bellysoupset

[bellysoupset]

Jon saying he'd be knighted for his contribution to medicine and eating ass skills is a banger line, 11/10

😌😌 thank you thank you, I like to think Jonah doesn't do a lot of jokes and when he does he always repeats them back to Leo, bc husband is the only one who Appreciates his humor

[bellysoupset]

not a single person has commented on Jon saying he'd be knighted for his contribution to medicine and eating ass skills and i'm offended on his behalf 🙄

[bellysoupset]

Hi Jey!!

I just wanted to ask if you could write an emeto fic with Colin and Rowyn (I love them smmm!!)☺️

Okay this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months now, so if there's any chance this anon is still around; HI! Thanks for the request! Sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to do it justice :)

ROWYN: Didn't Go Home

I do have a follow up fic in the works, mostly the aftermath from Colin's perspective

------

Rowyn glances over at the growing line of customers, and sighs. He finishes retying his apron, approaching the counter, and pasting on his Customer Service Smile, knowing it doesn't quite reach his eyes as he says, “Hello, how can I help you today,” just a bit too sarcastically to be genuine.

The person rattles off an excessively complex order and he holds back an eyeroll as he logs it in the system. He grabs the muffin they wanted, sliding it into a paper bag and handing it over, revelling in the few seconds of calm before the next customer interaction.

It’s already felt like an impossibly long day, and it’s only 3:00. He had a lab this morning, he barely made it to the café in time for his shift, and he works until 8:00 tonight when a closing manager will take over for him.

Customer service is his least favourite part of this job, having to listen and be gracious to all the ridiculous people who don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s a wonder he was upgraded to a manager, but at least it means fewer cashier shifts.

As it stands, he’s currently pulling double duty, helping with taking orders, and filling them, while they wait for the high school student who starts at 4:00.

When she walks in, Rowyn feels a surge of relief, being able to pass off the order-taking to the pleasant small-talking Kyla, who slides right into the role.

He shifts his attention to the orders, checking the form and moving through the motions fluidly. It’s here that he finds his mind wandering the most, able to slip from reality as his hands move through the orders on autopilot.

Today, he finds himself running over the situation from the night before.

“I’m going out, I’ll be back late!” calls Colin as he moves towards the door. Rowyn looks up from his books at the kitchen table, surprised.

“Where are you going?” he asks, frowning.

“Um, Julie invited me out. She wants to catch up, outside the pool,” he replies with a small laugh. When Rowyn doesn’t laugh with him, he sighs. “I’ll see you later.”

Rowyn tries to return to his work, but his mind won’t stay on task and he stares unseeingly at the pages and groans under his breath, not sure why Colin’s spending the evening with Julie.

It shouldn’t matter. They’re friends, he thinks, but it’s a big deal, at least to him. Something about it feels wrong, and there’s a tightness in his gut that he can’t explain. A foreboding feeling without a real cause.

After another fruitless 30 minutes of attempting work, he slams his book shut in annoyance, and goes to the living room, where he finds Max and Charlie.

“Doesn’t it seem weird, Colin and Julie hanging out like this?” he asks without preamble, biting his nail as he watches their reactions.

Max just frowns, but Charlie perks up a bit, and turns to him with a little smile.

“This isn’t the first time they’ve spent time together, Ro,” Max says gently.

“I know that, but it’s different this time.”

“What is it you don’t like? Her, or the fact that Colin likes her?” That question throws him off, and he hesitates.

“She seems nice!” Charlie interjects.

Rowyn scoffs, “Nice is not the word I’d use.”

—---

It seems he was too far in his head this time, for he jolts suddenly from the memory at a call of his name.

A sharp pain on his hand makes him look down, and he realizes he fully zoned out, enough that the coffee is starting to overflow onto his hand.

He stifles a yelp of pain, and sets the coffee down. While he’s running his hand under cold water, he mentally slaps himself for the screw up, and resolves to pay more attention for the rest of the night. He can’t afford too many mistakes, especially as a manager.

When his hand has stopped throbbing with pain, he glances at it to find the skin red and angry, but he pats it dry and returns to his duties. He swipes up the now-cooled coffee, and remakes the order, hurrying through the next few to catch up.

The noise from the café starts to vibrate through his head and he closes his eyes, willing away the burgeoning headache. Now is not a good time.

Another call of his name pulls his attention, and he gets swept away in another round of orders.

When he eventually gets a short break he ducks into the back room and closes the door behind him.

The darkness soothes the throbbing of his head. He sighs, feeling like his body was moving through molasses for the last hour of work. There’s a familiar unsteadiness starting in his head and reaching his shaking fingers, and he knows he has a fever.

He kneads at his eyes for a moment, and he shakes his fingers out needing to ground himself. Only 2 more hours, he recites to himself, pushing off the wall and over the tiny closet of a staff washroom.

He glances at his reflection in the mirror and grimaces. Not only is he pale, but he’s bordering on grey. His face isn’t hiding anything, the bright red splotches on his cheeks a clear indicator of the fever burning through his skin.

It’s just stress, he tells himself. This is nothing new. Only 2 more hours.

Returning to the busy café is torturous, but he steels himself, and marches back to his post by the coffee machine, waiting for the next order.

He squints at the paper until the words come into focus, and he hurries to complete the drink.

He fumbles too many times over the next hour, struggling to grab the right sized cups, adding too many pumps of flavouring, or simply making the wrong drink. He’s missing things left and right, and he’s beyond frustrated.

It’s not just that he’s messing up, it’s that there’s no tangible reason he should be feeling this bad. It’s just stress, fucking with his body temperature. Nothing new. So why is he so miserable, and unable to complete the simple tasks of his job?

Vaguely, he registers a small pain starting in his stomach, but he has too much to worry about already. He’s behind on orders and he has to finish each one painstakingly slowly to avoid anymore fucked up drinks, and his headache is pounding behind his eyes, and his limbs feel increasingly heavy, and he just wants to be home, and really he just wants Colin.

The dull ache in his stomach grows throughout the next half hour, until he’s forgotten the discomfort of the fever in favour of his upset stomach. Now that he thinks about it, he didn’t eat lunch, too worried about getting to the café on time for his shift. Maybe he’s hungry. That could explain the headache too…

He groans under his breath. Just what he needed today.

He grabs himself a drink of water, and sips on it slowly, hoping it will trick his stomach into thinking he’s eaten, at least for the next few hours.

Trembling with fever-induced shivers, he scrambles through a few more orders, passing them off to either the customers or Norah, who’s helping in the kitchen and delivering to tables today.

Norah passes by with a particularly aromatic sandwich, and his stomach flips, sending a burp rushing up his throat. He manages to muffle it in his hand, but just barely. He pauses all movement and wills his stomach to settle. It does, at least for the moment, and he breathes out through his nose, resuming his task.

He slows considerably over the next ten minutes, when his stomach refuses to let him rest for more than 30 seconds without forcing up burps and sending ripples of pain across his torso.

He goes to call out the next order to Norah, and finds he can barely speak through the saliva pooling in his mouth and his stomach chooses that moment to grumble audibly, squeezing and sending up a harsh burp that he can’t quite contain, followed by a string of small groans and smaller burps.

He freezes, his mouth puffing with another small burp, and he stumbles toward the toilet, logic finally winning out when he realizes he can’t keep fighting this. He knows his body enough to know the warning signs of vomiting.

Locking the door behind him, he sighs, only to be interrupted by yet another burp, as his stomach squeezes harshly. Clearly all the water was a bad idea. He definitely wasn’t hungry. Just the thought sends him leaning over the toilet.

Even with his stomach grumbling unpleasantly, and feeling less settled by the second, still all that comes up is air. Burp after burp, but no vomit. He strains over the toilet, willing his body to just get it over with, but after minutes of hovering there unproductively, he leans back with a groan. After all, he’s always been slow to vomit, even when he needs to.

There’s a knock at the door, and Norah’s voice calling “Rowyn? You good?”

He hums a weak affirmative through the door, but still reaches for the counter, pulling himself up. He swishes some water around his mouth to clear the sticky saliva, and splashes some on his face, then swallows carefully. When his stomach doesn’t immediately protest, he cautiously leaves the bathroom.

Norah takes one glance at him and whistles, “Dude, you’re like, grey. Why are you still here?”

��What do you mean?” he asks tiredly, not in the mood for, well, anything.

“You’re clearly sick, you shouldn’t be out of your house, let alone handling people’s food. Go home.”

He just shakes his head, reaching under the cupboard and pulling out a mask. He fits it over his face, pulling on a pair of gloves, and returns to work, regretting the choice immediately.

He really should’ve gone home when he had the chance, but he refuses to skip out early, leaving his team short staffed. (even if he’s more of liability at the moment than an asset)

Plus he’s already made too many mistakes today, leaving early would not show in his favour, especially to his bosses.

And honestly, he needs the money.

So to him, this was the only choice, and he sets back to work, Norah discreetly checking the orders before delivering them and counting down the minutes until the next manager arrives and she can push him out the doors.

When 8:00 comes, she turns toward him to tell him to leave, only to find he’s not there. Shrugging, she assumes he grabbed his stuff and slipped out the back way.

Unfortunately, Rowyn did not slip out the back way. He did, however, slip away to the bathroom, once again locking the door and this time sliding right onto the floor. He leans over the toilet with a sickening burp, lurching forward as his body jolts.

He pushed his body for too long, swallowing back burps, holding back little heaves, and he can’t do it anymore.

His mouth is so sticky, his stomach is full and tight despite not having eaten in hours, and it rumbles ominously. He shivers, sweat starting to drip down his back as he leans fully over the toilet, barely remembering to pull down the mask off his face.

A burp echoes through the bathroom, and he groans, just wanting it to be over already.

Finally, he feels it, like a switch is flipped. The empty burps rumbling up from his stomach start to catch in his throat, and finally his stomach flips and caves inward pushing up a splash of mostly water.

The heaves keep coming now, spilling liquid, mostly clear, but so bitter, into the toilet. The nausea surges, and the vomit just keeps coming.

His mouth burns with the taste of pure stomach acid, as more sour liquid pushes past his lips, catching in his nose and causing him to splutter forward with a cough.

Leaning against the toilet, he trembles, gasping through a final heave, vomit still surging into the toilet, now tinged green with bile.

He spits into the toilet, fumbling for the handle to flush, and he clumsily swipes his face.

His brain drifts away from him for a moment, and by the time he finds his body again, he realizes he has no idea how long he’s been sitting there, only that his headache is somehow worse, and he feels absolutely awful, and he just wants to go home.

Sitting up on his knees, it takes almost all his energy to stand up, wavering on his feet, until he manages to find his footing. He struggles through washing his hands, because even devastatingly ill, he has enough common sense to realize the bathroom is not sanitary.

He wobbles down the hallway, hand against the wall to make sure he’s walking at least somewhat straight. He returns to a much calmer darkening café. Without thinking about it, he glances at the next order and grabs a cup starting to fill it up.

He’s startled when Norah, standing directly behind him, exclaims “Rowyn!” and he spins around. He nearly loses his balance, head spinning even after his body has stopped, and he must have dropped the drink because it’s not in his hand when he finally refocuses except maybe that’s it on the counter there? Did he put that there? He shakes his head, regretting it when it sets the world twirling again. Norah’s hands on his arms help ground him and stop the movement.

“-owyn”

“Hmm,” he mutters, trying to kickstart his brain into action.

“What are you doing?” she asks incredulously, looking at him like he has two heads. Now that he thinks of it, she has two heads, fuck his head is really spinning.

“Workin’,” he mutters, tongue feeling heavy.

“Dude, your shift finished ages ago? Didn’t you see Michael walk past you? I thought you’d left already.”

The door chimes open, but neither of them look over, Rowyn because he feels like he could collapse from relief. Or honestly, just collapse in general.

From behind him he hears another voice, and this time, it’s the voice he’s been craving for hours.

“Rowyn! Hey I’m so sorry, I know I said I’d pick you up, and I tried to be on time, but I went to the wrong pla- Whoa, what’s wrong?” Colin changes mid sentence as Rowyn turns and he actually looks at his boyfriend.

Rowyn stumbles around the counter, bumping into the corner and almost sending himself to the ground, but Colin reaches for him, steadying him and bringing him into a hug.

His overheated head finds Colin’s shoulders, and he drops his shoulders, relaxing into the hold and almost falling asleep on his feet.

“Wh- What happened?! Wh- I don’t- Why are you… You know what, never mind.”

Rowyn feels the shift as Colin starts to pull away from the hug, and he whines gently. Now that he’s done work, and Colin’s there, he wants nothing more than to give in to his body.

Except, a small voice whispers in his mind, reminding him he’s still in his place of work, and despite everything in him wanting to remain against Colin, common sense wins out again, and he forces himself to stand a little straighter, pulling back just enough that it looks like he’s standing on his own, rather than leaning almost all his weight on Colin.

He peels his eyes open, focusing on Colin, who looks worried. Why does he look worried? And who is he talking to? Rowyn slowly turns, once again feeling as though he’s moving through molasses, and realizes Colin’s talking to Norah. She also looks worried. Huh.

“-ell him to go home hours ago… adamant on staying… -ought he’d already left.”

Colin answers her but Rowyn forgets to listen, and then Colin’s attention is on him, his big brown eyes filled with concern.

“Where’s your stuff?” he asks quietly, voice rumbling through his chest.

“‘n the backk,” Rowyn mumbles back.

“Okay. Then just sit here,” he instructs, pushing Rowyn into a chair, “and just wait, like, two minutes.”

Just then, a small crowd comes into the café, laughing and chatting, and Norah turns her attention to them. Michael comes out of the kitchen to help make the drinks, and Rowyn drops his head forward to the table, helping drown out the increase in noise.

---

Colin rushes into the café, expecting Rowyn to be annoyed, and probably glaring at something. He was supposed to pick him up almost an hour ago, but he accidentally went to the university library first, and wandered around looking for Rowyn until he realized he was working and finally made it to the café.

He did not expect Rowyn to be looking half dead and pale as a ghost, still standing behind the café counter.

Colin pulls him into a hug, and he’s shocked by how weak he seems, melting right against him.

He has so many questions. The first aider in him wants to know all the information, but instead he turns to the short blonde lady behind the counter.

“He seemed fine when he got here,” she shrugs, “I tried to tell him to go home hours ago, but he was adamant on staying. I thought he’s already left, but he came out of the bathroom a few minutes ago, looking like that.” 

“Shit. Okay, thanks.” He turns to Rowyn, concerned, but Rowyn just looks at him with dazed green eyes and flushed cheeks.

He sets Rowyn on a chair, and goes to find his stuff, collecting his jacket, his bag, and after a minute of searching, finds his phone tucked in a cubby. Glancing at the phone, he sees all the messages he’d sent throughout the day, still sitting on the lock screen, unread.

He frowns, returning to the front of the cafe, but he softens when he sees Rowyn slumped pitifully against the table.

He slides into the chair next to him, wrapping an arm around him.

“How’re you doing?” he asks gently, “Ready to go home?”

Rowyn nods, and Colin, relieved, stands and pulls him up, leading him to the car.

On the way home, he glances over at Rowyn, surprised to find him awake, and more alert than he’s seen from him so far.

When they stop at a red light, he turns to him enough to see his glare and his arms wrapped around his middle.

“Babe? You okay?”

Rowyn looks over at him and shakes his head, eyes teary. “Think y-you should p’ll over,” he murmurs, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Shit, okay, okay,” the light turns green, and he has no choice but to cross the intersection and drive until there’s a shoulder to pull over on. He pulls to a stop and turns back to his boyfriend, who hasn’t moved, sitting stalk-still, with a hand hovering in front of his mouth, body lurching with a small gag.

Colin sighs gently, getting out of the car, and crossing to the other side, opening Rowyn’s door, and reaching over to unbuckle him.

“You’re okay,” he comforts, dragging his feet out of the car. His torso follows, and Colin hurries to brace him, and stop him from tumbling out the door.

He heaves again, body straining against Colin’s arm. He jumps forward with another gag, producing a splash of bile.

“Hey, I think you’re empt-” he starts, but then Rowyn heaves up a large splatter of something more solid that lands on the gravel with a sickening splat, “Or not, never mind. I’ve got you, just get it up.”

Rowyn gags weakly for another minute, still leaning out of the car, and vomiting up whatever was left in his stomach from this morning.

When he finally stops lurching forward, he remains slumped against Colin’s arm, head hanging over the puddle of vomit. “Ughh,” he groans weakly. “I f-feel awwfulll,” he slurs, fully leaning into Colin.

Colin lifts his face, thumb stroking his cheek, saying whatever comes to mind, trying to comfort him.

He looks so sick and miserable.

He shoves Rowyn’s legs back inside in the car, and gently sets him back against the seat. He fishes around in the glove compartment, hoping there’s still some napkins in there from the last time he got takeout. He finds a cheap paper napkin, and pulls it out victoriously, taking Rowyn’s face in his hand again, and gently wiping the drool and vomit from his mouth.

He kisses his forehead, wincing at the heat, and whispers something reassuring into his hair, that he probably didn’t even hear, but it makes Colin feel better to be doing something.

He runs back around to the driver’s side and finally finishes the drive.

[bellysoupset]

Storm Reforming

Isaiah’s still sick, Rip’s unraveling, and Kieran’s learning way more than he bargained for. Dual POV (Kieran & Isaiah). Rain‑soaked angst, snark and extra comfort included.

