#I should probably schedule a second therapy appointment to actually sort this out maybe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honey-hippie-harper · 3 years

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In-Laws Being In-Laws (Re-upload)

Hiii!

So, this is basically an old fic, which I deleted from my other account ( @dawniebb ) and was requested to be uploaded again.

This feels like a lifetime ago afgshjka, but I remember it was written for a Renegades content swap event, and it was for @healing-winston-pratt (hello, wifey!). The prompt was, basically, Nova and one of the Renegays being in-laws, and it was super fun to write! <3

If anyone’s reading this: Hi, you’re a beautiful human being, and I love you <3

In-Laws Being In-Laws

Dear Dread Warden,

I am not quite sure you will get this message because it is been a while since I last used my communicator but, in case you do: I hope you are having a nice morning.

The reason I am writing you this is that, as you must already be aware, right now Sketch and his teammates are taking part in the Annual Renegade Convention as special guests to be awarded for their heroic participation in the Second Battle for Gatlon. Hence, they are out of town. Due to my temporary resignation from the team, I declined the offer to attend the event and, for instance, to receive an award. This means that, unlike theirs, my routine remains the same as usual.

Unfortunately, I must see my therapist for my weekly appointment in two hours, and after that I will have to go to the supermarket to pick up some groceries and essential items. Under normal circumstances, given the nature of my relationship with Sketch, he would have driven me to the supermarket and then back to my apartment, as it happens to be located sort of far from the store and it could be pretty difficult for me to walk while carrying all those bags. However, as mentioned before, these are not normal circumstances and Sketch is not currently available.

I reach out to you with no intention to cause trouble; for instance, if I happen to be asking too much or disrupting your schedule (As I am conscious you are a busy person) and you consider you will not be able to help me, I assure you I completely understand. But: Could you pick me up from my therapist's office and take me to the supermarket afterwards?

I apologize for the inconvenience and I promise I will make sure this does not happen again. In addition, I also apologize for the alliteration in the greeting at the beginning of this message. I did not know whether you wanted to be acknowledged by your real name or your alias.

Sincerely,

Insomnia.

-.-

Hi, Insomnia!!!

So nice to see you!... Or should I say read you! Ha! It's been so long, it almost feels like an eternity! I hope therapy is going great! (We're all really proud of you!)

It doesn't bother me at all, sweetheart; of course I'll help you with that. Could you share the location of your therapist's office, please?

Oh, and also: What time do you want me to be there? (Not that I have anything to do today, I just want to be on time).

I'm excited to see you! Can I take you to eat something afterwards? How does that sound?

Take care!

(Agh. I forgot these things don't actually allow you to write your real name).

-S i m o n.

(Better).

-.-

He spotted Nova way before parking. She was sitting on a bench outside the building, staring anxiously at her phone. The body language of a nervous person.

Simon stopped the car right in front of where she was, and when she realized he was already here, Nova jumped out of her seat as if it had burned her skin, before jogging in an awkward manner towards the car.

Once she was inside, Simon couldn't help but feel a twinge in his stomach. He wasn't lying when he told her he was excited to see her. In fact, he was more than excited, and he had to hold himself back pretty hard to avoid hugging her, because it was evident she didn't want to be hugged right now, for she just directed a tiny smile at him and said:

"Hi."

She was the same Nova he had met some time ago, but at the same time she was different; she was wearing sneakers, skinny jeans and a basic white v-neck shirt; her hair was a little longer, too, to the point she could tie it in a cute little ponytail; Simon could tell she wasn’t wearing any makeup, but still her face looked healthier than before; less tired, with smaller under-eye dark circles and lips covered in chapstick. Finally.

She looked alive. More than before.

“Hi.” He finally responded.

Watching people get better was always satisfactory, but watching Nova get better was different. He had grown to appreciate her, since the very first moment he saw her with Adrian; since the very first moment he spoke to her and saw nothing but utter heartbreak in her eyes. Nova was hurting, and any sensitive person would’ve noticed that. So, watching her get better was a touching experience for him.

“You look so…”

Nova interrupted him almost immediately.

“I know. I...I barely had time to fix my hair. Gosh. It’s so uncomfortable and I want to cut it but I haven’t had time. I…”

“Oh, no, no, no! Your hair looks gorgeous! “ He chuckled, although he was confused by her reaction. “I was gonna say you look really good. Really, really good. The ponytail looks great on you.”

Nova gulped as she adjusted said ponytail.

“Oh.” She muttered in a hoarse voice. “...Well...Thank you. I thought…”

“No, no.” Simon waved his hand. “You look great. How.... how are you?”

She seemed to be processing the question, even though it was not that difficult.

“I’m…” Nova cleared her throat. “I’m doing great. How are you? How’s ...life going?”

“Absolutely great!” Simon smiled, clapping his hands together. “Things at home are great. You know, Hugh’s not currently here due to the Annual Renegade Convention. Adrian’s not here either (for sure, you already know about that) and Max…”

“Max went too, yeah.” Nova smiled. Her eyes seemed to brighten to the mention of Max’s name. Adrian had mentioned this fact about her a couple of times: Nova was fond of children. And even if she wasn’t, she had a tendency to protect and care about them. Since she had this type of strong personality, Hugh refused to recognize that as a truth, but Simon had no trouble believing it.

It was adorable.

“He called me when he got the invitation. He was eager to go.” She continued. “Which doesn’t surprise me. I...It’s his first time travelling, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Responded Simon. “We’re planning to go on vacation this year. Because, you know, the convention’s being held not too far away from Gatlon and sadly he’s probably gonna get bored.”

“Bored?” Nova shifted herself in the seat, awkwardly. “Why?”

“Well...those conventions are...well, conventions.” Simon shrugged, smiling at her. “There are a lot of speeches, one after the other and, sure, the guests that represent Gatlon can skip some of them, but others are mandatory and they’re like 2 hours long and it’s so boring and…”

Nova hissed, grimacing, to which Simon nodded in agreement.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to go.” He admitted. “Though I do wanted to be there when Adrian and Max received their award. Too sad.”

Nova tried to speak a couple of times, until she finally had found the correct words to said her thoughts out loud.

“Why...why didn’t you go, then?”

“About that.” Simon chuckled. “Tamaya is going to be there too, as a speaker. And she’s also receiving an award. So...somebody had to take care of the Headquarters and Kasumi and I were left with that responsibility. However, it’s been pretty peaceful, as you may have noticed.”

“I have.” Nova nodded. “Not that I...go out very much, but yeah. Things have been calm.”

“People are behaving for once. And it’s awesome.” he sighed.

Then they stayed in silence. For a while.

Nova stared out the window, avoiding eye contact, while Simon whistled as he tapped his fingers on the wheel.

Not a word. No small talk.

Nothing.

“Sooooo…” Said Simon. “Shall we go?”

“Perhaps we should.” Nova said, immediately, as a flash of relief crossed her face.

So Simon smiled at her once again as he turned on the engine, while Nova put on her seatbelt next to him.

-.-

It took her so little time to come back Simon confirmed she was one of those people who would strategically write their shopping list so they wouldn’t be going back and forth through the aisles. It also surprised him that, being a person so young, she was so...focused on everything.

She really had only bought groceries and essential items. No junk food. No silly things she swore she would need and then she didn’t. Not even candy from the checkout area.

Simon hurried himself out of the car to help her put the bags in the trunk, but once she saw him and guessed his intentions, she quickly said:

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“I know you can.” He clarified. Because, well, she indeed was a strong person. “But maybe you could use some help. That’s...a couple of bags.”

“Yeah. I know.” Nova nodded, already carrying the first two of the bags. “But I can do it. Please. I’m already causing you too much trouble.”

Simon was yet again confused by her reaction, and he tried to talk to her about it. But just like Nova looked like she didn’t want to be hugged right now, she also looked like she didn’t want to talk about it right now.

So he just opened the trunk for her and held it in case it would go down by its own. It had never happened, but just to be sure. Sometimes Simon’s anxiety made him overanalyze some situations.

