the small circle dinning room table with her headphones on playing her favorite twenty one pilots playlist as she worked on her school assignments.

She didn’t even look up feeling Macklin plopping down heavily next to her in the other chair until he put a bowl under her face making her glance up from her books after she paused her music and slidding her headphones down onto her neck.

“What’s this?” She asked her brother as he handed her a bowl of food.

“Dinner.” Macklin shrugged easily before starting to stuff his mouth with the same dinner.

“You didn’t cook.” She stated raising an eyebrow knowing he had just gotten home and Macklin can’t cook.

“Of course not dearest sister.” Macklin scoffed playfully, “I brought food home from the rink.” He causally explained knowing she will spend the whole night here at the table and wanted to make sure she got a good meal.

Her face softened making her reach over ruffling his hair, “Thanks Mackie.” She gave him an appreciative look.

“Yeah yeah just remember i’m your favorite sibling.” Macklin gave her an innocent grin making her laugh shaking her head fondly before starting to eat her dinner he got her.

“Oh by the way is that Smitts hoodie?” Macklin asked curiously noticing the hoodie she had on.

She choked harshly on her food coughing, “Is it?” She croaked out after she stopped coughing.

“Yeah.” Macklin nodded easily, “I must have taken it by accident.” Macklin assumed he just got Will’s hoodie on a road trip and that his sister had assumed she was wearing Macklin’s hoodie as she steals his hoodies often.

He didn’t even think of the possibility that Will might have given her the hoodie because they are together.

“Must of.” Her voice went a bit high but shoved the spoon in her mouth looking away from her brother.

two

Will and Macklin were sitting in Stanford stands watching her play.

It was currently November but in San Jose it was still nice and comfortable outside not feeling like winter at all.

Will had a Stanford hoodie on that she gave him, a hoodie that Macklin didn’t even blink when seeing Will wearing it.

The buzzer rang making Will and Macklin both shoot up cheering loudly as Stanford won 4-0 and the shut out win was her record breaking game for the most shutouts at Stanford as a Goalie.

She glanced over to the stands after getting out of her team dog pile and beamed seeing her brother and boyfriend giving them a wave.

She quickly rushed over to the two boys the second she could and laughed as Macklin tackled her first hugging her so tightly.

“That was really cool!” Macklin whispered to her sounding proud of his eldest sibling.

“Thanks Mackie.” She softly mumbled back fixing his beanie as they pulled back before she glanced over seeing Will waiting patiently with a calm but proud smile holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers.

“For me?” She asked softly giving him a loving grin as Will stepped closer to her.

“Course.” His voice just as soft, he might of convinced Macklin that they needed to get her flowers purely for her big game so he could her flowers without Macklin asking questions.

She gently took the flowers before Will wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her into a tight comforting hug.

“Congrats Love.” Will mumbled against the side of her head.

She squeezed him softly back both not fully realizing how long they were hugging but Macklin didn’t realize either.

She shared a look with Will looking amused as Macklin was immediately rambling to them about dinner plans once they stopped hugging.

three

Macklin rubbed his face sleepily walking into the living room seeing his sister curled up on the couch with her favorite green blanket watching a formula one race. He will never understand her love for F1 especially she is always getting up earlier to watch race weekends.

Macklin plopped down on the couch next to her stealing some of her blanket.

“Morning Mack.” She mumbled half focusing on her brother as she watched intently as Alex Albon was working on overtaking another car.

Macklin mumbled something unrecognizable back before asking, “Is Smitty up?”

Will has spent the night at the siblings apartment, Macklin thought Will was in the guest room but Will spent the entire night in her bed.

“Getting breakfast.” She muttered back cheering softly to herself as one of the William’s car went up a position and was now in the points.

Macklin made a sound in return half falling back to asleep.

Will walked back through the front door sliding his jacket and shoes off holding a bag and tray of drinks as he walked into the living room.

She took her eyes off the screen to give him a sweet smile. Her eyes widen quickly after Will leaned down kissing her cheek.

They both looked over at Macklin seeing him just sitting up rubbing his eyes while looking at the two, he obviously saw Will kiss her cheek but didn’t say anything or didn’t even realize why Will was kissing her cheek, “Food.” Macklin reached for the bag.

Will shared a relived look with her before rolling his eyes fondly and helping Macklin get the food Will picked out for him.

“Thank you.” She spoke softly giving Will a smile as he handed her an iced coffee that she loves and a box with her breakfast.

Will sat down pretty close to her on other side of her as Macklin was still sitting next to her on her other side. Will ended up having a hand on her thigh under the blanket as her head ended up leaning on his shoulder as a pillow while Will and Macklin both sat with her watching the rest of the race.

She is starting to realize that Macklin is never going to realize about her relationship till he literally sees them kissing or she tells him.

four

Macklin looked across the locker room looking heavily amused seeing Will rushing through getting has suit back on.

Macklin had realized Will had been talking to a girl frequently with how much Will is texting and always smiling at his phone.

But that is all Macklin knows as Will is being incredibly tight lipped.

“He so had a girlfriend.” Macklin commented once Will rushed out of the locker room. Macklin failed to see the amused looks sent at him for not realizing just who is Will’s girlfriend.

“That goal was incredible.” Was the first words Will heard once he saw his girlfriend waiting for him in the hallway wearing a Sharks bomber jacket, unfortunately she has nothing with his number on.

Will walked right to her cupping her face kissing her quickly making her stop talking with wide eyes before she kissed him back.

“Hi.” She gave him a raised brow after their kiss looking around the hallway warily knowing Macklin only a couple feet down the hall.

“Sorry.” Will shrugged not fully sorry because he’s been wanting to kiss her since warmups and he saw her wearing Sharks merch and finally attending a game. It’s rare for her to have the time to come out to a Sharks game which Will understands it just makes him love it more when she is there.

“Mhm.” She hummed fully not believing him but gave him a smile not mad as she reached up fixing his tie.

Macklin walked out the locker room and his brows furrowed seeing his sister and Will talking. Macklin thought he would finally see Will’s girlfriend today, he wondered where she went.

five

Will leaned over her shoulder from behind setting the plate and glass in front of her before kissing her cheek softly feeling her smile grow.

Will quickly say down next to her tangling their legs together as she started breaking up the muffin for them to eat and held a piece for him.

They don’t get nearly as much alone time together as they would like but today they did as they both managed to give Macklin excuses so they could have a coffee date today.

“Thank you my love.” Will kissed the tip of her nose after she gave him another piece of the blueberry muffin.

She hummed softly in reply wiping the crumbs of his lips with her thumb.

Will kissed the side of her head talking fully of advantage of not having to hide their relationship.

The couple talked about random things and upcoming off season plans, plans that they were making together and both knew they would tell Macklin by the end of the hockey season.

Will whispered a joke to her making her start laughing her forehead hitting his shoulder as her shoulders shook with laughter and Will watched with the most dreamy smile seeing her laugh because of him.

“What are you two doing here?” A very familiar voice spoke making her head quickly shoot up and they saw Macklin standing there before he plopped down at the empty seat at their table and immediately stole a piece of the muffin.

“Isn’t it funny we all ended up meeting here?” Macklin gave them a grin, he didn’t even think that maybe they were both there together on purpose.

“So funny.” Will muttered trying to not glare at Macklin for interrupting their date.

“Oo that guy looks like he has a house full of cats.” Macklin commented looking at a guy across the coffee shop.

She closed her eyes letting out at a sigh as her brother was third wheeling again and Will let his forehead hit the table groaning softly.

+one

Macklin and Will were sitting together again on the Stanford stands during one of her last soccer games of the season.

Will shot up first the second she hit the ground and didn’t get back up, Macklin not far behind him.

It seemed like she got a cleat to the face and was on her knees on the ground covering her face as medical rushed over to her and her teammates surrounded her while simultaneously protecting her from the people and cameras watching.

Macklin and Will could barely see as she was helped up but they saw how she swayed a bit standing up.

“She swayed, she doesn’t sway.” Macklin muttered looking so worried, his sister is always fine but right now she wasn’t.

She got helped off the field with her glove covering her face the entire time.

Macklin didn’t waste a second and rushed out do the stands with Will quickly following him as they rushed to the medical room together.

Will stopped at the door not sure if he is allowed in and Macklin didn’t even pay attention heading right to his sister.

She was sitting on the end with a doctor looking at her eyes with a light and her face was gushing blood from above her eyebrow.


Macklin walked right to the open side of her bed grabbing her hand softly making her squint and realize it was her brother.

She had a pretty mild concussion and would need a good amount of stitches for face.

She was left almost with Macklin for a few minutes as one of the nurses went to get the supplies for stitches.

“Where’s Will?” Was the first she croaked out with her eyes squeezed shut.

Macklin titled his head at her question, “Uh outside the door i think?”

“Can you get him?” She asked quietly wanting her boyfriend.

Macklin looked at her slowly and nodded even if she wasn’t looking at him. He let go of her hand walking to the door and seeing Will pacing outside in the hallway.

Will’s head snapped up at the door opening and sighed in relief seeing, “How is she?”

Macklin blinked hearing the desperation in his best friend’s voice, “Not horribly, she’s asking for you.” Macklin barely stepped out of the way before Will was rushing in right to her.

Macklin watched Will immediately grab her hand and gently cup her face with his other hand and Macklin watched how his sister fully relax at his best friend’s touch.

He saw Will gently kiss the top of her head, “Oh.” Macklin muttered a tiny bit upset realizing there is obviously something going on between his sister and best friend and he had no idea.

“So when were you guys going to tell me?” Macklin asked crossing his arms.

She immediately opened her eyes wincing looking at her little brother desperately, desperate to explain and for him to understand, “Mack I swear-”


The door opened and the nurse walked back in stopping her from being able to explain to Macklin.

Will looked at Macklin and Macklin looked away with a clenched jaw.

Macklin didn’t say anything just stood at the end of the bed and watched his sister hold onto Will’s hand tightly as she got stitches. Macklin knows how much she hates getting stitches and Will managed to get his sister to keep her calm the entire time.

She didn’t get a chance to explain to Macklin after her stitches as she had to go take a shower and get changed.

She wasn’t allowed to drive so she walked with the boys back to Will’s car. Macklin still not saying anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Macklin spoke up very quietly in the already quiet car. He was looking at his sister in the passenger seat.

She had her eyes closed but knew who his question was for and she let out a small sigh, “I didn’t know if you would be okay with it.”

Macklin blinked looking a bit hurt and said looked away at the window not saying anything else.

Will and Macklin helped her back up to the apartment and got her settled in silence on the couch so they both could watch over her.

Macklin watched Will tuck her in and gently push back her hair, “I’m not mad you guys are dating.” He spoke up looking honest, he loves the idea of his sister and best friend.

“I’m hurt that you guys thought you had to hide it from me.” Macklin sat down looking at the two.

“I’m sorry Mackie.” She apologized honestly grabbing her brother’s hand. She could have given her brother more credit and thought that he could have been accepting.

“I’m sorry too.” Will apologized to his best friend as he sat down on the couch too.

“It’s okay.” Macklin gave them both a soft smile.

Will shared a look with her, all of those times they hid and all of times it made their relationship tense and they just could have told Macklin instead.

“So when did you get together?” Macklin leaned closer to them with a grin making Will laugh softly and she had a small smile happy everything worked out.

[friendamedes]

fall in love with an extremely specific rarepair! it's good for your health!

[fallinallincurls]

Miles Away, I've Always Loved You

this is my entry for the 2025 winter fic exchange hosted by the lovely @wyattjohnston!! thank you as always for hosting!

my fic is for @writingonleaves! i had lots of fun writing this one and really hope you love it just as much.

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 5.1k

The knock on the door startles Reagan out of her thoughts. She had been mentally trying to figure out how to organize the bookshelf in her living room now that it’s been built. 

The apartment is still mostly a mess. The move to Vancouver had been circled on her calendar for months, but Reagan knew the worst part about moving cross country completely by herself would be the unpacking and setting up of a new place. And so far, she’s been right. 

From putting together all the furniture on her own, opening and emptying box after box and feeling that same exhaustion hit her every few hours, the move has been an insane amount of work to say the least. But she couldn’t be happier knowing that she moved to this city that she’s still a little familiar with for the job of her dreams. That alone makes everything worth it.

There’s another knock at the door and Reagan lets out a deep sigh. She’s not expecting someone as no one in the city knows who she is since she just arrived three days ago. She abandons the stacks of books on the floor and heads to the door, wondering who could possibly be on the other side.

Without bothering to look through the peephole, which might’ve been a mistake, Reagan swings open the door to reveal a man she’s never seen before. He looks just a little older than her 25 years of age, has a big smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes and his hair is neatly styled. Before she can even open her mouth to say anything, he’s already speaking.

“Oh, hey!” He says with an element of surprise in his voice. “I didn’t know Cap had a girl, but I’m new here so I'm still trying to learn all of that, you know?”

She doesn’t know in fact because she has no idea what he’s talking about and the confusion must be evident on Reagan’s face because he continues talking in effort to explain.

“Um, I’m here for the team dinner? Apparently it’s tradition here for the captain to host everyone before training camp starts and so I brought this,” he shows you a bottle of expensive wine and then a container of store bought cookies, “and these.”

Everything the stranger standing in front of her has said only made the situation more odd. Team dinner? Tradition? He clearly mixed up numbers and is at the wrong apartment.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, but is almost immediately cut off when another voice calls out from down the hallway.

“Jake!” 

The man turns towards the voice and a look of recognition passes over his face as his smile seemingly becomes brighter at the sight of whoever said his name. 

“Q!” He says brightly, before returning his attention to her. “I’m sorry, I must’ve mixed up the apartment numbers.”

“It’s no problem.” Reagan reassures him before he waves a goodbye and starts heading to the apartment next to hers. The curiosity gets the better of her and she glances over to see who “Q” was and that’s when everything comes to a halt.

Because Q, or cap as Jake also called him, is Quinn Hughes. Her ex-boyfriend. The love of her life. And now, apparently, her next door neighbor.

Quinn must have sensed another pair of eyes on him because he looks over and meets her gaze. A look of disbelief crosses over his face for a split second, his brows furrowed in confusion as he realizes who his teammate bothered in the mixup.

“Reagan?” 

It might have been two years since the last time she saw him, but hearing her name rolling off his tongue still had the same effect on her as it did then.

“Quinn?” She asks in response, unable to comprehend that he’s standing less than 100 feet away from her. Quinn. Her Quinn. 

“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, just moved in a few days ago.” Reagan starts to explain and then a rush of worry hits her. “I finally got the job I’ve been waiting for and it just so happened to be here in Vancouver. I had no idea you lived in this building at all,”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Quinn says softly, cutting off her rambling. “Congratulations, I know how hard you worked to get through school and do everything you could to get this job.”

“Thank you.” Reagan murmurs, pushing her hair behind her ear and nervously dropping her gaze to the floor. All the heartbreak from the last few years has disappeared in the matter of seconds and it almost feels like she’s back there. In a time where they were still together and so in love with each other.

But Reagan knows that’s not her reality anymore. Now, she’s standing in her doorway looking at the man who she gave her heart to all those years ago, but now he’s almost a stranger. Just her neighbor in a new city.

“Uh, I know this is probably unexpected and way too sudden, but do you want to come over for dinner? There’s definitely enough food and everything.”

Reagan feels a wave of surprise wash over her at his offer and even though her heart is screaming to say yes, she knows she can’t accept. At least not right now.

“Thank you for offering, but I’m okay. Still trying to get adjusted and all. Another time?” She replies, trying to push away the want that’s arisen within her. She wants to spend time with him even if she hasn’t seen him in a while and her heart is still a little broken. Quinn nods in understanding, a strand of hair falling perfectly over his forehead, but Reagan sees the familiar look of sadness in his blue green eyes.

A loud yell erupts from inside Quinn’s apartment disrupting the quiet air around the two of them.

“I should probably get back. Almost the entire team is in there and I don’t trust a lot of them by themselves.” Quinn chuckles and Reagan feels a smile tug at her lips. “It was really great to see you. I hope Vancouver treats you well.”

“Thanks, Quinn. Same to you.” 

Quinn flashes you a sweet smile before ducking back inside. When the door to his apartment closes behind him, Reagan lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Not only does she have to navigate life in a new city with a new job, but now she has to handle living next to her ex, the man who was her everything, on top of everything else.

The memories that came rushing back the moment she realized it was him standing in the hallway linger in her mind for a little longer. All the shared kisses, big hugs after good and bad games, nights on the porch at the lake house in the offseason, his unwavering support for everything she did, early mornings spent cuddling and so much more. 

Reagan knew when they broke up that she would miss him for the rest of her life, but it feels like the wound has been reopened seeing him unexpectedly in person. Of course, she’s kept tabs on him by tuning into a few Canucks games and for a while, Jack was sending her regular life updates but those slowly came to an end. 

Her heart aches knowing she is going to have to see him more often now that they’re neighbors. It’s a curveball she never saw coming or even considered when she chose to move to the city that he lives and plays in. But here she is. 

With a shake of her head, Reagan clears her mind and pushes open her front door again. There’s relief that the entire interaction is over, both with Quinn and his teammate, but in a strange way, she also misses talking to him already.

Nothing could prepare her for randomly seeing the man she still loved years after he broke her heart. 

A few days later, Reagan gets a strong sense of deja vu. She’s attempting to put together the coffee table for the third time, after the first two tries were unsuccessful, when there’s a knock at her door.

A heavy sigh slips past your lips as she drops the useless IKEA instructions to the floor. She’s already preparing a little speech in her head in anticipation it’s another one of Quinn’s teammates who got the apartment numbers mixed up again.

“Hey, sorry, Quinn is-“ Reagan starts as the door swings open and reveals the blue green eyed, curly haired hockey player who lives next door. “here?” She finishes, more like a question than a statement.

“Hey,” Quinn says, flashing that soft smile that makes her heart melt. “I, um,” he pauses, almost as if collecting his thoughts to get exactly what he wants to say correct. “I know how hard it is to move to a new place by yourself having done it myself so I wanted to help with anything you need. And I brought breakfast too. Hopefully your usual order hasn’t changed.”

Reagan’s heart swells with adoration, remembering this is the version of Quinn she fell in love with. The kind, thoughtful man who continuously surprised her in ways she never thought possible. And against all odds, here he is again.

She’s stunned into silence for a few seconds, overwhelmed by his offer. It’s genuine and shows he cares even after all this time but allowing him to help means spending time with him, reconnecting, and Reagan doesn’t know if she’s ready for that just yet.

But she also really wants that coffee table to be built. So for right now, the pros outweigh the cons.

“Thank you so much, Quinn. That’s really thoughtful of you and honestly, there are a few things I’ve realized I can’t accomplish by myself no matter how hard I try.”

Quinn’s smiling genuinely now. He can’t believe she’s letting him help despite the fact they haven’t seen each other in a while minus the mixup the other day. But he doesn’t care. This is his opportunity to catch up with her and he’s going to cherish every second.

“That’s why I’m here.” He chuckles in response, handing her the iced coffee and bagel he picked up for her. “Order still the same?” He asks again, more out of curiosity than anything.

“Order’s still the same. I’m more surprised you remembered it.”

Of course he remembers it. He remembers everything about Reagan despite the fact there was a time where he wished he could forget everything about her. He remembers the show she would only watch before bed and the scent of her favorite shampoo. He remembers the feel of her hand in his and the way he always felt so safe with her in his arms. He remembers her go-to lazy dinner and the songs she loved screaming at the top of her lungs in the car.

He remembers it all. But now, Reagan feels like a stranger for so many reasons.

Quinn takes this moment to really look at her. She’s still breathtakingly gorgeous. but he notices her wavy dark brown hair is lighter than he remembers it. Maybe she got highlights or has dyed it since the breakup. There are more freckles scattered across her cheeks than there were when they met. She’s wearing an old oversized Umich shirt that he realizes at the last second might be his. But when her brown eyes meet his, any anxiety he feels about this moment falls away.

This is still Reagan. His Reagan. Yes, it’s been a while but he knows her. She hasn’t changed that much. If she’s letting him help and being friendly, maybe she doesn’t hate him like he always thought she did after the way things ended between them.

“Of course I remember it.” Quinn says with a shrug, trying not to reveal how much he misses her. “So what do you need help with first?” He asks as Reagan waves him into her apartment and closes the door behind him.

Reagan explains her dilemma with the uncooperative coffee table which takes first priority before going through a small list of things she wanted to get done today like unpack her kitchen and finish building her vanity. Quinn nods along to everything she says, seemingly happy to offer his help even if he doesn’t] have to.

“Thank you,” Reagan says softly, the two words holding more meaning than she ever thought could be possible. Quinn gives her a slightly confused look as he sits down on the floor ready to tackle the coffee table. “For everything. You didn’t have to bring breakfast over and offer to help me get settled in considering we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but I really do appreciate it.” 

“I’d do anything for you, Rea.”

Hearing that one line and the use of the nickname only Quinn has ever used for her sends a shiver through her body. She feels her heart being tugged in his direction again even if it never fully healed from their end years ago, but she desperately tries to keep herself in check. Their relationship came to an end because of him. Quinn wanted to focus solely on hockey and his need to constantly get better on the ice was more important than keeping her in his life. 

So she moved on after he broke her heart. Or she thought she did until she saw him the other day. Her feelings have rushed back in no time, like nothing happened in the first place, but Reagan knows better.

“I know,” she murmurs, voice quiet as the wave of emotions hit her. “I’m going to start unpacking the kitchen. Let me know if you need any help. The instructions have been useless.” Quinn chuckles, that adorable sound filling her with a sense of happiness she hasn’t felt in so long. To this day his laugh is still one of her favorite sounds in the whole entire world.

For a good hour or so, the two of them work in comfortable silence. A random playlist Reagan selected is playing from a bluetooth speaker and every once in a while, she hears Quinn curse under his breath. She catches herself smiling a few times, the familiarity of it all bringing back so many memories. 

“Reagan?” Quinn tentatively disrupts the quiet as she’s reaching up to place a stack of plates in a cabinet above the kitchen counter. 

“Hm?” She hums in response, letting out a sign of relief when she gets the plates on the shelf. Quinn is grinning at the sight of her on her tiptoes trying to reach a higher shelf in her new home. This is something else that hasn’t changed since they were together. She still refuses to use any help to reach higher places despite being small enough that it would be beneficial. 