The worst thing about this already shitty night was that Kieran’s efforts showed zero progress.

Every time he thought Isaiah finally fell asleep, the wolf would groan and shift on the couch, shiver, or make a face, revealing he wasn't sleeping at all.

When Isaiah muffled another breathy burp under his nose, Kieran was the one getting frantic at how not better this was.

"You still feeling sick?"

Isaiah cracked one green eye open at him, hugging himself with his arms.

"Cold? You're under two blankets, man." Kieran reached over, rubbing Isaiah's upper arm up and down. From this close, he could see the goosebumps covering the wolf's neck.

Isaiah tucked his chin, looking down. "You can go home now. I'm fine on my own."

"Yeah, sure." His brows furrowed into a deep frown. "No way I'm doing that, so stop asking."

Kieran didn't think the wolf actually wanted him gone, cause he wasn't growling or flinching at his touch. If anything, Isaiah seemed to melt into it while suppressing quiet, relieved sighs.

This guy could barely ask for water, let alone company. Leaving him alone in this state and time felt like a crime.

Isaiah winced so suddenly under his palm that it broke Kieran's chain of thought, burying his head into the backrest of the sofa.

The lights above them flickered to light, a bit uneasily but still.

"Yay, power's on." Maybe Kieran would start to believe not everything was against them tonight.

"Kier-"

"No, fuck that. You ask that one more time, and I'm spilling cold water on you."

That actually made Isaiah chuckle lightly, lips flexing into a tiny, exhausted smile. Fighting the gravity.

"You don't like people helping?" Kieran asked matter-of-factly, looking around the room in the new light. The rain was still on, but it turned into a drizzle instead of firing bullets.

"I don't like dragging them down."

Kieran pointed his finger at Isaiah's chest. "Hopeless idiot. Remind me to never listen to you."

Another faint chuckle that turned into a cough midway through...and then into an empty retch.

Kieran helped Isaiah turn over on the couch over the mixing bowl he located with the help of his phone light.

Nothing came up but a few splashes of bile, though Isaiah's body was rather determined to make him dry-heave over and over, whole frame spasming under Kieran's hands.

"I’ll give you this," Kieran said, holding Isaiah's arm for balance while rubbing his back, "you don't do anything halfway. Must have been a nerd in school, right?"

Another little flicker of Isaiah's mouth. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, sagging forward. Kieran was very proud for the strength and reflexes it took to lift the wolf up again.

Whatever. Every twitch of the cheek, a feeling smile or eyes focusing on him were a hard-won victory.

He wrapped Isaiah back in the two blankets, while the wolf hugged himself close and curled up against the backrest again.

"I'll turn up the heat," Kieran offered, shrugging off his own jacket. Now that the power was back, heat pooled in his collar. Nonetheless, he got up to find the heating system, putting the degrees up.

When he flopped down on the end of the L couch next to Isaiah, he offered him water, but the wolf turned away as if it smelled bad.

"Light on or off?" Kieran asked.

"I would rather-"

"Off it is. You need sleep," Kieran decided, getting up just as briskly to switch it off. At least there were electrical noises coming from the kitchen, reminded them the power was finally working.

"Don't think I can."

"Keep trying. Your defeatist attitude is pissing me off."

Another dry chuckled that sounded like someone was choking and not laughing.

Kieran settled back by Isaiah's feet in the corner of the L, reeling a bit from the sudden changes in light. Of course, Isaiah didn't even blink at that.

But he was responding a lot more coherently, so Kieran was doing a good job.

They waited in silence for a while, Kieran fighting off a wave of sleep that came with the regular sound of rain.

"Did you see how...how she looked at me?"

Kieran shook himself awake. That was the first time Isaiah said something on his own. "Who?"

"Seline. She...I don't know how to describe it. She was so...disgusted."

"Nah, no way, man. She was shocked and scared maybe, but she wasn't anything like that. She was just processing."

"She and Dylan should leave. They are not prepared...for any of this."

Kieran threw him a dirty look. "You're gonna need them, so quit that."

"It's not part of the deal. I promised them normal lives. Now I broke that promise."

"Well, that's your own damn fault. How could an Executioner offer something like that? The only reason they are struggling right now is that you have kept them in the dark for so long."

Isaiah's gaze slowly turned to him.

"Yep, you heard that right. Seline doesn't know how to sense you out, Dylan sucks at tracking and ended up at Hector's place, when he couldn't find Rip...why would you keep them so helpless? If you wanted them safe and feeling safe, you should have taught them how to use what they have."

A long beat of silence that was a lot less relaxed.

"Seriously," Kieran continued. "You don't train a surgeon on a heart operation. You start with a frog first. Ever heard of that?"

"Don't-don't kick me when I'm down," Isaiah said. He was smiling like someone who was just sentenced to death but didn't want to cry in front of the tribunal.

Kieran felt a stab of guilt. "Alright. Just this once, since you look so pathetic already."

Cause there was a bunch of things that needed to change around here if they were to overcome this crisis. One problem at a time though. Dominick always called Kieran impatient.

Damn, but it was getting hot in the room. Kieran tugged at his collar, tempted to ditch the shirt, but he didn't want to alarm the wolf with something "inappropriate". Isaiah seemed like the stuck-up kind of guy to care about such shit.

The warmth wasn't helping with the sleepy heaviness either. He should move around a bit.

Quietly as he could, Kieran slid off the couch towards the balcony door, opening it just enough to stick his head out. The air outside was blissfully cold and fresh, chasing some of the sleep away.

Kieran sighed in relief, scanning the wide balcony. Was it because it was the roof apartment that it was this long? It was like it's own room-

That's when he noticed the boy leaning against the door from the outside. Short black hair, dripping with water, arms hugging his knees to his chest.

"Rip?" Kieran said in surprise.

The small wolf looked up, blue eyes glinting in the dark like a cat's.

"What are you doing here?"

A beat of silence as if the kid considered if to bother with a reply or not. "...wanted to check if Isaiah was home." It came out quiet, reluctant, almost defensive. Like he was expected to be chased away.

Kieran rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, but why didn't you just come inside?"

"...didn't want to intrude."

Right. Kieran barely suppressed an eye roll. What else could you expect from Isaiah's apprentice? With that martyrdom complex, the guy shouldn't be allowed to teach.

"Don't be stupid. Isaiah was worried about you. He'll be glad to see you." Kieran pushed the door wide open. Then again, he wasn't sure if seeing Isaiah in this state or Isaiah being seen was such a great idea. But he couldn't just leave the kid on the balcony like a soaked rat.

Rip only got to his feet when Kieran stepped back into the room, making the only human realize than posture, proximity and touch were going to be important with this pup.

While Kieran could mostly forget it around Isaiah, who was too well-trained and maintained to react to breaches in wolf protocol or basic instincts, Rip moved so he always kept Kieran in at least 2 meters distance.

In reaction, Kieran put the couch between himself and the kid, not wanting to add to his distress. Rip already held himself tense as a string, his feet ghosting over the floorboards softer than the rain’s hush.

Rip took in the room, quick lightning washing his back in white. A quiet hiss, when he noticed Isaiah and then looked at Kieran.

The stuntman made his way towards the wall, literally backed up against it to let Rip feel in control.

With his mentor down for the count like that it was important Rip wouldn't find Kieran's presence a threat.

Then Rip turned to Isaiah, letting out an entirely unexpected sound.

A tiny sob.

Kieran felt as stunned as Isaiah looked. Tiredness suddenly gone, Isaiah lifted himself up to sit, throwing the blankets he was shivering under just 10 seconds ago away like they annoyed him.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong, buddy? You're all wet, come sit down."

Not minding that Rip was drenched in water, as if he had gone swimming with his clothes on, Isaiah pulled him to sit beside him, arm around his shoulders.

"Did something happen? Are you hurt?"

Rip shook his head vigorously. "I'm fine- I'm sorry, sir, I don't-"

"Shhhh," Isaiah soothed, though Kieran could see from his angle that the older wolf was palming around, searching for injuries. "Everything's fine. I was worried you ran into trouble. It's risky to be outside right now."

"Sorry-"

"Don't leave my side again, okay?" Isaiah looked back at Kieran, something intense in his eyes that had Kieran feeling almost commanded to move like he was summoned.

Then he realized it was more of a plea for a towel.

Keeping his hands close to his sides and hands still open, moving painfully slowly, he took the first towel he found in the bathroom and brought it back to Isaiah.

The wolf snatched it from you hands, his own movements brisk and energetic, leaving Kieran to step back into the kitchen.

It was kinda mind-blowing. Isaiah seemed so fragile and tired just a minute ago. Out of it, too restless to sleep, too sick to rest.

Now he was back to himself, power and confidence in his posture like pain was just something to shrug off, like exhaustion could be defeated by the power of will.

Like nothing in the world could possibly keep him from caring about his pup.

Since the moment he had found Isaiah on that bridge, teetering on the edge, Kieran wondered if Isaiah really was the killer Executioner everyone always called him. If he had what was required for the job, even.

He seemed too soft for what was necessary to do.

Looking at him now, lightening flashing in his eyes, the whole room charged with protective anger, Kieran changed his mind.

Isaiah might have been soft, but it was his greatest source of strength.

...

Isaiah was hurting.

Every inch of him throbbed, yet the worst of it lived in his shadow.

Surprisingly—or not so—fighting a witch felt unnatural, like ramming a silver spike through his own spine. It felt wrong, like he was going against nature. His shadow was burning from the inside out, even when it was drawn out of sight.

He figured the rest—the fever like chills, the sourness and the ache in every bone—was only exhaustion. Shock and horror at what he had done, guilt at how much trouble he caused—and still would.

And the hollow shock of having erased a heartbeat.

He had killed before, of course. More than his fair share. Yet it didn't make it easier to take, especially after so long. Every time he did, something slick and empty split open inside his chest, as if one more breath might scatter him like ash.

Father always insisted killing was a wolf’s duty, a clean fact of nature, but Isaiah had spent years clawing toward anything gentler: talk before teeth, calm before claws. He had believed that restraint made him better than the other wolves.

He had thought himself so special. Like he was above killing now. If he did everything the opposite way from the other Executioners, from Levi, then father…he thought that would mean a win. That he could tear himself a piece of normalcy and civility.

Killing Margaret proved how fragile that belief was.

It was a failure on every front—of principle, of protection, of promise. He should have shielded the people under his care from madness, not handed them a bloody example of it. The thought yawned like a dark pool at his feet, tempting him to fall in.

Then Rip arrived, and sinking stopped being an option.

The pup had refused to leave, even drenched and shaking. Isaiah’s strength flickered with Rip’s presence but could not banish the dizzy waves or the see‑saw nausea. Whether it was the shadow’s constant keening, two days without food, or sheer weary grief, standing felt Herculean.

But he would not let Rip see him crumble.

Now the boy lay warm and dry against Isaiah’s side, cheeks flushed from a shower Kieran insisted on. Isaiah hooked an arm around him, a protective knot tightening in his chest. No wolf—or human—would suffer because Isaiah had done what duty demanded.

That resolve struck like ice, quenching the inner blaze and channeling the pain into something steady, a slow river under frozen glass.

Rip’s heartbeat thundered in Isaiah’s ears; his shadow was creased, as if badly folded. Isaiah reclined, vision blurring when he tried to sit straighter, but he kept the comforting weight of his arm in place. Close breath and shared pulse were balm for a frayed shadow.

Rip melted closer with a tremor. Isaiah ruffled the damp hair that still smelled faintly of rain and soap. Up close the twenty‑year‑old seemed impossibly young.

"Deep breaths," Isaiah whispered, thumb drawing lazy circles on the boy’s shoulder. "Stay near me. Your shadow will settle."

Rip’s face pressed into Isaiah’s collar, voice muffled. "But what about you? Your—" He touched his own sternum, indicating Isaiah's heart.

“That isn’t hurting right now,” Isaiah answered, softer still. Only when my shadow refuses the pain does my heart feel it, he thought, and tonight his shadow was taking more than its share.

"Then what-"

"It's fine," Isaiah shushed him. "This is helping me too. Just a bit of rest and I'll be alright." He wasn't lying, if stretching the truth a little.

The pool was still dangerously close, still deep, still...tempting. But he wasn't going to let himself sink.

[bellysoupset]

Sugar, we're going down - Relapse IV

This one is the penultimate instalment of the Wendy Relapse arc. Here's a list of the triggers:

Briefly mentioned in the past: suicide attempt, drug overdose. | Mentioned in the past but not prevalent: transphobia. | Mentioned, but not graphic: bulimia, purging.

As always, I'll post a tl/dr of what happened in this fic for those who are not able to read it!

A huge shoutout to @tummyachesandchocolatecakes for all the counseling with Wen's ED!

--------------

Relapse was a funny thing.

For ten years, Wendy had battled against this dark desire to punish herself for not measuring up to her imagination.

During the first two years, bulimia had been her constant companion.

She had been fresh out of the hospital — stomach pumped, mind still fuzzy from the amount of drugs she had taken and the ins and outs of the place. Her parents had insisted she went home as soon as the doctor gave in to their relentless pestering, Wendy's father in his usual state of sullenness and her mother downright hysterical as she flip flopped between concern and annoyance at what their family and friends would think of a suicide attempt. A suicide attempt at sixteen!

Once she was reinstated home, Wendy had foolishly thought things would've been easier. For once, her parents were using the correct pronouns, although they slipped up more often than not and then seemed annoyed at her when correcting themselves. Nevertheless, they called her Wendy. W-E-N-D-Y, five letters and a name she had been happily giving out to her friends for the past year, resonating much like a gunshot when she first heard it out of her father's lips.

Crisped mouth, spelling it out slowly and then sighing, "at least you kept your initials," as he comforted himself in the small concession, "doesn't feel right."

She couldn't have agreed, heart hammering away in her chest as she sat in the big king sized bed in the middle of her bedroom, the piles of unopened gifts still sitting at her desk, as she hadn't gotten to it on her birthday night, too busy sneaking the pills out of her mother's medicine cabinet, the alcohol from the party that had already ended.

"I'd have liked if you picked something more in fashion with your real- With what I would have picked," Lydia had been pressed to the closet door, keeping her distance, arms crossed and wearing a perfectly ironed peachy suit, "Whitney used to be my pick before we found- Before."

Wendy had wrinkled her nose, rolled her eyes, "ironic and grim, mother," she hadn't been able to help the jab, as she was reminded of how the most famous Whitney anyone knew had died. In a bathtub and in February, no less. Too many coincidences not to cause her to snort and Lydia to flinch, her cheeks turning pink.

Simon had been sitting at the foot of Wendy's bed and for the first time in God knows how long, Wen had seen him open a little amused smile at the dark comment.

"I suppose Wendy it is," he declared, as if she would've taken any of their inputs into account.

For the next two months, she had been so euphoric over the newfound freedom of being accepted, however poorly, that everything had been buried under it. She had foolishly convinced herself that no depression could touch her as she was in cloud nine and that if her appetite wasn't back just yet, then good. She had had her stomach pumped after all, maybe those were just side effects, and hopefully a permanent one so she'd never again have to think about diets and jeans sizes-

It didn't work that way.

When Wendy had found herself, again, curled up on the bathroom floor of her suite and with her knuckles bleeding as they chaffed against her teeth, the skin weakened by the stomach acid, she had wept so hard that felt like a toddler.

Face swollen and a splintering headache, drool and vomit clinging to her chin as she buried her face in her arms and sobbed over the fact that things weren't magically fixed, that she wasn't magically fixed.

Admitting to it, that maybe her issues went beyond her parents lack of support of her identity, that perhaps her insecurities and short comings ran deeper than she had ever thought, was the hardest feat of all.

Until the day she died, Wendy would remember the disappointed look in her mother's face as she told them over dinner that she needed help... A wrinkle between her green eyes, exactly the same as Wendy's, that frustrated sigh at Wen's weakness and the manner she had dejectedly pushed away from the table and scoffed, "why aren't you happy? What else can we do to make you happy, aren't we doing enough?"

Certain words echoed through time, ghost whisperings that lasted from teenage years well into adulthood.

At twenty six, Wendy thought all of that was behind her. She had never felt better in her own skin, she had built a life to herself that she not just endured, but enjoyed. A career she felt accomplished in, the jolt of satisfaction at another crisis well managed enough to keep her going for hours. Friends, whom she didn't need to hide from, who found her quirkiness endearing rather than annoying. A boyfriend, who seemed so perfect Wendy sometimes wondered if she had made him up, from personality to looks to intellect, Vince seemed like he was a wish she had made upon a star.

Or a genie. A monkey's paw.

Why aren't you happy, aren't we doing enough?

Her new life seemed so utterly perfect, Wendy caught herself wondering where exactly did she fit in it. Reality and fantasy clashing, the woman she was not measuring up to the woman she wished she was.

She wished she had more time, in order to better distribute it between the hospital, her boyfriend, her friends, her hobbies. There were only twenty four hours in a day and she had to make concessions, cut things as she opened up space in her life to integrate Vince fully in it.

The hobbies had gone first. Probably for the best, Vince and everyone else had voiced their displeasure at the sheer amount of things she roped herself with, Bella bluntly telling her that she needed more hours to eat and sleep or she'd collapse.

Wendy was self aware enough to admit that she had overworked herself, filled her calendar a little too much, not only because she had the availability, but because it helped her not feel so- So lonely, when Vince was far away living a life she had thought would only culminate in their relationship crumbling and her heart exploding in a bunch of little pieces.