Less than 10 minutes had passed by the time Nova finished putting all her stuff in the car, Simon figured she was still training, since she was as agile and fast as she was the day she notified them she would be taking some time off from the team and the Renegades in general.

They got in the car again, and before the silence could get as uncomfortable as the previous one, Simon took the initiative to speak.

“I think...you forgot to answer a part of my message.” He said, carefully. “You know...the part where I told you that maybe we could...go to a restaurant or something?”

Nova’s face, ears and neck turned so red she became a human-shaped cherry, and although in other circumstances he would’ve considered it adorable, this time he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. He had been there and done that many times; the messages Nova had sent were peak odd. The type of messages one would overthink over and over again because they had to be perfect. And if something, anything sounded off after you sent it, your world would be in shambles.

So he just smiled to assure it was okay. That he didn’t mind. That those messages didn’t have to be so formal in the first place.

And that, obviously, didn’t work.

For his experience, it never did.

“I...I...Yeah.” Nova scratched her brow. “Pretty much I...I...can recall not knowing how to word that so I just left it blank and I...must’ve forgotten to…”

“Nova.” Simon said, softly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Did I...offend you or something?”

“Absolutely no!” He said. “Why would you think that? It’s just a slip. I know it wasn’t your intention and to be honest I still want to take you to eat something so...yeah, there’s no reason to get weird about this. There’s no need to worry.”

Nova took a deep, hasty breath. She was flustered, son Simon tried to keep her calm; to make her feel like she was in a safe environment.

Why wouldn’t she be, in the first place?

She was his son’s girlfriend.

Why would he want to hurt her or make her feel bad?

“Nova, darling.” He said again. “Do you have something on your mind?”

“I do.” Nova cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t really...can eat out right now. I barely manage to afford my groceries, you know? It’s been…”

“But you’re not gonna pay your own bill. I mean, why would you do that?” Simon raised an eyebrow at her, genuinely confused, but still laughing nervously. Sweet rot, who had hurt this child so much? “ I’m the one who’s taking you to eat. You wouldn’t have to…”

“You don’t have to either!” She snapped. Not mad, but rather distressed, while breathing heavily.

Simon went still, afraid he would make it worse. Still, he couldn’t leave it like that, so he gulped and, once he reunited enough courage, he dared to speak again.

“What’s really on your mind, Nova?” He asked, this time in a more soothing voice. Nova’s whole being went red again, but the shadow of confusion in her expression was noticeable and hard to ignore. For this reason, Simon decided to provide some kind of scaffolding.

“For example: Why would you write a message that is directed to me in such a formal way?” He asked, patiently. “Why would you ask me to pick you up as if you were asking me to help you commit a crime? Why would you act so uncomfortable around me when it’s not the first time that we’ve met? Why would you…?”

“Because it’s you.” Nova answered, avoiding eye contact.

And he expected that answer, yes. But, at the same time, he expected to understand the statement once it slipped out of her mouth.

However, he didn’t.

“Can you elaborate?” He requested.

Nova clicked her tongue as she rubbed her neck, staring at the dash right in front of her.

“...I can disappear if you want me to. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

“No. No, no.” Nova nodded, waving her hands, finally looking at him. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then...would you tell me what’s wrong?”

Nova thought about it. She squirmed in her seat. Gulped. Coughed. Squirmed again.

Then, playing with her own hands, she spoke.

“...I’m ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what…?” Simon tilted his head to the side. “Ashamed of who…? What exactly are you ashamed of? ...Dating Adrian?”

Nova flinched.

“I would never.”

A spark of pride illuminated his thoughts and his insides in general, but Simon tried to pay little attention to it.

“I’m just...ashamed. Of everything.” Nova said, sighing. “I…”

And she cut herself in the middle of the phrase, realizing that once again she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

Simon didn’t realize he was frowning until he felt the muscles of his face slowly giving in. He understood.

And he knew that anything that had happened during the Second Battle for Gatlon had been her fault. She might have contributed in some way but, at the end of the day, she was just a child.

A very confused and manipulated child who just needed someone to listen without twisting her words as they pleased.

“...I just think that...if I were you I wouldn’t like me either.” She wasn’t crying, nor did she sound like she was about to any time soon. There was so much resignation in her voice that her words weighted as much as a giant rock. “Hugh gave me his blessing to...you know, date Adrian…”

“I can recall giving you my blessing too.”

Nova tripped on her own words.

“I mean, you did. You both did.” She said. “But still… It’s because… because you want him to be happy. And I get it. I really do. And I understand because, like I said, I wouldn’t like me either...I know I am loved. I know I matter for some people...but I also know I did...bad things, and I carry this sort of cursed last name…”

She stopped and breathed for a second before continuing.

“And I…” She finally looked at him. “I get it. You don’t have to pretend you like me, after all that happened. After I stole stuff from your house; infiltrated into your system; caused a terrorist attack...You really don’t have to pretend.”

Simon blinked, and if it wasn’t for her specific and controlled body language, he would’ve thought she was making excuses or even joking.

But Nova was telling the truth.

And it was heartbreaking.

“Perhaps you should think outside the box and picture a scenario in which you realize we’re not pretending.” That’s the only thing he said.

“Perhaps you should realize that we love you and you matter to us.” He reached for her hand and softly touched her knuckles. Her hands were shaking. “And that, yes, we want Adrian to be happy, but we also want you to be happy.”

Nova’s eyes seemed to be covered in crystals, but she remained in silence.

“You’re part of this family now, Nova.” He smiled. “And I’m sorry, but you’ll have to deal with that.”

Nova sniffed, swallowing, while lacing her hand into Simon’s.

“Artino and everything?” She muttered.

“Artino it’s not what defines you.” Simon chuckled. “You’re Nova. Just Nova... And we’re really proud of you. Not ashamed.”

She smiled back at him, wordless, and Simon gave her a quick handshake before putting his hands around the wheel.

Because even now, that her walls were crumbling right before her eyes, she didn’t look like someone who wanted to be hugged at the moment, and he accepted and respected that.

“I was planning to take you to my favorite restaurant, but maybe we can prepare a homemade meal instead?” He suggested. “You know? In-laws being in-laws? … Not to brag, but I make the best lemon pie in the world.”

Nova chuckled. Relaxed.

Happy.

“Sounds great.” She said, nodding.

“Excellent.” Simon turned on the engine.

“Let’s go home.”

#renegades trilogy #marissa meyer #dawnie writes #Simon Westwood #The Dread Warden #Nova Artino #Insomnia #Dawnie re-uploads saga #i love being a clown #no nomás tengo la cara de pendeja también soy JAJAJAJAJAJAJAAJAJAJA #this was before hcttr ruined my life #good times

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hanoella · 3 years

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Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam’s who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he’s not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Part 3 Word Count: 3k

A/N: Can you tell I don't really have a posting schedule? lol. I also introduced links to the specific pieces I had in mind. I'm using soundcloud because I don't think everyone has access to spotify. Trying to be reader friendly! This can be read with or without the audio, as I do my best to still convey the thought in the fic. Though if you can, I highly recommend :)

Thanks again for all your support! Every heart and comment motivates me and is just so wonderful

Read Part 1; Masterlist

---

A few days had passed since the night that Bucky had overheard your troubles. It had been quiet since, and you hadn’t left the house. The curtains were opened during the day and closed at night, the only telltale signs that you existed.

Doesn’t she have to work? Bucky thought to himself. He speculated all the different possibilities as he used the riding mower around the property. Maybe you were an heiress? You seemed pretty down to earth though. Or maybe you sold a patented idea for a ton of money. All this land had to have been expensive. And to not request actual money from him?

He eyed up the width of the gate for your fence. The riding mower couldn’t fit so he would have to use a push mower for your fenced off yard. He hadn’t seen one in the garage. Maybe the old shed at the back of your yard had one? Bucky parked the mower in the garage, taking a moment to make a mental list of everything. Depending on if he found anything in the shed, he might need to buy a few basic tools and a chainsaw for that fallen tree.

