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hollandorks · 6 days ago

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Guys it's time we had a Tenet & Neil renaissance. And then you should all read M's work. Because it's SO GOOD!!!!

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 12 - Green Park Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 11 Summary: As "The Nutcracker" premiere looms closer, you seek comfort in Neil and his presence. But support also comes from an unexpected place as you tighten new bonds and find friends in unlikely places. Warnings: Swearing, suggestive language, panic and angst. Basically the content of my brain daily. Author's Notes: Hello, I didn't think it would take much longer than it did last time (in bloody March), but here we are. But it's about the destination not the time it takes to make the journey? Right? Anyway, welcome to December in late June ✌️ and it's not the end of it, either. This is mostly Cupid panicking, Neil having to deal with a trio of (un)helpful muppets, all sprinkled with drizzle in London. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @cynem4, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added).

While utterly unremarkable and dull to the point of tears, you had to admit Skegness had a bright side to its seagull-infested promenade and Big Issue-littered streets. It was something you never expected to accept or even have to consider. But, as you left Neil’s apartment fourteen days later, for the second time that week, you had to speak it to existence. Or, well, think it to existence.

As it happened, mending a dysfunctional friendship with a highly passionate fuck after stargazing did work. It worked exceptionally well. So well that now, although every day bringing you closer to The Nutcracker premiere made you more stressed than the one before, you had an almost foolproof way of dealing with it. Every time your head got a little bit too loud, and you felt the anxiety escalate to the point of no return, you texted Neil. After that, things usually got a little bit hazy. But it was the kind of haziness that silenced the brain. And gave you earth-shattering orgasms. So – a win.

A win that you did not even dare question. Especially since Neil did not seem against the idea, willingly offering to ease the nerves and frequently mentioning just how vital your presence was to his sanity. If it worked two ways, who were you to argue with it? Right?

Still, sometimes, especially during those lonely walks home from his place when your brain was recovering from the pleasures and gaining even more audacity, you could not help but worry about it. About whether entangling Neil in something this superficial and entirely separate from romance was a good move. Whether you were not breaking the promise you had made to Wheeler. The concern only increased a day after yet another evening rendezvous, when upon entering the Jubilee line carriage at precisely 7:22 am, you were met with a question instead of your typical morning banter:

“Is it alright if the guys join me at the premiere this Saturday?” the nervous tinge in Neil’s voice made you pause, hovering on the edge of the seat with your hand tightly holding onto the railing. Before you could process what he was asking, Neil started to ramble, “They keep on pestering me about it, and I know you wouldn’t mind, but also, the premiere is a stressful night and-” with each word, he got more winded, until you pressed your hand against his mouth, shutting him up and forcing Neil to take a deep breath.

“Hold up, one second” meeting his slightly widened gaze, you took a moment to gather your wits after such an unexpected start of the day (all without a drop of caffeine, thank you very much), “John, Ives and Wheeler want to come with you to the opening night?” repeating the question to ensure you had understood him correctly, you felt that familiar anxiety creep back into your system.

As much as the concept of Neil’s friends willfully wanting to watch you perform filled you with a strange sense of pride, it also sounded terrifying. It combined perfectly with that unshakeable thought that you were about to fuck this up. Those two roles were never meant to be yours and the universe was about to correct the course without sparing your dignity.

“Yes. They suggested the idea, by the way. Lowkey pressured me into it if I’m honest” before you could retract your hand from his face, Neil grabbed it and pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles, instantly drawing out your blush.

With little affections like this daily, it was increasingly more difficult to stay nonchalant. It was as if, day by day, Neil was breaking through all your defences and softening the jagged edges of cynicism until all you could do was let him have at it. It was a dangerous strategy to take up, but you already knew you were fucked. So why not have something nice to remember later?

“Why?” but now key questions needed to be asked.

Your gaze searched his face for answers, hoping to gain at least some clarity on this confusing Wednesday morning. As though perfectly aware of your disorientation, Neil shot you a reassuring smile before replying:

“Because they want to see you in action, Cupid” the look in his eyes highlighted the unspoken message that if you were still not getting this or were eager to argue with it, then you were a little stupid. You were not sure whether you should dispute the allusion, “I guess either my descriptions aren’t good enough, or they are as down bad for you as I think” signing off the statement with a flirtatious wink, Neil finally pulled you down to take the plastic seat with one, smooth tug of hand wrapped around your wrist.

With a whoosh of breath forced out of your lungs by the unexpected movement, you collapsed into the seat and arched your eyebrow as a prelude to another pressing question:

“All of them?” because surely not.

“Yep,” shrugging in the face of your scepticism, Neil added, “And I can’t say I blame them” the mirth in his beautiful eyes briefly made you want to ignore the conversation in favour of kissing him senseless.

But some questions still needed to be answered. You steeled yourself against that flicker of anxiety in your chest and nodded:

“Okay,” it was as much an answer to Neil as it was a confirmation for yourself.

Except that he did not seem to get it.

“Okay, what?” with confusion clouding his features, Neil adorably frowned in the face of your resolve.

You could not stifle the grin that curled up the corners of your mouth. A match made in heaven. Leaning in closer to satisfy that integral itch to always get as near to him as possible (like last night, with Neil literally inside you), you clarified the cryptic answer:

“Okay, they can come with you” on its own accord, your brain chose that exact pause to calculate the number of days left (not enough) till the premiere, and you felt a shiver run down your spine from the anxious thoughts. It took no time at all for the fear to seep into your words, “I’ll manage that somehow. Just don’t expect a masterpiece. At least not from me” the dejected note rang flat as you attempted to cover it up with a smile that was much too bright and wide for it to look genuine. So much so that you quickly abandoned it for the sake of honesty Neil deserved, “I’m still roughly 70% sure I’ll fuck it up somehow” signing off the confession with a shrug, you reclined in the seat and forced your eyes to look away from him at least this once.

It seemed like distance was a tricky, nearly impossible thing these days. Something you had tried to implement but never managed to. It was as though as soon as you had fully allowed yourself to fall into him without holding back, you got addicted to his closeness. To the comfort Neil gave you no matter the situation.

And this time was not any different.

As though fully aware of the spike in nerves, you felt his heavy hand fall onto your knee, instantly muting the anxiety, even if only by a notch.