Part of her had been so certain of their tragic outcome, that she had been all too happy to let harder conversations slip them by. She had thought they already had a scheduled conflict in their horizon, why bother to bring up all the other obstacles that she could map out?

It was an extremely practical view of the world and Wendy knew others would have raised their eyebrows at it, nothing like the sweetness she projected or the bubbly attitude she tried to maintain. Jonah would've been aghast, the romantic that he was, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Wendy had already defended herself inside of her own head. She didn't think that thinking their romance was doomed made her love Vince any less, on the contrary. She had been so sure of the heartbreak to come, but still she hadn't been able to turn away, clinging to the hope she felt when they were together. Those flashes of the future, that certainty that he seemed to sport on them, she had been willing to go through the heartbreak if only to bask in his love for a little longer.

When he hadn't chosen Doveport and instead chosen her, Wendy's didn't know what to do with herself. Relish, of course, enjoy every little new tidbit of intimacy that they now shared. How Vince's hair looked every morning and how he liked his coffee — more sugar than coffee, although he always put all the disgusting sweeteners in his own mug, so she could have the black coffee intact.

She loved hearing him hum in the kitchen as he prepared them dinner, or how he flinched as she pressed her cold hands and feet to him in bed and she loved the fact Vince craved sunlight like a fat housecat or a plant, how his mood always seemed to tank as dark clouds littered the sky.

What she didn't love was how odd she felt in this new order of things. How she felt awkward in her own home, always wanting to play the perfect girlfriend as if they were forever stuck in those early days courtship stage. How she sucked in her stomach whenever Vince wrapped his arms around her or how she couldn't say not to all the million little pastries he cooked up and how the bathroom scale hadn't realized she was living in a romcom and was instead daring to go up in digits.

She didn't like the paranoia that followed, or most importantly, the shame, as her thoughts spiraled and Wendy lied awake in bed listening to Vin's soft snores for countless nights. Once the paranoia and insecurity were reinstated, it had all come crashing down at an alarming speed.

A decade of managing, eight years since she had last stepped foot in the nutritionist's office, eight years since her therapist had given her a go-ahead and told her she no longer needed direct aid, unraveling in front of her eyes at a mind bogging speed.

Why aren't you happy, aren't we doing enough?

Bad timing, Wendy had first thought. Jonah's wedding was the event of the year, she was the maid of honor, her boyfriend had moved in with her... Too many changes, too many demands. Breaking down at the parking lot after trying on bridesmaid dresses had been nothing but the culmination of bad timing.

Her avoiding food was only her avoiding another breaking down from happening. She knew her own triggers, all she wanted was to avoid things from getting worse — So she didn't eat. Not in front of people, specially not in front of Vince or Jonah or Bella or Luke or Leo or Max or Barbie or anyone who was close enough to really pay attention to whatever was on her plate.

Everyone would have been thankful if they knew she was only trying to make the best out of the situation. She just didn't want to be an inconvenience.

That night, after dining at Bell's, when she had first purged, Wendy had thought: a hiccup.

A horrible, nerve wrecking hiccup in her decade long remission, but just a fucking hiccup. Nothing she couldn't come back from, just that one single time.

A hiccup, that turned into two. Three. A habit, a demand.

It hit her, as the stomach flu had wracked their little apartment, plastering both Vince and Max onto their backs, that the little hiccup had turned into so much more than that. A need, something she couldn't avoid even as they had a guest, even as her boyfriend was burning up and the possibility of Max catching her was almost a certainty.

She couldn't call that a hiccup anymore. It was a relapse.

Wendy had promised herself nothing would tarnish Jonah's day. It was her role as a maid of honor, after all, to make sure things ran smoothly, that no guest got too drunk and caused a scene, that no offending comment made it to Jon or Leo's ears, that they were having the time of their lives. It was her obligation, then, to leave her crisis back in the apartment and pretend, as best as she had ever pretended.

It would've been hard enough to pretend she wasn't falling apart, if she hadn't opened her big mouth and brought up the children's subject when Vince got a little too close to comfort to finding out something was wrong.

Vin might be a little oblivious and he extended her far too much grace than she, or anyone, deserved, but he wasn't daft. Of course he had realized something was off, from her flinching to her zoning out, to her odd absence during meals. Even if he couldn't puzzle together an eating disorder, he definitely could arrive at the conclusion that something was wrong.

Children were a low hanging fruit in the tree of conflicts. It had been a tense topic for Jonah and Leo just recently, the fact it would be an obstacle in hers and Vin's relationship wasn't amiss to Wendy, although it was hardly to blame for her behavior, so Vince had fully bought it-

And now things were weird.

In her frenzy to keep Vince from realizing what was truly wrong, she had delivered that killing blow — I don't want children, I won't ever want children — with no subtlety, no care for his feelings. By the time Wendy had realized just what she had done, the damage was done and they were on the road, to the party where she was expected to pretend everything was fine, now doubly so.

Through all of the rehearsal, her thoughts kept spiraling, all of her energy dedicated to keeping a smile on. Bella noticed, because of course she did, but Wendy had been able to get her to drop it.

Jonah glanced her ways a couple times, brows meeting in a weird confused manner, the question — are you alright? What happened? — on the tip of his tongue, but it was as if he knew that it was a pandora's box that he didn't want to open on the eve of his wedding day. He never asked her and Wendy carefully avoided his gaze, much like Vince was avoiding hers.

Halfway through dinner she had come up with a half assed excuse about the hospital calling her, in order to slip out. It was too much. Vince painfully ignoring her, trying to keep a happy smile on, Bella's eyes searching hers, all that damn food-

Her stomach had been empty, painfully so, but that hadn't stopped her knees from nearly bruising against the cold tiles of the bathroom floor as she brought up just stomach acid and sobbed into her arms.

By the time Vince came back to the bedroom, giggling and singing as he said goodbye to Angelina at the door, apparently having befriended Jonah's baby sister through the dinner, Wendy had turned off all the lights and curled up under the blankets, staying as still as she possibly could.

Hopefully he'd think she was sleeping, the last thing she wanted was for them to get in a fight so late that night or for her to be on the receiving end of his too honest answers when he was a little sloshed.

Vince let out a sigh as soon as he shut the door, the giggles dying immediately. He had been faking it, they were a match made in heaven. Two idiots.

Quietly he moved around and Wendy squeezed her eyes shut, even if she had her back turned, as the bathroom lights turned on. She held her breath, heart racing, mind scrambling as she wondered if she had somehow left evidence behind. Her stomach clenched, squeezing with hunger.

Vince took forever to step out, but when he slipped under the covers she could smell the minty toothpaste. The guest room was too fancy, the bed was king sized and Wendy felt like there was an ocean keeping them apart. She forced out a breath, her back still turned to him.

He rolled on the bed, tugging on the sheets and pulling her closer to him, so Wen took a breath and coaxed some bravery she didn't feel, as she turned to face him. The room was pitch dark, not even the moonlight making past the blackout curtains drawn, so she couldn't see his face at all, which was a good thing.

Wen opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to come up with something to say. She couldn't apologize, because what was there to ask his forgiveness for? Different perspectives? Her less than stellar delivery of the crude facts?

No amount of apologizing could change the fact that they wanted different things, no matter how much she desperately wanted to.

Vince's lips pressed to the top of her head, his arms wrapping around her as he pressed her close and Wendy closed her eyes, trying to ignore the burning behind them or the way Vin's breath hitched several times until she fell asleep, as if he was trying to choke down emotion.

-------------

Jonah was in the best mood Wendy had ever seen him in. She had foolishly thought he'd be having a nervous fit, but instead he was all relaxed, taking pictures with her and Angie and chuckling as they helped him get dressed.

Wendy's stomach let out a growl and her cheeks caught on fire, but luckily none of the Banks siblings seemed to have noticed.

"Jonah Isaac Wagner-Banks," Wendy enunciated, as she sat down next to Jon, filling up a glass with lemon juice and clinking it against her friend's, "you sound like a lord."

Jonah grinned, his smile so wide that Wendy wondered if his cheek muscles were hurting, "I do, don't I? Knighted for my contribution to medicine and eating ass skills."

Wendy choked on the liquid, while Angie let out a long suffering "Eeeww! I'm in the room, Jonah!"

Wen exchanged an amused glare with Jon, wiping the juice off her chin while giggling, "well, either way it has an amazing ring to it."

"So does Wendy Marshall Monacelli," Jon had bowed his head in her direction and caused her to roll her eyes. She could tell he was trying to get a rise out of her, so Wendy exaggerated her reaction by letting out a gasp, as if the thought had never occurred her before. It had, many times. She wouldn't change her name, Wendy Marshall meant too much to her, held too many memories for her to change it.

"Wow," Wendy scoffed, pulling back as she played it all up, trying to ignore the sting she felt at the prospect she might never be Wendy Marshall Monacelli "playing matchmaker so soon in the evening? Leo did mention you're trying to pair Claire up, but leave me out of your schemes."

"You don't think Claire and Max would make a lovely pair?" Jonah questioned, leaning back on the armchair he was occupying, crossing his ankles as Angie walked over and bent down so he could close her necklace.

Wendy tried to ignore the weird way her head spun, as if she had gotten up too fast.

Max? He wanted to pair Max up with Claire?

Max, who was head over heels in love with Vince, who was antisocial on his best days, whose politeness and manners slipped at the smallest inconvenience, who was caring and fiercely loyal, whose laughter was becoming one of her favorite sounds. That Max?

She felt queasy.

"Who's Max?" Angie asked, perching her elbow on Jonah's knee, trying to join in the conversation.

"Vince's friend," Jon cleared up, smiling in a paternalistic manner at his sister, "Leo's integrat-"

"He's my friend too," Wendy interrupted Jonah sharply and her best friend's brows jumped up, Angie letting out a nervous chuckle.

"Awkward," she giggled, standing up as there was a knock on the door and she rushed up, telling Luke to come in.

Wendy hadn't anticipated how weird it would feel to walk down the aisle arm in arm with Vince. Even if they hadn't been on shaky grounds, she couldn't imagine it would've felt any weirder.

As a little kid, playing house had been her favorite activity. Her parents had kept her from anything they deemed feminine, so dolls were not in the picture, although her action-figures had reenacted the weirdest, controversial plots. By the time she had turned 13, when dating and romance started to become a reality as puberty hit, Wendy had already been keenly aware she was different and that those formative experiences wouldn't come in the usual packages.

Romance had been performative, not quite her role in it, but how it reassured her of her essence. Kissing preppy boys who kept her as a little secret made her feel dirty and Wendy had quickly catapulted into a more "mature" dating scene, freshmen college students acting as if it was perfectly normal to be with a sixteen year old and calling her "too grown up for her age".

With Vince it had been different. She had never felt more loved, more desired than when she was with him, more entertained and amused. It wasn't just what she got, but how she felt in return, a strong feeling that seemed to capture her heart and make her head spin, this insane desire to help him, make him happy in every way she possibly could, when she had been so used to being independent and alone.

Only with him, had she truly entertained the idea of marriage as a possibility. At one point, when he had told her in Doveport that he wanted to come back to Welton, that he choose her, it had not only been a possibility, but a likely outcome.

As relapse started to consume her thoughts, insecurities and paranoia eating at her, everything seemed to crumble.

"Wendy," Vince wrapped her up in his arms just as she got down the stairs, the steps giving her enough height they were eye to eye for once, "honey-"

Normally, Vin was very articulate, but it had been out of the window from the minute she delivered that killing blow. Instead all he could do was hug her close, pull her at arms length for a second as he took her in, a smile threatening to pull up his lips.

It made her eyes burn, face prickle, and Wendy shook her head, squeezing his hands in hers, "don't," she mumbled, trying to communicate now was not the time. It was Jon and Leo's time, not theirs.

Vince knew that, so he nodded and pressed a kiss to her brow, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and keeping her close as they waited for their cue to go down the aisle.

Everything was sort of hazy after that, the vows, Jon and Leo kissing, staying behind with Vin to help the grooms get rid of their jacket and ties, hugging Jonah so close that Wendy felt like he knew exactly what was wrong and was trying to mend her broken heart by squeezing her.

The conservatory was a dream. Her head felt floaty, from not eating all day, and Wendy smiled and hugged the Monacellis, left her boyfriend there as she moved to hug Bella- Then her eyes paused upon Max's head, two tables away, seeming lost and nervous.

Claire was sat next to him and Jonah's previous matchmaking schemes came back to Wendy's mind, a sudden flare of jealousy causing her face to burn as she saw the blonde doctor lean towards Max with interest, eyeing him up.

Wendy marched through the salon, planted her hands on Max's shoulders, startling him. She kept her tone light, humorous, biting back her tongue as she pointed out the fact that Claire too was single, probably masking off the weird jealousy churning in her stomach as ridiculous meddling.

All the while she spoke, Wendy carefully measured Max's reaction. The way he seemed mortified by her words, almost annoyed, how he leaned back as she squeezed his arms and shook him- Good. His lack of interest in Claire satisfied a sick desire in her and Wendy pulled back just as the ceremonialist announced the Wagner-Banks' first dance.

Her body was vibrating as she pushed through the crowd to get a better view of her friends, eyes searching for Vince as suddenly she felt like she had done something awful.

Wendy wasn't blind, from the first moment she had laid eyes upon Max she had seen he was attractive, almost as clearly as she had been able to clock his attraction for her boyfriend. It was plain to see, that silly animosity that was empty of any real heat, just banters and jabs as he measured Vince up several times, eyes lingering on the other man's body, on his lips.

None of that had surprised her, only emphasized her amusement and interest on the other guy, as she easily dismissed Max's crush as just loneliness and thirst for connection. She had exchanged smiles with Vince, a quiet conversation, smugness tinting his voice as he spoke with the other man, much like he sounded when Wendy herself got hit on. That's my girlfriend, yes I know she's nice to look at. Pride.

Somewhere along the way it had ceased being just amusement, much like Max's crush had ceased being just that, judging by how involved he was, how he was doing everything in his power to stay close.

"What the fuck was that, gorgeous?" Max's voice caused Wendy's stomach to collapse, her whole body getting covered with goosebumps as the other man's lips brushed her ear, "Are you auctioning me off?"

She stiffened up, frantically looking around the room to find Vin, a way out of this situation. Did this look as compromising to others as it felt to her?

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, praying her voice didn't betray her and fry. Max didn't answer her right away and Wendy entertained the idea that he had left.

"Uh-hu," he scoffed, then his voice was back, whispering in her ear, a whole note deeper than she had ever heard before, "my type is about half a foot shorter than Claire, so you're wasting your time."

Was he implying his type was her?

Wendy's head spun, significantly more than it had so far and she shifted her weight, adjusting herself so she didn't go down at the sudden dizzy spell.

Max wasn't into her, he was into Vince. If anything, he wanted to push her out of the equation and Wendy couldn't even bring herself to be mad, because Vin looked so fucking happy around him, it made her heart squeeze.

Wendy wasn't a jealous person, much like Vince wasn't, but Max brought up a sharp pain in her heart, as if she was having a prophetic vision of the future and it didn't include her, when she so desperately wanted in. Not quite that she wanted Max gone, away from her boyfriend and their lives, but rather like she was missing something that hadn't even happened yet, locked out of a fantasy.

"Funny, because I thought it'd be about a half foot taller and wider," She whirled around to glare at Max, only for him look ridiculously surprised, as if his infatuation with Vin was a secret and not something they all knew. Then his eyes dropped to her lips and Wendy wondered if his previous jab, about her being his type, hadn't been just to rile her up. If she was reading too much into this small interaction.

"A beautiful beginning to what we know will be a beautiful journey. Let us now join the celebration. Ladies and gentlemen, the dance floor is open."

"May I?" Max asked and Wendy hesitated, but let him take her by the hand.

He wasn't a particularly good dancer, but he smelt like tangerine and leather, from his truck maybe?

Wendy ignored his shower of compliments, pressed closer as she investigated the smell. No, not from his truck, the smell was richer, more complex. Perfume. Max's hand cradled hers, thumb ghosting over her knuckles and Wendy leaned her head on his shoulder as suddenly she was overwhelmed by the thought that this should've been Vince, that it was her fault.

All the emotion she had carefully kept at bay all evening, the tears she hadn't allowed to escape even as Jonah and Leo kissed at the sunset, washed over her in one wave and caused her to gasp, suck in a sob as they spilled over.

She wanted Vince. His smile and the lavender smell and her boyfriend, the future she had dared to entertain.

Max spun her around, pulled her close and Wendy caught Vince's eye across the room. Just pulling apart as he twirled Bella in his arms, all warmth.

His curls were already messy and he smiled at her, as if all fight had left his mind, moving closer- His brows dipped as he noticed the tears, concern written clearly on his features and Wendy looked away.

"I think you stole my date," Vince's voice was firm, worried, and Max scrambled away from Wendy as if he had done something wrong, painfully missing the fact that he wasn't dating Vin, she was. She was dating Vince, breaking his heart, falling for Max, ruining everything...

"What's wrong?" Vince didn't say that, but his hand came to up cup her cheek, thumbs wiping away the tears and Wendy let out another watery sob, wrapping her hand around his wrist.

So, so much was wrong, she couldn't even begin to answer him.

Vin tilted up her chin, forced their eyes to meet and then closed the space between them before Wendy could even open her mouth to give him yet another half-assed excuse.

