#giggling 5ever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

love-quinn · 5 months ago

Text

— THREAD OF GOLD

summary — a thread of moments that defined your relationship with mike.

warnings — uh i don’t think there are? me not caring about the irl timeline of events and making up my own shit cause i can. also i switch between past and present tense like nobody's business so we're all gonna pretend we don't notice that.

pairing — mike faist x fem!famous! reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 7.8k + social media posts

note — hi sorry i’ve been MIA i’ve been working on this for 5ever truly it came to me one day and i couldn’t write anything else. this isn’t edited because it’s nearly 8k and i’m not about that life.

important note that i tried to make it so yn’s skin tone changed in at least some of the pictures to make it more inclusive but pinterest fought me SO hard i spent maybe four hours just finding images. this is NOT meant to be a depiction of what yn looks like, just a general vibe of the images used in the thread <33

ONE. july 2017

California doesn’t have seasons the same way your hometown did. California has two seasons: wet and dry. You grew up in the suburbs of New York, in Westchester county, about an hour north of Manhattan. You went to the city a few times growing up, but you spent almost all of your upbringing on a quiet street with a cul-de-sac and a park a street away.

You’d lived in California for a while, you were based there for most of the year, but you’d still say you lived in New York. You were lucky enough to be at a break between projects where you got to spend more than a few weeks at a time at your New York apartment.

You’d been back maybe two weeks and knowing that you didn’t have to go back to the west coast for at least six months felt like a major weight off your chest. Finally retreating back to your cocoon, the air around you still felt thick, but this one felt more like a wall keeping things out rather than one keeping you in.

So, naturally, the first thing you did with your newfound seclusion was to venture outside with a man you’d been trying to go out with for a few months now.

You and Mike had known each other for a little over half a year now. You’d met at a new year’s party hosted by a mutual friend of a mutual friend and you had known immediately that he was someone that you wanted to know desperately. You’d been elated that he seemed to reciprocate. Unfortunately, with your work schedules, this was the first time since January that you’d had enough time in the same state.

He was unlike anyone that you had ever met, and now that you were in the same place, you were revelling in his presence. He’d taken you to a park near his apartment, he’d let you hold his hand on the subway and you were pretty sure that he was going to kiss you later.

It had been a while since you’d been outside - like, properly outside, and Mike was enjoying how happy you seemed to be. While you’d been trying to organise yourselves, Mike had spent hours on the phone with you, trying to avoid sounding so disgustingly happy that he scared you off. This may have been your first real date, but Mike already knew that you were it for him.

You were chattering about a story from your childhood, and he was really trying to listen to you, but he was focused more on the way the golden hour was hitting your face, and the way you would subconsciously squeeze his hand when you made yourself laugh.

“Yeah, since then my mom makes sure that she puts the cat treats away whenever he comes over,” you giggled. Mike let the sound fill him from the inside. He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by you dropping his hand. “I’ve needed this,” you let your head fall back to bask in the dying sunlight. “Air that I’m not sharing with Buzzfeed HQ, grass that is made in real dirt.”

“I see,” Mike nodded seriously. “You’re not even here for me, you were just waiting for a guy to take you to see some trees.”

You reach back and grip his hand, eyes sparkling directly into his. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, “for knowing your place.”

He laughed and let you drop your hand again, watching fondly as you speed off in front of him, stopping maybe fifteen feet in front of him. “Will you come with me to the emergency room when I fall out of the tree I’m about to climb.”

Mike was sure you could see exactly how much he wanted to kiss you from the look on his face. He laughed, nodding. “That’s actually the next stop I had planned anyway.”

TWO. october 2017

You couldn’t remember dolling yourself up for a date in so long, but it was clearly paying off the way that Mike hadn’t let you out of arm’s reach the entire cab ride. You hand two hands on his arm and he’d been talking in your ear the whole ride.

You were taking him to lunch at one of your favourite places in the city, quiet, not visible from the street, with a wonderful goat cheese salad. He’d been ecstatic that you were clearly showing him parts of your life that you kept close to your chest.

The two of you had only been together properly for about three months now, but you’d known each other for nearly a year. Mike hadn’t really dated anyone in the industry before, definitely not publicly.

You’d mentioned to him a few of your past dating experiences before, and you had been steadfast on the fact that if you were going to have a relationship that it would be as completely private as possible.

Mike didn’t think he’d ever hesitated less to reply - he was all in, same page. It felt simultaneously too fast and too slow. You’d been dating for three months, sure, but he’d known you since January, and it had felt like that first seven months had been confirmation that he liked you again and again and again.

Mike had been calling you his girlfriend to everyone, his friends, his family, some of his closer co-stars. But as he sat across from you at the restaurant, he realised he hadn’t actually asked.

He valued communication, he thought he was pretty good at it. But he’d settled into such a comfortable settlement with you that it had slipped his mind entirely. You didn’t mind. You were on the same page as him.

You referred to him to those closest to you as your boyfriend. You weren’t sitting around, desperately waiting for him to ask you to be his girlfriend, if that’s how you felt you would have asked him before you got to this point.

The two of you were doing what you usually did, you ordered a few different things with the intention of sharing, and Mike, as usual, was way more interested in what you had picked than he had.

You were giggling across the table at him, watching the way the breeze from the window by your table kept blowing his hair into his mouth. .”Here,” you took the scrunchie from your own hair and stood up, coming to a rest behind him.

He tilted his head back - good for him, he could see your face; bad for you, you couldn’t grab all his hair - while you worked and after a second you’d tied his hair up out of his face.

You moved to return to your seat, but he half-lifted himself from his chair to make sure he got to kiss you before you left. “Thank you, honey,” he said softly. Your thumb rubbed his cheek with a soft touch.

“‘s okay,” you mused, looking at him. He loved the look you got in your eyes when you were fully concentrated on his face, he wondered if he got the same look when he saw yours. “You look cute.”

“Says you,” he mumbled, looking down at your outfit. He could tell you’d put in extra effort, he wanted you to know it hadn’t been for nothing. “Y’look so pretty today, can’t believe I get to be the one here with you.”

You giggled, preening under his thoughtful gaze. You could feel your cheeks growing warmer, but you made yourself not look away from him. “Yeah?”

He turned his head and kissed the palm of your hand. “Can’t believe I haven’t asked you to be my girlfriend properly,” he sounded so positively disappointed that you couldn’t help but giggle. “Don’t laugh at me, it’s embarrassing.”

You giggled a little bit harder. “Oh, baby,” you let your thumb brush his lips, soaking in the way he kissed the pad of the finger. “Can’t be embarrassed, I didn’t even realise.” Mike hummed in question. “Don’t know,” you shuffle in place. “in my head you’ve been my boyfriend for like six months.”

“Thank god,” Mike laughed, letting his head drop. “Quick, sit down, I need to ask you to be exclusive so I can tell people that I did.”

You pause for a second before nabbing the fork on his plate, scooping up a piece of chicken before sitting back in your chair. “Go on, then, boyfriend.” You take a bite. “Get it over with, I’m hungry.”

THREE. december 2017

You were curled into Mike’s side when you got the text. You didn’t usually look at your phone when the two of you were together, but he was watching a documentary about something that didn’t interest you, while you were reading a book on your phone.

He had his hand sitting on the back of your neck, knuckles brushing a line from the nape to the top of your shoulder. It was one of your costars from an earlier project, sending you a link.

“LMAOO not people”

It was a People magazine article, one that instantly had you rolling your eyes. Mike sensed your shift in mood and laid his palm flat on the curve of your shoulder. “Okay?”

“People says we’ve been together since…” you scrolled through the article.” “October last year,” you snickered.

“Cant believe you didn’t tell me.” Mike let his head fall back against the sofa. “I wish,” he said as an afterthought.

“You didn’t even know me back then,” you pointed out.

Mike leaned forward and kissed your temple. “Still,” he said, concretely no but with supreme amounts of gentleness. “I’m sure I would’ve wanted you with great desperation.”

You and Mike had gone through conversations before about revealing your relationship to the public. You had little to no intentions of doing that, especially not so soon. But you’d wanted to manage expectations.

You’d become famous young, not as young as some, you’d only been twenty when you landed your first major role. You’d done principal photography during your summer break in college, working towards getting your degree, and by the time you graduated you had two feature films and one golden globe nomination under your belt.

You’d had a college boyfriend at the time, it had ended naturally, not without pain, but not as a result of your blossoming career. The magazines had eaten it up, though, with all sorts of speculations.

You didn’t want that again. You didn’t owe them anything. And you were so grateful that Mike seemed to share the sentiment. You were so grateful to your fans but you knew at the end of the day that they didn’t own you, which is why you were not above lying to them to keep them out of your life.

Especially when the comments of the post were already filled with dozens of suggestions to who it could be. Not when your friends, your coworkers, or random strangers who hadn’t done anything other than be someone people thought you might like if you met them, we’re getting their personal lives dug into in order to confirm a suspicion that a stranger had about you.

Not when you were curled up in the arms of one of the kindest most charming men you’d ever known, one that you might even want to spend the rest of your life with. He definitely didn’t deserve this, and neither did you.

So, you went into your camera roll and found a selfie you’d sent to one of your friends a few days earlier. You typed up a short sentence and then hit post on your Instagram story without thinking too hard about it.

When you showed it to Mike he smiled endearingly. “Aw man,” he mumbled, pressing his face to the crook of your neck. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell me we broke up.”

FOUR. march 2018

Days on set were long, they were often exhausting, and they were where you’d thrive.

You’d finally wrapped after thirteen hours, and the first thing you did when you got your phone out of your trailer was to text Mike.

He was in New York still, but you guys had been speaking as often as you could. With him three hours in front of you, it often ended up in the two of you just missing each other. Mike had texted you four hours earlier while you’d been filming.

You look pretty here.

