lex1edream - Tumblr blog

lex1edream · 2 years ago

Text

I know, I know. It took 2 months to write the second drabble from the poll but...this is not even a drabble anymore. Instead, it's more of a collection of scenes mostly because if I do write how Orion found and began managing the band it would be an entire chapter. I will say that I condensed this due to that, but if I ever do write the whole thing it might look a *little* different. I had to cut corners and shorten scenes for the sake of length. Still, hope you like it! (This is 4, 363 words btw. what is wrong with me) I should probably find a more efficient way to share such long works but whatevs. As always, ignore any mistakes or typos or wordy sentences or sentences that probably make no sense upon reading it a second time. I don't edit drabbles and I always just publish the first drafts. haha.

“…Love me and hate me, I don’t mind as long as you take me—”

A low grumble rises in Orion’s throat when the song pauses, the car falling into an unfamiliar silence just as it slows in front of a red light. His large hands tighten their grip on the wheel, and his eyes glide to his co-worker, Marty, just as he’s pulling his hand away from the PAUSE button on the console.

“Is there a reason you’re touching my stuff?” Orion asks, his voice carrying its usual calm that holds a level of ice that has even his superiors shuddering when they think he’s not looking.

Marty licks his lips, his face twisting into its usual expression of guilt. Orion softens his face for his friend’s sake.

Orion Quinn knows the impact he has on people. The rumors that plague him have reached his ears on multiple occasions; he’s a shell of what he once was, never having gotten over the one who got away. He’s detached, the merciless worker that the boss goes to when he’s in need of someone who can do the firing.

He’s the one people are afraid of crossing or talking casually to in fear of letting something slip. People fear him more than they fear the execs.

It wasn’t always like this, sure. Once, Orion used to smile freely, used to talk openly and wear vulnerability like a favorite coat. But then the divorce happened and sides were taken. Suddenly, the armor he didn’t know he had was reinforced, dented and bruised from a battle he didn’t expect to fight, but reinforced nonetheless.

Never date your co-workers.

“The song is terrible, man.” Marty sighs, running a hand through his oily brown hair when he plops back in the seat. The same seat he pushed back at a 120-degree angle. Admittedly, it makes Orion’s nerves flare up. He says nothing; he has enough self-awareness to know that complaining about his seat is a bit too much, even for him. “I was doing both our ears a favor.”

The light changes and Orion absently drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives on ahead, eyes gliding outside to soak in the densely populated street underneath the rising sun. “Yeah.” The word comes out in a resigned breath. “I was hoping it’d get better.”

“We were on the bridge,” Marty throws back. “The only way it could get better is if it ended.” Orion’s lip twitches and of course, Marty can’t let it go. ”Oh! That was an almost-smile.” He leans forward to poke Orion’s rib.

Orion lets out a laugh before his face quickly drops.

Marty grins, plopping his elbow on the ledge of the car door. “All I’m saying is you’ve been listening to demos nonstop this whole month. Not once have I seen you even mildly excited for any of them.”

Orion grits his teeth. “I haven’t had anything substantial to show the team in ages. Our last artist pulled out on signing with us last minute. Our established artists aren’t selling as well anymore. The industry is getting oversaturated—“

“—and we need to be ahead of the curve. Yadda, yadda.” Marty rolls his eyes. “Do you ever just relax? Damn. That stick up your ass is ten-feet lon—“

Marty chokes on his words when Orion’s eyes cut to his. “Say anything else and I’m kicking you out of my car.”

Marty pouts but relents anyway, choosing to change the subject. “What about dating?”

Orion keeps his eyes on the road but quirks a brow. “What about it?”

“You know…” Marty starts, gesticulating vaguely as he searches for the right words. “Maybe putting yourself out there could help you relax. Or even inspire you—“

“No.”

“What? Okay, but—"

“Not interested.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to sa—“

“Don’t have to.”

Marty huffs and says nothing for a long moment. Neither of them rush to fill the silence; normal for Orion but unusual for his infinitely more talkative friend. It’s only when he pulls into Carolina Records’ parking lot that Marty speaks again and Orion realizes his silence was really just contemplation.

“I know the divorce was difficult,” he starts, delicate, “but—“

Orion’s jaw clenches.

“— that doesn’t mean you should give up.”

Orion sits there a moment, fingers clenching into fists. “It’s not giving up if I never tried in the first place.” He swings open the door and steps out, the car door slamming with a hint of finality.

. . .

Carolina Records boasts a twenty-floor skyscraper made up of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sleek, dark marble floor. Orion has been here since he graduated college; going from a measly intern to an A&R representative responsible for finding two of the most promising artists in the company.

That was a year ago. Since then, the well of new talent has dried up and Orion doesn’t know what to do.

Of course, he was offered higher positions, all of which he quickly denied. Orion always had a knack for numbers and trends, discovering what new genre is going to come to the forefront, seeing what kind of music the general public is listening to. Music: he understands it better than people. His understanding is almost clinical: while people listen to it for enjoyment, Orion seeks the patterns, the feelings that every beat and scale and vocal run they invoke. He takes it apart and puts it together like a surgeon does a patient. It just makes sense to him.

He could do so much more, he knows that, but none of that interests him.

The music—that’s what he likes.

Discovering new talent is what excites him. Which is why this odd dry spell has him walking with gritted teeth and tension between his shoulders-blades. He has to do something.

“Mr. Quinn.”

Orion nods at a woman who passes by the hallway, ignoring the way Marty does a whole spin when he tracks her retreating frame down the hall.

Another one. This time a man from the marketing department. “Good Morning, Mr. Quinn.”

“Morning.”

Marty scoffs when the man continues walking, not sparing him a glance.

“Am I chopped liver or something?” Marty complains.

“Mr. Quinn, hey!”

“Hi.” Orion nods his head once and presses the elevator button. When his eyes land on a frowning Marty he says, “You’re just not sociable.”

“Huh?!” Marty then lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sputter of a laugh. “And you are?”

Orion frowns. “Yes.”

Another laugh. “You’re smart, dude, you know it’s more because of that”— he gestures vaguely at him—“than your social skills.”

The elevator doors open with a cheerful bell and they step inside. “What?”

“You know.” Marty shrugs. “Your face. You look like you should be on a billboard advertising overpriced cologne with your shirt unbuttoned and your hand in your hair talking about your luxurious life or something.”

“That’s…specific.”

Marty shrugs. “I read a lot of GQ.”

Orion wrinkles his nose when they spin to face the doors. “While it is true I would be considered objectively handsome by societal standards—“

“Oh, fuck off.”

“—I don’t think that’s the case.” This time Orion lets out a small smile. “Or maybe it is?” He quirks a brow at his co-worker. “Should I send a gift basket to my parents? A ‘thank-you-for-the-superior-DNA gift?’”

Marty shakes his head. “You know, when you do try to be funny you still sound like an asshole.”