He walked out of the garage and over to the shed. The leaves were changing color and it brought a whole new atmosphere to the secluded forest area. Opening the gate of the weathered white fence, he looked around to see if you were out. No signs of life. Entering the yard and closing the gate behind him, he started walking to the back. Halfway through, he stopped at the fire pit. The grey stone blocks were starting to crumble, with a few of the bricks having fallen off. It would probably be really nice if he got a little bit of cement mix and filled in the gaps. Bucky made another mental note.

The shed had no padlock so he was able to open it with no problem. Amongst the cobwebs and bags of soil, was an older green push mower that looked like it might work. He gave the gas a pull and got no response back. Looking underneath, Bucky saw what might be the problem. He’d have to take a closer look later. Putting the lawn mower back onto its wheels, he pushed it across the yard, pausing when he saw movement though the glass doors of the back patio.

Craning his neck to avoid the glare, he saw you sitting at your fancy full keyboard. The way the piano was against the opposite wall, your back was to him. You had big over-ear headphones plugged into it, so he couldn’t hear the sound but he saw the flurry of keys being pressed down. Whatever you were playing, you played passionately. Hands and arms gracefully moved despite the speed at which they were moving. Enhanced hearing coming into play, he heard the muffled clicks of the fluttering keys. Suddenly, you pressed down forcefully, holding whatever chord you had struck as your shoulders gently relaxed. A deep breath. Arm creating a graceful arc as if you had studied ballet, you pressed gently on another chord. And another. Bucky counted three more times you did this before you let your hands gently fall from the keys to your lap. Several moments passed before slid the headphones off of your ears to sit wrapped around your neck. Another deep breath. This time as the breath escaped you, you stayed slouched, head tilting up to stare at nothing on the wall.

A buzz broke Bucky from his trance.

“Call me, new mission” The text from Sam on his home screen said.

He pocketed his phone, glancing through the glass one more time. There you still sat.

Unmoving.

---

The roar of the plane’s engine was just loud enough to drown out Bucky’s thoughts without being annoying. If it weren’t for the adrenaline of the recovery mission under the cover of nightfall, he probably would’ve been lulled to sleep. Beside him sat Sam, looking on his phone for the exact coordinates of the politician they had been sent to rescue.

“Here it is. I’m assuming there’s some sort of underground base since there are no heat signatures anywhere within the radius where he was taken. It should take us about ten more minutes before we’re directly over it.”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Earth to Bucky.”

“What does your friend do?” Bucky asked suddenly, sitting up straighter and turning towards him.

“… What?”

“What does she do? I’ve never seen her leave the house. Is she okay?”

“If you’re asking why she doesn’t leave the house, it’s because her contract doesn’t start for a while. She’s technically still supposed to be in physical therapy but she hasn’t found a place yet. You know, your whole routine gets messed up when you move.”

“For her shoulder?”

Now it was Sam’s turn to look at Bucky, trying to decipher the motive behind these questions. Bucky shifted his weight in the chair, antsy under the scrutiny.

“Never mind, I-”

“Yes, for her shoulder.” Sam said, cutting him off. He stopped himself from asking why Bucky wanted to know. There was an awkward pause before Bucky explained himself.

“I just wanted to know. I’m not used to seeing people so…”

“Similar to yourself?”

“I was gonna say isolated but fair point.” Bucky admitted. Sam leaned back in his chair, looking straight forward.

“She’s been through a lot… I know you heard some of it.”

Bucky blinked in surprise.

“I realized the window was open when I could hear you drive off.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, it’s good that you know.” Sam said as he held up his hand to cut Bucky off.

“She’s just trying to get a fresh start. She’s in a raw emotional space and in the meantime is a little skittish. Just like someone else I know.” Sam jabbed his elbow into Bucky’s side as he enunciated the last sentence.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m trying!” He shouted as he held one hand up defensively and using the other to block the second jab Sam was trying to get in. Sam chuckled and then stood up, grabbing a parachute pack and tossing it at Bucky, who caught it without even looking.

“Figured you might wanna try an actual chute this time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and mouthed Sam’s words mockingly with a grimace as he put the backpack on. Clipping it into place, he joined Sam at the side door of the plane.

“She used to play in an orchestra you know.” Sam said wistfully. “The piano. That’s actually how we met. She had volunteered to play a small concert before the dinner. It really helped raise a lot of money for the VA.”

Bucky stayed silent, prompting him to continue.

“Then that bastard she was engaged to beat her and then shoved her down a set of concrete steps when she tried to leave him. It was like a month after we all came back. She was in the hospital for a while. Broken ribs, broken shoulder, and a nasty concussion to boot. Neighbor saw the whole thing and called the cops but the courts were so backed up and the case fell through the cracks. Wouldn’t leave her alone after he got out. So, I pulled some strings and helped her move down here on the fly.”

“… That’s terrible.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say or how to react. They stood in silence, taking a moment to pay a respect of sorts to the trials you have been through. Then Sam broke the silence.

“She just needs time to heal in more ways than one. But she’s strong. Resilient.”

Putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, he squeezed it lightly with reassurance.

“Reminds me of someone else I know.” Sam said, finishing the conversation and pulling his goggles over his eyes, giving Bucky the opportunity to take the compliment without feeling too on the spot.

Pulling the door open, Sam shouted over the wind.

“Ready?”

Bucky nodded. Sam jumped from the plane and deployed the wings, the shield shining in the moonlight. Bucky jumped right behind him, using the glint of the silver star to guide his descent as he followed the man that gave the shield its meaning.

---

You laid with your head down on the kitchen table, letting the last golden rays of sun warm the side of your face. You were exhausted from going to physical therapy, especially since today had been the first appointment. All the measurements, all the exercises, all the stretching.

All the questions.

“So, how did you break your shoulder?” the young blonde physical therapist asked.

“Ah, I… fell down some stairs.” You said, looking down at your hands in your lap.

She didn’t look up from the papers, instead just raising an eyebrow.

“You also cracked some ribs and had a concussion?”

“… They were concrete.”

She looked up from the papers at you, analyzing. Her gaze softened and she asked no further questions on how these serious injuries had been obtained.

“Let’s look at your range of motion.”

You had practically stumbled into the house, kicking off your sneakers and plopping down at the kitchen table. Minutes passed by as you regained your breath, heartbeat steadying. The house was slightly cold since you had turned the heat down this morning. As your sweat cooled, you wrapped your arms around your legs in an attempt to keep you warm without getting up.

The sun feels so warm… You thought to yourself drowsily, feeling slightly less lonely. The sun was a cheap substitute for the warmth of a partner…

---

You jolted upright, the kitchen dark and cold. Neck and shoulder stiff from the awkward position you had dozed off in. Feeling the dryness of your mouth, you got up, stretching your neck gently while you walked to the fridge to get water. Chugging about half the bottle, you squinted at the clock. You had been asleep for about forty-five minutes. Groaning, you put the bottle down on the counter and walked into the living room to close the curtains. Grabbing one in each hand, you went to pull them together when you hesitated, noticing that Bucky’s apartment was dark for the third day in a row. The sleek motorbike that was usually parked under the slight overhang of the garage was missing as well.

He was probably on a mission, right? Not that it was any of your business. You shut the curtains and turned off the lights before lightly padded down the hall, stopping to adjust the thermostat. The heat kicked on, sending a puff of cold air your way. You shivered as you walked with a quickened pace to your room, shutting the door and heading into the master bathroom, turning the hot water on with just a tad of cold.

Waiting for the shower to warm up, you leaned over the sink and looked into the mirror. Dark circles under your eyes. Small scar on the bridge of your nose. Running your hand through the roots of your hair, you felt for the scar where the stitches had been. When was the last time you had a haircut? Or put on some makeup?

Some higher being must’ve felt pity for you since the steam from the shower fogged the glass, preventing you from tearing yourself apart any further. Stepping underneath the warm stream, you let the warmth seep into your muscles, then bones, filling every fracture and break with a temporary sense of wholeness until the emptiness of your heart and home caused it slowly to drip out until it, along with you, was gone.