“You won’t” the conviction in his voice, although hardly believable to your sceptical brain, made you pause and turn to look at Neil again, “Do you need convincing?” that cheeky gleam in his eyes was all the sign you needed to know that is where the conversation would become even more fun.

So, desperate to stifle the fears, you allowed yourself to enjoy it.

“Sure do, but I can hardly have you getting me off in public” delivering the quip with a near-perfect smirk, you gave in to the pull of his orbit and whispered the addition into his ear, “I’m too young to be arrested,”

The instant gratification of Neil’s burst of laughter was worth every potential bit of embarrassment as you felt a few pairs of eyes settle on the two of you. Judging, undoubtedly. But then, admittedly, not everyone understood the need to laugh this boisterously at 7:30 am on a weekday morning. Or at least normal, boring people did not.

“You’re roughly underestimating my talent when it comes to distraction” once he had calmed, Neil delivered the line smoothly, his hand already caressing your knee in a way that never stopped being incredibly convincing.

So much so that you briefly debated whether being arrested for public indecency on the Tube would be as bad as it sounded. Whether it would not have been worth it. But this early, even horniness had its limits. Thank fuck.

“Am I?” forcing your brain onto less debauched tracks, you covered his hand still occupying your knee and squeezed it lightly.

Wordlessly thanking him for his presence and support. Sometimes, you were not quite sure how you had managed to deserve that. Someone like him.

“Yes, darling” the affection contained within the pet name drew out an unnecessary blush on your cheeks as Neil clocked your reaction with a telling grin. But before you could get embarrassed by something this sentimental, he jumped straight into the self-devised task, “Tell me about your costumes for Saturday. You’ve mentioned there’s been some changes to the Dew Drop Fairy one?” genuine interest in the topic lit up his eyes from within.

And just like that, inconveniently fast, your nerves had been pushed aside with a simple question. Before you realised what he had done, the answer was ready on your tongue, complete with gesticulation and details Neil probably never needed. But he received them anyway.

A few minutes later, when you had stepped off the train at Southwark, you realised that the stress was almost non-existent. Neil had done it. Easily.

***

Usually, the shooting range at the HQ was one of the few places where Neil felt like he could relax. Thoroughly get rid of the remaining anxiety and decompress after an assignment. But that did not apply to the greatest mystery of the universe, Cupid. And her… everything.

No, instead of the usual calm, there were jittery nerves and a shaking hand that quickly forced him to step aside from the targets. And straight into the watchful eyes of Wheeler. Damn it. Almost as if he was the one to step onto the stage in a day. Shaking his head slightly against the ridiculous thought, Neil backed away towards the benches occupying the opposite wall and sat down with a huff. But peace was not something he was allowed to have.

Completely unaware of the drama unfolding behind his back, Ives fired the last round from his current mag and took off the headphones with a completely innocent question on his tongue:

“So… should I get the tux ready for Saturday?” turning to Neil and Wheeler, he arched an eyebrow with a cheeky smirk at the ready.

And usually, Neil would have smiled too. But nothing about this was normal. Anxiety was still there, along with itching hands that wanted nothing more than to reach for the phone and check in with Cupid. Yes, he was very much aware of his pitifulness.

“I was about to ask that” before Neil could attempt an answer, Wheeler joined in the conversation with that dangerously curious glint in her eyes, “What did she say?” her knowing gaze ensured him that this conversation could quickly turn into another interrogation.

It was something Neil desperately wanted to avoid. And there was no time like the present to focus on what mattered.

“She said yes” meeting the watchful eyes of his companions, Neil paused to gather the needed words and added, “But she was also very confused about why you even want to come with me” shrugging to highlight the statement, Neil leaned back against the wall and trained his gaze on the ceiling.

This way, he was much less vulnerable to being read for filth. Which, frankly speaking, was the goal.

“Cute” that infuriating twitch in Ives’ smirk was not encouraging as the man disassembled the gun he had just been using and asked another question, “Did you explain that we’ve all fallen in love with your ballerina?”

There was way too much confidence in how the soldier spoke of Cupid. That, along with the off-hand suggestion that she could somehow belong to Neil (categorically untrue, no matter how he sometimes wished otherwise), which he knew the woman in question would despise, made him cringe. An involuntary wince passed through his face as he attempted to understand his confused thoughts. None of this made sense. Not the nerves, not the anxiety.

“Not quite like that, but I told Cupid it was your idea” trying to shake off the strange mood, Neil took a deep breath and straightened his legs in front of him.

For a second, he considered ditching this strange and uncomfortable conversation to go for a walk. Perhaps visit the sheep over at the Madchute Farm and reminisce that afternoon with Cupid.

“Fab. Can’t wait” despite the dry quip, Neil could detect a sense of excitement in Ives’ voice.

Somehow that image of the cocky soldier in the Royal Opera House made zero sense, yet at the same time, it made all the sense in the world.

“Is she nervous?” he could feel Wheeler’s unnervingly calm gaze settle on the side of his head as she asked the question.

The brief joy Neil felt as he detected genuine interest in the woman’s voice was something he did not wish to analyse. He supposed it was nice to know that Cupid was someone people cared for. Even if they barely knew her. But then, again, perhaps he was the best example of that.

“Extremely” it was not difficult to answer the question, having hours of conversations with panicked Cupid in the front of his mind. Well, conversations and other… things. Things with much less talking and much more moaning, “Somehow even more so than before the Don Quixote” pondering the concept, Neil allowed himself to delve into thoughts that Cupid rarely allowed. Namely, into the nature of her fears that she frequently would prefer to stay unnamed, “But maybe that’s because she’s got two crucial roles this time. Both leads,” never mind that Neil was more than convinced she would smash at both.

He was sure of it. And he had made it his mission to try to make her believe it, too. Somehow.

“I know fuck all about ballet and The Nutcracker. Should I prepare?” as though unaware of the last minute of the conversation happening in the room, Ives leapt forward with the ridiculous questions, holding all the innocence only a man of his posture and reputation could possess.

An unbidden smile bloomed on Neil’s lips as he did not stifle an eye roll accompanying an answer that held zero tolerance for foolery at present:

“Wikipedia will be fine, mate” throwing the off-hand answer, Neil turned back to Wheeler, for some reason much fonder of that discussion than whatever the fuck was it just then.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

“What about that Barbie movie? Is that good?” somehow even more clueless, Ives asked the question with an almost adorable seriousness.