“Coffee table is finished.” He says, pointing over his shoulder when she turns around to look at him. “You weren’t lying about it being difficult, but it’s done.” A look of surprise crosses over her face and something about her right then makes Quinn’s heart ache. 

He knows he messed up when he broke it off with her years ago. His head was too stuck on hockey and only hockey. There was an unbearable amount of pressure on his shoulders after being drafted and he felt like he had to not only live up to the expectations, but defy them. And through all that, he lost the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

Reagan.

The woman who showed him unconditional love from the moment they met in college all the way through to the very end. Reagan who was there for every accomplishment and disappointment that happened in his career. The woman who always made sure he knew so many people, including her, were unbelievably proud of him at all times no matter what happened.

He never thought he would get to see her again and somehow here he is in her apartment that’s right next to his in the city that he’s been his second home for the last six years. 

“Told you I wasn’t lying.” She laughs, the sound filling Quinn with joy like it always has. “We can tackle the vanity next if you’re up for it. It’s a lot for just one person.” 

She leads him into her office where the unopened box is laying on the ground where she envisions the piece of furniture. Without a moment of hesitation, they get started on building the vanity as conversation flows freely. Quinn fills her in on everything going on with the Canucks from new teammates to how he likes being captain. She listens as he recommends some new restaurants and places to check out around the city and she fills him in on how everyone is doing back home in Michigan. Quinn asks about her new job and he can’t hide how proud he is when she tells him she got accepted into the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. 

Reagan has been playing the french horn since fourth grade and that’s the entire reason they met in college since Quinn ran into her at a UMich football game when she was part of the marching band. He remembers being struck by how pretty she was then even in the slightly unflattering bright blue and yellow uniform she was wearing with her instrument in hand. Over time as they became friends and eventually got together, Quinn learned her biggest dream was to play in a symphony. It’s difficult to get a seat anywhere, but if anyone could do it, Quinn knew it would be her. Reagan was talented, always has been, and knowing all that hard work finally paid off makes him beyond happy. 

And secretly, he’s never been so glad that the music she loves so much brought her to the city he lives in now.

“I was nervous about being accepted. It’s one of the most prestigious symphonies on the West Coast, but I was sick of being in Michigan again even if I do love it there, so I took a chance and it worked out.” Reagan explains shyly, her eyes dropping to her fiddling fingers.

“Hey,” Quinn says, abandoning the half built vanity for a second to take hold of her hands. “I’m so proud of you. You deserve that seat and it’s incredibly brave of you to pack up and move halfway across the continent to live out your dream.”

They both are aware of the unspoken words there. That it was also brave to come back to the city where their love story crashed and burned.

“Thank you, Quinny. That means a lot.” The words are barely out of Reagan’s mouth before Quinn is wrapping his strong arms around her in a tight embrace. She melts into the hug, her head resting on his shoulder and lets the comfort wash over her. Quinn lets out a small sigh of relief. He missed having her in his arms and the feeling of peace that surrounds him is unmistakable.

God, he messed up so bad by letting her go, by ruining the best thing he’s ever had because he thought he couldn’t balance the pressure of being an NHL player and a relationship at the same time. 

“Good to know Huggy Bear’s still got it.” Reagan teases him, reluctantly pulling away even if she wants to stay in his arms forever. But she can’t. She’s not that girl for him anymore.

“Yeah, yeah.” Quinn laughs, used to hearing the nickname his teammates gave him years ago when he joined the team. He meets her gaze and it’s then that an idea hits him. Reagan can see the look of hesitation in his blue green eyes, but waits patiently for him to continue. “Whenever you get settled in here and everything, would you maybe want to go skating? I know we used to go all the time and there’s this cool rink downtown you would love, but no pressure if not. I’m sure you’re going to be busy with work and adjusting to a new city.”

Reagan knows she should say no. She knows it would be better to leave the past in the past. But something about the way Quinn asks with pure honesty tugs at her and the small hope that maybe their love could get a second chance after all this time blossoms.

So she says yes.

“I would love that. Just text me when you’re free and we can schedule something.”

Quinn’s happiness at her response is immediately noticeable even though he tries to hide it so it’s not as obvious. The smile Reagan adores so much is on full display and she couldn’t be happier to have him in her half furnished apartment just days after she moved back to the city where her heart was broken.

Before she can get too swept up in the emotions, she gently pushes Quinn’s chest and giggles.

“We’ve got a list of things to do, Hughes. Get back to work.”

And with that, both of them work together to get through all the tasks Reagan wanted accomplished. That familiar sense of peace envelops the apartment and for the first time in a long time, Reagan’s heart isn’t heavy with sadness. Instead, it swells with joy like no other.

Between Quinn’s busy schedule of games, practices and traveling and Reagan’s new work schedule of getting acquainted with the symphony and joining practices of her own, it took a few weeks for them to find a day to go skating together.

But in that time, a constant stream of texts were exchanged and phone calls were made whether Quinn was next door or on the road. Reagan learned all about what happened in Quinn’s life for the two years she wasn’t part of it and heard so many stories of his teammates and his brothers, who she also missed since she hadn’t spoken to either of them since the breakup.

Quinn got a glimpse into who Reagan is now and if possible, he feels himself falling even harder for her all over again. His feelings never truly went away but every time he heard her laugh or she shared a secret, he knew that even after all that time, this girl is still the one he wants.

Finally, the agreed upon Sunday arrives and Quinn’s quiet, but strong knock sounds through Reagan’s apartment as she pulls a beanie on her head. 

“Coming!” She yells, almost tripping on her way to the door. She’s nervous and excited all at once. When the door swings open, Reagan’s breath is stolen away for a second as Quinn stands in front of her looking extra cozy and comfy bundled up for the cold. His eyes are alight with wonder and his somewhat wild brown curls are peeking out from under his favorite navy blue beanie. He has a hoodie on under his winter jacket and there’s the faintest blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Hey, Rea,” Quinn greets her with a bright smile. The old nickname still sends a jolt of happiness through her veins even though he’s used it frequently over the last few weeks and she can’t help but feel hopeful. Maybe this is just the two of them going skating together, but there is a sense of something more in the air and if there’s even a chance Quinn wants to give their relationship another chance, Reagan is all in. She can tell he’s grown and matured in the time they’ve spent apart and if she didn’t see that, it would be much easier to ignore the feelings she has for him.

“Hey!” She replies, giving him a quick hug. Quinn is a little surprised, but welcomes the embrace for a moment before she pulls away and starts speaking in excitement. “Don’t worry about skates for me, I still use my favorite pair,” Reagan lifts her white pair of Bauer skates up and then glances at her warm, but cute winter outfit, “and I’m dressed for the weather since you said the rink is outside.”

“You’re all prepared,” Quinn chuckles, “Let’s go then.” He says almost sheepishly like he’s nervous all of the sudden, and reaches for her hand. Reagan intertwines her gloved fingers with his and offers him a reassuring smile to silently say “this is okay.” The rink is just a few blocks away from their shared apartment building so the walk over is cold, but brief and full of laughter and conversation between the two of them.

Reagan catches a glimpse of the rink when Quinn stops walking at the opening of a large clearing and her heart starts racing.

They are at Robson Square Ice Rink. The prettiest rink in all of Vancouver in Reagan’s opinion, but it’s also her favorite and was dubbed her and Quinn’s spot when they were dating. 

“Quinn,” Reagan breathes out in disbelief. She doesn’t need to say anything else, Quinn can read all the emotions on her face. He squeezes her hand in reassurance while flashing her a sweet smile before leading her to the benches to help put her skates on. 

“Come on,” He murmurs and Reagan swallows down the emotions in an effort to take in every detail of this moment. She immediately starts unlacing her skates when they claim a spot on the bench, but Quinn insists on doing it himself.

“I can do it myself, you know.”

“I know,” Quinn replies cheekily. “But you deserve to be taken care of so let me do it even if it’s just this one time.” Reagan sighs, in pure dramatics, which makes Quinn chuckle but her heart is warm and fuzzy. This is why she fell in love with him in the first place. He’s the most caring person she knows and would do anything for her. That much clearly hasn’t changed.

Reagan keeps her eyes on Quinn as he ties her skates perfectly until he taps the heel of her right skate to signal that she’s good to go and freezes. Her brows furrowed in confusion for a moment until it hits her.

Quinn got these skates for her years ago. They were her first pair and one of the best gifts she has ever received. But after taking them out for a few spins, she noticed that he had them customized. There was a little blue 43 printed onto the outside of the heel on her right skate which is exactly what Quinn is staring at right now.

“It’s still there.” He says quietly, tracing the two numbers before meeting Reagan’s eyes. It’s almost as if he expected her to cover the numbers up herself after the breakup and although she was angry about how everything happened, these skates are a reminder of the blissful beginning and she wanted that to remain untouched.

“Of course it is.” And just like earlier, this feels as if the simple moment holds a double meaning. As if that tiny 43 is a sign of hope for Quinn that he might get a second chance. That there’s still a spot for him in Reagan’s heart.

They share soft smiles and sit in the comfortable silence for a moment as Quinn puts his skates on. When Quinn takes her hand to help her onto the ice, Reagan lets herself be fully present. Months ago she never thought about reconnecting with the man who broke her heart, but now she couldn’t be happier that they’re friends again. She missed him beyond words.

It took a few laps around the rink to get her footing back, but once she did, she was challenging Quinn to races and constantly giggling as he tried to distract her from skating smoothly. Despite being one of the most well recognized people in the entire city of Vancouver, no one bothered Quinn on the public outdoor rink even if a few of the younger kids kept a watchful eye on him as if they recognized the captain of their favorite hockey team.

“How is it so far?” Quinn asks out of the blue as the two of them are skating at a leisurely pace. Reagan takes in the city skyline around them before meeting his gaze.

“Skating? Good! I always forget how fun it is and-”

“No,” he gently cuts you off and shakes his head, “I mean living in Vancouver. I know it’s been a huge adjustment for you.”

“Oh,” Reagan says in realization, taking a moment to think. “It’s been way better than I expected, honestly.” Quinn raises his eyebrows in surprise as an adorable smile blossoms across his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah and I have a sneaky feeling you already know you’re a big part of why that is, Quinny.” His cheeks become pink with blush and he looks down briefly before stopping the two of you for a second.

“Have you ever thought of giving us a second chance?” 

The question is like a punch to the gut. Not only because Reagan never saw it coming, but it is exactly what she’s thought of asking Quinn herself a thousand times.

Has she thought of giving them another chance? Yes. Every single day she wonders what it would be like to be his girlfriend again. To allow herself to feel the overwhelming love she has for the oldest Hughes brother. To feel at home again because he’s back in her life. And Reagan has come to realize that she wants a second chance with Quinn more than anything.

He’s proven that he has grown and matured from the man he was years ago when he shattered her heart into a million pieces. He’s shown that her life and her dreams are just as important and he’ll do anything he can to support her every single day. His love has been on display since the first moment she saw him in the hallway of their apartment building weeks ago.

“Yes. Every single day.” Reagan responds with nothing but pure honesty.

“Me too.” Quinn almost whispers, trying not to let his nerves show. He’s biting his lip, a nervous habit of his that hasn’t disappeared. “Uh, you can say no if you’re not ready or anything, but would you like to go out with me? On a proper first date? Again?” 

Instantly, a beaming smile is on Reagan’s face as his words process in her mind. It’s happening. Something she’s dreamed of for so long, it’s real.

“I’d love that, Quinn.” She hugs him tight, relishing in the joy rushing through her veins. Nothing could make this moment any better and when Quinn kisses her temple, also feeling the happiest he’s been in a long time, everything in the world feels right again.

[into-fiction]

time travel wip

in case anyone was wondering: "glinda time travels but it's from a clueless elphie's POV" was the winner for next fic to write!

---

“Hi,” Galinda whispers, her soft voice impossibly loud in Elphaba’s ears as she steps right up in front of the girl.

“Um,” Elphaba starts, thrown off balance by the way Galinda’s looking at her. Not like she’s something disgusting or even something intriguing. But like she’s something wonderful. “Hi.”

“I’m Gli- uh, Galinda,” the blonde introduces. “Galinda Upland.”

There is some sort of unreadable emotion swimming through the shimmering depths of this girl’s brown eyes, something Elphaba could drown in if given the chance. She has to visibly shake herself and take the offered hand carefully in her own. Galinda doesn’t even flinch at the touch of green skin. 

“Elphaba Thropp.”

The students are starting to whisper amongst themselves, clearly just as confused as Elphaba. Galinda doesn’t even seem to notice. She just smiles, the force of it etching a single dimple into her cheek and leaving her eyes sparkling bright. 

Pretty, Elphaba thinks. It shocks her, how easily it comes to her, but there’s really no other word for it. No one, in all her life, has ever looked at Elphaba like Galinda is right now. No one, in all her life, has ever looked this happy to see her. 

“Welcome to Shiz University, Elphaba Thropp. I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.”

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: here she is! my fic for @prettytoxicrevolver for @wyattjohnston ‘s summer 2k24 fic exchange! this was so fun to write and step out of my comfort zone with cole. i hope you enjoy! ☺️

tw: some mild innuendo, zegras sister, brother’s best friend, fake dating

word count: 11.4k

summary: it’s the summer of weddings and just as you’re dreading going solo to them, your brother’s best friend, cole caufield, offers to be your date. it’s the perfect solution, too bad you’ve been madly in love with cole for years and your heart can’t seem to grasp the concept of a fake date.

“Fuck,” you mutter, flipping through the mail and spotting the thick cream colored envelope addressed to you.

And Guest.

Another fucking wedding to add to the summer slate, another fucking plus one when you don’t have a plus one to bring.

Your fingers tap against the cardstock, a frown drawing your lips into a downward curve.

“What’s with the pout, Noodle?” The familiar, grating voice of your brother startles you and you jump, sandals slapping against the pavers that lead into the backyard, the mail flying out of your hands. You could kill your mother for coming up with that nickname when you were a toddler. It’s not that cute now that you’re twenty-two and your brother uses it every chance he gets.

“Christ, Trev!” You snap, hand covering your heart. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

You narrow your eyes at him, sprawled over the lounge chair closest to the pool. It’s only late April, but it was unreasonably warm the last two weeks, so your dad had decided to open the pool early even though no one was likely to use it until closer to Memorial Day. Well, no one but Trevor apparently. if the little puddles of pool water on the ddck are to be trusted.

“Gee,” he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, clapping both hands over his chest and putting on a faux-earnest expression, “just the welcome home a big brother was hoping for after a long and gruelling season of injury and loss.”

“First of all,” you squat down to gather up the mail, “mom and I were down in Anaheim for weeks when you busted your ankle. And secondly, if I had known you’d be coming home, I would’ve rolled out the appropriate red carpet.”

Your tone is laced with a healthy amount of sarcasm and Trevor doesn’t miss it, if the amused grin on his face is any indication.

“Mom stayed for weeks, you left after fifteen minutes,” Trevor counters. “And what does the red carpet entail? Are there fancy cocktails and snacks?”

Snorting, you fold the mail into a neat pile, holding it in both hands. “I’ll spring for a box of Cheez-its and a case of High Noon, good enough for you?”

Trevor pretends to think about it for a minute, making a show of rubbing at his chin, where a particularly pathetic attempt at a beard is growing, before nodding decisively. “I accept your offer,” he pronounces. “Seriously though, what’s with the face?”

“There’s no face,” you shoot back. “It’s just my regular face when I see you.”

“Dude, you look like someone pissed in your Cheerios,” Trevor snorts, flopping back onto the lounge chair. He waves a hand in front of his face. “You get all pinchy in the eyebrows.”

“I do not!” Your hand flies up to your forehead and smooths over the skin in between your brows, pressing into the little furrow, hating that he’s right. “Ugh, just fuck off.”

“Who’s fucking off?” A new voice, familiar, comes from behind you and you whirl around just in time to watch Cole Caufield step out onto the back deck, a bag of Tostitos and a jar of salsa held in his arms. Your heart skips a beat and you hate it. “I just got here so it’s not gonna be me.”

He grins at you, his whole face scrunching up, and you can pretend for a second until he opens his mouth again and says, “hi, Noodle.”

Fuck.

“Hey, Cole,” you manage a smile in return. “Came to freeload in Connecticut for a bit?”

Your brother’s friend laughs and plants himself on another lounge chair, tossing the bag of chips to Trevor while he pops open the salsa jar. “Is it freeloading when you’re invited?” He shrugs, giving you an impish look.

“Yeah,” Trevor supplies, his mouth stuffed with chips, “if Coley’s freeloading, then you’re freeloading too, Noodle.”

“Mom and Dad actually love having me around,” you shoot back, offended. “Besides, come fall, I’m moving out anyway, so they have to soak up all their time with me now.” You pop a hip out and flip your hair, forgetting again about the mail in your hands. The stupid, thick wedding envelope goes flying and Cole lunges to catch it before it lands in a puddle of pool water. You reach for it, but he flips the envelope over to see who it’s addressed to before giving it back.

One eyebrow quirks up and he says, “wedding season, huh?”

“Four this summer,” you huff a sigh and sit at the bottom of Trevor’s lounge chair, smacking his foot away when he twitches it to hit your thigh. “Oh my god, stop that.”

“No,” he hits your thigh again and you smack his ankle - not the previously broken one, you’re smarter than that. Cole laughs when you and Trevor devolve into a slapping and kicking fight that eventually ends with you on your ass on the patio and Trevor with chip crumbs in his hair.

“The fucking Zegras siblings,” Cole gasps out a laugh, one hand braced at his side. “You two are nuts.”

“Life was so much more peaceful when you were on the other side of the country,” you grouch at Trevor, fighting a blush when Cole sticks out his hand and pulls you to your feet. He pats the edge of his lounge chair, indicating for you to take a seat, and you do, trying to avoid the brush of your thigh against his. Your efforts are futile and it feels like your face is as hot as the sun when his warm skin touches yours.

Before Trevor can get a breath in to start fighting with you, Cole interrupts and asks, “four weddings is a lot. All friends? Aren’t you young to have friends getting married?”

You’re not that much younger than Cole - you and Trevor are Irish twins, both born in March (2001 for Trevor and 2002 for you) so, you’re only fourteen months younger than Cole, not that either one of them will let you forget that you’re younger.

“Don’t hockey players get married while they’re still in utero?” You tease, helping yourself to some chips. “I went to school in Alabama, it’s a miracle I made it out without becoming a child bride.”

“Plus one wedding’s our cousin’s and she’s thirty two,” Trevor supplies. “So not a child bride.”

Cole nods. “Yeah, fair enough. I guess we’re in the wedding season of our lives,” he laughs a little and you find yourself smiling just at the sound.

Goddamn, you’re down bad.

You force your mouth into a more neutral expression before Trevor spots it and starts roasting you. “Weddings are fun,” you admit, the next words slipping out of your mouth before you can stop them, “when you have someone to go with, anyway. Otherwise it’s just a reminder that you’re the sad single with no one to dance the slow songs with.”

Both guys are silent for a beat and you can feel the mortification working its way through your body. Good job, admitting that you’re alone and sad, in front of your stupid brother and his stupid friend that you’ve had a stupid crush on for years. Cole cocks his head at you and you spring up from the chair, nausea bubbling in your stomach. No way can you stand to hear whatever pity-tinged platitude he’s going to say.

“See you,” you mutter, jumping up from the chair and darting off inside where you can’t embarrass yourself any further.

Your mom is at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for dinner. She looks up when you come inside, nearly slamming the back door shut. “What’s on fire out there?” She asks, knife poised over the red pepper on the cutting board and a concerned look on her face.

“Just my social skills,” you grumble, swiping a piece of pepper. “Also, it would’ve been nice to have a warning that Terror was home.” You pause, snapping the pepper between your teeth. Add, “and bringing guests.”

“Noodle,” your mom laughs affectionately, “Dad and I have been talking about Trev’s visit for a week now. Jamie’s coming up at the end of the week too. You know your brother, always needs to have his little posse around.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname again. “No one calls it a posse anymore,” you huff, feeling all of sixteen years old again as you stomp off to your bedroom.

The guys dip before dinner, Trevor shouting through the house that they’re going for tacos, which is fine by you. The longer you can avoid Cole, the better.

Unfortunately, he’s staying in your house, down the hall in the guest room. So avoiding him is not entirely feasible, as you learn later that night. The house is dark and quiet, everyone allegedly sleeping, when you creep down the hall and slide through the back door, planning on sitting and watching the stars for a little bit. Insomnia’s been your friend for years and you’ve learned to just go with the sleepless nights, to try and make them as bearable and relaxing as possible. Sometimes you’ll manage to catch a few hours of sleep if you’re in a different location and your parents have definitely

found you curled up on the couch outside during the summer more often than not.

You’re not expecting to find Cole sprawled out on the couch when you get outside though.

“Oh!” You gasp before you can help yourself, before you can slip back inside.

Cole turns and shoots you a warm smile. “Hey, didn’t think I was going to have company,” he says, shifting so he’s not manspreading as much.

You wrap your arms around your chest and shrug a bit. “Insomnia,” you explain even though you don’t have to. “I was hoping some fresh air would help.”

“Cool,” Cole nods and then winces. “Not cool that you have insomnia. ‘Cause I’m sure that sucks. But, uh, cool that the fresh air might help? That doesn’t really make sense either.”

A laugh bubbles out of your chest and you shake your head. “You’re spending too much time with my brother, you’re going to turn into a yapper too,” you hear the affection that’s leeched into your tone and you bite your lip before you can say anything else.

“That ship’s sailed,” Cole laughs. “You can sit, I don’t want to get in the way of your routine or whatever.”

He shifts more to the side of the couch and you chew on the inside of your cheek briefly before taking a seat at the other end of the couch, propping your feet up on the coffee table. Your neon pink toenails glow in the moonlight and you wish you’d put on a pair of socks.

“I don’t really have a routine,” you sigh, pulling your sweatshirt sleeves down over your hands and curling them into fists. “Just kind of sit out here and contemplate life until I pass out or my mom gets breakfast started.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Cole nod and you wonder why he’s outside in the middle of the night but you were born with a brain to mouth filter, unlike Trevor, so you don’t ask. There’s a light breeze, so the pool water ripples and you watch it, zoning out until Cole speaks and startles you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” You squint at him elegantly, having completely missed what he said.