---

The next morning, you weren’t motivated to do anything. You lounged around the house, sipping on coffee and browsing on your phone for furniture, clothes, even sneaking a peak at some pianos. Wanting to invest in one you’d use for the next several decades, you had put off buying one until the money from your contract with the orchestra started in a month. You were still well off, nowhere near struggling and probably wouldn’t ever be unless you decided to buy a mansion (which was a no). You just wanted to be careful.

In the afternoon, you popped a pain killer and muscle relaxer in preparation for the few hours you wanted to practice. Thirty minutes went by and the ever-present ache in your shoulder calmed enough to let you practice with relative peace. Sitting on the bench in front of the keyboard, you pondered what you might play to warm up.

Hmm, maybe a Chopin prelude? Short, emotional, familiar.

Your left hand held the soft deep chords as your right hand softly flitted around the higher notes. Breathing in and out with the music, you tried to ignore the ache that start to surround your shoulder.

Playing the last few notes, you paused before reaching over to the bottle of painkillers.

---

Shortly after finishing up, you dragged a small table outside next to the wooden bench swing that was hanging on the porch. Bundled up in a soft sweatshirt, long-sleeve shirt, wool lined leggings, fuzzy socks and slippers, you brought out your hot tea, several blankets, a pillow, and a book you had been meaning to read for months. You were determined to do something besides practice, watch TV, and scroll on your phone.

You settled onto the bench, wrapping the blanket around you, nice and toasty from the layers trapping in the heat of a thorough practice session. The extra medication had really helped keep the pain at bay. Tentatively sipping the steaming cup, you closed your eyes to further appreciate the sweet tones of peach and honey. Setting the cup in your lap with one hand, you used your other hand to flip open to the first page.

---

Bucky hadn’t expected the mission to get so complicated. Finding the base was one thing, navigating in and out of the expansive maze was another. It took a few days to successfully get the target out and back to the embassy. He hadn’t properly slept during that time due to taking shifts with Sam. Not that it was any different from how he slept at home.

The sun was letting its last few rays bless the earth when he turned onto the driveway. Taking it easy on the gravel, he eased his posture and slowed the bike. He put pressure on the brakes as he made it past the final wall of trees that hid the water that was reflecting the last bit of color left in the sky. Rolling casually into a stop, he parked and let out a deep breath, shoulders sinking.

A stray bird calling out turned his attention in the direction of your house. The porch light was on. That’s new, he thought. Squinting his eyes, he saw a bundle on the porch swing. Was that you? Quietly walking over while taking his leather gloves off, he confirmed his suspicions. There you were, lying on your side propped up by a large fuzzy pillow. Eyes closed and breathing rhythmically. Scanning the scene, he noticed the mug on the side table, empty except for the used teabag. Your book was closed, the page you were on marked by one of your fingers. You must’ve fallen asleep while reading.

“Hey…” Bucky said gently. No response besides a small nose scrunch.

He repeated himself a little louder, squatting to be at eye level while gently setting his hand on your arm and shaking you lightly. You groaned this time, eyes fluttering open, taking a moment to focus. You squinted and pushed yourself up into a sitting position, losing your place in the book and attempting to blink the heavy drowsiness from your eyes.

“Bucky?” You questioned hoarsely as you met his eyes. He was still crouching so you were looking slightly down at him. Brow furrowed, you searched the blue of his eyes before looking around to see how dark it had gotten. As you turned your head back to him, he stood back up, scratching the back of his neck just to occupy his hands.

“It’s starting to get cold. I didn’t want you to spend the rest of the night out here.” He explained, choosing to look out at the water, now dark. When he turned his head back, you had also turned your head to look at the water, exposing the side of your neck, the tendons and clavicle accentuated by the strain. Bucky swallowed and your eyes met his, oblivious.

“Ah, thank you. I must’ve fallen asleep reading. I just started going back to physical therapy so I’ve just been so wiped… Anyway,” you said, dismissing yourself mid-thought. He didn’t want to hear about all that. “…did you just come back from a mission?” You eyed the diagonal cuts of leather on his jacket, noting the missing sleeve that exposed the glint of the metal.

“Yeah. I was gone for a few days.”

“Okay. I’m glad you’re home safe.” You mindlessly said, picking up the book and other various items strewn about.

Home safe. What an unfamiliar phrase.

As the words echoed in his mind, you had opened the door and stepped in, turning your head slightly to look back at him.

“Thanks again… Good night.”

“Good night.” Bucky replied, watching as you shut the door softly behind you.

Slowly walking down the porch steps, he crossed the driveway to the garage. Turning his head just in time to see the last light turn off in your house, he stood with his hand on the knob, meditating on the effect that one short sentence had on him.

Glad you’re home safe. Was this what it was like when you had someone waiting on you at home? The tired eyes and gentle smile. Would that be what it was like when he came home in the middle of a night from a mission when he had someone to share a bed with? Gently shaking them to let them know he was home? Or would he try to sneak into bed without waking them? He tried to imagine what that sort of intimacy would be like as he entered his apartment and then his room. Unzipping his jacket and tossing it over a chair, he stripped down to his boxer briefs and climbed into bed, wondering what it would be like if it was already warm.

#bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky imagine #SoundCloud

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jamaisvuandyou · 3 years

Text

Now or Never: Part 2

Description: Based on THIS reaction, for Huening Kai. You break up with your ex when he tells you he doesn’t want to have kids, not knowing that you’re already pregnant.

Part 1

Posted: 03/29/2021

WARNING: oh all sortz of angst

Angst: 1,801 words

A/N: By popular request (sort of)

“Do you want us to tell him?” Soobin asked, holding your hand.

You stared at the floor. “I don’t know.”

Yeonjun squeezed your other hand. “Well, when you do know, just tell us and we’ll comply.”

“He’s been a lot better, lately,” Soobin said quietly.

You breathed in, but couldn’t seem to breath out. Why did he have to do this to you? If it had been anything else, you probably could have forgiven him, but not when it came to your baby.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t want her.

“But is that because he doesn’t get information about me, or because he’s actually getting better?” You asked.

They both looked uncertain.

“He asks if you’re okay now and then, usually if he sees Soobin texting. We only confirm that you’re okay. We won’t say anything else, and Beomgyu quickly changes the subject.” Yeonjun sighed. “But I don’t know what would happen if he found out he was having a daughter. It’s something I think we would have to ask his therapist about.”

“At least he doesn’t know where you live, now,” Soobin whispered. “That way if we do accidentally say anything, he can’t come and haunt your doorstep.”

“I do appreciate all that you two have done for me,” You said, shifting your gaze to the ceiling. “I still don’t understand why, though.”

“Because you deserve better,” Yeonjun answered, the same answer as always, with no further explanations. “We should get back soon, are you okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for coming to the appointment with me.”

“No problem,” Soobin answered, smiling softly. “You’re our friend, y/n.”

“Yeah...our friend,” Yeonjun echoed, but his tone was slightly different. He pet your head for a second--something you really normally didn’t care for but were used to him doing because he did it so often and it was like a nervous tick with him. “We’re here for you. Part of that is because he isn’t. Won’t be. Can’t be. And because...we think you’re in the right in this situation. We’ve made our amends with Kai, we had to, he’s our brother, but we still side with you.”

“Beomgyu and Taehyun, too,” Soobin added. “They just thought it was better if we limited who knew where you were and who talked to you.”

You nodded. You received texts now and then from the other two, especially Beomgyu because he was a talker, but Taehyung usually kept you apprised of how Hyuka was doing with his therapy sessions.

You didn’t want to shut the door completely. You didn’t want to shut the door, and make it so that your daughter never knew her father. But you kept it mostly closed, only open a crack.

The crack that let the other four through, but managed to keep your ex-boyfriend out.

You wouldn’t let him in, not until you felt secure and safe and knew that he was over you. Because lately...you thought about him, and it didn’t feel like affection. It felt like fleeting infatuation.

Lately, you recognized affection differently.