Now, there was no way Neil could get rid of the laughter bubbling in his throat. He covered the giggle with his hands for the moment it took him to compose himself and then attempted to reign in the conversation:

“Ives, for god’s sake-” frustration bled into his voice, easily detected by Wheeler, and before Neil could say a word too much, she stopped his tirade with a hand on his shoulder and a resolute interjection.

“Barbie will be just what you need” only someone as versed in her character as Neil could detect the note of complacency in her voice as she kept the smile hidden behind the cool look. Before he could appreciate it more, Wheeler set her all-seeing gaze on his person. There was no need to see the future to know that it never promised anything good “How are things between you?”

As much as Neil was an idiot, tested and true, he knew Wheeler was not asking about his relationship with Ives or even the cute barista that sometimes served him in the café by Canary Wharf station. Unfortunately.

“It’s fine,” unwilling to delve into the details (and painfully aware he would be forced to do just that), Neil offered her a dismissive shrug.

At the same time, he tried his hardest to forget the inconvenient memories from two days before that contradicted his statement. Because everything about that Tuesday night was far from ‘fine’. It was mind-blowingly good. Unforgettable and life-changing, like every other moment with Cupid. So much so that Neil was slowly getting accustomed to the thought that once this thing with her ended (like it was destined to), he would probably never get laid again. There would be no point to it. No one could compare to her.

It was one of those thoughts that never failed to make his mood sour within seconds. It was also something Neil did not want to discuss under any circumstances. Unfortunately, Wheeler did not seem to get the memo.

“Just fine?” leaning closer, she prodded at the metaphorical wound with all the subtlety of an open-heart surgeon.

There was no stifling the uproar of annoyance in his system as Neil met her gaze with what he hoped was a menacing glare:

“We’re great. Is that what you’re asking? Or is this your cover attempt at trying to learn whether I’m sleeping with her?” the anger crept into his voice, entirely out of place yet still excusable.

If someone was to ask Neil, that is. And while anyone else could have taken offence to that answer, Wheeler only sharpened her knowing gaze and curled the corner of her mouth into a deadly smirk. Neil already knew he had fucked it up.

“Are you sleeping with her?” there was no judgment in her eyes as she calmly asked another question.

She most likely already knew the answer. For some unknown reason, Neil did not feel like lying this time.

“Yep. Turns out friends with benefits do have said benefits” his dry chuckle fell flat onto a barren ground as Wheeler’s face remained painfully impassive.

Neil did not know whether that was a good or a bad thing. It just was. And he always hated things that just were. How audacious of them to remain unlabelled and undetermined in the wild world of the unknown.

“Such as?” on another day, his friend’s relentlessness was something Neil would have applauded.

A trait worthy of an excellent agent and special forces soldier. But not like this.

Because he already knew where this was heading. What sort of observation Wheeler was about to make once the questioning was over. And he did not particularly like the idea of being confronted with it. Now that he had started talking and let the conversation get this far, there was no way out but through on the other side. So, Neil tried hard not to let the uncertainty show on his face as he attempted to offer a light-hearted response:

“Oh, you know, stress release, good sex, great conversations…” there, great job.

But before he could pat his own back for handling this like a champ, the third member of the discussion made his presence known with the most inconvenient question:

“Just good sex?” Ives’ ever-present satisfied smirk reappeared as the man flanked Neil on the other side of the bench and waggled his eyebrows.

Neil was enticingly close to committing a fratricide. He would not have to look for the weapon of choice with all the arsenal in the lockers around them. Such a perfect murder scene was hard to come by.

But before he could reach for one of the guns, Wheeler nudged him out of the way with her elbow as she measured Ives with a warning glare and a single word of caution:

“Ives,” the word bore no room for further misbehaviour lest there should be consequences. Neil knew that. As did Ives, “Neil, I hope you know what you’re doing” this warning was directed only at him and delivered in a softer tone, almost affectionate in a way familiar only to those who knew Wheeler well enough.

For Neil, it hit just as hard as she wanted it to. Without a doubt. It made his chest ache in a way he could not and would not want to understand. It was the perfect flame to feed the fire of his anxiety. But it was also something she was not allowed to know. Because it was the very thing she warned him about. And Neil did not listen.

As if he could’ve listened.

There was no room to explain, no point to even try. Instead, Neil pasted on a complacent smile that convinced no one yet hopefully still highlighted the message that this conversation was now over and replied to her concern with a lie he was illogically proud of:

“I do. I promise” before Wheeler would have the time to psychoanalyse him further, Neil patted her shoulder and stood up from the bench, immediately picking up the previously abandoned gun and putting on the ear protection.

It was a much safer option than thinking about the layers of lies he had just delivered to his friends. Or the reason why he felt compelled to do so.

***

Admittedly, the crash out happened approximately two hours later than you anticipated. You were surprisingly fine as you stepped into the Royal Opera House that late Friday morning. You were still fine as you had lunch with the other dancers and stepped onto the stage for the final rehearsal sans the costumes. But that is where the fine-ness ended.

The moment you pranced off the stage, soaked with sweat and a little unsteady on your feet after the exertion, a different feeling kicked in with a force that had you slumping onto the corridor floor. Before you knew what you were doing, your hands reached for your phone, fishing it out of the bag. In a blink, you had the conversation thread open and your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, you hesitated. The press night was not supposed to be such a big deal. The freakout was supposed to happen a day later, before the actual premiere.

Except that it didn’t.

It was happening right then with the pressure in your chest and shivers running down your spine. With the brain, that would not shut the fuck up and let you take a breath. No, this would not do. Before you could question the rightness of this and whether Neil had meant it when he said you could text him whenever, you typed out a message. A simple starter, conveying just enough information for him to grasp the state of your sanity. Or rather lack of it:

/ 🏹, 4:45 pm/ “I think I’m going to throw up.”

/ 🏹, 4:45 pm/ “Not to be graphic or anything.”

Only then you could rest your head against the cold wall behind you and close your eyes, awaiting the reply you knew was not far behind. Neil never left you hanging for too long. It was both a blessing and a curse. The reason why you owed him your sanity, but also why you were going insane in the first place.