It’s a Vanity Fair video that you filmed about a month ago with one of your costars. It was a movie about love, being in love, loving people, loving places, loving time. Your character was the main romantic love interest to the main character, and she was one of your favourite characters that you’d ever played. A young woman who finds love in her career, love in her family, and eventually begins giving it to the main character. You and your costar had become very close, and you were talking candidly to them in the video about your experience with love.

Mike had sent you a screenshot of the video, where you’re smiling across to your costar. It had been a simple question they’d asked; have you ever been in love.

Now, you couldn’t say blatantly, “yes, I have a boyfriend.” And you couldn’t say that for two reasons. Number one, you and Mike had been so careful to the point where you didn’t even think your fans knew that the two of you were aware of each other, let alone that his tongue had been in your mouth.

And number two was that you hadn’t actually told Mike that you loved him. You did, god you did. You probably would have told him months ago if things were more normal. If you both worked 9 to 5s, you lived primarily in the same city, you could go on dates and pull him over to the side of the sidewalk, interrupting him mid-sentence to kiss him.

Unfortunately, you’d spent months apart, and while you spoke multiple times a day, at least through texts, it felt like not the right time.

You try to brush off your smile as you reply to him. Stop ittt you’re giving me an ego <333. In that exact moment, you know what you’d been spewing some media trained answer that avoided mentioning your partner but still felt authentic. “I’m just really glad that I spent most of my early twenties trying to find myself before trying to find someone else, I guess.”

Mike took a moment to reply. Guess you didn’t find me :(

You giggle as you finish changing back into your own clothes out of the costume you’d just been wearing, ready to head home now that your last scene of the day had concluded. Nope! You sought me out 100% I actually have no idea who you are.

That time the reply was instant. This is awkward then. What else is instant is the knock on your trailer door, the way you wrap your arms around him once you’d thrown open the door, and the knowledge that you’re going to tell him that you love him.

FIVE. september 2018

Mike knows that most people are more nervous to meet their girlfriend’s parents than he currently is, and ironically that actually does make him nervous.

It wasn’t really his first time meeting them, he’d spoken to them on the phone before and he’d even texted your mom a couple of times when you’d asked him to. You’ve been his girlfriend officially for almost an entire year, but the two of you both agreed that you felt you’d been together since July of the year earlier. That was over one whole year together. Even if your parents didn’t like him - which, based off the amount that not only he’d spoken to them, but you’d talked about him, seemed almost impossible - it wasn’t going to be the be all or end all.

But he wanted your mom’s birthday brunch (of which she was very serious about) to go well as his first official family event that he attended as your boyfriend.

The two of you were getting ready at his place, as you do most days that you’re in New York. You spend maybe two or three months in your home state and as you and Mike are together for longer and longer, you spend as much time together as you can. Mike had not only let you spend every second you could at his apartment, he’d actively encouraged it.

You’re wearing an outfit he’s seen on you a hundred times, standing in front of his bathroom mirror as he ducks in to grab his phone. He stops behind you, watching you apply mascara, and places both his hands on your shoulders.

“Love you,” you say absent-mindedly, trying to focus on not stabbing yourself in the eye.

He squeezes your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck, the closest part he can reach. “Love you more. I’m ready to head out whenever you are.”

You lean back so your face is no longer just inches from the mirror. “Reservation’s at 11 so we should probably leave soon,” you say. “Give me five or so minutes.”

You let him hold your hand the entire way to the restaurant, knowing exactly how nervous he is. He’s a grown man, he knows your mom already loves him, but he appreciates that you don’t say any of this as he follows you into the restaurant.

Your mom is already there, with two seats beside her that Mike knows are reserved for you, and she leaps out of her chair at the sight of you. You greet her with a hug and a happy birthday, having let Mike hold the gift so he felt less like he was coming empty handed (you’d bought it together). The second you’re out of her path, she’s coming for him. “Oh, it’s so lovely to finally get to meet you!” She’s gushing over him and he’s trying not to look embarrassed in front of you.

He fits right in with your family, sitting on your left hand side while you sit pride of place beside your mom. He gets caught up in one of your mom’s friend’s conversations (“Oh I just adore Broadway, what’s it like?”) and that’s when your mom takes the opportunity to lean over and whisper over her bellini to you.

You lean in so you can hear her without much strain.

“I’ve never seen you look this happy.”

You beam back at her.

SIX. november 2019

You’re thinking of selling your California apartment.

You know it’s probably a bad idea, and that because you spend so much time in LA, it’s good to have a place to call home. But you also feel like it’s keeping you tied to the west coast. That you’re more likely to spend more time in California if you have a place there, and that’s not something that you want anymore.

You’ve been in California for the last nine months, it’s been longer than that since you’ve seen your family, your friends, or your boyfriend. You missed your two-year anniversary because you spent the day on set and Mike wasn’t able to fly out due to his work schedule.

You have your co-stars, people you spent months with every day that you genuinely enjoy being around - one of them you even worked with on a past project, you spend a lot of your free time with them between takes - but it’s not the same.

And now you’re done. You have over seven months until press from this movie begins and then you have to start working again. Normally, you’d stay in California while you looked for another project to latch onto, but that wasn’t what you wanted to do.

You missed Mike, plain and simple. He was in New Jersey filming a movie, but that’s about as far away as he’d be if he was in New York. You knew of plenty of actors who didn’t live in LA and still made it work just fine, and as far as home states went, you could definitely have done worse than New York.

“I think if it’s something you want to do you should look into it.” You’d called your boyfriend to have him either talk you into or out of it, but frustratingly all he’s done is point out that it’s your apartment and that he’d be kind of an asshole if he pushed his opinion on your assets onto you.

“I want your opinion,” you let out a dramatic sob, sitting at your kitchen counter. Your phone is on speaker while you’re on your laptop, answering emails.

Mike laughs, it’s crackly through the phone but you know the ins and outs, the layers of breath. “My opinion is that you should do what feels right for you, and I’ll back you up no matter what.”

“You’re annoying,” you grumble, changing tabs to instead look through your camera roll. You had a few days left to post one of your monthly photo dumps, something you much preferred to posting consistently. There was one photo that your camera roll had put in the forefront, of you at dinner with Mike and two of your mutual friends to celebrate his 27th birthday. You’d taken the photo almost eleven months earlier, and hadn’t done anything with it, but you did think you looked cute.

“I love you,” he offers instead.

You hum in response, bringing up the photo. “Is it weird if I post a photo from your birthday dinner? You’re not in it, obviously.”

He laughs at your bluntness. “Right, because why would I be in it? It’s only my birthday.”

That brings you out of it. “No, wait,” you giggle. “Just cause I don’t want them to know that it’s your dinner, idiot.”

Mike groans. “I was gonna ask when you next are coming home but I actually don’t care anymore about it.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what to do about my apartment.”

“Forgive me?”

“Fine, I love you or whatever.”

Mike laughs again, and you don’t even notice the crackles. “Or whatever.”

SEVEN. november 2019

You don’t think you’ve laughed this hard in a while.

“I’m sorry,” she moans, leaning on your shoulder.

You’re with one of your closest friends, sitting on your sofa, almost crying with laughter. You’d been staying with her while the sale of your California place was going down, with every intention of moving back home to New York after it was done. She’d commented on your yearly photo set, talking about a photo of you and your mom, and you’d realised exactly where people’s minds would go.

“No,” you giggle, “I was the one who decided to be messy and post the photo.” You’d posted a photo that had been taken of you and Mike when he’d come to visit you on set the year earlier. Everyone knew it was old, you’d thought it was funny, and sure you had probably revealed a little bit too much about your relationship, but Mike had thought it was funny too, so that was enough for you.

Your favourite part, though, was that not a single person had commented, tweeted, messaged you asking who he was, if he was your boyfriend, or what was happening. You hadn’t seen a single person give a fuck.

The two of you had been sneaking around like teenagers and literally no one had cared, so Mike had allowed you to be a little messy on your Instagram feed.

“If I’m the reason you and Mike get doxxed you can feel free to post any blackmail you have of me,” she promises. You can tell she feels awful about the possibility of having just exposed your multi-year long relationship, but if you’re honest you think it’s kind of funny.

You wave her off. “No, I guarantee no one even cares. Worst case scenario someone asks, you just tell them you were talking about the photo of me and my mom, it’s so fine.”

The reason that you’d posted that photo now was because when it had been taken, things were definitely too new to be making hints towards it, and you would have posted a more recent picture but that was literally the only one of the two of you you could fine.

And the best part was while all this was happening, so blatantly obvious to everyone who knew, you still got so many comments, dms - fucking interview questions - asking if you had a boyfriend, and every single time you’d either dodge it or outright say no.

Your phone vibrated; a text from Mike.

Rachel told me she hasn’t seen a single tweet about it and if anyone would have seen it it would be her.

yeah i run a stan account of you and haven’t put my phone down in 8 years - rachel :))))) She sends an entire row of kisses with hers.

You’d met his costar a few times, only over the phone, and he sent you pictures of the two of them together on set often. You heart her message, giving his a thumbs up and knowing that she’d appreciate that.

“See, it’s fine.” You show your friend.

She breathes an audible sigh of relief. “In my defence you did post the photo.”

EIGHT. june 2020

The plan had been in the works for six months before it got derailed. Your California apartment had officially been sold, and you were set to move in to Mike’s place until you settled back in. Once things had calmed down with work for the two of you, you were going to start looking for your own place together.

You’d ended your lease in your New York place, you had all of your stuff - not that you carted much around with you anyway - most of the furniture you had came with the place, and you’d donated or sold most of it. You had been living off of display furniture and minimal decorating, knowing that wherever it was would sit vacant most of the time anyway. This was going to be it, where you finally started building a life, and you’d be doing it with Mike.

And then the country had gone into lockdown and, after a very lengthy conversation, the two of you had decided to relocate back to Columbus, Ohio, where he had a place for when he went to visit family.

It had been a fast move, but you’d planned for every thing that you possibly could have. Your family was safe, in New York, and you knew that was the best place for them to be. Your dad had an autoimmune disorder, so you knew that even if you were living in the city you wouldn’t be able to visit them much anyway. After three years with Mike, spending most of your relationship states away, you couldn’t let him leave without coming with him.