Your therapist was happy with your progress, and your ability to recognize the faults in the relationship you’d had with Huening Kai. The flags that had gone up, that made you know that the relationship wouldn’t have lasted.

She often asked you about Soobin and Yeonjun, but she didn’t say much when you spoke of them, just smiled and said you had a good support system.

You weren’t sure what she was hinting at, but you figured it was something you had to figure out.

The boys hugged you before they left, Soobin reminding you to text him if you needed anything.

Yeonjun hesitated, letting Soobin out ahead of him. “Hey, y/n...if he finds out we were visiting you today...can I at least tell him that the baby is healthy too?”

You nodded. “Don’t tell him it’s a girl, though. I’m not ready for him to have that information.”

He nodded, hugging you again and leaving.

You didn’t think that the mention of your baby would send Huening back over the edge.

But it did.

Beomgyu texted you saying he lost it, and that they were trying to find him again, and their company was taking action as well.

But he showed up at your workplace, and thankfully one of your coworkers knew the situation and saw him before he could find you--helping you explain to your boss and then sneaking you out a back way and into her car.

Yet, he still managed to catch up to you. You had decided to go to a cafe a little ways away from your new apartment, and suddenly he was sitting across from you.

You stared in horror, wondering how he found you. “You can’t be here.”

“I am. Besides, you let my bandmates visit you,” He replied, almost coldly. “And they aren’t even the father of your child.”

“But they respected my wishes, and didn’t lose their mind and stalk me,” You snapped in a whisper. “Go. Away. You’re going to lose your job if you keep acting out like this.”

“You think I care about my job?!”

“I think you should,” You replied quickly, before he could continue. “You lose this job and I promise you will never see this child. Now get out.”

A hand enclosed on Huening’s shoulder before he could reply.

Taehyun glared down at Huening. “Come on.”

Their manager was a foot behind him, looking stern.

“It’s my child, I have every right to know it!” Huening argued.

“Then act in a way fitting for someone with a child, and I’ll think about it,” You snapped. “But every second you defy my wishes makes the chances of you ever meeting this child dwindle into obscurity. So, get out.”

He stared at you. “You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

“I can forgive you, but I can’t forget what you’ve done, and I won’t change my mind. We’re not right for each other, and you know that.”

“But Soobin and Yeonjun-hyung are?” He snapped.

You frowned. “Soobin and Yeonjun are my friends. They’ve been helping me, whereas you’ve only been causing me trouble. You showed up at my work, are you so thoughtless as to threaten my job?”

Taehyun tugged Huening Kai away. “Come on. Both of you are too upset to make any sort of productive conversation, and you have an appointment with your therapist.”

“No I don’t--”

“Yes you do. Manager-nim scheduled it on our way here.” Taehyun gave you an apologetic look and continued dragging Hyuka away.

But you no longer felt guilty about cutting him out. About trying to keep him away.

You scheduled your own appointment, and headed that way when she said she could get you in right away.

“He tracked you down?” She asked gently after you had told her everything that had happened that day. Including the conversation.

You nodded. “I don’t know how.”

“Maybe he followed his bandmates?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it,” You answered, sighing. “They’re beyond careful.”

“They care about you.”

“And I’m grateful, but...I don’t know how much longer I can rely on them. It’s causing too much trouble. I think...if I’m going to have him out of my life, I need to get rid of all of the things tying him to me.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Do you really want to do that?”

You sighed. “No. They’re really the only friends I have. I’m friendly with some of my coworkers, and you know the one basically adopted me as her work-daughter, so we’re a bit closer. But when I was dating...him...they were the only ones who I could talk to about it. And Soobin and I would talk about baking and we were always...friendly. Which was nice. It was nice being friends with them while dating him. But it’s just going to hurt everyone if I continue being friends with them.”

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded.

“Before you were dating Huening Kai, what brought you close enough to get to know him?”

You frowned a bit. “What?”

“How did you meet him?”

“They endorse one of the products that the company I work for produces, and I’m part of the marketing division. I was the one who got the deal, so I was there for their shoots. They started talking to me, and we got along well. I became the liaison, so if they ever wanted products, I would be the one to take them over.I’m pretty sure they started ordering one thing now and then just to tease me but then we all just sort of moved toward friendship.” You shrugged.

“Who talked to you the most? Who ordered the most?”

“Soobin ordered the most, he really liked the cookies we make, but it was almost always groups when I would get there. Sometimes it would just be Soobin, Yeonjun, and Huening, other times it would be Beomgyu, Huening, and Taehyun; Soobin, Beomgyu, and Yeonjun...usually three of them waiting for me.”

“Who were you most drawn to, initially?”

“Yeonjun, but mostly because he didn’t talk much around me. Then probably Beomgyu because he did talk to me. Soobin because we had a bit in common.”

She wrote a few things down. “Have you ever considered whether your attraction to Huening Kai was actually misplaced affection for one or more of the other boys?”

“What?” You laughed, a little incredulous, but also...nervous?

“It seems to me like you may have felt affection, but misplaced the affection as belonging to Huening when actually it belonged to someone else in his group. It’s mostly a theory, but there are some inklings that make me think it might be true. I want you to journal about your relationship with each member of the group, see if you find out anything about yourself when you finish.” She wrote it down on a separate paper and handed it over to you. “And then we’ll talk more. I’m not going to say that you handled today’s confrontation perfectly, but there are few that would. I am glad that you called and got in after that confrontation, though, and I think you’re making progress.”

You thanked her, and left.

And you wondered, as you journaled later, how you had managed to start dating Huening Kai, of all the members.

The most logical would actually have been Soobin...but Huening had asked you out. And you said yes. And maybe you got caught up in it so much….

You hugged yourself as you contemplated your difficult relationships with all of the boys, wondering if things would ever settle down. Wondering if you really would have to cut them all out to try and create some semblance of peace.

#tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together fic #yeonjun #soobin #huening kai #taehyun #beomgyu #pregnant!reader #angst

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anxietysroomsupport · 3 years

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Hypermobile anon here. First, thank you so much. It's just nice to know there's someone here for me. And to give a little more info, I have a serious problem where if I'm not currently in pain. I don't remember how bad it was. I know everybody does this, but my brain literally checked out as I was going to bed recently and I fell on the floor. I nearly forgot to tell my physical therapist.about it because it didn't really hurt. So, I can't do the pain scale very well, and I never remember (1/2)

(2/2) It just makes it sort of hard for pain relief when I don't know I'm going to need it and don't have the energy when I do. Also, on the vitamin subject, I know that I've had vitamin d issues before (bad heat exhaustion and allergy scares = going outside less), bad enough that I was close to being diagnosed with hypothyroidism. I'm not sure about the others, but I do know I'm not amazing healthy, so? I take calcium pills for the vitamin d, though. Again, thank you guys for all your help.

We just got a bill from my PT place that says we owe money that we can't pay. They told us up front how much it would be with our insurance, and my mom's been paying each time, but it says we owe 177 dollars. Sure, it's not a lot, but we're not rich and trying to send a sibling to college. If we can't get this sorted out. I can't just not go. 10 exercises I can do at home and 5 appointments is not enough to help a chronic disorder. I cant focus and I have practice in 30 mins. -Hypermobility anon

Same day but later when I'm feeling a little better (my director was very supportive though so that's nice), I'd seen the letter and heard my parents talking a bit, but my mom told be as we got to school for rehearsal about PT. I got upset, and I felt bad because I could tell she felt bad because she didn't expect me to be upset, and in the heat of the moment I said "chronic illness" in front of my mom for the first time. She loudly (not quite yelling) (1/?) - Hypermobility anon

said to me "That is the most self-pitying thing I've ever heard. Chronic illnesses are like cancer". Sure, I probably should've said disorder and not illness, but I'm scientifically right. Then I said "It is, it's chronic pain, I am always in pain" and she said "Well then clearly PT isn't helping anyway" - I??? When I went in after 15 minutes after another girl, since we were both there for an hour and a half, I decided to stop trying too much to hide my crying (useful masks) (2/?) -HSD anon

since the other girl was in the hall to eat, and when I managed to explain to the director, she was understanding and nice, and when I said chronic, she said that I should never have to live with that, especially at my age. And when I mentioned not being able to sing at that moment from my crying, she pointed out how I was singing an empowering song that was about standing against the bad stuff in life, and I was perfect for it. I know my mom was just mad, but it just drained me.