Orion hums, the joke tickling him enough for him to let out his first smile of the day.

The elevator doors sing their arrival and they bid farewell once they part to go to their respective offices. Orion strides to his corner office where another one of his co-workers, Kass, is standing with a box in her hands.

“This week’s demos.” Orion is just putting his arms out when she plops the boxes on them. “You should really stop requesting unsolicited demos. It’s such an outdated way of doing things.”

Orion ignores her and unlocks his office door, turning the knob and pushing it open with his hip. His office is barren but spacious, with high windows overlooking the city. Marty told him once that people would kill to have his office, but really it’s just like any other space. What’s an office without a productive person to work in it? Orion hasn’t done anything of meaning in weeks.

Sighing, he drops the box on the table unceremoniously, picking up the first CD on the top of the pile. GROUNDED IN REALITY reads the title, and it’s so apt that he almost chucks the CD in the trash on that very fact alone. Still, he’s nothing if not fair. Another sigh escapes him and he gets to listening.

. . .

Helpless.

That’s how he feels.

After hours of listening, the music has long since blurred together in a portrait of uninspired melodies and generic, radio-friendly lyrics. Nothing stood out, nothing made him want to dig into the song in search for more, nothing made him feel.

Is it me? Am I the problem?

Jaw clenched, Orion fishes out his phone, the usual flinch coming to him when he sees the background. He forgot to change it, and it’s always an (unwanted) surprise whenever he sees a picture of them together.

One year ago. The beach. Happy.

Shaking his head, he sends a quick text to his mother telling her that he’ll have to raincheck on their dinner. He still has half a box of songs left. Looks like he’ll be staying late.

“Yo, Orion!” A knock. “Let’s go! I want to driiink.”

Or not.

Marty strides in without waiting for an invitation, a grin on his face. “Tab is on me.”

“Do you ever work?” Orion asks, eyes half-lidded in equal parts annoyance and indifference.

His friend frowns. “This is work.”

“I don’t think getting drunk is in the job description.” Orion looks down, absently clicking on the button of his mouse in an effort to busy his hands.

“Wah, wah. Don’t be a fucking party pooper.”

“Too late.”

Marty shoots him a look. “A few artists are playing tonight. Call this recruitment.” He uses spirit fingers. “Maybe you’ll even loosen up for once.” When Orion looks at him, a brow raised, Marty drops his hands. “Yes, I do my job sometimes. Don’t look so surprised.”

“It’s not that,” Orion starts. He doesn’t immediately continue. Instead, they simply stare at each other. Marty wiggles his brows as Orion narrows his gaze. “When you say the tab is on you—“

Marty whips out a black card. “Company card, baby!”

Orion palms his face with a long groan as Marty begins to moonwalk across Orion’s office. “I was perfectly fine staying inside.” Even though he says this, a moment later he stands and grabs his trenchcoat from the back of the chair. “And you’re driving.”

“What!” Marty stomps his foot as he follows him out. “Nooooo.”

. . .

The bar sits in a livelier part of the city, a part that Orion doesn’t often find himself in. It’s less about the scene and more about the memories associated with every damn corner of this place. Orion can pluck a memory from his mind like a petal from a rose garden: the diner they went to and fought for fifteen minutes over who would get to pay the bill, the park they spent their lunches at.

The shop where he bought the ring.

“This place is golden,” Marty says, breaking Orion out of the string of memories he wishes he could erase forever, “it’s like a real gritty, underground hole-in-the-wall vibe.”

“Sounds like fun,” comes out of Orion in a dour tone that has Marty rolling his eyes.

They stride through the neon glow of the brick hall until it opens up to a dimly lit bar. The space is humble; the sparse crowd is compensated by the energy of the performers on the stage.

“Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn…?”

“Is the band really covering Fountains of Wayne?” Orion says through gritted teeth.

Marty bites his lower lip, his obvious attempt to stifle laughter only making Orion’s faux horror flare even more. “Maybe.” Marty spins around, shimmying his shoulder. “You don’t agree that Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Going on?” Marty then realizes something and laughs. “You know, I dated a Stacy once. Weirdly enough, her mom wasn’t that bad looking—“

Orion sighs and quickly moves to the bar. “I need a drink.”

Whatever hope Orion had of finding new talent is gone in the face of the line-up. It quickly becomes obvious that the performers are composed of people who aren’t taking the ‘gig’ seriously or patrons that are half-drunk and stumbling on the small stage.

Worse that the place is pathetically empty; it’s only them two and three other stragglers eating stale fries and bobbing their heads to the music, more out of obligatory politeness than anything else. Orion is suddenly regretting taking Marty up on his offer.

Orion drinks his lager through periodic gulps, his desire to forget this night growing with every person that performs. The memories of this area coupled with his lack of work lately make him dizzy. He wants to escape. Quit. Scream. All of it.

“Get me another,” Orion says, much to Marty’s delight.

More and more people perform until Orion has lost any focus on the stage. Instead, he entertains himself by watching the game on the TV, having long given up on finding any new promising talent in a place like this.

“Next up we have”—the bartender stops, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read something off an index card—“er, [band]. Yeah. Give them a round of applause.”

With how few people are in attendance, the applause is less applause and more awkward clapping that quickly dies after two.

The people on stage are younger. Immediately, Orion notices that they’re equipped with actual instruments instead of relying on the karaoke machine in the corner. A decisive point in their favor, he decides.

“You said this was a gig…” He hears one of them say to what appears to be the lead singer. The boy wears a red hat, as well as an assortment of chains on his neck. Three other band members set up their instruments, trying not to look too disappointed by the turnout. Still, even with the lager creating a slight fog in his head, Orion knows that look. The moment when hope dies, burning like a napkin to a flame.

“No,” the lead singer says pointedly as they adjust their mic, “I said this was a favor.” In that moment, the singer nods their head at the bartender, who shoots them an appreciative thumbs-up. “A paid favor.”

The boy shakes his head but snorts. “I guess.”

Once they’re set up, the singer looks ahead, gazing at the bar. Their eyes briefly settle on Orion as they gaze at the few faces in the room. “Hey!” they say, chirpy. “We’re [band]. Thanks for coming out!”

A chorus of muttering replies.

Marty taps on the bar. “Wanna head out?”

Orion, unable to look away, shakes his head. “No. I want to see this.”

The next few minutes feel like a dream. Orion is in a daze as the song plays, the beats piercing through him. The voice sends goosebumps up his arms, the instruments weave together in a perfect harmony that has Orion’s heart racing. When the song ends, it’s too soon. He wants it to keep going. He doesn’t want it to end.

He wants more.

“Thanks!” The singer says to a smattering of slightly enthusiastic applause. This is the most energy everyone has had all night. They turn, grab their things, and disappear through the curtain. Orion bursts up….

…spilling his drink on the table.