So, there the two of you were. In Mike’s house in Ohio, one that was entirely familiar to him and somehow, it felt that way to you as well. Like you knew him so well that anything he knew was something you instinctively understood.

Despite how long you’ve known Mike, how long you’ve loved him, you feel a bit like you’re taking over his space. Like when he moves something to make room for one of your trinkets that you’re minimising him in his own home.

He doesn’t let you think that for long. Sometimes you’ll come into your shared bedroom and find him rearranging his bookshelf so your books fit too, moving his Grammy to a shelf where there’s enough room for it to sit beside your awards, changing the sheets to a set that you’d picked out.

You’ve been a successful working actor for the last eight years now, for almost five of them you’ve forgotten what it’s like to go outside and not worry that you’re going to be spotted.

Sure, when you go outside now, you’re masked and there’s less people outside to recognise you. But to the people you do run into, you’re not an actor to them, not a celebrity, not anything. You’re Mike’s girlfriend.

You can understand how that’s frustrating, you are your own person, but after three years of being together but constantly apart, you’re okay with your neighbours knowing you simply as Mike’s girlfriend.

Now that you’re always in the house your screentime goes way down, you don’t need to text him anymore. All of the things that had you stressed and anxious to leave the house for have changed. And of course the state of the world is by no means good, but if everything is going to be happening anyway, you’re glad that you’re able to be with him during it.

NINE. october 2020

You had become a bit of a homebody in the 9 months that you’d been living in Ohio. You only ever left the house when Mike did, and you didn’t go with him every time. Mike can tell it’s starting to wear on you a little bit.

So, in an effort to pick yourself up a bit more, you’ve started doing all the grocery shopping. You and Mike make a list together so as to not give you all the mental load with it, but you walk down the few blocks to the small general store.

It’s convenient, a nice place, with a pharmacy attached to one side and a bakery on the other. Sometimes you take Austin and the girl who works at the bakery puts a bowl down for him while you go in and get your medication.

Sometimes you drive, when you have the aching exhaustion that only comes with being sad for hours on end, or when it’s raining, but the fresh air and just the act of being outside was usually enough to make you feel better.

It was late, and the pharmacy was closing soon when you realise you’d forgotten to pick up your medication, so it’s a no brainer that you’ll zip down and grab it while Mike makes dinner.

You’ve slowly started setting down roots here, the shop assistants know your name and your prescription, they know you and Mike have officially moved into the mostly vacant house a few streets away, and they know that you seem like you’re maybe not always doing the best, because they’re always extra kind to you when you need it.

You like the domesticity. Sitting on the kitchen counter while goes through the fridge, telling you what to write down. Walking his dog - Austin absolutely loves you, which Mike did tell you is normal for most people - or holding his hand with his spare one on the leash.

You’ve been really tired lately, and despite the fact that it’s meant to be your time to be by yourself and get fresh air, you find yourself in the kitchen, arms around your boyfriend’s waist. “Please?” You ask.

Mike’s stirring something cheesy on the stove. You can smell it behind the wall of his cologne, the smell of wood and cinnamon. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he laughs and you feel the vibrations where your cheek is pressed to his back. “It’ll be cold by the time we get back.”

Your voice is small, and he knows he has zero intention of actually saying no to you, but he’s wondering if you’ll change your mind given a little bit of coaxing.

“We have a microwave.” He wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t so close to him.

He loves you, and he’s also not blind. He can see you’re struggling. He likes to think he knows exactly when to give you space, and when you need him there. He puts the spoon down on the cutting board he has beside the stove and turns off the gas. “Okay,” he says comfortingly.

You brighten, and he feels you stand up straighter. “You’ll come with me.”

Mike doesn’t even pretend to think about it this time. “Of course I will.”

TEN. february 2021

Press was finally happening for your project that you had filmed all the way back towards the end of 2019, and with that came your first ever zoom interview. It was a bit awkward, you’d never really liked doing press much face to face but now online it was worse.

You and Mike had both found it a bit weird. He’d done a bit more of it in 2020 than you had, so you’d asked if he’d be in the room where possible to help ease your nerves.

You were in your bedroom, set up at the designated Work Spot. You and Mike had made an agreement, no work was to be done outside of the Work Spot. It was the only thing that stopped it bleeding into your everyday life, especially now that you were working from home.

Mike was out of frame so you could still see him, sitting in the corner reading a book. He’d glance up at you every single time you looked at him, like he could feel that you needed him.

Things were going well, it wasn’t a standard interview with an interviewer, but rather you’d been given a list of questions that the group of you took turns asking the others and then answering yourself.

There was a bit there where you knew you had a note written down about something important, but you’d written it on Mike’s phone. It was the only one near you at the time, and you were actively regretting it now.

You muted yourself on your computer and tried to subtly gesture for him. He notices you immediately and comes to stand right beside him.

“Can I grab your phone really quick?” He hands it over.

“You okay?” He asks, wary of the camera he’s standing just outside of frame of.

You unlock his phone and open up his notes app, trying to find what you’re doing. Mike didn’t have a phone case until you met him, but you’d cajoled him into a clear on“Did you…” you hum. “Did you move my note?”

You handed Mike back his phone and told him what he’s looking for and he scrolled for a second. “No?” He frowned. “Uh…” he bites his lip. “Oh wait, I cleared out a bunch of stuff hang on.”

You can hear everyone else, so you know no one has clocked your absence yet. “Found it,” he hands you back his phone and pulls up the one. “This one?”

“Love you,” you say in lieu of an answer. He gives you a look that makes a smile worm its way onto your face.

Mike goes to sit back down as you skim through your note, ready to have your talking points ready. “Love you,” he calls back.

When it’s eventually your turn to answer, you turn your microphone back on like nothing ever happened. And your costars, who all knew everything were was to know about exactly who you’d been talking to, all kept their mouths shut too.

ELEVEN. august 2021

The material of your dress was scratching his skin, but Mike couldn’t seem to mind when you were so deliriously happy. In one hand you had a glass of champagne and in the other a beautiful bouquet of flowers that you’d snatched from the air after it had left the hands of your childhood best friend.

People had been giving him knowing looks about it since then, upturned smirks and elbows to his ribcage. Mike laughed it off. The two of you were good, and he knew that you weren’t the type of girl to expect a proposal just because she caught the bouquet.

Over the course of the night he had stood by, chatting idly with another group of plus ones. He’d met your best friend countless times, but there was no denying that he would not have been invited if he hadn’t been with you for the last four years. He was just happy that you seemed to be having a good time.

Eventually, you staggered over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You weren’t drunk, didn’t need to be, you were simply so elated to not only be able to leave the house without feeling anxious but also to be able to celebrate your best friend getting married.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He chuckled, your nose pressed to his adam’s apple.

You hummed. “Yeah. Tired. Happy. Miss you,”

He ran his hand along the back of your dress, cringing at the material. “‘M right here.”

The night was winding down, it was out in a big greenspace that they’d rented, the sun had well and truly set. You were basking in the glow of the massive outdoor lamps they’d set up, and they bathed you in a golden hue.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you said genuinely. “I’m really happy.”

You were swaying on the spot slightly to the faded jazz playing in the background, and he let his arms envelope you, pulling you impossibly close to him. “Of course, baby,” he’s beaming wide, his voice low and soft. You can hear how happy he is.

It’s your first time being back in New York since you left, your longest stretch away from your home state in your whole life. The two of you have started looking for work again now that things are starting to open up. Mike’s riding the high of his West Side Story performance, he’s been getting offers since it came out. He hasn’t taken any of them, though, instead focusing on smaller things that he likes more. The TV show he’d spent a while filming in Texas had been cancelled, which was a shame because you really enjoyed watching TikTok edits of him in that.

Instead, he’d been waving off scripts his agents sent him. He’d been asked to do a screen test in a movie in the UK, but he didn’t seem to interested in it. The most interesting thing about it was that his screen test was apparently with Zendaya, so you’d encouraged him to go just to meet her.

Things are picking up again. Your agent’s sending you offers and auditions and after two years of not being on set you’re itching to get back.

But, getting back meant going back.

You’d settled in Columbus. You didn’t want to leave, but you and Mike both knew that you’d have to go back to New York.

It was something that you’d been talking about for a while, getting another place in New York. You’re fortunate enough that it’s something you’re able to afford, and it seems like a good idea. It doesn’t need to be discussed tonight, though.

Instead, you ask him quietly, “Are we ever gonna get married?”

Mike mused, “Do you want to?”

You’re playing with the longer strands of hair on the back of his neck. “I think I might. With you.”

“Yeah?” He asks. He feels so warm inside there’s glee practically pouring from him.

“Not right now, though,” you admit. “I think I want more of a career before I’m willing to become known as someone’s wife.” Mike knows exactly what you mean, and that even though you eventually want to be his wife, that regardless of what you’ve accomplished, from that moment on there will be people who know you exclusively as ‘Mike Faist’s wife.’ At this point in time, you’re not even known as his girlfriend, a fact that the two of you enjoy.

“You just let me know,” he hums. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

You’ve been together almost four and a half years now and still no one knows. You don’t really need people to.

You kiss his jaw and reach down to take off your heels, complaining about your feet. He takes them from you and watches as you make your way back towards your friends. He knows he’s going to ask you one day, and he knows you’ll say yes. The two of you know just how much you love each other. You don’t need anyone else to just yet.

TWELVE. november 2021

So, a new arrangement has been reached. You n’t living in New York permanently but you have a lease on a place together. You’re back to doing live press, with the movie finally being shown in theatres. To be completely honest, you’re pretty much done with press on this movie. When you were cast in it three years ago, you didn’t expect that you would still be doing it.

Mike is sympathetic but amused. They haven’t organised the screen test for that one movie yet but that’s because the director was working on another project and the one Mike had been scouted for had been pushed back for a short period.