Cole laughs a little and his smile feels too soft for this late at night. “I was saying, do you have a plus one for all of your weddings this summer?”

God. Why is he bringing this up again?

Your stomach twists and you nod reluctantly. “Yeah. The ‘and Guest’ has been like taking a bullet to the chest every time I get an invitation and remember I have no boyfriend to speak of.”

The joke doesn’t come out quite as light as you meant it.

“What if you did?” Cole asks, turning so he can face you. Your brow furrows again and - dammit, Trevor - your hands fly up to your face to smooth out the wrinkles. Cole continues, “like, I could be your plus one.”

“You have nothing better to do this summer?” You blurt out, regretting it immediately. It sounds rude and you’d love to spend at least four guaranteed days with him.

Cole shrugs, still grinning. “Tell me when the weddings are and I’ll tell you if I have plans,” he says. “I like weddings. They’re fun, especially when you’re just a guest with no responsibilities.”

“Um,” you start ticking the dates off on your fingers, “one’s June eighth, then there’s June 29th, July 14th, and the last one’s August 3rd.” You pause. “The June 29th one is down in Alabama, but the other three are here, in Connecticut.”

There’s nothing but the sound of crickets and the water hitting the side of the pool while Cole looks up and to the left, clearly running through his mental schedule. You resist the urge to gnaw on your thumbnail. Oh my god, this is awful. Why the fuck are you even discussing this with him?

“Count me in,” Cole says and even though you hear him perfectly, your response is a very eloquent, “huh?”

“I’m in,” Cole repeats. “I’ll be your wedding plus one, Noodle.”

That fucking nickname.

But wait.

Cole’s agreeing - volunteering - to be your plus one.

“All four?” You raise an eyebrow skeptically.

He nods. “All four. We’re doing Europe in May, but otherwise I was just gonna spend the summer bouncing between cities to see my family and stuff. I can do that and still be your date for the weddings.”

The fact that he’s volunteering is throwing you off. You rub a hand over your forehead, feet falling to the deck as you lean in, a serious frown on your face. “Like, I appreciate the offer, Cole, I really do,” you pause, chew at your lower lip. Cole’s gaze flickers down and you ignore the burst of heat low in your stomach. Do not even go there.

“But, um, isn’t it going to be annoying, if people come up to you?” It’s a flimsy excuse and Cole sees past it easily.

“I don’t think I’m that recognizable down in Alabama or even up here, unless I’m with Z and Drysy,” he laughs, self-aware and self-deprecating. “I’d like to be your date.”

“I, um,” you have no more excuses. The little devil on your shoulder is screaming at you to take advantage of the time with Cole, to use it to maybe make a real move. “Okay, yeah. That would be nice.”

Cole knocks his knee against yours and a spark shoots over your skin. “Don’t sound so excited,” he teases. “I’m a great date.”

That’s what you’re worried about.

——

The rest of the week passes without mention of the weddings or Cole being your date - you don’t even know if he told Trevor, but you’re betting he hasn’t.

Jamie joins the family for a couple of days and you spend the back half of the week trying to avoid being tossed into the pool every time you have the misfortune of wandering out into the backyard while your brother and his friends are out there.

They go out every night, catching up since they’re spread across the country for the season, and you’re called upon more than once for a pick-up, hauling their drunk asses back home while they act stupid in the backseat.

Cole never mentions the weddings and before you know it, it’s May and the house is quiet again because the trio is off to Europe for a couple of weeks. As crazy loud as the house was before, it feels even quieter now and it’s a little unnerving. You end up outside more often than not, skimming your feet through the pool water now that it’s warmer, thinking about Cole too much.

As if you manifested him, your phone lights up with a text from him. You tap at the screen and smile when you see a selfie of the three of them, cheesing with a gorgeous view of Prague in the background.

‘proof of life, but gonna shove z off a cliff if he asks one more would you rather….’ is the attached message and it makes you laugh out loud, the sound echoing around the backyard.

‘now you know how i felt on all those childhood road trips 😂’ you reply, sliding your phone into your sweatshirt pocket, quietly enjoying the fizz of excitement that Cole’s attention provides.

It’s almost too late to back out of the wedding date offer, not that you really want to, but you’re so nervous to slip up and say something while spending so much time with him. Especially after your friends have asked who you’re bringing as your plus one, curious since you haven’t dated anyone seriously in nearly a year. You really regret RSVPing to your cousin’s wedding with the plus one, your aunt was almost immediately on the phone with your mom, asking all about him even though she didn’t have a name.

That of course opened you up to the conversation with your mom, where she was very surprised when you told her Cole is going to be your date.

“He, um, asked,” you offer her an explanation when she asks, technically the truth.

She pins you with that classic mom look, the one that says she knows there’s more to the story than you’re letting on, but mercifully doesn’t say anything else. She just nods and hums and says, “well, Cole is basically family anyway. It’ll be nice to have him there. You should teach him some of the steps for the Greek dances.”

And that’s that.

But you’re pretty sure she knows that you’re harboring a massive crush on him.

Not that you were overly subtle about it when Trevor first became friends with Cole. But you like to think you’ve managed to maintain some level of chill around him in the past few years.

Your chill is about to be tested in an extreme way.

——

It’s June before you know it and it’s weird to have Cole staying at your house without Trevor also down the hall.

Trevor’s out in California with Dixie. The two of them are back on since he got back from Prague and honestly you can’t keep track of their relationship, so you’re more than happy to ignore it.


Cole comes into town on the seventh, bearing a European tan and souvenirs for you. A handmade candle to join your, frankly obscene, collection and a tiny pocketknife with a fish shaped handle.

You run your fingers over the fish’s scales, overwhelmed by the fact that he even thought of you at all.

“Z bought one and I figured I couldn’t let you be unarmed in the next Zegras sibling battle,” he teases. “They’re like this whole cult thing in Prague apparently.”

“Thanks,” you grin at him genuinely, heat flushing your cheeks. “This was really thoughtful and, um, really handy when I need to give Trev a middle of the night payback haircut.”

After dinner and hanging out with your parents to watch a movie - how fucking sexy - you almost wish you’d told Cole to meet you at the venue. You feel all jumpy in his presence, never having spent this much one on one time with him. Usually Trevor and a whole host of other NHL players are a buffer.

“What time do we have to leave tomorrow?” Cole appears in your bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder leaning on the door jamb.

Fuck that’s so hot.

“Oh, um, ceremony’s at 4, so like 3ish? I guess?” You twist the ends of your hair around your fingers and then force yourself to stop.

“Sounds good,” he smiles at you, winks. “Get some beauty sleep, Noodle. Not that you need it.”

The whiplash between your nickname and the compliment has your head spinning for the better part of an hour and you don’t know what to make of any of it.

Somehow you manage to sleep and the next morning is spent getting your makeup sorted out and begging your mom to help you fix your hair. It’s nearly three by the time you’re done and Cole is hanging out with your dad in the kitchen, discussing hockey, of course.

“Okay, ready to go?” You grab up your car keys, knowing Cole will just end up fighting you for them. He doesn’t respond and you look up, heart pounding when you see the way his jaw is slightly dropped and his eyes are a little glazed over. “Um, everything okay?”

Your voice trembles and Cole shakes his head, clearing the fog. “Sorry, yeah, sorry. Just, you look really good,” he says quickly.

“Thanks,” you smooth your hands over your hips, barely able to make eye contact. “Ready?”

Cole nods and follows you out of the house, fights you for the car keys and wins. You slink off to the passenger side, secretly happy that you don’t have to make the drive. You’d much rather be a passenger princess.

The drive is normal enough, with Cole telling you all the non-parent friendly details of the European adventure and you filling him in on just exactly whose wedding you’re going to - your sorority best friend, coincidentally raised in Connecticut too before going to Alabama for college.

Even though you know nearly all of the guests, it’s nice to have Cole at your side when you walk into the venue. He acts a little bit like armor, keeping you from the bouts of social anxiety that you’re prone to. A couple of the guys recognize him, but for the most part it’s low key.

Until he introduces himself as, “Cole, the boyfriend,” and your entire brain becomes the blue screen of death.

You blink at him stupidly for too long and Cole’s face falls into a look of concern. He pulls you by the wrist to a corner of the room and stands so he’s blocking you from the rest of the reception.

“Hey,” he ducks his head a little to maintain eye contact, “are you okay? Did I say something wrong? I thought - well, wasn’t the point of this, of me coming to like stop people thinking you’re single?”

As he speaks, he looks more uncertain and you’re growing more and more horrified. This was a miscommunication of epic proportions.

“No, oh my god,” you whisper, palms sweating. “I didn’t…that wasn’t…I mean, yeah, it sucks to be like the last single girl standing, but I would never have asked you to be my fake boyfriend!”

“You didn’t ask, not really. I offered,” Cole replies, leaning in slightly, enveloping you in the scent of his cologne and your own body wash that he must’ve used in the shower this morning. It makes your head spin a little. “Jesus, Noodle. I should’ve talked to you about it.”

“I…oh my god, Cole. This is so stupid,” you start to giggle, hysteria bubbling up in your stomach. “We need to go correct the narrative before -“

A group of your sorority sisters descend on you in the corner, squealing about meeting your new boyfriend, introducing themselves and congratulating you in hushed whispers on what a cutie he is.

“That happens,” you finish your sentence in a muttered aside to Cole once the girls are gone.

He has the slightly shellshocked look most people have after they’ve been spun around in the sorority girl vortex and you can’t help but let out a reluctant giggle. He just looks so damn confused, it’s beyond endearing.

“Just…don’t say anything else and I’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow,” you sigh. “Maybe you should skip the other weddings too.”

Cole shakes his head, a strange smile on his face. “What if we just, you know, play along? Like, I already thought I was pretending to be your boyfriend, why not have some fun with it?”

Because playing pretend might actually kill you, you think. But you find yourself nodding anyway, agreeing to Cole’s suggestion. And the next thing you know, he’s got his hands on your hips and your arms are around his neck, swaying in a slow dance with the rest of the couples on the floor. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, Cole’s hands a searing heat on your hips.

Your gaze keeps flickering up to his chin and lips, watching the way he half-smiles every time he catches you looking.

“So, um,” you murmur, trying to break some of the tension that probably only you feel, “what exactly were you going to tell people, when they asked about our re-relationship?” You stumble over the word. “Since we never discussed it.”

Cole’s fingers flex on your hips and you think you might stop breathing momentarily. He chuckles and his smile is sheepish now. “I was just gonna go with the truth? Most of it, anyway. We’ve been friends because of Z for years and it just…evolved.”

“Evolved,” you repeat quietly. “Friends to lovers, huh?”

His eyes widen slightly and you kick yourself mentally for saying the word ‘lovers.’

Before you can word vomit some backtracking, Cole nods. “Yeah, friends to lovers, I guess.”

The slow song ends and Cole’s hands don’t move. You try not to read into it - he’s pretending, it’s all just pretend - but by the time you’re in the car on the way home, you’re convinced that your poor heart won’t make it to the end of the summer.

——-

Cole flies out the next afternoon, off to spend some time with his family in Wisconsin. He texts you nearly every day though, which is new.

You try to tell yourself that you’re just building a cover, in case, what? One of your friends steals your phone to try and prove you’re actually in a relationship?

By the time your flight lands in Alabama on the 28th, your nerves are a little frazzled and you’re more in love with Cole than you’ve ever been, thanks to the constant texting and random FaceTime calls. His flight lands thirty minutes after yours, coming from Philly where he was hanging out with Trevor and Jamie, so you wait around the airport to Uber to the hotel together.

“Hey, Noodle!” He greets you with a big hug, swinging you around a little, making you laugh.

“Hey,” you’re still giggling when he puts you down, barely able to protest when he grabs the handle of your suitcase and wheels it out to the curb. “I could’ve gotten that.”

“I know,” he winks, “but what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you pull your own suitcase?”

Your lips tilt up in a smile, teeth biting down on your tongue to stop the reminder that this is all fake from spilling out.

“A terrible one, I guess,” you joke instead, climbing into the Uber. “How’s Trevor after the latest Dixie debacle?”

“They’re back together,” Cole informs you on a delighted, if exasperated laugh. “At least, they were when I was at the airport.”

“Jesus,” you roll your eyes. “When we break up, promise me it won’t be as dramatic as they are.”

Cole coughs suddenly and you look up from your phone in concern. He waves you off, face a little red. Sounding slightly strangled, he says, “sure, yeah, no dramatic breakup for us.”

“Cool, now let me show you this Tik Tok,” you grin, shoving your phone in his face. “It’s a compilation of all your on-ice falls last season.”

“Wow,” Cole deadpans. “That’s so nice of you to show me.”

You spend the rest of the car ride in your little sister mode, being annoying and showing him the random Tik Tok edits you find of him and Trevor. You’re both laughing uncontrollably as you pile out of the car and into the hotel, but the laughter stops when you try to check in.

“What?” You repeat incredulously. “How do you lose a reservation?”

The young guy at the counter, he can’t be much older than you or Cole, winces at the sharp bite of your tone. “I’m so sorry. But like I said, we have Mr. Caufield’s reservation, but can’t find yours, Ms. Zegras,” he winces again. “It’s a busy weekend for the hotel, we have a dental conference happening.”

“Okay, but I literally paid for my hotel room weeks ago!” You scroll through your email for the confirmation and wave it in the guy’s face when you find it. “Am I getting a refund or what?”

You can hear Cole sniggering behind you, your reputation as the bossy Zegras sibling precedes you.

“We can do a partial -“

“No way,” you cut him off, feeling slightly bad. “I need a room for the next two nights and a partial refund is not going to cut it if I have to go find a different hotel.”

“Little Z,” Cole draws your attention and when you look over your shoulder at him, he’s smirking a little. “Why don’t you stop harassing the nice man and we’ll just share my room.”

“Share…” you trail off and you must look horrified or something because Cole rushes to continue.

“It’ll be like two summers ago when Z booked that studio Air BnB and we all had to sleep in one room,” he shrugs. “It’s only two nights and neither of us snore like your brother does.”

“I…” you really have no excuse, because if this stupid hotel doesn’t have another room for you, you’re pretty much fucked. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

Cole finishes checking in and somehow manages to swing an entire refund for you, probably because he’s being nice to the guy and not freaking out on him.

You just hope there’s two beds in the room.

——

There’s one bed in the room.

And you’re trying not to show your internal struggle, going about your business of unpacking your suitcase and hanging up your dress so the wrinkles can release.

Neither of you mention the elephant in the room while you get ready for the welcome dinner. Cole’s hand finds your lower back while you walk into the restaurant and it takes all of your effort not to shiver in pleasure at his touch. You let yourself lean into him slightly, telling yourself it’s okay to show some physical affection since you’re telling everyone you’re dating.

He taps his fingers against your lower back absently as you chat with a few of your friends, never straying far from your side. When you finish your drink, he promptly delivers you another one, making your friends whisper excitedly about what a gentleman he is.

You’re grateful that you discussed a general idea of how your relationship happened because otherwise you’d be caught off guard when one of the bridesmaids asks you how you and Cole started dating, considering you’ve never mentioned him before.

“Oh,” you murmur, looking across the room where Cole’s chatting with a couple of the groomsmen, “well, he’s friends with Trevor, so I’ve known him for years. Things just kind of…evolved.”

“Y’all are the cutest,” she gushes. “Keep a hold on him and maybe the next Delta Nu wedding will be yours?”

You choke on air and manage to excuse yourself to the bathroom without dying. The bathroom is empty, thank God, so you get a chance to breathe and compose yourself. It’s too easy to get wrapped up in Cole’s attention, in his gentle touches and soft smiles, and it’s getting harder and harder to remember that this is all pretend.

There’s a knock on the door and then Cole’s voice calling your name. “You okay? I saw you run off…”

“I’m fine,” you call back, unlocking the door and pulling it open. He’s got a concerned frown on his face. “Just, um, you know,” you wave a hand over your shoulder, “had to use the little girls’ room.”

Your whole body cringes and Cole laughs, “is that a Mama Z saying? ‘Cause it sounds like her.”

“Yes, exactly,” you sigh, grabbing onto the opportunity to blame your mom, “she says it all the time. So weird.”

Cole’s smile is knowing, but he doesn’t say anything. He just holds his hand out for you and asks, “want to rejoin the party? Or head back to the hotel? It’s getting kind of late.”

You stare at his hand for a second before taking it, heart skipping a beat when he laces his fingers with yours, an undeniably couple-y thing to do. “Maybe one more drink?” You suggest, letting your smile turn a little sly. “And then we’d probably better call it a night since someone will need his beauty sleep.”

It’s easier to tease him, to stay in that annoying little sister zone, than to examine how your entire body reacts to the feeling of his hand around yours.

Cole laughs and squeezes your hand, letting your good-natured teasing roll over him. “Well, we know it’s definitely not you that needs the beauty sleep,” he says, the compliment genuine and surprising enough that you stumble a little in your heels, forcing Cole’s grip on your hand to tighten.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night, not until you’re back in the hotel lobby and heading for the elevator. Your fingers tingle from his touch and you’d truthfully forgotten about the single bed until it’s right in front of your face again.

“Which side do you want?” Cole asks, unbuttoning his cuffs.

“Hmm?” You blink at him. “Oh, I’ll take the floor or something, it’s your room.” The thought is disgusting, but you’ll take a couple of blankets and it’ll be fine. Anything other than sharing the bed with him.

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Seriously? No chance I’m letting you sleep on the floor. It’s a Queen, plenty of room for us both.” He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you kick in your sleep or something?”

“No,” you laugh faintly. “I don’t kick. I just…I’m fine on the floor. We really don’t have to share.”

“Noodle,” Cole grins, undoing his belt. Fuck, Christ on a cracker, you’re trying so hard to not stare at his hands. This is ridiculous. “I don’t have cooties. We can share a bed like adults.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire, but you really have no room to argue, so you reluctantly agree and grab your toiletry case and pajamas, heading for the bathroom. You change quickly, thanking past you for packing sweats and an old Anaheim tee since you like to keep your hotel rooms cold. While you wash your face and brush your teeth, you give yourself a pep talk, a reminder that you’ll stay on your side of the bed and he’ll stay on his and it doesn’t mean anything.

Cole’s in his own sweats and tee when you get out of the bathroom. “I lowered the a/c to 65, is that cool?” He asks, twirling his toothbrush in between his fingers. “I remember you freaked on Z when he had the temperature set to 70 the other day.”

“That’s perfect,” you reply, tossing your toiletry bag on top of your suitcase and climbing into bed, the right side since it’s farther away from the door. You yank the covers up over your body, curling up into a little ball as far away from Cole’s side of the bed as possible. He already has a Friends rerun playing on the TV, so you zone out for a bit and let the familiar characters distract you.

When he’s done in the bathroom, Cole gets into bed too, stretching out on top of the covers. “We can change the channel, if you want?” He offers.

You shake your head. “Friends is good. So, how’s the rest of your summer been, when you’re not playing fake boyfriend?” You ask, turning onto your side so you can look at him. If you act normal, everything will be normal.

“It’s been good,” he replies, tucking one hand behind his head. You try not to focus on the way his bicep pops. “I’m going to head back out to Wisconsin after this, spend some more time with my family. Then I’ll be in Jersey the week before the next wedding, you should come hang out.”

You snort. “If Trev’s there, Quinn will like, have me blacklisted from the entire state. We’re not allowed to be together because we’re and I quote ‘more annoying than two humans have any reasonable right to be.’”

Cole’s grin is crooked and you want to press your fingers against the curve of his lips. “Yeah, Quinny hates it when you and Z are doing your sibling comedy show bullshit,” he laughs. “But it’s fucking hilarious.”

“Thank you, I’m glad someone appreciates our entertainment,” you reply, fluttering your lashes at him. “But if it’s just Jack and Lukey, maybe I’ll come out for dinner or something one day.”

You yawn and close your eyes, still maintaining a quiet conversation with Cole, the laugh track from the TV filling the brief silences.

The next morning, you’re surprised to find that you wake up rested and still on your side of the bed, albeit with your arm stretched out to Cole’s side, fingers just inches away from touching him. He’s snoring faintly and you laugh under your breath, taking the opportunity to get yourself out of bed and ready to go. You’d both slept in later than you anticipated, so you’ll have to start getting ready sooner rather than later.

It’s getting easier to be alone with Cole, conversations flow and if you’re distracted with your hair and make-up, you don’t think too much about how good he looks in his suit.

“Hey,” you poke your head into the bathroom, sheepish, “can you zip me up?”

Cole dries his hands on a towel and nods, “yeah, no problem.” His fingers are cool when they brush against your bare skin and you shiver, nipples tightening painfully. The zipper sounds impossibly loud in the room, blood rushing in your ears.

“Thanks,” you murmur and when you turn around, you’re mildly surprised to see the tips of Cole’s ears going pink. You’re pretty sure he can’t see your nipples through the fabric of your dress, but you glance down anyway to double check.

“You look beautiful,” Cole comments, looking you over. “I think I’m the luckiest guy at the wedding.”

“Not the groom?” You joke, heart pounding.

“Nah,” Cole’s smile is your favorite one, “definitely me.”

——

“I can’t believe I caught the bouquet,” you groan, holding the surprisingly heavy bundle like a baby in your arms.

“I can’t believe you almost spiked it to the ground when you caught it,” Cole unlocks the hotel room door and holds it open for you.

You shrug, kicking your heels off. “It surprised me!”

“I thought the little redhead was going to tackle you to the ground for it,” Cole laughs, toeing off his own shoes and undoing his tie. The ends hang loose over his chest and your alcohol hazy brain wants you to grab them and pull him into a kiss.

“Lola,” you reply, shaking your head like an Etch-a-Sketch to get rid of that thought and putting the bouquet on top of the dresser. “She’s been with her boyfriend since they were fourteen and she’s getting antsy.”

You both start getting changed without regard for the other person, tired and sore from dancing and scream-singing to Taylor Swift all night. You can still feel the impression of Cole’s hands on your body as you slow danced to ‘Lover.’ It really is so different getting to slow dance at a wedding with someone instead of sneaking off to the bathroom or watching from the sidelines.

“Jesus,” Cole snorts, voice muffled as he pulls his shirt on over his head. His hair sticks up in all directions when his head pops through the neck hole. “No one needs to get married before twenty-five.”