“Oh!” the bartender squeaks as Marty hisses.

“Aw, fuck.” Orion curses, and then flinches. “Sorry. Uh….sorry.” He doesn’t know what his apology is for. Dropping the drink, cussing, or speeding away before he could help clean it up in order to catch the band backstage?

“Hey!” Marty calls. “Where are you going?”

Orion ignores him. He has a one-track mind right now, one focused on finding the band that just made him feel like he hit the jackpot. This. This is what he’s been looking for.

The door swings open, and the band stop mid-conversation to look at Orion, who busted through the door without so much as a plan or script in place. Instead, he simply stands there.

“Uh.” One girl, flaunting bright blue hair, says. “Yeah?”

Orion reveals his card, feeling a bit like a robot. He moves on automatic, working through the many thoughts in his head to utter the rest of his words. “Do you have a manager?”

. . .

“You want to manage us?”

The din of the coffee shop sings with the sound of plates and aimless chatter. It’s been two days since he heard them perform back at the bar, and Orion has been running through his pitch the way one does before an interview. He’s never been this…nervous? Uncertain? In his life.

“Yes,” is Orion’s only response. He sits on one side of the table while the band sits on the other; an invisible wall between them. He can see it, their apprehension. He is not one of them.

Not yet, at least.

“Wait.” The boy Orion learned is named Rowan leans forward, fingers on the table. “How do we know this isn’t a scam?”

“I’m not asking for money. All I ask is for you to show up to play for my boss. That’s it.” Auditions are a lost art. Nowadays artists are recruited through viral internet songs and connections. Two things that always exhausted Orion. It hasn’t been just about the music in a long time.

Their eyes widen. They all exchange looks, equal parts excited and wary.

“Why?” [MC], who he learned is the sole singer of the band, asks.

Because you made me feel something. Because listening to you is the first time I felt human in a long time.

He imagines himself waving off those words like mist. “Because you’re the first band that has caught my attention. And it’s not easy to catch my attention.”

The band member named Iris snorts.

“I’m not trying to be arrogant,” he says blandly, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms over his chest. “It’s the truth.”

“Where do you work?” Another member, Devyn, asks.

“Carolina Records.”

Multiple pairs of eyes widen.

“Holy shit.” Jazzy laughs. “The Carolina Records?”

Orion nods, used to this kind of reaction. Starry-eyed artists are pretty much the same when it comes to Carolina. “Yes.” He leans forward, his heart racing. “Just one audition. That’s all I ask.”

He watches as they all exchange looks; a silent language only they share. After an agonizing moment, [MC] turns to him and nods. “When?”

. . . .

Orion has been pacing for the last half hour.

He stands outside Carolina’s humble theater space, chewing on his nails as he waits for his boss, Jacob Hill, and a smattering of other executives and shareholders that will be the final word in whether Orion can work with [band]. He hasn’t asked for something this big in so long that Jacob Hill immediately said yes, more out of excitement and surprise than anything else. Orion did produce two of their most profitable artists in the company.

The elevator doors open and Orion stops in place, head whipping up to see them walking through the hall in a wave of black suits and greased hair. Orion brushes down his shirt, trying to dampen his nerves. Jesus. Nerves? Get a grip, Orion.

He doesn’t know how to stand as he waits for them to approach. Hands in pockets? Arms crossed? Orion is so indecisive he just resorts to standing straight, arms at his sides.

“Mr. Hill.” Orion shakes his hand, clearing his throat. He makes his polite greetings to the rest of the team and says, “Thank you for making time for me.”

“Always, Orion.” Jacob slaps a large hand on his back. “You’re one of my best. You should ask me for favors more.”

Orion lets out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “Ah, you know. I like to—“

“—do things on your own,” Jacob finishes, a soft smile on his face. “I get it.”

He slowly looks up, meeting Jacob’s eyes. In them he can see the familiar pity he’s gotten since the divorce.

It’s Orion’s fault, really. If he didn’t isolate himself and turn into what he is now, people wouldn’t look at him and assume he’s broken inside.

Would they be wrong in their assumption, though? Am I broken inside?

“Shall we?” another executive says, and Orion bobs his head in a nod, pushing away the image of Jacob’s face.

Inside is a small theater, the stage just big enough for one artist. The seats are plush leather, the lights dim but blue. Jacob always likes the spectacle, and he catered this space to feel like a real performance for possible signees. Orion decides against sitting, too nervous to do anything but stand in the back, giving them the signal he taught them in his pep talk before they came.

[MC] nods. “Um. Hi. We’re [band]. I’m [MC] and this is Iris, Rowan, Devyn, and Jazzy. And um…this is [song].”

Orion flinches at the lackluster introduction. Doesn’t matter, he thinks, unfamiliarly optimistic, the music will do the talking.

And it does.

But not in the way he thought.

All throughout the song, Orion peeks at Jacob and his team. He wants to celebrate when he sees them bobbing their heads, wants to curse when they get on their phones. Orion has never worried this much in his whole career. He’s never wanted something so bad.

He’s never allowed himself to want. Not after the divorce.

He didn’t think he was deserving of getting what he wanted.

The song ends, and Orion lets out a breath. There’s muffled chatter between the men, and on stage the band crowd together, hopping in place as they let out their remaining nerves.

Jacob stands, the rest following. Orion speeds ahead, wanting to see the thoughts on his face. Instead, Jacob simply regards him with thin lips.

“They were…good,” Jacob whispers, putting a hand on Orion’s shoulder and guiding him out of the room and to the empty hall, “but I think we’re going to go in another direction.”

Orion’s positivity leaks out of him like an open faucet. “What.”

Jacob inhales through his nose. “Look, the singer is talented. They all are. I understand why you like them but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think the guys see it. And plus,” he shrugs, “they don’t have what we’re looking for.”

Orion’s brows furrow. His stomach drops in itself and his mouth dries. “They have another song. They could play it—“

“Orion.” Jacob gives him that pitying expression again. Fucking hell. He wants to smack that expression off his face. “I know you’ve been…off, since the divorce. You haven’t been on top of your game, and I’ve been giving you your space. It’s not easy, especially since you worked together—“

“I’m fine,” he says tightly.

“—but you can’t…fixate on something to get over it. You need to do it the healthy way. The old Orion would’ve brought me someone with pizzazz. With that unique Orion touch, you know?” Jacob pulls him close. Orion is reduced to a scolded child, unable to do anything but listen. “This isn’t the Orion I know. You usually bring me diamonds.”

“I—“ Orion swallows. “I’m trying.” And it’s the most honest thing he’s said in ages. He’s trying. And it’s not working. He’s been trying the day he signed that fucking divorce paper and signed the only life he’s known away.

“I know you are,” Jacob says, squeezing his shoulder. “Sometimes we miss, and that’s alright.”