Sometimes companies will send you a car to come to your interview, but you take the subway home. Mike comes with you most times, more than happy to come tag along and sit in a room with your stuff and bring you your water bottle between shoots.

“Thank you, baby,” you tell him genuinely the fourth time he does it. He kisses your forehead. “You didn’t have to come with me, I appreciate you.”

He hums as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I need to earn my keep somehow, I’ve been your stay at home boyfriend for like two years.”

You giggle around the straw of your water bottle, softening at the way he reaches to take it from you. “And your services have been appreciated and they will be missed when you inevitably book again.”

It’s not something that you expect to be so comforted by. The knowledge that wherever you’re living - Ohio, New York, California, wherever, even if you’re in different states - that you just love being around him. No matter how much time he spends with you, he doesn’t get sick of you, you don’t get sick of him.

You’re infinitely happier when he’s within arms reach than when he’s not.

“Only book I care about is the one I’m reading over there,” he leans in to kiss you briefly. The director of the shoot gives out the five minute warning to roll into the next section, Mike takes your phone and water bottle and heads back to his corner.

It’s almost comedic, the way that the producer immediately starts the next section with asking you “Do you have a celebrity crush?”

You have to make a conscious effort to not look over at Mike, even though you know he’s watching you.

“Uh,” you laugh awkwardly, “I don’t really have one.”

Your coworkers’ faces are stone, and you don’t know if that make you want to laugh more or not. You keep your eyes directed straight at the barrel of the camera and you know everyone’s going to see how uncomfortable you are.

“I guess having one when…” you struggle to find the right words, “when you are where I am in life, is just kind of weird,” you laugh again. “It feels wrong, I don’t know.”

You finally let your gaze land on your boyfriend. He’s smiling at you, and you calm immediately knowing that even once you’re out of this building, back on the train to your one bedroom, your hand in his, sharing earbuds, he’ll be there.

THIRTEEN. april 2022

“Tell me again, what she said,” your feet are in Mike’s lap. You have people over, and you can’t imagine being happier. Your apartment is bustling, a charcuterie board that you are very proud of on the kitchen counter. You still have New Years decorations up, and there’s music playing. Mike got back from his screen test a week ago, and you’re revelling in his presence again.

Mike takes a sip of his drink and moves so he’s resting his arm on your calf. You have a few of your friends sitting on the sofas around you, hanging on to every word. “She told me to tell you-”

You interrupt him, too excited “She brought me up!” You giggle over your champagne.

Mike giggles, the side of his mouth pinching up with his smile. “Zendaya wanted me to tell you that she had just seen your most recent movie, and that she thought you were really good in it.”

You flail back so you’re resting on the arm of a friend. “Zendaya knows my name.”

One of your friends puts his drink down on the coffee table. “Don’t you guys have a Grammy in your bedroom, why are you surprised by this?”

“It’s not mine,” you roll your eyes, tipsy off the champagne and drunk on the party. “I would never take credit for my wonderful boyfriend’s accomplishment.”

“She’s taken so many selfies with it,” the friend you’re leaning on chimes in.

Mike laughs and almost as if by magnet you’re trying to get closer to him. Your head comes up beside his, resting on the wall behind the couch, his hand on the back of your neck.

You don’t even know what you’re celebrating. Just being able to have people over, having a space to have them in. Having someone you’d want to host a party with.

“Okay, and?” you shoot back. “You’ve taken selfies with me.”

He’s kissed the hollow of your collarbone, his hair, getting longer now, tickling your neck. You love him so much, you’re surprised there’s enough room in the apartment for all your guests with how much space it’s taking up.

The apartment itself is obviously a new development in your life, but the area isn’t. Just two streets over is the apartment you were living in when you met Mike. Barely furnished, not decorated, not lived in.

A place so physically close to the room you’re sitting in with a group of people you love more than life, but that couldn’t have possibly been further away. Now you have family pictures on the wall, you have his toothbrush right beside yours. You have a ticket to the show of Dear Evan Hansen you went and saw right when you two got together, sitting front row in the audience and marveling in the fact that the man onstage liked you, pride of place in your clear phone case. He has a ticket stub from that time a theatre in Columbus was playing a rerun of your feature film debut and he’d dragged you with him to go see it wedged in his. You have a delicate chain around your neck with an M on it so well hidden it might as well be lost to legend, he has your first initial hanging on his keychain.

It’s been five years, three lived-in states, several hundred shared meals, and an apartment just two streets away, but as you laugh at a story someone is telling, your cheek pressed against Mike’s, you’ve never felt closer to home.

#mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist fic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers

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swee7dream · 1 year ago

Note

hi vixy! i miss you sm 😞🫶 being here is just not the same when i'm not interacting w/ you (ノ_＜。) and im here in your inbox for a request!

remember when i always gush about your use of endearments? atm, im craving for a hc fic of 7dreamies using their favorite endearment/petname/nickname for reader >< i absolutely think that they have their own ways and the oddest yet the most endearing nicknames for their special ppl and i think about it everytime i read your fics bcuz there is that kind of spice of it in your works (*^-^) and i love it ^^

i hope you're doing well, love! have a great day (人´ｴ`*)♪

xoxo, wynnie.

7dream's nicknames for their partners nct dream x f!reader

genres fluff, established relationship warnings feminine pet names used, quasi-suggestive but not really ( renjun ) author's note omg not the love letter in my inbox !!! love u 5ever wynnie . sorry the bulletpoints are kinda short, i tried to make up for it in the mini-fics ! ty for the request + i hope u like it !

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

a very simple, casual guy

babe, dude (romantically), my girl

he can’t even tease you when you tell him it gives you butterflies because he’s the exact same way, giggling into his hand and turning away to hide his silly grin from you

call him dude though? he’ll be sulky until the next day (as if, he melts into a puddle with just one kiss)

“dude,” mark calls out from the hallway, still unsure where everything is still, being your first sleepover. “have you seen my charger? i don’t know where i left it.” “i dunno, man. you should ask your girlfriend.” “wow…” he extends the word in between laughter. he shuffles in his slides back into the bedroom, doubling over your body laying comfortably under sheets. “you are my girlfriend.” “nuh-uh. i’m your dude. your bro. your homeslice.” you over-emphasize the last word, flicking your tongue like a snake. “more like my homewife.” he giggles, reaching up to peck your lips. “that was terrible.” “come on! that’s worth at least half a point.” “negative eight thousand points.”

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

my love, darling, sweetheart

in my heart of hearts i view huang renjun as the definition of a romantic

maybe he won’t have diamond necklaces for you every date night, but he always makes sure to show his love in the small, important things

he has your favorite snack for when you get home, changes the bedsheets when you forget to, and refills the soap bottles in the bathroom before you even notice you’re running low

“you took care of the dishes.” renjun jumps in his seat, not even hearing when you came in. “i did.” he turns from his canvas to look at you, smiling as you’re already wrapping your arms around his waist. “how was your day, my love?” “exhausting. you are the sexiest man alive, you know that?” you mumble into his hair. “for washing dishes?” “so hot.” you nod, squeezing him tighter. “gee, thanks,” he chuckles, reaching a hand up to scratch your head. “how about a bath? wash away all that exhaustion.” “join me?” you pout. “of course, darling.”

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

doll, baby, babydoll

you are a living, breathing doll to him and everyone needs to know!!!!!

he forgets he’s literally mr. ferragamo sometimes and just stares at you with super heart eyes like:

wow (ෆ人ෆ) that’s my baby

“what about this one?” you spin in to give jeno a 360. “i really liked it in the store but i’m not so sure about it now.” “you’re the prettiest girl ever, doll.” jeno sits with his legs spread, his hands in the middle holding the edge of the chair he sits on. “pretty, pretty, pretty.” “thank you, jen.” you look at him. “but i’m asking about the clothes. i don’t know if this shade suits me! or maybe it’s the texture of the clothes? actually, it might be the material.” “everything suits you. if it doesn’t, it’s because the designer was stupid. you’re the pinnacle of fashion, babydoll.” “you’re silly.” you giggle, walking toward him to dig your fingers into the back of his hair. “you don’t think i should return it?” “absolutely not. you look great in red, baby.” “this is white, jen.” “whatever. gimme a kiss.”

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

baby, sunshine, sweetheart (derogatory)

outsiders looking in eavesdropping on your conversations don’t know if you’re about to bite each other heads off or make out against the wall

what else could you expect from haechan ‘dating is so boring, let's be best friend and act like in a relationship’ lee

you feel a dark energy looming over your shoulder, as you often have since saying yes to your first date with hyuck. you continue to feel it as your card taps on the reader, beeping happily at the successful payment, unaware of the incoming chaos. “oh heck yeah! thanks for the food, sis!” haechan’s hand sneaks around to hold the back of your head, pulling you into a deep kiss. he only squeals like an anime girl as your hands slide up to push him away and turn to the cashier, apologizing profusely and failing to convince them that you’re not, in fact, related. “thanks for treating me, sweetheart.” “hey siri, search shooting ranges near me.” “wait, baby no-”

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

lovey, princess, my muse

fun fact: he loves being called prince. having matchy matchy names makes his heart full and gives his life purpose (his words)

i put those three down but honestly, it really depends on the day. he’s constantly making new ones every single hour

he sees you in the flowers growing in the cracks in the sidewalk (‘petal’), in the songs of the birds outside (‘birdy’), in that one painting he saw back in a museum in italy (‘angel’)

“oh wait, i like these!” you swipe through some candid photos jaemin took of you of a trip you two took a while back on his phone. “how come you didn’t send me these?” “if i sent you every picture i took of you you would think i’m a crazed stalker.” “i know you are and i still love you.” you smile at him before turning back to the phone screen. “urgh. you’re always changing my name in your contacts. what is it now?” “munchy.” “munchy?” you stare at him with your eyes furrowed, having turned in slow motion as if you heard him wrong. “that was the name of one of the tortoises we saw at the zoo. he was so cute. it reminded me of you when you eat pasta. so you’re munchy.” “…okay, jaem. thanks, i think.”