Call it a vicious circle of Stockholm Syndrome. Or something along these lines.

Before you could allow the frenzy to take over your cognitive functions, the phone buzzed in your hand, lit up by the messages:

/✝️, 4:48 pm/ “I’m sure you won’t, darling.”

/✝️, 4:48 pm/ “How long until showtime?”

Neil’s voice of reason felt like a saving grace as you forced yourself to check the clock and ensure you had some time left to wallow before you were needed for the make-up and costumes. After all, the press night was even more important than the public premiere the next day. And no, it wasn’t because of the phantom of King Charles III hanging over your head from the Royal Box.

It was more the fear of the judgmental eyes of the British press, always willing to tear vulnerable subjects to shreds under a pretext. Or sometimes without it, too.

/ 🏹, 4:49 pm/ “Two and half hours.”

/ 🏹, 4:50 pm/ “I wish I could say that’s an eternity, but it’s not. It’s barely any time at all to freak out and die from falling off stage into the orchestra pit.”

And so, what if you needed to be dramatic for a second there? It was a fancy you sometimes allowed yourself to indulge in. Even if only for a moment. Even if only with Neil, the perfect listener.

/✝️, 4:51 pm/ “No dying on my watch. Please.”

/✝️, 4:51 pm/ “I know you’re terrified, but I also know that you’re fucking brilliant. You’re going to smash it. As always.”

Because no matter how dramatic you could have wished to be, he always had a way of countering it. A way of praising you, boosting that dwindling confidence and non-existent belief that you were capable of anything. Suddenly overcome with affection, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, willing that weak heart to stop being ridiculous.

Perhaps what you needed was a joke. A way of bringing this conversation back from tender tracks and onto life-saving banter.

/ 🏹, 4:52 pm/ “And when are you going to smash me?”

A simple question. Essential, too.

Because it had been three days, and you had already missed him. In every which way possible.

/✝️, 4:53 pm/ “Ideally tomorrow, if I can help it. Does that sound good, m’lady?”

Picturing the cheeky smirk Neil was undoubtedly sporting you allowed your grin to bloom on your face.

/ 🏹, 4:54 pm/ “I think so. If I survive.”

/ 🏹, 4:54 pm/ “How can you be so sure I’ll manage this? For some reason, this time, it’s all much more daunting.”

It was that same fear repeatedly haunting your mind all the time. Something you could not shake off, no matter the hours spent perfecting the variations. Because what if the success of Cupid was a one-off thing? What if you could never be that good again?

The potential answers to these questions were just as terrifying as the lack of them.

/✝️, 4:56 pm/ “I think you’re thinking too hard about it. Looking for reasons why you can’t repeat Don Quixote. But the thing is that you’re brilliant. I saw what you can do, and trust me, it’s nothing short of a masterpiece.”

This time, there was no stifling the wet sniffle that escaped your lips as your face crumbled into something resembling an endeared smile. That was entirely unnecessary. But also, it was everything you needed to hear.

As if on cue, you could feel the anxiety receding, one heart beat at a time. And it was all thanks to Neil. Were you fucked, or were you fucked? Question for the ages, assumedly. But instead of asking something like that, you chose to stick to the simple questions:

/ 🏹, 4:57 pm/ “Why are you so nice towards me?”

That was the question for the ages. Months long in the making. Because if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that nothing you ever did deserved such a level of praise. Except that Neil seemed to disagree.

/✝️, 4:57 pm/ “Because I like you, Cupid. And you’re the most fascinating person I know.”

Damn. There it was again, that compulsive desire to cry your eyes out from the overwhelming softness flooding your system. How very dare he? Your fingers moved over the keyboard with zeal and willed the impending tears to go the fuck away. You did not want to discuss that with the make-up artist in few minutes.

/ 🏹, 4:58 pm/ “You’re lucky I’m yet to get my make-up done.”

/✝️, 4:58 pm/ “Nah, it’s me, who’s lucky I know you. Now, go, listen to the playlist I made for you and come back to me after the show.”

You got as far as turning on the headphones to listen to his gift (impossibly well-matched to your energy, thank you very much) before another text lit up your screen. By now, you were not even ashamed of the speed at which you opened the new message. Or of the delicious shiver that ran down your spine as soon as you read what it said.

/✝️, 4:58 pm/ “And remember, tomorrow I’m going to be more than very nice towards you.”

Picturing Neil’s cheeky smile, you instantly started replying, conscious of the passing time and the things that still needed to be said. Things like these:

/ 🏹, 4:59 pm/ “If that’s a promise of more orgasms than the three I got on Tuesday, then sign me tf up.”

If only because, with Neil, you did not have to pretend. You did not have to hold back your words and blunt out the sharp edges of the risky jokes. With Neil, you could say things as they were. As you wanted them to be.

And each time, Neil would meet you word for word. Beat for a beat.

/✝️, 5:00 pm/ “I think we could go up to five.”

/ 🏹, 5:00 pm/ “Now that’s a challenge worth my time.”

And if you shuddered as you closed the messaging app and picked yourself up from the floor, then it was no one’s business but your own. Armed with waning yet present confidence and a promise of orgasms, you marched into the dressing room with a renewed hope of survival.

If only because Neil believed in you. No, it wasn’t something you were willing to dwell upon.

***

Just as much as you were not about to dwell on the fact that it took you less than a minute to call Neil once you had moved past the backstage doors of the Opera House. It was a reflex, like the relieved sigh you released once you had given the final bow before the audience and retreated behind the curtain.

The asphalt on Floral Street shone from the rainfall as you breathed the simple sentence as soon as you heard the line over your phone connect:

“I’ve survived,” it was all Neil needed to know.

It was also all you could express as you slowly gathered your thoughts with each step. Without meaning to, your brain had already decided that this was one of the post-show nights when you would take a longer route home. A walk to arrange the thoughts was all you sometimes needed to feel better and more capable of repeating the deal the next day.

“I’m happy to hear that. Did you conquer all the four realms?” unphased by your lack of a greeting, Neil asked the question with the sudden interest of someone who had just dropped whatever he was doing to pick up your call.

You could feel a grin creeping over your face as you noticed he had done research you never asked him to do. It was a simple thing, yet still, it mattered more than you were willing to understand.