The rest of the group filter out and both Jacob and Orion step back, trying to hide any sign of their tense conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Orion nods slowly, the lump in his throat growing as he feels multiple eyes on him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are downturned. He can hardly look at his boss.

He stands there, frozen, forced to listen to their careless chatter as they walk down the hall. The moment they stepped out of those doors, they forgot about the band. The same band that made him feel something, the first time since his divorce. The same band he can’t get out of his head. The same band that proved he is not broken. He can still feel.

And they don’t even fucking care.

“I quit,” Orion says, the words coming out of him before he could even think. Jacob and Co turn around, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Orion looks up, straightening, trying to look even an inch of the Old Him.

“What?” Jacob blurts.

“I quit.” Orion swallows. “I’ll formally hand in my resignation tomorrow.” He bows, trying to muster up the little respect and professionalism he has in him. “I’m sorry.”

“Orion—“

He spins around, walking back inside.

The band is still on stage, this time all packed up and ready to go. When the door closes, they all look up, their hopeful and wide eyes on Orion as he walks down to the stage.

He stops in front of it. He puts two palms on the stage, looking at the members of the band he will take to the top. He promised it to himself…two minutes ago.

“I’m going to ask again,” Orion says through his teeth, his heart racing with the adrenaline of his quitting. What the fuck is he doing? And why does it feel so good? “Do you still need a manager?”

When he looks up, the band stares at him in silence.

He witnesses [MC] look behind him at the door, where Jacob and his team left. As if realizing something, they look back down. “Yeah. You okay with another artist in your roster?”

“Yes.” Orion nods. He’s okay with it.

Because all he needs is one.

811 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 2 years ago

Note

Don't mind me, I'm just imagining my MC writing letters to her family to help deal with the grief. She also ended up befriending a murder of crows in her melancholy, so she kinda wanders around as an omen of death. Anyway, how are you doing?

Scenario Questions:

How would the ROs react to finding MC hiding from people during a party and crying alone? (in the crush stage?)

How would the ROs (and others) react to finding a box containing letters to MC's dead family? How would they react to finding letters addressed to them? confession letter that was hidden away because mc is too afraid to say anything?

Also, how would Helios feel if he ran into MC one morning (they have a relatively positive acquaintanceship) and MC says, "Good morning, Sunshine!" without thinking-- then becoming a flustered mess.

Thank you for this story. I quite like it so far. I don't like to admit it, but a big factor of why I like this game is the angst. I want soft and healthy relationships, but that will take quite some time to reach if at all. Anyways, thank you again. Take care <3

Hi, anon!

This is kind of funny because I wanted to start chapter 2 with journal pages so the player could pick choices to describe how the last few years were, I think I'll do it for chapter 3 so... 🫣

I'm doing okay, hope you're doing well!

I'll do the first prompt then slowly do the others (I am very slow...) 💗

Also, I'm certain most people who like my IF live for angst because that's honestly the main tag of this story, happiness is nonexistent.

Fadiya

Fadiya had been searching for MC for a while, growing increasingly worried as the party continued without them. When she finally found them, her heart ached at the sight of their tear-streaked face. She knew how crushing it could be to feel alone in a room full of people. Fadiya approached MC with a softness in her eyes, her words carefully chosen to offer comfort without pushing too much. As she sat beside MC, Fadiya couldn't help but feel protective of them, as though they were a small bird that needed shelter from the storm.

For as long as you need me, I will be here.

Helios

Helios kept a respectful distance, not wanting to intrude on their space, he knew he couldn’t erase their pain but he hoped to offer some solace.

Leaning against a nearby pillar, Helios observed MC silently, his heart aching at the sight of their tears. His hand twitched, an instinct to reach out and offer comfort, yet he hesitated. His mind was conflicted, torn between his desire to be there for them and the boundaries that he had established.

But even as the dichotomy of his feelings warred within him, he couldn’t stop himself from crossing the line.

Let me be selfish just once.

Hunter

Hunter had been making their rounds around the party when they caught sight of MC, huddled in a corner and crying silently.

They knew that they couldn't fix everything, but they were determined to at least make them smile. As Hunter approached MC, their charming smile was in full force. They knew that laughter was the best medicine, and Hunter was more than willing to be the court jester if it meant bringing a smile to MC's face.

It wouldn't solve everything, but seeing the smile on MC's face was worth more to Hunter than anything else.

Let me take your mind off your troubles, even if it is just for a moment.

Soarine

Soarine had been scanning the party when she noticed MC's absence. Her heart sank when she found them, hiding away and crying.

Without hesitation, Soarine approached MC, she had always been good at comforting others, and with MC, it came naturally.

With a gentle smile, she began speaking, her words flowing easily from her lips despite how. She didn't have any magic words to make the pain go away, but she hoped that her words could offer some sort of comfort.

You are not alone, I'm here for you.

Vincent

Vincent had always been the type to let his actions speak louder than words, and this situation was no different. As he approached MC, he could feel his heart racing with worry for them.

Though he was terrible at comforting others with words, Vincent knew that sometimes the best comfort was just being there, a solid presence for someone to lean on.

He didn't say anything, didn't try to offer empty platitudes or meaningless comfort. He simply stood beside MC, a wall of unwavering support, offering his silent presence as a reminder that they were not alone.

You can rely on me.

132 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 2 years ago

Note

Hey Coe, do you remember that ask a while back with the three scenarios? You answered the one about the ROs finding MC crying at a party, but what about the other two? I can't link the ask as anon, but I trust you know what I'm talking about?

I'm really curious about the other scenarios and I hope you can answer them soon. You don't have to, but I'd appreciate it ;-;

I do! I was in the process of writing it but now I'll speed through it since people are actually waiting for it 😭

This is the second one!

Fadiya

The weight of the emotions contained within the pages would make tears well up in her eyes. The weight of their pain would become her pain, and the significance of their grief would leave an indelible mark on her.

If she found a confession letter, the revelation would freeze her in surprise.

For a fleeting moment, Fadiya stands there, her usual chatter silenced, her vibrant spirit momentarily subdued.

Her heart pulsates with a tumultuous mix of excitement and uncertainty as if caught in the delicate balance between the anticipation of newfound affection and the hesitance of the unknown.

Helios

I think Helios wouldn't go through the box unless it was conveniently open for him to see. He values privacy and understands the importance of personal boundaries.

However, if the box happened to be open or left in plain sight, his eyes would be drawn to the letters, and against his better judgment, he would find himself skimming through them.

He would feel a lot of guilt as he reads them. Each sentence is like a dagger to his conscience, a reminder of the irreversible pain his father inflicted upon MC and their loved ones.

If he found a confession letter then I think he would mainly feel disbelief and confusion. Could he allow himself to embrace the possibility of something despite the past?

Hunter

As they read through the heartfelt letters addressed to MC's deceased family, a somber understanding settles in their eyes.

Their heart would skip a beat if they discover a letter addressed to them.