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

babe, dollface, beautiful

surprisingly, not a big petname user. not at first at least

but one time he clocked you getting pouty and in your head and learned that you liked being called sweet things other than your name.

“what’s wrong with your name? i like your name, dollface.” you can see something switch inside of his mind. “mmm, okay. i’ll try.”

“i miss you…” even through the phone, chenle can’t help but smile at your voice. “please don’t die.” “i’m at the grocery store for ice cream you asked for, dollface. i’m not gonna die.” “what if you get hit by a car?” you sniffle, hormones overwhelming you. “i’ll survive.” “how do you know?” “i just do. you should know by now i’m superman, babe.” “fly home, le. wanna cuddle.” “don’t threaten me with a good time.” he chuckles, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he places your ice cream—and a couple other things he thought you might appreciate—on the counter to be rung up. “stay put, beautiful. i’m coming.”

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

babe, dude, pretty (used EXCLUSIVELY behind closed doors)

bro gets embarrassed just breathing air, you think he’s gonna have the guts to be cheesy with you in public?

even calling you babe in public has him with his voice lowered.

it’s really counteractive considering being so shy about things brings only more attention to him from his friends

“could you pass me my phone?” jisung’s request flies over your head as the group conversation is alive and well around you. “babe,” he mutters, finally getting your attention. “can you pass me my phone?” in good 7dream fashion, all the boys ‘ooh’ at him, haechan and mark fangirling obnoxiously. “baby darling sugarplum angelface!” donghyuck mocks, laughing at jisung holding his head in his hands, being consoled by your rubbing his back. “could you pass me my phone, my darling sweetheart pookiebear cupcake?”

author's note i fear i'm running out of themes for fic headers !!!!! why was i not blessed with the moodboard bone all my other lovely mutuals have D:

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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 1 year ago

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blanket fort | seokmin

haven't published anything in 5ever so here's a lil drabble. seokmin is so cute and silly and i would love to build a fort with him <3 also idk but i don't think there's any warnings.

"you didn't think this through, at all, even a little bit."

"sure didn't."

"have you ever built a blanket fort before?" you ask with an amused shake of your head.

"not even one time," seokmin admits, and you both giggle.

"really? tragic." you kiss his fingers intertwined with yours as you look at the mess on the living room floor in front of the TV. there was almost nothing that identified it as even an attempt at a fort -- just a clump of sheets, fluffy blankets, and the occasional pillow or two. "why didn't you ask for help?"

"because," he sasses, "i was trying to surprise you." he pulls out his phone and shows you a photo of an incredible blanket fort on pinterest. "this was my goal. and this is the reality." he can't help but laugh at himself.

the fort in the picture is beautiful, strung with fairy lights and made of cute floral blankets. it doesn't resemble the knotted lump in the center of the room at all, but you're still touched that he tried. "well, i have amazing news," you tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "i'm the best blanket fort-builder in the universe."

"well, that's quite the claim," he says, wrapping his own arms around your waist and pecking you on the lips. "wanna back it up?"

and so, in the fading, golden afternoon light, you help the most beautiful boy in the world build a blanket fort. the pile of blankets transforms into a tent-like structure around the TV. seokmin helps you drag the mattress into the fort, and the two of you snuggle together while you watch your favorite show, his hands dragging soft lines across the back of your arms. somehow, these tiny moments are the things that give your life the most meaning -- laying here with seokmin on a windy fall evening, feeling loved and protected in his arms.

"you were right," he mumbles sleepily, interrupting your gentle thoughts.

"about what?"

"you are the best fort-builder in the universe."

#seventeen #svt #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt x reader #svt fic #svt fanfic #seokmin #seokmin fanfic #seokmin x reader #seokmin fluff #lee seokmin #svt seokmin #seventeen dokyeom #dokyeom #svt dk #svt dk x reader

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eddiesangels · 7 months ago

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after tit.

I don’t even wanna leave this parking spot. like this was genuinely one of the best days of my life. the people were amazing, my seat was amazing. I think I need to schedule an eye doctors appointment tho. they’re actually real. seeing them during the q&a was crazy work. I was most shocked by dan for some fucking reason. like he’s there. maybe cause he was closer but my god bruh. I was giggling kicking my feet not even kidding. they didn’t read my question but it’s ok, there was a fuck ton put in.

who wants to buy me another ticket for another show. not even kidding. and I spent so much on merch, and I accidentally tipped 14 bucks bruh. said 10% so I’m thinking 2 bucks. no fricking 14 BUCKSSSS.

ugh.

guys, dan howell really said something when he said that thing about embracing the cringe cause I embraced it so hard today in my phreddy phazbear fit.

also I did cry at the beginning of the show, like full tears fell. but that’s it. didn’t tear up at the nice little moment towards the end. cried when they came out. it was that fuck ass intro with the hi my name is phil and fuck

I think I need to be a youtuber

no cause they’re living their dream together and doing stupid shit for people like us whom are also them and bruhhhhhhhhh

someone was reading fanfiction during the intermission

sorry, I also haven’t done anything in 5ever. so maybe that’s also. I’m gonna take the backroads home cause I don’t wanna drive on the Boston highway rn at night

love you all. thank you for the ticket, thank you for saying hi, thank you for being there, thank you dan and phil, thank you this free parking spot I found.

gang don’t kill yourself 😂😂😂🙂‍↕️😎

- update. I’ve been sitting in my car for 20 minutes. <3 also might take highway but the lights r too bright !

was thinking of stalking dnp van but that’s too much work (joke)

#just me talking about tit and stuff #me talking #man #I kinda feel numb now #they ran past I think I was like woah amazingphil with his 6 pack ran by me kinda by me

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heartbreakgrill · 1 year ago

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Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 7; "Stay here, honey."

a/n: tehe hi friends! we havent spoken much so...the tortured poets department was literally written for daisy and oliver, that's all i gotta say. i listened to i can fix him (no really i can) and guilty as sin this entire writing sesh. i missed yall tho! i feel like i havent written in 5ever. anyways enjoy friends :)

“Jesus, just pick it up.”

Oliver squinted his tired eyes at his phone screen. His body was twisted around, his neck arching to try to read the contact name that was flashing across his screen. This was the fourth time they had tried calling him. I was snug against his side, occupying the rest of his strength. I went to move away a bit, just to allow him some room to answer the phone without being contorted like a pretzel.

He felt me tug back from his hold and immediately set the phone back onto his bedside table. The screen was faced up. It was probably just me, me and my stupid naivety- but I was touched that he set it that way. My stupid belief that I meant just as much to him as he did to me made it so. Trust, love. Two feelings I had when I was with him that were now more familiar than the anger and fear I used to be consumed by.

Oliver latched his other hand, now free, around my back. His fingers splayed out around my hip, nose nuzzling into the bare crevice of my neck. I sunk into his body, an anchor sinking into cold, salty sea water.

“Eh, fuck ‘em. They’re just taking time away from me and my flower.”

I snorted at the pet name, though I secretly (not so-secretly) loved. “You’re so cringey sometimes.”

“Cringey?” He reeled his chin back, glaring down at me with those icy hazel eyes. “Girl…”

“Girl!” My mouth widened as the word so easily fell through his lips. I fought against giggles that were winning. “Who are you? Where’s Oliver?”

His laughter was deep, steady, chest rocking beneath my head, “Shh, don’t tell anyone. I’m his twin brother, Isaac. Oliver is on a top secret mission. He said you’ll always be in his heart, but he must go, fulfill his duty as a spy.”

“What the fuck,” I stated, nuzzling my head in bare chest in hopes the escape his jokes. I let out a small sigh as I fed into his humor, “You don’t have to lie to me, Isaac. I know he’s off with his secret girlfriend. Just, if you can speak to him, let him know that I won’t cry over him. I won’t miss him. Besides, his twin brother’s kinda…hot.”

“Secret girlfriend? What are you even talking about?”

Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed it if I wasn’t trained to read body language. Maybe it would’ve gone over my head if I didn’t know him, the very shell of him, so well. I could have looked past it, could’ve turned it over in my head, blurred the lines, pretended like I didn’t know the way his eyes flickered, disruption taking over his hazel pupils, as he glanced, so minutely, to his cell phone.

And, maybe it was me. Maybe I was really that insecure. Maybe I was stupid. Maybe I’d never really learn to trust him, based on the entirety of our situation.

I think Oliver noticed the flicker that tilted at the corners of my lips because his face fell, just a bit. And he rushed to cover it up, “There is no secret girlfriend, darling. I promise you that.”

And he did what he was so subconsciously genius at- he manipulated the situation, moved on from it, by wrapping me up, pressing the tip of his nose to mine, and saying, “You are my one and only, Daisy. The only one I want. Need.”

I was stupid, like I always was, and kissed him.

We continued on that morning, laying around like we always did, in the early hours of the dawn, long before anyone would wake up. They had a show later, but Oliver didn’t care about getting rest. He wanted- needed, he claimed- to be with me. I guess his idea of resting involved fucking me and kissing me and feeding me with his ownership.

He always asked the strangest questions, always reminiscent of that first night on the roof. He asked like he was trying to memorize the nocks on my bones, prophesied my future in a romantically dramatic way. It was usually when we were laying around like this, silence comfortable in our breaths.

Today’s was formed as more of a statement, curious intonation, “Tell me more about your mom.”

It took me by surprise, like he almost always did. It forced me to slow my own thoughts for a moment, articulate my memories, and find delicate words. Mostly, I wondered, “Why do you wanna know that?’’

Oliver was forced to think now, but he didn’t have much of a response, “I don’t know. I was just…wondering, I guess. I mean, you’ve told me your dad’s an ass, but you had to have gotten your beauty somewhere.”

I knew he used that compliment in a much more meaningful way than the surface level allowed it to be understood. So, I blushed, tilted my head, “Well, I could talk for hours about her. Don’t want your ears to bleed.”

“Nonsense, my love. Your voice is music to my ears.”