You nod your agreement, crawling into bed with a full face of makeup. You’ll regret it in the morning, but you just can’t be bothered right now. Not with the way your eyelids feel heavier and heavier with each blink. “She’s a child bride,” you mumble. “I wanna do stuff before I get married. Travel, get my Masters, get a puppy…”

Cole laugh is too close to your ear and you blink one eye open to see his face, just inches from yours.

“What kind of puppy?” He asks and you can smell the faint alcohol on his breath. It’s not unpleasant.

“A miniature dachshund,” you reply. “Gonna name him Quinn, just to piss off Quinny.”

Cole’s laugh is the last thing you’re aware of before falling asleep.

——-

You wake up with a dry mouth, a slight headache, and something hard pressed against your chest. It takes a minute in the dark room to realize what’s going on, but you finally recognize Cole’s back pressed to your chest, his ass snug against your hips.

Your leg is trapped in between his, the thick muscles keeping you locked in place.

His arm is over yours where it rests on his waist, his hand holding yours against his stomach.

Your cheek is pressed to the back of his shoulder, his heartbeat steady.

A quick spike of panic floods your veins, but then it dissipates just as quickly. He’s still asleep, he never has to know how tightly packed together you are. But there’s no way to disentangle your body without waking him up, so you sigh and give an experimental wiggle of your leg, trying to get it free.

Cole grumbles softly in his sleep, grips you tighter.

It’s useless to try and escape and sleep is already grabbing hold of you again, the warmth of Cole’s body relaxing you back into the mattress.

A few more hours of sleep couldn’t hurt.

You snuggle against him, your nose brushing his shoulder blade, and close your eyes, pretending.

———

When you wake up again, for good this time, you’re on your opposite side and Cole is gone. His side of the bed is still warm, though. You roll onto your back and scrub a hand over your face, trying to forget the feeling of your body wrapped around his.

The dull ache between your legs is making that really difficult.

The hotel room door opens and Cole walks in, two cups of coffee in his hands. “Oh!” He smiles when he sees you, so maybe you rolled away from him in the middle of the night and he didn’t wake up with you wrapped around him like an octopus. “Morning, I went and got coffees, figured we could use them. I didn’t want to wake you since you looked so peaceful and quiet,” he smirks and you roll your eyes, “but you drink an iced flat white, right?”

“Right,” you reply faintly, taking the proffered coffee. You draw your knees up to your chest and take a fortifying sip. The caffeine goes straight to your brain and you feel better immediately.

“So, how’d you sleep?” He asks, dropping down onto the mattress.

You squint at him, trying to gauge his tone. His face is unreadable. “Good,” you venture carefully. “Um, slept right through the night.”

Cole nods. “Yeah, me too. I’ll still probably manage another couple of hours on the flight to Wisconsin.”

He’s not acting any weirder than usual so you figure you’re in the clear. It gives you permission to act normally too, so you make small talk while you both pack up your suitcases.

“Should I toss this or bring it home with me?” You ask, lifting the bouquet up.

“Bring it home,” Cole nudges your foot with his. “Make sure you remember that you’re supposed to get married next.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I think we can count that out.” But you put the bouquet on top of your carry-on tote anyway, fingers tracing over the soft rose petals.

———

You take your own trip to the lake for Fourth of July with your girlfriends, getting the Spanish Inquisition about Cole and why you never mention him, why you never post him.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother you and you find that your answers are more honest than you’d expect in the situation.

You don’t mention him because you want to keep him to yourself. You don’t want everyone to know about your inside jokes and the smiles that you’re pretty sure are yours alone. You don’t want everyone to know about the way your skin tingles when he touches you, how you can feel the phantom touch of his hands long after they’re gone from your lower back or your arm or the back of your neck.

You don’t post pictures of him because you only have a handful of drunken selfies, blurry and out of focus.

You don’t mention him because it’s going to break your heart to have to go back to being just friends at the end of the summer and you won’t get to pretend that any of this is real.

——

You do end up spending a day in Jersey and unfortunately for Quinn, Trevor also pops up unexpectedly.

“Noodle!” He cheers when he sees you, lounging on Jack and Luke’s couch. He draws you into a huge, smothering hug and you fight him, pinching his sides to get him to let go.

“Oh my god,” you whine, pushing him away. “It’s like you didn’t just see me.”

“It’s been more than a month, you dweeb,” he retorts, flopping down next to Quinn and stealing a handful of popcorn. Quinn shoots him a dirty look and yanks his snack away. “You’ve been wedding hopping all summer.”

“It’s been two,” you sigh. “And at least I haven’t been in the Dixie Tik Tok fame vortex.”

Luckily for you, that opens Trevor up to being chirped by all three Hughes brothers and Cole. You settle back into the couch, feet tucked up under you while you watch the five guys take potshots at each other.

Trevor defends himself and turns the heat on Cole, shouting about how he’s hiding a secret girlfriend. Your stomach sinks to your feel and you feel hot and then cold all over.

Cole scoffs. “Just because I didn’t want to flirt with a couple of girls at the bar doesn’t mean I’m hiding a secret girlfriend,” he mutters.

“But there’s a girl involved?” Jack teases.

You think you’re going to throw up.

“No, no girl,” Cole says quickly, too quickly.

“There’s definitely a girl,” Quinn laughs. “Look how red he’s turning.”

“Dude‘s been so cagey about his plans,” Trevor says, taking more popcorn from Quinn. “Can’t keep track of him some weekends.”

Even though none of them are paying attention to you, too busy trying to get information out of Cole, you slip your phone from your pocket and look at the black screen. “Oh, I’m gonna head out,”

you announce, getting to your feet. “Long drive back to Connecticut.”

It’s a little unnerving when five sets of eyes all land on you.

“I just got here,” Trevor complains.

“Okay, so, I know this is a difficult concept for you to understand,” you say slowly, “but my life doesn’t revolve around you.”

Trevor scowls at you and flips you off, a gesture you return before waving good-bye and heading for the door. Cole is a few steps behind you, catching your wrist just before you open the door.

“Hey,” he rubs at the back of his head with his free hand, “that was…there’s no…”

He’s at a loss for words and you don’t really know what to say. He doesn’t owe you an explanation.

“It’s fine, it’s whatever, Cole,” you manage a small smile. “Have fun with the guys.”

Cole’s eyebrows draw together and he looks like he wants to say something, his jaw working briefly. You wait.

“I’ll see you on Sunday,” he says eventually. “Let me know what time I have to pick you up.”

“I’ll text you,” you nod, your wrist warm where his fingers were gripping it.

You step out of the condo and shut the door behind you, of course he’s got some girl that he sees. Just because he’s been your pity date to a few weddings doesn’t mean anything. You’d be smarter to remember that.

——-

Wedding three of four and you’re exhausted of them.

Or maybe you’re exhausted of pretending that you don’t care if Cole sees other girls while he’s got his arm wrapped around your shoulder and is introducing himself as your boyfriend, as if that’s his life’s crowning achievement and not his professional hockey career.

You chew crankily on a piece of bread, too stuck in your own thoughts to notice Cole returning to his seat from the bar.

“Someone kick your hypothetically puppy?” He jokes, sliding a glass of wine in front of you. “Do I have to defend puppy Quinn’s honor?”

“No,” you rearrange your features into a more neutral expression. Or what you hope is a neutral expression. “I just was thinking.”

“Always dangerous,” Cole replies, knocking his knee against yours. You can’t tell if it was an accident or not. You don’t know if you want it to be an accident or not.

Without really intending on it, you ask, “where do the guys think you are this weekend?” And then almost immediately, you wince and say, “you don’t have to answer that, Christ, I’m sorry.”

The stupid chirping in Jersey has clearly burrowed its way into your brain and won’t let go and you feel like an asshole.

“Uh, on my way back to Montreal, actually,” he admits, a strange expression on his face. “Told the guys I was gonna drive up, just to like check on my place.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod, hoping that he would’ve told them that he was with you. But it’s stupid because you’re not really dating.

Cole studies your face and you avoid making eye contact, choosing to knock back half of your glass of wine.

“Want to dance?” He asks you quietly, resting his hand, palm up, on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, I do,” you sigh, putting your hand in his, heart clenching when he laces his fingers with yours again. He pulls you to your feet and has you laughing and dancing halfway through the song. Cole twirls you around, catching you around the waist before he dips you dramatically.

The melancholy is long gone by the time you’re back in the car to make the quick drive home.

“I can’t believe you caught the stupid garter,” your laugh is too loud, soaked in alcohol. You stretch the garter between your fingers, aiming it at the windshield like a slingshot but never releasing it. “What are the freaking odds?”

“A million to one,” Cole laughs. “Isn’t it a thing? Like the person who catches the bouquet marries the person who catches the garter?”

“I think that’s only if it’s at the same wedding,” you reply, leaning your head against the glass. “Hey, Cole?”

“Yeah, Noodle?”

“Thanks for being my wedding date this summer,” you sigh. “I know it’s probably not what you really wanted to spend your time doing, but it’s been so much fun. You’re the best fake boyfriend and real friend a girl could ask for.”

You close your eyes, but can hear the smile in Cole’s voice when he replies, “anything for you.”

——-

“What are you doing here?” Trevor pulls open the front door, pushing you out of the way with the other hand.

“Jesus, Trev,” you snap, kicking at his shin. You smile at Cole, “please, welcome to the Zegras siblings show, refreshments are in the kitchen.”

Cole skirts past the two of you and closes the door behind him, smirking. “I’m early, I know,” he shrugs a little. “Figured I’d hang out while you guys get ready.”

Trevor’s eyes are narrowed and he’s got his palm in the middle of your forehead, keeping you at arm’s distance. “Dude, we’ve got our cousin’s wedding today. Did I double book?”

“No,” you roll your eyes and smack Trevor’s hand away, stepping to the side. “Did you ever think Cole’s here to see me?”

“Why would he be here to see you?” Trevor crosses his arms over his chest, wrinkling his button down.

“He’s my date for the wedding,” you shrug casually, dropping the bomb and heading for the kitchen. You pull a pair of Spindrift cans from the fridge and toss one to Cole. He catches it easily.

Trevor’s eyes bug out of his head and you laugh, enjoying his dramatics. “He’s your date?” He asks incredulously, gaze ping-ponging between the two of you. “What the fuck?”

Cole nods, “yeah, I’ve been taking Noodle to all her weddings this summer.”

Trevor’s jaw drops. And then it snaps shut and his eyes narrow angrily. “Are you fucking dating my sister? Without talking to me about it?”

“Oh calm down,” you snatch a throw pillow off the couch and whack Trevor in the stomach with it. “Not that who I date is your business, but Cole’s been pretending to be my boyfriend, just to like, keep everyone from being all ‘oh, look at the poor sad single girl.’”

“You’re fake dating?” Trevor looks stunned. “Dude, you and mom need to stop watching all those Hallmark movies.” He shakes his head and ruffles his hair.

“Yeah, fake dating,” Cole repeats, twisting the can in his hands. “It’s been fun.”

“You’re both insane if you think fake dating at a family wedding is a good idea,” Trevor cackles. “But good fucking luck and don’t even think about actually dating my sister, asshole.”

He turns on his heel and heads up to his room, leaving you and Cole alone with his parting words. You scoff and give Cole a tiny smile. “Still time to back out, if you don’t want to deal with the extended Zegras clan.”

“I’m all in, Noodle,” he reassures you and for once, the childhood nickname doesn’t grate on your nerves like it usually does.

“Oh,” your cheeks hurt from the size of your smile. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

——-

The warning turns out to be unnecessary.

Cole fits in stupidly well with your extended family, charming aunts left and right, discussing golf and hockey with your uncles. Hell, even your younger cousins are having fun hanging out with him.

“This is ridiculous,” you grumble to your cousin, unable to hide the faint smile on your face.

She laughs and bumps your hip with hers, “aren’t you supposed to want your boyfriend to get along with your family?”

You hum, “right. Yeah, definitely want Cole to get along with the fam.”

“Bold move, bringing him to the wedding,” she says idly. You’re quiet as you watch Cole and Trevor do some stupid made up dance routine to ‘Shake it Off,’ one that involves literally so much ass shaking.

“He assured me he could handle it,” you reply, the music changing to a familiar rhythm, all of your Greek relatives transitioning into a circle for the traditional wedding dances. You join the circle and end up between Trevor and Cole, holding their hands with yours. You barely know the steps, but neither do Trevor and Cole, so you’re all tripping over each other trying to keep up with the fast music and your relatives.

“This is crazy,” Cole shouts on a laugh, his hand sweaty in yours.

“I told you!” You laugh back, stepping on Trevor’s foot and nearly falling to the ground. Trevor keeps you upright with his side, sort of pushing you back onto your feet, and you’re off for another circle around the dance floor.

The DJ plays two more songs and goes back to the popular hits, leaving you, Cole, and Trevor sweaty and out of breath as you stumble towards the bar. “Fuck,” Trevor mutters, pushing his hair off his face and ordering three beers, “I don’t think I’ve even attempted those dances since I was a kid.”

“And you still suck just as much,” you tease, taking a sip of your beer.

“I’m not the dumb fuck that almost took down the whole group,” Trevor shoots back good-naturedly.

Cole holds up his hands, “children, children, this is a day of love. No fighting.”

You hold up your own hands in a sign of surrender. Trevor salutes Cole with his beer bottle. “I’m gonna go see a man about a horse,” he says, dropping the old-fashioned saying like it’s a normal thing to say.

Cole squints after him as he walks away. “What the fuck does that mean?” He asks you, casually guiding you off to the side of the bar where it’s just a little bit quieter.

“He’s going to find our dad and see if he’s got any leftovers from dinner that he can steal,” you laugh. “He’s done it since we were kids, no idea where it started.”

“Fucking weirdo,” Cole laughs too and you know he’ll use that bit of information to make fun of Trevor in the future. You fall into w comfortable silence, sipping at your beers, until Cole nudges the back of your hand with his knuckles. “Did I tell you that you look gorgeous? You look insane in red,” his smile is soft and his cheeks are tinged pink.

Your own face feels hot, pleased that the strategic deployment of your skin-tight red party dress is doing what you wanted it to do. “I’ll always take another compliment, especially if it’s from you,” you reply quietly.

The air in between your bodies crackles, shifting imperceptibly. Cole leans forward and subconsciously, you do too. The noise of the reception fades away and all you can focus on is Cole.

“I wasn’t…” he pauses, rubs his free hand over his chin. “I should’ve said something earlier or waited, I don’t know. Fuck, I’m not explaining myself well.”

Your heart feels like it’s stopped beating in your chest, your lungs frozen as you hold your breath, waiting for Cole to spit out whatever he’s trying to say. What you hope he’s trying to say.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, after a few heartbeats’ worth of silence and you’re pretty sure you misheard him.

“What?” You ask stupidly.

Cole’s smile grows and he steps even closer to you. “I would very much like to kiss you, can I?”

You can only nod, blood rushing in your ears and your heart pounding in your chest. Cole’s free hand comes up to cup your cheek and his thumb brushes over your cheekbone and the next thing you know, his lips are slotted over yours and your only thought is that Cole Caufield is actually kissing you.

A soft little whimper leaves your mouth, swallowed up by Cole’s lips and you can feel him smile, his fingers sliding into your hair to pull your face closer to his. A frisson of pleasure sparks low in your stomach, heat pooling between your legs.

Your mouth falls open, giving him access to slide his tongue into your mouth and the kiss gets a little messy, teeth and tongue and your free hand lands on Cole’s chest, fingers curling around the lapel of his jacket, crushing the fabric and pulling him in.

Eventually, you get dizzy - from lack of oxygen or from Cole’s kiss, who’s to say? - and you pull back slightly, breathing hard. Cole’s forehead rests against yours and he huffs a little laugh against your cheek.

“Um,” you murmur, head spinning.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” Cole says quietly, his fingers still buried in your hair, “for months.”

A giggle bubbles out of your chest and you nod, bumping Cole’s nose with yours. “I’ve wanted you to do that for years,” you confess, equally as quiet.

“Cool,” Cole presses his lips to yours again, a softer, sweeter kiss. “Can I take you on a date?”

“I’m all out of weddings for the summer,” you tease, leaning back against the wall and letting Cole press his hand against the wall next to your head.

“I think we’ll be able to figure something out,” his smile is contagious and you can’t believe that this is really happening.

——-

“Here lies Trevor Zegras’s sanity,” Trevor pronounces loudly, drunkenly, before tossing a handful of grass onto the fire burning away in the fire pit. “It died a week ago when I saw my best friend (“Hey!” Jamie interrupts indignantly.) groping my sweet, innocent baby sister (“Gross!” you yelp, fake gagging.) in my own living room!”

“I may never know peace again,” Trevor continues, ignoring yours and Jamie’s interjections, gesturing wildly with his White Claw. “But thank you all for joining me in memorializing the death of my vision.”

“Oh my god,” you whine, leaning forward to throw the pillow behind your back at Trevor. He bats it out of the air, just nearly missing the fire. “You didn’t even see anything!”

The Hughes brothers and Jamie all snigger when Trevor’s face falls into a sharp expression of suspicion. He squints at you, the effect ruined by the way his stupid polarized sunglasses fall down his forehead, “was there anything to see?”

Cole pinches your ankle where it’s resting on his lap, a warning. You shoot him a winning grin, before turning back to Trevor and deadpanning, “a lady never blows and tells.”

The uproar of noise from your brother and his friends makes you cackle, Cole’s hand around your calf like a brand. He catches your eye and shakes his head at you, smirking. You paste an innocent look on your face and lean in for a kiss while the guys are distracted.

“Stop,” Trevor whines, “my ears are dead now too! My best friend and my sister! Conspiring against me!”

“Okay, Ross Gellar,” you snark, “chill out. And stop sacrificing the grass to the fire pit, Dad’s going to freak out when there’s a bald spot.”

Trevor flops down onto an armchair, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “I’ll just blame you, Noodle,” he teases, holding his hand out for another spiked seltzer. Jack passes him one and takes one for himself.

The backyard is cool, mid-August starting to transition into fall. The guys will be heading back to their corners of the continent in the next few days, but it’s the last hurrah for summer. They’ll spend the night and get in their last bits of ‘guy time’ before the season starts. They do it every year and this year an invitation was graciously extended to you. Aka you tucked yourself up against Cole’s side and flipped Trevor off when he demanded that you leave.

No chance you were missing out on any time with Cole before he heads up to Montreal and you head down to Villanova for grad school. You’ll probably end up see Jamie the most out of any of the guys during the season.

“Can we just talk about the fact that these two were dating all summer under our noses?” Jamie jabs his thumb in your direction, passing around a container of Zyn.

“It wasn’t all summer,” you correct with a shrug. “It’s only been a week.”

For whatever reason, Trevor hadn’t mentioned the fake dating portion of your summer, instead just sending around a blast to the group chat that you and Cole were ‘offending his delicate sensibilities’ by making out in front of him at your cousin’s wedding. The fact that he sent the text literally at the exact moment Cole was biting down on your lower lip to muffle mutual laughter at Trevor’s overdramatic soap opera-esque gasp only makes the story better.

Cole stayed in Connecticut after the wedding, taking you out on the promised date and sneaking into your room every night after the rest of your family had gone to bed.

You’d already booked a flight to Montreal for your fall break while wrapped up in his arms, telling bad jokes in your ear while you tried to remember your credit card number.

It’s only been a week, but it feels like much longer and you’re not ready for the season to start again.

“You’re the secret girl he wouldn’t tell us about all summer,” Quinn comments.

“I didn’t need you fuckers saying anything stupid before I actually asked her out,” Cole defends himself, rubbing his thumb over your ankle bone.

“Who? Us?” Jack cackles, setting off a chain of laughter.

You giggle and lean forward, bending at the waist and angling your knees towards Cole’s chest so you don’t knock yourself in the face. The breeze shifts and blows smoke from the fire pit in your direction so you bury your face in Cole’s shoulder to avoid the smoke stinging your eyes. He tangles his hand in your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp, drawing a contented groan from your throat.

“You two are disgusting and I hate it,” Trevor whines, sunglasses fully over his eyes now even though it’s pitch black beyond the glow of the fire.

“I thought your vision was dead?” You snap back, turning your head so your cheek is pressed to Cole’s shoulder. “Isn’t that why we were all called to this funeral?”

Trevor nods, “right, yeah, almost forgot.” He starts humming ‘Pomp and Circumstance,’ and that’s what ends up killing you. Laughter bubbles out of your chest and soon you’re unable to control the hysterical laughter that has you gasping for air.

The rest of the guys crack up too, leaving Trevor to cut off his humming and snap, “what?”

“That’s the graduation song, you dumbass,” Cole chokes out around laughter.

Trevor shrugs, “who gives a shit? You’re graduating from my best friend to Noodle’s boyfriend, it kind of works.”

The heat radiating from your face has nothing to do with your proximity to the fire pit and everything to do with Trevor’s use of the b-word. It’s been a week, sure you’ve been in love with Cole for years, but you have no desire to scare him off.

“What song are you gonna hum, badly, when I graduate to being your brother-in-law?” Cole teases, keeping his arms around you so you can’t wiggle away and escape.

Without missing a beat, Trevor shoots back, “the Hannah Montana classic, ‘Everybody Makes Mistakes.’”

“God, your entire existence was a mistake,” you groan, enjoying the way Cole’s hand is rubbing up and down your back. Without really noticing, Cole’s managed to manoeuvre your body so you’re sitting on his lap, one arm banded around your stomach to keep you in place. You lean back slightly, your head on Cole’s shoulder and he presses a kiss to your jaw, making you smile.

Trevor flips you off and the conversation shifts again, the guys discussing the upcoming season and the changes they’re all going to be facing on their respective teams.

“Hey,” Cole whispers in your ear, making you shiver. “Insider info, Brock’s proposing to Caroline soon.”

You hum, warm in his arms.

“Think you’d want to be my plus one?” He asks, kissing the side of your neck. “As my real girlfriend, not a fake one.”

“Oh,” you breathe. “Well, I guess I can make that work. We’ll have to get our story straight though.”

Cole laughs against your cheek, “it’ll evolve.”

You turn and press your mouth to his, nipping gently at his lower lip, letting your tongue trace over his teeth. His hand roams up your spine and cups the back of your neck, pulling your face impossibly closer to his. Kissing Cole will never get old.

