#C'MON PATRICK HE TAKING A FEW STEPS FORWARD HERE

[ofgentleresolve]

@jeoseungsaja​​ sent:

"It's you, isn't it."  At this point, it's no longer surprising to catch a shadow plastered on the dilapidated wall. At this point, he can recognize said shadow; take note of the outline of unmistakable hat. There's a long pause after something that might sound like a revelation; his back facing the vigilante as fingers carefully graze long leafs of Lily of the Valley. A little, saddened smile tugs at his lips, before letting out an elongated sigh. "The one who puts water in this plant once in a while." Touch releases itself from the damp green, turning about so he can address the Black Knight.

He doesn't understand. Doesn't understand why the masked vigilante does these things: comes around whenever he pleases, for as long as the door remains with that shabby lock (a lock Hyuk himself hasn't even changed due to a million penurious excuses; it almost feels like the detective welcomes him through actions, even if his stubborn words might say otherwise) and, on top of that, is observant enough to tell when this plant needs water.

Hyuk knows Nakamura uses the watering can to give the Lily of the Valley much needed showers whenever he forgets to do so, but it's almost impossible for the plant to remain this damp after hours of its last round of water. Plus, he doesn't think it's a coincidence that the leaves have fresh droplets of liquid on occasions he's found the Black Knight inside his office. Truly? He could question him about it, be relentless and ask why he's doing this, why does he even care; continue with worded brawls until one of them lurches forward.

But he doesn't. Instead, he looks down, pretends that he's busying himself with something else as he walks to his desk and takes a paper crane that wasn't there earlier. Suki must've folded some papers around here. Again. He's too tired to mind tonight.

"Thank you." He finally says, in the shape of a whisper more than anything else. "That plant...the--flower---" What is he doing? Is he about to tell him what it symbolizes? God, he must be losing his mind now. Head lifts, looking at the Black Knight and those eyes that unnerve him.

 A hand waves in dismissal.  He can't. He'll be too vulnerable.

 "Nothing. Just...thank you."

(IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT KASHDIUWEDH PLS TAKE IT, I HOPE IT'S OKAY; AS ALWAYS PLS FEEL FREE TO DISMISS IF YOU'D LIKE, HAVE A FANTASTIC DAY FERRE C:!!!) || flowers!! + pain ( unprompted. )

For once, he does not flinch when the detective calls to him. How strange it has become, this ritual between the two of them to convene in Hyuk’s rundown office when the city trades its certainty for the illusion of peace. They both know better; a single lock, even one sturdier than the one Hyuk still has not replaced ( perhaps Patrick should nag him on it although most things roll off his dear friend’s back like water, irritants included. Inspector Im would know; Miss Nakamura would too ) doesn’t guarantee any safety. The best mechanism against danger is AWARENESS.

And yet, here the Black Knight is again, slipping through a window into the office awaiting one exhausted, bitter detective who has lost the plot according to his former co-workers, maybe even the public in general. He winces, a twinge of pain shooting up from his back, where the sutures he received the last time they spoke haven’t quite dissolved, the thread, pulling the skin there taut.

And yet, the Black Knight knows this tenderness isn’t only a physical sensation. Sometimes when he looks at his dear friend, it makes Patrick ache. The source of the pain is never clear in those instances and while he can pinpoint his back as one of the sources this time around, the whole picture remains blurry. The line between tangible and intangible blurs.

Sometimes, Hyuk reminds Patrick of an old wound, crusted from the passage of time. And yet still raw even after all these years: the way phantom limbs will ache even when the said ligament has been severed years ago.

Patrick remains leaning against the wall, the shadows obscuring half of his face, where his hat will not. His gloves are slightly damp from handling the watering can. If Hyuk were to check, there would be reminiscences of warmth wrapped around the handle in turn. The soil seemed on the dry side when he had slipped in through the window. Winters are never kind of flowers such as these. Patrick follows Hyuk’s gaze.

He hadn’t noticed it the first time around, that pot of flowers. He had been too busy, too focused on taking that USB Drive to pinpoint the source of that scent in the office. But it made sense the second time around, that coy scent of spring, lemons, and REBIRTH. A fragrance brave enough to make its presence known, but humble enough to avoid saccharinity. Coy, but not cloying. It settles over the office the same way the grief has settled over Hyuk in a heavy coat.

The Black Knight should be practical. He should tell Hyuk to get rid of that pot- doesn’t he realize it gives him away? Not everyone smells like a lily of the valley, this mute flower that not even the deftest of perfumiers can replicate. To keep such a plant in the vicinity will only invite more danger to Hyuk. And his colleagues.

And yet.

And yet.

“If you’re going to take care of it, do it right, or don’t try at all,” he says, half-heartedly. Perhaps in their earlier days, there would be more bite behind those words. And besides, Hyuk would most likely know better than anyone else how difficult it is to protect someone.

The flower jostles gently under Hyuk’s coaxing. The buddings rustle the way bells might and for once, he imagines something pleasant to accompany it- something like her laughter. Or maybe Hyuk thinks of him. Not the Black Knight, but of a Patrick Grace long since buried.

Patrick hasn’t seen one in years; his favorite flower- a native wildflower to the English countryside that signal the start of spring, a symbol of starting anew. And yet there is one more reason, in a box of memories he stashed away, he can recall for adoring this meek blossom-

“…Do you know you what it’s supposed to represent?” He pushes off the wall and approaches the pot as Hyuk takes his usual seat at his desk. A light scent washes over the smell of smoke and burning for the briefest of moments as his thumb grazes the top of a leaf. “The coming of spring. Humility. Purity of heart. A return to happiness.”

In other words, starting over. Coming to terms after mourning.

Moving on.

( That’s not something Patrick deserves, but he knew that when he put the mask on. The greatest mercy he can ask for is sweet oblivion in the end. )

Hyuk gives something akin to a smile and something in Patrick clenches. ( If it feels something like guilt or regret even, he won’t acknowledge it. ) He lets his hand drop and turns away from his beloved friend, sharply.

“You should take a lesson from it.”

[whumpiary]

future disaster lads fluff. way way in the future.

-

"Watcha doin?"

"Making bread.”

"Why?"

"I have an order to fill.”

"An order for what?"

"Bread.”

"Yeah but what's the bread for?"

Josiah stops weighing out the flour and dusts his hands off on the tea-towel tucked into his jeans pocket. 

"Something you need?" he asks with a heavy sigh, already exasperated by the social dance. Cass shrugs and trails his fingers along the patterning of the bench top, scanning his eyes across the seeds and nuts weighed out in little bowels.

He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue, flashes a grin, "Can I help?"

Josiah looks at him, frowning slightly, considering. Then he picks up the flour to keep weighing it out. "No"

Cass scoffs, "C'mon, please?" 

"No, Cass.”

"Why not?"

"Because I've got it covered.”

"And there's nothing I can do to help?"

"Nope.”

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing at all.”

 "Come on," Cass groans, rolling his eyes. He props his head into his hands, palms pushing his cheeks into a pout “Please?”

Josiah pauses again with a heavy sigh, setting the bowel to the side as he looks up, holding his jaw a little crooked in that way he does when his mulling something over. 

"You have to take it seriously," Josiah says, eyebrows shooting upwards in an unspoken or else "And do exactly what I say.”

Cass grins and bounces up onto his feet to walk around to the other side of the bench.

"You got it boss.”

-

For all Cass' talents, bread making, as it turns out, isn't one of them.

“Christ, Cass, are you trying to do a bad job?”

In the time it's taken Cass to get halfway through making the dough for one loaf, Josiah has two proofing and has moved onto a third kind. It maybe doesn't help that Josiah's main method of teaching is mostly through correction rather than instruction.

“You have to keep the salt away from the yeast, dumbass. Sieve it out and start again.”

Less a guiding hand in the right direction –

“Okay, add the water.”

– and more a series of unanchored threats aimed to steer away from the wrong one.

“Slowly, or I'll make you eat the dough for dinner.”

Coming from anyone else, it might have bothered Cass. In fact, it would’ve outright pissed him off, had him giving up and opting to be a little shit instead. But there’s a kind of affection to the criticisms. A soft sort of sentiment to the way Josiah calls him an idiot. A special kind of affinity, hidden by gentle insults, carved out and private.

And to be honest it's… nice.

While Cass works at trying to get the sticky mass under his hands into anything even resembling a ball of dough, he watches the Josiah combine flour and seeds in an even, uninterrupted pace. There's a soft kind of hardiness to the way he does it. The same way Josiah does everything.

"Can I ask you something?" Cass says, resisting the urge to stay forming his not-quite-dough into an elephant. 

"As long as you keep working," Josiah says, putting a container of flour down in front of Cass’ bowl and tapping the bench in a not-so-subtle hint. Cass rolls his eyes, makes a show of spreading the flour out in an even layer and upturning his dough for kneading.

"Why bread?"

Josiah pauses what he's doing, considering, but doesn't look up. His hands start working again.

"What do you mean?"

Cass shrugs, shoving some weight back into his dough, but still watching Jos work on his sourdough.

"You just seem to make it a lot. Like every time I'm here there's always one cooking or you've just made one or you're wrapping some for Mal. And now you're like, selling it. Which is cool. But I don't see you selling cupcakes, so… what is it about bread?"

Josiah smiles soft, pausing again for a moment before answering. He shrugs. Keeps kneading.

"Dunno. A lot of things were… hard to figure out for a long time. For me," he says. Cass feels his breath hitch. That was him. He was the one that had made things hard to figure out.

If Josiah notices the tension creeping into Cass' shoulders, the way his hands still, he doesn't let on. He eases through it, voice rumbling and low and gentle, "But bread's easy. And it makes me…”

He shrugs with one shoulder while his hands continue to work. Cass glances up to the other man’s face. Makes him what? Happy? Calm? Neither are words that Cass would have thought to describe Josiah with a year ago. But recently he’d maybe been someone a little closer to that.

“Bread's simple,” Josiah finishes. “I like simple.”

"That why you're friends with me?" Cass teases, nudging Josiah's shoulder with his own. “Cause I'm simple?"

There's a gentle huff of breath beside him as Josiah smiles again, almost a laugh, and Cass lets the sound of it curl up in his belly; warm and comforting.

"Yeah that's it," Josiah says "The second you can tell sugar from salt, you're out of here.”

"That's what I thought.”

There's a quiet between them for a few moments as they both go back to their respective dough. Josiah clears his throat a little before he talks again. It's kind of cute, actually. How nervous he gets initiating conversation. 

"Where've you been staying?"

Cass glances up. Shrugs, "Around.”

"Anyone I know?"

Cass snorts a laugh and glances up to share the joke, but Josiah’s not looking back. Not joking. Cass frowns, turning his focus down again.

"Not even anyone I know,” he says.

"Right.”

It’s not shame Cass feels. It’s something quieter. The embarrassment of admitting you’re not doing the things you should be. The discomfort of knowing there’s someone who cares about you maybe more than you care about yourself.

He knows he should be doing better. Trying to be better. If not for himself, for the rest of them. 

"You know you could stay he-"

"Don't,” Cass says, swallowing the ash in his mouth. 

"Don't what?"

"Offer again. Because if you do I'll say yes. And I…" he trails off, shrugs again, starts rolling the dough into a round ball with the flat of his palm. He feels his shoulder rise up on one side, a stilted barrier between himself and the man beside him "I don't… I don't know if I can-"

"Okay," Josiah says with a nod. Like there's no weight to it. Like it's that simple. Like it's just bread dough.

Cass closes his eyes, reminds himself to breathe. He doesn't know when it started becoming easier, asking for what he needs, but it is. Easier every day. Easier every time Lou or Josiah or Mal find one of his boundaries and refuse to cross it.

He feels Josiah's hand on his shoulder. The touch is halting, soft, the brush of his knuckles lasting only a moment, and then it's gone. Cass opens his eyes and smiles, surprises himself by realising he's not trying to get anything from doing it. 

There's a moment. A soft, still, sacred moment where neither of them move. Frozen and alive both at once. Electricity transferring back and forth through one circuit.

And then Josiah's eyes drop to Cass' wannabe bread dough, "Christ, Cass, I told you to knead it not mince it with your hands.”

It's almost too easy most of the time for Cass to play dumb. Especially at a task like this. To pretend not to know the difference between poppyseeds and pumpkin, just to coax a little more talk out of Josiah, score a few more teasing insults, be corrected a little more often. But this time Cass swears to fuck he's doing what he was told.

He throws two dough-covered hands up in exasperation, "I am kneading it"

"No, you're not, you're smearing it over my bench like Playdough," Josiah grumbles. He steps behind Cass, reaching in front of him to fix the positions of his hands, palms on knuckles as he shows him the method. "Like this"

Josiah's palms are rough and dry from flour as they guide the heel of Cass' hands into the dough, pushing up to make the horns of a bull. He's standing close enough that it's almost an embrace, almost intimate enough to make Cass' stomach flip. Or it would if he was the kind to go for that sort of thing. Which he isn't.

Cass turns his head so his lips are dangerously close to Josiah's cheek, cocks a grin and murmurs low and teasing, "I cannot believe you're Patrick Swayze-ing me right now."

Josiah jerks backwards like he's been burned, his feet squeaking against the tiles as he reaches for a tea-towel, dusting his hands off and grabbing the other lump of dough.

Cass laughs like a jackal but he feels guilt in his gut. It's fun to catch people off guard like that, usually. But... Josiah’s been getting so much better, recently, at not shying away from touch. He’s gotten so much better at finding comfort in gentle contact instead of obligation, or echoes of old fears. And Cass not only brought attention to it, but he made a fucking joke.

He feels his own face fall, the rushing need to apologise, “Jos, I was just-”

"Just knead it right," the taller man mumbles, avoiding eye contact, frowning deep.

So much for a moment.

-

The house smells fucking incredible and Cass is fucking starving.

Two round, forbidden loaves sit on the bench, cooling before being wrapped for the order. Cass sighs, pressing his cheek to the bench and glaring at them. He maintains that nobody's going to notice a tiny bit of crust missing on the corner, but Josiah has swatted his hands away twice and left to go to the bathroom with the explicit instruction not to touch them.

"They're still at least fifteen minutes off" Josiah says as he rounds the corner back into the kitchen. 

Cass groans again and flops forward on the bench, closing his eyes against the utter anguish of existence itself.

"I'm going to starve to death," he pouts.

"Just have lunch.

"No! I want bread! I worked hard!”

There's the full thunk of a chopping board on a bench, the grate of a knife from the block, the soft crunch of bread transferring from one surface to another. Cass frowns, opening his 

"You said those were for the order!"

"I always make two spare.”

"But you told me I couldn't have them.”

"Yeah but you're starving to death, so I clearly don’t have a choice,” Josiah says, a shit-eating little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth “Wanna get the butter out?"

Cass gapes for a moment. As if Josiah had pulled one over on him. As if. Then he grins, bounds up to the fridge. 

"There's jam on the top shelf, too,” Josiah adds, cutting another slice from the loaf.

Cass scoffs. Jam? Jam in Josiah’s house? In Mr Breakfast-Shouldn’t-Taste-Like-Dessert’s house?

"You don't like jam,” he says, overtly scandalised. 

"Yeah but you do,” Josiah says quietly. He flicks a glance over his shoulder at Cass, one shoulder raising up in that cute sort of way when he’s said something dumb.

It’d be enough to make a guy melt. It’s so fucking cute and it’s so fucking nice and where did Josiah get off being cute and nice?

It’s enough to make anyone’s heart skip, to flutter in their chest a little. If they went for that sort of thing, of course. Which Cass didn’t. Doesn’t.

He sets the spreads down on the bench and sits back down, watching Josiah’s hands as they work, cutting the bread in neat, generous slices. Josiah’s hands used to shake, on and off. Tiny tremors, tiny twitches like the muscles didn’t know how to relax.

Right now his hands move soft and slow and certain. Like there’s nothing else Josiah was put on the world to do other than to slice bread and butter it for Cass’ plate. 

"I'm sorry about the Patrick Swayze comment," Cass blurts out, words rushing out of him in an all-of-a-sudden that he can’t seem to stop. "I shouldn't’ve... um. I didn’t... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It was a dumb thing to say.”

Josiah looks up from the bread with the dumb sort of blink he gets when he thinks he’s missed something obvious. He frowns, eyes flicking over Cass’ face as he’s trying to figure out where he made the wrong step.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says.

It’s Cass’ turn to blink stupidly. “Oh.”

A thin line of steam rises from the loaf where it’s been sliced and Cass stares at it, trying to figure out what that could possibly mean. He smiles, shrugs, tries to shake it off, “You just moved away so quickly, I kinda thought-”

“I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Oh.

The disappointment is sudden and unexpected and... crushing. It feels like someone’s punched him square in the chest and his heart decided to plunge into his stomach as an escape route.

“Oh,” he says again, because what else can he fucking say? “Right.”

He can feel his cheeks burning and that makes him angrier than the rejection.

Cass frowns, reaching for the jam jar so he has an excuse to avoid eye contact.

This is fine. It’s fine if Josiah doesn’t like him like that because Cass had never expected him to anyway. It barely makes sense that they’re even still friends after everything Cass has done.

It barely makes sense that they can sit here together eating bread.

“Have I, uh,” Josiah clears his throat a little, like the awkward is stuck in there somewhere “Did I upset you?”

Cass glances up from the jam he’s spreading meticulously to each side of his bread, picking up the pace a little as he tries for a smile, tries for fine.

“What? ‘Course not. Why?”

It doesn’t matter that Josiah doesn’t like him. He’s not a fucking teenager. It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. He keeps moving the jam around the bread with the flat of his blade, fixating on the places where the butter’s melted into it and changed the colour. 

“I think I said something wrong,” Josiah declares, voice so stern it’d almost be funny in another context. Cass just shrugs. 

“Nah, you’re fine, man,” he says, shaking his head with a pretty smile. He takes a bite of the bread “Fuck, dude, you’ve outdone yourself with the sourdough.”

Josiah doesn’t let him get away with the shift in subject.

“I just didn’t want you to think that it meant something,” he presses on. Cass pulls in a ragged inhale. Josiah needs to let this go. It’s starting to sting now. Cass gives a dead smile around a mouthful of bread, nods his head as Josiah keeps talking. “It was just about the dough. Nothing else.”

“Yeah, I get it, alright?” Cass says, maybe a little sharp. “No homo. Can we move on now?”

He picks at some large rogue crumbs that have speckled onto the bench with his finger tip, depositing them back onto his plate one by one. He tries to ignore the fact that Josiah hasn’t moved, hasn’t stopped staring at him. 

“I didn’t say that.”

Cass shrugs, “It’s what you meant.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean, Cass.”

Cass jerks his head up reflexively at the slight rise in tension in Josiah’s voice, flinching minutely back before he can lean back in his chair, quasi-casual.