I nuzzled my nose to his cheek. Then, I mustered up the courage to fight my sadness and began with, “She was…literally everything to me and Sam. She…dad left when I was 5. Sam, 12. Mom was, like…30? I think? So young. She opened up her own flower shop not long before he left. But, it wasn’t nearly enough money for us to live off of. So, we, like, moved into the tiny ass apartment that was above the shop. It smelled like Chinese food because of the restaurant. And, sometimes, that mixed with the flowers. And my allergies are terrible! And, not to mention, mom smoked. So…it was rough. Sam and I shared a room, so we were together more than we should have been. We were…we were so mean to mom. We, like…took out dad’s absence on her, the fact that we had to live in this shitty apartment. Meanwhile, she was just…this ball of light. She’d stay up till 3am, in the shop, blasting Taylor Swift, arranging flowers, writing this silly little poem book she hid beneath her mattress and thought I never found and read. She picked up shifts at the Chinese restaurant literally every day. She never took a day off, not even on holidays. God, she must have been fucking miserable. But…no matter what…she was, just, like…kind. I think…no, nevermind.”

I sniffled and cut my own words off, teary eyes shutting. I didn’t want to be all sappy and emotional in front of Oliver, especially not at this time of day. As I tried to steady my breathing, Oliver’s arms tightened around me.

“Hey,” he swept a hand to my cheek, drawing my eyes to his, “Daisy…keep going. Please.”

“I think Sam really misses her. He…he’d help her out, with chores, making dinner, getting the trash cleaned up when she’d be overwhelmed and forget about it all. And at the time he resented her. But, he was a teenager. He didn’t know any better. But he beats himself up over it. I just…wish he’d be kinder to himself.”

“And what about you?” Oliver whispered once I had let a pregnant pause of silence go.

I looked up at him, struck by the question, like always, “What…about me.” My eyes drifted as my mind wandered, “I…I’d sneak downstairs, far too often, watch her from the doorway while she danced, sang, drank cheap wine, tossed flower petals all around. She’d always catch me. I was a noisy kid. But, she’d never punish me. She’d grab my little hand, drag me into the room with her, play all our favorite Taylor songs.”

Oliver cracked a joke which burst a ray of sunshine through the sadness layering itself overtop the room, “God, now I feel terrible for making fun of you.”

I punched him in the stomach, closed fist splaying out into a gentle palm on his belly. “You should. She meant a lot to me and my mom. I…she’s why Sam got into music. She had this- this beautiful voice. She’d write songs, along with her poems, and record them on this tape player.”

“Where is it now? Back at your apartment?”

“No,” I shook my head, “at hers. We never really cleaned it out. Sam still pays the lease.”

“And the flower shop?”

“A stupid fucking smoothie bar. I was really hoping one of us would take it over, run it, keep her alive. But…it’s just not feasible. Too expensive.” I’d always felt guilty for that- not investing in mom’s memory. I felt like I’d buried her back in my hometown and sealed shut whatever conscious thoughts I had of her in her grave with her rotting body.

It was just too much. She gave us everything and the world failed her, killed her. Every ounce of light that had been in her eyes was completely spoiled by the time the cancer had taken over.

The thought made me shutter. Oliver noticed and brushed a soothing hand through my hairline. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“No, no,” I tapped his stomach, “we should. I never really…never really mention her to anyone. This is nice.”

Oliver kissed my temple sweetly, “I agree. So, tell me about these late night dance parties you’d have.”

And, so, we spent the next few hours talking about my mom. Her smile, the inky flowers she had wrapped around her elbow, the way she’d let me stand on her toes while we waltzed across the shop.

We talked and talked. I cried and Oliver wiped my tears. He told me he’d give Taylor Swift another try.

And I found myself falling further.

Then, it was suddenly nearing 8am, when I knew for sure my brother’s alarm would be going off. So, we finished quickly with whatever we’d been doing. Then, Oliver helped me get dressed, which took much longer than it should’ve with two people pulling one person’s shirt over her head. It was because he stuck my head through, then dipped his head to my stomach, tracing my abdomen with wet kisses.

I giggled and shrunk away from the ticklish feeling. He laughed and chased me with his strong hands, encasing my hips with his splayed fingers. I tried pushing his touch away, writhing like a worm, but he was able to plant more kisses onto my skin.

Then his phone started ringing again.

Our movements paused. I slowly pulled the shirt the rest of the way down, meeting his eyes as my vision was cleared from that blockage. His hands moved, passively, to his sides. His body language, that distant, distracted look in my eyes burned.

“Oliver,” I accidentally whispered, then, “just answer it.”

He knew. He knew it was a challenge, a probe at the situation. He knew I was testing him. And, if he failed, if he refused to pick up the phone and answer the call, I’d run out.

I think that- losing me, watching me walk away- was just something he could not deal with right now. So, he made up some excuse while slinking over to the phone, “Probably just someone from the label. Or a stupid spam caller. No big deal.”

I was still facing away from him, still small, shrunken in on myself, when I said, to no one but the air, “Please.”

He didn’t hear me. “Hello?”

I turned around to face him, watching the muscles on his face carefully, paying attention to how he reacted to whoever was on the line. After a moment, he pressed the speaker button, and held the screen towards my vision.

“Spam,” Oliver scrunched his nose as he hung up.

Intuition, maybe jealousy, nibbled at my skin like some flesh-eating piranha. I gave one shake of my head, easily falling back into the casual, comfortable air that was routine between us. I smiled, a joke on my lips to push us past the awkwardness, “So, what kind of top secret mission is Oliver on? Drugs? Or…war?”

“Oh, all of the above!” He dramatically replied.

“Well, you tell Oliver that I need to be getting back to my own bed,” I tapped his chest, awaiting him to let his arms loose.

But, he squeezed tighter, even wrapping his occupied hand around me, “No! Please! Stay!”

“Won’t you ever get tired of me taking up space in your bed?” I giggled at his hair, tickling my neck.

He hummed a rejection, “Never. This is, like, our own secret sanctuary. Here, in this room, we can be whoever we want.”

I focused on his eyes, touching my nose to his. Then, he kissed me before mindlessly reaching behind himself to set his phone back up.

Face down.

I felt like throwing up.

The feeling was worse when I was alone, leaving his apartment like I had just signed an NDA. I tried my hardest not to overthink things, but considering our precarious relationship, this was a very difficult thing to do.

Somewhat luckily, Oliver had been normal the rest of our time together, easy-going, non-suspicious. That’s how someone who didn’t have a secret girlfriend should act. So, why couldn’t I be satisfied with that?

(Why did he place his phone face down? Why had the look in his eyes told me something different, something worse-?)

It would have made so much sense to find out that he did, in fact, have a girlfriend. After all, he’d been telling me all summer how unavailable he was. This would make so much more sense than the mindless, kind of shitty excuses he had for not being able to commit to me. Was it, then, my fault for getting involved with him? For fucking a taken man? Perhaps I’d pushed myself onto him, forcing the situation. No, no, it couldn’t have been. After all, he’d sought me out numerous times.

And, if this were the case, I was supposed to then end things? As soon as possible? Find her social media, send a fucking hey girly text message, throw myself off of a bridge in the process?

The way he kissed me when I left, the way he whispered, “I’ll miss you. You should come to the show tonight. My shining star. You’d make it all worth it. Until then, beautiful,” against my cheek, his eyelashes fluttering against my skin- there was no way I was the side piece. He was too invested in me.

Maybe she wasn’t real. Maybe he didn’t have a girlfriend. No, really- he just couldn’t have a girlfriend. It felt impossible. He was too…too caring, too gentle with me. He treated me so delicately it…just-

“Shit! Sorry!”

I had not been watching where I was going once I left Oliver’s room, which was extremely irresponsible of me. Anyone of our friends, my brother for Christ’s sake, could be walking these halls, on their way to visit the very person’s I’d just vacated. It was worse this week because Oliver’s room was on a different floor than everyone else’s. I had no way of excusing myself if I was caught up here. All I could do was be careful and hide when I heard someone familiar.

Yet, again- I was fucking stupid. I was careless. Mindless.

And I had run right into Adam.

“Daisy!” He looked up from his phone, still safe in his clutches because I’d only knocked into his left shoulder. “Shit, sorry. I’m a clutz.”

I forced out a chuckle, trying to seem chill, like I hadn’t just been having sex- 3 times- by his best friend, boss, lead singer of his band, my brother’s best friend.

“Oh, hey, Adam! No worries! I have plenty of bruises to prove I’m even more of a mess. What’re you up to?”

If I could gain control over the situation, be the one to ask the questions first, maybe then I could worm my way out of it without being exposed.

Then, a distant, deadly memory blared through my skull like a freight train. Last week, backstage. Adam, telling me where Oliver was, encouraging me to go to him. A knowing smile.

Fuck. This hole was deeper than I could ever crawl out of. Maybe he- maybe…maybe. Maybe he forgot-

“Daz…” he knew. He knew. Adam knew. He tilted his head, flicked his brows, gave a smile that suggested I just give up the facade already.

Before he could go on, I interrupted him, “Listen- just…please, just…no lectures, okay? I can handle myself. I know you guys all think Oliver’s this, like, bad person. But, he’s not. And, like- even if he is, I can handle it. I got it. I don’t need to be told what to do or warned or treated like a child. I- Oliver’s…it’s, just…you guys don’t know, okay? We have…I know it seems, like shitty, to you, probably. But…it’s really good. We have fun and, and we like each other…and that’s all that matters. Your opinions don't matter.”

As I went on, Adam’s face contorted into one of confusion, shock. Like he wasn’t computing the information I was messily throwing his way. “Daz, I…are you guys not just hooking up? I thought- I thought you were just fucking?” He let out a breathy chuckle, one of slight uncomfortability.

“It’s…yeah, like…I can see why you might think that, but…we have feelings for each other. And we’re not together or anything, but…we’re…we’re working on it.” For insisting that I didn’t want to be lectured like a child, I sure was speaking like one, shrinking in on myself, fiddling with my fingers all shy.