Sorry I keep sending asks so often, I just feel like telling someone this. I decided to put 'zebra' in my bio. It's a thing that people with EDS and HSD sometimes like to call themselves. I like it, so even though I just have my name and pronouns, plus a random joke, in my bio, I added it. It just feels like a step in the right direction to remembering that I don't need google to tell me I'm dealing with this every 5 minutes. Accepting it, I guess. :) -HSD anon

My sleep schedule just keeps getting worse and I think it's my ADHD combined busy days and pain but I just never want to sleep anymore. I can't, I don't want to, and it hurts physically and mentally to just lie there and see if I can fall asleep. 80% sure my circadian rhythm changed to sleep at about 2 am but I get up at 7 and have a chronic disorder that's getting worse because of this I *need sleep*. And I'm so scared I'll mess up, want to make a side blog for it but want to make one (1/2)

for something happy first because I always figured that if I had side blogs they would be ask blogs or for fandoms or whatever. But I got a little better at not caring what other people think, so I haven't really needed one for fandom. But I looked through the tag and felt so comforted by some of the stuff that I just think it would help me. Maybe I'm just extra bad tonight because I went outside but also talked about it a fair amount with a friend I hadn't seen recently who didn't know. -HSD

I wanna talk to my physical therapist about hip braces because I tried a knee one we have and it honestly helps, but my hips are worst so I wanna see if it would help, but they're pretty expensive. It's hard to find dual hip braces, from what I've seen in my research, and even though one more than the other, both cause me issues. Idk, I'm conflicted, because it could help but is it worth all the effort? Also, even if it's under clothing it's still physical evidence (1/2) -HSD anon

(2/2) of my "invisible" disorder. Also, stopping exercises for a few days because of not feeling well from my covid shot reminded me of just how much time I spend on them, so it's another thing to deal with this. . . Idk, sometimes I just wonder if it would be better to just deal with it. I still have pain anyway, though it might be a little better. Less often, maybe? I don't really remember. It's not stressing at the front of my mind all the time, but the back of it. I'm just conflicted. -HSD

HSD anon here, idk if I mentioned it in an ask already, but recently I had a small breakdown because I was watching something where a character was in a car accident, as was trying to push through having trouble walking even with a hip brace. After a minute, I registered it and just thought "That could be my future". My joints had already been acting up and then they got worse, so I don't know if it was cause and effect? But I don't exactly know what to call it other than a trigger. (1/2)

Physical and emotional effect, at least I'm assuming on physical because I've had a bad reaction to something similar before, but like, I don't have trauma, I think it's more fear of the future. And I don't want to use trigger incorrectly, it's insensitive to those who actually have triggers. I'm just so confused.

Forgot to sign the last ask with 2/2 and HSD, whoops.

Hfnsiwk I'm not ready to walk into PT tomorrow and say that I don't think months of PT have been helping but I have no way to be completely sure because for all I know it's the weather since this is the first year I've known/it's been noticeable. Maybe it's just change, I don't know, but it just feels like such a waste of time if it really didn't help. Plus, I'd stop, and while that'd be great, I do enjoy being stronger, even if it didn't help pain. I have 12 hours and a bad pain day idek. -HSD

Hi Hypermobility Anon,

I think I found all your asks and got them in the correct order. And found your last ask!

I’m so glad you kept writing in. I think you should go ahead and make your side blog - you definitely have enough material for it. Wanting to make a happy side blog also is a great goal to have, but if you don’t know what it will be yet, don’t let that prevent you from doing something you know you want to do and that will probably help you.

You are dealing with So. Much. Your mom especially sounds like she just is not ready to accept the situation. It’s not self-pity to state your actual conditions. It’s just reality.

Forgetting about pain is normal, and really all you can do is try to write it down or make some kind of note about it in the moment or immediately after, so you can refer to it later. Maybe you can track your pain events in your phone notes.

I think your idea to add “zebra” to your bio is a good one, this is part of your life and just something you have to deal with. It sounds like you’re finding a community for this.

Sleep schedules are tricky, and feeling like you desperately need to sleep can make it so stressful that it starts a vicious little cycle. Some strategies to get around this are First, remember that just resting is okay and helpful too, even if you don’t fall asleep. Letting your body lay there to rest is good for you.

Second, if you’ve spent several minutes laying down without falling asleep, its okay to get up and walk around, or any small light exercise that’s comfortable for you. The goal with this one is to get out of the bed for a bit. It will help your brain to re-learn that the bed is for sleeping only, not for laying awake. That association can help signal to your brain to start its sleep-process when you get into bed at night.

Third, it’s really common to have a changing circadian rhythm during your teens and twenties. That’s just a thing that happens and you can’t do much about it, so just try not to worry too much. Sleep when it feels right and when you can, instead of trying to force yourself to sleep when you’re “supposed” to.

If hip braces would help you, you should definitely at least mention it to your physical therapist. You might research online for any used ones as well. A physical sign that you have pain can have good and bad consequences, but I think the good consequence of being in less pain far outweighs any others.

The triggering event you described is not so much a trigger as it is just a genuinely really upsetting situation. You related really strongly to the character you were watching, because they’re dealing with similar problems to you, and to problems you could have in the future. It’s a lot to process. But while you could potentially be in a car accident, remember that television is made to dramatize events and probably made it seem a lot more difficult and scary than it really would be.

Since we know you sometimes forget your pain, it’s safe to say that the exercises are helping you manage it, and you say that they’ve made you stronger in general. Those are good things, and I would recommend you continue the exercises you can do on your own even if you end of ending your physical therapy sessions. We don’t know yet if your pain might have gotten even worse without therapy. You’ll have to find that out on your own if you stop exercising, and then decide whether it’s more worth it to you to continue exercising or to live with the pain. Whichever you choose, it’s Your choice, Your body. Take care of yourself. <3

-bun

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thetomorrowshow · 4 years

Text

Slower Than Words Ch. 22

First - Previous - Next

Hey all! It’s good to be back! The break was much-needed, but I’ve missed interacting with y’all. Have a relatively calm chapter!

cw: food

Weeks passed, and Patton realized that lip-reading was harder than he thought it would be. Patton practiced every single day, studying the diagrams in the book and taking down notes on everything. Remus had at first practiced with him by saying a phrase and having Patton guess, but they had quickly realized that it was too advanced at this stage. Now, Remus held up a notecard with a phrase or word and said it. After going through five different different notecards, Remus would start over again without displaying the notecards. This helped Patton grasp it much quicker, and he had advanced to picking up several words that his therapists spoke in everyday conversation.

Sometimes, when he felt really excited, Patton would mimic the diagrams in the mirror, making the mouth movements for his own name, Remus's name, and Virgil's name. He already knew what his own name looked like, he found—he'd been unknowingly able to recognize it for years.

Patton always had the same translator at his doctor and therapy appointments, so he asked her a few questions about lip-reading and speaking. The woman was able to answer, usually, but there was rarely any time to get into a conversation. The woman did recommend some online resources and teachers for learning to speak, which Patton passed along to Remus. Patton didn't really understand the whole online thing yet. Virgil had tried to explain it several times, but it didn't make a lot of sense. Where did all of the information come from? Who put it there, ready for everyone to use? How was it usable?

Patton had learned how to use the internet in basic terms. He knew how to look for something in specific on Google, and he knew that Youtube was a thing because Remus liked showing him videos from it. Youtube had captions, unlike the television. Patton had found himself watching a lot of comedy videos, sometimes writing down the best jokes from them. He had a cheap blue notebook that he wrote the jokes and his notes in, and he kept it under his bed, like he used to do with his journal back ho—back at the cult.