Trevor raises her head from where she’s been resting in the dog-bed by the bench, looking towards Cass with a low growl in her throat. It would be intimidating maybe, but all it takes is Josiah leaning across and giving her a scratch behind the ears, a muttered quiet reassurance – I’m okay, pup – and she settles back down.

Josiah had dragged his feet and resisted for weeks when they’d all nagged him into adopting a dog. But only a few days after bringing the German Shepherd home they’d come to a deep understanding of each other. 

Josiah ducks his head, rubbing at the back of his neck in sudden embarrassment. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. I’m trying to-”

He cuts himself off, leaning his weight on the kitchen bench with both hands. A heavy sigh.

Cass keeps himself distanced, eyes blank and hard as stone. So he’d had a fucking crush and gotten the wrong idea. So what? It’d been one dumb joke, and Cass’d apologised. Josiah didn’t have to keep going on about it.

“I’ve been trying not to... push things. With you. But, I’m...”

Cas braces himself for the impact, flicking through the options in his head that might end Josiah’s sentence.

“But I...”

But I’m getting suffocated. But I’m sick of helping you. But I’m not over what you did to me. 

But I can’t do this anymore. But I don’t want to see you anymore.

But I don’t want this. I don’t want you.

“But I’m yours, Cass.”

Cass comes crashing back down to earth with such velocity that his heart stops.

“I’ve always been yours,” Josiah continues. “And I know you’re not ready for anything else yet or maybe ever and that’s… that’s okay with me. Really. But I know that… it’s hard for you. Sometimes. When someone wants you. I know that it’s... So I didn’t want you to think it meant anything, that I expected anything. Because I don’t.”

“But I…” Josiah takes a staggering breath, looks at Cass with the expression of a man about to freefall. “I want you in my life. In every part of my life. Any part you want to be in too.”

Cass can barely bring himself to breathe. “After everything?"

"Before everything," Josiah says, full of every kind of sincerity. It hurts and it's fantastic and Cass can't look away. "Before everything, and after. And now."

And now, he says, like that doesn’t mean everything. 

"I'm never gonna ask. I'm never gonna push. And I don't expect anything, Cass," he ducks head down to catch Cass’ eyes. "I mean that. I really don't expect anything. But I..."

Fear and want sit in Cass’ chest like two sleeping beasts, tangled and breathing and indecipherable from each other, but there. There, and seperate things. For once, he loves them both. Josiah runs his thumb along Cass’ knuckles. Halting, soft, only for a moment. 

"I'm ready whe…” Josiah pauses. Cass smiles as he watches Josiah’s Adam’s apple bob, another nervous clearing of his throat. “I’m ready if you're ever ready.”

There was a time that Cass would've leapt forward and kissed him. He would've shoved the bread aside and pressed Josiah against the wall and felt along every part of his body until Josiah couldn't think and neither of them could breathe and he'd have laughed and cocked his head and bit his bottom lip and been so fucking ready it would've left Josiah's head spinning.

But it isn't that time anymore.

And he's not ready.

And that’s okay.

For once, it’s okay, actually.

So he grabs Josiah's hand in his own, runs his thumb over the faded scars on the man’s inner wrist as he raises it to his lips. He lays a kiss on Josiah’s open palm, folds the hand into a fist to keep it there. 

"Thank you," he whispers. I love you, he doesn’t. He holds Josiah's hand to his cheek, closing his eyes as he listens to the other man breathe. He breathes too.

It’s okay. More than okay. 

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 9

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 6,538 for this chapter (41,509 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Dan wakes up alone. He's stretched out on Phil's sheets, mostly on his stomach, and he buries his face in a pillow to hide from the afternoon sunlight streaming through Phil's small windows. He listens carefully, but he can't hear Phil shuffling around the room or anything.

He's not overly worried, really. This is Phil's place. It would be next level weird for him to cut and run.

Sure enough, when Dan blinks away the spots in his vision and looks around the flat, he sees a sticky note on Phil's headboard. Had to go to work! Won't say your name on the radio lol, it says, and Dan feels a surge of fondness and embarrassment.

He rolls onto his back and rubs at his face, trying to wipe the stupid grin off even though nobody's here to see it. He grins wider when he remembers that someone else is here, actually.

"Thor," he calls out, not bothering to sit up. "C'mere, buddy!"

The jangling of Thor's collar and the rapid taps of his claws on the hardwood floor let him know that the dog is approaching.

Dan looks over and sees Thor sitting at the side of the bed, head cocked and ears perked. He might actually start to cry; he is obsessed with this dog.

"Hey there," he coos, patting the bed next to him in invitation. Thor just keeps looking at him. If Dan were to assign a human emotion to Thor's vibe right now, he'd say the dog looked dubious. "C'mon up, little guy, I won't bite."

Thor jumps up with his stumpy legs and Dan laughs delightedly at the height he can manage when he's got a running start. He snuffles into Dan's borrowed shirt and gives him a bunch of sloppy kisses.

Truly, there is no better way to wake up. Dan is in heaven right now.

He gives Thor a bunch of pats and coos nonsense at him for a little while. He's not really in a hurry to go anywhere. In fact, he wouldn't get out of bed at all if it weren't for his bladder starting to get angry with him. Dan sighs and gives Thor a kiss on his tiny forehead.

"I gotta get up," he laments. He blinks at Thor.

Thor blinks back.

"You need to get up, too," he informs the dog very solemnly.

Thor puts his front paws down like he's getting ready to play and lolls his tongue out, smiling at Dan.

Dan clutches at his chest dramatically and fumbles around for his phone. He needs to capture this moment. He notices that he's got missed texts, missed calls, but he shoves the spike of anxiety to the side in order to focus on getting cute photos and videos of Thor. He takes a bunch of the corgi alone, giggling to himself the whole time, and then pulls Thor close to him to take a few selfies as well.

After brushing his teeth and taking a quick piss, Dan lies back down and looks through the camera roll. He's smiling at his phone and petting one of Thor's soft ears. They're all super cute pictures, good enough to post if they weren't so laden in implications.

Two photos - one of them grinning wide at the camera and a follow-up where Dan's face is scrunched in laughter as Thor gives him a surprise kiss to his nose - get messaged to Phil instead of posted.

It's almost as good, really. After a beat, he sends the photos to Jaime and Patrick as well. He's already talked to them about everything, more or less, and he just wants to share the joy he's feeling right now to people who get it. His thumb hesitates. After a moment of consideration, he sends just the silly picture to Adrian.

Adrian responds with a knife emoji, followed by a heart eyes emoji.

They're never going to be like Phil and his brother, working together and razzing each other over dinner, but that's okay. Dan feels a little bit of softness in his chest, easing some of that decades-old guilt. Maybe they can, at least, be more than the strangers they are now.

Spurred on by something as simple as his brother replying immediately, Dan holds his breath and opens the text chain with his mum.

Blimey dear that must be a load off after all this time! Of course I still want to see you on Saturday... I love you with my whole heart and always will xx.

Fuck. He's not going to cry. He won't cry. Not here. Dan inhales lungfuls of air in gasps, trying not to let them turn into raspy sobs. Thor makes an inquisitive noise and noses at Dan's hand.

"I'm okay," he whispers, even if he isn't quite sure that's true. He makes a bunch of typos as he replies to her, just a short love you too that takes him an entire minute to get right. He doesn't want to make a big deal over this, even though it is a big deal, so he just adds a heart emoji and buries his face in Thor's soft fur.

His phone buzzes a few times, but Dan ignores it for a little while. He feels safe in Phil's bed, Thor in his arms, and he doesn't want to face the world again until he feels a bit less fragile. Eventually, though, Thor wiggles out of his grasp and bounds off the bed in search of a toy.

Jaime and Patrick have both responded to the dog selfies, Jaime with a string of barely-comprehensible emotional texts and Patrick with a single exclamation point iMessage reaction.

Phil has sent him a selfie in return, wearing radio headphones and a pout. Hate that I'm at work!!!!!!!!, he captions it. Dan hates that, too. He sends a quick shot of Thor on the other side of the flat with the caption, abandoned by both of u.

By the time he circles back to his mum, he isn't really sure what to expect. She isn't the type to wax poetic about her feelings, none of them are, so he doesn't anticipate another round of affection and love and pride right this second. Maybe in her goodbye text when he heads to the continent. Not right away.

Sure enough, she's said, Why don't you & I grab lunch in the city on Saturday? I've been meaning to try this new sushi bar... xx. Dan's heart sinks.

It's okay, he reminds himself. His mum loves him. Adrian loves him. They both said so.

His mum not wanting him to come to the house anymore speaks volumes to Dan. He expected this, anyway - his dad barely wanted to see him before this, Dan's always been nothing but a physical reminder of his wasted youth, and it isn't shocking that he doesn't want to see Dan now.

Dan lies back down and covers his head with Phil's duvet. He'll let himself be sad, just for a minute, for the loss. This is the first relationship he has to cut off if he wants to live authentically, move forward as a gay man who doesn't hate himself, and it hits hard. Maybe he'll let himself be angry, after this. Then, he'll get out of bed and start living the authentic, quietly proud life that he's only ever dreamed of.

It's okay. But, right now, it stings a bit.

--

By the time Thor's ears perk up and he runs to the door, a clear indication that Phil is home, Dan has well and truly gone through some stages of grief and landed on repression. He's been playing Guild Wars and idly tidying Phil's flat throughout the day, lazy with the impromptu day off as he is. Thor follows him around and Dan plies him with more treats than he thinks Phil would approve of.

Dan feels a little sheepish when Phil comes in and he's just lounging on the sofa with his laptop and a pair of Phil's ridiculous slippers on his feet. The flat looks better than it had last night, but Dan has done fuck all with himself. He could have at least showered, he supposes.

"Hey," he says, tugging an earphone out and giving Phil a quick glance. "Sorry, I'm raiding, I'll give you attention in a second."

"Hi, Dan, my day was good," Phil says dryly. "Thanks for asking."

"You signed up for this," Dan informs him, not taking his eyes off the screen again. He can hear Phil enthusiastically greeting Thor, which makes him smile. "I did make dinner, 's in the oven."

"You cook?" Phil sounds far too surprised, in Dan's opinion.

Dan's character gets murked, and he shuts his laptop with a little huff of a noise. Normally he'd wait out the respawn and keep playing, but he's got more important things to focus on. "No, not really. I know how to throw a bunch of stuff in a pot or dish until it's food."

He gets a proper look at Phil while he peeks in the oven and feels even more like maybe he should have gotten dressed.

It's not like he's dressed up nicely or anything - he's wearing the corgi jumper that he interviewed Dan in and a pair of Vans that are surely on their last legs - but the fact that he is dressed gives him a head start on Dan. He looks a little tired, and Dan wonders if it's comfort or a distinct lack of it that has Phil's shoulders hunched forward more than usual.

"It smells good," Phil informs him, smiling a bit. "You didn't have to do that, y'know."

"Shut up, I wanted to," says Dan.

"I don't think I've come home to food cooking since I lived with my parents," Phil says, his hands inside out in his jean pockets. "I, uh, better not get used to it, huh?"

That definitely is a problem. The elephant in the room, that Dan can't just stay here forever. Dan sighs and stands, carefully stepping around the sofa so he doesn't trip on Thor. He comes close to wrap his arms around Phil's shoulders, smiling when Phil immediately takes hold of his waist like they're dancing.

"Hi, Phil," Dan mocks softly. "Good to see you, how was your day?"

Phil laughs. "Alright. Better now."

"Good," says Dan, and then he kisses Phil. It hasn't even been a full day since he did it last, but he hums and arches into it like it's been months.

They're making up for preemptive lost time. Dan is distracted, though, even when Phil licks into his mouth and pulls him closer. He can't stop thinking about the call he'd made to Amy earlier, the things his agent had said to him.

Netflix announces renewals and cancellations whenever it pleases, not on any sort of set schedule, so Dan will have to live in limbo for a little while. Amy doesn't know how long, exactly, but she promised him to at least find him a British film or series to do in the space between seasons. She called him an idiot, but she agreed to it.

Dan is wondering if he should tell Phil about that conversation. He spends half a minute tossing the possibilities around in his head while Phil sucks on his tongue, his lip.

This is so stupid. Dan pulls back from the kiss. He laughs a bit and puts a palm on Phil's chest to stop him from coming back for more. It warms Dan, knowing that Phil doesn't want to stop kissing him.

"Down, boy," he jokes, and Phil rolls his eyes.

"I don't like this habit you have of interrupting us," says Phil. His cool hands slip under Dan's borrowed Friends shirt. His thumbs trace mirroring shapes just under Dan's ribcage. Now that is distracting. "You could just let me keep kissing you."

"I could," Dan agrees. "But I've got shit to say, y'know?"

Phil grins at him, exasperated in a way that Dan thinks he could get used to. "I've noticed, Dan, that you always have shit to say. And I'd love to listen. Any other time."

"Rude," says Dan. There's no real heat to it, since Phil is right. "It's just that I almost didn't tell you something important because I didn't want to get your hopes up or sound like a freak, and then I remembered the disaster that not talking became last time, so, fuck it."

Even though he's already had experience with watching Phil's eyes go neutral and guarded, it's still a bit of a weird thing to watch happen up close.

It's not even that Phil is a particularly good actor, it's just that he's clearly so practiced in hiding his reactions to things that he can switch it on in an instant. Dan huffs a bit and pokes at Phil's cheek.

"None of that," he scolds.

"None of what?" Phil asks. He's smiling now, though. "What's so important?"

"I talked to my agent," says Dan. "Things are up in the air until we know if we're getting a fourth season, but. I'm thinking about moving to London if we aren't."

Phil's smile goes absolutely blinding, but he sounds suspicious when he says, "Really? That's something you want?"

"I always wanted to live here," Dan says with a little shrug. "Just got lucky in America and ended up staying. Nothing specific was really drawing me back here, I just knew London was always a 'someday' thing. Every time I come back for Christmas I remember how much I like it here." Dan pauses, then jokes, "It's not all about you, y'know."

It kind of is. The timing of it, at least, but Phil doesn't have to know that.

"Yeah, alright," Phil says, outright beaming at Dan now. "Makes sense to me, it's a way better place to live than Atlanta."

Dan laughs. "Atlanta is fine, you jealous bitch."

"I guess," says Phil. He presses a couple of soft kisses to Dan's jaw. Dan is ready to get carried away again before he adds, "It must be hard being so far from your family, as well. You'll get to see them more."

He knows that Phil is only trying to motivate him into staying without actively using himself as a reason, but Dan still grimaces.

"I'll probably see them about the same amount, honestly," he says. "Except my grandma, I'm sure I'll have tea with her every once in a while."

"Don't be silly, I'm sure they'd be excited," says Phil.

That's a very easy thing for Phil to say. Dan can't help the face he pulls at the idea of his family being excited that he's nearby. "They really won't. My parents aren't like yours, Phil, and my brother definitely isn't."

Phil cocks his head and blinks. Dan almost laughs at how eerily similar the action looks to Thor's confusion.

"Well, I know nobody's family is perfect," Phil says, squeezing Dan's waist. "I just figured you'd like to be closer to them."

"No," Dan says honestly. "I mean, it's not like it's a reason not to live in London. Where I am in relation to my family doesn't really affect my decision either way, TBH."

He kind of expects Phil to keep arguing with him about it. Dan only reached out to his mum about getting together in the first place after Phil got all disapproving about how little Dan sees them. Maybe he just takes Dan's word for it this time, though, because all he says is an easy, "Okay."

That's all it takes, really. Phil's agreement, even if he doesn't understand. Dan has already told this guy more about himself than anyone else he knows, and he can feel the words bubbling uncomfortably in his throat.

"I don't actually want to talk about this," says Dan, "but, like, okay, I came out to my family and only some of them are handling it well."

Actual understanding dawns on Phil's face, and he just nods.

"We won't talk about it, then," he says. Like it's that simple. "Let's eat. I'm gonna take Thor to the park afterwards if you want to come with us."

Dan leans in for a grateful kiss that lingers a bit too long. Phil's hands travel further up his shirt, tracing along Dan's ribs and making him shiver. "Thanks," he murmurs into the barely-there space between their mouths. "I'll come with you guys."

For as long as Dan has known about commitment issues, he's known that he has them. With personal projects, with schoolwork, with his own sense of self. It's hard for him to settle on something, harder still to follow through. He's felt it with the women he's dated, too, but he'd already known there was an underlying issue that made it impossible for him to say, 'yeah, okay, this could be something I do long-term'.

Now he's making out with a man who he's pretty sure is his boyfriend, even if they hadn't actually said that word, talking about sharing dinner and dog walks and clothes, and Dan has never done this before, and he knows that he's committing to something just by being here right now.

He waits for that moment of panic so he can whack it aside with some logic, but. It never comes.

Huh.

--

When they head to bed later that night, it isn't because Phil has almost passed out on the sofa again. They'd been ignoring a film for about an hour to snog, and Phil's perpetually cold hands had started wandering about five minutes into that.

Dan had managed to handle Phil's hands under his shirt, in his hair, on his thighs, even brushing the side of his neck, all without major issues. When Phil had decided to outright grope his ass through his too-tight jeans, though, Dan's brain had short circuited. So he'd dragged Phil across the room and pulled him down in a tangle of limbs and laughter as they accidentally elbowed and kneed at each other.

They're not exactly graceful people, but Dan can't complain much with Phil's hands in his back pockets and Phil's mouth on his jaw.

Dan's breathing already feels too loud in the softly lit room, small windows not letting much background noise through at all, and Phil isn't even doing much of anything to him yet.

The part of Dan's brain that exists only to remind him that he's attracted to men has literally never been so loud. He'd foolishly assumed that admitting it to himself and other people would shut it the fuck up, but instead it is outright screaming at him.

You're so fucking gay! it reminds him, as if it's yodeling from the top of a mountain.

Yeah, Dan thinks, he is, he's aware, he's currently straddling a guy he really likes and mouthing at his neck to try and get his breathing as ragged as Dan's is. He doesn't need the commentary.

Still, it keeps shouting, and it only gets louder when Phil tangles one hand in his hair and tugs him back up for an open-mouthed kiss.

He's kissing you! AmazingPhil is kissing you! that part of his mind is chanting, and in the short break between their lips meeting, Dan can't help but murmur a, "Shut up."

Phil pauses. Dan realises he's said that out loud and promptly wants to die.

"I didn't say anything," says Phil. His voice is low and amused, and Dan feels a renewed spark of heat up his spine.

"Not you," Dan says.

Raising his eyebrows, Phil makes a point to look around the flat as best he can without dislodging Dan from his hips. "Uh huh. Y'know, I always knew this place was haunted. I just figured I'd be the one to make friends with the ghosts."

"You're ridiculous," says Dan, but he can't stop himself from smiling.