A sharp whistle draws your attention and one of the guys, you’re too dazed to differentiate their voices, jokes, “get a room!”

Cole bites at your lower lip, sucking it between his teeth. You grin against his mouth, moaning a little just to annoy the guys.

“Shut the fuck up,” the voice is unmistakably your brother’s, “they’re gonna use my room just to piss me off.”

You giggle, the noise swallowed by Cole’s kiss, and make no plans to move from your perch. Based on Cole’s grip on your neck, he has no plans to move either.

Now that he’s yours, after years of crushing, you’re not taking a single second for granted.

[megapteraurelia]

BLUEBIRD IN YOUR HEART.

⛱ SUMMARY; — new city, easy life, right? except it was harder than ever to come out of your shell, and neither your best friend's insistence nor your sudden new surf instructor hinata shouyou really make it easy to allow the bluebird within you to stay still.

or: hinata shouyou just really makes it difficult to not have fun in life!

⛱ WARNINGS; — f!reader; canon divergent au (only hinata); depiction of anxiety and panic (not hugely).

⛱ WORD COUNT; — 12,897.

⛱ AUTHOR'S NOTE; — hiii!! this is for my dearest @shouyuus (ily) for the summer exchange event, created, organised and lovingly encouraged by @sodaneko (ily) !!! i really hope you enjoy it, and i applaud and also admire you so much for writing for as difficult a character as hinata, yuu, really. and also, i'm sorry for the length of this!!! it truly was not meant to be that long, but i cannot, for the life of me, hold myself short, so i really, really, really hope you end up liking it, if only a fracture <3

and a big thank you to @prettyiwa for allowing me to use their beautiful picture of a cave's mouth in my banner hihi (ily)

You hadn't planned to walk out this far.

In fact, you hadn't planned to go out in the first place. You were about ready to stay at home, turn on the fans and allow your existence to mellow out on the couch whilst you considered all the life choices that lead you to this point. But as perspiration pooled onto your skin with determination to make you regret not having moved to the other hemisphere of the earth to escape this blinding heat, the ticking of the clock amidst the whirring of the fan had your stomach clenching uncomfortably.

So you went out.

This coastal town was nothing like the city you had up and left behind. Here, like an endless stretch, the blue was wide and clean, gulls shrieked overhead and the air tasted like something more than just despair in disguise of whatever the world viewed as productiveness; there was a hint of salt, a hint of something wild, a clear cut through everything you had known.

There were no subways here and most cellphones didn't chime with any notifications; there was only the soft crashing of waves against rocks, some occasional laughter from the sidewalk and the ocean looked so incredibly mesmerising in the crossing of light that you hadn't noticed when your surroundings stopped looking familiar.

Now your chest was tight and your breath shallow as if you were trying to suck air through a straw. You really hadn't meant to walk out this far; you had just wanted to clear your head, escape the relentless buzz of thoughts and the suffocating exhaustion fuelling your body.

The sand beneath your feet was unfamiliar, and the beach curved like a silent, sleeping animal, scary and lonely.

Trying to push down the unsure knot twisting in your stomach, you turn around, eyes wandering up and down the shore in hopes of finding any sign that told you where you were.

Then, through the slight nervous haze, you saw him.

He was maybe your age, a towel slung over his freckled shoulders as he stood, grasping his surfboard, propped up in the sand like a pillar. His hair, bright orange and sun-bleached, resisted the breeze of the wind, weighed down by glistening water drops. His skin looked like it was warm, heated by the sun, and ocean-glossed, sand decorating his body like it refused to let go. His necklace of sea shells winked at you whenever he shifted.

He spotted you instantly, too, and when he grinned at you, it was a wide, brilliant thing, as was his voice, so loud, so very loud, "You look like you need to scream!"

You blinked, heart aching in your chest, fingers trembling as you tried to reconcile the idea of somebody jogging towards you, leaving his board behind, with the need to breathe in the wide expanse of beach with all the air you could wish for and none of the strength to move your lungs.

Slow, your mouth moved like you swallowed cotton, "…what?"

Barefoot and toes wriggling in the sand, he stepped closer, completely unbothered as he carried along confidence of someone raised by Helios. He pointed toward a jutting cliff down the coastline, a few droplets of cool water landing on your skin; a jarring cool in the heat.

"There's a spot over there," he said casually, voice bright, "Honestly, the best screaming ledge in the whole town!! It echoes like craaazy. I can take you!"

Your legs moved on their own, taking a half-step back from this person who knew no fear. "I'm…good, thanks."

"Fair," he nodded, and a droplet of water dripped from a strand of his hair right into the space between you both, colouring the sand a darker hue. Your fingers found each other to press into your flesh, grounding yourself, and he tossed the towel over his shoulder, his hand appearing in front of you the way a floating buoy broke through the water's surface.

"I'm Hinata Shouyou!"

You hesitated for a moment, then shook it, your lips mumbling your name right back at him, voice lost in the warm palm of his, calloused from salt and sand and slightly sweaty. Something in your chest unravelled just slightly.

"Don't worry," he said, flashing you another grin that bordered on too optimistic, too charming, too present in the way he existed, "You just looked like you had a lot on your mind. Thought maybe yelling at the water can help. It always makes me feel good so chances are it might help you too."

Only when his smile widened, did you realise that he managed to coax a little upward tilt of the corners of your mouth out of you, "You should try it sometime, you know? Best therapy there is."

One of your shoulders lifted, unsure, because what were you supposed to say? That you screamed inside your head for hours on end and it made no difference at all? That the idea of letting something out felt like you were too exposed, too vulnerable to being perceived?

So, instead, you just shrugged. You hoped it looked casual enough, like maybe you were considering it, but he tilted his head, eyes roaming over your face like he could see every thought written out, "You keep doing that, you know? Shrug like that, but that's alright."

Then, just as he was turning around to jog back to his board still stuck in the sand like a reminder that you both still existed in this world, and just as you thought the conversation had ended, he turned back towards you, walking backwards, the same brilliant smile playing on his lips, "One day, though— I'll get you to scream. And it'll be awesome!"

It felt unfamiliar, this sensation in your chest, that even though you still didn't know where you were and you didn't end up asking him about any directions, it didn't seem like the worst thing anymore.

One thing that you appreciated, though, ever since having moved to this town was the sound of distant waves drifting through the cracked window. It was peaceful and you could lose yourself in it. What you couldn't lose yourself in, on the other hand, was the sound of Oikawa Tooru prattling on and on in your ears.

"And honestly, Iwa-chan didn't need to tell me that Ushiwaka is in California, too, yikes and— you better tell me you fell asleep, because if you're ignoring me, I'm going to book the first flight over to drag your ass all over the floor."

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, staring at the ceiling, "I'm here."

His voice immediately sharpened when he heard you respond so absentmindedly, "You sound guilty. What did you do? Or, actually, hold on— what aren't you doing?"

"That's dramatic, Tooru," you tracked the way the pale curtains fluttered in the breeze, the soft clicking noise of the ceiling fan's blades stirring in the humid air. You dangled your leg off the edge of the bed, and for a second, wondered if there was a monster underneath it. If there was, you thought with a half-smile, you were confident it would have the same cowlick as Tooru's hair.

"You promised you'd try," his tenor was soft in its concern and sharp in its attempt to hide it, "Talk to people, take actual steps toward, you know, being part of the human race again. You know I love an alien just as much as the next person—"

"—more than the next person—"

"—but you promised Iwaizumi, remember? Or do we want to call him right now and rip out his heart? You think he'll survive that?"

Damn you, Oikawa Tooru.

Of course, he was exaggerating. Ever since you could remember, Tooru had made a theatre out of his own goodwill, delivering melodrama in exchange for the anxiety sitting deep in your chest. You knew he was manipulating you, but he also knew it would work, especially when he took Iwaizumi's name in his mouth.

How were you supposed to continue hiding like this?

"You're doing this on purpose," you muttered, turning around to hug your pillow, half-smothering yourself as your voice muffled, "That's so low."

"Me? Care about you? On purpose?" his voice was sickly sweet, and you thought maybe adding Hajime to your call wouldn't be such a bad decision, after all, "Dow dare I!"

You stayed silent, and your eyelids closed of their own accord, the wind chime clinking softly with the slight breeze. You felt a sweat pearl trickle down the side of your neck, and you thought you could fall asleep like this, carried by nothing but the subtle hum of life around you.

"Come on."

And Oikawa Tooru's voice.

"Be real with me, okay?" his otherwise teasing voice became gentle, "Are you really trying?"

He didn't mean it in any bad way. He cared, you knew he cared and that knowledge made your chest tighten, because you wanted to give back the same effort, but how to explain how scary it was to exist on your own, far out there with no one to rely on?

"I'm trying," you ended up saying.

"Okay." A cautious notion entered his tone, then curved into something more cutting, not giving you an out, "Define trying."

You felt the lie form before it even had any real shape, just a need to escape his concern before it cracked open the floodgates within your throat and allowed all you felt to spill open before you.

"I have plans today."

"With a person?"

"…yes."

Immediate answer, "You're lying."

"I'm not lying."

"Oh my god, you are!" Tooru gasped, "You liar. You just wait 'til Iwa-chan hears about this, he'll flip."

"I do have plans!" another sweat pearl joined the first one, "I'm doing something out of my comfort zone. Isn't that what you guys wanted?"

Tooru hummed, long and mocking, his voice goading as he asked you what it was you were going to do, careful as if you would lie to him— well, granted, you did. But as you racked your brain for anything to shut his question down, a face flashed through your mind.

Sun-flushed grin, a surfboard, the way he had looked at you like he couldn't see you carrying your weight in burden. You hadn't meant to, not really, but he popped up in your brain so easily, that your mouth followed suit, blurting out, "Surfing lessons."

"Surfing?!"

You winced. It sounded so fake. "Yes."

"You're gonna let strangers drown you for sport?!"

Oikawa Tooru had all the tact of a seal, the way he threw that into your face like it wasn't already scary enough to lie to him in the first place. Now you had to defend your lie as well?

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide the way your cheeks burned with shame, "I'm trying something new. Come on, Tooru."

"Okay. Okay. I'm proud of you."

Then, after the silence settled—

"Send me a picture."

"Tooru! You think I'm still lying!"

"No," he said but you could hear the mischief and the grin in his voice, "I just want to see you have fun."

Which meant that yes, he absolutely thought you were lying.

You didn't even bring a towel.

When you stood barefoot in the sand, palms sweating and stomach feeling like it was lined with sandpaper, that was the first thing you had realised. You were close to just going back home again, but when you walked half the shoreline, you pictured Tooru's smug face demanding evidence, so you kept walking. You hadn't even signed up, you didn't even know if you could, but that wasn't an excuse you could rely upon because by having said it out loud it had forced your hand. You had summoned this lie and its circumstance into reality.

You clutched your phone in your pocket, just in case you needed to fake an emergency. There were a few people gathered already on the beach, though most of them looked far too confident for a beginner class; their shoulders tan and hair stiff from the salt, laughing with the ease of people who knew each droplet of the ocean personally.

This was a bad idea. So bad. God, this was dumb—

"Woah— no way!"

It was funny. You didn't look at anybody, hadn't expected to know anybody here nor that anyone would know you, had only heard this voice once before, but your heart stuttered at the recognition. Thundered in your chest like it was remembering the vibration within the air, like it knew the musical notes his voice was made out of.

When you turned around, he was jogging over across the sand, his surfboard tucked under one arm, a towel flapping from his shoulder like a cape. There was a smile on his face, wide and surprised, boyish and genuinely happy, and for a second you had the instinct to run, to bolt and not look back.

"What are you doing here!" his voice was incredibly open, incredibly warm, and incredibly void of any judgement.

"Signed up," you said lamely, the lie catching in your throat, "The lesson. What are you doing here?"

"I'm the instructor!!"

Blinking, you were caught off guard, "Wait— you're the instructor?"

Shouyou laughed, his hand coming up to rub his neck like he was a tad embarrassed about it with you posing your question like that, "Well. Kind of. I help out sometimes when they're short. Which, surprise!, they are today."

You stared at him, brain scrambling to understand what you were seeing, heart thudding in your chest. This was supposed to be anonymous. Safe. Just an excuse to get Tooru off your back, to get him to drop the smug smile on his face, and to have him send you back a grimace that admitted defeat. Not…him, though. It wasn't supposed to be him.

"I can pretend I don't know you if that helps," he offered quickly, your expression probably so very telling as he caught the hesitation, "I'm great at pretending to be a stranger!! Just ask my high school teachers."

It was so easy for him, to coax this little huff of laughter out of you, small and unsure, and your fingers found each other again to knead your palm, like you could wring out the nerves through your skin. Drip, drip, drip like water from a wash cloth, "No. It's fine. I just…didn't expect to see you again."

He shrugged like he didn't mind seeing you again, not like you minded him, "This is cool, though. You ready?"

"Not— not exactly," you muttered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear even though the wind would probably undo it within five seconds, "I didn't even officially sign up. I just— um. Lied to someone about it. And now I'm here."

He laughed. Loud. Boisterous enough that a few people looked over even, and your face flushed, heat rising up your neck that had nothing to do with the sun glaring down at you and everything to do with the ginger haired boy right in front of you.

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not!" he grinned, the laugh not having escaped his face, "You came, didn't you? That's so cool of you."

Cool. Right. You didn't feel cool at all, you felt like a balloon some sticky kid's hand had let go of, drifting with no real plan, just up and up and up the sky, vaguely terrified of hitting something sharp. You felt like were going to throw up with the amount of people you had to join, all knowing better and knowing more. You felt like you didn't belong here, and you didn't. This was a bad idea. Oh, this was a bad idea.

Shouyou watched you, stepping aside, gesturing casually toward the boards lined up further down the beach, "We'll keep it super chill, so don't worry. I won't even make you stand on the board today, unless you want to."

A slight, tiny nod from you, but your eyes tracked the group of beginner students already stretching in a loose circle, their wetsuits awkward and half-zipped. Your stomach did a little flip, nerves pressing heavy against your ribs, and hidden underneath the roar of the waves crashing into the shore before you, something small and uncertain and traitorous bloomed.

A tentative nudge, a hey, what if you like this?

Snuffing the idea out like a candle, you slightly shook your head at yourself, panic binding strings around your throat to cinch it. If you liked it, then it wouldn't be a superficial lie anymore; it would mean to admit that this was something real.

The water was colder than you expected. Not icy enough to hurt, but it was enough to wake every nerve beneath your skin. You sucked in a breath that didn't quite fill your lungs, no matter how much you tried, and tightened your grip on the board that felt so unfamiliar; foreign in its curve, like it wasn't made for your hands. The waves lapped around your knees, foam curling and retreating like a cheeky little fish, nipping at the skin hidden by the wet suit given to you.

Shouyou stood close, waist-deep as his board floated next to him, and he talked over the hush of the tide, "Okay, just breathe. Let's start with you lying on the board! We'll just float, no standing so no pressure."

You sent him a wary look, and he returned it with a grin so blindingly bright, there was a weird response in your chest: a tiny flutter of something well-hidden.

"You'll be fineeee," he promised, "I'm right here!! I might not amount to much, but I'll catch you, promise, I will!"

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. A tiny, incredulous breath escaped you, and you slowly sank belly-first onto the board, just like he had shown you on the sand earlier. It felt weird and awkward, too helpless, too clumsy, like your body wasn't made for this. Elbows locked, shoulders tensing up, and every part of your body was trying not to slip into the ocean like an idiot. It wasn't deep, and you knew if you were to drop into the water, your feet would find land and you'd be able to stand upright again, yet the thought of falling had your heart beat all the way up into your throat.

"Relax your arms," he said, hand hovering just near the tail of your board, not touching it, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiate through the space between, "Let it hold you. That's what it's made for."

It took a few tries as you shifted, over corrected, felt the board wobble underneath you like it was something living about to devour you and your inexperience. Almost talking it down in your head, easy, easy, I'm not here to upset you, Ocean, I'm just here to learn, so focused on trying to placate whatever was out there, that you had barely noticed when your elbows gave a little, loosening just slightly, until the board, bobbing beneath you, didn't throw you off.

"Woahh, so good, you're doing well!!" he jumped within the water, propelling a little up only to sink down just as easily, and a couple droplets of water sprayed on you when his hands broke through the surface to clench into fists, excited, his voice rising in delight as well, "Now just paddle a little, easy strokes like swish, swash— yeah, you got it! Just like that!"

Your arms felt uncertain and weird, legs dipping into the water behind you, the movement awkward as everything about your posture screamed beginner. You felt like a fledgling bird, trying to fly with waterlogged wings, but Shouyou beamed all the same, his encouragement constant and sincere.

You knew that any type of instructors were encouraging of amateurs, but something in the way Shouyou talked to you and looked at you, made you think that this was more than just the typical feelings an instructor carried. It felt like he talked not just to you, but to a version of him that had found himself in the same situation once before. He looked like he knew the height of the mountain before you and knew how much energy it took to climb it.

"Nice!! Look at you go!"

He was paddling alongside you, and your chest heaved a little, but it wasn't from the effort, or not just from it — adrenaline coursed through your veins, holding your breath without realising, of knowing you could tilt and slip any second, of the short and breathy laughter escaping you, a strange high even though you didn't even stand on the board.

"You okay? Still good to go?"

Nodding, breathless still, pounding heart still, "Yeah. I just— I didn't think I'd actually get that far."

His expression softened and he came to a stop right next to you, "Trust the board to carry you. Trust yourself to carry you."

Your throat tightened, but you said nothing, blinking saltwater from your lashes as you watched his eyes drift for a second, like he wasn't entirely there anymore, but only for a moment and his voice returned, sounding exceptionally gentle, "Fight with the body you have. You're way more capable than you think you are."

A small wave curled behind you, just the faintest of edge of whitewater, and he glanced back, the glint returning back to their rightful place in his eyes.

"Wanna try catching a wave?" he asked, "We'll just ride it lying down, nothing fancy. I'll be there!!"

You hesitated, stomach twisting uncertainly, flipping in a thousand directions for a thousand reasons.

"I'll push you into it, don't worry," he added quickly, hands stretched out to catch your board, fingers holding onto it so easily and so assured, "and you just keep your chest up, okay? If you wipe out, you just let go. Don't worry about the board, that's what the string is for, remember?"

And just like knowing he needed to reiterate it, "You'll float, and I'm with you."

Fingers curling tighter around the rails of the board, you gave a quick nod, one so imperceptible and tiny you were surprised that Shouyou caught it as easily as he did, and the fear growing on your face seemingly itched there permanently had him reach out swiftly, palms cradling your cheeks, his eyes open and trusting, "You're here, don't forget."

The wave rolled closer and his hands let go quicker than you knew, "Three…two…one—go!"

With a gentle push, the board caught the wave, and for a few seconds, everything lifted, the board, you, a smile on your face that you couldn't suppress no matter how strong your attempts. The wind kissed your face, a hiss of foam rushing by, the sudden freedom of not fighting anything, gliding, not falling. Floating, not falling.

Until you fell.

Slipped, actually; sideways with a sharp wobble as your balance gave, and everything pitched sideways, the world blurring into a cold, bubbling crash. It filled your ears, and your hands fumbled, slapping out blindingly as fear and adrenaline lashed at you almost immediately, legs kicking against nothing as the wave crashed above your head into the surface.

The leash of the board tugged at your ankle as the water whirled it around through sheer force only, and you couldn't breathe, and where was up and where was down? And— oh god, you couldn't open your eyes, and don't breathe yet, don't breathe yet, don't breathe yet—

A hand wrapped around your arm, strong and pulling, and then your head broke the surface, breath uneven and nose burning from the saltwater you had snorted accidentally in your attempts to keep your breath within the wild need to breathe. You rubbed the water out of your eyes, and faintly, you registered Shouyou's voice.

"You okay?" he asked, wet hair dripping into his eyes, and he didn't touch you, but underneath the water, you felt the hovering of his hand.

"I panicked," the words fell out fast and rough, your breath not far behind, ragged as you exhaled harshly.

He nodded, eyes wide, "Yeah, that happens. First time's always like that. You're okay, though, you put yourself out there and that's huuuge."

You wiped your face, arms trembling, but the worst of your body's response had already passed. You fell. And the tide hadn't taken you — you hadn't disappeared.

"Wanna try again?"

You hesitated for just a millisecond, and you knew he saw that, yet he waited still.

"…yeah."

You could only manage to try a few more times, though some were closer to success than others — the other times you slipped before you could even properly hold yourself on the board, yet each time, he was there, hands finding your waist to help you right yourself up; so very gentle and steady, like it was the easiest thing to do in the world to offer someone like you patience.

When you barely had any strength anymore to paddle, arms trembling and chest heaving, Shouyou called it a day. But instead of wrapping it up completely and heading back to the shore, he tugged on the leash cord of your board and gestured farther out.

"Come on," he said, sitting on his own board, "You didn't think we were done-done yet, did you?"

He didn't push you to accept his invitation at all, yet you found yourself not resisting, his presence like a lure, urging you to come along, to experience the world through his eyes and his senses, through the path he walked— or swam. And you were exhausted, were tired, wanted to curl up in your bed underneath the thinnest bed sheets serving as blankets and allow yourself some time off, yet his knuckles were red as they took the nose of your board, and you let him pull you with him.

The sea stilled the farther you went, the swell beneath you calm and rhythmic, up and down, up and down. The sun had dipped lower, casting shimmering treasure across the surface, and out here, it felt like you were isolated. Just him and you on this wide spot of water, people far and distant shaped on the beach.

The moment Shouyou decided it was far enough, he let himself rest belly-down on his board, arms crossed underneath his chin lazily. His hair was a mess of sun-streaked strands sticking up in a hundred directions, still wet and drying in clumps, and when he squinted at the horizon, he looked at it like it was something to chase.

You mirrored him slowly, back against the board, tension in your shoulder uncoiling, and your chest was loose; the absence of the familiar pressure you had come to known so deeply and call it your friend almost startling you.

"Are we just going to float?"

"Yeah. Just float. Don't think about anything."

You rested your head back against the hard surface of the board, staring up at the sky, wide and cloudless; the blue bleeding into forever on one side and merging with a bright orange on the other side, as orange as his hair next to you. The water lapped gently at your sides, fingertips trailing through it as you reconciled the warm embrace of the last sun rays with the cool kiss of the abyss below.