“So, please,” I held my hands up all defensive, like he’d lurch forward and attack me or something.

But, Adam simply sighed. He pocketed his phone, crossed his arms, eyeing me like some art exhibit. I didn’t know what he was going to say and, based on the silence he gave me, I didn’t really want to. He was calculating his response. He was probably going to fucking lecture me.

“Daisy, I…” aaand, here we go. It was me and Max in the elevator, all over again. It was Sasha, across from me at the breakfast table.

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do. That’s just not my place, no matter how much you mean to all of us, how much I think of you like, fuck, like a little sister. You are an adult. You can make your own decisions, dude.”

I breathed out the air I was holding. It was a relief, a sentiment I needed to hear. I didn’t care if I was being stupid- I just wished people would listen to me for once and let me do what I wanted.

“But.”

I shut my eyes, a bit tighter, longer than a blink took, in an attempt to ground the anger that was growing in my fingertips. “But, what?” My words were short, scornful.

“But,” Adam sighed again, “I just want you to be happy. I’ve watched you, all summer, try to prove yourself. To Sasha, to Max, to me. To your brother, especially. And, worst of all, Oliver.”

“It makes me so disappointed to see somebody like you have such little self worth. To see you dilute yourself for others. You are…so kind. So beautiful. So pointed and smart and sure of yourself. But, you hate it. You hate that you’re like that. You want to turn yourself into some version of you that just doesn’t fit. Some girl who’s edgy, some girl who’s laid back and doesn’t care what happens. That’s just not you, Daisy. You are intense. And that’s good! You’re passionate, you know what you want. You just…you need to believe you’re worth those wants. Stop doubting your abilities to make it happen. Stop doubting that you deserve it. Just grab it.”

I hadn’t expected to be so humbled. His words were…truer than any cheesy line any therapist had sold to me for $200. It knocked the wind out of me, forcing me to take a step back, literally. I guarded myself from the rush of the tornado, an arm wrapped over my stomach, one nervously rubbing my neck.

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that?

“I’m…sorry,” I whispered in response. It was all I could think to say.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” Adam touched my shoulder, “say it to yourself. You deserve the entire world. And I hope you accept that soon. This shit with Oliver will suck the life out of you.”

All I could think to do next was toss my arms around his shoulders, clutching him to my body like a warm blanket. He hugged me back, just as tight.

After only a few moments, we pulled apart. Neither of us said anything else. Adam simply touched my head, lovingly offering me this brotherly smile, before continuing his way down the hall.

I finally made my way to the elevator, one singular thought on my mind: my own self worth.

Adam had been so shockingly correct. I…

I knew it, too. I’d known it this whole time, only making myself and thought smaller in order to make room for Oliver. I couldn’t keep doing that. I needed to prioritize my own worth while loving him.

Loving him.

I needed to…

We couldn’t keep going like this.

I loved him.

And, from the way he held me, kissed me…the lyrical remedies he spoke to me…he loved me.

He loves me.

I’d confront him about this intuitive feeling.

Tonight.

–

“And this one I got when we were in Australia last year. I had this idea of getting ink everytime we hit a new city. But it got kind of expensive. Plus, we’re always so busy now that it’s, like, do I wanna eat or get a tattoo?”

“Get a tattoo, obviously,” Sam scoffed from the couch, a hint of tease within his tone. He scrolled mindlessly on his phone, barely a part of the conversation, just a nuisance, really.

Ronnie met my eyes and rolled her gaze, “Anyways-“

I giggled at the interaction before returning my line of sight to her arm. She pointed upon another piece of art inked onto her skin, diving into the backstory for that specific moment in time. Though it looked, to any passerby, that she was simply splattered with random images, doodles, animals, symbols- there was meaning to each and every piece on her body.

Tonight’s show had been postponed until tomorrow due to the monstrous thunderstorm that knocked out the power on that side of the city. With half the town closed down and plenty of free time now on our hands, Ronnie, Sam, and I found ourselves in our hotel room. We had been laying around for the majority of the afternoon, random topics on our minds.

I was killing time until I could chase Oliver down in his room, make my big stupid love confession.

Having admired Ronnie’s tattoos for a while, I was glad to finally have some extra time to ask her about all of them. It was always nice to get to talk to her, especially this in-depth, about most anything. She was intelligent and, frankly, hilarious.

She finished telling me the story about the horseshoe around her elbow. Then, before she continued down her left arm, she paused, another thought having intruded her concentration, “Daz.”

I tilted my head in recognition of my name, encouraging her to go on. She gave a little grin, like she had some sort of coy idea floating around in her head, “You don’t have any tattoos? Right?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I definitely want some. Honestly, I get a little nervous,” I sheepishly admitted to what was holding me back.

Ronnie’s expression positively grew. I understood, based on the context clues and the way she peered over at me, what she was getting at now.

“Half the city is out of power,” I raised my brows at her. I wasn’t opposed to the idea- I, myself, even had a little smile itching at my lips. I was just…a little scared, to be honest. I hated needles, like any average person did. Plus, the idea of something so permanent on my skin terrified me. What would I even get?

“I know a guy. He’d come to us.”

“I don’t know what I’d get! I can’t do last minute things like this. I’ll regret it forever,” I giggled, though what I was saying was true.

Ronnie sat up, grasping my hands in hers. She clutched on, begging from her knees on the bed beside me, “That’s the best way to get a tattoo. Get something stupid, something you don’t even know if you like, so you can regret it and hate it until you finally decide to love it! Plus, what a memory we’ll make, Daz! We’ve barely gotten to do anything together this summer, yet you’ve become like a sister to me. We have to do it!”

Sam came out of the bathroom, face half-covered in shaving cream, razor dangling between his fingertips. He met my gaze as I turned my head towards him, a relaxed, pleased look on his brows. “Daz…”

“Sam..” I returned his tone, awaiting his criticism, his claims of me being too good-two-shoes to follow through.

His brows rose more, “Daz! Come on! You have to!”

“Sam, really? I thought you of all people would hate this idea! You really think I should do it?” I was shocked, to say the least. Where was his chidness? His disapproval? The daunting argument always between us?

Nowhere to be found. It was like character development, magically morphing itself before my eyes.

“You have to! You said yourself, this summer is supposed to be about letting go, having fun, being dumb. So far, I haven’t seen you let go and be dumb at all. So, you have to check those off your list! What better way to do that than by getting an impulsive tattoo?” He pointed.

If only he knew just how dumb I’d been this entire time.

I think he’d have killed me if he found out even just a shred of the truth.

He was right, anyway. What I thought was letting go, not caring- it wasn’t. And I knew that now. It was exactly what Adam had been telling me.

Oh, well. Sam would soon know the truth, once Oliver and I talked through the relationship. I’d deal with that hill after the mountain.

Everything between me and Oliver was out of my control- yet, I was clutching to the situation with white knuckles.

The idea of a tattoo was a distraction, a shred of proof, to myself, that I could control something. That I could genuinely let go of fate for a moment or two.

Besides, I’d always hear that tattoo therapy was the best kind of way to get through shit.

“Fuck it.”

So, there I sat, still in my pajamas, fuzzy socks on my feet, on the edge of my hotel bed, arm propped up on Ronnie’s friend Frank’s stand he’d brought with him.

I didn’t know what I was getting. Ronnie convinced me to let her pick something out, but I only let her do so if Sam had approved it first. The giddy expression on his face and the squeeze around my shoulders that he gave me signaled that it was a good pick.

My knee was bouncing. Anxiety that I more than expected filtered through my system like a poison. I steadied my breathing, focused on the fidget ring I wore on my left hand. Frank was setting everything up on this collapsible tablet he’d unpacked from this wagon he stepped into the room with. Ronnie and Sam talked his ear off, laughing over old memories they all shared. I didn’t even know my brother knew this guy, but I guess he had this entire life I didn’t know about in the first place.

I kept to myself, fit with the quiet introduction I offered and the stress that bled off of my skin in droplets of sweat.

more pre tattoo shit

“You love it?” Ronnie stood behind me in the mirror,

cutest poolside

“What the fuck!” Max bounded through the door. He had a Sleep Token bucket hat on his hair and I nearly snorted at how goofy it looked on his head.

But, any tease I wanted to prod him with was curbed as he brought his complaints further into the hotel room. He spotted me after looking over the rest of the habitants. His offended expression didn’t lessen, though, like I thought it would once he fell into his usual routine of laughter and flirts. Instead, when he approached me, towering over my lounged sprawl across my bed, he noticed the black ink pooling beneath the dermal-wrap on my forearm. His brows shot up underneath the rim of the bucket hat that I was beginning to grow just a little jealous of.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t gotten into the boys’ music ever since the show. But I’d never admit that to any of them. Especially not my brother, who would’ve acted like the snarkiest prick because of his incessant need to be right, even though he was usually quite wrong.

“No fucking way!” Max climbed onto the bed beside me, crawling across the messy sheets by his knees. He stopped beside me and grasped my wrist in his hands.

The pull gently lurched me forward, forcing me to sit up. I dropped my phone to the bed beside me as Max dipped his head low, examining my new tattoo. I giggled at his wonderment.

“You got a tattoo! Without me! What the fuck! Daz, I’m hurt!” Max pouted, meeting my eyes with the puppy dog expression sinking in his brown ones.

Adam, Cyrus, and Oliver had shuffled into the room. The former two latched onto the tattooist’s conversation with my brother and Ronnie. They started bouncing ideas off of him as quick as one could blink. I wondered where they thought they could fit more ink on their already crowded skin.

Meanwhile, Oliver wasn’t being shy with how obvious he was, peering towards Max and I like we were a museum attraction. But, I was probably the only one to notice how his gaze first latched onto Max’s fingers, gripping my arm. Then, he moved his attention to my tattoo, trying to make out its shape from the distant angle at which he stood.

I felt it now, more than ever, since I’d confirmed the feelings in my gut and let them rise to the surface. Just looking at him, I knew it…I loved him so fucking much.