"I'm not the one talking to ghosts," says Phil.

"I'm not taking to ghosts, Phil, I'm talking to myself. My brain won't shut off, it's so fucking loud right now."

Phil laughs, but he doesn't seem like he's making fun of Dan. He twirls his finger around one of Dan's curls and grins up at him. "I can help with that," he says. In case there were any doubt about what he means, Phil squeezes Dan's ass. "Bet I could make your brain be quiet."

"Yeah?" Dan grins and noses at Phil's jaw. "Yeah, alright, do your worst."

"What do you want?" Phil asks, using his light grip on Dan's hair to make Dan look at him. Dan personally thinks he could tug harder, but they can talk about that when Dan has to pull up a PowerPoint presentation on his kinks.

That's not an easy question. Dan wants everything, whatever Phil's got on offer. He shrugs.

"Honestly," says Dan, "I'm even easier about sex than I am about food."

"This has not been easy," Phil grumbles, good-natured about it. Dan cackles in response. Not a very attractive sound, but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He just smiles.

"Okay, yeah, fair enough," says Dan. "You know what I mean. You can make that call, I believe in you. Although, for you to make an informed decision, you should know I haven't showered since..." He trails off, frowning.

"Not a good sign that you can't remember," Phil laughs. He doesn't seem anxious the way he has when Dan pushes him in the past, but maybe he's just feeling the same loose vulnerability that's making Dan go mad with it. Phil hums and toys with Dan's hair. "Uh, alright, you wanna maybe fuck me?"

The suggestion being somehow both unsure and totally blunt makes Dan laugh, and then Phil is ducking giggles into Dan's collarbone, too.

"How is that a question?" Dan grins. "Sure I do."

Phil is grinning back at him, bright and beautiful, and Dan has to lean in and connect their lips again for a long moment. "Mm, you wanna grab the stuff from the loo, then? And put Thor in there while you're at it."

"Why do I have to?"

"You're on top of me."

"I don't have to be. You go put the dog away."

"No, you should - okay," Phil cuts himself off with a laugh and takes his hand off Dan's ass to hold it up between them in a fist. "Rock, paper, scissors you for it?"

As Dan proceeds to lose two of three - and then three of five, and then five of seven when he keeps complaining about not being in the Zone - it occurs to him that this whole thing feels ridiculous.

It's not a bad thing. Dan hasn't had silly sex in a very, very long time. He's certainly never had sex with someone he trusts quite as much as he trusts Phil. He's trying not to think about that too hard when he lures Thor into the bathroom with treats and his favourite toy, because he doesn't want to accidentally activate his own fight or flight reflex.

Phil is propped up on his elbows in bed, watching Dan with an absent smile on his face, and Dan remembers seeing him like this when they were drunk together. He'd been sprawled out over Dan's sheets and smirking up at him and Dan hadn't done anything about it.

"God, I'm stupid," Dan breathes, and Phil laughs.

"Yeah," he agrees, even though he can't possibly know what Dan is thinking about. "You just gonna stand there?"

With a rude gesture, Dan tosses the bottle of lube at Phil, who yelps as it almost hits him in the face. Dan finds himself cackling again as he fights to get his ultra-skinny jeans off his legs while he's still standing. He'd put them on to go to the dog park - stayed in the Friends shirt, though, it's very comfortable - but he's regretting that now. Phil's cotton shorts would be way less awkward to shimmy out of.

"Must you watch me do this?" Dan huffs, hopping on one foot as he tries to yank his jeans down over his other ankle. "It's not exactly sexy."

"It's very funny, though," says Phil.

Dan manages to get his jeans and socks off without injury, and then he flops back into bed to help Phil with his own tight jeans.

"We need to rethink our fashion," Dan laughs. Phil is giggling, too, and lifting his hips for Dan, and this is all so fun. Dan had actually forgotten that sex could be fun. His jeans come off easier than Dan's, thank god, and Dan runs his hands over Phil's thighs with a little hum. "Damn, you're pale."

Phil makes an amused, choked-off noise and kicks out at Dan without actually trying to hit him. "Hey, fuck you, you're supposed to say nice stuff to me."

"I'm so sorry, Phil, the beauty of your alabaster legs just drive me crazy," Dan simpers, exaggeratedly batting his eyelashes. He's being a dick about it, but the sentiment behind the words are true enough. Phil's got nice legs, nice thighs, a nice semi in his nice boxers. Dan brushes his fingers in a way that's probably ticklish and laughs when Phil kicks his shin for real. "Fucking ow, do you want me to tell you how hot you are or not?"

"You're so annoying," Phil informs him, and then he's sitting up to take his shirt off and Dan's mouth goes dry for real.

"Oh," he says, shifting further up the bed so he can flick his thumb over the metal bar in Phil's left nipple. He hadn't really expected that from Phil. Dan blinks, trying to get his brain back online. "Why didn't you get both?'

Whatever Phil was expecting him to say, it wasn't that. He sits there for a moment, stumped, the pads of Dan's fingers curiously poking at his nipple. It doesn't seem like it's very sensitive. Dan wonders if that's from the piercing or if Phil just doesn't have sensitive nipples. He wonders how long this piercing has been here - it hadn't been, back when he was an avid AmazingPhil subscriber, and Phil hasn't taken his shirt off for YouTube in years.

Then, Phil shrugs. "You only get one pierced, don't you?"

"I think most people get both," Dan says, but he's talking on autopilot right now. He shakes his head, tries to clear it. "Fucking symmetry or whatever, yeah?"

"I guess," Phil says. He doesn't shrug again, but his broad, bare shoulders twitch like they want to. He's got freckles and beauty marks on his shoulders and arms and torso, and Dan wants to get his mouth on every single one.

"No offense," says Dan, "but I really didn't peg you as the piercing type."

Phil smirks a bit. "Wow, the MySpace boy I was trying so hard to be is crying right now. Yeah, I dunno, it was one of the really impulsive things I did a couple years ago. Getting Thor was one of those, I think I told you about that."

He had. Dan remembers it, vaguely, remembers wondering if Phil was hiding a tattoo under his clothes.

"Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as I expected," says Phil. "And definitely not as much as my other ones did."

Dan narrows his eyes and looks Phil over, dubious. Phil isn't wearing anything but a pair of boxer briefs with sushi print on them, and Dan can't see any more metal or healing holes on him. Phil's little smirk only grows while Dan looks him over carefully. "Stop fucking with me, you don't have more piercings."

Phil raises an eyebrow and his hips in a synchronicity that Dan didn't know his body possessed. Dan swallows, hard, can hear his heart pounding as it rushes all the blood in his brain south and makes him a little dizzy.

The room is quiet and still and too hot for a long beat. Then, Dan pulls his borrowed shirt off and chucks it somewhere over his shoulder so that the cool air of the basement can stop him from overheating. He slides his fingers under the hem of Phil's boxers and pulls them down his long legs, unable to stop himself from dropping a kiss to one of Phil's very pale thighs as he does.

"Fuck," Dan breathes. He nips at Phil's thigh a bit, making the muscles there jerk. "Alright, so I can see how that would hurt more."

Phil's cock is pretty and thick, which Dan suspected but had no way of knowing, and it's also got two piercings in it. Dan knows the name of the one, a Prince Albert ring right at the tip of Phil's dick, but he has no idea what the other is called.

He has to touch them, of course. He wraps his hand around Phil's cock and rubs his thumb back and forth over the ring, watching Phil's face carefully as he does.

"Dan," is all Phil says, but his voice has gone low and his eyes have gone dark, so Dan figures he's doing something right.

"What the hell is this?" Dan has to ask, trailing his fingers down Phil's cock to nudge at the bar through the bottom of it, right above his balls. "Like, what is it called? Also, why did you do this? Also, also, I want to suck your dick now."

Phil laughs, throaty and dark, and that doesn't help Dan's situation at all.

"You only grabbed one condom," he points out, waving the wrapper in Dan's face. "So you can either fuck me or suck me off, your call."

"I don't need a condom to suck your dick," says Dan.

Somehow, even with Dan's hand idly stroking him and playing with the piercings, Phil manages to roll his eyes. "You do. I'm not giving you a safe sex lecture, Dan, either make up your mind or go get another condom."

Dan sulks, but he doesn't bother arguing. He hasn't actually heard Phil be so strongly opinionated about something before. There's not a hint of hesitation or anxiety in telling Dan what he wants, and Dan likes that too much to bicker over something as miniscule as a condom.

"Fine," he sighs, sitting up between Phil's legs and letting go of his dick.

"Aw, Dan," Phil lightly mocks. He reaches out and pets Dan's hair, which Dan is only a little embarrassed to lean into. "It's like you don't even know that getting tested together can be third base for gay people."

"Well, I don't know," Dan huffs. He's a little prickly and defensive about the teasing, but Phil smiles at him so softly that he melts all over again. "It's been a while, okay? And it's not like any of us were the smartest bulbs about this shit in uni."

With a sympathetic little hum of a noise, Phil pulls Dan up by the hair to kiss him. It's slow and lingering and Dan's body is pressed against Phil's with the angle, only his thin Calvins in the way of them sliding together. When Phil pulls back, Dan is the one who gets stopped from leaning in for more.

"Sorry," Phil says, quiet and sincere and still smiling. "I really will talk about why it's important to me later, but right now I just really need you to put your stupidly big hands to work."

Another request, no hesitation. Dan is only too happy to oblige.

Dan has never fingered another guy before. The rare times, back in the day, that he hadn't been craving something inside him to ease that constant tension he carried around with him, Dan's sexual partners had just done the task themselves.

Still, it's not rocket science. He's had his fingers in women and in himself before, how different could it be?

Too much lube and a wrist cramp later, Dan is getting the hang of things. He's using his right hand on Phil so his left wrist can take a break, pushing and prodding deep with his longest fingers to coax drawn-out noises from Phil's pretty lips. Dan kisses him, rocks against his hip, murmurs absolute nonsense into his ear that he'll feel embarrassed about when he isn't so fucking turned on. He hasn't managed to consistently hit Phil's prostate or anything but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He's grinding into Dan's hand, biting his lip hard, murmuring, "That's it, you've got it, c'mon, give me another."

"Yeah, alright," Dan breathes, carefully pressing another finger into him and shuddering at the way Phil's back arches into it.

This is easily the hottest thing he's ever done, and that might be pathetic if it wasn't so obvious that nothing else could even come close to this. Phil doesn't bother telling Dan when he's ready, he just shoves the condom into Dan's free palm and wraps a hand around himself.

"Not getting any younger, here," Phil says on a little pant, and Dan realises that he's just been staring.

"Right, fuck, okay."

Dan's fingers shake a bit, but he manages to get his boxers off and his cock ready without any incidents - aside from another mean twinge in his left wrist. He waits and just looks at Phil again, spread legs and long neck and all gorgeous man, and Phil's eyelashes flutter as he tugs lightly on one of his piercings, fuck.

"C'mon," Phil urges again, hooking a lanky leg over Dan's hip to pull him closer.

"It's gonna be like that, is it?" Dan laughs breathlessly. He hoists Phils body up by his thighs for a better angle and keeps a hand on Phil's ass to hold him there. "Fucking pillow princess, I should have guessed."

"Whatever, Dan," says Phil. He seems very distracted by Dan lining his cock up and slowly, so slowly, pressing inside of him. Phil groans then, the loudest noise he's made yet, and rocks his hips to take more of Dan's cock than Dan is giving him. "Not gonna fucking break, c'mon."

"Jesus, Phil," Dan half-laughs, half-moans. "So demanding. Feel so good, though, shit, I can't stay in Atlanta, I can't not have this all the - fuck - all the time."

It just kind of slips out, the way everything Dan babbles during sex slips out, but Phil is nodding along anyway, wrapping his arms around Dan's shoulders to pull him down into a messy kiss.

The wet noises where they're joined should be comical, maybe, all squelching lube and skin slapping against skin as Dan starts to fuck into Phil properly, but Dan is too focused on the breathy noises escaping from their kiss to care. This is just what sex sounds like - this is what sex with Phil sounds like, and Dan could really get used to that.

Phil's heel digs into the small of Dan's back to urge him on until, presumably, his leg gets tired or cramped and he wraps them both around Dan's hips instead. They gasp into each other's mouths at the slight change in angle, and Dan's hips snap forward.

If Phil weren't sucking on his tongue right now, Dan would be prattling on and moaning loud and generally making an idiot of himself. He feels the telltale sensation of heat in his gut that means there's an orgasm at the finish line, he just needs to get there.

Dan plants a hand on the bed and lifts Phil's lower body a bit more with the other, moaning absolute nonsense into Phil's mouth as he thrusts a little harder and faster to try and get Phil where he is.

A whine reverberates through Dan's body as Phil makes the noise with his teeth on Dan's lower lip, and then Dan can feel the rhythmic nudges of Phil's knuckles against his stomach as he jacks himself off, fast, because he's close too and Dan can tell. Dan wants to wait it out, he does, but Phil feels too good around his cock for him to hold out any longer. His orgasm hits and he groans like he’s been punched in the stomach, burying his face into Phil’s neck as he does.

He hears Phil say, "Fuck, okay, just stay there," and stays deep inside of him, pressing wet kisses to his neck and grinding his hips in little circles until Phil gets his, too, toes curling against the backs of Dan's thighs with a quiet groan and one hand gripping his hair so tight that Dan sees stars.

Dan presses a soft kiss to Phil's jaw and carefully pulls out of him to flop onto his back, trying to get his breathing back to a regular rate. He's seriously unfit when he isn't filming, his personal trainer would be so furious about all the Domino's he's been eating. He laughs at the thought of his trainer's angry face and then he's just giggling, throwing an arm over his face to hide from Phil's curious eyes.

"I think you fucked me stupid," Dan tells him through the giggles, and Phil responds with a low chuckle.

Arms are wrapped around Dan's waist and a line of kisses are dropped along his collarbone. "Hey, now," says Phil, his voice low and fucked out, "I can't take credit for that. You were stupid when you got here."

"Oi," Dan laughs, shoving at him. If they had more energy, they'd probably roll around until all the mocking words are just breathless laughter, but as it is they just manage to elbow each other a few times and then curl closer. It's quiet for a few minutes, just holding each other close and letting their hands brush softly over each other's skin.

Then, Phil yawns.

"Okay," he says, like he's psyching himself up. "Contacts out. Dog out. Pants on."

"That last one seems optional," Dan says, waggling his eyebrows. Phil laughs and swats at his chest.

"You," says Phil, swatting the same spot again for good measure, "condom off, pants on."

"What is this pants agenda you're pushing on me?" Dan hums into Phil's hair. It smells sweet, like some kind of berry. "I'm not sure I'm interested in these pants you speak of."

Phil laughs and pulls away to stretch all his long limbs out. Dan takes the opportunity to shamelessly check him out again, admiring the glints of metal that the majority of the world doesn't get to see. "You will be. Thor's going to want to cuddle after we locked him up."

He watches Phil as he searches his room for clean boxers, wolf-whistling when he bends down and laughing at the finger he gets in return.

"Yeah, okay," says Dan. He feels a smile spread across his face before he even thinks about it. Yeah. This is what he wants. This is what, for some godforsaken reason, he's been allowed to have.

[patrick-donovan]

LEAN ON ME | THATTIEMELT

WHEN: June 7th, 2020

WHERE: Thea Hudson’s house.

WHO: Thea Hudson & Patrick Donovan

EVENT: Patrick comes over to be there for Thea, making her food and giving her a massage, amongst other things.

PATRICK: What had happened in the past 12 or so hours had been so confusing, and a rollercoaster ride of emotions. He hadn't expected himself to become a full-on poet for Thea, sending her that long thing, but he had; he didn't know how else he could express himself without art or putting them into analogies. So there he was, pouring his heart out one moment, not expecting anything from it, and then listening to Thea tell him everything about her and Skye. It had been a lot, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like for the girl whom he had feelings for. In the past week, she had been through hell and back, seeing her sister in the hospital, taking care of her, having various arguments with family members, seeing Finn on the island, and being told that Skye was in love with her. If she needed to scream, Patrick understood why. 

He quickly grabbed everything he needed and hurried over to Thea's. He had been willing to sneak over to her house, if it meant that Skye didn't know about it. He figured it probably wasn't the best information to distribute to everyone on the island, that Thea was putting Patrick under orders; especially when she couldn't give a reason for it, in public. It was left to everyone's interpretation, and Patrick figured that Skye would assume the worst. He'd gotten used to being at her house now and quickly knocked on the door. "Hey," He said, when she opened the door and he saw her. He didn't want to wait for her permission to step inside, he just wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her in a tight hug.

THEA: Thea felt drained, she had just spent the last few hours packing up all of her sister's clothes, medication, toiletries, even adding her own shirt that Skylar had commandeered and brought it all over to Riley's before quickly coming back. She felt so awful. Thea didn't know that she been doing that to Skylar all these years, of course she loved her sister, but she was family and was an extremely slippery slope that the two had been navigating for several years and she felt so much guilt now. And her poor brother was struggling now too. And she still was on shaky grounds with her step-siblings. It was a disaster and she hated admitting that to herself. 

Even with Patrick coming over, it felt like she would be twisting the knife in Skye's heart. So why was she doing it? Because Thea had to be honest to herself about accepting help. She heard a knock on the door, pushing up the glasses on the bridge of her nose, she didn't bother putting on a shirt over her sports bra as she came down to open the door for her guest. When Patrick acted as a friend to her by coming in, it didn't piss her off, because she was not his Domme right now. Wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him in return, she brought her legs up and around his waist.

PATRICK: Patrick's hands instantly went around to Thea's back, rubbing it. He felt her legs move up and he helped her, his hand finding her way under her thigh to keep her there. "It's okay," He wanted to let her deal with her feelings the way that she wanted to - he was merely there to support it, as long as it didn't get violent. "It's okay," He repeated and stood there for a bit. His face tucked into her neck, and he took in her scent; it was sweet and calming, and just so...Thea. "It's gonna get better, yeah?" He moved his face so he could take a look at her. He hadn't seen her wearing her glasses in a while. He'd missed it. But her eyes behind them told him everything that he needed to know. "You're going to be fine."

THEA: She was thankful that Patrick just kind of knew what to do by holding her there, wrapping her legs around him almost as to hug his whole body. Thea just sort of stayed silent. She was sad, but more of a numbing sad than a crying sad. But feeling her friend holding onto her and telling her the affirmation helped. Her hand went to the back of his head as she felt him press into her neck. Her fingers just gently rubbing at the back of his head until he moves to look at her face. Gently she untangles her legs from Patrick's torso as she looks at him with her lips pressed together that was supposed to be a smile as she nodded. "Hey," she said. Her lips moving to peck his in greeting.