“Not quite, but I did flower and snow them to death” stepping off the curb to avoid a puddle, you took a second to breathe in the smell of petrichor and pause, “I hope,” the addition came out almost unbidden, like the final surge of insecurity before it died. You squashed it immediately with another reflection, “No, it was… suspiciously alright,”

Because that was just the thing – everything went suspiciously fine. You tried not to look too closely at the potential of this being only an outlier. The only instance of things going suspiciously fine.

“Told you” as if being able to read your silence for what it carried, Neil interrupted the saplings of a spiral with a simple assurance.

Except it came a second too late.

“But! But it might be worse tomorrow?” the excuse sounded pathetic even to your tired brain.

But that did not matter to the part of your insecure consciousness begging for attention. No matter whether the arguments made any sense. They were just there, festering and multiplying until you did something about it.

The sigh you heard over the phone told you Neil was equally aware of the predicament. Yet, most surprisingly, he did not seem to mind it.

“No chance, darling” surprised by the pet name, you never quite got to apologise despite the words stuck on the tip of your tongue. Somehow, Neil seemed to know that as well, “Tomorrow, you’ll be even better. And I’ll be there to witness it” the genuine excitement in his voice did nothing to help you eradicate the grin on your face.

On the contrary – it widened; by now, probably making you look more like a deranged clown than anyone sane. Luckily, the streets of West End were still empty, with most theatregoers yet to stand up from the red velvet chairs and rush back into their ordinary lives.

“Don’t get too hyped. Just in case” the disclaimed needed to be voiced, so you gave in, using the pause to force the conversation onto less vulnerable tracks. At least for the moment, “I, however, am already getting excited about those five orgasms you promised,” and god, how you meant it.

More so than one should admit in a conversation over the phone in a public space. That much was certain. And yet.

“Great,” the pleased tone in his voice only added to the thrill. Partially because you knew Neil shared the enthusiasm. Partially because you knew he could fulfil the promise. And, understandably, was proud of it, “How about… six?” you could just about picture him innocently batting his eyelashes as though the suggestion was anything but outrageous.

Six sounded like something that could kill you. And as much as dying from too many orgasms would have made up an excellent obituary, you were rather keen on living. Just a little longer.

“Yeah, no” shutting the notion down with a dismissive laugh, you added, “And let’s stop there before we begin to sound like Bargain Hunt” as always, Neil’s responding laughter felt like a benediction. That thought softened your voice as you asked, “How’s your evening?”

Yes, it was partially a deflection. But it was also borne out of that insistent desire to know Neil, his thoughts and feelings at every moment. Every hour of every day. It was something you were yet to learn how to deny yourself.

“Uneventful, save for waiting for your call” Neil did not seem frazzled by the change of topic, instantly stroking your ego with the expertise of someone who knew exactly how to make you come back for more. Be it in bed or during an innocuous conversation, “And steaming the suit for tomorrow,” the addition was spoken with that same open invitation to ask for details.

Details you wanted to learn. How could you not?

“Same as the last one?” you did not need to add that you remembered that suit down to the button colours and the stitching.

“Nope…” Neil trailed off, somehow filling that one word with a promise.

“Should I start getting excited?” happily taking the bait, you slowed your steps as the lights of Leicester Square filled the horizon.

Even with the cold and rain, the spot was busy with strollers and a street singer crooning an Adele song. Using your free hand, you fished out a fiver from the wallet and dropped it in the collection basket by his feet. You flashed him a grin as the man bowed his head in gratitude. As though instantly blessed by the gods of good fortune, you glanced down in time to see a dog sniff your hand curiously. The tap of its wet nose only brightened your grin. It was a benediction in its purest form.

“You might,” Neil’s reply brought you back into the conversation just as he added a tint of wariness into his voice, “Also… there’s something I want to ask you,”

Pleasantly distracted by the existence of dogs, you never quite had the time to become nervous. Thankfully.

“Shoot, babes,” following a small group of students, you crossed Coventry Road and headed towards the Piccadilly Circus station.

“I’ve got this Christmas party thing coming up in two weeks… Would you like to come with me?” the tension in Neil’s voice occupied your attention so thoroughly that, at first, you did not understand what he had asked.

The words did not make much sense as you frowned, almost stopping in the middle of the pavement. Luckily, there was no one walking right behind you. Only then, after an embarrassingly long moment, your brain processed the question.

Except that it did not make anything clearer.

“Me?” the squeak you gave out would have been mortifying if you had the brain cells to care about such a thing.

The notion was outrageous. Incomprehensible. Because being friends (that occasionally fucked) did not usually equal becoming someone’s plus one at a work event. It was not something you ever expected to happen.

Or felt deserving of.

“Yes, of course, you, Cupid,” as though the inability to function like a human transferred from him to you, Neil appeared unphased once again, “It’ll be boring, but I’d rather not go alone, and maybe, this way, we can make it fun?” faltering at the idea, he let out a dry chuckle and quickly followed with a disclaimer, “Unlikely, but worth a go, I guess,”

Perhaps it was the extent of time that you knew him. Or the depth of the understanding you believed you possessed when it came to Neil. But there was no question regarding whether he meant what he said. The quiet vulnerability, hidden between the lines, told you it all. That this was not just an empty invite. It was something Neil wanted to happen. He wanted you there, alongside him. And that, despite sounding like a total bullshit, was not something you could ever deny him.

Breaking through the brain freeze, you forced yourself to cut short the suffering for Neil:

“I- Okay” clearing your throat, you ensured he understood your meaning, “Yes,” and then, even if only to step off the vulnerable note onto something much easier, you added, “We can always sneak off to shag in the closet” admittedly, it was a crude quip.

One that could have only been implied. But it did what you needed it to do. It made Neil laugh.

“And risk being shot?” his follow-up question was spoken with an almost perfect amount of seriousness.

So much so that you faltered, caught by surprise. It surely couldn’t be. Could it?

Without prior knowledge of exactly how non-governmental spying agencies operate (or, actually, governmental, too), you could not be sure.

“Really?” the uncertainty in your voice must have made quite the impact as you heard Neil giggle over the phone, the gleeful sound filling your soul with warmth.

You had no choice but to join with the laughter as you carefully descended to the station, mindful of the slippery stairs.

“I don’t know! I’ve never done that” by now, Neil’s laughter had dissolved into a hysterical fit, interrupting his attempt at a reply.