"I haven't not thought in months," you said, blinking at the sky only to find the same thing looking back at you. Unchanged; it hasn't changed.

He tilted his head to glance at you, his cheek still pressed to his arms, freckles on his shoulders winking at you, "Not even for a second?"

The seagulls were the only noisy thing, "No."

He probably didn't think anything of it, and you refused to look and make him aware of it either, but your focus honed in on the way he had extended his arm and gripped the thick of your borrowed board, his fingertips brushing your arm ever so slightly whenever he adjusted his grip, "Well, you're not thinking right now."

Blink, "I'm talking to you."

"Exactly," he grinned sideways, "You're here. With me."

The simplicity of it made your lips twitch. It was ridiculous. It was, but he was also right.

You let the board rock you gently; there was something so deeply comforting about floating beside somebody so alive, so fully in the world, it was almost like being next to a sun that didn't burn.

The evening air had turned cooler, chasing the heat from your skin in slow shivers. You crouched beside the towel he lent you, wringing saltwater from your hair, watching the strands fall heavy between your fingers.

Your phone, its screen littered with stray grains of sand, lit up with a buzz, flashing bright against the dimming beach. Another buzz, and then another, and another, and without having to look for it, you knew who was terrorising your poor phone, barely able to keep up with the oncoming storm, a barrage of messages stacked on top of each other.

prove it

pic or it didn't happen

come on c'mon i need to see you in neoprene

give me and iwa hope

You groaned, head falling into the towel, faintly smelling of Shouyou, of sun cream, faint salt clinging to the fibres.

"What's up?"

Shouyou's voice drifted from where he stood a few feet away, sand sticking in thick patches to his calves, one arm clutching his board like it weighed nothing, and his hair started to curl at the ends. He was pretty. He was a pretty guy, and he asked you what was up and you had to tell him about this god-forsaken, embarrassing thing Tooru is asking, no, demanding of you, and—

"Noth-fing," your tongue twisted with the way you tried to expel the word, and he looked at you like he knew you were lying, curiosity open in his eyes, no judgment, an almost quiet hope behind his reaction of turning to face you fully, and something in your chest twisted.

"My friend wants a picture. To prove that I actually came here," you glanced around. The sun was dropping fast now, shadows stretching longer and longer across the beach, "and the light's almost gone, so it has to be now."

He tilted his head, almost a little confused, "What's stopping you from taking one?"

"I was going to ask if you could take it of me," you muttered, voice growing quieter the more of your anxiety slipped through, standing slowly, awkwardly brushing sand from the backs of your thighs, "If you don't mind, that is—"

Before you could finish the sentence, he had reached out and plucked the phone clean from your hands with a grin, ignoring your unfinished thought entirely as he stepped closer — way closer — sliding his arm easily behind your shoulder, hand hanging off it, fingertips brushing the inside of your upper arm. Shouyou's body was warm where it touched yours and you barely had time to blink before—

Click.

"You didn't even warn me!"

He looked at you with a kind of shameless delight, then offered you the phone with both of his hands holding on to it, like a precious token, and—

"You look cute, though, so don't worry!!"

Chest tightening, a strange fluttering near your heart and neck growing warm — you didn't say anything, only sent the picture to Tooru with shaky fingers.

You curled up on your bed, limbs heavy with the ache of having experienced way too much in a way too short of a time span, the fan above you creaking with every slow spin. The light in your room was dim, the sound of crickets joining the faint waves through your cracked open window, though it barely did anything to offer any breeze. Somewhere outside, a dog barked once before being hushed and somewhere inside, your phone resumed the same buzzing, impatient and urgent, as if Tooru sent not only his messages over to you, but also his entire audacity.

so. so. what is this?

You didn't even need to ask, didn't even bother to pretend you didn't know what he was talking about. You unlocked the screen, and there it was again: the photo. That photo.

Shouyou, shirtless and glowing even though the sun was only weakly giving him a wave goodbye, grinning so wide, his eyes crinkling. His arm was slung around your shoulder, his cheek almost brushing yours whilst you, still damp from the ocean, were wide-eyed and stunned, caught in the midst of speaking, but there— a faint pink touched your cheeks, and at first glance, it looked like it was the heat. If anybody asked, that was what you'd answer as well. But you knew better.

Knew to still feel the warmth of his body next to yours, still remember the way his fingers brushed your arm casually like it didn't send your heart skidding sideways into your ribs, lodged in there painfully, a reminder with each breath you took.

And Tooru knew better, too.

i said to prove you went surfing, not to send me a soft launch with your new himbo boyfriend

explain. right NOW

You sat up with a sigh, the same pink gracing your cheeks now. Soft launch? It wasn't, obviously. It was just one picture. One accidental, not-on-purpose picture. That Shouyou took. With your phone. Without permission. With this grin and this glint in his eyes. With him calling you cute.

You began typing.

it's not like that.

You deleted it again.

we're just friends.

Deleted again. Were you friends, though?

It didn't feel like being friends. Never once had Tooru or Hajime make your chest ache the way Shouyou did, and never once had they looked at you like— like they were trying to memorise your face, and never once had a mere picture with them make them glow at the edges in your mind, even hours later.

i hate you

That was what you ended up sending, and the dots danced immediately as Tooru was already in the midst of replying.

LMAO YOU DO NOT

TELL ME EVERYTHING

does he talk like a golden retriever

does he know he's your roman empire or nah

You flopped backward, screen turning black at the insistence of your finger, one arm flung over your eyes, the blush and the shame and the old welcome of anxiety returning to your chest, uninvited but persistent.

The bar of wax was glistening in the sun, soft at the edges like it might melt right into your palm, yet it didn't, half of it encased in textured plastic, the ribbing offering enough grip that even your slick, sun-warmed fingers were no match for it.

"Now rub it alllll over in big circles," Shouyou said, crouched beside you with his own board already half waxed, "You can also do tiny circles, but since it's only the base coat, it doesn't matter that much. So if you really wanna get fancy, you can also do criss crosses like—" his hand hissed through the air in an exaggerated gesture, rather dramatic and wide, "—pheew, get it?"

You huffed through your nose in amusement, "…I think I understand?"

Nonetheless, you tried imitating the gesture, following the movements of Hinata's tan hand, drawing shapes into the air, but it was difficult, moreso than you had expected, and the bar of wax twisted in your grip.

Still, when you tried to mimic the motion, your wrist stiffened and the wax bar shifted in your hand, awkward and unsure.

"Hold on," he mumbled, reaching over and his fingers engulfed yours without hesitation, wrapping around them briefly, "Like this."

His hand was calloused, skin brushing lightly against your knuckles; his fingers were warm from the sun, and yours were warm from his.

"You need help?"

"No."

The stupid zipper didn't want to work, and your muscles protested under the strain of trying to reach your back, just a tiny bit, fingertips meeting it with a slight tremble, but you'd rather sport the embarrassed flush of exertion than ask for help—

"Here, let me."

"I said no—!"

His hand glided along your skin easily, carrying the metal piece up and up, breath caressing your skin like a whispered secret before he hid your nape from the world, "Oops, already done."

Your phone hovered over the water's edge, trembling between your fingers even though there was no way it would fall, not with the death grip you kept it in.

"Could you…take a picture for Tooru?"

Hinata Shouyou was like a fish in water, the way he dipped under the glossy surface only to resurface right next to you within only a moment, hair slicked back, sun-freckled skin cool, water dripping from the seashells around his neck and his hand already took the phone from you — despite the death grip! — to take a picture of you both.

His dazzling smile, your sheepish eyes, unguarded, and that which the snapshot of that moment didn't capture: the thundering of your heart in your chest, the panic sitting within the folds of your stomach, the inches between your bodies feeling like miles upon miles.

Your hands gripped the board tightly, fingertips whitening against the waxy surface, and Shouyou crouched beside you in the shallows, half-submerged, water brushing his chest.

"You've got it, come on," his voice was steady, a wave of excitement swapping over it, though he tried holding back. Not yet, not until he was sure you could stand up on your board for the first time, "Breathe. Don't forget to breathe."

He didn't try to correct your stance, or reach out to guide any of your movements. He waited and held out for you as you inhaled slowly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, your heart thumping in tandem with the squeeze of your feet against the board. The next swell rolled beneath you, and you tried implementing what you learned — move with the water, one foot, then the other, bend the knees, squeeze your core tightly, find balance, and then slowly…

For three seconds, glorious and staggering seconds, you were standing.

Exhilaration rushed to your head like alcohol, clouding your mind, knees wobbly, stomach tightened from the exertion, hands stretched out to ride not only the sea but the air as well, but then—

The board tilted, and you fell with a splash and a yelp, head momentarily lost underneath the cool surface, all sounds fizzling out, only the water's kiss remaining, until you broke through the surface, and your ears got to know Hinata Shouyou again.

"YES!" he beamed, throwing both arms up in victory, "That was sooooo good!"

A laugh escaped you, breathless and choked out, but he held his hands up high, "C'mon! Don't leave me hanging!"

"You're not going to like, splash me or something weird?"

"Who do you think I am? I'm not an animal!!"

Clap.

Your hand met his in a high five, warm, wet fingers engulfing yours as he shook them, a grin on his face, perpetual and glowing, and then, with a flick of his foot, he splashed you square in the face.

"Hey!" a shriek escaped you, "You said—!"

Shouyou splashed you again, though this time because of how fast he dove into the water to swim away, voice calling back to you, laughter evident in his voice, "I said I wasn't an animal and that's still true!"

The sun had melted into the horizon some time ago, having spilt molten gold across the water until it turned dark and glittering, the mirror image of the cloudless night. The stars had crept in quietly, one by one winking into view. You sat on your board, legs trailing in the water on either side, towel draped over your shoulders loosely to protect yourself from the soft breeze that, in the night, turned icy.

In the silent of the night, the sea rocked you gently, and it felt serene, in a way that when you inhaled, there was nothing but air in your chest.

Shouyou floated nearby, his fingers trailing over the water's surface and his voice was soft, earnest, though it was always earnest, but this time— this time, something was different, and you felt it swing in the air quietly.

"Surfing kinda saved me," he admitted, one hand behind his head as he looked up at the sky, "I felt stuck, like I couldn't go anywhere, or even do anything big. There was always something in my way, and always someone saying no. But here…I could move, you know? I could feel like I had a chance to be free. I got to chase something."

Your hair fluttered around you with the wind and your hands pulled the towel tighter. The water was cool, but your veins were warm as you looked at him, really looked at him, looked at the way he stared at the water like there was so much more to learn from it, and the way he nodded to himself like he knew the world would never bend to him, so he learned to bend with it, learned to leap, to carve his own shape out of it.

Breath forgotten, you kept looking.

He turned his head, just barely, and caught you staring right at him. Your heart responded to the look in his eyes, and it felt like you were being chased by a wild animal, like something was hot on your trail even though your body was still and swaying gently.

Shouyou smiled, small and a little bashful, and you thought embarrassment looked sweet on him, "What?"

You shook your head, mouth parting, hesitating, before you gathered your courage, "Nothing, you just…make it look so easy."

His grin grew, not only in size but in shape too, lop-sided and crooked and honest, "It's not really, but it does get easier when someone's watching your back, and sometimes you just paddle out, fall a bunch, yell at the sky, and try again. Like we've been doing!"

"I still get scared," there. Laid out there between you both, as honest as he was.

The understanding in his face was so deep, you had to look down. Your pruned fingers wrapped around themselves, kneading the flesh, and his voice was tender, "Me too."

The way his hand reached out to your floating board and he pulled himself closer to you felt natural and intimate, wrapped in the salty embrace of the water, shimmering and fracturing the moon's light.

Slowly, hesitantly, you looked up, and the space seemed thick; his voice a soft tenor, "But you've come a long way."

You swallowed hard, the way he looked at you, openly and with no expectations, a little darkening of his skin in the night made the silence feel like the one before a storm's. Your skin prickled where the breeze reached your forearms, but when his thigh bumped against yours, it was his warmth that made you tremble.

His hand twitched on the board, a tiny little flicker that caught your eye, but then he moved deliberately to brush a damp strand of hair from your forehead. The touch was feather light, but it seared straight through the nervous flutter in your chest, and his fingers lingered there, warm and steady.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice almost fragile, soft with its words.

Your mind scrambled; caught between a thousand reasons to pull away and the strange, wild urge to close the gap, to lean forward as much as he did, and your breath mirrored your soul, catching too. For a moment, it felt like you were suspended underwater, holding yourself still, and he was waiting.

You wanted to. You did, and it would be easy to give in, to bridge the few inches and welcome his warmth, but—

Then, suddenly, a rogue wave crashing into you unexpectedly, jolting you apart and your knuckles gripped your board, trying to stay steady as Hinata slipped from his to fall into the water, allowing himself to follow the movement, a laugh escaping him, and it was a breathless one, his eyes wide and wondrous as his hand ran through his hair, slicking it back.

His grin grew embarrassed, almost shy, when he smiled up at you from where he held his board, "Wow, the greatest timing, huh?"

Your chest still fluttered, breath uneven, adrenaline having spiked again, like you had woken up from a startle, like you were in the land between dreaming and waking. How had it come to this?

Here you were, out on the water on a whim, with a boy you barely knew, and yet. And yet, every small movement, every glance felt like it asked something of you. Skin still tingling from his gentle touch, you wanted to reach out, the desire still dancing within you, but its partner was panic and the walls you had built so carefully around yourself held firm, shaking but still standing. Stubborn, if nothing else.

Why was it so hard for you to let go?

It was supposed to be just one lesson, just something to try out, something new because Tooru and Hajime had asked, and now your heart tasted something it shouldn't have; waves, the future, the messy and terrifying unknown — would it ever cease to be endless and wild?

Your eyes travelled away from his, toward the water that stopped trying to give you pushes, the horizon just beyond. If you looked at him again, you might lose yourself, you thought.

"Hey," he said again, not any less understanding and patient, and would his kindness ever have any bounds?

Your breath came in uneven depths, and when you forced out a laugh, it came out warped and weird and distorted, wrong, all wrong.

"I'm fine," you said, tongue stumbling over itself, "Just…caught off guard."

You didn't show up for the next lesson.

At first, you told yourself that it was just a matter of timing: errands that you'd pushed to the tomorrows had to be run, calls about work that had you break out into cold sweats couldn't wait to be made anymore, things that you needed to fix before you could allow yourself to be even more distracted by the idea of diving into something that was too frail to be called a hobby.

But you didn't have to have Tooru or Hajime send you a look —raised eyebrows from the brown-haired dramatic fool or a stern nod from the other— to know that none of those excuses were any rational; not when your heart clenched underneath the looming cloud over your head. The thought of facing Shouyou again, but not even just that, to face his easy smile, the relentless optimism, that bright energy you found yourself both admiring and fearing at the same time — it made you feel like you were caught in prickly thicket.

You weren't ready yet to explain to him the walls you raised up so quickly, or the breathlessness he caught within you, the rush of adrenaline of being around him the moment he came closer.

The days slipped by, watercolours bleeding on a wet canvas as they each blended into the next. Your nights were restless, but each time, without fail, the sun rose and set like a constant, and her companion the distant crashing of waves, both a lullaby and a taunt. Ever since you had a taste of the saltiness, the ocean called to you with its endless rhythm, its whispering — freedom, it promised you, freedom and release.

It almost felt like a joke.

So, all you could do was to try and focus on other things, try and build the quiet hum of daily life that you had wished for when you came here in the first place, but what was one joke without a second?

Every so often, the image of Shouyou's grin would flash unbidden in your mind, reminding you of the way he'd knelt beside you in the foam, never forcing you forward, but tugging you along like it was so easy, flushing you ahead.

That was the hardest part, wasn't it? How safe he had made you feel, even as fear gripped you tight. How the possibility of letting someone in both terrified you and somehow, made you feel like it was necessary. So you stayed away, telling yourself it was to protect what little peace you had left.

That was until Tooru's voice graced your senses, reminding you of the phone that was balancing on your knee as you sifted through all your applications, making sure all documents were sorted and filled out. You glanced at it to see that the pretty boy had propped his phone up on the narrow ledge of a locker, the camera tilted just enough to catch him mid-change. His hair was damp from the shower, and his face was flushed slightly from the heat of the shower, the weather, the practise — who knew?

He rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt down, "I swear, the barista at that new café must be plotting against me. How hard is it to get my coffee order right, huh?—"

The faint voice of Hajime came through, "—stupid Oikawa, you think your bullshit diabetes-for-drink is easy to remember?"

"Uhm, yes? It's only an oat milk honey latte with ground cinnamon on top. I didn't even ask for any pumps of anything."

Hajime's split screen looked like he hadn't moved from his spot in hours, in comparison to Tooru's movement. He was hunched slightly over his desk, and his dark hair was pushed back with one hand as he highlighted something just out of frame; you saw the flash of a neon yellow peek from the corner. Behind him, the late afternoon light painted everything it could reach between the half-closed blinds with a soft glow, save for the striped patterned shadows on the wall and over the neat sprawl of papers and books.

His mouth was open a little, teeth biting his tongue as he concentrated, but when Tooru said something ridiculous, Hajime's eyebrows would twitch upward like he was visibly keeping back a sigh — he wasn't always successful in keeping it to himself, though.

He looked tired.

"As if you aren't high-maintenance enough."

"Ah, don't be jealous, Iwa-chan!~"

This time, Hajime did fail in keeping his sigh back, "You're exhausting."

A faint smile graced your lips, listening to them volley back and forth. The two of them were always like this: Tooru with his dramatic flair and motion and Hajime, the stiller half of the pair. Their banter was instinctive at this point, a rhythm to it that was hard to disrupt, something steady. No matter where they were in the world or how far away they were from you or how long it had been, they had always been there: anchors in the vast ocean. A net you never had to ask for, because it was always waiting. And somehow, even now, they made you feel just a little less like you were drifting out there.

"See?"

Tooru leaned into the camera, so close that you could count all of his eyelashes one by one. God, how unfair it was for him to have such long, elegant ones at that, "She smiled! Say thank you to my superior humour, Hajime."

"I can assure you that it wasn't you," Hajime's eyes softened when he looked up from his notes, and regarded you with a look, "Also, you've been super quiet. Not mad, are you?"

"No," you waved with the paper in your hand, "Just…sorting some paperwork."

"And ghosting us!"

You ignored Tooru with an eye-roll, "I'm literally here."

"Yeaaaaah, yeah, yeah," he bent down to stuff his jersey into his bag, tossing his water bottle and pulling on a watch, all whilst sending accusative glances over to the phone.

Not answering, you tilted your head to the side, listening — not to Tooru, but moreso the sound of the waves through the window. It was funny, really, how constant they'd become. Almost like breathing, you couldn't imagine living in your home without it anymore.

"I miss the mountain wind," Hajime said suddenly, his voice breaking like static through the silence that was only marred with all the background noise of Tooru packing together his bag. But they came out, low and almost like they were meant more for himself. His chair creaked softly as he leaned back, his arms coming to cross in front of his chest.

You looked closer at his screen; the way the energy shifted slightly, like a dimming of light, like the mood having to accommodate the weight entering the space between you three.

Hajime looked warm with the afternoon glow, warm and forlorn as he turned his head to look out, his jaw cutting from his workout and the stress of studying. Behind him on the wall were diagrams pinned with thumbtacks, diagrams of anatomy, a string of half-dead fairy lights curling around those posters, from where he had allowed himself to get pressured by you to buy them.

"You okay?"

His adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, a hand of his came up to rub his jaw. "Yeah. Just…weird, being here. Learning the new language, studying, new people. I know it's what I wanted, but sometimes it's—"

"A lot," you finished, and he nodded, the exhale deep through his nose.

There was a rustle from Tooru as he took the phone and closed his locker, "Yeah, but that's your dream, isn't it? So quit your whining."

You tensed a little, because this felt like it went beyond the teasing they partook in on the daily, and your eyes flicked to Hajime's screen, bracing for a snap back. He was always good at cutting too close to the bone with just a few words, and part of you expected the familiar flick of straightforwardness, some dry remark to hit Tooru if not physically.

And another part of you wished you had said something softer first. Something like I miss it, too. Something that might have let him know you understood; that he wasn't the only one sitting far from home, straining to feel tethered to something.

But then the corners of Hajime's mouth quirked up slightly, and a quiet laugh slipped out, "You're right. It is. Doesn't mean I don't want to scream into a void sometimes, though."

Tooru didn't respond to that, just nodded like he knew Hajime would know what to do with his words. You stayed quiet as well, because something in your chest tightened at what he said. It wasn't just that you understood him, that you felt the same urge and need to, but how did they just do that? How did they go after things, even when they were scared?

It came without warning, the memory.

Shouyou's grin and the way his laughter and sincerity cradled your scared heart and asked it to give it a chance; the way he said things without thinking, because that was when he meant them completely and utterly, the way he had offered you to scream when you met for the very first time.

Maybe you'd go to that alcove. Just to see. Maybe you'd scream. Maybe you'd hear the echo bounce around against stone and it would sound like freedom.

Your eyes drifted shut for a moment as Tooru made a comment that had Hajime call him stupid again, fingers loosening on the documents in your lap as you laid there and let the faint sound of the waves wash over you, "Maybe we need to scream a little."

And maybe it wasn't too late to just gather your courage once more.

The path to the alcove, hidden from an unsuspecting eye, was narrow and a little jagged. The salty breeze from the ocean pulled at your hair and your clothes, and your heart thundered in your chest. It was just a stupid trip to the stupid cave to scream without any real direction, yet there was a weight on your shoulders, heavy, like you were about to jump off the cliff instead.

The cave's mouth was dark, like a dip into the stone and the waves were gentle as they wet the sand beneath your feet; urging you, coaxing. Go on, they whispered, and you complied, stepping in with a nervous shake in your exhale. It was cooler inside, the sun not able to reach directly, though enough light pooled in, reflected from the blue of the ocean and the sky, and the shadows wrapped around you like an embrace.

Your heart beat like you stood in front of an audience, like you were being asked to present something that the droplets of water from the stalactite would end up judging, but you squeezed your eyes shut, and, without thinking, without allowing your brain to produce another semblance of a thought, you inhaled deeply and screamed.

At first, it sounded like a measured cry, like you were holding back, so you took an even deeper breath, filled your lungs with cool, salty air and screamed again.