Time would feel like it momentarily slowed, the weight of realization settles upon them like a feather and a boulder all at once.

The revelation that MC harbors feelings for them stirs a tender warmth deep within Hunter's heart.

It is a warmth that seems to thaw the layers of caution and reserve that has been shielding their heart for a long time.

Soarine

Soarine notices the small things so her finding the box isn't too surprising.

Her gaze dances over the heartfelt words addressed to MC's deceased family, a fleeting glimpse of sympathy and understanding crossing her face.

If she found a letter that bears her name, she would be intrigued. Her eyes widen ever so subtly, a spark of surprise and curiosity igniting within. Soarine's fingers delicately trace the lines of the letter, her touch a gentle acknowledgment of the vulnerability it holds.

I think the letter would bring forth a mix of delight and excitement, as if a long-awaited treasure has been bestowed upon her.

Vincent

Somehow I think Vincent would know the existence of the box before seeing it. He's weirdly observant, okay? Just like Helios, I doubt he would go through the letters unless it was open in front of him. I think he wouldn't read the ones addressed to MC's family, understanding that those words were meant solely for them and their departed loved ones.

But then, his gaze would freeze upon a particular letter, one that carries his name. His usually guarded expression would soften, revealing a mix of astonishment, vulnerability, and a hint of fear.

I think he would laugh, not mockingly or dismissively, but with an overwhelming sense of disbelief at the confession written in the letter.

126 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 2 years ago

Note

Praying for your inbox. 41 and trying to hold Sebastian's hand?

gulps

Doubt.

You hate that word.

As a singer, you're not allowed to feel it. Doubt means messing up a line, going off-pitch, doubt means ruining everything you worked for.

Doubt means possibly embarrassing yourself in this parking lot.

Sebastian leans against the hood of his car, pale fingers curled around the steaming cup of coffee. Swirling neon lines from the DINER sign blurs in the puddle of water left behind from this morning's storm. It's night now, and if it weren't for the lights that illuminate the lot you wouldn't have been able to see Seb's face.

Which would've been so much better.

He stares into the diner, keeping an appraising eye on the customers inside. You noticed something about him recently; how alert he is. How aware he can be. His eye never remain in one place too long. You wonder if that's a product of being a parent. Even when Maya is safe in the hotel, Sebastian can't help but soak in the world as if waiting to be attacked.

You find it endearing most of the time. Now? You wish he would just look at you.

Look at me, you urge silently. Your eyes narrow just a bit, willing for some hypothetical latent mental telepathy to suddenly work. Don't you want to look at me?

He doesn't.

You stand next to him, your feet in front of you as you absently tap on your own drink. The air is musty, humid from the rain, and you two stand side by side, silent. His arm brushes yours on occasion, and when it does, you feel his eyes flicker to your face in your periphery. If you move your foot one inch to the left, your toes would be touching. If you inch closer, your hips.

So close, and yet.

"I like this," Sebastian says suddenly. You jolt, turning to him just as he hops on the hood of his car, legs dangling. "The silence that doesn't feel like silence.'

You quirk a small smile. After a moment of indecision, you pull yourself up by your hands to sit next to him. The whole left side of your body presses against his, but he doesn't seem to mind. Instead, his offers you a small, lazy smile.

"Silence that doesn't feel like silence?" you prompt, your breath growing a bit thin under his casual stare.

He shrugs, looking out into the empty street. "The world is never silent. You hear the wind, the cars. We're always so caught up in our lives...we never take a moment to soak in the small things. It's nice to just...be." He wrinkles his nose, the blush rising on his face so deep you can see it even against the harsh lights . "I'm sorry. That was cheesy-"

You shake your head fervently. Cheesy or not, you're willing to listen to anything Seb says if it means witnessing the sparkle he got in his eyes when he spoke. It's rare you see this Sebastian; the one who speaks freely, who offers lazy smiles like he has an endless amount of them, the one who just wants to sit next you in a diner parking lot that smells vaguely of cigars and exhaust. The one that says cheesy things without thinking because he's comfortable enough to.

"It wasn't cheesy at all," you say. "I like..." You swallow. "I like just...being with you."

There's a moment of non-reaction, and part of you fears you may have crossed a line. Then Seb smiles a little, keeping his eyes on the lights of the diner. "I like just being with you too. I..." He thinks for a moment. "I like who I am with you."

Your heart races. That familiar doubt rises again when your eyes settle on Sebastian's hand, which rests comfortable on the hood. When you look back up at him, you realize his chest has stopped moving, as if he's holding his breath.

Doubt. You shake it from your mind and slowly, very slowly, let your fingers creep to his until they settle on the back of his hand.

Seb stills and his eyes glance down. You begin to pull your hand away, feeling foolish and a bit pathetic.

"I'm sorry, that was... embarrassing-"

"No!" He grabs your hand in mid-air. His voice is quick and not to mention loud, so loud in the emptiness of the parking lot that he squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment. When he opens them again, he smiles. "Don't." His movements start off slow: one finger on another, one thumb grazing your knuckles, until he's turning your hand around to hold it completely. In a move that sends you yelping, he pulls you closer and your upper-body practically falls on his lap. "Don't apologize."

You huff a small laugh of your own and let your head rest against his chest. You don't even remember why you were questioning yourself so much. Now that you're here in Seb's arms, this is exactly where you should be.

376 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 2 years ago

Note

10 with orion? 👀

Next RO~ ( I'll do 1 for each RO + the poly and then do the rest :>)

10. "Please... what am I doing wrong?" "What aren't you doing wrong?!" (i changed it just a bit)

"Alright, alright. Stop."

The music cuts off. Your friends groan and you huff out a sigh.

You're going to kill someone.

This night has been the longest in recent memory. The moment you stepped into the studio, the universe has been determined to make nothing work. The sound was off, the vibes weren't meshing well, and the entire band seems to be on their last nerve. Even frustratingly neutral Orion has grown irritated. You can see it in his furrowed brows, the way his voice pitches whenever he notices something wrong.

You put your hands on your hips, trying to keep your voice even. Your patience has been fraying since the first complaint when Orion decided it was appropriate to comment on the fact that you came in wearing pajamas....to the studio. At three a.m. "What now?"

"It's not working." Orion huffs through the mic and runs a hand through his hair before waving you guys away. "Just go home. We'll pick this up tomorrow."

"Thank God," Rowan mumbles. He's practically speeding away, not bothering to say another word. Your bandmates follow suit, mumbling halfhearted farewells before filtering out of the studio.

Somehow the producer is gone too, leaving you and Orion alone. He grumbles something, pacing back and forth, as you open the door of the booth and step out back into reality.

Orion doesn't notice you--or doesn't care, most likely--and continues mumbling. Ah. He's in one of those moods. The one where he hates the world and takes it out on his work.

"It's not that serious." You shrug. "We'll get it eventually. We always do."