PATRICK: There had been so many things for Thea to deal with, Patrick knew that she hadn't looked after herself, or given herself time to process everything that had happened properly. To him, it felt like she just needed to take a step back and gain some more perspective before diving back into it all again. "Hi," He pecked her back, his hands finding hers, after she'd moved back to stand. Taking in a deep breath, there was a lot that needed to be done, if he wanted the girl to properly relax, but he had 12 hours to do so, and he planned on succeeding. "C'mon, let's go make some food, it'll give us some energy," He stated, and walked to the kitchen, his hand still holding hers. Once there, he grabbed her by her waist and lifted her up to sit on the kitchen counter as he quietly moved around the room to find everything he needed.

THEA: She still wasn't the best with hand holding, but she did allow Patrick to take her hand as he meant no harm by it. Thea had dropped a huge bomb on the Switch earlier tonight, and she could not believe how okay he was with it. She had always feared if she told anyone about her and Skylar the would automatically disassociate themselves from her and go about their lives. So the fact that her friend was still here amazed her. "Sounds good," she said as she walked beside him into the kitchen. As a Domme letting someone pick her up and put her places did not appeal to her so as he walked around her kitchen, she slid into one of the stools at her breakfast bar to silently watch him him cook for her. "I'm sorry for not being super talkative," she said in apology.

PATRICK: Patrick had turned his back to her for a few seconds, trying to find the food that he'd cook for her, and when he turned back around, she wasn't on the kitchen counter anymore. He looked over and saw her sat at the breakfast bar instead, and he softly smiled to himself. She always had a way of keeping him on his toes, even if it was unintentional. "You don't gotta apologize for that," Patrick shrug his shoulders and leaned down to fish a pan out of a cupboard. He came back up and smiled at her again. "I kinda just invited myself over, anyway," He justified, knowing that in some way, Thea was absolutely capable of taking care of herself - she was independent like that, and even though he joked about her "guns" a lot, he always meant it when he said that she was strong. But, he also figured that, even if she was capable of doing things on her own, she didn't need to. Patrick had made it very clear that he was there for her when she needed it, and after everything that had happened, it seemed like she did. "Do you remember that time that we went out to that new nightclub, "Dirty Dick's", and we came back to my apartment at like 7 in the morning? I think that was me peaking, in terms of grilled cheese making, they were so good."

THEA: She shook her head, "I mean I kinda had to put you under order for you to be here, so don't just think you've got that type of power," Thea warned, trying to keep up the banter, but also was feeling like she wasn't on the top of her game. She watched him and rests her elbows on the counter, leaning forward to look at him, trying not to focus on all the shit going on in her life right now. She was brought back to reality a bit when Patrick started talking. She had to think for a moment, but a small smile rose to her lips at the mention, "Yeah, I remember. I remember that dumb bartender who started a fight with a dude and smashed a bottle over his head. That night was a weird one." She said, having had plenty of night like that when going out with friends. Yet somehow they also had very classy nights as well. She let out a small laugh, "Yeah, that was a good grilled cheese, although I think it had to do with our drunk level as well." Thea points out before looking over at him.

PATRICK: Smiling, Patrick nodded. "Don't worry, I think everyone knows that you're the HBIC around here," He gave in, focusing on the sandwiches in front of him. He could practically do this in his sleep; he'd made so many of them for the Hudson girl and himself. He wasn't lying when he said it though; there seemed to be a certain amount of respect that Thea upheld on the island, even if she hadn't been around for years, or even months. She just had that vibe to her. And it had impressed him when he saw how she'd been defending her sister to Gavin, in the chat the other day, even if he'd been worried. Chuckling, Patrick nodded. "We got the fuck out of there after that," He grinned at the memory. He'd spent his years in college, not really caring about the academia, and more about the experience itself, and it gave him some good stories to tell; most of them involved Thea, and they were usually the ones where he hadn't ended up getting himself into trouble with some sort of authority figure. He placed the slices of buttered bread on the heated pan, and waited for them to cook for a bit, before he added the slices of cheese to it. Gasping dramatically, and completely in a joking manner, Patrick looked up at the girl. "Are you saying I drank? I could never, Momma Donovan taught me not to do that."

THEA: Thea rolled her eyes although it felt nice to be recognized as such in his eyes. She almost felt like deja vu as she sat there, having watched him make plenty of grilled cheeses whether it be an after class snack, a good food for a case of the munchies, or just because they both liked them, it was a staple. "Like who gets that pissed off at 4 in the morning?" She shook her head a bit, "And then we had to take the damn subway, but we got off the wrong exit, because...drunk." Thea shook her head a bit, rolling her eyes. "Oh please, you're Italian and Irish, drinking is in your blood. I think Momma Donovan taught you how to down shots." She teased a bit as she rest her head in her hand that was on the counter.

PATRICK: "New Yorkers do," Patrick grinned. He was from Long Island, he knew how people could get, especially on a night out. "It's a constant rage they feel, no one's safe. Not even the poor customer who just wanted a beer, even though they'd clearly run out," Rookies, Patrick thought to himself. He knew what it took to arrange parties; there always needed to be one more keg than originally measured. Patrick laughed at the memory of the both of them just stumbling around, arguing over when they were supposed to get off. "You can't deny that the walk home wasn't nice though," He told her, a small smirk on his face as he remembered it. He hadn't really dared to do anything up until that point, only some very heavy flirting. But that night, he'd actually dared himself to put his arm around her waist, not only to support the both of them, but also because he wanted to be close to her. That night had given him something to think about, having realized that it was more than just wanting to have sex with her. Patrick flipped the bread over and made it into the well-known sandwich. "You're right, she did. I was sick the next day," He told her and flipped the sandwich onto a plate and served it for her. "There you go," Patrick licked some melted butter off of his thumb and looked at Thea. "Grilled Cheese ala Patrick."

THEA: When Thea first arrived to the city, she automatically felt like she was supposed to be there. The grumpy and spunky attitude of New Yorkers, just embodied what she had always wanted. And she enjoyed the scrappy attitudes. "New Yorkers do," she repeated as she grinned a bit more. Before trying to think about the walk, but coming up short. "Honestly, I really can't remember anything other than being able to say that I told you so." She said with a small laugh before he finished making the sandwich. "Hell yeah, Charlotte." She said in support of his mom's actions. Looking down at the simple yet delicious dish, she laughed a bit before beckoning to come over to sit with her. "Split it with me," she said as she starts carefully separating it in half, knowing it was still a bit hot.

PATRICK: Surprised at Thea not remembering, Patrick raised his eyebrows. She hadn't seemed that drunk, she knew what station they were supposed to get off at, and they were going to Patrick's place. Maybe it was just the moment that hadn't really stood out to her, like it had for Patrick. He hummed lightly, not sure whether he should say anything or not - it wasn't really that significant after all. At least not to her. "There are way too many nights that I don't remember, and then people tell me about what I did, and I'm so confused," He'd never hang from a chandelier, Patrick was a good kid - with a bit of a temper sometimes, and he could be quite spontaneous, and randomly do something just to see people's reactions, and okay, maybe he had been swinging from a chandelier at some point. Smiling, he dried his hands on a nearby towel and saw her motioning for him to sit down next to her. He complied and moved over, watching her as she started to separate it. "Alright, but only because it's you," He took his half and moved it to 'clink' with hers. "Cheers." And then he took a bite out of it, nodding as he got every taste of it. "Oh, yeah..." He moaned to himself. "That's a good one."

THEA: She let out a laugh, "Boy don't I know it, from the way you used to go at it. The infamous orgy in the public bathroom." Thea reminisced about that whole mess before running a hand through her hair. Thea waited until he got over to her to hand it over to him. "Thank you, by the way," she said before gently bumping her half of the grilled cheese to his and took a bite. Her own moan left her lips almost in unison, nodding at his comment. "It is just the right amount of gooey goodness," she agrees staying basically silent as she quickly finishes it.

PATRICK: "I didn't even intend to walk in on that one, they just grabbed me, okay?" Patrick defended himself, holding his hands up. "In any other situation, sure, I will happily say that I initiated it, but not on this one," They'd gotten thrown out when they got caught and immediately banned from the place again; it had been the second time that Patrick had gotten himself arrested as well, something that he hadn't dared bring up to his parents, especially after they'd freaked out on him the first time. "It's okay," He told her softly, but also wanting to move on. He didn't want her to think about him being there to help her, but more as them just hanging out. Nodding in agreement, Patrick finished it up in a few bites. "Alright, so...food's taken care of. Massage next? Bath? Sleep?" Moving in, Patrick smiled, his nose almost touching hers and he said teasingly, "More talking about my mom?"

THEA: Thea raised a brow at that excuse as she shook her head a bit, before dropping the topic. She gave him a small smile as he told her it was okay. She extended her legs out to rest on Patrick's lap, realizing that she had been hungry even if her body hadn't told her yet. She smiled a bit at his offers as she tries to think what she does need next. She watched him move closer, and raised her brows as he was very close to her face. Laughing softly at mention of his mom, she moved forward to kiss him softly. "I think a massage might be nice," she says against his lips.

PATRICK: Feeling Thea's legs stretch out over his lap, Patrick smiled and placed his hands down on the smooth skin, his thumbs rubbing it, tenderly caressing her. He was waiting for her to answer, but he couldn't help but think about the few days that the two friends had gone without one another - or more, how Patrick had been so out of it when she'd disappeared, going absolutely crazy over not getting to be around her again, but here he was, closer to now than he'd been before. The kiss confirmed that for him. If it was all a dream, then he didn't want to wake up just yet. "Yeah?" Patrick kissed her back, his hand moving up and down her leg softly. "Where's best? Not to sound like a complete manwhore, but I think your bed sounds ideal."

THEA: She smiled over towards Patrick as she felt his hands smooth over her legs, Thea hated admitting that it felt nice though. All that was going on with Skylar, it felt bad to be anything but upset right now. But as he kissed her, she tried to forget that. Her lips pulling away from his as she let out a small sigh at his question. "Yeah, the bed is probably best," Thea agreed as she brought her legs back to her own stool before standing up and heading towards the stairs, up into the bedroom. She passed by the room Skylar had been staying in and it looked so empty now, she diverted her eyes as she went into the bedroom, sliding off her clothes so she lay naked face down on her bed.

PATRICK: Patrick moved off of his seat and followed Thea upstairs. His main goal, for him being there was to try and get Thea to relax - not necessarily to distract her from what had happened. He was there if she wanted to talk more about it, but he wasn't going to push for anything. Instead, he figured being light-hearted about things would make it easier for her to relax. It didn't mean that he didn't feel bad about what had happened; he felt terrible that both of the Hudson sisters had to go through all of this, he didn't think it was fair. Patrick watched as Thea took her clothes off and laid down. Normally, he would've been getting hard already, but now was not the time. "How's this?" Patrick asked, his hands quickly finding the kinks in her shoulders and trying to rub them out.

THEA: Thea felt tired of everything in this moment. She wished there was something that she could do to be better, but also knew that all she could be was authentically herself. And as Kurt had shared, it would be far more damaging to skirt around the issue than to be truthful to her sister. Taking off her glasses and putting them on the bedside table, she pressed her face into the mattress and closed her eyes, feeling Patrick's hands she felt the easing of tension as she nodded, "That's good," she said softly as she let out a small audible exhale.

PATRICK: Patrick's hands ran over her skin, rubbing and massaging it, and he smiled softly to himself, getting the confirmation that was doing an alright job. "You're so tense," he muttered, mostly to himself, his smile falling and his eyebrows furrowing in worry. It was obvious that she was tense, after everything that had happened, and he didn't blame her. He moved one hand further up her neck, gently rubbing it as his other hand moved further down her back. He bit down on his lip in concern, shaking his head to himself. It all seemed to always come back to Thea; all of the family drama. "You need to relax more. I don't know how, but this isn't healthy, Thee."

THEA: The words were easy to brush off, of course she was tense. It was difficult being here, wanting to protect her family, wanting what was best for them, not knowing what was best for them and having them push her away. It was a lot to process and she didn't really want to introduce Finn into it if she could help it. Yet, she was realizing that was best for her family was maybe her not being in it. It was a hard truth to digest, but she was simply holding them back in some way or another. Patrick's hands couldn't fix that. She didn't need to be told what to do, that was her job. Thea felt him work out knots that may have knots built on top of them. Instead, she pretended like she couldn't hear his comment. "That feels nice," she murmured against the covers as she hummed.

PATRICK: It was so obvious that Thea was ignoring him, and he knew why. He'd never really been able to give her any advice without her being stubborn about it. And that was fine, Patrick could only ever really offer his perspective of things, but it was still tough, since he wanted to help her out as much as he could. He decided to keep quiet though, biting the inside of his cheek as he heard her comment on his massage. He was happy that it at least felt nice. He hummed and nodded to himself, keeping his hands working on back. His eyes raked over her naked back, taking in how perfectly toned she was, the way her body curved and the small beauty marks here and there. Patrick leaned down and placed his lips softly on her shoulder, giving her a small kiss before moving back up again, continuing his work.

THEA: She enjoyed the work she felt he was doing on her back and tried to make herself relax more into his hands. Her eyes started to shut as she felt the way his hands work her body, her eyes opening a little as she felt his lips on her body, she let out a small laugh. Her eyes shutting once more as she drifted off, not realizing how exhausted she had really been. until he had loosened her muscles up a bit more.

PATRICK: It was getting easier to knead out the knots and all of tensions in Thea's shoulders and back as Patrick continued to work on it. He didn't want to be rough on the girl, knowing that it could leave her sore afterwards, which meant that it would take longer to help her out, but he didn't mind. And neither did Thea, it seemed. He soon felt her body relax under his touch and her breathing even out, and he knew that she was asleep. She clearly needed it. Patrick continued for a little while longer, before feeling like her back was soft and all loosened up, and with that, he took a step back, admiring her for a moment. She was so peaceful. He reached into his backpocket, pulling out a little sketchbook that he had bought, and a pencil hidden inside it, and he decided to crawl onto the other side of the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. His eyes moved up her body. She was still on her stomach, a sheet tucked up to just above her backside. He smiled gently, as he started sketching her, spending a long time trying to get every detail right; the way her hair was sprawled out on one side, her eyelashes resting against her cheeks, the sheet forming around her body. He wanted to get it just right, and now was the perfect time to do so, while she was asleep. He spent a long time on it, not realizing that so much time had passed by.

THEA: Thea didn't dream, it was more of a hibernation that she went into, but she could not have remembered the last time she had a restful sleep since everything crumbled around her. Her nights were usually spent in restless slumber, waiting for someone to get hurt or for her to worry about her parents or existential questions filling her mind. It was about four hours when she woke up slowly, trying to figure out where she was and who was next to her for a moment as she lifted her head, a small groan leaving her lips as she grabbed for her glasses and saw Patrick still there. A hand reached out to poke his side, "You must have given me a really good massage," she said sleepily.

PATRICK: Patrick was so focused on his drawing, he didn't notice Thea stir and wake up until he felt the poke on his side. He was so close to finishing up, only needing to shade in a few things when he felt it, and he let out a small yelp, completely taken by surprise. His face had been scrunched up, but now, it had smoothed out and he let out a deep sigh, realizing that the girl had just woken up. He put the sketchbook down and looked at her, seeing how sleepy she still was. "Either that, or I just really bored you," Patrick joked, moving to push a strand of hair away from her face. "How did you sleep? You've been out for..." He looked at his watch, eyebrows raising in surprise. "Wow, four hours," Damn, he had not expected to spend so long on a drawing.

THEA: She noticed that he was drawing and laughed a bit at the noise that came from his lips, "Oh my goodness, did I really scare you that much?" Thea teased before giving a nod, "Probably was the latter," she teased back as she felt his fingers fix her hair. She moved onto her side towards him, the sheet only loosely wrapped around her waist and legs as she gave a small shrug, "I guess pretty well, since I didn't even realize how tired I had been." She laughed a bit, "What have you been doing while I napped then? Were you drawing the whole time?"

PATRICK: "I was in my own little world there, if you hadn't noticed," He grinned, feeling his heartbeat calm down. He gave her a little nudge when she teased him and smirked, instantly jumping on the banter. "Mhmm, it kept you quiet for a while." It was good to see that she hadn't woken up sad, but Patrick knew that it would be a long time coming before Thea was really over everything that had happened. For now though, Patrick took the small victories, happy to know that she'd gotten some rest. "Good, I'm glad. You definitely needed it," His hand moved down to her cheek, his thumb caressing it softly as he smiled at her. "Oh," He cleared his throat and grabbed his sketchbook again. "No, I didn't draw the whole time. I also taught myself how to speak Mandarin, and how to knit, and I baked a sourdough bread..." He trailed off, before smirking, not being able to keep the straight face. Then he gave her the book, for her to look at, as he laid down next to her, his head propped up on his arm. "I did a few of you. It was perfect because you were so still."

THEA: She let out a small laugh at his words, "Oh, I noticed," she said as she rolled her eyes, "Well then if you like me quiet, then maybe you should just not be here," she gave a mock warning with her brow. Thea didn't actually want to have him leave, he was actually somewhat helping, even if she still did feel awful about her sister. Her eyes met his as he held her cheek for a moment, remembering the words he had written her over text message. Her eyes moving away, glad for Patrick's distraction with the sketchbook. "Right, right of course," she said in a bored manner before taking the sketch pad from him to look at the drawings of her he had done. "They're really good," she admired them for a few moments before looking at him as he somewhat mirrored her position, she felt her nipples harden a little as she felt him a bit closer to her.

PATRICK: There was something going on with Thea, and while Patrick knew that she was definitely feeling sad, anxious and probably even frustrated about everything that had happened lately with her family, she wasn't exactly acting like herself with him. She still had the banter, still teased him, but she didn't keep the eye contact for as long as she normally would. Him caressing her cheek didn't seem all that nice to her. So Patrick pulled his hand away, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. "Oh, you want me to go? You should've thought about that before putting me under orders for 12 hours," Patrick scoffed, fake of course, as he smiled at her. His eyes moved over her facial features as he took in her looking at the sketches. He almost didn't hear what she said because he was too busy admiring the way her eyes looked in this light. "What? Oh, yeah, I guess they're alright," He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes moving further down her body, and seeing her nipples hardening. Patrick didn't want to give himself too much credit so he figured it would be because she was slightly cold. With everything that was going on, he didn't dare to reach out and touch her, but he was craving it; he was craving it badly. "How does your body feel? I might have worked your shoulders a little too hard, so if you're sore, please tell me. I can draw you a bath or something."

THEA: Thea scrunched her nose rather than giving a response about him pointing out she had put him here for 12 hours. She moved over to tickle his neck before going back to looking, she bit her lower lip a moment, noticing that only a moment ago he was staring at her. "They're better than alright," she corrects him, feeling his eyes gaze down her body which made her smirk, especially enjoying just how focused he was on her breasts. "My body? Oh it feels fine, wanna touch?" She handed back the sketchbook, "Oh yeah? The draw the bath," she says the pun before moving the sheet to put him under it as well. "I am a bit cold though," she says as her eyes look to his, not wanting to admit she wanted to cuddle.