Patton had researched the cult briefly on the internet, but had quickly become upset at seeing his own face on the cover of one of the articles that popped up. He'd closed it after seeing that several of the scientists, as well as the two prophets, were facing legal charges. That was all he'd needed to know.

Well, not really all. He'd been looking for any mention of Virgil. The one he'd read had mentioned him briefly, if not by name, and was now written in Patton's notebook: Investigations began after the appearance of two young men, both of whom required immediate medical care.

One was Remus. The other had to be Virgil. That meant Virgil was alive somewhere. Patton wondered if Virgil too was reading the articles, seeing that Patton was out, wondering how to find him.

Gosh, Patton missed him.

Right now, Patton was following along with a video on tongue movements for forming different letters. He wasn't sure that he was getting the S quite right, he'd have to ask Remus later. He took a few more notes on how to do it, then folded his notebook closed and took Father's laptop off incognito. Remus had taught him how to turn on and off incognito mode with a little wink, and now Patton used it almost every time he was on the laptop, which was only while Father was at his second job. For some reason, Patton felt that he wouldn't be allowed to do this.

He was just in time out of Father's room for Remus to get home from work, shooting him a fingergun (Virgil used to do those all the time) before throwing himself onto the couch. Patton longed to shake his shoulder, ask him for help practicing, but Remus was always tired right after work. Patton wasn't sure what he did, only that he was trying to find something else that paid better, so sometimes he would be out for hours after he was supposed to be home looking for a new job.

Patton slid into his room, flicking the light switch to turn it off. He rarely sat in his room with the light on, it made him uncomfortable. It almost felt as though someone was watching, though he knew that it was just a response developed from a traumatic situation, as his therapist had told him.

He'd barely been in his room for thirty seconds when Remus wandered in. He gestured to his mouth, and Patton watched carefully as he spoke.

“You - - - - to eat pr - - - - -.”

“One more time?” Patton signed. Remus repeated himself, but Patton still didn't pick it all up, so he asked Remus to sign it.

“You need to eat protein,” Remus signed slowly. “Diet time.”

Patton wasn't particularly hungry, but a part of regaining his body mass and retraining his body to eat normally was eating six or seven small, 'enriching' meals instead of three big ones. Remus was right, Patton realized as he checked the clock—it was time for his protein supplement, a meal usually made up of beef jerky and peanuts. Yay.

The weeks turned into months, and Remus decided that it was time for Patton to get some real world practice. Sure, he'd been going to therapy and all, but those folks rarely talked to him. It was time to play to Logan's weaknesses.

He brought it up over dinner one night, when Patton had already gone to bed. It rubbed him the wrong way that Logan sent him to bed instead of letting him stay up and talk to his pops, who had only been home for ten minutes. Sure, Pat had a schedule or whatever, and he had to follow it to stay healthy, but it should be his own decision. Still, there was nothing Remus could do about it. Except maybe this.

“So, when's your next day off?”

Logan shrugged. “I believe I have the morning of next Wednesday off, but that's all for next week. Why?”

Remus twirled his fork through the cheap macaroni and cheese, pretending to not be too interested in the outcome. “Just thinkin'. Pat's almost out of books again, we should probably make a trip to the library.”

Logan smiled softly at the suggestion—or maybe at Patton's name. There was no telling with the man.

“And his therapist's been saying he needs to go to a new place for enrichment or something like that. Wouldn't—”

Logan's face had already shuttered. “Absolutely out of the question. I cannot—”

“Lo, he really wants to,” Remus pleaded, letting his fork fall to the table. “He's gotta get out of this house. And what better place than a quiet library, where it's easy to watch him and sometimes there's a cop hanging out?”

“Remus, I—I can't,” Logan said, his face still stone, but now his eyes had grown sad. “I cannot, in good conscience, allow Patton to be in an unsafe environment. If I lost him again. . . .”

“You won't,” Remus cajoled. “I'll come too, watch him be safe. Just imagine how much he'll love it! Father-son bonding and all that crap!”

Logan looked down at his plate, clearly thinking deeply. Remus could almost see him weighing the options in his head. Internally, his heart rabbited, but externally Remus was the picture of calm. Hopefully. Maybe. He was probably not, but he could dream.

“I'll consider it,” Logan said eventually. “You are correct in assuming that the library is a place I would very much like to share with him. Tomorrow after tutoring Andy I will stop at the library and inquire after safety precautions. By Monday, I will have my decision.”

Remus leaned back, picking his fork up again. That was as close as he was going to get Logan tonight. If he continued to push it, Logan would completely shut down the conversation and then there'd be no chance of getting Pat out of the apartment.

They'd been watching a stupid black-and-white movie a week or three ago, and one of the characters had said a line that Patton had obviously related to. Remus had looked over to see tears brimming after the old man on screen said, “I thought I was supposed to be getting fresh air. So far, I've been in a train and a room, and a car and a room, and a room and a room.”

That probably really sucked for Patton. Remus went stir-crazy in this tiny apartment, and he was able to leave whenever he wanted. Patton left three times a week, and went straight to his appointments and then straight home. One of his doctors had actually just switched over to doing virtual appointments, so Pat was only leaving twice a week now. Kid had to be going insane.

Patton felt a bit like he was going insane.

He marked a tally in his notebook every day, one for each day that he had been out without Virgil. It sort of was a continuation of his tallies in the cell, but he couldn't remember where he had left off, so he had just started anew.

He had just filled a second page of tally marks. It had been months since he'd escaped, even longer since he'd seen Virgil. Every time Remus tried to tell him that everything was going to be okay, or Father told him that everything was okay, Patton felt anger simmer in his stomach. It was not okay, it couldn't be okay, it would never be okay without Virgil. Even if he had to be trapped in this horrible apartment for years, it would be wonderful with Virgil by his side.

Every day, he followed the same schedule. Therapy exercises, meals at precise times, lip-reading studies, regular reading, bed at ten PM. It was terrible.

He couldn't help but feel excited, though. He was leaving, at least for a little bit! Father had asked him if he wanted to go to the library with him tomorrow, and Patton had thought his heart was going to drop out of his chest. Both Father and Virgil had told him about libraries, and how beautiful they were, and how many books were always there.

Patton was finally going to a new place, and it was the library. All of the anger he'd been feeling over the past weeks had washed away, replaced only with anticipation. Even with Father there, this had to be the best thing to happen in months.

Taglist: @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck

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writing-without-time · 4 years

Text

if you can't handle a heart like mine

don't waste your time with me.

read it on ao3

this is peak canon divergence me complaining about minor in game things but make it fluff while i did it

More often than not, Bonnie found herself at the heart of Slumbering Weald.

A beautiful area that was so quiet, so serene, so perfect to just sort out your thoughts. A lot of the time, Bonnie had ran into Hop sitting by the water, contemplating random problems. But today she was alone, as she sat on top of the tombstone belonging to heros. She had come here to think. Not really to solve a problem, no, there's no solving her issue, just to think about it. Calm down, maybe. She breathed deep as she clung her cape close briefly, before letting it drop on the ground behind her. Hopefully Zacian wouldn't mind.

Bonnie was stuck thinking about her adventure. What lead her to now. Not just the adventure itself, and for once, not about Hop, and the shared nights, and camping together under the wild area night sky, and battling together and against each other... She shook the thought from her head. Not the problem right now. She figured she'd have a fucking relationship crisis, 'oh no, i like my childhood best friend!' bullshit later. What bothered her was a common occurrence that also stood out beyond everything. It was this habit her friends way older than her had.

It happened alot. She could recall a few select times: Outside of Spikemuth, when the dynamaxing started happening, when Hop and her had found Lee and Chairman Rose at the top of Rose Tower, and a few other instances that passed through her mind. She was told the same thing, every single time: "Don't worry, let the adults handle this."

She hated it.

She didn't like to admit it, but Bonnie grew up young. She had to. And so it got under her skin, and in a more "adult" term, pissed her the fuck off, every time. She knew there was no hard feelings behind the statement, she and Hop were only sixteen. She supposed some people would still consider that young. She pondered though, how much bullshit would we have avoided if we just let Bonnie and Hop help out for like, 10 fucking seconds? Probably a lot.