"This was a waste of time," Orion groans. "Two hours down the drain."

You step closer. "How was it a waste of time? Work was done-"

"Unproductive work," he grits out, facing you with brows knitted.

You stare at him a moment. His anger can't just be on the work, can it?

"Orion-"

He shakes his head. "Forget it. I need to clean this up." Turning around, you watch as Orion furiously picks up the papers on the table. He seems to be looking for something and he stops. "Did you bring the notes I told you to bring?"

You pause a moment. Then the realization hits you. Shit. "Ah...I forgot-"

"Wonderful," he mutters, shaking his head. "Juuust wonderful."

"Orion." You clench your jaw. "You don't need to be an ass."

"I'm not." He frowns. "Being upset at your mistakes isn't being an ass."

"Mistakes?" you guffaw. "Like plural?"

He makes a sound in his throat. "That's how language works. Yes."

"Don't get smart with me." Your voice rises. "What have I done wrong?"

"What have you not done wrong?!" he says with equal severity. He whirls around to face you, moving too quickly. His elbow hits a shelf with a row of vinyls, everything tumbling to the ground.

Silence.

And then-

"Shit."

Orion bends down to pick it up and you follow a moment later. You two don't say anything a moment before he says: "I'm sorry." His voice is quiet, unfamiliarly soft. "I didn't mean to yell."

"It's okay-"

"It's not okay." He shakes his head. "I've just been a mess lately. Nothing has been going right for me. But this? This is what I'm good at. Work is what I'm good at. And when I fail at work-"

"You think you fail at everything."

He says nothing, face darkening when he continues to pick up the records. "...Yeah."

You stare at him, dropping the records in your hand to touch his cheek. "You don't fail with me."

His eyes land on yours and he smiles a little, but it looks more like a wince. He turns his head to rest his cheek in your hand. "Give it a few days. You'll be sick of me in no time."

"Not likely." You smile.

Something dark crosses his eyes, and you watch the way his hesitant gaze lowers to your mouth. You clear your throat, and Orion leans in, lips parting. He's never tried to kiss you at work before-

"Hey, did you know there's a two for one deal at McDonalds-" The producer stops mid-entrance. You and Orion quickly move away, pretending to be busy with picking up the records. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," you and Orion say in unison.

Unfortunately.

447 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 2 years ago

Photo

saw all the oc edits for @infamous-if and wanted to join in the fun! featuring my mc’s band overclouded. I personally hc that Rowan drew the logo in like 5 minutes and the band decided to use it for shits and giggles and it just stuck, and that Orion hates it lol.

template by @9clouds

#infamous if #my edits #my designs #ill smooch you orion #just you wait #infamous oc #infamous art #infamous edit

6 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 3 years ago

Note

❝ i never realized how much i needed you until you were the only person who wasn't there. ❞ For the yearning prompt and Gabriel ♥

not proof read, we die men cowards here.

Your head is pounding, the pain so great it feels as if your brain is trying to escape the captivity of your skull, a side effect of the tumour, you remember your doctor telling you the headaches would only get worse. You just didn’t realise how much worse. The cold tiles of your bathroom floor pressing into your shoulders and lower back maybe aren’t helping the pain either but you can’t bring yourself to get up, to move, you’re struggling even to keep the thoughts churning. You think you might throw up and you audibly groan, loud enough for the sound to echo off the tiled walls and back down at you because despite being in the perfect place to do so, the toilet standing next to you is of little use to you if you can’t sit up.

Maybe you should call someone, it doesn't really matter who, anyone would do at this point, and you wonder briefly where your phone is only to groan again when you remember it’s sitting on the island counter in the kitchen. Just my luck, you think woefully to yourself. No one to hold you, no one to comfort you, to make you laugh - a lousy way to spend to your evening, aching and miserable on your bathroom floor, what in all honesty feels like your last night alive.

You try to think of something to motivate yourself off the floor, something Jordan might've said at a meeting to lift everyone's spirits but your mind refuses to cooperate. Truthfully you hadn't been to a meeting in a while, a few weeks at most, with all of your symptoms piling on top of each other you can barely pull yourself out of bed these days, so maybe that's why Jordan's sage wisdom seems so out of reach. Or it's just the memory loss hitting you like a goddamned truck.

But you know the missing piece you feel isn't because you miss attending the meetings but rather the emotion filled to the brim in your heart, the yearning clouding your chest and making it difficult to breathe, is because you miss just one person. You miss Gabriel, much to your surprise, though simultaneously not surprising at all. You'd gotten to know him intimately well over the past few weeks, sharing stories and facts and secrets, despite him not being at all social, you somehow managed to pull it out of him. You feel tethered to him in a way, as if you're two halves of the same whole, which seems cliché even as you think it but you know it's true. Gabriel understands you in a way no one else ever has. You suddenly wish you'd spent time with him outside of meetings, as you think about it now you don't why you haven't, maybe if you had, you wouldn't feel so alone.

Somewhere in the apartment, you hear the front door. Great, a burglar, you think. Of course this would happen to you on a day when you feel so sick and so awful you can't move, at this point you're struggling to even blink. Eyelids slipping shut, you sigh, the air heavy as it leaves your lungs. "I hope they kill me," you mutter miserably.

The front door is pulled shut, footsteps move around the apartment, slow and drawn out, walking through each room, time spent taking in your, admittedly, poor choice in decor. You just hope whatever going on out there is over soon, if you're going to spend your day wallowing on the bathroom floor, you'd like to do it in peace.

The footsteps enter your bedroom, pausing momentarily before heavy strides cross the room, coming to a stop at the bathroom door. This is it, you think just before the unexpected happens.

A knock rasps against the wood, a voice calls to you from the other side; in a shocking twist of fate, you realise both belong to Gabriel.

"MC?" He says softly, the deep baritone of his voice sending chills down your spine. "Are you in there?"

"Y-Yeah," you reply, forcing your eyes open, another groan leaving you as the pounding in your skull gets somehow even more excruciating.

"Are you okay? Can I come in?" If you weren't feeling so god awful, you might've swooned at the concern in his voice.

Wincing at the waves of agony that toll through your body at the slightest movement, you drag yourself up into a sitting position and drape yourself over the edge of the bathtub, out of breath and vision blurring slightly. "Come on in," you tell him, attempting to sound somewhat jovial, because you are happy to have him here, at your apartment, for whatever reason, but the weakness in your own voice betrays you.

No sooner had the words left your lips than he opened the door, his tall frame and broad shoulders taking up too much space in your all too small bathroom, his grey eyes big and sparkling when they fall on you, and you offer him your best smile - which also happens to be your weakest.

He stands there for a moment, looking lost, handsome face twisted in concern, before clearing his throat, already long exceeding his usual number of sentences a day. "Are you okay?" he asks again.