Your voice echoed off the walls, and it was trembling, it was raw and it shook your bones as your fist squeezed in tandem with your vocal cords. You screamed and screamed and screamed, all the frustrations, the fears, the moments in which you had bottled yourself up until you didn't get any air anymore — you screamed it all out.

Tears clung to your lashes from the force, and your head must look like a tomato by now, and god, you were surprised no blood vessel burst from the pressure, but your chest— your insides—

Light. It felt light. So much lighter, as if you flung the same weight out into the sea, watched it drown and blubber until the surface returned to something calm and smooth.

Your throat was scratchy by the end of it, and it felt raw. But raw in a good way, in a way that made you think you'd finally succeeded in something, you with your chest heaving and your cheeks wet from tears and almost dried salt spray.

"That was epic as hell!!"

You jumped, spinning around half on fear, half on instinct to run alone, but then your eyes registered the shadowed orange, the same goofy grin, the sparkle in his eyes and his excited voice as he stood there with his fists balled, "I told you yelling here is amazing!!"

Your mouth opened, but no words came out; a lump in your throat making it hard to speak, and the way it always went — it seemed like Shouyou knew how to look into the window of your soul, how to get on his tip toes to peek over the walls you kept erecting in front of yourself.

"What…are you doing…here?" you asked, lamely, star-struck, nails digging into your hand.

One shoulder heaved up, his voice growing a little sheepish like he knew maybe he shouldn't have followed you here, but— "Saw you head this way. And— it wasn't like I tried to spy on you!! I wasn't! I just, didn't want to miss it, you know?"

You were breathless when he approached, his hands raised in front of him like showing a deer caught in headlights that there was nothing within his grip that could hurt you. The light from the cave's mouth illuminated the tips of his perpetually damp hair, and the shadow along his nose had nothing in comparison to the light emitting from his eyes. You were unsure when he came to a stop before you, close enough to feel the water soak the stone next to your feet from the droplets running down his legs, and unsure when his elbow brushed against your arm, coming up to rub his neck.

"Miss what?" you breathed out, voice raspy from the screaming, eyes following the quirk up of his mouth.

"This," his arm fell, "letting it all out."

You blinked at him, and he held your gaze, not looking away, not even once. He watched your eyes grow glassy, watched your mouth tremble and waited to hear the words softly want to crawl out of their hiding place, "I think I needed that more than I thought."

"Yeah," he nodded, his eyes continuing to flick over you as if to commit every moment of you to memory, "I know that feeling. I think your body can shake only so much, your hands can fail you, and that's fine, but— but not your voice. That should never have to give."

To you, who had dried out.

To you, who had no rivers left, who had sunken so deep into stillness, even your breath didn't know how to stir the air around you anymore.

To you, he gave these words, and when his hands shifted and they brushed against yours, it felt like almost of a promise. And maybe it was the high of the screaming, maybe it was the way he stood so close to you and it just felt right, maybe it was the salt causing you to be dizzy, maybe it was just simply that you didn't want to be scared anymore that your fingers turned towards his and met him halfway.

Shouyou glanced down, then back up again, and your name left his mouth like a caress.

When his face tilted towards yours, it was with a silent question, and the movement of your head was an admission of its own, the brush of his lips against yours the answer. salty, warm and careful, like he knew how new this was, and when his fingers settled on your cheek, it felt like he held the sun in the palm of his hand.

You had just picked up the phone.

"Show me, show me, show me. You can't just ditch us for some other guy—"

Eyes ready to roll far back, a shadow fell over you, and Shouyou dropped to the sand beside you within the same second, still in his wet suit, grinning bright. His hair was stuck up at odd angles, his cheeks pink from exertion, and you couldn't help the tiny smile on your face.

"Hey! That Tooru? Hi!! I've heard all about you!!"

Tooru had leaned forward, his eyes narrowed into slits as he assessed the Shouyou with pursed lips, and Shouyou's own smile became a little wonky, unsure with the growing scrutiny as he sent you a glance that screamed help, confusion and unsureness growing strong in the tautness of his shoulders and the tug of your towel.

You tried to intervene, "Tooru—"

"Yeah, you're done for. Doomed. It's over for you, absolutely over."

"Huh—"

You sighed, "Don't worry about it, Shouyou."

"So over."

Shouyou's eyebrows were furrowed as he looked between your flushed face, bright red like nothing before, and the cackling brown-haired pretty boy in your phone.

"They do these insane smoothies," Shouyou said, leading the way inside the café that you hadn't stepped foot into if it hadn't been shown to you; faded chalkboard menus, mismatched chairs, the counter girl donning a nose ring and chipped nails, "Like, life-altering. You have to, absolutely have to, try them."

You trailed behind him, distracted.

It sounded weird, but it was the first time you saw him fully clothed. There wasn't a wet suit clinging to his skin like it was made for him, there was no towel in sight, no wet hair that dripped and dripped and kept dripping into his eyes. Instead, he wore jeans, faded and blue and slightly slim and way too warm for this weather, yet he hadn't complained once. His shirt was made of linen and airy, the sleeves rolled up, his hair dry for once — a miracle — but it framed his face softer now. It made him look less intense, his eyes less fiery and more mellow.

You averted your eyes before he could catch you staring.

"Are you cold?"

"What?"

"You're holding your arms like— like this—" he mimicked the way you had loosely folded your limbs over your own ribs, "— that's usually a cold thing."

"Oh," you cleared your throat, and you dropped your hands like they were burned, "No, just habit, I suppose."

Shouyou smiled and pointed to the menu, "Okay. Pick something. Smoothie, coffee, I'll buy!!"

"You don't have to—"

"Let me be a gentleman for once," he said solemnly, "I might not look like it, but I'm a man. It's my time to shine."

"Fine, fine," a laugh escaped you, in spite of yourself, as you scanned the list, buying time while your pulse calmed. It wasn't like you hadn't been around him before, god, you had, you had seen the line of his collarbone, his waist, his hands gripping your board, your shoulders, your hands, your cheeks—

Your teeth dug into your lower lip. There was something different now.

Maybe it was the way he fit here the same way he fit at the beach, radiating life and ease without even trying; maybe it was the fact that you felt a little more like yourself too. Maybe it was the fact that outside of the beach, it made it feel more real, made you want to maybe reach out and slip your hand into his.

You could.

You could, and he would thread his fingers between yours, and his skin would be warmer than expected, and the callouses would feel weird and comforting against your palm, and his thumb would caress you like he was thinking of you the entire time and —

You blinked. Wait. When had he taken your hand?

"Alrighty," Shouyou grinned at the barista and used your intertwined hands to point at the menu, "Two coconut smoothies!" Then he turned to you, and he pulled you closer by simply tugging at your hands. that easy, that quick. "You're taking way too long, so this round today is on me. Next time, you can choose like promised, okay?"

His hand in yours, your hand in his. And just like that, you were a part of his world, too.

The volleyball bounced once, twice in his hands, "Alright, time to learn the basics. I promise I'll go easy on you!"

Were you really ready for another challenge? You barely had surfing belonging to your abilities, and now to add beach volleyball into the fray? And, on top of it all, without Tooru and Hajime?

Oh, they'd kill you if they knew, having claimed this experience as theirs already, but then Shouyou asked you with his messy hair and this glint in his eyes, and you didn't know how to say no. Didn't know if you even wanted to.

He tossed the ball gently your way, and you fumbled, your reflexes not honed for the sand, tripping over your feet on the way to catch it. The ball slipped through your fingers and landed in the sand, and Shouyou burst out laughing, though not in a mocking way, no, actually, it was so full of warmth and infectious joy that the embarrassed flush dusted all over your cheeks was but an accessory, "Hey, that was almost a point!"

Shouyou demonstrated the bump of the ball, steady and fluid, then guided your hands to the right position, fingers engulfing each other, thumbs sitting on top together. His fingers brushed yours and then he jogged back a few paces to pass another ball at you, again and again and again until you managed a clumsy, inelegant, but at least, a successful pass back to him.

He cheered, "Well done!! But don't think you'll have me beat!"

Your finger drew shapes into the sand and beside you, Hinata Shouyou leaned back on his palms, freckles scattered over his skin like a love kiss from the sun, and every now and then, his shoulder bumped against yours.

It was warm. You liked it.

When he turned to you, it was sudden, like a thought just leapt to the forefront of his mind, and you looked up, startled by the shift in his energy. His face was close, closer than you expected, eyes bright and unreadable and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something.

But instead, his lips brushed yours, soft and quick. Barely a kiss, and more like the passing thought turned reality.

You froze, your heart hammering in your chest against your ribs, begging to be let out, and your throat dried instantly. The kiss that was nothing and everything, and even though it wasn't your first one, and also not your second, it still had a blush cradle your cheeks like his hands so often did.

Shouyou pulled back with a grin spreading across his face, easy and brilliant.

"Gotcha."

The first thing you noticed about Hinata Shouyou's room was how lived-in it felt.

It wasn't messy, but overflowing instead, like every inch of space had been claimed by something that meant something to him. The walls were peppered with posters, half of them were depicting surf-brands, the other half of them volleyball teams, some old concert flyers with curled edges, threatening to float down if just the slightest breeze blew into its direction. There were photos tacked haphazardly around his mirror: Shouyou with teammates, younger and his hair cropped shorter, one of him mid-air during a match, a blurry selfie where someone (probably him) was laughing hard, half of a finger covering the lens.

His bed was unmade. Of course, it was — sheets tangled, a pillow on the floor, a hoodie tossed over the headboard like he just forgot it existed there and it became a part of the furniture.

Your eyes wandered over to his desk, to the disorganised pile of surf wax, one smaller than the other, a pair of tinted glasses, a notebook with a bunch of scribbles and tide times in the margins, and one lone volleyball that didn't seem to belong there, like it had wandered in from a past life.

There was a faint scent of salt and shampoo and something you couldn't quite place — maybe old sun screen, maybe some citrus air spray.

Shouyou was sitting cross legged on the floor, rifling through a drawer for something to wear, entirely unbothered by the state of the room.

"Sorry it's a mess," though he didn't sound apologetic at all, "I cleaned last week, I swear."

You stood there, at the threshold, hesitant and unsure, like the room was a window, and he beckoned you in, your heart tripping over itself as much as you tripped over a lone cracked charger on the floor. You hadn't meant to be in his room, but the rain had started on the walk back from the beach — soft at first before pouring down with an unrelenting force, chasing you into the shelter of his house.

He had already changed into a loose shirt and sweats, his usually tan skin covered by soft material, and that was how he looked too: soft, familiar. And new, too.

"This okay?" he asked, offering you a dry shirt, his voice quiet. The rain pattered against the windows, muffled and constant, clouds having drawn over the blue of the sky to turn it into a grey; the only light glowing golden from a small lamp on the floor.

You nodded, fingers brushing his as you took it, "Thanks."

He turned around, giving you space to change, and he could have left or you could have left, nothing was keeping either of you together in this room, yet instead you changed right behind him. He gave you the space, he gave you the courtesy, though his curiosity, a boyish softness, had him peek once, and it made your chest flutter, had your heart trip to catch up with the little, lively thing inside you.

The mattress creaked quietly under your weight, and he turned around at your call out, sinking right next to you, closer than you were the entire day. Something in his face, the way he drank you in, made you think he almost looked like in awe, like seeing you in his clothes, in his space, unravelled something deep within him. His gaze drifted and your throat grew dry; it lingered a second too long on your bare legs, then flicked up against you.

His knee brushed yours, "You warm enough?"

You nodded, but it wasn't you that moved your head, it was the pulse thumping in your chest. His fingers flexed against the blanket between you like he wasn't sure what to do with them, and the air shifted between you, warmer and thicker, filled with all the things neither of you said out loud.

"I like your room," you said because you didn't know what else to say, because looking at Hinata Shouyou for too long unnerved you, because—

"I never bring people in here," he admitted suddenly, almost bashfully, "Not really."

"Why?"

"Never felt the need to, but…"

You were so aware of how close he was, the scent of his laundry detergent, the way you felt the shift of his body, and you breathed out, "But?"

"But…" Shouyou grew distracted, his eyes flitting over your face, and almost, like he couldn't help it, he said softly, "But you're really pretty and I really wanted to show you."

The breath you took felt slow and unsteady.

"Shouyou—"

His eyes searched yours like the world had narrowed to this moment, this bed, this tiny pause in time where everything made sense.

"I want to kiss you," he said, honest and careful.

The first press of his lips was tentative, just a ghost of contact but when you leaned in just a millimetre closer, hand finding his shirt, he grew greedier, and so the second kiss lingered, deepened into a slow exploration that was breath, and clinking of teeth and a searching, warm tongue. His hand found your jaw easily, and yours found the soft strands at the back of his head.

Lips parting and finding each other, breath hitching quietly in the space between you, it was nothing hurried. Just the sound of rain and the thrum of heartbeats and the way his thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone with reverence, and even then, you felt a smile against your mouth.

"I can't get up."

You weren't exaggerating — your limbs ached, every inch of your body throbbing with the dull ache of your muscles reminding you that you had tried to engage your core more times than you could count today, completely wrung out. Shouyou nudged your leg with a toe of his, his shadow falling over you. "But we need to go eat."

"Without me," you tried to wave him off, a vague attempt before your hand flopped back uselessly onto your stomach. Shouyou just tilted his head to the side for a moment, considering, before swiftly crouching down, his back to you, arms reaching behind him, "Up."

"What— no." you blinked at him, startled, "I'm not five."

"You're right," he said, the grin over his shoulder lopsided, "You're like…maybe seven. Tops."

"Shouyou."

"C'mon, you've earned it," his shoulders moved slightly, a tiny shimmy to try and invite you, "And I still have energy to spare. I'm practically vibrating, come ooooon."

You opened your mouth to argue, but your body betrayed you first. Muscles groaned in protest at the idea of rising, and before you could find the words, he reached back, grabbed your thighs, warm and certain, and hoisted you up with one clean motion, like he had done it to somebody before, like he was used to carry somebody around.

"Hey!" you yelped, hands coming around his shoulders instinctively, "You can't just—!"

But by then, he was already upright, had already hooked your legs around his waist, chest pressed against his back. His grip on your thighs was steady, and then he ran.

Sand kicked up behind you as his feet pounded against the shore, and the wind ripped past your ears, the sudden speed pulling a surprised gasp from your lips, one that turned into laughter so easily. You clung to him, legs tight, head buried in his shoulder.

He yelled into the wind as if it were a race, like something ran alongside him, spurning him on, and he promised he could go even faster.

"You're insane, Shouyou!!" you cried out, fingers grasping his shirt tightly, but you said it with a smile tugging at your mouth, unwilling, stealing it from you the way Shouyou stole your fear and your heart alongside it, too.

And here, on his back as he ran along the shore, with sand clinging to his legs, your own resembling something boneless as they kept a tight hold on his waist, with the water shifting beside you, deep and wide and unknowable but no longer something waiting to swallow you whole — here, you didn't feel like driftwood anymore.

⛱ TAGLIST | @takes1 ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit ;

[chipper-smol]

YES

A COOKIE AND A DRAGON FOR YOU

[deltamel]

Sugar! Honey! Love! | kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

✷ ─── HQ X READER SUMMER FIC EXCHANGE PRESENT for @phoenix-eclipses, event organised by the lovely @sodaneko

SUMMARY. vignettes of a soft, romantic day where you make the grave mistake of baking during a heatwave. alternatively: the great british bake off if it was mildly horny and japanese. wc. 4.4k

CONTENT. post time skip, tooth rotting fluff (seriously, they're gross), use of pet names (my love + darling + baby), established relationship, teasing, sfw w/ suggestive scenes

MEL'S NOTE. this fic is my "i survived 3 consecutive european heatwaves in the span of a month and a half" badge. title insp. is the namesake song by kali uchis. thank you for beta reading lale!! also this is sappy af, hope you enjoy, phoenix <3

July 20th, Sunday.

[10:15 a.m.] 

Sunlight peels through the blinds and curls around the folds of a discarded blanket at the foot of your bed like a lover. It’s warm, too warm. And if there was any trace of cool night air, it has already surrendered to the oppressive heatwave forecasted to hit today. 

Still, your legs are tangled with Kuroo’s and his face is tucked against your neck, quiet snores vibrating against your skin like the purrs of a cat. Sweat is beading along your hairline, the crook of your elbows, the backs of your knees. It feels, though, like the whole world has slowed down to extend this moment, time warmed up just enough to stretch thick and syrupy. Blissful quiet settles over your mind and you drift back off to sleep. 

[11:05 a.m.] 

When you next wake up, it is thanks to the slice of sunlight beaming directly into your eyes. Squinting, you lift a hand to shield yourself and swallow against the dryness in your throat. 

Kuroo has migrated further down the bed somehow, his face now buried into your stomach. Imprinted on his sleep-addled face are deep pillow marks and you snort gently under your breath in amusement. His hair is everywhere—half sticking up and half fanned across the sheets—until you card your fingers through the black strands, coaxing out the static as you study him. 

Slow mornings with Kuroo cradle this… tenderness, that soothes you like nothing else. Time and thought and worry is mysteriously suspended, and you feel like you could take on whatever life throws at you if he’s by your side. You inhale a deep breath. The building warmth in the air coats your lungs. 

Kuroo shifts, eyes blinking open blearily and instinctively searching for your own. When he finds your gaze already on him, he smiles. 

“Mornin’,” he breathes, sleep bending the word into more of a barely-intelligible sound.

Nudging his nose with your own, you reply. “Morning.” 

He scrunches his face. “It’s so warm.”

“I know,” you huff a laugh, blindly palming the bedside table for your phone. Kuroo props himself up clumsily, hovering on tired forearms over you. A few quiet beats of your heart pass as he watches you check the time and open the weather app. “I wanna bake today.”

Kuroo dips down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, and your phone drops forgotten between you, morning breath be damned. 

“Then we’ll bake,” he murmurs against your lips. 

[11:57 a.m.]

“I should’ve decided on a recipe before we arrived,” you lament, staring listlessly at the giant wall of baking ingredients you’re facing. 

The aisles in your local shop are packed—people piling in and meandering slowly around the space to revel in the blessing that is industrial air conditioning. You can’t blame them. Half the reason you’d braved the rising heat outside was to experience the cool reprieve you knew the shop would provide. 

Kuroo’s hand settles on your lower back as he stares at the shelves, similarly lost. 

“How about that cake you made last week?” he suggests. 

It was nice, sure. A nutty, coffee-infused cake you whipped up on a dreary day when the overcast skies outside made you crave something warm and comforting. Today, however, calls for something fresher. A treat that can be enjoyed even in this blistering heat—that is worth turning on the oven for and warming the cramped, poorly ventilated flat you share. 

Humming, you shake your head. 

“Cookies?” he probes, brushing a hand through his sweaty bangs and pushing them away from his forehead.

The shop’s air conditioning is working wonders, and already you can feel your own sweat drying. Clothing previously stuck to your skin is now peeling away uncomfortably. It kind of feels reptilian—like you’re shedding a layer of skin or something equally unpleasant. Mentally, you sift through the catalogue of recipes tucked in your head as you scan the ingredients. 

“Lemon cookies?” you ask, voice tilting up in question. 

A bag of flour and sugar are deposited in the basket Kuroo is holding before he even replies, and baking soda closely follows. You seem to remember using the last of it when you made that coffee cake last week. 

Kuroo ruffles your hair and laughs, crow’s feet spidering from the corners of his eyes. Realistically, you should be used to it by now—how laughter contorts his face. Yet each time, the marks of joy he wears and the familiar cadence of his laugh causes your stomach to swoop. Helpless, laughter is drawn from you like a Pavlovian response. 

Fresh lemons are your next port of call, and you take their selection very seriously. Individual lemons are lifted up, sniffed, squeezed, thrown in the air and caught, before finally either: discarded back onto the display, or dropped into the basket. 

Kuroo’s head comes to rest on your shoulder as he watches your ministrations, the basket wordlessly held out for you. 

“If I were a lemon would you bring me home to make lemon cookies or leave me in this lovely air conditioned shop?” he asks, his warm breath tickling your jaw. You can hear his smile. 

“That depends.” Putting another lemon back on the display, you cast a glance at the side of his face thoughtfully. “What kind of lemon would you be?”

An elderly woman, clad in colourful hiking gear, ambles up to the fruit stand and studies it contemplatively. Shuffling sideways out her way, she reaches past you to grab a handful of oranges in her wrinkled hand. Kuroo moves with you, his chin glued to your shoulder. 

“A super sour one,” he says. Kuroo’s fingers fiddle with the belt loops on your denim shorts and he briefly greets the woman with a good morning when she shoots you both a smile before plodding off down the aisle. “Filled with juice that would make even the bravest person’s mouth twist in surprise.” 

Your response is more laughter, though it is swallowed by scattered conversation between some of the customers and Japan’s latest pop hits that filter through tinny speakers dotted around the shop. Kuroo hears it clear as day. 

“I think I would then,” you answer, traces of laughter lightening your tone. “A bit of sugar and you’d make the best cookies around. People would be breaking down our door just for a bite. I would be hailed as a modern miracle-baker.”

Kuroo presses his cheek against yours. “It would be an honour to be used for your cookies.”

[12:32 p.m.]

An explosion has occurred, with your cramped little kitchen as collateral damage. Baking ingredients cover every surface, your apron is dusted with flour handprints, and you’re pretty sure that’s lemon juice in your eye. It looks, for all intents and purposes, like a god of baking has been slain on your kitchen tiles.

Kuroo is what he calls “helping” and what you lovingly refer to as “being a massive pain in my ass.” And while he is scarily adept at cooking—which, thank god because you’d learnt at the ripe age of sixteen in a high school cooking class, and again in your first university flat all those years ago, that you are suspiciously liable to start kitchen fires—Kuroo’s baking skills leave something to be desired. Thus, his “help” chiefly involves distracting you. 

“C’mere,” Kuroo murmurs, plastering himself on your back. 

The extra body heat is uncomfortable, the flat stiflingly hot, yet you can’t bring yourself to tell him to move. For a few moments, he lets you stir the meticulously measured ingredients together in a large metal bowl. But then he grows bored, peppering kisses on your cheek, your jaw, your neck. His teeth teasingly graze your skin. 