PATRICK: Patrick was fine with taking a compliment, he could do it and especially when it came to his artwork - he knew what he was doing, and he knew when he got it right, but it still somehow made heat travel to his cheeks when Thea did it. He kept quiet though, nodding more to himself. He wanted to draw her more and more with each passing day; having seen her naked, she resembled that of a Greek goddess, and he felt inspired more than ever. Patrick's eyes instantly shot up to find hers, hearing her question. He cleared his throat, knowing that he'd just been exposed. "You know I always want to touch your body," He stated, not lying. "It's so hard, when I can't." Patrick smirked softly and took the sketchbook back, placing it behind him. When he turned back around again, he saw the sheet going over his body, and he smiled softly as he moved even closer to the girl. "Oh? I've heard that body heat's the best solution for that," His hand moved around to her back, pressing her closer to him, his eyes staying on hers. "It's a shame I'm still wearing clothes."

THEA: Seeing the way he started to get flustered, she felt her grin only spread more as he looked like a schoolboy being caught sneaking an extra cookie or something. Thea gave a nod, "Oh I know you do," she said laughing a bit in amusement. "It's so hard? Are you saying it as in your dick, or just that it's generally hard?" Thea teases him, smiling a bit more as he goes along with this theory. "Yeah, that's what they always say on Naked and Afraid," she feels his hands and feels her chest against his. "That is a very good point, I don't see why they aren't already off anyway," she looks at Patrick as her hand snakes at his shirt, slowly pushing it up his body.

PATRICK: "Both," Patrick hummed, giving her a toothy grin. There had been times where he'd just think about Thea and it would get him hard. It wasn't really fair, because he wasn't able to do the same, and there had been way too many times during an art class, where he'd have to hide the bulge in his pants behind the easel, only because he'd randomly thought about the girl and his thoughts had escalated from there. "Can you imagine being asleep and waking up to me just randomly in your bed, naked, drawing you?" Patrick started, his question more rhetorical than anything, feeling her start to push his shirt up. "You'd kick me out in a heartbeat." Grinning, Patrick sat up slightly so he could help her, as he brought it up and over his head, throwing it wherever. He went back to his position, instantly feeling her breasts against his chest. He let out a deep breath that he didn't know he'd been holding in, his gaze shifting between her lips and her eyes, as his fingers drew random patterns on her back aimlessly. "Hi," Was all he could think to say as he laid there, taking her all in, and properly feeling her skin melt under his fingertips.

THEA: She smirked at his comment, "That's what I thought," she said in a soft tone as she laughed a bit. At the thought of that, she had to think. What would she have done? Probably assumed they had sex and she had just been too drunk. "I guess it would depend if I knew you were already there or not. It really would depend on what type of mood I was in too," she adds even though she knew he wasn't really asking for an answer from her. "Most likely I would be the one naked and afraid rather than on the TV show," she let out a small laugh at the thought, untangling from him. Thea watched as he slid his shirt off, smiling as Patrick came back towards her, his bare skin pressed against hers as he looked at her, and she just looked at him, not understand what the hell she was feeling right now but brought her face closer to his, her lips inches from his, "Hi," she murmured back before reaching a hand to the back of his neck and kissing him slowly, passionately.

PATRICK: Sometimes, Patrick wondered if he'd done things differently back in New York, things might have actually happened between them. If he hadn't slept with everyone he knew, if he hadn't been such a manwhore, then maybe Thea might've actually given him a chance. They had been such good friends, something that Patrick didn't want to change no matter what would happen - she was way too important to lose. Maybe that was how she'd felt as well, even though Patrick clearly valued every friendship he had with the people that he'd slept with, not wanting sex to such a dealbreaker. "I don't resemble a bear that much," Patrick scoffed at her comment jokingly. He was happy when she kissed him, something that he'd missed. Goosebumps arrived at the feeling of her hand on his neck, and he kissed her back instantly, pouring just as much passion into it, as she did. His leg slid in between hers, hating how he was still wearing his jeans, but he didn't want to focus on that now; it was the feeling of her lips against his, her skin underneath his fingertips, her breasts pressed against his chest.

THEA: "You're a bit hairy," she teased in return. Her lips found his again, her eyes shutting as she wanted to forget all the fucked up shit going on right now. Kissing him was easy and simple, almost like they had been doing all the time they had known each other. Thea felt a fire in the pit of her stomach, but was still not able to identify what that meant, and she was not ready to figure that out now. She felt his legs move between hers as she slid her hand to the small of his back. Thea continued kissing him over and over until she had to pull away a bit to finally breathe.

PATRICK: "Would you rather have me shave everything off and look like a 12-year old boy?" He asked her, clearly not doing it, even if she did want it; there were some things that Patrick was just too stubborn about. Thea being on the island had helped him loosen up a bit. He was pretty sure that if he hadn't had her, he would still have been all tense and breaking even more rules than he had, and getting into a lot of trouble. She calmed him down, and yet still managed to get him all riled up. He could feel his skin prickle where he was touching her, it was a wonderful feeling. When she pulled back to breathe, Patrick immediately leaned back in to start kissing down the corner of her lips, her jaw and her neck, his tongue occasionally licking the spots. He hummed against her lips, leaning more into her. He didn't want to stop. His hand that had rested on her back moved down to her waist, softly squeezing her hips and then moved up in between them until he found he found her breasts. She'd asked if he wanted to touch her body, and he did. He really did.

THEA: A soft hum left her lips as he his lips wandered her face and neck for a few moments, her nails gently running over his back as he returned back to her lips. Thea kissed him in return, her tongue sliding into the kiss, thinking to herself how she could enjoy just this for at least a few hours as she felt the pressure of his body against hers. His hands wandering up her frame, she felt them slide onto her boobs, letting a small noise of approval as she pulled away when in need of air once more.

PATRICK: Patrick hadn't seen this coming; he'd had no intentions of being on the bed, making out with the girl, while she was going through what she did. He'd thought about it, definitely, but he didn't want her to feel like he was abusing this time with her because she was more vulnerable than before. He'd come over with the intention of making her feel relaxed, but if she was feeling relaxed doing this, then Patrick couldn't really complain. He just didn't want her to think that he was taking advantage of her, when she was so down and in need of someone to be there with her. He couldn't help but enjoy it though. He squeezed her boob softly, taking in a sharp breath of air through his nose at the feeling, and let his fingers run over her nipple, feeling it harden under his touch again. When she pulled away from the kiss, Patrick was breathing heavily, and he leaned his forehead against hers, as he tried to catch it. His hand moved from her breast to her neck, to her cheek to cup it and he pecked her lips again softly. "What do you need me to do?" He asked her in a whisper, his eyes finally opening to watch her.

THEA: Even with how overwhelmed Thea was the moment of reprieve of guilt she was feeling. Yet she couldn't avoid it forever and she knew that, but her mind tried to figure out just as many ways to leave it, and certainly the distraction of Patrick's fingers over her nipple were most definitely working. She was thankful that they both needed to breathe as it was getting heated, but she also knew she shouldn't be having sex tonight. Even if by the second she could feel herself getting wetter. She was glad that his hand moved, pressing her chest back into his now and still rubbing at his lower back gently, she kisses him softly in return before opening her eyes as this was the closest she had been to her friend before. The question was a hard one to answer, because she had no idea. "I don't want to have sex tonight, it just feels....like that's not okay," Thea wanted to make that clear first. "I need you to just do what comes naturally, okay? Right now I'm Thea," she said to him, wanting to understand the distinction. "And I need my friend Patrick," she said as she wonders what he'll do next.

PATRICK: "My friend". Patrick loved hearing that. If he could remember exactly who it had been that had introduced her to him, he would've sent them a thank-you card, an edible arrangement, hell, even a sing-a-gram! She had been such a big part of his life throughout the past five years, and being on the island and having her help him through it had been so important to him. He nodded at her request, respecting it. He was kind of glad that he was wearing jeans and they were under the covers so it wasn't as obvious that he was growing hard. "I'm here," He whispered to her, pecking her lips softly again. "I'm always going to be here," Patrick was sentimental; he wore his heart on his sleeve when he got to know people, and he was fine with talking about his feelings. He knew that not everyone felt comfortable about that, and wouldn't be okay with hearing some of the things that he would say, but Thea had given him the green light to keep doing it and that was all that mattered. 

Patrick moved his lips down her neck again, down to her collarbone, but instead of going down south, he went to the side. His hand found her shoulder, his palm resting flat against it as he pecked her skin a few times. His fingers ghosted over the skin of her forearms, his head moving to follow slowly as he continued the trail of kisses. "Do you know" He started, his lips tingling. "How" Another kiss followed, finding the crook of her elbow. His hand moved further down her arm, ahead of his lips. "Important" His fingers tapped lightly on her wrist, wanting her to open her hand, and he could feel her pulse underneath his lips. He kissed it softly. "You are" Finally, he felt his hand against her hand, his fingers moving up to play with hers. He kissed her palm softly before lacing his fingers with hers. "To me?" Patrick dragged his lips up to the top of her hand and kissed it and then looked up at Thea, not sure if he should wait for her response or not.

THEA: Thea could not appreciate enough how supportive Patrick was even before coming to the island. Even when he had made his like of her clear, she never ever felt uncomfortable with continuing their friendship. Nor did he ever try to do anything that would be crossing the line. He was respectable and she even felt confident telling his mother that the first time she had met the woman. When she heard him say that he was always going to be there, she smiled as she kissed him in return. In any point in time, she would have cringed a bit or pulled away a bit at the comment, but right now she needed to hear it. 

The feeling of Patrick's lip traveling down her body felt nice as she shut her eyes a moment, realizing that his lips were going in a new direction. Thea opened her eyes again as she watched him, her arm outstretched as she listened to him as his lips traveled. Feeling his fingers, she opened her hand as he slid his hand into it as kissed and intertwined their fingers. She let out a small laugh as he finished his question and also the journey to the end of her hand. "No, how important?" She teases a bit before adding, "You're important to me too, Patrick."

PATRICK: He smiled softly at her, feeling grateful that she hadn't pulled away from him. This was a new territory that they hadn't discovered yet, and Patrick hated doing something that Thea was uncomfortable with. He trusted that she would tell him no, in whatever way she needed to, if she didn't like it though. And this was a good sign that he wasn't crossing the line. He leaned back down again, kissing each finger gingerly. "You are so important to me," He started, before moving back up again so he was face to face with the girl. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been on this island," He told her, his smile falling and his expression turning softer. "You're so important to me that I wrecked my entire apartment when you suddenly disappeared out of nowhere," He moved to hover slightly above her, looking straight into the girl's eyes. "You're so important to me," Patrick sucked in a deep breath, frowning slightly. "I care about you so much."

THEA: Her muscles were doing this weird thing of not wanting to pull away but also hesitating in accepting the actions. Thea never had accepted love, she gave it out, but never enjoyed receiving it. There were very few people she even felt comfortable showing intimacy with and most of them were her family. Patrick kissing at each one of her fingers was one of those moments, but it was over quickly but his words still remained important. She even moved her own hand over his heart, feeling it against her palm as he spoke, her eyes on his as he explained how important she was to him. Her brows furrowed wondering if he was going to say something else as he said he cared about her. "I care about you so much too," she said gently and genuinely.

PATRICK: She looked so small as she laid there underneath him, but that didn't take away the power that she over him; and many other people, Patrick presumed. She was not one to do romance, and he knew that, he was fine with it. She wanted to do her own thing, be with whoever she liked, do whatever she wanted with them, and he understood. He wasn't one to get jealous, or angry, or bitter because of that; because he was the same. And Patrick didn't want to push the romance onto her. But right in that moment, Patrick felt intimacy like he'd never done before, and that was big coming from him. And he was scared that she might pull away. He was really hoping she wouldn't. He smiled softly down at her, his hand coming up to brush her hair away from her face. "You don't have to say anything," He whispered, knowing that she wasn't really one to talk about her feelings like that. "Not if you don't want to."

THEA: Looking up at him, she was starting to get uncomfortable with not being on top. Even in tender moments like this, why was it that she thought about control? Thea looked in his eyes as she just kept her palm pressed against his chest as she felt his fingers move to her hair again. She shook her head a bit as he spoke, "I mean it, I do care so much about you, Patrick. You kept me sane in times I wanted to tear down the world. You have been patient when people would have given up years ago. You're a good person and you deserve to know that I care about you." She said, gently pushing so that she could be hovering over him now.

PATRICK: Patrick listened intently as the girl under him started speaking, telling him how she felt. This was all new, he hadn't experienced Thea like this before, but he didn't hate it. He actually really liked it. She was sweet to him, in her own little way, sure, but she'd never really opened up to him before, the way that she'd done during his stay on the island. He was about to say something when he felt her push him down, and he laid down flat on his back, quickly shoving the sketchbook onto the floor so he wouldn't lay on it. His hands came up to rest on her naked thighs, and he smiled softly. "You putting up with me for so long has shown me that you care," He told her. His eyes went down to look at his hands caressing the soft skin on her thighs for a moment, before traveling up again to meet hers. "But I don't hate hearing it."

THEA: She felt herself tingle as he rubbed at her thigh, trying to not be wet at the thoughts that came to her mind when he did it. She laughed a bit at his comment, "I mean I think we mutually put up with each other. Considering I am not always the kindest human in the world and I certainly gave you plenty of reasons to run for the fucking hills," Thea teased. Feeling Patrick's hand again, she smiled a bit before teasingly saying, "Well good, because it's not very often that I'll ever be this way, I think you must have sedated me with that grilled cheese." Leaning back down she kisses his lips softly.

PATRICK: They weren't really supposed to be friends, if it came to their personalities. He was way too soft, he liked being sentimental, he didn't feel embarrassed if he showed that he was vulnerable. She was the opposite. She was more straight-forward about her feelings, able to shut things down better. But, they were both stubborn, and they knew how to keep the banter alive; and then there was the physical attraction that Patrick had had towards the girl since the moment he'd laid his eyes on her. "Oh, absolutely, you can be mental at times. Remember the time that one girl threw her drink at you?" He could be the same way, especially when drunk, a lot of things would piss him off. Patrick grinned at her words before feeling her lips upon his again, and he responded immediately. "Don't worry, I'm soaking it all in now, in case it doesn't happen ever again." He muttered into the kiss, and wrapped his arms around her. He would like for it to happen again, but he wasn't expecting anything.

THEA: Thea smiled when he called her mental, because it was true, but at the mention of the girl, Thea's smile went away for a moment. "You mean the cunt who kept trying to insert herself into our conversation and I kept telling her to go away? The one who ruined my fucking dress and I almost killed on spot? That one?" She felt the anger building up a bit, but she managed to push it back down as she kissed him, smiling at his words. "Or until the next time you sedate me with grilled cheese," she jokes before kissing him once more before letting out a sigh. "Alright, now how are you going to help me?" Thea raises a brow playfully as she looks in his eyes.

PATRICK: Humming, Patrick smirked softly. "It was kinda hot, seeing you get so angry," He mused, but his expression quickly turned serious. "But if that happens again, you make sure that you don't get hurt, please?" He was gonna go completely apeshit if anyone ever laid a violent hand on her. Raising his eyebrows, Patrick thought about the possibility of doing this again; she wasn't ruling it out, and it was nice. He wasn't going to take advantage of that though, he knew that Thea still wanted to remain powerful. "I'm currently making a mental note of that," He said, mimicking him writing it down. "Hmm...we can watch a movie? Or I can start up that bath for you? Or we can blast some music really loud and have a mini concert right here, right now?"

THEA: "I mean I'm sure it was, although I'm just hot in any mood," she grins before raising a brow as he quickly went to wanting to defend her again. Thea patted his cheek as she shook her head, "I can defend myself pretty well, don't you worry Patrick." She kisses him in reassurance before winking as he pretends to write it down in the air. Thea thought for a moment, trying to figure out if any of those sounded remotely appealing to her. "Or we could just talk? I've got some wine, we could sit outside until the sun comes up," she said alluding to one of the things Patrick had said about her.

PATRICK: Patrick didn't have a choice, he had to agree with what Thea said. She was hot in any mood, and it was frustrating, because it meant that the guy had difficulty staying away from her. It had made the five years of knowing her a lot harder - in every meaning of that word. "I know you can," He said, his hand moving up her back, to her shoulder and down her arm slowly. "But still...I don't like the idea of anyone doing anything to you," He watched his hand caress her upper arm softly, almost hypnotized at how silky smooth she was. It almost felt like she wasn't real. Patrick raised his eyebrows, instantly remembering the whole thing that he had written about her. Was she trying to tell him something? "Sure," He nodded, after a moment. He wasn't thinking about whether or not it was a good choice; he was analyzing every single thing that she could possibly mean, in his head. "Wine and sunrises are always a good idea," Patrick placed his hands on her back again as he sat up, making sure that she didn't fall over as he moved his body. He reached out for his t-shirt again, ready to put it back on.

THEA: She gave a small shake of her head, placing a hand on each side of his cheeks before saying, "No one is going to do anything to me, and if they try, I'm not fucking scared." She said feeling the way he touched her, trying to be protective of her. Thea looked at his reaction, wondering what he might be thinking. "Good, good, I think I must have heard it in a book somewhere," she said in jest as he sat up. Rolling over a bit, she sat herself up as well. Seeing that he was reaching for his shirt, she reach an arm out to take it, "Oh thanks, I was wondering what I was gonna wear," she said before sliding it over her head and onto her body before sliding out from the covers. Stretching for a moment before standing up, she looks at him with a grin, knowing he probably had waited for five years to see her in his top and nothing else.

PATRICK: There wasn't much that Patrick could do, to make Thea see that he didn't want anything to happen to her. He knew that she was capable of taking care of herself, she'd done it plenty of times before, but it didn't mean that Patrick didn't hate the idea of it. Her hands on his cheeks were somewhat reassuring; at least he liked to think so. He enjoyed it when she put her hands on him in this caring, attentive way; it made his heart skip a little. Hearing her off-handed joke, Patrick couldn't help but smirk softly. "Mhmm, a book, sure." He was about to put his t-shirt on when he felt it being grabbed out of his hands and instead, he watched as Thea put it on, his jaw having slightly dropped at the sight. His gaze followed her, and he couldn't help but notice that it was a little big on her, but still managed to highlight every feature on her body. "I- yeah...you're welcome..." He mumbled, not being able to take his eyes off of her.