Just a peck, then a proper kiss, hand resting on her nape and arm wrapping around her back, pulling her off her feet. Nose brushing hers and him sucking her bottom lip, running his tongue over it and his mouth slightly to the left, so he could kiss the corner of her mouth, whisper in her ear, "I love you, I love you, I love you-"

Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as she possibly could. Was this goodbye, farewell, it was good while it lasted? Or hello, I've missed you, I don't want to break up, I don't want the future I crafted for myself since I was a little boy and drafting it up at my parent's image?

Vin planted her back down, moving back just enough so he could press his mouth to her forehead and Wendy shook with yet another sob.

"No-not here," she shook her head, trying to explain that he could not break up with her in the middle of the ballroom, when Jonah and Leo were mere meters away, when this would sour everyone's celebration so intertwined their friend group was, "Vin-"

He wrapped his arms around her, guided Wendy through the crush of people and when she glanced back, past her boyfriend's shoulder, Max was gone. Vanished, as if he hadn't been just there.

Vince took her past the bathrooms in the back of ballroom, the staff entrance to the kitchens and then onto the garden. Hydrangeas bushes everywhere, a trashcan to the side of the door and an owl hooting away.

The bushes were sitting in a raised bed of bricks, the thick slabs forming a large enough space to sit and Wendy collapsed on to it, her head spinning. Not just from emotion, spinning, Vince's head becoming two as her sight blurred in and out and he crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his.

"Wen-"

She let out a shaky breath through her mouth, blinked several times to force him into focus, then nodded, putting up bravery that she didn't feel. Crisis mode, escape routes forming on the back of her mind. Luke could drive him back, she could take the car, go back home and sob through the night and Jon would be none the wiser-

"Honey," Vince pressed her knuckles to his lips, "honey, look at me."

She was looking. That ridiculous superman curl falling over his forehead and the warmth of his eyes and the way his cheeks grew pink with rosacea whenever he danced or did any exercise and how his mouth was quirking up at the corners- Smiling.

"I won't pretend it wasn't a shock," he said, slowly and carefully or maybe it was just how her brain was working, "that I wasn't frustrated and upset. I've had very little plans for my life, but children were always there. A very conventional way of thinking-"

"Vince-"

"And I won't lie that I still hope you'll change your mind," he continued on, ignoring her and Wendy recoiled, pulled her hands from his grasp. She wasn't going to lie to him, lead him on- "but if you never do, I'll still pick you."

"I won't," it wasn't charitable, or romantic like his words, but rather sharp and vehement. He needed to understand this, before he went on professing his love once again and she believed it.

Vince let out a sigh, but nodded, "then you won't-"

"I don't want you to- To resent me-"

"It's my choice to make," he cut her off, moving even closer, between her legs as much as her dress allowed him to, "you can't decide I will regret it and breakup with me, it doesn't work like that."

"I can," Wendy's chin wobbled and she clenched her fists, glaring at him, "I can breakup with you, I want you to be happy- Not half measures and compromises-"

"You make me happy," Vince scoffed, "right now, in the future, you make me happy. I like kids, Wendy, and I'd love to have them, but not with someone else-"

"And when you ch-change your mind?" She challenged, sniffling, "when you wake up ten years from now and-"

"How many times have I've proved you wrong by now, Wen?" Vince frowned at her, then opened a smile, "I love you, as much as I can possibly love someone. I love you, I need you to believe in this, like I believe in us," he let out a hopeful sigh, "can you do that?"

A sob blubbered up and Wendy nodded, grabbing Vince's shirt collar and he immediately surged up to kiss her, causing her body to tip back and for them to half in the bushes, her giggling into his mouth, "I can, yeah, I can."

The rest of her night was a hazy frenzy. Going back to the party, dancing — draining one singular glass of champagne and ending up giggly and drunk, because she hadn't eaten all day — watching as Vin and Max danced together and feeling like she could almost see herself between them, a missing puzzle piece — and then spinning and spinning and spinning.

When she woke up again, there were voices down the corridor. She was sprawled on the bed, out of her dress but still in the uncomfortable lingerie she had worn under it.

Wendy took her time stumbling to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, try to get a good look at herself. Everything felt- Weird. Cottony, like the world was faded at the edges. Her stomach squeezed with hunger.

She should've gotten dressed, they were still at the manor and the people outside her door were probably Jon's fancy guests, but instead Wendy just wrapped the maid of honor silk robe around her... What time was it? How early? When had she gone to bed?

All she could remember was spinning - Bella's face, chuckling, as her and Vin brought Wendy upstairs. Relief.

Her head throbbed as she moved out of the room. Bella was sitting on the first step of the staircase, arms crossed and a frown on, Vince and Luke were standing and they were arguing-

Voices coming from underwater.

"It looked like she was drunk!"

"Even if she was! Why'd you assume a thing like that?! How jealous can you be, Luke?!"

"Even if she was!?" Lucas exclaimed, incredulous, "Wendy nearly got assaulted at a party, you wanted me to leave drunk Sophia with some sleazy asshole-"

"What-" Wendy frowned, standing in front of Bella. The sun was so bright, Bella's complexion seemed washed out, too white, "where's Jon...? Leo...?"

"They left to the airport an hour ago," Bella rolled her eyes, not seeming one bit bothered by the screaming match, "Vince tried to wake you to say goodbye, but you sleep like the dead..."

"Uhm-"

"-A real nice person!" Vince exclaimed, Wendy's mind struggling to understand the argument. There were colorful dots around Vin's head, tiny, glittering like Christmas lights, "if you ever bothered-"

"He's been to JAIL, VINCE!" Luke was yelling now, so loud, it made Wendy frown. Her head throbbed. She felt nauseous and weak.

"OH MY GOD- Don't hurt your back reaching!? It was a one night occurrence, Lucas, Max's FINE! You're such a fucking asshole-" Vince tugged at the roots of his hair, as if he was so pissed, he wanted to rip it out. The sun was reflecting off his white shirt, so damn bright-

The colorful dots turned black. Like TV static, clouding her vision. Wendy blinked, shaking her head and heard Bella's voice coming from underwater...

"Wen?"

She took a step back, the little black dots starting to glue together like ink splotches, becoming one grand black hole in her vision. Wendy stumbled back even more and then her foot lost any support, as it met the stair's first step-

"WENDY!"

Everything went dark as she went down.

TBC

[bellysoupset]

HISBAND S🍄

HUSBANDS!!!! I love saying it 😭

[bellysoupset]

hello beautiful people of my phone, please help me answer a pondering of mine * for reference, the fic in question is a deep dive in Wen's psyche and will answer some POV questions, the "sickfic" aspect only really comes up at the end, although there's emotional whump

[bellysoupset]

i've seen a lot of people be surprised at how much of a dick Lucas was in the previous fic and all I want to say is...yeah.

[bellysoupset]

Adam is Decent and Avery is Disarmed

A/N: This is for @writing-whump, who asked for a fic where Avery gets to see Adam not being a total egomaniac jerk. I love writing these two; they always surprise me.

As the only openly gay member of the Boston FBI, Avery Morrison was used to being a token.  Law enforcement was so often out of favor with the more liberal parts of the city that Avery was regularly trotted out to show off the softer side of being a cop. 

Not that he even was a cop, but no one seemed to care that an FBI agent was very different from a police officer when public relations were on the line.  The fact that Avery investigated major drug rings and arms dealers and domestic terrorists and child pornographers just made him more interesting. Even groups that regularly argued for better gun laws and against police misconduct couldn’t hate someone who stopped child porn, right?  

Well, that was the theory, anyway. Today Avery was at the uber-fancy Newbury Hotel, representing the Bureau at a citywide Pride event and resource fair for the LGBTQ+ community.  His first choice would have been to join the table of volunteers from My Brother’s Keeper, an organization he volunteered with every week helping at-risk youth. But instead his Midwestern charm and progressive attitude was needed to sit with a couple of real Boston patrol cops, where they were supposed to be a resource about fighting hate crimes. 

So far they’d just been taking a lot of flack about the recent shooting of an unarmed 16-year-old kid during a traffic stop on the other side of the city. No matter how disgusted Avery personally was about the incident, a lot of the people walking by their table just saw someone easy to blame.  More than one passerby had cursed at them under their breath as they walked past and then a vaguely familiar looking man “accidentally” spilled his water bottle all over the table and part of Avery’s shirt. A guy he recognized from other Pride events, but had never met. Short and wiry, with closely cropped black hair and skin the color of coffee. Lance, maybe?  Avery just remembered him as always flitting around, seemingly involved in everything and everyone. But now he looked pissed, so Avery was immediately on his guard.

“Are you going to arrest me?” the man taunted while Avery tried to mop up the mess with his sleeve before it got all their promotional materials wet.  “Or how about . . . a taser?  Yeah?  Since I’m WWB here.  Could be about to try something.”  He crossed his arms across his rainbow tank top and stared unblinkingly. 

WWB meant “Walking While Black, and that, as well as DWB - Driving While Black - were definitely a problem in parts of Boston. Even in 2025, in one of the most liberal cities in the country, it still wasn’t unheard of for a police officer to stop someone as suspicious based purely on the color of their skin. The behavior was much less common in the FBI, but of course, the guy looking at him didn’t seem to care about the distinction. He shoved at the table with his hip knocking over displays about Mathew Shepard and the Trevor Project.  

“Hey, come on now,” Avery protested weakly, while next to him, one of the police officers actually got to his feet before Avery could stop him. Fuck.  He’d never worked with these two officers before - and doubted they were actually members of the lgbtq+ community. Probably just a couple of rookies who’d had no choice about coming.  Engaging with angry community members was to be handled delicately, and watching the young cop lean forward and point his finger at the other man was anything but delicate. 

Avery tugged on the rookie’s arm but purposely did not get up from his own seat.  “C’mon . . . Terr - Toe . . . C’mon man. Let it go; it’s fine.”  Avery was at these types of events all the time and he knew the anger was justified, even if a little misdirected. If it had been up to him, he’d have sat there and endured a few minutes of berating - letting the guy get his anger out.  Agree or apologize, and don’t take it personally for a second - that was what to do here.

Any more experienced officer, and certainly an FBI agent, would have understood and de-escalated immediately.  But Terry/Tony/Tommy shook off Avery’s grasp.  

“Let me handle this,” he muttered, walking around the side of the table to stand over the smaller man, who didn’t even flinch.  But the interaction didn’t go unnoticed, and soon their table was surrounded by a number of tall and toned men of various races  - this was a Pride event, after all.  A half second later, the second police officer stood up too.  Avery heard someone say the name of the boy who’d been shot and Blue’s gonna pay. A few more bodies joined. 

Avery swore again and finally stood up himself.  “You’re absolutely right,” he said to the man - Lance? - who’d bumped the table. It was a tricky strategy to try, especially without a partner to back him up here.  Rory would have known what to do right away. 

But the rookie cops turned to glare at him, clearly shocked he was not firmly on their side. Well tough shit; this wasn’t their playground. But then another voice washed over the entire group. 

“Of course he’s right; Lyle is one of our best community organizers.  Smart of you to realize that, Morrison.” 

If anyone had told him a week ago that one day soon he’d be happy to see Adam Calder, Avery would have called them delusional. But even he couldn’t deny that the moment Adam inserted himself into the center of the crowd, the tension eased considerably. Much of the muttering stopped, a few people wandered away, and those who remained looked more curious than angry.  Two men touched Adam familiarly on the arm as they walked by and another fist-bumped him before stepping back into the group of onlookers.  It was crystal clear that Adam Calder controlled the room, and he’d only said two sentences. 

Still, Avery knew how easy it was to be taken in by Adam’s charm, and how fleeting his attention could be.  But then Adam shot him a look that said follow my lead, and Avery found himself returning a tiny nod of agreement.

“Lyle’s passion is creating safe spaces and better opportunities for LGBTQ+ youths of color,” Adam explained, throwing his arm around the man in a friendly manner. “Half of the initiatives in Boston wouldn’t get funded without Lyle’s tireless work and fierce talent for organizing. Seriously.  The first order of business for any queer organization in Boston is to make sure that Lyle Cranston is dialed into the mission and onboard with the planning committee.  Isn’t that right, darling?” 

It was immediately obvious to Avery how thickly Adam was laying on the praise, even though he wasn’t sure why yet.  Was the community organizer really that important in the LGBTQ+ community?  Or was he somehow insecure, and needed an ego boost? 

Apparently neither; instead of deflecting or showing any humility, Lyle smiled proudly and straightened up under Adam’s effusiveness.

“Abso-fucking-lutely correct,” he agreed.  His own arm snaked around Adam’s waist and squeezed. “You know the offer still stands, any time you have an opening to work at Dynamic Strategies, I’m ready to quit my current job and come help you.” 

Adam flicked his eyes at Avery for a half second, lips tight in a way Avery had no trouble interpreting.  The pained expression - gone even faster - only reiterated what Adam was doing here.  Avery immediately leaned forward to help.

“I thought you looked familiar.” He opened his friendliest smile, the one that lulled suspects into spilling all their secrets. Some karma god must have been smiling on him because a second later he was even able to remember the last time he’d seen Lyle. “You were at the BAGLY conference last month, weren’t you?”

Mentioning the Boston Alliance of LGBTQ+ Youth was the right thing to say; Lyle’s suspicious attitude relaxed even more. “I was,” he agreed imperiously, as if it was a stupid question.  As if anyone who knew anything wouldn’t have had to ask. “But I don’t remember seeing you there.”  He shrugged, clearly eager to imply that Avery hadn’t made much of an impact.  “Do you remember the icebreaker?  That was all me. Everyone thought it was highly effective.”  His expression grew even more self-important.  “If Calder here’s willing to vouch for you then I guess you’re okay.”  He peered carefully at Avery’s face and then ran his eyes up and down the man’s body before looking back at Adam.  “So he’s an ally?”

Adam paused, and Avery was impressed.  Even at a Pride event, the man wasn’t going to out him.  He answered himself.  

“Nope,” he proclaimed, popping the P.  “Boston’s only openly gay FBI agent, at your service.”  

“Really.” Lance - Lyle suddenly looked a lot more interested.  “So how do you and Adam know each other? Or do I even need to ask?”  He bumped his hip against Adam’s.  “You dog. I didn’t know you were into linebackers. You’ll need to tell me your Grindr secret. I always seem to strike out.” 

The pained expression was back on Adam’s face and Avery found himself feeling oddly sorry for the guy.  Plus, he probably owed him for untangling the mess here. Lyle looked like he was ready to settle in for a long discussion about dating advice and Avery wasn’t sure who’d hate that more, him or Adam. He snorted.

“My sister’s dating his partner, but thank you for the compliment.” He shook his head as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. A second later, Adam chuckled too.  

“We’d . . . ahem . . . kill each other first, right?”  Adam deftly used the excuse of clearing his throat to slide out of Lyle’s clutches.  “Actually, do you mind if I steal you for a moment? Agent Morrison?”  His tone was casual, but the private look he shot Avery was surprisingly needy. 

For a moment, Avery considered refusing. What kind of fucking nerve did Adam Calder have, propositioning him right in the middle of a professional event? Had he really learned nothing at all from every other interaction the two of them had had? What did he think, Avery would just take his hand and let the guy lead him to a private bathroom somewhere in this fancy hotel? Or . . . he wouldn’t put it past the guy to have gotten a room here, since of course he’d be picking someone up. Unbelievable. 

But before he could shoot the man down, preferably loudly and publicly, that same pained expression flashed across Adam’s face again. There was something familiar about it this time, although Avery couldn’t place where he’d seen Adam look like that before. Was it regret? Apology?  Knowing Adam, either was unlikely. Still, there was something that made Avery pause. Even though he knew he’d absolutely regret it later, he gave a quick, easy nod.  “Of course.” 

He didn’t miss the relieved smile or Adam’s soft exhale when he heard Avery’s agreement.  “Won’t take long,” he promised lightly, and then turned back to Lyle once more.  “I’ll put you on my calendar for coffee next week; don’t stand me up, sweetheart.”  

“Wouldn't dream of it,” answered Lyle eagerly.  It looked like he was waiting for Adam to invite him to wherever he was taking Avery off to, and when the invitation wasn’t offered, he deflated a bit.  

Adam took Avery by the elbow and turned him in the direction of the exits and Avery’s heart sunk.  He really had been an idiot then.  But before he could pull away or tell Adam Calder to go fuck himself - because he certainly wouldn’t be fucking Avery - the man leaned in.

“Can you help me . . . find a bathroom?” he muttered, words interrupted with a breathy burp. “I’m not feeling well.”  

It was the last thing Avery had expected to hear.  “You’re sick?” he asked, letting Adam continue to direct him across the room.  It was crowded - there were at least fifty organizations represented, each with its own table decorated with banners and posters on stands and rainbow-themed giveaways. Walking through it all was dizzying even before you added in the crowd.

Adam shrugged.  “Sick to my stomach at least. Started about an hour ago.” The man gulped softly and then stopped to shake hands with someone who reached out to him from the PFLAG table. When he took Avery’s elbow again there was a little bit more urgency in his step. “I’d really like to get out of here.”

“Let’s go then.”  Now that Avery was paying attention he could see how pale Adam had gotten, and the beads of sweat that dotted his forehead. “Are you going to throw up?” He wasn’t sure why Adam had chosen him as a caretaker but he wasn’t about to abandon the guy - especially not when it was glaringly apparent that getting out of the ballroom was going to be a challenge.