Squirming, you try to focus on folding the pale mixture just right, but when he licks a stripe up the side of your neck you make a startled noise. You abandon the mixture to spin around in his grasp and stare at him disapprovingly. 

“What?” he intones, faux-innocent face pretty as a picture. Matted with sweat, baby hairs are stuck to his forehead, but you’re not sure if the red bleeding into his cheeks is also a result of the suffocating heat in your flat, or you. 

“I’m trying to concentrate,” you say, unimpressed. Leaning your weight back onto the counter, you knock your knee against his playfully. 

“I’m just simulating a real kitchen environment,” he argues, sidling closer to you. “You’ve watched The Great British Bake Off, you know the contestants have to juggle their baking, the time-limit, and those mid-round interviews with the hosts.”

Scoffing, you rest a hand on one of his broad shoulders, though you’re torn as to whether you want to push him away or pull him closer. 

“Is that so,” you ask, amused. “I don’t remember any of the contestants having to deal with a lumbering 6’2” man who can’t keep his hands or mouth to himself, strangely enough.”

“Ah… you must’ve missed that episode,” Kuroo nods his head understandingly, as though forgiving you for such a misdeed. 

Now stuck between kissing him and shoving his head into your mixing bowl, you almost laugh at yourself. How can someone so handsome be so incredibly annoying? It’s a challenge to not be distracted by his delighted expression and the cheeky curve of his mouth. 

“I’m sure I could easily eat these cookies by myself,” you threaten. 

Kuroo opens his mouth to protest and you raise an accusing eyebrow. 

“I’ll behave my love,” he says, a contradicting grin on his face as he fingers a cross over his heart. “Hope to die.” 

You turn back to the counter to hide your smile. Kuroo leans his weight back onto you, though this time there is a distinct lack of his mouth on your neck. A win is a win. 

In your hand, you roll the mixture into ping pong-sized balls and spread them out on a baking sheet methodically. It’s a soothing motion—repetitive enough to let your mind drift as you space out each ball of cookie dough just right. 

“I’ve always loved your hands,” Kuroo says gently, and you drop back into the moment. 

Suddenly, your attention is drawn to the tendons shifting as you work. The peaks and valleys of your knuckles and the winding veins across the backs of your hands. The mysterious, small bruise darkening the side of your wrist. The smattering of fine hair. 

What a joy it is, to view yourself anew—washed in another’s love. 

[12:46 p.m.]

When you open the oven to put your cookies in, a wall of heat smacks you in the face.

“Fuck,” you exclaim, carelessly shoving the tray in and slamming the oven door closed again. “That’s hot.”

“Yeah no shit,” Kuroo says, setting the garish timer your grandma had gifted you, neon yellow and crudely resembling a rooster, to 12 minutes. Thanking her for it without laughing was an accomplishment you’re still proud of to this day. Kuroo hadn’t been so successful, and he still pouts that your grandma gives him the cold shoulder over it.

“Who’s idea was it to bake again today?” you ask dryly, flapping the front of your vest in an effort to cool yourself down. 

Kuroo tugs up a stool and slumps down onto it like the weight of this heat is physical, leaning an elbow on the counter. “I remember it being yours.”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all,” you say, earnestly. 

A thought of cleaning up the chaos you’ve caused in the kitchen briefly flits through your head, but the idea lasts for all of one breath before it’s replaced with something better. Walking over to Kuroo, you place a finger under his chin and guide his face up. 

“You behaved,” is all you say approvingly, before dipping down to kiss him. 

Sugar and lemon linger in his mouth, but you don’t recall catching him swiping any ingredients. You nip at his lip to say as much. Kuroo groans and tugs at your waist, ushering you forward to stand between his legs. Big, warm hands run up and down your sides. 

Escaping from the oven, wafts of sweet, cookie-filled air slowly permeate the room. Soon, you’re sure it will drift out the window you wedged wide open earlier, desperate for a breeze in your stuffy flat. You wouldn’t be surprised if you shortly hear pattering footsteps, accompanied by a small knock from Kenzo next door—your neighbour’s toddler who has a suspiciously acute sense of smell when it comes to your baking. He’s quite possibly the cutest kid you’ve ever seen, though. So it’s impossible to be mad about it when you open the door to chubby red cheeks and a mess of hair indistinguishable from Kuroo’s bedhead. 

[12:58 p.m.]

Beep. Beep. Beep. Bee—

You push the head of your timer–rooster hybrid down, silencing it. As though haunted by the smell for the past 12 minutes, Kuroo rushes to fetch the cookies—haphazardly grabbing a tea towel and braving the oven heat to retrieve the tray. He places it on your hob. 

“Fuck, my mouth is watering,” Kuroo moans, leaning down to smell them. 

“Ditto,” you sigh, “but we gotta let ‘em cool.”

Echoing Kuroo’s disappointed noise, your stomach rumbles comically and it’s only now that you realise neither of you have eaten lunch. 

Lemon cookies, it is.

[13:05 p.m.]

“I can’t wait any longer!” Kuroo says, before shovelling a whole cookie into his mouth. 

Unable to resist either, you grab one and take a bite. 

“Ah, shit, it’s hot,” Kuroo mumbles through the mouthful of cookie, panting and fanning his mouth to cool the food. 

Savouring the flavour you nod in satisfaction, ignoring the interpretative hot-food-dance Kuroo is currently doing across the kitchen tiles. Just the right amount of tang to sweetness ratio, with a soft crumble to boot. Pretty good, if you do say so yourself. Maybe next time you can try the viral lemon curd icing, courtesy of a trendy recipe blog you follow online. 

“Idiot,” you say through a laugh. “How the hell do you have any tastebuds left when—”

You’re interrupted by a series of gentle knocks. 

Kuroo almost trips over in his haste to get to your front door. “That must be Kenzo!”

[14:23 p.m.]

“Lemon popsicles are underrated,” you say, smacking your lips obnoxiously. 

The kitchen is tidy, popsicles have been unearthed from your freezer, and now, you and Kuroo sit on the floor of your living room, perched in front of an oscillating fan as you enjoy your treat. 

“Mhm,” Kuroo hums in agreement, head tipped back as he basks in the momentary breeze. You feel like you’re watching an expensive shampoo commercial with the way his hair blows back from his face. “We really should get another fan.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, though any irritation is soothed by the popsicle in your hand and the fan now blowing in your direction. “We probably should.” 

In the staggeringly warm air, your popsicle is already melting, steadily dripping down your wrist and you’re racing against time to finish it before it becomes a puddle on your floor. Panicking, you follow the sticky trail with your tongue. In your periphery, Kuroo watches your mouth intently and you grin. Ignoring your current popsicle-crisis, you pout your lips and rest the icy tip against them. Gently swiping it back and forth until your lips are wet and numb. 

When Kuroo flicks his gaze up, you’re already looking at him. You raise an eyebrow cheekily and he rolls his eyes in response, a faint blush staining his face. 

“You’re a menace, you know that?” he asks, mirth lacing his voice. 

“You like it.”

“I wish I didn’t,” he says dryly. 

“Hey!” you say, playfully nudging your shoulder into his. “Bastard.”

“Ow!” Kuroo clutches his shoulder and swoons sideways, splaying his limbs out on the floor like a body outline at a crime scene. “Man down! Man down! Can we get a medic over here?”

Unmoving, you glance down at him over your popsicle. 

“Oh no, where does it hurt?” you mock. 

“Everywhere,” he bemoans, resting the back of his hand across his forehead, the spitting image of a damsel in distress. 

You resist the urge to smack him, again. 

“I’ve heard there’s only one cure,” you say, face morbid and serious. “True love’s kiss.”

“Shit,” Kuroo clutches your hand desperately, “I’m going to die!”

Feigning offense, you use his hand as leverage and tug him up, twisting him into a headlock. When he struggles, you tighten your arm. “You’re awful.”

“Let— Me— Go—” he pants. “You’re too hot!”

And you are too hot. Any more of this and it feels like the fan won’t be enough to keep your skin from melting off your bones. Perhaps it would be a relief to shed the extra layer. 

Reluctantly, you release him. 

Kuroo sits up and shoves his face in front of the fan, following it as it rotates while he desperately gulps in breaths like you’d just waterboarded him. Drama queen. 

It reminds you, weirdly, of this big, shaggy dog you’ve seen in your town before—head hanging out of the car window and tongue lolling in bliss at the strong wind stirring up his fur coat. You snort an ugly laugh. Kuroo narrows his eyes at you, and you just hold your arms up in surrender. 

“This weather is evil,” he complains a few minutes later, and you simply nod, exhausted from your scuffle. The unnecessary movement has heated you up and now, you’re regretting your earlier decision to manhandle Kuroo. Even if it was in the name of justice. “We should’ve chased up Hiroshi before this heatwave hit.”

Hiroshi being your lovely—and honestly, he is lovely—landlord, who is forgetful to the degree of claiming that your dinky little air conditioning unit, part of the flat furnishing when you moved in, will be “promptly fixed” for the past six months. 

It was your fault, really. You’d both let it slide because occasionally Hiroshi would pop round with trinkets for you he bought when visiting his grandchildren, or a voucher for a new restaurant opening in the area, courtesy of him knowing the owners. And when he knocks on your door—smile glued to his face like he can bear no other expression, and an ancient tool box in tow (older than even your parents, you’re sure)—ready to finally fix the faulty boiler you had for weeks last winter, or that leaky pipe you under your kitchen sink earlier this spring (one of Kenzo’s sandcastle buckets gratefully loaned to catch the water), it’s like your frustration vanishes in the blink of an eye. (“Perhaps he’s a wizard” Kuroo had said once, eying the new gas valve Hiroshi eventually fitted suspiciously. And frankly, you wouldn’t put it past the old man).

Only you and Kenzo’s parents rent units from Hiroshi. He’s sweet, and you’ve all fallen for his otherworldly, old-fashioned charm. 

This time, however, you do regret not giving him a call. 

“Maybe I should pop round? He might remember to fix it sooner if he knows it’s urgent?” you propose, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand and biting a chunk from the end of your popsicle. Your hands are beyond sticky, now, the treat neglected in your eagerness to mess with Kuroo. 

“Nah, don’t bother him. We’ll survive.” 

But his face is still following the rhythmic path of the fan and you can’t help but wonder how long you’ll both last. Already, you can feel the heat digging away at your brain, energy filtering out through your sweat. 

“I might not,” you joke, leaning on the sofa behind you and dropping your head back onto the cushion in despair. 

The air still smells faintly of lemon cookies and you smile. It’s not all bad.

[15:06 p.m.]

A cheesy, nineties romcom is flashing on your television screen. The lead is currently reading a poem she wrote, listing 10 things she hates about the person she wishes she hadn’t fallen for. You could recite this scene by heart; the movie is a permanent resident on your romcom-roster. Like clockwork, though, Kuroo’s lip begins to wobble. Big, shiny tears clumping at his lashline and threatening to spill as the lead wavers through her heartbroken poem. 

Smothering a fond smile, you lean your head on Kuroo’s shoulder and reach for his hand, stroking your thumb across the back of his knuckles comfortingly. 

“I never get why he doesn't come clean at the prom,” Kuroo sniffles, his head coming to rest on top of yours. “About how much he loves her.”

“I don’t know, baby,” you say quietly, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. “Maybe some things are too hard to say without searching for courage first.”

[18:36 p.m.]

“Behind!” Kuroo calls, as he flanks you with an armful of vegetables from the fridge. 

Where you sit on a stool at your kitchen island, your attention is split between the book in your hand and Kuroo, bustling around the space in front of you. 

“I feel like I’m in The Bear,” you joke. “Should I start calling you chef?”

Kuroo contemplates the question while the tap runs in the background, vegetables piled up in the sink to be washed. 

“In what context?” he finally asks in a stupid voice, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“In the context of a kitchen, you filthy shit,” you say through a laugh. 

He raises his hands in defense and you wonder how he’s surviving in his extra uniform—the thick canvas apron tied loosely around his hips. “Hey! I was just wondering.” 

“You want me to call you chef in the bedroom?” you ask, incredulously. 

“To put it this way,” he turns back to the sink, rinsing a head of bok choy under the water. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

When you don’t say anything, he shoots you a cheeky glance over his shoulder. “Do you want my apron to really get you in character?”

“Shut up, oh my god,” you laugh. “Go on then.”

Smirking, Kuroo shakes his hands to dry them briefly and walks over. You stand, abandoning your book on the countertop. He wraps the apron around you, tying it gently around your waist. 

“Too tight?” he asks teasingly, right in your ear. 

You shake him off. “Just perfect, thanks.” 

Lifting the vegetables out of the sink, he dumps them none too gently on a chopping board and hands you a concerningly large knife with a flourish. 

“Your weapon of choice.”

Cautiously, you take the knife. “I don’t know about this, Kuroo. I really like our little kitchen.” 

He guides your hand to the vegetables laid out before you, and somehow you worry that you and Kuroo might be in more imminent danger than the vegetables themselves. 

“Nonsense.” He shakes his head and places his hand on top of yours. “Watch and learn, young Padawan.”

[20:01 p.m.]

“Holy shit,” you moan through a mouthful of stir fry. “This is so fucking good.”

Kuroo’s expression is the epitome of smugness. In this instance though, even you can admit it’s fully warranted. 

You point your chopsticks in his direction, accusingly. “You are never allowed to leave me.” 

Cicadas buzz in the trees outside your flat and you can, miraculously, feel a gentle breeze blowing in from the window. 

“Or die,” you tack onto the end. 

“Won’t do and I’ll try my best not to,” he grins before unhinging his jaw for, somehow, not the biggest bite of food you’ve seen him manage. 

Your phone vibrates on the counter between you and a notification from Kenma in the group chat the three of you share flashes on screen. You peer at it curiously. 

“Kenma is asking if we want to hop on Fortnite.”

Kuroo makes an excited noise through his mouthful of food, enthusiastically nodding his head.

“Alright,” you chuckle, snapping a quick photo of Kuroo hunched over his bowl, the remnants of a pleased grin on his face, and you send it into the group chat with your reply. 

You: Eating rn. We’re down tho. Can be online in 10? Kenma: sure :) You: How’s this heat treating you?  Kenma: ac is mankind’s greatest invention Kenma: once you leave the dark ages lmk what it’s like You: 🖕 Kenma: talk to u soon lol You: Yeah, whatever…

“Kenma’s an asshole,” you say, thrusting your phone screen under Kuroo’s nose for him to read. 

“You’re telling me,” Kuroo says, nodding in agreement. “Who else is going to fund our battle pass though?”

You sigh. “True”

After a moment’s contemplation, you pivot. 

“He’s alright, I suppose.” 

[21:49 p.m.]

“I’m tired,” you moan, “yet we have done literally nothing but bake and rest all day.”

“It’s the heat, darlin'.” Kuroo swipes a thumb across your temple, tracing it down to the tender hollow beneath your ear. “You spend most of your energy regulating your temperature in this kind of weather.”

“It sucks.” 

“Yeah,” Kuroo laughs sympathetically. “It does.” 

[00:11 a.m.] 

“I got work in the mornin’ so I’ll see you evenin’ time, darlin’. I’ll cook your favourite.”

Your perk up from where you’ve been strewn out across the bed, fitfully attempting sleep, and look over at him hopefully. “Really?”

“Really,” he smiles, nodding. 

His eyes are filled with such softness, you feel he could melt you where you lay and the proof of your existence would be absorbed by the mattress.

[8:45 a.m.] 

Someone, if tasked to watch you sleep last night, may have come to the conclusion you’d been possessed—for how much you’d been tossing and turning. So it’s a relief to Kuroo in the morning, seeing you still and quiet. He smothers a chuckle at your face, squished into the pillow, face compressed like someone has been pressing on your cheeks. 

Banking down, he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

[10:00 a.m.]

When you wake up, an egregious pink sticky note is blocking your view, and you peel it off your forehead curiously. 

Morning sunshine,  I’m leaving this note to tell you how much you look like one of those super wrinkly dog breeds when you sleep with your face squished against the pillow. (Love you) (No I didn’t take a photo…) And yes, I stole the final lemon cookie to take with me for work. I’m kind of impressed we put away so many yesterday. Forgive me? Text me when you wake up, Kuroo ♡

[gia-d]

"Do You Ever Feel A Strange Sadness As Dusk Falls?"

@tashacee, you said you wanted to make me cry at the end of Bringing up Baby, and I saw that and thought "Well two can play at that game."

I bet he sat out there every evening wondering when he would see Twilight and the Chain again.

Happy New Year's Tash! So glad I got you for the gift exchange, I really hope you like this!

[arctrooper69]

Mine

Here's my piece for the wonderful @isaidonyourknees for the @cloneficgiftexchange! So sorry it's a day and a half late! 😂😅

Warnings: Suggestive spice (nothing explicit), unwanted advances, jealousy, angst

--------------------------------------------------

"Leave me alone, Crosshair." The order meant to be snappish slipped out instead with a tired sigh.

"No," came the reply.

You sighed again as you felt him shift and sit down a few feet away. No more words were exchanged - the silence felt both peaceful, yet suffocating.

"Why are you up here pouting?" He finally spoke.

You glanced at him sharply. "I'm not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not!"

He huffed dryly. "Sure looks like it to me."

"Hunter benched me!"

Crosshair shifted and sighed, "It's for your own good."

You scoffed, "And how would you know what's good for me?"

"You're exhausted. You're off your game."

"I'm fine. I feel fine."

He sighed again and you could practically feel him rolling his eyes. "That constant tapping of your foot and the way you're shaking tells me you're trying to run on stims and caf."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "And how would you know?"

He was silent. "Because I've done the same thing."

"So that makes you think you're better than me?"

"No."

You crossed your arms, turning away from him. “I’m still not pouting.”

“Sure.”

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye. “Just go away.” This time the words did deliver the sharp edge you’d wanted before, but now you weren’t sure it was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t know what you wanted.

“Fine, came the equally snappish response. Crosshair stood and headed back down the wooded trail. A sudden disappointment threatened to overtake you and a heat burned in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it back.

“Crosshair wait…” you called out, turning to face him as he paused and turned back.

“What?”

“I…” You stopped. No. Crosshair had better things to do than to deal with emotions that you yourself couldn’t even decipher. “Nevermind.”

For a second he paused, almost as if waiting for you to once again change your mind. He shook his head and turned around once again, disappearing into the woods, leaving you on your own.

Fine. It’s fine. You’d asked for privacy and that’s exactly what he gave you. Yet, it felt lonely nonetheless.

Crosshair was confusing to say the least. One moment it felt like he was trying to make an emotional connection, and the next he acted like he wanted nothing to do with you.

The roar of engines echoed through the trees from the base of the hill as the Marauder soared into the sky and disappeared into the atmosphere.

***

It seemed like forever ago that you'd met the surly sniper on a job. It was forever ago. So much had changed since a heated exchange of angry words led to a moment of heedless passion. One night. A romance ignited by the very intensity that divided you. The same fingers that rested pompously on the trigger of a rifle soon pulled through tangled hair and moved with purpose against your warmth. Tongues once sharp and taunting, now slotted through parted lips with desperate pleas for more.

And then it was over. Back to the cold realities of war. No words were spoken, only awkward avoidances and inverted eyes.

Talk to me, you'd wanted to say. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.

Perhaps that's all it was to him. Maybe you'd given him everything he wanted in that moment. Maybe that's all you were to him - a distraction - a soldier's relief from the stress of a never ending war.

You'd wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come. Then the galaxy changed and as the Republic fell, so did your hopes.

And now after so long, he was back.

***

It was nearing dusk before you finally pushed yourself from the ground and headed back down the path.

Fueled by a growing sense of hunger and the need to be around others, you found yourself walking towards the local cantina.

The music blared from somewhere above, pumping a bass that rattled your bones.

Despite the club-like atmosphere the lighting was dim, illuminating the same bar scene that haunted almost every planet in the galaxy.

The air was thick with the scent of spice and the sound of raucous laughter. You sat at the bar, nursing a drink. Despite the bustle, it still felt lonely.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

Fingers ran across your back as you spun around to face the unfamiliar voice.

A large nikto smiled drunkenly over at you as he leaned against the bar.

“You look lonely. You here alone?”

His breath reeked of alcohol. “You're real pretty,” he slurred, reaching out to grab your arm.

You jerked away, shooting him a glare. "Back off," you growled, voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

The nikto persisted, his grip tightening. "Come on, don't be like that.”

“Dude,” you rolled your eyes, “leave me alone.”

He sighed, seemingly annoyed at your refusal.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this. Let me at least walk you home, baby.”

“Don't call me that,” You spat, wrenching your arm from his grip.

His jaw stiffened as he stood up straighter.

“You should be more grateful that I'm even giving you the time of day, bitch!”

Now it was your turn to stand. The nikto grabbed your arm again. Your fingers curling into a fist, ready to strike the stupid smirk from his drunken face.

"She's not yours to touch."

A familiar voice growled from behind as the nikto’s hand was wrenched from your arm with a cry of pain.

Crosshair.

What was he doing back already? You turned to face him standing behind you, expression dark and dangerous. His hand rested on the blaster at his hip, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

The nikto's eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, asshole?”

Crosshair glowered, taking a menacing step forward. “I'm the guy who's going to put an extra hole in you if you don't leave immediately.”

The nikto paused, unsure if he was bluffing or not.

Crosshair clicked the safety off, loosening the blaster from its holster.

"I'm not gonna ask you again," he said, voice low and threatening.

The nikto had enough. “Geez, okay fine! I'm leaving!”

Without another word, he turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood silently watching as Crosshair stepped forward, his practiced eyes scanning every inch of you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, “Did he hurt you?”

You let out a shaky breath, “No,” you murmured, “I'm fine.” A smile flitted across your face as you looked up.

Honey brown eyes stared sharp, pierced with concern and something else.

Jealousy?

“Good.” He replied. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the courage to do so.

But this time something rose within your own chest, warm and encouraging.

“Crosshair?” The words came timidly despite their bold intent.

He looked sharply, “What?”

“What did you mean by that? ‘She's not yours to touch’?” You asked. His hand, still on your arm, gripped a bit tighter, pulling you close. Something flashed in his eyes. It wasn't the hardness you'd come to expect from him.

“It means you're mine. You've always been mine.”

--------------------------------------------------

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[kkoct-ik]

character design so good i somehow pulled out a fullbody