THEA: Thea gave him one more soft peck to try to reinstate that she would be okay. She gave him another small wink as he played along with the remark. The Domme could see Patrick's reaction and she couldn't help but enjoy how excited he was by her wearing an article of his clothing. The way he couldn't even form a sentence made her let out an amused laugh as she opened the door to the bedroom, "Careful, you've got a little drool," she smirks before moving towards the stairs and heading down as she moved to grab two wine glasses. She spoke up, loud enough so he could hear, "It's a cheap wine type of night," she said before grabbing a bottle of wine that could have been picked up the gas station. She poured them each a glass.

PATRICK: She had no right to look that good in his t-shirt. It wasn't fair. It stopped right at her thighs, and it made Patrick crave more. It was that feeling of it being so exciting because he wasn't getting what he wanted, and she had all of the control. Hearing what she said, Patrick immediately woke up again, and felt his lip to see if he'd actually been drooling. She wasn't completely wrong. When he looked back up again, she was gone. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. She was going to be the death of him, not thinking that for the first time, and he crawled out of bed to stand up, only to notice the bulge in his pants. He heard her voice and the clinks of the glasses hitting every now and again. Patrick swallowed hard and decided to just make his way downstairs - he normally wouldn't have cared that he was hard, but this time was different; she'd asked for no sex, and there he was, getting aroused by something as simple as her wearing his t-shirt. "That's one of the best type of nights," He said, walking up to the girl, half-limping and his hand moving to cover his crotch.

THEA: She filled up each glass to the brim and got some Ritz crackers, salami, cheese, and grapes out. It had always been funny in college, because they were on a college student's budget, yet the group of friends they had always wanted to be bougie. So when they had their "sophisticated art parties" this was what they would serve. Thea missed those days a bit but was glad she had someone who shared the experience there with her. Hearing him come down the stairs, she turned her head to look at him, with a smile, "Hell yeah." Her eyes went over Patrick, furrowing her brows a bit as he walked up to her, "You good there? You didn't like step on something or pull a muscle?" Her eyes traveling down to where his hand was on his groin and realized what the limp was for. "Oh, I see, something bothering you?" She teases a bit as she grabs her glass and the plate of snacks moving towards the door to her backyard. "Bring your glass and the bottle, boner boy."

PATRICK: Patrick could feel it press against his thigh, wanting to be released from the denim prison that it was in. Clearing his throat, he felt a slight blush creep up on his chest. "It's not- it doesn't bother me," He lied, shrugging his shoulders. Why was he getting these boners just because he looked at Thea's body? He wasn't normally like this, he was capable of controlling himself around other people. He grabbed his glass and the bottle of wine like instructed and followed right after Thea to go outside. He'd only briefly seen her backyard when she'd taken him around on the tour, and it was pretty. "I just can't- it's- it's obvious that I think you're really hot," He said motioning towards his boner. "You can keep that t-shirt if you want."

THEA: Thea could see him getting flustered as she gave a half nod as she knew it was clearly bothering him. "Alright Pattie Melt, no need to feel ashamed." She gives him another small wink before heading out back. She moved towards the daybed that was under the gazebo and placed the bottle of win on the glass table, turning to realize he was explaining himself to her. "Really? I really would have never known," she laughed a bit as she slid onto the bed, taking a sip of wine as she placed down the plate of food. "Oh, I was planning on it whether you gave me permission or not." She gives a small shrug before looking towards his boner again.

PATRICK: It was horrible timing, but what was he supposed to be doing? Just five minutes before, she'd been kissing and straddling him, all naked, and now she was wearing his t-shirt - he really couldn't win with this girl. Not that he wanted to, he'd happily surrender and give in to anything she wanted, but still, now was not the right time to be aroused. Patrick sat down at the bottom of Thea's daybed and took a sip of his wine, shaking his head at her and bringing her legs up to rest on his lap. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, and it's not fair," He told her accusingly, but in a teasing way; he loved it and it was plain to see. The air hit his naked chest as he looked out over her backyard, but it wasn't cold, it was more refreshing after having been underneath the naked girl. He couldn't help but think about how so much had changed during his short stay on the island. How the two friends had moved from Patrick basically flirting with her non-stop, to actually having sex with her and being intimate with the girl. She was a mystery to him.

THEA: She grinned as he guided her legs onto his lap as she grabbed a grape and popped it into her mouth before taking a sip of wine and raised a brow mischievously at him in response to his pointed remark. "I can't help how you feel," Thea said back as she leaned her shoulder against the cushion as she faces him. She grabbed another grape, her eyes locking with his as she brought it up to her lips, the coolness of it pressing against her lips before she ate it before asking, "Hey, tell me something I don't know about you."

PATRICK: Patrick got lost in Thea's eyes for what was probably the millionth time. It was easy for him to do. They were so kind and gentle, and yet hid away so much history and pain, and it made Patrick's stomach twist, knowing that he didn't even know the half of it. He liked sharing things about himself; mostly because they weren't all depressing things, and he liked getting people to laugh at his stories and him, so he'd told her mostly everything about himself. Raising his eyebrows, he thought for a moment, moving his head to look into his wine. It swirled around in the glass. "You want me to tell you something you don't know..." Patrick hummed, thinking for a bit. 

"Remember how you asked if I'd lost anyone, earlier today, and I said that I'd lost a best friend a few years ago?" Patrick said, keeping his eyes on the wine. "His name was Ben, and we'd been friends since we were both, what? 6-7 years old, I think? We used to do everything together. We'd camp out and read comic books under our sleeping bags with those giant flashlights that a child can barely even carry," He gestured the size of them, overestimating how big they actually were, and chuckled. "He was the first person I told, when I lost my virginity. We even cut our hands and swore to be blood brothers to each other, which in hindsight, a 12 year old should not have done," Patrick said, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. "Everything was fine, we both got into NYU, we moved in together in Sophomore year, he was making a lot of money with his art, but then, I don't know," Patrick paused, swallowing hard at the memory. His eyes were still locked on the beverage in his hand. "He killed himself in Junior year. I later found out that he was depressed, and didn't think he was going anywhere with his life." Sucking in a deep breath, Patrick raised his head and looked at Thea again. "I miss him."

THEA: When she had asked Patrick to tell her something, she didn't expect it to be extremely deep, maybe a story about breaking a bone, or a time he got a pet. But when he asked if she remembered him mentioning losing his friend, she gave a small nod. Pressing her lips together, she listened, smiling softly at his description of the memories they shared. She could even remember some memories of her own through his, but felt her heart warm as he described their friendship, it sounded special and meaningful to him. But it was clear that the person he was talking about passed away. When she heard the name Ben, she tried to remember if she knew him at all. And that's when she remembered her friend running into her dorm room Sophomore year and telling her about Patrick's roommate, and Thea bit at her lower lip as he started to explain what happened. Her brows furrowed a sadness in her eyes as she found him looking back up towards her. She gives a small nod, "Yeah, that's...that's never going to go away, but he sounds amazing, and I am sorry that he felt that way." Wishing she had something better to say.

PATRICK: The story about Patrick's friendship with Ben wasn't one that he normally talked about, if even at all. He was pretty sure that the only other person who knew about how sorrowful and heartbroken Patrick still felt, was his mom. Other than that, he didn't really tell anyone about it. Nodding, Patrick offered Thea a small smile, thankful for the sympathy. It was a heavy subject and he hadn't really expected her to say anything. "Yeah, it's...it's okay," He said, his voice slightly cracking and he quickly turned his head to wipe away the one tear that had been threatening to spill out of his eye. He managed to swallow the hurt and he took a sip of his wine. "On a lighter note though, I once had sex with a girl who let me fuck her in the ass, and she thought that I was going to marry her afterwards."

THEA: She gave him a nod, moving a bit close to him, she sees him wiping away a tear and kisses his cheek gently, a hand moving to rub at his hair, taking another sip of her own wine. Mid-sip, when he told the other fact, she choked a bit, spitting some wine as she pinched the bridge of her nose as she was pretty sure she just got wine up her nose from swallowing the wrong way, but she couldn't help but laugh through the burning. Thea shook her head, she couldn't believe Patrick's history. After she was done with her laughter she said, "She must have been under the impression that, 'Sodomy is between God and me,' hence marriage." Thea said as she adjusted her glasses as she felt the stinging sensation start to reside.

PATRICK: Patrick instantly grinned, his hand moving to rub her back so she wouldn't die from choking the wine. He made her laugh and that was the most important thing. Patrick shrugged his shoulders, his arm moving to loop around her knees. "Maybe? I mean, we did do it in her car, outside the church that she attended, so who knows? Maybe she felt guilty, and needed to apologize to God?" He didn't have a clue, but he'd freaked out instantly, at the idea of marriage and knew that he had to get out of that relationship, almost as fast as he'd gotten into her car at the promise of anal. "I rarely have awkward situations with people, but that one...she threw her drink in my face when I broke up with her." Patrick chuckled at the memory, knowing that it had been an easy way out. "Now it's your turn. What, out of the million things that I don't know about you, do you think I should know now?"

THEA: She smiled a bit as he rubbed her back, smiling as he moved his arm around her knees. Raising her brows, she laughed again. "I was going to say Jesus, but that would only be too apropos." She joked a bit as she couldn't believe how bad he was when it came to being mean, "Damn, you douchebag," Thea laughs a bit before taking another sip as she tries to think of something to share with him. When she figured something to share, "Alright, from elementary school up until my freshman year of high school, I was in chess club, and I even made it up to like the youth finalists of New Mexico, some twat named Teddy beat me and he looked at me and started crying and apologizing for winning because he said I was too pretty to lose."

PATRICK: "Don't bring his son into it, it's bad enough that the big guy's involved," Patrick chuckled. He liked that they'd moved on from the heavy topic and to this instead. It wasn't that he'd been uncomfortable or didn't trust Thea enough to keep going on about it - he did. That was why he'd told her in the first place. But he figured that if she wanted to know more, she'd ask him about it, and if not, then that was it. "Mhmm, I'm such a bad boy," He joked, taking a sip of his wine and then listening intently to her story. "No way!" He exclaimed and turned his body slightly, making sure that her legs were still draped over him, but facing her more. "Teddy wasn't lying though. So what happened? Did you just go home after that, or did his outburst do something to make you move forward in the championship?"

THEA: Thea smiled even more at his remark back, "Touche," she grins, rolling her eyes as he called himself a bad boy. "More like a bad bitch," she says in return, using the term she knew he enjoyed. She laughed a little at Patrick's investment in her story as he turned towards her a bit more. She gave a nod, "Oh I told him that I knew that. Umm yeah, I'm pretty sure my mom just took us out for ice cream. Wait!" Thea just remembered the other part, "We saw him there at the ice cream shop, and I was like thirteen at the time? And he came up to me and tried to ask if I wanted to go on a date and I said no, and he asked me why not, and I told him something like 'Well, you cry like a baby and you beat me at chess.' So yeah, who knows if he won or not." She gives a shrug before finishing off her glass of wine.

PATRICK: Patrick almost growled at the name that she gave him, it reminded him of her being in charge and Dominating him, but he restrained himself. He knew that he wasn't the only one who'd been given that name, having been told about the booty shorts that she'd made, but he didn't really care. As far as he knew, he was the only one she called 'Adonis', so he figured he was already winning. "Aw man...I was rooting for this guy," Patrick joked and let his hand run up and down Thea's thigh softly. "Both in terms of dating you, and winning the chess game." He leaned over and found the bottle of wine and poured some more into Thea's glass. "Can you teach me, at some point?"

THEA: "Oh yeah? Well he never had a chance anyway, I would have broken him," Thea smirked, feeling his hand run up and down her leg,she tried not to feel herself getting wet at the motion. "I don't really do dating." Even in high school she never had a boyfriend or a crush even. Fascinations happened, sure. But, it wouldn't last long, most of the times it was someone going after her. Holding out her glass she smiled a bit, "Thanks," she said before taking a small sip and smiled a bit more. "Teach you what? How to date me or how to play chess?" Thea didn't mind the fact that the shirt was starting to ride up her sides as Patrick rubbed her thigh.

PATRICK: Scoffing, Patrick nodded. "Without a doubt. At least I haven't cried about your beauty, yet," He grinned, knowing that he went on about it a lot, but he couldn't help it; she was very clearly his muse, telling her or showing her how beautiful he found her made him do it. He had trouble putting words to it, so instead, he'd compare it to things that he knew of, images that were stuck in his brain for inspiration. "Yeah, I'm gonna ask you to teach me about dating when you don't want to do it," He scoffed again and grinned. "No, I meant the chess thing. I've always wanted to learn, but I've never had the patience to actually sit down and look into it. You know how I get, I need to be up and about, doing something with my life." Patrick said and filled his glass with a bit more wine before placing the bottle back on the ground, and his hands returned to the soft skin on her legs.

THEA: She smiled, letting out a content laugh as he agreed with her. "You seriously haven't cried over me?" Thea was somewhat surprise with just how in touch with his emotions he was, she figured that maybe he would have at some point, not that it didn't bother her that he hadn't either. She let out a small chuckle at his witty remark before giving a nod, "Yeah, I could try to teach you, although I have a feeling you're going to be just sitting and watching me and not listening at all." She smirks over at Patrick knowing all too well that the only time she saw him quiet and pensive was when he was drawing or painting. Feeling his hand again, she took another swig before saying, "What else? Tell me something else."

PATRICK: Patrick furrowed his eyebrows, smirking a little bit. That was an intriguing question to ask, he thought. "No? Am I supposed to? Did I not read the contract thoroughly enough when I signed up for being your friend?" He asked rhetorically, teasing her. Patrick was a really sensitive guy, but he rarely cried. If he was hurt, he would get angry and violent if something went wrong for him; crying wasn't his thing, until he'd dealt with it in a more aggressive way. He hummed, smiling to himself. Yeah, she knew him, because getting to just sit and look at Thea all day would basically be a dream come true. "I won't lie to you, that's exactly what I would do." He grinned, slightly starting to feel the effect of the alcohol in his body. "Something else?" He thought, letting out a puff of air. "I was once bitten in the thigh by a zebra at the zoo."

THEA: Letting out a small laugh, she shook her head, "No, no just a but surprised, that's all," she teased a bit. She laughed a bit more as she took another drink as she felt the warmth of the alcohol filling her stomach as she gave a nod, "Oh, I know, it would definitely be easy to win against you though." Thea smirked as she drank another swallow of wine. Raising her brows, she choked a bit, she really needed to stop drinking right as he was about to tell a story. Coughing a bit, she made sure it went down the right windpipe before saying "What?! Okay, I have so many questions! First of all, ow! Or did it hurt? How old were you? How did you get that close to a zebra for that to happen? Do you have a scar?"

PATRICK: "How come?" Grinning, Patrick was really intrigued to know why she was so surprised. He could be the sappiest guy, and he knew that, but he also figured that he was doing an alright job at keeping his feelings at bay. Raising his glass, Patrick pointed to highlight the girl's point and then said, "and you like to win. So really, we're both getting what we want." He smirked, hoping she might give in so he could spend several hours just taking her in. He laughed at the amount of questions that she had for him and his Zebra accident. "I was about 5, I think. I don't know, but it was at one of those Safari drive thrus where you can feed them. Anyway, I had my window down and some food in my lap, and the zebra snuck his head in and grabbed the food, and that was when I felt its teeth go into my leg too. In hindsight, it probably wasn't that bad, but you know, when you're 5, then every pain is horrible," Patrick explained nonchalantly. "Yeah, I do, want to see it?" But before she could answer, he'd moved her legs to the side so he could stand up and unbutton his jeans. He pulled them down and searched for the small red dents in his skin, so he could show her. "There. That's from its tooth."

THEA: She shrugged at his question, "I guess I just thought since you've been keen on me for five years at some point I would have made you cry for some reason or another." Thea spoke honestly as she chuckled at his comment. "You're ridiculous, are you seriously never going to get tired of my face?" Thea nodded as he spoke, intrigued by this story. "Oh man, that's crazy," she shook her head a bit. She rolled her eyes a bit, "How the fuck did I guess that you were going to take your pants off to show me?" Getting onto her knees at the edge of the daybed right where he stood, checking to see if he still had a boner before but it was unsure in the lighting. She moved, squinting a bit until she saw it, "Oh, huh, well I guess it was probably bigger when you were younger," she said as she ran her finger over it, feeling the tiny indent in his skin.

PATRICK: Patrick let out a hearty laugh at Thea's reason, nodding along. "I can see why you'd think that," he laughed. He'd been wanting to be with her for so long and working so hard on it, without anything happening, but it didn't mean that it had been difficult. "I guess the different company I had over the years made it easy for me to not shed a tear over you," Patrick smirked, referring to all of the people that he'd had sex with over the years. "I think if I got a head injury, and I lost my sanity...nah, even then, I wouldn't get tired of your faace." Patrick responded confidently, knowing himself. It felt like a new feeling every time he looked at Thea. His boner had relaxed and but it didn't mean that he didn't feel a slow burn in his abdomen every now and again; especially when his t-shirt had moved up slightly, after he'd rubbed her thighs. A shiver ran down his spine when he felt her fingers on him - he figured she'd touch him, yet it still took him by surprise. "Everything's bigger when you're younger." He muttered, and pulled his jeans back up, but not bothering with buttoning them back up again. His crotch wash half out as he sat back down again, taking the last sip of his wine. "You tell me something...sexual?"

THEA: At least he felt like what she said was valid, considering she didn't want to seem like she was too confident in her abilities. She rolled her eyes at his comment about other people. Again going back to the first impression she had of the male. "Well I'm glad you kept yourself occupied," she said waving it off a bit as she felt more at ease when he complimented her again. Thea felt a warmth in her stomach, figuring it was just the wine as she took another sip. "Is it still your favorite thing to draw?" She teases him, as it was a reference to a comment made when they had first met. A mutual friend of theirs said that she was his favorite thing to draw now. And it had just stuck as a statement they would say. She looked back towards him, "Definitely," she agreed before scooting back to let him rest where he had just been. Thea saw that he had finished his glass and decided to down the rest of hers. "Something sexual," she smirked a bit, "Hmmm," she said before reaching over him bending to get the wine from the ground as the shirt slides up her body, exposing her ass a moment before she gets the bottle and pours the remaining contents into their glasses as she the shirt slides back down her body. "The first time I masturbated to the thought of fucking you was a few months after I met you. You got into a fight with a guy at the bar on 4th, and afterwards you looked at me in this way like you were trying to impress me, and that night when I was in the shower I fucked myself thinking about calling you my bitch and making you beg to cum for me."