Lyle may have been a poser, but it was obvious Adam was not.  Not in this environment, at least.  Every half-dozen steps someone else came up to him, either to shake hands, or compliment him on some initiative he’d spearheaded, or talk strategy about the next one. And every time, Adam straightened up, swallowed hard, and became totally engaged. If Avery recognized that his eyes looked glassy, to everyone else they probably seemed energized.  And the pauses in his sentences sounded thoughtful, not like he was trying to fight back a gag. 

After the fourth such interaction, Avery began strategizing.  Adam had been burping regularly while they walked, but now they were starting to sound wet and dangerous.  And his hand was straying to his middle more and more often. At first it had just been to rest his palm there for a second, as if trying to confirm that yes, his stomach actually was upset. But then Avery saw him press his fingers into his side, and he shot Avery that same pained expression from earlier.

Avery grimaced back.  “Cramps?” he asked under his breath when they had a moment with no one accosting them.  Adam gave a tight nod. 

“Happens . . . sometimes,” he grunted out, shutting his eyes for a long second while he waited for the pain to ease.  “When I’mnauseous ‘n tryin’ . . .” His voice trailed off and he shut his eyes again. 

“When you’re trying not to let anyone know,” Avery finished for him. “Got it.” Even though he’d given Adam a hard time in the past about keeping up his facade when sick, right now Avery didn’t blame him at all. The problem was they were still a dozen yards from the exit, and already people were standing up from the tables they’d be passing, ready to pull Adam into yet another conversation as he walked by.  

Adam realized it too,  “Oh, fuck,” he groaned.  “That’s . . . uuURP . . . Grant Marx. He’s someone I really want to . . . ugh.”  He tried to straighten up but stumbled against Avery, gulping. “Needtopukesoon,” he mumbled thickly.  And then more desperately. “Not here.”

Avery acted instinctively.  Before they’d taken another step, he wrapped his arm possessively around Adam’s waist and pulled the guy against him.  His other hand snaked up to cup his cheek. “Work with me here,” he muttered, turning his body so Adam’s face was against his shoulder.  “Try not to vomit yet.”

Adam understood immediately.  He melted against Avery and hiccupped queasily into his chest, taking a couple of deep breaths.  Pressed together like this, Avery could feel how badly Adam was trembling and he tightened his grip around his waist, trying not to squeeze his stomach.  After a few more tense seconds Adam breathed out and then lifted his face again to the room.  A confident grin, almost a smirk, was firmly plastered across his features and Avery wondered just how much effort that was taking. 

At least their act seemed to have convinced all the bystanders not to interrupt Adam, now that he was so clearly working to arrange a hook up with the FBI agent. Avery got more than one knowing glance as they walked by, their speed at trying to leave the room immediately understood.  And people were clearing a path for them now. 

Outside the ballroom, Adam didn’t even pause at the public bathroom in the hotel’s wide corridor.  Avery didn’t bother wasting precious seconds trying to convince him otherwise, but tugged him down the hallway towards the elevators. 

As soon as they turned the corner Adam halted and leaned over to spit on the carpet. “S-s-sorry,” he mumbled, hands still on his knees.  More saliva dripped down.  Avery bit his lip.  He’d seen Adam sick before - more than once, actually - but never so publicly.  The guy must really be feeling terrible. Voices approached suddenly from behind them and Adam jerked, then lurched upright, jaw tight.  Without a word, he spun until his face was buried in Avery’s chest again.

“Can you make it to the parking garage?” Avery spoke softly into Adam’s hair.  It was two floors down and Avery’s car was parked there.  Adam could throw up behind it and then Avery could drive him home - and probably not speak to him for another month until the next time they were forced together at Rory and Noa’s.  There was no way Adam was going to want to be reminded of any of this. 

In response, Adam swayed on his feet and gagged. “No,” he choked out. Something wet dripped inside the collar of Avery’s shirt.  

Abandoning the idea of getting to the elevator, Avery implemented plan B.  “Stairwell,” he muttered tersely, already moving them in that direction. “Ten steps.  Keep your head on me.”  Some people went stiff when trying not to vomit, but Adam was pliant as a ragdoll.  He let Avery tug him along while he stumbled with him, gulping over and over and then burping up something that sounded like more than just air as soon as they burst through the door.  

Avery breathed out a sigh of relief.  “Okay, you can puke now.”  One good thing about the Newbury being such a fancy hotel was that it was very unlikely any of the guests would bother taking the stairs. He made a mental note to call and let the front desk know that someone had apparently gotten sick on the way down to the parking garage once he and Adam were safely away.

Adam immediately leaned over and spit up a mouthful of watery puke onto the floor.  “M’ so nauseous,” he groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Can you . . .?” he gestured weakly down to the next landing below, where - miracle of miracles - there was a garbage can.  But even if his brain was behaving rationally, his body wasn’t. Only two steps down Adam groaned and folded in half, wrapping his arms around his middle.  He swayed dangerously and tilted forward, retching.  

Just in time, Avery grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back against his front before Adam pitched headfirst down the stairs.  “Shit, careful,” he muttered, shoving Adam down onto a step and settling himself on the one right above.  “No concussions on my watch, please.  Puking’s plenty.”  With Adam practically sitting in his lap he could tell the guy didn’t have a fever, at least. Really clammy though - he’d sweated through the back of his pale pink button down shirt and his hair was plastered to the back of his neck in damp waves. 

Adam didn’t acknowledge the comment, but spread his legs and bent forward until his head hovered over the lower steps.  Avery instinctively tightened his grip, locking his arms around Adam’s waist like a seatbelt.  They stayed frozen like that for a second while Adam panted hard, until one exhale bubbled up into his throat and he threw up all down the stairs.  It was liquidly and thin, and dripped down to pool on the landing, where it was soon joined by the contents of Adam’s second heave.  

“Oh god,” he groaned in between retches.  “Stomach’s killing me.” The next wave was more solid, landing on the steps with a sickening plop.  

Holding Adam the way he was, Avery could feel every contraction of the guy’s stomach, and adding that to the sensory overload from the sight, sound, and smell made him a little queasy himself. When Adam vomited again, he forced up a burp of his own, sighing with the relief it brought.

He wasn’t sure Adam could say the same.  When the vomiting seemed to taper off he let out a series of queasy burps and then slumped back against Avery’s chest, breathing hard. 

Avery held out a small towel he’d swiped from the PFLAG table when he’d realized how sick Adam was.  When he didn’t immediately take it, Avery sighed and wiped the puke off the guy’s chin himself.  Just sealing the deal that he was never going to talk to Adam Calder again. Not after holding him like a koala and cleaning his face, that was for damn sure.  The guy would probably want to get on the next plane back to San Francisco at this rate.  Not that Avery would have handled the situation at all differently. It just sucked that the last time he’d ever get to wrap his thighs around the man’s hips and feel his perfect abs under his fingers it was while he was puking his guts up. Just his fucking luck.

At least it seemed like things were calming down in Adam’s stomach. He burped again, softer this time, and then dropped his head back to rest on Avery’s shoulder. “Sorry ‘bout my puke breath,” he mumbled. 

Avery resisted the urge to brush Adam’s hair away from his forehead.  “It’s fine,” he responded quickly. “Are you feeling better?”  

“A little, yeah.” Adam suddenly seemed to realize where he was, or more specifically, whose arms were wrapped around him.  He sat forward, shuffling weakly on the step and clearly trying to break contact.

“Yeah, no,” Avery said. “Not until I’m sure you’re not going to faceplant in the remains of your lunch.”  No matter how awkward the situation was, he couldn’t just abandon the guy -even if Adam wished he would.   

Adam groaned.  “Don’t mention . . . lunch,” he hiccupped.  “I’m still tasting it when I burp.”  He took the towel and wiped his mouth again.  “Sam’s Sub Shop.  Good thing I was in a hurry and didn’t even finish half my sandwich, I guess.”  He grimaced. “Never eating there again.” 

“I’ll keep it off my list too,” Avery promised, mostly for something to say.  Adam hadn’t made any effort to move and Avery wondered if he was feeling too weak to stand.  Or maybe he just didn’t want to ask for any more help. Back to putting up the facade and all that. 

But the stairwell was gross and Avery wanted to get away from the mess and to his car.  “Can you walk? I think there’s maybe a little bit of the steps you didn’t puke on.” He gestured inelegantly down at the vomit splattered space. 

Adam looked where Avery was pointing and for the first time seemed to realize what a mess he’d made.  He groaned again, but this time it sounded more sheepish than sick. 

“Wow, I really . . . wow.”  He twisted to look at Avery, seemingly at a loss for words.  “Yeah,” he said finally.  “Let’s uhh, I mean, I can walk.”

He didn’t sound so sure, but let Avery haul him to his feet, where he swayed so violently that Avery had no choice but to grab his waist again. Adam immediately leaned into him and Avery’s face heated up.  Get a fucking grip, Morrison - the guy’s clearly still sick. 

Slowly, they sidestepped and tiptoed delicately down the stairs until they finally reached a clean landing and the door to the parking garage. Adam was panting hard by then, and rested against the wall while Avery contemplated leaving him there and going to get his car himself. “I can’t believe you were nauseous for an hour before you said something.”  He dug through his bag for his water bottle and handed it over.  “I had no idea.”

Adam gave a weak smirk. “Maybe you’re losing your investigatory edge, Agent Morrison. I burped at least twice while we were talking to Lyle.”  He swished water in his mouth and spit it onto the floor before swallowing a careful sip.

“Or maybe I just wasn’t paying that much attention to you,” Avery shot back easily.  He was happy to see a hint of color returning to Adam’s face now that he’d vomited so much.  The guy still looked shaky though. No way was he letting him go home alone.

Adam huffed with amusement. “I guess I deserve that.” 

“You do,” Avery agreed.  “Although you did save me from Lyle, so thank you.  I really was trying to start a reasonable conversation with him.”  

Adam inclined his head in acknowledgement.  “Lyle’s intentions are good, but he’s annoying as fuck with his methods,” he revealed. “And . . .” - he stilled for a moment and put two fingers to his mouth.  When nothing happened he sagged a bit and kept talking  “ - A lot of people in the community can’t stand him, but I try to give him some attention every so often.  He deserves that much at least.”  Adam’s voice grew thin and his hand went back to his mouth. Avery put a wary hand on his shoulder.

“Nauseous again?” 

Adam gave a small nod. “Yeah,” he breathed out.  “Not . . . not as bad, but . . .”  He held up a finger, mouth contorting in a queasy grimace. 

Avery squeezed his nape.  “Get the rest out, then I’ll drive you home.”  If he expected any sort of protest, he was wrong.  Adam nodded again before gagging harshly and then burping up a mouthful of bile.  “Thanks,” he gasped.  “I think it’s all up now.  But I need to lie down.” He shot Avery a cautious look.  “You really don’t mind driving me? I mean - ” he swallowed hard. - “I mean, I’m sure you’d rather . . .not.” 

Adam sounded so uncertain that Avery was momentarily disarmed.  His answer sounded more hesitant than he intended.  

“What? Why? No . . . no of course I will.”  He’s been about to reach out to help Adam walk to the car but now pulled back.  “Why would you say that?” 

Adam reached out on his own and took Avery’s arm.  “I could use a hand,” he admitted.  “Kinda dizzy.” 

Avery immediately threw Adam’s arm over his shoulder again.  “Right. Sorry. Here, my car’s just up the next row.”  They started shuffling again.  Adam was still breathing heavily and Avery assumed his question would go unanswered.  But just as they reached the Subaru, Adam sighed. 

“Because . . . of last time.”  His voice was very quiet.  “At the bar.”  

“Oh.” Avery wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  Sure, last time they’d left on a bad note - Adam had wanted another means nothing, one-night stand, and Avery had shot him down.  But only after they’d made out in an alley and Avery had stupidly let himself believe . . . well, something obviously unbelievable. But that was irrelevant right now.

“You’re sick, and I’m not an asshole,” he explained with a touch of impatience, opening the passenger door and carefully settling Adam into the seat.  The man let out a relieved breath as soon as he was inside, rubbing a hand over his face and looking disheveled and exhausted. “I mean, if the situation was reversed, would you have left me to drown in my own puke?” 

“Of course not.”  Adam chuckled weakly.  “Although, as we both know, I sometimes am an asshole.”  His hands shook as he fumbled to buckle his seatbelt and Avery had to restrain from the urge to just lean over and do it for him.  “For what it’s worth, I . . . regret that night.  The assumptions I made.”  He burped softly and immediately waved off Avery’s noise of concern.  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assured, but then he burped again and shuffled a bit in his seat.  

“There’s probably a bag in the glove box,” Avery said, turning around so he could pull out of the parking spot.  “I think we’ve previously established that I’d rather you not puke in my car.” Adam’s apology hung in the air between them and he let it stay there while he scanned his ticket to exit the garage. “And . . . thank you.  Maybe I made assumptions too.”  He hoped Adam wouldn’t ask what those assumptions were, although he had a feeling the guy would be able to guess.  “Are you sure you’re not going to puke again?” he asked when the car bounced over a pothole and Adam gagged. He shook his head.

“Pretty sure I’m empty.”  Adam curled over his lap for a minute and then straightened up.  “Stomach still hurts; that’s all.  I’ll be fine once I sleep it off.”  

“Which means you have to give me your address.”  Avery knew Adam lived in an upscale building somewhere in the South End, but that was all. He suspected the man would have kept his exact location a secret from Avery forever if he’d been able to.  

As if reading his mind, Adam gave an amused huff. “Ironic, isn’t it? That you finally find out where I live and it’s my own fault.”  

“I’d hardly call getting food poisoning your own fault,” Avery pointed out.  He paused for a second and then decided to ask the question he’d been wondering all afternoon. “But you did come find me.  When you were already feeling sick, I mean. So yeah, I guess it’s your fault that I’m the one taking you home instead of Lyle.” 

Adam groaned.  “Oh god, could you imagine?  I’d probably have puked right in the ballroom while he droned on about how important he was.”  He was quiet for a minute while Avery carefully maneuvered the car onto Newbury street and turned in the direction of the South End. 

“It’s because I knew I could trust you. Both to get me out of that damn ballroom and then to . . . well, this.”  Adam gestured around the car.  “Like you said, you weren’t going to leave me to drown in my own puke.  Even though you probably wanted to.”

“Only part of the time,” joked Avery.  “I don’t know why you trust me so much, but thank you.” They were already entering the South End and he was oddly disappointed that the ride was almost over.  Which was stupid. Adam was sick and the only thing Avery needed to be concerned about was making sure the man got safely into his apartment. He pulled up in front of the building.  “Do you need me to help you get upstairs?”

Adam shook his head.  “I think I’m okay.”  He unbuckled his seatbelt but made no move to get out of the car.  “I trust you because you turned me down.”  He gave Avery a small smile.  “No one’s ever done that before. Most people just give me what I want.  As much as I hated it at the time, guess I’m glad you didn’t. ”

Avery knew Adam wasn’t bragging, and he also suspected it wasn’t easy for him to admit that. Which meant if he wasn’t careful, he blurt out something he’d deeply regret.  “I’ll continue to keep you humble then,” he grinned.  

Adam finally opened his door. “I’ll look forward to it.”

[bellysoupset]

”sideblog mutuals” is one of the weirdest relationships you can have with someone on here i think. yeah we’re sort of mutuals but only when we’re both wearing funny hats and doing little voices talking about our shows. like what are we

[bellysoupset]

It wasssss Girl Crush, it was so good >:) also I’m glad you enjoyed most of the songs! I will try not to spam your inbox with em lol, but I’m always finding new music so maybe I’ll throw you some on occasion heh

-🥨

Ahahaahaha at least I'm consistent?? I didn't remember at all! Please do not call this spam, I adore getting music recommendations, I've made a playlist just for the songs people relate to my OCs and it always cheers me up! 🥰🥰

[bellysoupset]

like EXCUSE ME

[bellysoupset]

Hello it’s uhhh… poly anon? I should probably get an actual emoji now lol, 🥨 anon? Anyhow, I’ve been forgetting to send another ask but I have to do it now. Because literally what was that last storyyyy, it was so messy, it was so good >:) I was giggling reading it the whole time. I can’t believe The Girls Are Fighting, this is so tragic.

You’ve been absolutely cooking on all the latest stuff. The stomach bug story with Max and Wen and Vince was soooo cute as well (poor Wendy tho omg). But I know Wen and Vin have some stuff going on between them at the moment, I hope we get to see them work it out soon 👀

Besides that, I have also finally remembered to listen to that song you recommended a while back, I totally get what you mean. It has great vibes lol.

If I may throw a song recommendation around again, I may say Pink in the Night by Mitski for some more Max specific pining heh. It’s not particularly poly but I feel like it still fits. Alternatively, (You) On My Arm by Leith Ross is also very good.

… and maybe Free Treasure by Adrianne Lenker for something a little more romantic- ok this is probably long enough I will end it now. Thank you for writing peak all the time no matter what, your ocs make me think thoughts a lot, bye bye >:)

Pink in the Night - is VERY Max! Except for the part she says they already kissed lmao, but yeah, "I could stare at your back all day" is extremely Max coded.

(You) On My Arms feels more like Wendy than Max. Sooo tooth rotting sweet. 😍😍

Sadly I didn't vibe with the Free Treasure one 🙈 I'm sorry!