An intrusive thought, quick as lightning, suggested that he had probably never looked any more beautiful than he must have at that moment. Regret at not being able to see him filled your chest with an ache before you could stifle the ridiculous idea.

“There’s always a first time for everything” shrugging even though he could not see you, you passed through the ticketing gates and quickly located the right Bakerloo line track, “Or so they say,”

It was time to go home. Lest you were to commit any more mistakes and grave sins against the very rules of the universe.

***

Neil finished the flute of champagne in a single swig and deposited it on a tray carried by the passing waiter. He did his best to ignore the slightly concerned glance of Wheeler as his friend adjusted her Sunday best suit jacket. On its own accord, his gaze yet again drifted to Ives. The soldier bore a suspicious resemblance to the next James Bond incarnation. That is, if James Bond were from Hackney, had a shirt one size too small, and a worrying tendency to say the very first thing that came to mind. Even if the situation did not call for that sort of honesty.

Tonight, in the foyer of the Opera House, the James Bond look-alike fitted surprisingly well. If he did not open his mouth. However, it would be a lie to say that all Neil’s worries stemmed from his unusual company. Most of it, unfortunately, and unchangingly, was still entirely dependent on Cupid. And despite the success of the press night the evening before, Neil knew she was terrified. The five billion frenzied texts on his phone confirmed the theory.

Now, half an hour before the performance, she was no longer texting him. That, however, did nothing to ease his nerves. As demonstrated by his shaking hands and inability to stay sober for much longer. He could feel the pleasant buzz of the champagne travelling through his system as he had schooled his features into something resembling composure. The issue with tonight was that he was not alone. And there were places to be, people to coral into order. Unfortunately.

Taking a deep breath, Neil turned towards his companions with a near-blinding smile:

“So? How do you like it?” he was well aware that the trio before him would see through the bullshit in seconds.

But it was the only way of reining in his brain, of fooling it into thinking everything was fine. Luckily, for now, the scrutiny seemed to have been put on hold. Neil heard TP’s appreciative hum as the older man let his gaze roam over the high ceiling and décor of the space.

“That’s a damn pretty foyer, I can tell you that,” the man delivered his verdict with a smile on his face.

Despite the nerves, Neil could feel his grin creep out of its hiding as he rolled his eyes. Trust the idiots around him to always know what he needed.

“And that’s a damn good champagne” Ives raised his flute, clearly cherishing each drop as though it was the last time he would ever taste such a delicacy.

Although Neil had to give it to him – the drink was exceptionally good. Especially for champagne, and not prosecco, with its much more refined palate.

“How’s she?” it was not a surprise for Wheeler to be the one who did not beat around the bush and go straight for the kill.

And it was no surprise for Neil to freeze a little at the question. Supposedly, if he was that shitty at hiding his emotions, then he must have been in the wrong profession. Or something.

“Last time we talked, which was twenty minutes ago, she was terrified and rambling about ribbons” a nervous chuckle seemed too loud as Neil attempted to stifle the sound and add, “But by now, they’re all warming up in the wings so no more panicked texting” happy with how neutral it sounded, he has mentally patted his back and offered yet another touch insane grin.

“Lucky you” Ives’s quip did not go unnoticed as the man eyed Neil slyly, clearly checking whether the teasing would have the desired effect.

But no matter how Neil could try to remain nonchalant, no matter how he wished he could stay unbothered, outright lying was not a forte. Not in this context or with these people. Sadly.

“Well… no, not exactly” admitting to the truth already felt like a defeat. It was only worsened by the inquisitive looks trained on his face as Neil followed it with another confession, “I’d rather panic with her if I’m honest” the unease travelling through his body made Neil fidget.

His hands tried to loosen up the tie, which suddenly felt too tight. But when that move failed to achieve any relief, Neil decided to pick up yet another passed flute of champagne. The hasty sip felt like another act of submission.

“Damn… someone’s down bad” Ives’s cheeky repartee only made everything worse.

Neil could feel the furious blush bloom on his face as he finished the drink and turned away from his companions. Somehow, undoubtedly, he knew that the evening was going to be exhausting.

“Ives, have you downloaded TikTok by any chance?” Wheeler’s voice of stone-cold reason was the only thing that got through the panicked haze.

Despite the mess in his head, Neil laughed at the absurdity of the moment. He did not dare look at the people surrounding them and the opinions written out on the faces of strangers. Although, admittedly, the spectacle was worth the hype. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, the numbers on the clock face confirming that it was high time to go. Having pasted the grin back on his face, Neil waved away the comment with a sleight of hand:

“Anyway,” tilting his head towards the grand staircase leading to the auditorium “Shall we?”

It was the simplest gesture. A sign that the bullshit stage of the evening was now finished, and Neil would not be having any more of it. Following his cue, he started climbing up the stairs. But before his brain could be consumed by the multiplying worries, Neil felt TP’s shoulder brush against his as the older man asked:

“Are you alright? Genuinely?” the question was filled with so much seriousness that Neil knew there was no way out without answering it.

Although that was the last thing he wanted to do. What he needed was a distraction, not a reason for an introspection that would surely make him realise a thing or two that should stay in the shadows. But it was not meant to be. The dark gaze trained on him mercilessly confirmed that.

“I’m- Not sure,” settling on something in the middle without letting TP know the exact depths of his turmoil, Neil allowed the frown to make itself at home on his face, “It’s just that I like her. A lot” there was no need to specify what he meant.

As it seemed, every one of his three idiotic friends knew that already. It was yet another thing that sometimes filled him with shame. It was one thing to be aware of one’s failings but another to have those failings be evident to everybody else. Like a beacon of humiliation, signalling to everyone in the vicinity that this man here was a perfect object for taunting.

“And where’s the problem with that?” except that TP’s response did not seem to follow the well-thought-out script.

It fell way off. To the degree that Neil nearly stumbled over his feet as he reached the final step and had to take a half-second reprieve to gain back the necessary balance before he could hand in their tickets to the staff member.

Only when that was out of the way, and they were manoeuvring through the rows of red velvet chairs, Neil felt like he could attempt to answer.