You'd have shaken your head if it didn't hurt so much. "No," you tell him and he pouts at you as if somehow feeling your pain. "What're you doing here?"

"You haven't been to any meetings," he says simply. "I was worried about you."

Despite how close you've become, you can't help but wonder why. Outside of the meetings, you don't talk, you don't hang out, and you don't even have his number saved in your phone. Which is a shame, you think, because as silent as he is, you could listen to him for hours on end and never get bored. For a man that never talks, he has a lot to say.

That still doesn't change the fact that he's here, in your apartment, towering above you and looking as if he wants to physically help you but can't figure out how. And so you ask him. "Why?"

Thick eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Because, MC," he starts, his voice thick with emotion that almost makes your heart break. "I never realised how much I needed you until you were the only person who wasn't there."

"Oh," you say softly and for a moment, you feel fine, there's no pounding in your head, no pain in every movement or thought, there's only you, Gabriel and that in itself is enough to cure you of anything. You offer him a small smile that he tentatively returns. "I need you too."

He doesn't look away from you as he sinks down onto the toilet lid, his smile melting away into something more concerned, his grey eyes taking in your crumpled form. "Do you need me to get anything for you?"

You try to think past your affection for the man sitting in front of you, past the gratitude for his presence swelling in your chest, but the exhaustion settling in your bones is enough to overshadow everything. Your eyelids feeling heavier by the second, you throw your arm out to him. "Help me stand? I just want to go to sleep."

He's nodding before you even finish your sentence, standing up himself and ignoring your hand as he reaches down to slide one arm beneath your legs and the other behind your back, picking you up and cradling you in his arms as if you weigh nothing. He carries you with ease to your bedroom and in no time, you're deposited back into the warm comfort of your bed, your eyes slipping shut as he pulls the covers over you. You feel him begin to pull away from you and you reach out blindly, clinging to his arm, desperate to not let him leave just yet.

"Will you stay?" You ask quietly, sleep beginning to take hold of you as you sink further into the sheets.

"Of course." You feel the mattress dip next to you before his strong arms are wrapping around you once more, pulling you into the warm expanse of his chest. He holds you close and tight, his lips brushing against your forehead before he speaks to you softly, his hands rubbing slow circles on your back as you begin to drift off. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

28 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 3 years ago

Note

👀👀 how would everybody in the crushing stage react if mc gave them a super thoughtful (and maybe romantic if you squint hehe) handmade gift like a scrapbook or painting or something? also how would andrei react? thank you! 💛

Since no explicit gender was established, I’m using gender neutral pronouns! I hope that’s okay!! ❤️

MC: “Here, I made this for you.”

Alex

Alex takes the gift reluctantly, unsure of how to react. “I feel like I haven’t been nice enough to warrant any kind of gift.” They look at you, quirking a small smile. “But I can’t say I dislike it. Now I have to think of something to give you.”

“You don’t have to—“

“If it means making you feel how I feel now, then yes, I do. I can’t let you one-up me.” Alex walks backwards, retreating to their room. The mischievous smile on their face is one you’ve seen often enough, but it holds a new sort of warmth that Alex has never shown you. They almost look…shy, but that can’t be, right? Alex doesn’t get shy—

Right?!

Perry

“Oh—“ Perry stares down at the gift, eyes wide. He takes it from your hand, his throat bobbing. “Thank you, this—is sweet.” He smiles a little, raising his hand to cover his mouth, almost as if he can’t suppress his happiness. “I don’t know what to say.”

His hazel eyes dim with an emotion you can’t place when he meets your eyes again. “I will treasure this. This is the best thing anyone has ever given me, thank you.”

Noah/Nora

N stares at the gift with wide, almost panicked eyes. “For me?”

You nod.

“But…why?” Seemingly realizing how that sounds, N shakes their head fervently. “Not that I don’t like it, I’m just—just surprised—ah, I don’t—“ N’s pale cheeks brighten into a flush so deep it reminds you vaguely of a tomato. “I don’t know what to say.”

You push the gift toward them and they take it cautiously, their lip twitching as if they’re hesitant to smile.

“Thanks.” N ducks their head, letting their hair fall in front of their face. It’s in that moment that N feels confident enough to smile. You suppose they thought you couldn’t see…

Dani

Dani looks down at the gift, staring at it. “What’s this?” It comes off almost suspiciously, but with a hint of nervousness that’s never been there before.

“For you,” you repeat, pushing the gift to their chest.

Dani swallows, grabbing the gift with delicate fingers. They let out a small exhale through parted lips. “For me? Why?”

You huff. Geez, can they just take the gift?

Fortunately, a second later they do.

“Thank you.” Dani shoots you a rare, reluctant smile. It brightens their whole face. “I’m grateful for it. I will get you something in return—“

“You don’t—“

“I want to,” Dani says, more firmly this time. They hold your gaze in a way that makes you warm.

Kade/Kiera

K’s brows shoot up in surprise, and they grab the gift. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not my birthday yet—“

“I know.”

“We’re not celebrating anything—“

“I know,” you echo. “I just wanted to.”

“You just wanted to…” K’s voice trails off. You catch them exhale slowly, before looking back at you with a smirk. “Is this your way of getting on my good side? Because…well, it’s working.” Their voice lowers into a mumble at the last word and they look up at you behind their lashes almost nervously.

Catching K off guard? It feels like a victory.

Finn/Fera

“For me!?” F takes the gift, their mouth shaped into a firm O of surprise. “Thank you!” F hurries to open it, and they laugh a little. “You should’ve told me, I would’ve gotten you something!”

F looks up at you, their toothy grin almost blinding. “I’m really happy.“ F looks back down at the gift, a secret smile on their face. “You make me happy, MC.”

Oof. Doesn’t F know not to say such things so casually?

Everett/Eva

E quirks a brow at the gift. “This is mine?”

You nod.

E laughs a little; a small, almost imperceptible huff of a breath. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“I just wanted to give it to you.”

E holds your gaze for a moment, their eyes darting around every inch of your face. You sense they’re searching for something, and it makes you fidget. “Careful, or I’d think you find me special, MC.” The teasing in their voice shifts into something else entirely: into something softer, heavier with meaning.

The cool expression on their face finally melts into a small smile. “Thank you.”

Andrei

The tears begin forming in his eyes, and he takes it with shaking hands. “F-for me?”

“Andrei, don’t make it a big deal—“

“THANK U SO MUCH I AM GOING TO FRAME THIS I WILL STARE AT IT EVERY MORNING.”

“Sigh.”

this was fun ahahahahhahaa 🫶

85 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 3 years ago

Note

How would Perry and E react to a MC in their early twenties being in love with them? How would they deal with the age gap, especially if they were on the younger side like 20?