Next fic will be Wendy's POV! So hopefully that's gonna clear up some stuff.... Or make things more messy?

[bellysoupset]

Leo and Jonah are husbands 😍😍😍😍😍 that’s all I wanted to say

- happy trail anon

They're husbands!!! Jonah and Leo Wagner-Banks, ready to conquer the world 💕💕

[bellysoupset]

Sh-shaken

I'm sleep deprived and this hasn't been reread for typos. I'm sorry 😭

------

Max was buzzing with nervous energy.

He had never felt so incredibly out of place, which was saying a lot, because he had felt like a Victorian child pressing his nose to a bakery shop's window most of his life.

"What the fuck..." he whispered quietly as he parked his car at the entrance of the venue and followed in the other guests. Suddenly his suit felt ill fitting, although it wasn't, far too simple in comparison to all of that.

There was an English manor rising to his right, opulent and capturing his eye. Only one of the double doors was open and there was a man planted there, hands carefully crossed behind his back, gloves on. A butler!?

Whoever he was, he was standing guard, so that was not where guests were supposed to go. Directly in front of him, after the manor ended and up a slight hill, there was a path leading up to a Conservatory. A huge construction made of black iron twisted in the finest pattern, crystalline glass, and arched ceilings. He was too far away to see inside of it, but judging by the torches and flowers decorating that path, the party would be happening there.

Finally, to his left, the white pristine carpet that everyone was avoiding, orchids and hydrangeas fighting for his attention and the rounded white chairs organized before a white greek inspired pavilion.

Max was sure he could live two lifetimes and he'd never see anything quite as pretty — and fancy — as this.

He made his way between the guests, awkwardly bumping with a couple people, looking around in search of a face he recognized-

"Come sit with us, son," Giuseppe Monacelli patted Max's back, causing him to startle, and then his shoulders dropped in relief. Alright, a familiar face.

Mr. Monacelli was smiling at him, looking almost weird as it was the first time ever that Max had seen him wear something different from his work polos. His salt and pepper wavy hair was all swept back, eyes glinting with amusement as he took in Max's surprise at the whole thing, "it's a gorgeous wedding, uh?"

"Is Jonah a royal, per chance?" Max teased, letting out a sigh as he relaxed and followed Giuseppe away from the crush of people.

Magda and Sophia were already sitting down, heads bowed together as they whispered and chatted, much probably about the grandiosity of it all.

"Hey Daniels!" Bella's voice cut through the crowd chatter and Max turned around, just as she realized he had company, "Mr. Monacelli!"

"Isabella," Giuseppe beamed at Bella, taking one of her hands and twirling her, "how beautiful you look, sweetheart."

Bella's cheeks blushed, slightly, and she opened a big smile right back at him, allowing the man to pull her into a one armed hug, wrapping her arm around his back as he squished her close.

Mr. Monacelli was not exaggerating, Max raised his eyebrows as he took in Bella's dress. Her mane of auburn curls was pinned up in a knot, locks falling gracefully from it just so they could frame her face. On her earrings, a pair of golden and green earrings that was catching the light from every direction, and then her dress was almost too simple, but not at all at the same time. Max didn't have the vocabulary to describe it, but he was sure Wendy would've used words like elegant, refined, classic-

As far as he was concerned, it was stunning.

"Hey, close your mouth, Daniels," Bella teased him, raising her eyebrows in a playful manner, "did you guys have a safe trip?"

"We did, we got to Portland yesterday," Mr. Monacelli answered, guiding all of them to the chairs and Max sat down next to Sophia, who startled as he did, eyes wide in her face as she looked at him.

She was wearing a deep red dress, light brown hair with all the waves silk pressed away, a river of caramel falling down her back and pulled away from her temples tightly by a bejeweled headband.

"You look amazing," Max told her, fighting the little amusement he felt as her whole face turned pink. He glanced past her shoulders, so he reach over her to squeeze Magda's hand, "so do you, Mrs. Monacelli."

"Vince warned me you're a charmer," Ma rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand right back, "did you manage to get a look at him? We haven't seen him anywhere."

"He's probably with the grooms?" Max shrugged and Bella earnestly nodded, sitting in an empty chair in front of them, twisting in her seat to look at the group.

"They're all locked away, but Leo should be coming out any minute now- What time is it?"

Max, who had pointedly ignored the sign on the yard telling them to relinquish their phones to focus on the ceremony, checked the hour, "uh- About a quarter to five."

Bell bit down on her lip, glancing worriedly around the venue, then let out a sigh, grabbing the skirt of her dress as she got up, "I'll go check on him, he's already late."

"Nerves," Ma said, just as Bell sped away, "poor thing must be so nervous, it's quite the event."

"If he doesn't show, do we have to leave?" Sophia asked, humorously, although it passed her parents by and she only earned a glare instead. Max snorted.

"I'm not leaving until I get to taste the buffet," he whispered, leaning in so only Soph could hear, and she grinned at him so much that dimples he didn't know she had appeared on her cheeks.

Ma was beyond entertained, neck barely keeping up with how fast she kept turning her head around. Occasionally she leaned in to notify them of a particularly notable guest, not that it made a splash of a difference to Max. "That is Dr. Banks, he had a TV show in the 90s" and "that is Matteo Stefanelli, you went to one of his games in the 80s, didn't you Beppe?" and "that cannot possibly be- Is that Elena Manley-Newman?"

"Who?" Sophia asked, fiddling with the purse resting on her lap.

"She was a top model in the 90s," a voice answered, behind Max, and he jumped. A woman whom he had never seen before, but who still felt oddly familiar, was looking at the Monacellis with a smile.

She had a tan complexion, with warm chocolate brown eyes and very, unruly curly hair, clearly dyed a cherry red and up in a thick ponytail on the top of her head. Her smile seemed incredibly familiar-

"I'm sorry," she switched her bedazzled purse from one hand to the other, "I'm Marisa Martinez, Isa- Bella's mom? You must be Vince's parents, she told me I'd find you here..."

"Oh!" Ma perked up immediately, as if they were old friends and not strangers, "Bella's mother? You have an amazing daughter, you must be so proud-"

Max droned them out, bumping his shoulder with Sophia's as he could see the plain judgment all over her face. The kid didn't have a smidge of a poker face, she couldn't be more bored. Teenagers.

"Smile," Max leaned in to whisper and Soph scoffed, glancing around.

"They're late, aren't they?"

As if on cue, a soft violin music started to play, from a sole violinist ahead of all of them and all heads turned to the back. A lot of people were still standing, finding their seats, which seemed unusual to Max, but he didn't have any experiences with weddings to know.

Leo came out of the grand manor with Bella right next to him and others might have seen it as sweet, but Max knew the blonde enough by now to notice he was clinging to Bell for dear life. He let out a chuckle, getting up from his seat to shake Leo's hand and pat his arm as they reached the group, Bella waving to her mom and jumping up and down like a puppy as the woman cooed at her.

She let go of Leo at the end of nave, being pulled away by the woman that Max was sure was Jonah's mom, as they looked incredibly related, not just due to appearance, but because she also felt like royalty.

Then the music got louder, everyone in their seats by now, and the rest of the wedding party came out of the house.

Vince and Wendy were in the forefront and all of Max's judgement and awkwardness flew out of his mind as he took them in.

He hadn't really considered he'd see Vince and Wendy walking down the aisle and Max also hadn't predicted the way it caused him to swoon.

He wasn't prepared by the swell of affection that washed over him, his hands suddenly sweaty, eyes unable to tear away as he took in Vince — the man caught his eyes just as he passed by Max's seat, winking in his direction and Max's whole face turned red. Suddenly he felt like a teenager, heart racing and butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach.

Wendy was... Resplendent. There was no other word he could describe her with, as the golden hour sun caught her silver dress just right, making it seem like liquid gold was hugging her body, a bright smile on, eyes sparkling as she tilted her body slightly to wave in his direction as she passed them by. His heart skipped a beat, as he wondered if the wave was only for him or to the whole of Vin's family, as his brain tried to warn him.

He would've been lying if he said he looked anywhere else but the duo the rest of the ceremony.

As soon as Jonah and Leo finished exchanging rings and kissed, all the guests got up to cheer and clap and the officiant let them know the party would be in the conservatory.

"Miss Monacelli?" Max said cheekily, offering his arm to Sophia and she beamed as she took it, so they could follow the crush of people to the party location. If it had been up to him, he would've elbowed his way all the way to the end of the aisle where Vince and Wendy were, but they were very clearly staying behind for a reason, probably to help Jonah and Leo in the manor.

The conservatory was an event of its own. Max felt dizzy and overwhelmed as he stepped in, Sophia squeezing his arm and letting out a squeal as she said "Oh my fucking god!" accent thick in her words. He exchanged an incredulous look with her.

The whole construction was already stunning, the dark iron intertwined with crystalline glass, but the decor was elevating it even more. There were several round tables scattered around, with flower arrangements in the middle of them, orchids wrapped around each other to form some sort of modern sculpture. From the vaulted ceiling there were hanging three different fussy chandeliers, sending little rainbows everywhere, along the white floors with little black square inlays. At the thickest, more industrial parts of the metal structure, they had wrapped layers of greenery and baby's breath.

Max's stomach plummeted as he guided Sophia to the table where her parents were already sitting down and realized their seats were marked. His card wasn't there.

"Oh-" he let go of Soph and frowned, nervously scratching his beard as he tried to figure what to do.

"There was a board at the front with the seating chart, son," Mr. Monacelli explained, "you're table six."

Alright, table six. He hoped he'd know anyone there, otherwise this would make for a very weird, awkward night...

As it turned out, he didn't. These were all strangers and Max had to bite the inside of his cheek not to cringe. He wasn't a particularly sociable person and he had no idea of what to do with himself.

He sat there, trying to quell his anxiety as the people introduced themselves. Chuck, Dean, Sandy, Matthew, Barbie, Claire, Thaissa- He couldn't place the names to their faces if he wanted to and he didn't particularly want to.

Across the room, he caught Bella's eye. She was sitting between her mother and Lucas and she raised the champagne glass in his direction in a long distance toast, causing Max to snort and raise his. To feeling awkward and dejected.

"Hi everyone," Wendy's voice caused him to choke with the liquid, as she planted her hands on his shoulders, keeping him on his seat and addressing the others, "have you met, Max? He's a teacher at Doveport with Vince."

"What do you teach?" A blonde, Sandy?, asked him, leaning forward as she was all curiosity.

"Chemistry and biology," Max answered, his cheeks heating up. Wendy's fingers traced the prickly hairs at his nape, from his undercut that was hidden away since he had his hair down and sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't pay attention on what Suzy was saying.

"He's also such a nature guy," Wendy continued, apparently unaware of how her fingertips ghosting his skin was driving him insane, "he likes long lonely hikes."

"Oh Dean loves those," another woman, maybe this was Taylor?, said, patting the chest of a man he assumed was Dean with the back of her hand. Max nodded curtly, because really what was he supposed to say about that?

"I like hiking with my girlfriend, not all alone" Dean complained, pouting in a playful way, and apparently that was all that Wendy really needed as she moved both her hands to squeeze Max's shoulders, some weight behind it as she shook him slightly.

"You see, Max is single, so..." she let her voice trail off in a teasing manner and the blonde that Max had previously identified as Suzy-Sandy raised her head to stare at Wendy, her cheeks turning crimson as she predicted the following words, "Claire is single too, Max."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Claire-not-Suzy let out a groan, hiding her face in her hands while the other laughed and Max forced up a smile, when all he wanted was to glare at Wendy, leaning on Claire's direction, "I think she's hinting at something, don't you think?"

Claire raised her eyes from her hands, her whole face ablaze, shaking it from side to side, "my god, Wendy? Did Jonah set you up to this?"

Before Wendy could answer, or anyone, there was an overall chatter on the room as the ceremonialist announced "Welcome to the dance floor, Mr. Jonah Wagner-Banks and Mr. Leo Wagner-Banks!"

Everyone got up as the lights shifted, the chandeliers fading to a very low yellow haze, pulling them into the dark, and a light cannon pointed at the dance floor, bathing it in gold as the band started up.

They all huddled closer to the dance floor in order to see them do the waltz and Max moved so he was behind Wendy, leaning in to whisper "What the fuck was that, gorgeous? Are you auctioning me off?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Wen answered, not moving to look at him behind her shoulder, eyes trained on the couple as they swirled around. Leo's face was all pink, Jonah clearly guiding the dance as Max could tell he was the most used to ballroom dancing.

"Uh-hu," he scoffed, draining the rest of his champagne, lowering himself so he could whisper in her ear, "my type is about half a foot shorter than Claire, so you're wasting your time."

Vince was going to punt his ass, Max thought, trailing his eyes across the room in search of the man. How dare he speak with Wendy like this, even if her breath hitched slightly at the provocation, finally making her tilt her body back to glare at him, a blush devouring her cheeks and going down her neck.

"Funny, because I thought it'd be about a half foot taller and wider," Wendy bit out, just as sharply, and Max felt like he had just been slapped. People started to clap as the dance finished and so did they, Max sustaining Wendy's unamused glare... And letting it drop to her lips. Somewhere between the ceremony and now she had switched lipsticks, they were no longer peachy-pink, but painted a dark, oxblood red.

"A beautiful beginning to what we know will be a beautiful journey. Let us now join the celebration. Ladies and gentlemen, the dance floor is open."

The crowd started to dissolve as they separated into couples, people returning to their seats and others joining Jonah and Leo at the dancefloor-

"May I?" Max bit out and Wendy stared at his outstretched hand for a second too long, before nodding and taking it.

He was no dancer, far from it. Max could count in one hand the amount of times he had slow danced in all of his life, but he'd be damned if he'd pass up such an opportunity.

He twirled Wendy around, her dress swirling around her as there was a slit all the way to a couple inches above her knee, then pulled her flush to him. She had tiny hands and he squeezed it in his, twirling them from side to side with not a tenth of the grace Jonah had been previously sporting.

She tilted her body back slightly, eyes studying his face and Max waited as she scrutinized him, before raising an eyebrow and twirling her once more, this time so her back was pressed to his chest, "did anyone tell you you're being very rude tonight?"

"What? Why?" Wendy leaned her head back, to his shoulder, eyes glancing up as Max looked down. He twisted her around so they were back on the original position.

"Stealing the spotlight? You're gorgeous," he said, grinning as Wendy's whole face turned red and she rolled her eyes at his line, letting out a huff.

"Please," she scoffed and the song seamlessly transitioned into a second one. Max didn't let go off her hand and Wendy didn't pull back either, happily continuing to sway with him, "I'm happy you came."

"I'm happy I came too," Max pulled her closer, now with an arm wrapped around her back and Wen's chin slotted on his shoulder, her right hand cradled in his. He closed his eyes as they continued to turn around-

"I think you stole my date," Vince's voice caused Max to scramble back, his heart racing, hands suddenly burning as if he had been doing something wrong. Wendy's eyes were huge in her face, but not as if she was startled... Overtly shiny.

She was teary eyed?

Max frowned, forgetting all about how guilty he felt at the sight, concern overwhelming him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Vince's hand came to rest on his shoulder, a vicious grip that Max had never felt before, but that he knew very well what it meant.

Get away.

He took a step back, let go of Wen's hand, just as Vince took his place. Wendy's face tilted up to look at her boyfriend and Max's heart squeezed as he saw Vince wipe away a tear with his thumb, finger tracing down her cheek and cupping her chin as he bent down and kissed her.

Not a peck, not the careful and polite kisses that couples sometimes exchanged. A kiss, open mouthed and his hand moving from her chin, to the back of Wendy's head, pulling her closer to him, her arms promptly wrapping around his neck.

Max's stomach squeezed with jealousy, except he wasn't sure of whom he was jealous of. He felt like some villain, standing on the sidelines and desperately wanting to insert himself in the middle. To take Wendy from Vince's arms and kiss her, to step in her shoes and be kissed like that—  He needed air.

He stumbled outside of the Conservatory and folded in the middle. His whole face was burning, prickles like a thousand ants all over his neck and chest. He couldn't breathe.

Max stripped his tux jacket, then leaned back, resting his back against a random pine tree next to the Conservatory and tried to focus on the music that escaped to the garden, instead of the ringing in his ears.

What the fuck was he doing? What did he even think he could accomplish, other than make both Vince and Wendy hate him? When they had been nothing but kind to him, more than anyone had ever been before?

It took him at least three more songs for Max to muster up the courage to make it back inside. He carefully avoided any sight of silver, running into Jonah and Leo —  who were over the moon and hadn't even noticed that Max was shaking like a leaf as he congratulated them both on the wedding.

He sat back down at the table six, just as dinner started to be served. There were little menus on the table and waiters who came to collect their orders for the three different options of the main dish. Max had no idea what exactly he ordered, he just had flashed a smile and pointed at Claire as she ordered, saying "I'll have whatever she's having."

Claire didn't need much incentive to talk with him and Max would've needed to be blind and deaf to not realize she was openly hitting on him. He couldn't focus on it, so he was politely nodding along as she blabbed about how she knew the grooms —  she worked with Jonah and Wendy. Had gone to college with them and knew the rest of the gang as well-

"I mean, I don't think he remembers me at all," Claire snorted and Max blinked several times as he struggled to understand whom she was referring to.

"I'm sorry?"

"Vince," Claire rolled her eyes, pushing the lobster tail around in the sauce, "we hooked up once at some football party."