“The problem is that liking her falls just a little too close to… other sentiments. Sentiments that I’m not supposed to feel” following the vague explanation with an even vaguer hand gesture, Neil shrugged dismissively, painfully aware of those watchful eyes, “But it’s fine. I’ll get over it soon enough” spotting their row, he turned away from his friend’s gaze to locate the seats.

If that also served to disguise a blatant lie, then it was his business only. Neil settled into the seat, only to find TP right next to him. Unsurprisingly, the older man was relentless in his questioning. And as much as it was an admirable trait for the leader of Tenet, it was much more of a pain in the ass when encountered on friendly ground. He was difficult to shake off.

“Are you sure?” TP leaned into his personal space, forcing Neil to meet his wise gaze and added, “Because I’m always up for a chat if you need it” he sealed the promise with a firm clasp over his shoulder.

Despite all his whining, Neil knew that, and the reminder made him smile while filling his chest with warmth. Because as much as all those questions and check-ins were pissing him off daily, it was good to know someone cared. That someone was there, should he ever want to talk about it.

“Much appreciated, mate” he made sure TP could see the gratitude in his eyes before he turned back to the stage, having quickly made sure Ives and Wheeler were accounted for, “Now… ready to be dazzled by the wonders of all Four Realms?” allowing the cheeky smile to make a comeback, Neil nudged his friend with his shoulder, fully aware of the excitement in his voice.

There was nothing to do about it. Being hyped beyond reason for seeing Cupid perform was ingrained in his soul at this stage. And, frankly, that was not something Neil ever wanted to change. Apparently, discovering an appreciation for ballet as an art form in the late twenties changed a man for good.

“I… think so?” the slight confusion in TP’s gaze only increased the buzz in Neil’s veins.

“You better be” for a second, he allowed that manic grin to take over as the lights began to dim.

And Neil was more than ready.

***

By the intermission, Neil knew neither of them was ready for it. As soon as the red curtain had fallen over the stage, undoubtedly marking time for the efficient change in scenography behind the scenes, he had forced his jaw to slam shut after having it open in awe for the past 7 minutes. After a beat, which was necessary to ensure he had gathered his wits and was no longer looking like the besotted idiot he was, Neil chanced a look at his companions. There was no question whether the ballet engaged them. He ensured as much with the few sneaky glances he had stolen throughout the first act. But now, when the first audience members were getting up en masse and pushing their way towards the toilets and the bar, his trio of muppets was not moving. No, they seemed just as frozen as Neil had been mere moments before. Their eyes still trained on the stage, now hidden from view by the grand, monogrammed curtain. Despite himself, Neil could feel his manic grin rise to the surface as he assessed the scene. It was good. Better than he had expected.

“So?” chancing a question to break the stasis of the moment, he leaned forward in the seat, ensuring they would notice him.

As though his voice was the ultimate wake-up call, all three pairs of eyes snapped to him with varying speeds of reaction. Wheeler was the first, unsurprisingly. She schooled her features into something Neil had not seen too often – a pleased smile tinted just a little bit with curiosity.

“She’s incredible” meeting his gaze, Wheeler offered him a simple nod.

A seal of approval. It was her way of showing that she now knew what he meant. That she was seeing what Neil had noticed that very first time he was blessed with the sight of Cupid on the stage. And it meant more than Neil felt capable of expressing. Choosing to stay silent, he returned the warm grin, fully aware of the shameless adoration in his eyes. For once, he did not mind being seen like that.

“They all are,” Ives’ comment broke through the sweetness of the moment with directedness only he was capable of (affectionately). He quickly followed it with a question, “Can Cupid give me Clara’s number by chance?” the sly smirk made Neil roll his eyes before he could find the answer.

Luckily (for Neil), that one question had a straightforward answer.

“I can ask, but as far as I remember, Clara, or rather Natalia, is a lesbian,” flashing Ives an apologetic grin, Neil shrugged to highlight the fact that he was not remotely sorry about destroying that dream so soon.

Natalia was better off without an Oxfam version of James Bond. Even if she was into men. Which she wasn’t.

“Tough luck, Romeo,” chuckling, TP accompanied the sentiment with a firm shoulder squeeze before he got up from the seat and started following the crowds outside the auditorium.

Before Neil could think of following him, suddenly reminded about that pressing need to visit the toilet before the second act, Wheeler stood up from her seat and tapped Neil on the shoulder to gain his attention:

“Then I’ll ask for that number” her predatory smirk only sharpened as she pointedly glanced at Ives.

Neil had to give it to her. That was an excellent move. Giggling like a maniac, he watched as Ives sputtered, shocked and offended.

“You wouldn’t” his voice was unusually high and filled with indignation.

Which only made Neil laugh harder as Wheeler pushed past Ives with his slack-jawed glare and pulled at his tie, skewing it in the process.

“I absolutely would” shrugging, she winked at Neil and disappeared down the aisle towards the hallway.

Neil could only offer Ives an apologetic smile as he finally stood up from the seat and rushed down the corridor.

***

Executing all his persuasive qualities to ensure the muppets did not barge into the ballet dressing rooms (despite the permission from Cupid for them to do just that) felt like a victory on a small scale. But it was only a victory Neil was able to celebrate once he had corralled the group into the hallway leading backstage and sent Cupid a text to ensure that 1) they were waiting for her and 2) she was the best thing they’d ever seen. On stage and in general. Imagining her face upon seeing that text was enough to make Neil smile.

Now that at least a quarter of an hour had passed since the final bows and his hands were no longer aching from the applause, he was finally beginning to process it all. Or, to be precise, he was able to process the fact that he could not process how outstanding Cupid was at every role she picked up. She seemed to own the variations, adding her flourishes to the pieces despite their historical legacy. Even with his non-existent experience, Neil could tell how significant that was. And how talented she was to make everything seem effortless when it was anything but.

Leaning on the stone wall, Neil let out a quiet sigh. One that was not meant to be noticed, yet still there to express even a quarter of his feelings. Feelings that should not even be present if he was honest with himself. (Which rarely happened these days). (Yes, he knew just how unhealthy that was). But before the spiral of the day (or the hour, rather) could begin, he heard the heavy door creak on the hinges, followed by multiple footsteps and a crowd of voices. One by one, the footsteps seemed to separate, leaving just a pair of heels softly clicking in their direction. He did not need to see her to know it was Cupid.