PATRICK: "I don't think my hand would've been enough," Patrick chuckled, referring to all of the dreams and thoughts that he'd had about Thea, and how it had still resulted in hours and hours of masturbation. Five years would have been a long time to have gone without having sex, especially to try and make Thea fuck him. But, maybe if he hadn't slept with so many different people, she would've given him a chance - she always mad him aware of what a manwhore he was, and he owned up to. "Your face? Hmm, let me think," He paused for a moment, pretending to think about the whole situation. "It's definitely up there," Patrick teased, a grin on his face. It was quite clear that her face definitely was his favorite thing to draw. He kept his eyes on her, his hand still on her leg as he watched her, and he couldn't help but feel himself gasp softly at the sight of her bare ass. He wanted to reach out and make her straddle him, so he could grab her ass - maybe even turn her around and bite into it? No, no, she was talking and he had to listen, especially to this answer, he thought to himself and snapped out of it, retaining some sort of self-control. "I-" He wasn't sure where to begin with the information she'd just given him. "A few months after meeting me?" Was she telling him that he'd gone five years with her sitting on that information, and not doing anything about it, despite him trying and trying. "Oh, wait, was it the fight where that guy was hitting on you, and he wouldn't stop touching you, and when I came to tell you that we were leaving, he pushed me away? The one where I ended up with the black eye and the busted lip? I thought I saw you giving me a funny look..."

THEA: Thea snorted a bit as he alludes to jerking off for her as she shook her head a bet as he tries to explain herself. A smirk plays on her face as he teases about whether or not her face was his favorite thing to draw. Her eyes meet his after she heard him gasp a little when she had bent over. Once again getting to enjoy the effect she had on Patrick as she spilled something she had kept to herself all this time, she gives a nod as he confirms that it had been a few months. She nodded once more at his question, "Yeah, it was that fight. Did you then?" She let out a small chuckle as she took a sip of her wine. "Well now I suppose you know," she gives a little shrug before saying, "Now you share something sexual!"

PATRICK: Patrick didn't know how to fight. He almost always wanted to fight, after too much alcohol, but it also always almost resulted in him getting hurt in some stupid way, because he wasn't capable of actually hitting back. With this guy though, he'd actually managed to punch him right in the jaw before he got tackled down, but it had warranted him feeling quite impressed and proud of himself. And maybe, just maybe, it had been because he'd seen how the guy had been all over Thea, and a slight sting of jealousy had hit him. "I like knowing that you've fucked yourself to the thought of me," He said, smirking as he leaned in to peck her lips softly. "I want to know more about it," He tongue moved out to lick her lip before he pulled away again to answer her question. "I once, accidentally, moaned your name while I was with one of your friends. Olivia." He revealed and smiled, not really all that embarrassed by it.

THEA: That night had been odd, the guy who had come with them out for the night was supposedly meeting friends there. He had been begging the entire night for them to have sex and although he was attractive and she was having a fun time, he started getting sloppier and when Patrick had come over and pushed him away, insisting she was staying, even though she could have stopped it and told the other guy that she would not be staying, her friend had took it upon himself to fuck shit up. And she liked the trouble secretly as it unfolded. She smirked as she kissed him in return, "You want to hear how I fingered myself but that wasn't enough so I used the showerhead?" Thea felt his tongue, and was about to invite his tongue into her mouth as he pulled away. A wide grin slowly grew on her face at that, "Holy shit, she never told me that?! What happened?"

PATRICK: There was that familiar burning sensation in his abdomen again, beginning to reach his dick, as he listened to her words. He wanted more information, he wanted more details, and actually, he just wanted to see it and experience it. "Yes please," He begged quietly, not aware that his throat had gone all dry at the thought of her in the shower, and his voice being raspy. "I would also like to see a showerhead being used on you, please," Patrick admitted, feeling his dick started to harden and grow again. It could do just that, with only the restraints of his boxers this time, knowing that his unbuttoned jeans gave his member more freedom. "She didn't? That's surprising. Basically, we didn't make it up to my apartment, and we did it on the staircase, but she was wearing knee-high boots like you sometimes did, and I don't know, something in my brain triggered it," Patrick told her, shrugging his shoulders as he smiled at the memory. "We laughed about it and she said something like, 'I can't wait to tell Thea about this'. But I guess, me going down on her after that made her forget about it?" He didn't mean to sound cocky, but Patrick also knew he had a talented mouth, based on his experiences, and he was a little proud of it.

THEA: She could hear the change in his voice as she grinned and whispered, "How the water ran over my clit as I though about dominating you," she teased him, looking down his member grew for her as she spoke, her eyes moving to greet his, "I bet you would," she said as she smirked. Shaking her head as he asked if she hadn't. "They probably were mine," she said before Patrick started to recount the story and it felt odd to hear him talk about Olivia. She moved away to take a sip of her wine again, rolling her eyes as he spoke of himself. "Right, of course," she murmured before tilting her head back to down the rest of her wine.

PATRICK: He felt a shiver run down his spine and he shuddered for a second at the feeling, as he listened to her talk, describing everything to me. His jaw almost dropped at the pure thought of her in that shower, pleasing herself because of a look that he'd given her. "Yeah?" Patrick let out, breathlessly, as he could feel himself lean more and more into her, almost dreaming away to that night as if he had been there. No, instead he was sat at home, a bag of frozen peas on his eye and sulking over the attention that Thea had given the man, and not Patrick. Smirking, Patrick's hand remained on Thea's thigh, but it started moving in and up, slowly making its way to where he wanted it to go. She'd told him no sex but that didn't mean he couldn't try and tease her. It probably wouldn't end up well, she'd most likely tell him no, and that was fine. But he wouldn't know if he didn't try. "What? You're not jealous, are you?" His tone was more teasing as his fingers crept closer and closer to her sex.

[pretty-perdita]

A Very Merry Unbirthday |*| [The Dalmatian Quartet feat. Chester]

In which Chester crashes a birthday party...

@paul-patts, @truly-aninspiration, @dalmatianplantationsensation, @chester-glass

[tw for mentions of suicide, contemplation of suicide, knife brandishing, baby kidnapping, violence, stabbing, some minor gore, it’s a while ride folks]

Chester’s plan had backfired. And to think, he’d been certain to plot it so well! You see, his grand plan on making Anita Dearly’s life miserable was supposed to culminate in a frozen-heart-punishment fit to make her stoic and barely-human-at-all. Or at least, that was Chester’s intent and so imagine his surprise when he saw his Sister Dearly strolling around Swynlake with a smile on her face. Further inspection revealed that not only was Anita Dearly unbothered by her condition—she /loved/ it. She liked being a heinous bitch. Now how was that for a plot twist?

Which just left Chester with one option and one option only: Kill Anita Dearly.

Now, murder was an awfully messy business. It was never Chester’s first choice, never really his intention, but sometimes the path grew narrow, the options limited. Chester’s options were dwindling the longer he stayed in Swynlake and the more terror he caused. He could smell the climax as it approached…feel it quiver in his skin.

And so when he heard about the Patts-Faye babies’ birthday, his plot senses began to tingle. He needed something to get the heartless Anita onto a ledge. In a room full of her friends, his options sprang wide open. And so it was on June 28th that Chester slunk into Anita and Perdita’s flat for the last time, while they hung their streamers and blew up balloons. Oh, it was going to be a party, alright.

Anita It had been several weeks now since the awfully annoying ‘intervention’ that her friends had staged and thankfully, things had more or less returned to normal. Perdita was still prone to give her strange glances and the cold shoulder, and she rarely went out with her anymore, but Anita had found other people to occupy her time.

In fact, she was planning to duck out of this baby shower thing as soon as she could so she might take advantage of her free time for a few cocktails at Pixie’s. For now though, she played the part of dutiful friend. /She’d/ even offered to pick up the cake and she put it on the table now, setting down the knife, the plates, and the napkins in the minutes before the party was to officially start.

“We’ll be eating this all /week,/” she teased as she looked back at Perdita, and for a moment it was like Anita could be herself again—all sugar and rosy cheeks. And then the doorbell rang and Anita looked toward it. "Oh, that'll be the boys, wouldn't it?" she said.

Perdita was in the middle of blowing up balloons and as her head dizzied from the massive intakes and outtakes of oxygen, she thought about how she got here as she watched Anita flit about the table. Anita with her frozen heart. Perdita, who just took her depression medication a few hours ago. Paul and Roger--the same as always, if not sadder and scorned by the women they loved. It could've all worked out peachy, couldn't've? Two best friends in love with two best friends? It was the fairy tale everyone wanted. Somewhere along the way it had gotten so fucked, but they were all still here in the end, and that made Perdita's heart light. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen.

When the doorbell rang she set aside the gold balloon she was blowing up (gold and white with a little bit of sky blue were the party colors). "I'll get it," she said with a smile and flounced towards the door, opening it wide. She smiled wide too.

"Hey!" she greeted, reaching out for one of the babies. "Gimme. You two have got to hang the streamers and balloons," she told them.

Paul was bloody well-excited for the first time-- alright, since he got cast as Romeo, maybe it wasn't so far back after all. He'd been waiting for this day for a while is all. He couldn't believe that his kids were one years old today, that it'd been a year and his life had changed this much. Course he didn't linger on the specifics because he'd get sad. He just focused on the babies himself, little Penn and little Patch, lively and smart and friendly, who were gonna be speakin' any day now, who still had their mother's eyes.

So he was all smiles when Perdita opened the door, Patch in his arms (Roger had Penn). Patch immediately let out a gurgly happy giggle at the sight of Perdy.

"Yeah, that's Mum! Mum's gonna say happy birthday," cooed Paul with that big grin before he passed Patch over. He glanced over her shoulder into the room. "Blimey, you plannin' to float this flat away with all those?" he quipped, but walked in toward them. He smiled a bit stiffly at Anita.

"Hey Anita-- you mind taking Penn?" Anita nodded and went to go get Penn from Roger near the door. Paul swiped a bunch of streamers and dragged a chair toward the window, no idea where he was gonna be puttin' 'em.

Roger Penn wriggled a bit in his arms. She was excited. Even Roger was a bit excited, well, more than he'd been in a while. He'd sorta accepted a few weeks ago that he was going to be doomed to cash registers and dog walking for the foreseable future, so when literally anything out of the normal happened it was a welcome change. Not that he wasn't happy that Paul's kids were turning one--because that was wonderful. These two little critters that Paul (and Perdy) had brought into the world were turning into little people.

Roger bounced Penny a bit. "You excited? They've got a cake and everything. Well, I dunno if you can process the taste of cake--oh hello, Anita." He managed a warm smile, shifiting Penny a bit so that Anita could take her.

Anita did not want to hold the baby, mind you, but here she was: playing nice. She smiled at Roger-- a closed-lip smile-- as she took the drooling bundle into her arms.

"Hullo Rog-- oof, this one's getting rather heavy, isn't she?" Anita said and looked at Penn, who had her fingers in her mouth. "Fancy that it's been a year, hm? This time last year-- why, we were just getting used to Swynlake weren't we?" she said to him. "Now we're practically regulars."

Perdita "Yes, Mommy is gonna say happy birthday, isn't she? Happy birthday!" Perdita said, bouncing Pat on her hip gently touching her finger to his nose to make him giggle, which made her giggle. She couldn't even begin to wrap her head around the fact they were a year old.

Did all mothers feel like that? Or just the ones that had lost the first nine months of their babies lives to depression?

Wandering towards Paul, she hovered around the bottom of the chair. "We've got to tell Daddy to be careful," Perdita narrated to Patrick, but she was looking up at Paul. Patrick made a cooing, baby-talk sound. "Yeah, I know, he can be a bit of a klutz, can't he?"

Paul scoffed, tossing her a glance. "That's definitely not what he said. He's on my side. We Patts men--" he mounted the chair then "--stick together! Now where the bloody hell do you want me to put these things?" He lifted the streamers up, squinting at the doors.

Roger gave a little laugh. "Time passes, that's for sure," he said, shrugging and walking into the flat. "So where's this all set up?"

Anita walked in after Roger, pushing the door closed with her heel. "Er, well Paul's got the streamers so I suppose if you'd like to hang some balloons off the chairs perhaps? The table's already set up so really we're practically good to go, I'm sure everyone will be here soon," she narrated as her eyes flicked around the room. She frowned at her own open door-- she swore she had closed it, so she moved toward it to shut the bedroom door again. No need to go in there.

Perdita "Y'know," Perdita said, letting go of Patrick with one hand to wave her hand about. "Loop it across the doorway, separate the colors out, though, so they don't get all bunched and are more--layered. And don't wrinkle them."

Paul "Course, because /wrinkle the streamers/ was first on the to-do list," Paul quipped back but was facing the window, measuring out the streamer to see how big the "loops" had to be. He wasn't the best at this sort of thing, Perdy knew that. He was pretty sure he was gonna fuck it up and she'd tell him to redo it, but he leaned forward and taped the one end and did the first loop across the window. "Yeah, like this?" he said and looked over his shoulder at Perdy.

Roger scanned the room and found where the gold, white, and blue balloons were and grabbed a handful. "Er--ribbon...?" Anita had walked off to her room, Penny still in her arms. Roger found a spool of ribbon, then set the balloons on the table, tyin' 'em up behind the chairs, and arranging them all nice and stuff. He flicked the top of one of the balloons and continued around the table.

Anita "Oh that already looks lovely, Rog," said Anita when she glanced back at the table with the balloons and the ribbons. The colour scheme was of course all Perdita's doing, neither boy could be responsible for such important measures. But he had a good eye and Anita's still appreciated this kind of aesthetic thing. Everything needed to be perfect, like a magazine. "Maybe bring some of that ribbon to the door? What do you think, that might be nice for people coming in," she said, adjusting Penn in her arms. She was being awfully wiggly.

Perdita "Mmm," Perdita said, tilting her head and taking a step back, almost bumping into the end table of the couch which made Pat giggle in her arms. "A little to the left I think, don't make them too big or we'll only be able to fit one or two."

Paul snorted some air outta his nostrils but obeyed and shifted it to the left so the loop drooped more dramatically. "Yeah?" he said. A second or two passed as Perdy eyed it. "Oh /c'mon,/ Perdy, they're just bloody streamers."

Perdita "They're not /just/ streamers, Paul. If they're uneven they'll throw off the whole ro--you know what? Here." Perdita bent down and placed Penny on the floor. She immediately began crawling across the floor, towards the couch, probably so she could try to pull herself up with it. "Anita, Roger, can you keep an eye on Penn while I help this /klots/," she scoffed, but playfully as she went and grabbed another chair, plopping it down next to Paul's so that they were spread out across the double doors. She climbed up carefully. "Okay, hand me that end," she said, gesturing for it.

Roger continued to adjust the balloons, then glanced over at Anita. "Yeah--that's a good idea. I can hang a few of 'em around the door frame." He grabbed a few balloons, knotting their ends with string, and reached for the top corner of the doorframe.

Anita had already wandered Roger's way to inspect the ribbon-doorway-mission, which was truly of the utmost importance as the guests would see it first and so it needed to give off the best impression. She glanced toward Perdy now, long enough to see her bend down to put the second of the Patts children on the floor. Anita rolled her eyes a little. Wasn't one baby enough (Penny was already a handful as is) for a woman to have to keep an eye on?

She gave another cursory glance, figuring the request was similar to a stranger asking another stranger to watch their things in a coffee shop-- symbolic and nothing more.

Then back to Roger. "Yes, that looks quite nice, I think. For what it is," she said with a shrug. She glanced back toward Paul-and-Perdy who were bickering. Rolled her eyes. "I do wish they'd just sleep with each other and get it over with," she said half to herself, half to Roger.

And then she noticed her /door/ was open again. Anita scoffed. "I swear I just closed that--" Anita said as she swept back toward her bedroom to shut the door.

Paul "Oi, name callin-- we got kids in the room, Perdy," teased Paul with a mock-stern expression. He leaned over enough to hand her the other end of the streamer. "Right, so. Tell me how this is gonna work /oh streamer queen./" More mocking. Ah, felt like old times.

Roger heard what Anita had said and then just shrugged, not really wanting to get into the whole should-Paul-and-Perdy-sleep-together bit, especially coming from the girl who went off and froze her heart. He adjusted the balloons, glancing over his shoulder as Anita walked towards her bedroom.

Perdita "And don't you forget it," Perdita said playfully, taking the streamer from Paul, their fingers brushing over the streamer, making Perdita's heart squeeze a little. She hung it up, a mite distracted, and then looked over her shoulder to find the babies.

It was habit now, ever since Patch had fallen off the bed. If they were in the room, she could't take her eyes off them for maybe a few seconds. Anita still had Penny on her hip. Patch was--he should be right by the couch. She craned her head a little further, to try and see around the back of it, if he crawled off in that direction. It almost made her lose balance as her stilettos slipped against the finished wood and she ripped the fragile streamer still in her hands.

"Paul--do you--do you see Patch? Anita! Where is he?" she asked, her voice a little shriller than probably necessary as she began scrambling off the chair.

Anita had just closed her door again and looked up sharply at Perdita's voice. "What? Oh calm down, Perdy, he was right there," she said with an eye roll and she craned her neck too but didn't see the baby. "Or-- " she blinked. "Oh uh--"

Paul "What?" said Paul, his own head turning sharp at Perdy's voice. "Wait, what?" He dropped the ruined streamer anyway and hopped down from the chair, rounding along the couch in search of his son. But he-- wasn't there. "What the hell, where the hell?" He turned around, eyes scouring the room.

Roger turned around immediately, walking towards the center of the room, eyes scanning, on alert. "Er--did he crawl away maybe? Uh, under the sofa?" He dropped to his knees, looking around the floor.

Chester And it was then that Chester-- who had been there all along mind you, enjoying the silly drivel of the Mundus-- appeared sitting on the countertop, Patch in his lap and a knife in his hand. The very same knife that had just been on the kitchen table for that scrum-diddly-umptious cake of theirs!

"Oh, are you looking for this little tot?" He preened. Patch was giggling, reaching out his hand for that big, big knife. "Ooooh, no, no, little Patrick, that's not for /you./ Babies." Chester grinned and brought the knife a little closer.

Perdita No one could find him. Perdita stumbled a little as she got down off the chair, putting her hand against the wall as Paul and Roger frantically searched around. All she could think about was all the things he could be getting into. They'd babyproofed before the children had come over, of course, but Perdita's panicked brain wasn't thinking about that.

And then--out of nowhere materialized--"Ches--" she didn't get his name out before she saw the glint of the knife. Her throat closed up and she couldn't do anything but stand there, her heart pounding as if it was trying to warm her up enough to let her /do something/.

"Paul--" she managed to squeak out, though it was probably hardly loud enough to catch his attention

Anita started at the voice coming from behind, whirling around to see-- Chester Glass of all people on the counter. Her eyes stayed open, her mouth gaping in confusion. She held Penny a little tighter, making the girl whine. She was already upset by the rising voices and the stranger now in their midst. "Wh-- what--?" she breathed out the word, frozen otherwise, exactly where she was.

Paul was not frozen. Paul was the opposite of frozen. His blood turned to fire at once, moving several steps closer like he was going to lunge. He only stopped when the knife in Chester's hand slipped closer, and even then, his body trembled, unable to simply /stay/ still.