Oh? Did Wendy know this?

His questions probably showed on his face, because Claire shrugged, "Wen knows, there's no bad blood. She's really not the jealous type and it was before she even moved to town- Besides, like I said, he doesn't remember."

Max's bite soured in his mouth. Of course she wasn't the jealous type, anyone else would've gotten him killed by now given how openly he hit on Vince. For some reason, all that managed was to make him feel shitty.

He let his eyes search around the room. Vince was sitting with Lucas, Bella and her mom, more like crouching down next to the them and laughing. Jonah and Leo had their very own groom table and were enthralled with each other. Wendy was nowhere to be found.

Dessert came. He sucked it up and took Claire dancing, making her brighten up like a puppy. The music switched from slow songs to pop halfway through and Max let out a sigh of relief, much to his companion's poutiness.

They danced three more songs and then he lost her as a group of girls pulled Claire to them-

"Whoa, easy there," Vince chuckled as Max stumbled and nearly fell on him, "ease up on the champagne, buddy."

Urgh. Max wished he was drunk, but he had actually put down the champagne ages ago and was startlingly sober.

"You don't dance?" Max yelled over the noise and Vince's brows jumped up, in a challenging manner, "you didn't at the graduation!"

"That was different, don't you think?" Vince smiled at him, all pearly whites, then Max stumbled back as the other man took a step forward, "what, don't you?"

They were dancing?

Max didn't know what to do with himself, heart racing away in rhythm of the beat, sweat running down his back as Vin rolled his eyes and grabbed his elbow, positioning the blonde so they could side step together and twirl around each other.

"Oh- Why do you know how to line dance!?" Max giggled, throwing his head back at the strangeness of the situation, clapping as Vin jumped to the right and so did he, following his movements with a couple seconds' delay. Once he got the hang of it, it was pretty easy. One to the right, two to the left, step back, clap, twirl, repeat.

Vince jumped back as Max got the hang of it, shimming behind him, his hands grabbing Max's hip just as he moved and switched their positions, so Max was now the one spearheading.

Max's words died in his mouth as Vin continued to rock his shoulders, his curls sticking out, brown eyes meeting his with a feverish hint-

"C'mere," Wendy grabbed Vin's tie and his face softened, two red dots on his cheeks as he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the ground, causing his girlfriend to squeal as he kept twirling them over and over.

Max wiped at his sweaty forehead, looking around the room in search of a water bottle-

He collapsed back down on his seat, tugging off his tie and fishing out a bottle from the ice bucket that had appeared. Even the label said "Jonah and Leo Wagner-Banks."

He was panting as he pressed the cold glass to his forehead, whole face still pulsing from all the jumping around, letting his eyes drift around the room- Until he saw Sophia stumble outside.

Something was wrong, his senses sobering up immediately as he saw her shoulders hitch and she disappeared out of the room. She was crying?

Max grabbed a second water bottle, shaky fingers crumpling some linen napkins, then followed her out.

Away from the dizzying lights and the loud music, he felt more like himself. What time was it? How long they had been jumping around, lost in that dream state?

Sophia was braced against the tree he had previously used as his own escape, but unlike him she was facing it, both hands pressed to the bark and her head hanging between her arms.

"Soph?" Max stepped closer, touching her elbow gently as he stepped into a more familiar, comfortable role. This was Sophia, his best friend's annoying sister, his sassy student, he knew how to handle her at the very least, "Sophia, everything alright?"

"Uhm-" she was breathing with a certain difficulty, brows furrowed, "don't- Don't feel well..."

Max reached in, touched her cheek and forehead, then rolled his eyes. He was too warm to feel anything, everything was cold to his touch, "what's wrong? Did you overdo on the champagne, Monacelli?" he asked humorously, "you know you're under twenty one, right?"

"No, my- My head..." Sophia whined, whole face scrunching up with pain. He was aware she now got migraines, Vince had filled him in, and Max had his fair share of dealing with students with headaches, but he didn't know exactly what to do.

"Do you want me to get your parents, sweetheart?"

Sophia shook her head, stumbling slightly, so he lurched forward and grabbed her by the elbow, throwing her arm around his shoulder and wrapping his free arm around her waist as her knees buckled.

"Okay, okay- We gotta get you out of her-"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Luke's voice was several notes too loud, sharp as a knife. He had stepped out of conservatory and was glaring daggers at Max, "get your hands off of her."

Wasn't that just rich? Max rolled his eyes, "we're doing just fine without, thank you very much. C'mon, Soph-"

"I said," Luke took a threatening step forward, inflating like a fucking pigeon. His cheeks were all red from all the dancing around and Max had the distinct feeling he was drunk, "let go of her or I'll make you."

"Alright, Schwarzenegger, I heard you," Max scoffed, cringing as he felt Sophia let out a little hiccup, more of her weight collapsing against him, "now get the fuck out of my way."

He hadn't been fully aware of just how pissed off Luke was, or how quick he could move even though he was probably sloshed, because suddenly Lucas was shoving Max back by the chest with all his force, taking Sophia from him.

He stumbled with so much force, that his back met the pine tree, stealing the air from his lungs. A spike of pain echoed through his head.

"She's drunk," Luke glared at him, fuming as his fixed his arms around Sophia, "what the fuck is wrong with you? It's not enough to hit on Vince, you wanna take advantage of his sister too?"

"What?!" Max startled, blinking owlishly at him, "she's not- I'm not- What's wrong with you?!" he all but yelled, jumping forward, "you think I'm trying to take a fucking drunk minor out of a party, based on what evidence!?"

"Don't cause a fucking scene," Luke wrinkled his nose in disgust, "security-"

"Oh wow, you're going to call security on me?" Max was taken aback by the aggression, feeling like he had been slapped. Of course Luke would, he didn't belong here, did he? No matter how much he had been fooling himself thinking he could be a part of this group, basking on the fact that Leo —  and by extension Jonah —  liked him well enough to invite him, Lucas knew he'd never belong.

"Sssstop-it- ithurtssss..." Sophia whimpered, her whole frame shaking as she let out a sob, the hand that wasn't grabbing Luke's bicep to keep herself upright grabbing at her head and removing the bejeweled headband she was wearing, chucking it away.

Max's heart squeezed and he took a step closer, "oh, sweetheart," he cooed, glaring when Luke took a step back, shielding her from him, "you gotta lie down..."

He wasn't the best caretaker in the world, but Max was intelligent enough to know someone with a migraine needed to be lying down in the dark, and not standing outside of a wedding party, held hostage in the middle of a fight.

Luke's brows met and Max rolled his eyes, completely ignoring the other man as he took Sophia's hand in his, "I'll drive you back to the hotel, how about...?"

"She- What's wrong, Soph?" Luke asked, tilting his body to get a good at her. Max gritted his teeth. This snotty motherfucker. Accusing him of trying to abduct a minor and now acting all sweet.

"C'mere, sweetheart," Max tugged on Sophia's wrist slightly, but Luke's grip around her waist tightened and all he managed was to jostle her- Sophia folded by the middle with a sharp retch, bringing up her dinner all over the grass and narrowly avoiding Max's shoes.

He jumped back, just as Luke stiffened up, maneuvering Sophia slightly so he could pull back her long hair and coo, "oh, get it up," he sighed, rubbing her back and glaring daggers at Max, "get the fuck out of my sight."

"The hell I will," Max hissed, moving so he was on Soph's opposite side, "over my dead body I'm letting her go with you. You're a dick, no wonder your wife rather drive four hours to spend time with me than talk with you."

Luke's face blanched and Max knew he had struck a nerve, but by now his temper was getting the best out of him, tension he had held in for the longest time suddenly flooding his senses, "what? Can't handle the truth? And let's not mention how you needed to collapse like a fucking Victorian damsel to get Vince to move back here, you and I both know he was thriving in Doveport. You're sad."

A lie. A blatant one, but that didn't stop Luke from jerking away from Sophia as if he had been slapped.

Soph let out a whimper and Max wrapped her up in his arms, pulling her closer to him, taking her full weight. He should get her lying down in his car, explain to the Monacellis that he had taken her back to the Portland hotel the Wagner-Banks had booked for all guests.

"Vince doesn't like you, he pities you," Luke said, regaining his composure, "he sees you as a stray pet he found on the road with a limp and no amount of you wiggling your way into our lives is going to change that," then he reached with his outstretched hands, since Max was frozen on the stop, "c'mon, Soph, I'll help you get-"

"Nnnoo," Sophia slapped his hand away from her, clumsily, but frowning, "g'away from us."

Luke's face clouded, brows meeting, lips twisting down, "What? Soph, I just want to-"

With much effort, Sophia opened her eyes, blue and teary with pain, the migraine causing her speech to slur as she said, "go. Away," she shuffled closer to Max, sniffling pitifully and the fight that had depleted from him at Luke's hurtful words returned tenfold as Max understood Sophia was openly siding with him.

"C'mon," he took a step backwards, "let me drive you back to the hotel."

[bellysoupset]

Sh-shaken

I'm sleep deprived and this hasn't been reread for typos. I'm sorry 😭

------

Max was buzzing with nervous energy.

He had never felt so incredibly out of place, which was saying a lot, because he had felt like a Victorian child pressing his nose to a bakery shop's window most of his life.

"What the fuck..." he whispered quietly as he parked his car at the entrance of the venue and followed in the other guests. Suddenly his suit felt ill fitting, although it wasn't, far too simple in comparison to all of that.

There was an English manor rising to his right, opulent and capturing his eye. Only one of the double doors was open and there was a man planted there, hands carefully crossed behind his back, gloves on. A butler!?

Whoever he was, he was standing guard, so that was not where guests were supposed to go. Directly in front of him, after the manor ended and up a slight hill, there was a path leading up to a Conservatory. A huge construction made of black iron twisted in the finest pattern, crystalline glass, and arched ceilings. He was too far away to see inside of it, but judging by the torches and flowers decorating that path, the party would be happening there.

Finally, to his left, the white pristine carpet that everyone was avoiding, orchids and hydrangeas fighting for his attention and the rounded white chairs organized before a white greek inspired pavilion.

Max was sure he could live two lifetimes and he'd never see anything quite as pretty — and fancy — as this.

He made his way between the guests, awkwardly bumping with a couple people, looking around in search of a face he recognized-

"Come sit with us, son," Giuseppe Monacelli patted Max's back, causing him to startle, and then his shoulders dropped in relief. Alright, a familiar face.

Mr. Monacelli was smiling at him, looking almost weird as it was the first time ever that Max had seen him wear something different from his work polos. His salt and pepper wavy hair was all swept back, eyes glinting with amusement as he took in Max's surprise at the whole thing, "it's a gorgeous wedding, uh?"

"Is Jonah a royal, per chance?" Max teased, letting out a sigh as he relaxed and followed Giuseppe away from the crush of people.

Magda and Sophia were already sitting down, heads bowed together as they whispered and chatted, much probably about the grandiosity of it all.

"Hey Daniels!" Bella's voice cut through the crowd chatter and Max turned around, just as she realized he had company, "Mr. Monacelli!"

"Isabella," Giuseppe beamed at Bella, taking one of her hands and twirling her, "how beautiful you look, sweetheart."

Bella's cheeks blushed, slightly, and she opened a big smile right back at him, allowing the man to pull her into a one armed hug, wrapping her arm around his back as he squished her close.

Mr. Monacelli was not exaggerating, Max raised his eyebrows as he took in Bella's dress. Her mane of auburn curls was pinned up in a knot, locks falling gracefully from it just so they could frame her face. On her earrings, a pair of golden and green earrings that was catching the light from every direction, and then her dress was almost too simple, but not at all at the same time. Max didn't have the vocabulary to describe it, but he was sure Wendy would've used words like elegant, refined, classic-

As far as he was concerned, it was stunning.

"Hey, close your mouth, Daniels," Bella teased him, raising her eyebrows in a playful manner, "did you guys have a safe trip?"

"We did, we got to Portland yesterday," Mr. Monacelli answered, guiding all of them to the chairs and Max sat down next to Sophia, who startled as he did, eyes wide in her face as she looked at him.

She was wearing a deep red dress, light brown hair with all the waves silk pressed away, a river of caramel falling down her back and pulled away from her temples tightly by a bejeweled headband.

"You look amazing," Max told her, fighting the little amusement he felt as her whole face turned pink. He glanced past her shoulders, so he reach over her to squeeze Magda's hand, "so do you, Mrs. Monacelli."

"Vince warned me you're a charmer," Ma rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand right back, "did you manage to get a look at him? We haven't seen him anywhere."

"He's probably with the grooms?" Max shrugged and Bella earnestly nodded, sitting in an empty chair in front of them, twisting in her seat to look at the group.

"They're all locked away, but Leo should be coming out any minute now- What time is it?"

Max, who had pointedly ignored the sign on the yard telling them to relinquish their phones to focus on the ceremony, checked the hour, "uh- About a quarter to five."

Bell bit down on her lip, glancing worriedly around the venue, then let out a sigh, grabbing the skirt of her dress as she got up, "I'll go check on him, he's already late."

"Nerves," Ma said, just as Bell sped away, "poor thing must be so nervous, it's quite the event."

"If he doesn't show, do we have to leave?" Sophia asked, humorously, although it passed her parents by and she only earned a glare instead. Max snorted.

"I'm not leaving until I get to taste the buffet," he whispered, leaning in so only Soph could hear, and she grinned at him so much that dimples he didn't know she had appeared on her cheeks.

Ma was beyond entertained, neck barely keeping up with how fast she kept turning her head around. Occasionally she leaned in to notify them of a particularly notable guest, not that it made a splash of a difference to Max. "That is Dr. Banks, he had a TV show in the 90s" and "that is Matteo Stefanelli, you went to one of his games in the 80s, didn't you Beppe?" and "that cannot possibly be- Is that Elena Manley-Newman?"

"Who?" Sophia asked, fiddling with the purse resting on her lap.

"She was a top model in the 90s," a voice answered, behind Max, and he jumped. A woman whom he had never seen before, but who still felt oddly familiar, was looking at the Monacellis with a smile.

She had a tan complexion, with warm chocolate brown eyes and very, unruly curly hair, clearly dyed a cherry red and up in a thick ponytail on the top of her head. Her smile seemed incredibly familiar-

"I'm sorry," she switched her bedazzled purse from one hand to the other, "I'm Marisa Martinez, Isa- Bella's mom? You must be Vince's parents, she told me I'd find you here..."

"Oh!" Ma perked up immediately, as if they were old friends and not strangers, "Bella's mother? You have an amazing daughter, you must be so proud-"

Max droned them out, bumping his shoulder with Sophia's as he could see the plain judgment all over her face. The kid didn't have a smidge of a poker face, she couldn't be more bored. Teenagers.

"Smile," Max leaned in to whisper and Soph scoffed, glancing around.

"They're late, aren't they?"

As if on cue, a soft violin music started to play, from a sole violinist ahead of all of them and all heads turned to the back. A lot of people were still standing, finding their seats, which seemed unusual to Max, but he didn't have any experiences with weddings to know.

Leo came out of the grand manor with Bella right next to him and others might have seen it as sweet, but Max knew the blonde enough by now to notice he was clinging to Bell for dear life. He let out a chuckle, getting up from his seat to shake Leo's hand and pat his arm as they reached the group, Bella waving to her mom and jumping up and down like a puppy as the woman cooed at her.

She let go of Leo at the end of nave, being pulled away by the woman that Max was sure was Jonah's mom, as they looked incredibly related, not just due to appearance, but because she also felt like royalty.

Then the music got louder, everyone in their seats by now, and the rest of the wedding party came out of the house.

Vince and Wendy were in the forefront and all of Max's judgement and awkwardness flew out of his mind as he took them in.

He hadn't really considered he'd see Vince and Wendy walking down the aisle and Max also hadn't predicted the way it caused him to swoon.

He wasn't prepared by the swell of affection that washed over him, his hands suddenly sweaty, eyes unable to tear away as he took in Vince — the man caught his eyes just as he passed by Max's seat, winking in his direction and Max's whole face turned red. Suddenly he felt like a teenager, heart racing and butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach.

Wendy was... Resplendent. There was no other word he could describe her with, as the golden hour sun caught her silver dress just right, making it seem like liquid gold was hugging her body, a bright smile on, eyes sparkling as she tilted her body slightly to wave in his direction as she passed them by. His heart skipped a beat, as he wondered if the wave was only for him or to the whole of Vin's family, as his brain tried to warn him.

He would've been lying if he said he looked anywhere else but the duo the rest of the ceremony.

As soon as Jonah and Leo finished exchanging rings and kissed, all the guests got up to cheer and clap and the officiant let them know the party would be in the conservatory.

"Miss Monacelli?" Max said cheekily, offering his arm to Sophia and she beamed as she took it, so they could follow the crush of people to the party location. If it had been up to him, he would've elbowed his way all the way to the end of the aisle where Vince and Wendy were, but they were very clearly staying behind for a reason, probably to help Jonah and Leo in the manor.

The conservatory was an event of its own. Max felt dizzy and overwhelmed as he stepped in, Sophia squeezing his arm and letting out a squeal as she said "Oh my fucking god!" accent thick in her words. He exchanged an incredulous look with her.