He heard the commotion around him as his companions roused from their brief stasis. Taking a deep breath to ground himself against all the inconvenient thoughts that were bound to be unleashed any moment now, Neil finally raised his head. As if by fate, she was the first thing he saw as he allowed his gaze to leisurely sweep over her body. Eyeing the simple, black heels and the elegant black dress fitted to her form like a second skin, Neil could already feel his control slipping. And that was before he met her gaze, sparkling with something knowing and mischievous. Something that told him Cupid knew what she was doing to him. Something that told him this night was yet to turn into something more unforgettable. Later, that is.

“Lady of the hour,” TP’s voice was the one to break the silence as the man opened his arms before Cupid and bowed his head in a simple gesture of awe and respect, “You were brilliant,” as he flashed her his most charming grin, Cupid blushed.

Just slightly. Just enough that Neil would notice. But then, he noticed almost everything there was to notice about her.

“Thank you” the tint of shyness at the compliment made her look down for a beat before she spotted the large bouquet of yellow roses held by Wheeler. It was a whip-round, collective purchase that Neil agreed to. The colour would not be his first choice. Though, perhaps, it should have been “Are these for me?” her smile flickered, now evidently moved, although she would do anything but admit that.

“Obviously,” Wheeler did not waste another moment to hand her the bouquet with her version of an admiring smile.

A rare thing, if you asked Neil. Suddenly unable to find his voice, he could only hope that the look in his eyes, still staring at Cupid, told her as much.

“So… what did you think?” the hint of uncertainty in her voice felt wrong as he watched her drop her gaze to the marble floors and shift slightly.

He could feel the stirrings of a protest lodging themselves deep inside his chest. Aching to be freed any moment now. Except that the strange hesitation seemed to be stronger, rendering him mute for another beat. Neil did not understand it and could not explain it if asked. It was as though now, finally before her, his brain could not form words or even sounds, too occupied with staring and processing details of her performance. And the worst part of it all was that Neil knew his silence was noticed. He could feel it in Cupid’s curious gaze as she glanced at him for a second before drifting away again. As though scared of what she might find in his dazed eyes.

“Way better than Barbie”, Ives’ reply broke through the strange stagnation with its usual fervour.

Its force made Neil choke on a surprised laughter. It was the last sound he had expected to make.

“That’s… a first, but thank you, Ives” the puzzlement on Cupid’s face slowly faded as she allowed her gaze to wander back to Neil, almost shyly. Yet the knowing look in her eyes told him that she saw him. As always, “Hello, sunshine. You’re being very quiet. Should I worry?” playing it coy, she took another step forward, using the natural parting between the rest of the gathering.

Neil could feel his colleagues’ eyes on them, curious and assessing. Undoubtedly wondering what they were about to witness. Not that he knew the answer to that one.

“He’s been like this since the final bow,” ever unhelpfully, Ives inserted the comment into the loud moment of silence without subtlety.

If Neil felt capable of looking away from Cupid, he would have shot the man a murderous glare. Not that he was wrong. He wasn’t. But it was not something Cupid needed to know. It was not essential to her wellbeing. And, frankly, it was only harmful to his state of sanity. Just short of shaking his head like a rabid dog to finally find his voice, Neil took a deep breath before responding:

“I’m just processing. You were incredible, by the way. As always,” he could not do anything about the way his voice softened the moment he addressed her. Or about the fact that he took an unconscious step forward, needing to create even an illusion of closeness with her despite the audience “Like I knew you would be,” but there was no second guessing what he needed to tell her.

That was obvious the moment she stepped onto the stage during Act One, dressed in white silks and tulles, sparkling under the warm lights. Catastrophically beautiful, if you asked Neil.

“Yeah?” now, Cupid only bated her eyelashes, clearly trying to appear unmoved by his praise.

But that was a pointless endeavour, for he could see right through the coquettish attitude and false certainty. Underneath them, he could see the way her breath hitched and how she squeezed the stems of the bouquet a little tighter. The urge to sweep her into his arms in a bone-crushing hug increased exponentially.

“Yes” instead, he ensured to keep looking into her eyes as he strengthened the praise with more truths “I know you won’t believe me, but you’re special. When I watch you dance, the time seems to stop. And I know a thing or two about time. Trust me, it never does that” it seemed that once he had found his voice, Neil knew exactly what to say and how to make an impact, for the moment he delivered the compliments with stark honesty, Cupid’s eyes shimmered.

They rarely did that. And Neil knew a thing or two about her eyes thanks to his studious nature (and the pathetic crush of gargantuan proportions).

She caught herself with a quiet hitch in her breathing, seemingly trying her hardest not to let the tears spill down her cheeks. But Neil saw that, too. He took another step forward, now having completely forgotten about their company and their irrelevant thoughts.

“I don’t- Thank you,” faltering, Cupid settled on the simple expression of gratitude that was still more than Neil needed her to say. Simple silence would have been enough. But as soon as she spoke, the two words seemed to be exactly what his brain had been looking for as before she could utter the addition, Neil took the final steps to envelop her in his arms, “I mean it,” her words landed somewhere squarely against his chest as she reciprocated the hug with a couple of seconds of delay.

Cupid encircled his waist with her arms, pressing her palms against his back underneath the open suit jacket. She sighed as she sunk into his embrace, clearly appreciating the gentle touch of his hands as they rubbed a soothing path up and down her spine. A squeeze confirmed the suspicions as Neil smiled, nuzzling the top of her head with unhidden affection. Even if only just this once, it was allowed.

Until their bubble was pierced by a single, infuriating question:

“Are we interrupting?” Neil could hear the smirk in Ives’ voice, and it only made him roll his eyes as he forced himself to let Cupid go.

The only consolation, one that he could see reflected in her eyes, was that he knew he was not letting go of her for long. They had plans. Long-standing plans that focused on the number five and his very appreciated ability to take her apart. Over and over again. Those plans were suddenly all Neil could think of when Cupid stepped away from him with an embarrassed chuckle and responded:

“No, no, back to regular programming now. Anyone up for a pub?” her eyes were still shining as she glanced at him again, almost as if checking they were on the same page.

Neil could only chance a covert touch as his hand brushed against hers in a simple promise of fun later.

She grinned, bright and cheeky. That previous uncertainty in his chest was nowhere to be found.

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