"What the hell are you doing? Who the hell is this?" he said hoarsely, glancing fast at Perdy and Anita who seemed to /know/ the man with /Paul's son./ "Give my son to me right now!" he yelled before any of his shellshocked mates could give him an answer. Penny, in Anita's arm, began to cry.

Roger nearly knocked his head on the coffee table, but stood up, instantly on defense, Paul's shout riling him right up. Penny was crying, the girls silent and frozen. Roger glanced from Chester Glass to Patch to the knife gleaming in Chester's hand and his own heart pounded, ready to jump into the fray at a moment's notice, but for now--he was on guard, didn't know what someone like /Chester/ would do with Patch.

Chester glowed after every single reaction, his heart pounding bright and hot in his chest. Nothing like a good surprise, was there? No, nothing. It was worth it-- all this hiding these past few months, being invisible more than not. All the terrorizing he'd caused without anyone to give him due credit. All of it had led up to this moment right here. And all eyes were on him. He was the star, the center of attention. He was the puppetmaster, and the show was going to go according to plan. He adjusted the tot in his lap, the little buddy still trying to grab at the knife.

"Oh /hush,/ handsome male lead, you're making the other one /cry,/" he said with a fake pout. Then smiled again. "We haven't met, have we? You're Paul-- I'm Chester. Well, that's not entirely true. I'm Alfred Dearly. Ooooo, spooky!" He giggled. "Not the dead one, the alive one. I'm his son. Anita, darling, so glad to finally make your acquaintance."

Perdita Paul's shouting only made Perdita's blood chill faster. She hated that. She hated the yelling, the knife getting closer to Patrick's neck. Penelope crying. She'd only put him down for a moment--just a moment. She wanted her baby in her arms more than she ever had. Either of them, both of them. The urge was so strong she wasn't listening to a word that Chester was saying, she didn't /care/ what he was saying. She just wanted her baby back.

Anita 's head spun, her face twisting with every word he said. None of that made /any/ sense. She had known Chester Glass. He was a prankster, yes, but not malicious. And he'd not been in town. Hadn't he moved away or something? She had no idea because he had just been a tiny blip on her radar, and certainly not-- not what he claimed to be.

"That's not /true,/ I -- I don't have a brother," she said with her voice high but sharp. "You're lying, you're-- you're /insane./"

Paul inched a tiny bit forward, eyes darting from Chester to Anita. "What's it matter anyway? Got /nothing/ to do with Pat," he said. "Leave him out of this, he's just a kid."

Roger nodded along with Paul. "Yeah--it's not him--he's got nothing to do with this."

Chester "Oh /I/ know that, he's just a hostage. Of course I don't want to hurt the little bugger, but I will if I have to," Chester said quite amicably. His legs swung a bit. He was getting a real kick out of all this, the boys as alert as puppy dogs, Perdita coming apart, and Anita-- well, she was the problem.

"Now, if Anita will just be so kind as to jump off the balcony and kill herself, then I will be on my way." He smiled sweetly. "Your daddy's waiting, Sister Dearly."

Perdita Paul's voice--softer now, but still strong, helped. He wasn't scared (okay, maybe he was, but he wasn't showing it, he wasn't coming apart--Roger too) and that helped. She still didn't move but she managed to hiccup a breath in--the first one she'd taken since Chester had appeared--and clear away some of the panic. Now, it all clicked together. Chester Glass--who'd she'd been working alongside for the better part of year--was her best friend's /brother/, or so he claimed.

And he wanted--for whatever reason--for Anita to die. Perdita's heart clenched, but still--she didn't say anything, couldn't. Too afraid that anything would set Chester off.

Anita "Wh-- /what/? Because you /think/ I'm your sister?" exclaimed Anita. And even as she did, though, the pieces were clicking for her too-- Chester the invisible boy slinking into her flat, Chester the invisible boy writing scary messages on the door, Chester the invisible boy somehow getting her photographs. She hadn't been haunted. It'd been a trap.

Chester "I know you're my sister. Oh, it's a long, long story-- but the summary is this. Your parents gave me away because I said Magick. While /you/ lived your life of horse races and champagne flutes, /I/ was an orphan. This--" he made a grand sweeping gesture with his knife, which made Paul flinch and make a strangling noise, "-- is my revenge plan. Now, at first I just wanted you to be miserable with a frozen heart but APPARENTLY you're having the time of your life, so that won't do. The only choice is for you. To jump." He brought the knife back toward Patch. "Or I'll saw the tyke's head off."

Anita There was a beat, a single beat. A second of silence, in which Paul Patts did not object, Perdita said nothing, and Roger, too, remained silent. It was a second where Anita looked around, her eyes catching that balcony door that, for now, remained shut. And truthfully-- she was waiting for /someone/ to object. For her friends, who she had known for the best years of her life, to say something. They didn't. It was just her and Chester, the knife glinting under the light, Patch squirming, getting restless, starting to panic too. She was supposed to give up her life for that wiggling, pink thing. Tiny. Helpless. Ugly (if they were all very honest with themselves). Part of her wanted to object and just say no, but the more Patch squirmed, the more empty her heart felt.

The silence turned into two, three seconds, and Anita's shoulders slumped, her face getting softer.

"Alright," she said. She looked at Perdita. "Perdy, you should come hold Penny while I do this."

Roger "Anita, you can't do this." Roger was still firmly planted where he stood, worried that the slightest motion towards Anita would cause Chester to slit Patch's throat. His heart was hammering away—he did not want Anita to jump, did not want anything to happen to Paul’s babies, there had to be /something/ they could do. "Please--" He looked at Chester now. "There must be /something/ else we can do for you."

Perdita's face changed as soon as Anita agreed. Her brows knitted and she turned her head sharply towards her friend, golden hair flying wildly about her shoulders.

"What? No." She didn't even think about her baby, not in that second. She was thinking about her friend. Her dearest friend in the whole world. Of course, the next second Roger spoke up and Perdita was looking at her baby. Perdita Faye had a very strong heart, it was iron wrapped in steel, but in that moment, it felt soft as cotton, and it ripped in half just as easily.

Paul did not take his eyes off his son. He inched, careful, slow, miniscule. Every time Chester's eyes bounced wildly around the room, he took a chance and took a centimeter. He had no real plan but he knew that he wasn't gonna let Patch die. Roger, Anita, and Perdy could just buy him enough time, he'd figure it out, he'd find a way-- he'd save him.

Chester grinned, ear to ear. Predictable, the friends chiming in, bargains hoping to be struck. But Chester would not be satisfied until Anita splat against the concrete. He looked at Roger, who had been in love with Anita-- was he still? He'd toyed with the idea of holding him hostage, but really, the baby was much easier to bully.

"I'm afraid there /isn't/, Mr. Radcliffe. Anita dies or the kid does. Now.." he hopped off the counter, holding a squirming, crying Patch slung in his arm, the tip of the knife pressing against the child's tummy. The father let out a shout, Anita flinching, the mother looking like she might crumple into hysterics at any moment. "Time's a-wasting! Don't make me skewer the lad!"

Anita did let out a tiny shout herself-- all her cool now gone forever, her heart, suddenly, heavy in her chest, squeezing. It felt like there was a knife against it. "No-- don't, I'm doing it, I am, look--" said Anita and she crossed quickly to Perdita, practically shoving Penny in her arms. "It's alright, Perdita, it's fine," said Anita to her, and she squeezed her friend's arm once before she pulled away.

Perdita really did want to crumble to the ground. She didn't know what to do. Of course she didn't, when things really mattered--that's when she crumbled. She'd started crying at some point, tears streaming down her face as Anita shoved Penny into her arms.

"A-Anita," she said, reaching out to grasp at her hand even as she pulled away. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She wanted to tell her to not do it--she didn't want her to do it. She needed Paul and Roger to think of something, to keep this from happening. She couldn't lose Anita, she couldn't lose Patrick. She couldn't lose anyone standing in this room. They were all she had.

Chester "That's right, scurry along!" hummed Chester. Patch wiggled in his arm, flailing his arms dangerously close to the point of his knife.

Anita tore her hand away from Perdy. She did not look at her friend again. She simply faced the task ahead, and at this point, it was good that her heart--though quickly thawing-- was not yet truly unfrozen. Because it was just a list of steps wasn't it? Move the chairs, open the balcony doors, climb onto the railing, and jump.

She was not scared to die. Or if she was, she could not yet feel it. It was just that list of tasks, and then the crying would stop. So she scurried quickly to the chairs and moved them, glancing at Chester for half-a-second before she opened the doors too. Behind her, the crying grew worse-- Perdy was crying now, and it /hurt/ in her chest too, oh, she'd forgotten how that felt. But it did not slow her steps. She moved onto the balcony, right up to the railing and she wrapped her hands around it and looked down.

It was not so far, Anita thought. The fall would be over before she opened her eyes.

Anita glanced again then to her friends over her shoulder. Paul, Perdy-- Roger. Another small spasm of pain in her chest, but she blinked and kept it away. It was probably better this way, Anita thought In a logical sense. Still, she hesitated.

Chester had a very short attention span and this was /really/ moving along slower than he liked. For one, there was about to be a /party/ in here and Chester wanted to time it perfectly so they could walk up to the building and find Anita's dead body in their way. Second of all, the X-factor was going to be on soon and he hadn't set it to record, he figured he'd be /done/ with this by now. So when Anita stopped by the railing and did not swing her legs over, he huffed, the grin lost.

"Get on with it!" Chester called and took several steps toward the balcony, brandishing his knife.

Roger This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. None of them had asked for this—this town, this magic. Hell hadn’t they had enough, just on their own? Just four fucked up twenty-something year-olds, two poor as dirt, two fallen from riches—just trying to get by, with each other. There shouldn’t be a knife at a one-year old’s throat, Anita should not be walking towards the balcony, face drawn and serious. He was not going to let that happen—Roger was not an impulsive man. He followed Paul, usually, when Paul was impulsive, but Roger thought, Roger thought about what he was going to do before he did it.

Only Roger didn’t think now.

Chester Glass passed him—Chester, who used to tease him, who’d been Puck in the play last year (how ironic, two pairs of lovers), who’d been a pest but a loveable one, who sent everyone lewd texts on holidays—Chester passed him and Roger felt a surge of anger like he’d never felt before and without really thinking, he lunged forward, tackling Chester to the ground.

Chester did not see Roger lunge. He felt it-- felt the man's body slam into his, and then flew through the air, his arm and shoulder smashing nto the ground. Screams erupted from every corner of the room, the baby catapulted from his arms (where it landed, he had no idea!)and Chester slashed wildly with the knife while he got his feet under Roger and kicked at his thighs and groin. "Get--off--OF--ME--!"

Anita Anita saw the whole thing and she could not stop it. Roger lunged, and a scream ripped from her lungs, the sound shattering the leftover ice in her chest. It felt like shards too, scattering through her insides as sharp as the knife that was brandished Roger's way. She pressed her hand on her chest, gasping like she'd lost air. The world spun around her, noises coming from all different directions.

Her knees hit the pavement. When she looked up, she saw Roger and Chester, silver glinting between them, and-- Patch. Her eyes widened. The little boy was on the floor, surrounded by a shimmery, transparent, blue-tinged... shield.

Perdita screamed too, the sound ripping from her lungs like her soul leaving her body. She felt her heart stop in that moment, her eyes not on Roger at all, but on Patch, falling, once again--this time in slow motion, this time with Perdita's eyes right on him. Unknowingly, she had taken several steps forwards, Penny screaming too in her arms, the sound like white noise.

Suddenly a shield materialized around Patrick, so that he bounced against the ground, but didn't actually touch it. She stopped in her tracks, eyes widen. Patrick's eyes were also wide, big and glassy--and then, after a moment, with tear tracks on his face, he looked up at the glimmering shield and giggled.

Paul had been ready, primed to strike. He had not been ready for Roger to leap before him. When it happened, Paul's eyes widened and he shouted "NO!" lunging forward, eyes pinned on his son like he might dive to the floor for him. But he just stumbled toward the mess, the shield comin' outta no where and bouncing against the ground, then rollin' like a marble toward him and Perdy. He didn't even realize that he was grabbing Perdy's arm till the moment when the shield stopped and Patch smiled up at him like nothin' had gone wrong. Then he fell to his knees and reached out for his son despite the shield (because Paul acted, didn't think, just like /Roger/ was supposed to think and not act) and his hand hit the shield like a wall.

"Patrick," he blubbered, but the shield did not move. Paul snapped his eyes back to Rog and Chester and scrambled to his feet to help--

Roger had not thought he would get this far honestly. He didn’t have a plan, he had just lunged forward and Patch had gone flying and he hadn’t thought about that and maybe that wasn’t a good idea—and knife. There was a knife. Chester had a knife and Roger had pinned Chester to the ground by his shoulders, but he still had the knife and before Roger could react, before Roger could pin down Chester’s hands, wrestle the knife from him—there was a sharp pain, a glint of silver, a glint of Chester’s wicked smile.

He didn’t even feel it all at first, just like sometimes in the fist fights he got in with Paul you didn’t notice someone had punched you till after, and he grabbed Chester’s hand, only then noticing that the knife was red. It was between them now, drops falling on Chester, and Roger wrenched it from him, tossing it on the balcony.

“You’re not going to hurt /anyone/,” he growled and that’s when he felt it. The blood first, wet, soaking through his shirt, then the pain—sharp, stabbing, raw, nothing like a broken fist or a blood nose. He winced, but did not loosen his grip.

Chester Now this could have gone better, but despite all that, the adrenaline was kicking through him high speed, his muscles burning in that good, good way that Chester loved. And he was not opposed to having Roger Radcliffe on top of him. He laughed then, laughed harder as Roger wrenched the knife from him, didn't mind as it scattered toward the balcony, toward his sister.

He just looked at Roger, smiled, then disappeared underneath him. Only the drops of blood from Roger marked where he was as he wiggled and kicked Roger again, trying to dislodge him.

Anita was panting when the knife got tossed, skidding her way. It stopped nearly right in front of her, like it was meant for her. She did what anyone would do in that situation: she grabbed it and rose from the ground, nearly tripping on her own clumsy feet. She felt everything now. Her heart was so loud in her ears it felt like a siren, a warning.

"Roger! Roger!" She said as she moved toward him and Chester-- though Chester was invisible now.

Paul "Perdy, call the cops!" Paul said, getting to Roger before Anita did. He made a blind grab for any part of Chester's flailing body, hand colliding with a -- a knee? He grabbed and slammed it down, helping Roger pin him. 'Knock him out, Rog!"

Roger was still in pain, but he raised a hand and punched--something? anything? His hand definitely made contact with something and he punched and then punched and then he gasped. "Paul--" He clutched at his side, fingers now covered with blood, but then with all he had left in him, he curled that bloody hand into a fist and gave another solid punch.

Perdita. blinked at Paul, his voice ringing out loud and strong through the din. With shaking fingers, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and hit dial.

"Hi yes, please come quick there is a manic in my apartment he tried to steal my baby and s-stabbed my friend, p-please help!" She gave the address, the phone still presssd to her ear. She dropped down on on knee and gestured for Patrick. "Come to mama, baby, come here Pat," she said, trying to smile at him but he just smiled back, waving at her through the shimmery shield.

Chester laughed. He laughed until his laughs became manic shrieks, Roger punching the sound from his lungs. A blow to the shoulder, a blow to the ear, a blow straight to the eye. His nose crunched. Blood pooled in his vision. And then one more punch and that sound-- laughter like a hyena-- shut off. But Chester did not materialize back into view. No, his precious, shiny marbles had far flung themselves to every which corner, his brain could not keep them together when unconscious. It was like there was nothing there at all.

Paul "I got you, I got you, mate," panted Paul, pulling Roger gently off the invisible body (nothing but a blood stain in its place). He eased Roger's head into his lap and his eyes went wide at the side of the blood spilling rapidly from Roger's ribcage, soaking one half of his short, even parts of his trouser. Roger's entire hand was covered in blood. "Shit, Rog, you bastard," said Paul in a hoarse voice that did not sound like Paul. It quivered too much. "What've y'done to yourself, eh, mate?" His hand covered Roger's bloody one, pressing hard against the slash to try to stop the bleeding.

Anita fell to her knees at Roger's side at once, letting the knife go. Tears streamed down her face, each one hotter than the last. She felt hot all over now. She didn't realize how cold she'd been. How little had really gotten through. "Roger, oh no, no," she choked on each sob and touched his scratchy cheek so softly, scared she might make everything worse. She'd been the cause for all this, after all. It was her fault, her stupid fault.

Roger "I'm sorry..." Roger said, weakly. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was--longer than he thought, longer than the span of his hand and blood still flowed around it. way Paul was looking down at him, he felt like a child, like when he’d broken his ankle when trying to do a trick on Paul’s bike and—and Anita was there, right at his side, her hand on his cheek. Was she Anita though? Was she Anita, was this Anita or some cold, distant figure in her place? And Patch—he couldn’t see Patch. Chester had been holding Patch, where was the baby?

“Is Patch okay? Did you get him—I’m sorry I didn’t think. I…it’s my fault.”

Perdita It all happened so fast and Perdita's hand was sweaty around the phone and she was too scared to move closer to Roger. She could see the blood from here, a few feet away. It made her hands tremble and she didn't--she didn't want Roger to die. He'd saved her babies, he'd kept her secret for her, he was her /friend/. At his question, Perdita finally remembered she had legs and she took a few shaky steps forwards, so that she was in Roger's line of sight if he lifted his head. Could he lift his head?

"H-he's fine--he's--well, he's--" she didn't really have the words "--more than fine, really." Her lips trembled and she pressed them together. "T-thank you." Had she ever said that? For before? She should've.

Anita sobbed again as Roger apologized. All she wanted to do was put her head on his chest and hold him. She couldn't do that. He was covered in blood, the slash big and /everywhere/ or so it felt to Anita, though everything looked blurry through her tears.

"Oh Rog, you /are/ an idiot," she blubbered, but she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Thank you, oh, thank you--" his cheek, then his other cheek. She hiccuped and sat up straight at the sound of sirens coming through the open balcony door. Oh thank goodness. She grasped at Roger's hand not currently pressed to Roger's side. "I-it's ok, you'll-- you'll be alright, I promise, everything-- everything's going to be /fine./" And she managed to smile at him through her tears and squeeze his hand.

Roger breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Patch was alright. He felt pain. It was everywhere, not just the gaping would, but through his chest, every time he breathed. His breath was shaking. /No, calm down Rog, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine./ Anita had kissed his forehead, she said those words to him. He was going to be fine. He heard sirens. Anita was here, Anita was here and she was alive and she was—crying. She was crying. Patch was alright. Perdy was alright. Paul was alright. They were all alright, even if he wasn’t, and that was okay. He squeezed Anita’s hand back and nodded.