The whole construction was already stunning, the dark iron intertwined with crystalline glass, but the decor was elevating it even more. There were several round tables scattered around, with flower arrangements in the middle of them, orchids wrapped around each other to form some sort of modern sculpture. From the vaulted ceiling there were hanging three different fussy chandeliers, sending little rainbows everywhere, along the white floors with little black square inlays. At the thickest, more industrial parts of the metal structure, they had wrapped layers of greenery and baby's breath.

Max's stomach plummeted as he guided Sophia to the table where her parents were already sitting down and realized their seats were marked. His card wasn't there.

"Oh-" he let go of Soph and frowned, nervously scratching his beard as he tried to figure what to do.

"There was a board at the front with the seating chart, son," Mr. Monacelli explained, "you're table six."

Alright, table six. He hoped he'd know anyone there, otherwise this would make for a very weird, awkward night...

As it turned out, he didn't. These were all strangers and Max had to bite the inside of his cheek not to cringe. He wasn't a particularly sociable person and he had no idea of what to do with himself.

He sat there, trying to quell his anxiety as the people introduced themselves. Chuck, Dean, Sandy, Matthew, Barbie, Claire, Thaissa- He couldn't place the names to their faces if he wanted to and he didn't particularly want to.

Across the room, he caught Bella's eye. She was sitting between her mother and Lucas and she raised the champagne glass in his direction in a long distance toast, causing Max to snort and raise his. To feeling awkward and dejected.

"Hi everyone," Wendy's voice caused him to choke with the liquid, as she planted her hands on his shoulders, keeping him on his seat and addressing the others, "have you met, Max? He's a teacher at Doveport with Vince."

"What do you teach?" A blonde, Sandy?, asked him, leaning forward as she was all curiosity.

"Chemistry and biology," Max answered, his cheeks heating up. Wendy's fingers traced the prickly hairs at his nape, from his undercut that was hidden away since he had his hair down and sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't pay attention on what Suzy was saying.

"He's also such a nature guy," Wendy continued, apparently unaware of how her fingertips ghosting his skin was driving him insane, "he likes long lonely hikes."

"Oh Dean loves those," another woman, maybe this was Taylor?, said, patting the chest of a man he assumed was Dean with the back of her hand. Max nodded curtly, because really what was he supposed to say about that?

"I like hiking with my girlfriend, not all alone" Dean complained, pouting in a playful way, and apparently that was all that Wendy really needed as she moved both her hands to squeeze Max's shoulders, some weight behind it as she shook him slightly.

"You see, Max is single, so..." she let her voice trail off in a teasing manner and the blonde that Max had previously identified as Suzy-Sandy raised her head to stare at Wendy, her cheeks turning crimson as she predicted the following words, "Claire is single too, Max."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Claire-not-Suzy let out a groan, hiding her face in her hands while the other laughed and Max forced up a smile, when all he wanted was to glare at Wendy, leaning on Claire's direction, "I think she's hinting at something, don't you think?"

Claire raised her eyes from her hands, her whole face ablaze, shaking it from side to side, "my god, Wendy? Did Jonah set you up to this?"

Before Wendy could answer, or anyone, there was an overall chatter on the room as the ceremonialist announced "Welcome to the dance floor, Mr. Jonah Wagner-Banks and Mr. Leo Wagner-Banks!"

Everyone got up as the lights shifted, the chandeliers fading to a very low yellow haze, pulling them into the dark, and a light cannon pointed at the dance floor, bathing it in gold as the band started up.

They all huddled closer to the dance floor in order to see them do the waltz and Max moved so he was behind Wendy, leaning in to whisper "What the fuck was that, gorgeous? Are you auctioning me off?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Wen answered, not moving to look at him behind her shoulder, eyes trained on the couple as they swirled around. Leo's face was all pink, Jonah clearly guiding the dance as Max could tell he was the most used to ballroom dancing.

"Uh-hu," he scoffed, draining the rest of his champagne, lowering himself so he could whisper in her ear, "my type is about half a foot shorter than Claire, so you're wasting your time."

Vince was going to punt his ass, Max thought, trailing his eyes across the room in search of the man. How dare he speak with Wendy like this, even if her breath hitched slightly at the provocation, finally making her tilt her body back to glare at him, a blush devouring her cheeks and going down her neck.

"Funny, because I thought it'd be about a half foot taller and wider," Wendy bit out, just as sharply, and Max felt like he had just been slapped. People started to clap as the dance finished and so did they, Max sustaining Wendy's unamused glare... And letting it drop to her lips. Somewhere between the ceremony and now she had switched lipsticks, they were no longer peachy-pink, but painted a dark, oxblood red.

"A beautiful beginning to what we know will be a beautiful journey. Let us now join the celebration. Ladies and gentlemen, the dance floor is open."

The crowd started to dissolve as they separated into couples, people returning to their seats and others joining Jonah and Leo at the dancefloor-

"May I?" Max bit out and Wendy stared at his outstretched hand for a second too long, before nodding and taking it.

He was no dancer, far from it. Max could count in one hand the amount of times he had slow danced in all of his life, but he'd be damned if he'd pass up such an opportunity.

He twirled Wendy around, her dress swirling around her as there was a slit all the way to a couple inches above her knee, then pulled her flush to him. She had tiny hands and he squeezed it in his, twirling them from side to side with not a tenth of the grace Jonah had been previously sporting.

She tilted her body back slightly, eyes studying his face and Max waited as she scrutinized him, before raising an eyebrow and twirling her once more, this time so her back was pressed to his chest, "did anyone tell you you're being very rude tonight?"

"What? Why?" Wendy leaned her head back, to his shoulder, eyes glancing up as Max looked down. He twisted her around so they were back on the original position.

"Stealing the spotlight? You're gorgeous," he said, grinning as Wendy's whole face turned red and she rolled her eyes at his line, letting out a huff.

"Please," she scoffed and the song seamlessly transitioned into a second one. Max didn't let go off her hand and Wendy didn't pull back either, happily continuing to sway with him, "I'm happy you came."

"I'm happy I came too," Max pulled her closer, now with an arm wrapped around her back and Wen's chin slotted on his shoulder, her right hand cradled in his. He closed his eyes as they continued to turn around-

"I think you stole my date," Vince's voice caused Max to scramble back, his heart racing, hands suddenly burning as if he had been doing something wrong. Wendy's eyes were huge in her face, but not as if she was startled... Overtly shiny.

She was teary eyed?

Max frowned, forgetting all about how guilty he felt at the sight, concern overwhelming him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Vince's hand came to rest on his shoulder, a vicious grip that Max had never felt before, but that he knew very well what it meant.

Get away.

He took a step back, let go of Wen's hand, just as Vince took his place. Wendy's face tilted up to look at her boyfriend and Max's heart squeezed as he saw Vince wipe away a tear with his thumb, finger tracing down her cheek and cupping her chin as he bent down and kissed her.

Not a peck, not the careful and polite kisses that couples sometimes exchanged. A kiss, open mouthed and his hand moving from her chin, to the back of Wendy's head, pulling her closer to him, her arms promptly wrapping around his neck.

Max's stomach squeezed with jealousy, except he wasn't sure of whom he was jealous of. He felt like some villain, standing on the sidelines and desperately wanting to insert himself in the middle. To take Wendy from Vince's arms and kiss her, to step in her shoes and be kissed like that—  He needed air.

He stumbled outside of the Conservatory and folded in the middle. His whole face was burning, prickles like a thousand ants all over his neck and chest. He couldn't breathe.

Max stripped his tux jacket, then leaned back, resting his back against a random pine tree next to the Conservatory and tried to focus on the music that escaped to the garden, instead of the ringing in his ears.

What the fuck was he doing? What did he even think he could accomplish, other than make both Vince and Wendy hate him? When they had been nothing but kind to him, more than anyone had ever been before?

It took him at least three more songs for Max to muster up the courage to make it back inside. He carefully avoided any sight of silver, running into Jonah and Leo —  who were over the moon and hadn't even noticed that Max was shaking like a leaf as he congratulated them both on the wedding.

He sat back down at the table six, just as dinner started to be served. There were little menus on the table and waiters who came to collect their orders for the three different options of the main dish. Max had no idea what exactly he ordered, he just had flashed a smile and pointed at Claire as she ordered, saying "I'll have whatever she's having."

Claire didn't need much incentive to talk with him and Max would've needed to be blind and deaf to not realize she was openly hitting on him. He couldn't focus on it, so he was politely nodding along as she blabbed about how she knew the grooms —  she worked with Jonah and Wendy. Had gone to college with them and knew the rest of the gang as well-

"I mean, I don't think he remembers me at all," Claire snorted and Max blinked several times as he struggled to understand whom she was referring to.

"I'm sorry?"

"Vince," Claire rolled her eyes, pushing the lobster tail around in the sauce, "we hooked up once at some football party."

Oh? Did Wendy know this?

His questions probably showed on his face, because Claire shrugged, "Wen knows, there's no bad blood. She's really not the jealous type and it was before she even moved to town- Besides, like I said, he doesn't remember."

Max's bite soured in his mouth. Of course she wasn't the jealous type, anyone else would've gotten him killed by now given how openly he hit on Vince. For some reason, all that managed was to make him feel shitty.

He let his eyes search around the room. Vince was sitting with Lucas, Bella and her mom, more like crouching down next to the them and laughing. Jonah and Leo had their very own groom table and were enthralled with each other. Wendy was nowhere to be found.

Dessert came. He sucked it up and took Claire dancing, making her brighten up like a puppy. The music switched from slow songs to pop halfway through and Max let out a sigh of relief, much to his companion's poutiness.

They danced three more songs and then he lost her as a group of girls pulled Claire to them-

"Whoa, easy there," Vince chuckled as Max stumbled and nearly fell on him, "ease up on the champagne, buddy."

Urgh. Max wished he was drunk, but he had actually put down the champagne ages ago and was startlingly sober.

"You don't dance?" Max yelled over the noise and Vince's brows jumped up, in a challenging manner, "you didn't at the graduation!"

"That was different, don't you think?" Vince smiled at him, all pearly whites, then Max stumbled back as the other man took a step forward, "what, don't you?"

They were dancing?

Max didn't know what to do with himself, heart racing away in rhythm of the beat, sweat running down his back as Vin rolled his eyes and grabbed his elbow, positioning the blonde so they could side step together and twirl around each other.

"Oh- Why do you know how to line dance!?" Max giggled, throwing his head back at the strangeness of the situation, clapping as Vin jumped to the right and so did he, following his movements with a couple seconds' delay. Once he got the hang of it, it was pretty easy. One to the right, two to the left, step back, clap, twirl, repeat.

Vince jumped back as Max got the hang of it, shimming behind him, his hands grabbing Max's hip just as he moved and switched their positions, so Max was now the one spearheading.

Max's words died in his mouth as Vin continued to rock his shoulders, his curls sticking out, brown eyes meeting his with a feverish hint-

"C'mere," Wendy grabbed Vin's tie and his face softened, two red dots on his cheeks as he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the ground, causing his girlfriend to squeal as he kept twirling them over and over.

Max wiped at his sweaty forehead, looking around the room in search of a water bottle-

He collapsed back down on his seat, tugging off his tie and fishing out a bottle from the ice bucket that had appeared. Even the label said "Jonah and Leo Wagner-Banks."

He was panting as he pressed the cold glass to his forehead, whole face still pulsing from all the jumping around, letting his eyes drift around the room- Until he saw Sophia stumble outside.

Something was wrong, his senses sobering up immediately as he saw her shoulders hitch and she disappeared out of the room. She was crying?

Max grabbed a second water bottle, shaky fingers crumpling some linen napkins, then followed her out.

Away from the dizzying lights and the loud music, he felt more like himself. What time was it? How long they had been jumping around, lost in that dream state?

Sophia was braced against the tree he had previously used as his own escape, but unlike him she was facing it, both hands pressed to the bark and her head hanging between her arms.

"Soph?" Max stepped closer, touching her elbow gently as he stepped into a more familiar, comfortable role. This was Sophia, his best friend's annoying sister, his sassy student, he knew how to handle her at the very least, "Sophia, everything alright?"

"Uhm-" she was breathing with a certain difficulty, brows furrowed, "don't- Don't feel well..."

Max reached in, touched her cheek and forehead, then rolled his eyes. He was too warm to feel anything, everything was cold to his touch, "what's wrong? Did you overdo on the champagne, Monacelli?" he asked humorously, "you know you're under twenty one, right?"

"No, my- My head..." Sophia whined, whole face scrunching up with pain. He was aware she now got migraines, Vince had filled him in, and Max had his fair share of dealing with students with headaches, but he didn't know exactly what to do.

"Do you want me to get your parents, sweetheart?"

Sophia shook her head, stumbling slightly, so he lurched forward and grabbed her by the elbow, throwing her arm around his shoulder and wrapping his free arm around her waist as her knees buckled.

"Okay, okay- We gotta get you out of her-"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Luke's voice was several notes too loud, sharp as a knife. He had stepped out of conservatory and was glaring daggers at Max, "get your hands off of her."

Wasn't that just rich? Max rolled his eyes, "we're doing just fine without, thank you very much. C'mon, Soph-"

"I said," Luke took a threatening step forward, inflating like a fucking pigeon. His cheeks were all red from all the dancing around and Max had the distinct feeling he was drunk, "let go of her or I'll make you."

"Alright, Schwarzenegger, I heard you," Max scoffed, cringing as he felt Sophia let out a little hiccup, more of her weight collapsing against him, "now get the fuck out of my way."

He hadn't been fully aware of just how pissed off Luke was, or how quick he could move even though he was probably sloshed, because suddenly Lucas was shoving Max back by the chest with all his force, taking Sophia from him.

He stumbled with so much force, that his back met the pine tree, stealing the air from his lungs. A spike of pain echoed through his head.

"She's drunk," Luke glared at him, fuming as his fixed his arms around Sophia, "what the fuck is wrong with you? It's not enough to hit on Vince, you wanna take advantage of his sister too?"

"What?!" Max startled, blinking owlishly at him, "she's not- I'm not- What's wrong with you?!" he all but yelled, jumping forward, "you think I'm trying to take a fucking drunk minor out of a party, based on what evidence!?"

"Don't cause a fucking scene," Luke wrinkled his nose in disgust, "security-"

"Oh wow, you're going to call security on me?" Max was taken aback by the aggression, feeling like he had been slapped. Of course Luke would, he didn't belong here, did he? No matter how much he had been fooling himself thinking he could be a part of this group, basking on the fact that Leo —  and by extension Jonah —  liked him well enough to invite him, Lucas knew he'd never belong.

"Sssstop-it- ithurtssss..." Sophia whimpered, her whole frame shaking as she let out a sob, the hand that wasn't grabbing Luke's bicep to keep herself upright grabbing at her head and removing the bejeweled headband she was wearing, chucking it away.

Max's heart squeezed and he took a step closer, "oh, sweetheart," he cooed, glaring when Luke took a step back, shielding her from him, "you gotta lie down..."

He wasn't the best caretaker in the world, but Max was intelligent enough to know someone with a migraine needed to be lying down in the dark, and not standing outside of a wedding party, held hostage in the middle of a fight.

Luke's brows met and Max rolled his eyes, completely ignoring the other man as he took Sophia's hand in his, "I'll drive you back to the hotel, how about...?"

"She- What's wrong, Soph?" Luke asked, tilting his body to get a good at her. Max gritted his teeth. This snotty motherfucker. Accusing him of trying to abduct a minor and now acting all sweet.

"C'mere, sweetheart," Max tugged on Sophia's wrist slightly, but Luke's grip around her waist tightened and all he managed was to jostle her- Sophia folded by the middle with a sharp retch, bringing up her dinner all over the grass and narrowly avoiding Max's shoes.

He jumped back, just as Luke stiffened up, maneuvering Sophia slightly so he could pull back her long hair and coo, "oh, get it up," he sighed, rubbing her back and glaring daggers at Max, "get the fuck out of my sight."

"The hell I will," Max hissed, moving so he was on Soph's opposite side, "over my dead body I'm letting her go with you. You're a dick, no wonder your wife rather drive four hours to spend time with me than talk with you."

Luke's face blanched and Max knew he had struck a nerve, but by now his temper was getting the best out of him, tension he had held in for the longest time suddenly flooding his senses, "what? Can't handle the truth? And let's not mention how you needed to collapse like a fucking Victorian damsel to get Vince to move back here, you and I both know he was thriving in Doveport. You're sad."

A lie. A blatant one, but that didn't stop Luke from jerking away from Sophia as if he had been slapped.

Soph let out a whimper and Max wrapped her up in his arms, pulling her closer to him, taking her full weight. He should get her lying down in his car, explain to the Monacellis that he had taken her back to the Portland hotel the Wagner-Banks had booked for all guests.

"Vince doesn't like you, he pities you," Luke said, regaining his composure, "he sees you as a stray pet he found on the road with a limp and no amount of you wiggling your way into our lives is going to change that," then he reached with his outstretched hands, since Max was frozen on the stop, "c'mon, Soph, I'll help you get-"

"Nnnoo," Sophia slapped his hand away from her, clumsily, but frowning, "g'away from us."

Luke's face clouded, brows meeting, lips twisting down, "What? Soph, I just want to-"

With much effort, Sophia opened her eyes, blue and teary with pain, the migraine causing her speech to slur as she said, "go. Away," she shuffled closer to Max, sniffling pitifully and the fight that had depleted from him at Luke's hurtful words returned tenfold as Max understood Sophia was openly siding with him.

"C'mon," he took a step backwards, "let me drive you back to the hotel."

[bellysoupset]