GREATTT QUESTION because I’ve decided this will probably come up in-story (especially for E)

E’s arc has a lot to do with their job and what they do for work and how it impacts them personally, so dating someone younger would make them feel like they’re doing a disservice to MC by having MC focus on them. They’d think that they’re not worth MC’s affections or time. E especially doesn’t want to be the person who inadvertently breaks their heart by not being…around. One thing someone has to accept when they date E is that their job is their life. It’s who they are. They’ve lost friends and relationships due to how intertwined they are with their job. They’d fear MC is just the next in line, but they’d also understand: MC is young. E wouldn’t understand why MC would want to waste their time with a thirty-something who rarely ever has time to do anything.

Their thought process is basically, “you’re young, you can be with anyone, why me? Be with someone your age who can be there for you the way you deserve.”

This would apply to older MCs as well, but the worry of MC wasting their young years on E wouldn’t be there aha

A lot of it is E being miserable over having to choose between MC and their job lol

Perry: Perry would feel the same, but for reasons that lie more in the fact that he would question himself often lol. He’d think that he’s not actually as good as MC thinks, or that MC is just blinded by the circumstances. He’d think that serving as some sort of mentor for MC would confuse them into thinking that Perry is this amazing person and that eventually the other shoe would drop and MC would realize Perry is not all that cracked up to be. I can’t say much on Perry because it kind of falls into spoiler territory for their character arc but yeah

Perry’s arc digs deeper into the sense of “unworthiness” but we have to read and see!

thank you for the ask! 🫶

54 notes · View notes

lex1edream · 3 years ago

Text

✨Holiday Mistletoe 🎄✨

So, because of Discord discussions and popular demand, here is Watson under the mistletoe—

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

The trees outside were white from frost, and a thin layer of snow coated the sidewalks. Inside, you and company were warm and very content from heated drinks of spice and sugar and rum.

“What say you, Sherlock?” Watson spoke loudly over the rumble of merriment and chatter.

The fire hummed its soft sound.

“I say nothing until I know what I agree to, my good companion.” You were smiling from nothing. Contentment, perhaps.

May it last forever.

The bright-eyed doctor, without escaping your gaze, left their chair at the table and joined you at the chaise, and dipped their form to your ear. “I said—would you care to join me in grabbing the wine from the cellar?”

There was something in their tone. Unspoken words. You felt compelled to act as they asked, but just as much, you felt you might escape out of a window. Nervous, and you did not know—

“Why…?” you whispered.

“I wish for it to be you,” they said in yet another new tone.

You swallowed hard. Half excitement, half worry. “Yes. Yes, of course. Anything else would be nonsensical. Would it not?”

Watson did not reply with more than a smile. Always with the one that reaches the corner of their bright eyes.

————————————

The moments as you stepped down to the kitchen and through to the cellar were most ordinary. Filled with nothing but words of already-eaten food and newly uncovered pieces of gossip.

You had gleaned a mistletoe as you passed through the kitchen—and you had wondered who had put it there. Perhaps the young maid, the ever-romantic Anne?

Watson told you to wait by the cold threshold of the wine and cheese (and a few experiments). Perhaps because of the smell emitting from beyond the cellar. It was a stench of its very own. Something quite disgusting, intriguing, and with a hint of mould. And so, when your friend returned with two—then four bottles of wine, you weren’t thinking much beyond how that stench had tickled your senses so.

Mayhaps you would have noticed before it was too late—if that was truly a worry you held—that carrying the bottles and walking side by side in the narrowing space meant you almost crashed into one another through the doorway. The doorway, which, at the top of the frame, held a sprig of green with a bright red ribbon around it.

“Sherlock…”

“I swear I did not put it there, Watson.”

“I did not say you did—“

“Watson—you have to believe me.”

“I do—”

“Really, I would not do something so foolish as to—“

“Sherlock, I have to tell you that I—“

“It was probably Anne, she’s always doing silly things such as—“

“It was I,” the confession came out of their lips, and you replayed it over and over until you accepted the words but yet could not catch the meaning.

“You?”

“Foolishly. I thought—I thought wrong. You would not, with me. And so I think it best if—“

You wanted them to know they were wrong. Oh, so wrong. In haste, you wrapped an arm around Watson’s neck and pulled them in. A quick touch of lip upon lip as a lul filled the room. Followed by an echo that appeared in your ears as blood rushed there and everywhere. You cursed the shortness in length and in breath as the moment ended.

Much too soon.

—Pure cruelty—really, if it is like this, perhaps it should not have existed at all, for the promise was too sweet to be taken away now—

“… Sherlock…”

What have I done—

Before they manage to shake off their stunned expression and get their wits returned, you skip up the stairs and deliver the bottles of wine to a cheering crowd.

————————————

A few of the guests had left hours past, Adler had sworn they were not yet beginning, and Mrs Hudson was sleeping in the chaise lounge.

All was as it should be.

Except…

It was snowing again. And beginning with your fears of planting an unwelcome kiss—ending in your untimely escape—Watson and you had been avoiding each other the rest of the night.

And, again, you felt a need to correct the misunderstanding. But, this time, for reasons unknown to you, Watson was not there to ease your mind as they always did.

So when you saw them going outside in the cold with one of the bottles of wine, you followed. After a few minutes of summoning the courage. Wanting needing to end this confusion—

Once and for all—

Come what may.

————————————

You found them by the small tree behind the house. Wine neck in hand, lips to the lip.

“You might run hot, but is this not testing it to its limit?” You tried to make the sound light, but it came out quite as worried as you were. Besides, their lack of proper winter attire bothered you. They should know better.

“I needed the air. Besides.” With Watson’s back still to you, above them, the condensation of their hot breath disappeared. “You never wear the scarf nor the mittens.”

“…”

“Are you really bringing that up right now, Watson, you are ridic—”

“I need to tell you something, Sherlock.” There is one last swig, and then the empty bottle clinked as it was carefully placed by the tree. Like an offering. A prayer.

Watson’s shape turned, and you saw their ice-blue eyes framed by lashes like the tree’s frost-covered branches. You moved without thinking to be by their side, felt their cheek and the cold touch of it. They—in turn—placed their hand firmly on yours. Warm, despite the chill.

“I care for you. Madly, lovingly—romantically.”

“Watson… I…” The word felt trapped in your soul. You looked away, but now their hand guided you to meet the gaze yet again. Then the words spilt, “I care for you too.”

Watson had this uncanny ability to make you more unsteady and yet more steadied than any. Your legs were of jelly, and yet they held you in place with a soft touch.

“I—it’s a tradition,” you say, digging in your pocket and holding up the bundle of twigs from before. “Kissing under the mistletoe. Silly little habit, but… Perhaps worth another attempt?” you say, right as they kiss you. This time for longer. For what feels like an eternity. As the snow melts away, and the cold is nothing to their warmth.

---

Stitched to your heart, forever on your mind, ever by your side.

Always.

The detective and their doctor.

---

✨HAPPY HOLIDAYS!✨

Love you all ❤️

302 notes · View notes