Though Oliver had averted his expression, his point of view, I knew what that first glance had been. I knew that burn in his gaze, the sickening claim in his pupils. Jealousy. So sickly sweet and insecure.

Suddenly self aware, if only because of that strange understanding I had of him, I slipped my hand from Max’s. I pulled my knees in front of my chest which expanded the distance between us. Though the movement was light, Max noticed it like noticed his own breaths.

His words stuttered for a moment, fading away as the proof settled in the room, “How’d you deci- decide….on…” He filtered his look from my face then over his shoulder, at Oliver. I had peered at the latter for a moment too long, a gaze which was easily noticed by my friend.

“On it,” Max’s tone fell off. Oliver didn’t meet his eye, his gaze latched onto my tattoo still. What had been an observational moment for Oliver turned into an avoidance of Max’s confrontation.

I was seeing through the smog now, the rose colored glasses just a bit dimmer than they had been before. And Oliver looked…he looked ashamed. Ashamed that Max was finding out, or ashamed that he had been with me? I would soon find out.

Max glanced back at me. I followed the curves on the sheets with a distanced glaze behind my lids, barren all the same. Then, Max looked to his friend again.

He waited for someone to say something. But neither of us would wave a white flag, nor would we confess to the guilty sin. My plan had been to tell Oliver how I felt, then tell everyone if I needed to.

And I didn’t really want to. Especially not Max. I felt like I’d betrayed his trust.

Max sighed, sitting up a bit straighter. He dropped a gaped, “Oh,” before pulling himself off of the bed, becoming a part of everyone else’s momentum.

My body paused, Oliver and I tangled in the poison ivy on the cream colored wallpaper behind me. He didn’t look at me, he didn’t breath, he didn’t do anything. He just stood there, anxiety bleeding off his healed scars like me.

I hadn’t expected him to jump onto the bed, proclaim his love for me, and tell the judgemental town folk that they just didn’t understand Romeo and Juliet. But, something other than his quiet treason would have been everything to my jittery frame.

I would have appreciated it if he had, at least, told Max to forget about it. If he would have shoveled some excuse off the tip of his tongue, defended me, us, the stupid love affair we thought was getting us somewhere.

But he didn’t.

He just fucking stood there, like he always did.

It made the confidence Id just built up waver a bit.

I was too anxious to really do anything, either. I couldn’t find the nerve to stand on my own two feet, let alone pull Max aside and try to excuse our indiscretions. The room was suffocating as the stress further settled in.

Max knew. Max knew.

He knew.

The cat would tear itself out of the bag any day now if I couldn’t get it under control today.

It was only a matter of a ticking time bomb. When would the seconds run out? When would the explosion shatter my skull?

I thought about running out of the room, tossing myself off the balcony.

But before I could find the strength to get my footing on the carpet of the hotel room floor, someone was saying my name. Someone was dragging me into a conversation, turning the room’s energy onto me and Oliver’s sad, pathetic, bubble of shame, anxiety, and ruthless obsession.

I snapped out of my fragile little frame like the chill girl that I was and answered the question Sam had asked;

“Do you remember mom’s joke? About the flowers?”

I rubbed my dried lips together until they morphed easily into a sweet smile. The anxiety was pushed back down, like it always was, as I played my old, now forgotten role, “Which one? She had that book behind the counter. She harassed customers with it. Said she’d been a comedian in an alternate timeline, but I don’t think so.”

Sam rolled his eyes gleefully. The room shared a laugh at the thought of some eclectic woman, chasing customers out of her flower shop with a thrifted joke book before her eyes. I remember one time she tripped over a pot and nearly fell onto the concrete floor, already sprinkled with petals and cut-off flower stems. She caught herself, but fell to her knees with laughter. Sam rolled his eyes from behind the counter, where he’d been doing homework.

But, I could see myself, 10, braided plaits in my hair, scurrying over from my seat at the window. I abandoned my book, something I never did, to bask in my mom’s joyous laughter, something I missed more than air these days.

I wonder what Oliver thought of this story, now knowing what he knew. I wanted to look for him, for a smile. But I kept staring straight, at my brother.

“I know, but it was, like- it was the one about the photos and the camera. Something, like…” he racked his brain, concentration on his blond brows. “Helping..plants?”

“Helping the plant photosynthesize!” I straightened up as the punchline lurched from the depths of my memories.

Sam and I laughed, louder than the others possibly could, as we shared a sacred vision, as blurry as my eyes, as fleeting as the smell of our mom’s perfume. She loved that joke.

I could do with a little bit of her humor, now more than ever.

The things she’d say, if she could see me now…

Regardless, I think she’d have liked Oliver.

“Well, don’t bother telling the joke,” Ronnie snickered, patting Sam’s shoulder.

I noticed the intensity of his bone, from just the longer of her fingers on his clothed-skin. But he easily hid that before it became obvious. I recognized that flinch…But my brain was too busy to really memorize the interaction, let alone evaluate it.

“You spoiled it!” Ronnie drew another laugh from the crowd.

The joking continued, though the topic moved away from our mom. My thoughts lingered on her, as Adam moved to the tattoo station, the artist having found a spare spot on his shoulder to put some symbol I couldn’t make out.

My attention turned to my arm, to the burning ink settling its way into the layers of my derma. Two thin flowers, stems rooted in nothing but my pink skin, no soil in sight, just the garden of my body. The petals shaped out the delicate curve of the pair of daisies, my mom’s initials written out to the left of the small bouquet.

I looked up when I felt someone’s gaze on my face. It was Sam, watching me admiring my tattoo with this awestruck way that only a brother who loved his sister could appear.

For the first time in a very long time, I felt the urge to break the distance between us. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held him tightly against me. He didn’t hesitate to embrace me, even tighter. When he pulled apart, he pressed a kiss to my hairline.

“I love you, Sam ham.”

He punched my shoulder.

I was so scared to tell him about Oliver, though I was now realizing it would have to happen eventually. Adam’s advice- unsolicited, sure- had given me so much clarity. I was running, so much, so far, on broken ankles. Running from the truth, from myself.

I couldn’t anymore.

I went to say something else, but a phone started ringing in the room somewhere. It wouldn’t have been too halting if, when I passively looked over my shoulder, it hadn’t been Oliver’s cell.

He tugged it from his pocket, curiously reading the contact across the screen. As always, he denied the call and stuck it back in his pocket. He’d told me before that he thought it rude to answer it in front of others. Yet, as soon as he put it away, it began ringing again.

He went to deny it, again, when Cy called out a tease from his seat on the couch. “Dude, just go outside and answer it. Could be someone important.”

“It’s not,” Oliver muttered, denying it.

It was ringing. Again.

“Your mom?” Sam inquired, brows furrowed.

I knew Oliver’s mom didn’t call often, a small detail he’d told me once in a fleeting conversation about his family, a set of people he didn’t really identify himself with if only because of the distance between them all.

So, when she did call, he’d always take it. Couldn’t be her, but I couldn’t vocalize this knowledge.

Oliver shook his head, confirming my suspicion. Everyone else that I knew he spoke to was in this room.

Spam, probably.

Oliver denied the call. It was ringing before he could hide it away, shut it off, hell- throw it out the window.

Oliver huffed, loudly. Sam snickered, then, a knowing chuckle that told me he knew something I didn’t.

“Ooo,” Sam took a few steps towards his friend, who was still seated on the couch. He peered over Oliver’s shoulder, who quickly hid the phone. “That tells me all I need to know.”

“Shut up, dude,” Oliver’s eyes rolled over mine, shortly, quickly, ashamedly.

This was, really, where things did start to fall apart, if I had to pick a singular moment in time and stamp it.

This was it. The end of it all. My demise.

Our fate finally crawling from our throats.

Where I thought I had control, where I thought I knew exactly how to handle the situation, cure our disease…

There were cells multiplying beneath our pale skin.

Max, sat on the couch now, stood to his feet with a sense of urgency. He met my eyes as I glanced at him, right before things clicked in my head, right before Sam opened his mouth. It was like he could see the future, his intuition screeching like a siren. Once the bomb dropped, I noticed the panic in Max’s eyes and looked back to my brother, towards Oliver, who gazed at me again, as fleeting as that final look was.

“Ah, it’s your little girlfriend. Knew you two would get back together. How is Fiona these days? Still annoying as ever?” Sam seemed amused by the moment.

He was so unaware of the drama layered just underneath the careless air he easily existed in, so unaware of the panic in my body as I fled from the room. I made no attempt to make myself seem casual or fucking chill.

Max didn’t hesitate to follow me. He was on my heels, hot as the summer air just outside of the windows.

But, I ignored him as he called out my name.

The air in my lungs was burning, like I was going up in flames from the inside out. Maybe it was that pain, or maybe it was the choking tears flooding down my cheeks, but- my vision was blurring. I was dizzy. Short-lived muscle memory is the only thing that got me to the elevator doors. But, I couldn’t find the button. I slammed my fingers against the wall, only feeling the dry scratch of the decorative paper beneath my prints.

My lips wobbled like a child’s, blubbers that were supposed to be sobs flustering out from my tongue. “Where is it? Where the fuck is it?” I whispered to myself, pointer finger numb from how harshly I was jabbing the wall.

My harbors had gone up in flames. I was floating in deep, deathly waters with nowhere to anchor. Until- Max’s voice finally caught up with me. One gentle hand on the dip of my back, one carefully wrapping its fingers around my wrist.

I couldn’t resist, not that I really wanted to, as his towering, homely frame took me in, cradled me like the child I needed to be in this moment.

The elevator finally beeped, the doors opening like another set of warm, homely arms. Max guided us inside and peeled one of his hands away from me to press the button for the second floor.

I half-expected Oliver to chase us down, to lodge his body between the doors, grab me from Max’s arms. I wanted him to chase me out into the rain, flag down a taxi, meet me at the airport like some cheesy rom-com scene.

But, he didn’t.

In fact, he didn’t say anything to me for three whole fucking days.

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