When she had left Rose Tower, she had knew, oh she was aware that Chairman Rose would entirely fuck up her match with Lee, but she hadn't told anyone. But look who was right? It was her. She always knew something was wrong, and that Leon and Sonia and all the others couldn't handle it without Hop and her- as conceited as it sounds- but she would be dismissed because she was a kid.

She supposed, in theory, it was nothing to seethe in rage over. One, it was all over now, and two, she had long proved she is more than just a kid. Hell, she's the fucking champion! But it still got under her skin, bothered her. It made the depths of her soul question: Was she ever good enough? Did she still have to prove herself? Is she still just a silly little kid? She sighed, frustrated as ever as she looked to the setting sun and began to hum. Humming and singing helped clear her mind, as she began to sing a song where she couldn't remember where it came from, hands running through her hair as she tried to relax herself.

"..and cut a rug with orphaned girls, now memories are blurred, and their faces are blurred, but I still know the words to this song-" She sings softly, sounding awfully louder than she was in the quiet area.

"I haven't heard you sing in a long time." Hop laughs, causing Bonnie to literally shriek as she falls backwards off the tomb she sat on, only to be caught as she falls back into Hop's chest. "Woah! It's just me." He laughs, shit eating grin on his face as Bonnie looks up at him.

"You're an asshole.." Bonnie mutters, ignoring the small smile that graced her own face while she stood up.

"What a role reversal." Hop laughs, ignoring the comment as he looks at Bonnie with his hands folded behind his head. "Aren't you usually the one running into me?"

Bonnie rolls her eyes. "Not my fault you're late to your scheduled therapy appointment." She snickers, which causes Hop to laugh as well.

"Well, what has you out here?" Hop asks, picking up Bonnie's cape and throwing it around his own shoulders, something he jokingly did often. Bonnie liked it. He sits down where the cape once sat and invites her to join him.

"Just.. frustrated about stupid things." Bonnie sighs. "You?"

He shrugs. "Stressed, a bit." He laughs nervously. "Being a professor is hard. But I'm not giving up!" Hop smiles confidently.

"That's the spirit." Bonnie smiles, messing with his dark purple hair, causing him to swat her hand away, and she laughs as he fixes his hair.

"What's got you frustrated?" Hop asks as their laughter dies down, turning to Bonnie with a more serious tone.

Bonnie sighs. "Something about our..adventure, I guess."

"It's not something I did, is it?" Hop looks worried.

"No, no no, not at all!" Bonnie rushes to clarify. "Quite the opposite, actually.. I just.." Bonnie runs a hand through her hair, effectively messing it up and making it look like shit. "Do you remember, how every time we tried to help Lee and Sonia with things, we were told to 'let the adults handle it'?"

"What do you mean?" Hop asks, tilting his head slightly in an adorable way.

Bonnie thinks of the most easy to remember instance. "Back in the Rose Tower, when we found Lee talking to Chairman Rose." She lists, careful to not bring up their shared kiss, Arceus forbid she decides to have a crisis about that. "When we left with Lee, he just told us not to worry about what we heard. And...well, that went great." She rolls her eyes.

"I.. suppose you're right.."Hop says, seeming to recall the moment Rose had made a bitter remark- 'there are times when adults just cant seem to have an honest discussion with each other. sometimes our pride gets in the way.'

"It just- it's been bothering me. So much shit could've been avoided if someone just listened to us. It felt like we had to run 20 miles and more just to prove we're not just little kids." Bonnie sighs, letting her head roll back and hit the concrete behind her.

"Yeah, I suppose." Hop says, turning to Bonnie. "But that's part of the glory of it. We went from just random kids from a farmer town, and look at us now! Heck, you're the champion!" Hop cheers, only bringing a small smile to Bonnie's face.

"And what about you?" She asks. She had a solid answer to that one. He was her entire world. But she wanted to see his answer.

Hop hesitates. "I-I'm.." He breathes in. "I'm gonna be the best damn professor in all of Galar." He grins confidently.

"Hell yeah." Bon smiles, letting her head rest on Hop's shoulder as she observes the sun has already gone all the way down, and they were now greeted by the stars.

"You're the best champion in all of Galar, Bre." Hop says, quietly. Bon halts. Bre was her real name. She didn't use it much anymore. Not after she moved out of Kalos. Hop was the only one who knew her real name, and he didn't use it a lot. She didn't trust a lot of people to know her real name, cause what was the point? It didn't mean anything good to her. But it meant something good, that through everything, even when her name poured out of his lips, she wouldn't flinch, just for once, and it wouldn't be a reminder of her horrible story.

"..Thank you, Hop.." She sighs, letting her head rest again. Hop lets his own head rest on top of hers, and they're warm and quiet as they watch the sky turn. It's a comfortable silence until Hop breaks it.

"Bon." He calls.

"Yes, Hop?" She asks, quietly.

He hesitates for a couple beats, his face turning as red as it can. "Do you.. you.. I-" He struggles.

"Take your time." Bon laughs softly. He rolls his eyes as he and Bon both pick up their heads to look at each other.

He waits a few more seconds, and she nearly see the gears turning in his head. "You.. Do you know I.. I love you..?" He asks, almost afraid of the answer.

Bon hesitates before nodding her head. Hop holds his breath, waiting for another response. "You should know I love you too, you dense playboy." She grins cheekily, sticking her tongue out briefly. Hop lets go of his breath, if only to laugh before pouting at the nickname. The laughter dies down as their eyes meet and stay there, Hop slowly letting one of his hands cup Bon's cheek. She leans into the touch, seemingly holding her breath as she does, and the two inch closer. And it's a painful amount of time before their lips finally meet, a soft and sweet kiss, leaving the taste of each other on the other's tongue. They pull away slowly, wishing they could stay like that for an eternity, before they let go of each other, and continuing to huddle close against the stone, watching the sky as Bonnie drifted off, and Hop didn't seem to mind.

"Hey, Bon?" Hop asks, again.

"Mh?" She hums, too tired to even open her eyes anymore.

"I like your singing.. you should do it more.." He blushes as he trails off, getting even quieter. She nods, and it's a few beats of silence before she starts humming. Bonnie hadn't sang to hop in a long time, not since they were camping together in the wild area. She had sang to him because as childish as it sounded, he had a nightmare about hurting someone he loved, and it freaked him out, and her singing helped him fall back asleep.

As they both drift off holding each other close, they found comfort in the other, and knew that this was where they would feel okay, and where they could always go for comfort. Into each other's arms.

#pokemon swsh #swsh hop #pokemon #self insert #minor vent #fluff #pokemon trainer oc #pokemon swsh oc #*laughs in too nervous to post this*#*so im procrastinating in the tags*

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

Text

Fixing It (a Dean/Cas 15x08 inspired coda)

Dean Winchester walked a long & difficult road. House burning down when he was 4, constantly being on the move until his father lost a fight with demons at the age of 25. Reunited with his mother only to lose her again. Have a son only to lose him, too. Of all the shadows that have crossed his path, he thought one of the main sources of light was his husband Castiel.

But he had to ruin that, too.

Can he ever have that shine again? Or are there things that are too good for him to hold? Will they mend what was broken?

“We met in an office like this, actually… or, outside of one.”

“Really? Why don’t you expand on that Dean.”

Dean shifts, glancing over at where Cas waits perched on the other end of the crimson couch. It drew Dean’s attention upon walking in, the sweat around his collar doubling imagining how hot it must be to sit on it. Like roasting over a pit. The image grew stronger when he glimpsed how the therapist’s hair matched her furniture.

“Well,” he squeezes his wrist, staring at his feet, “I was going to this place for a few weeks now as part of… recovery, for this thing that happened to me.” Nails bite at his skin while skimming the surface of his memory pool. “All the physical scars healed, but there was still something not clicking up in the head department -”

“Dean,” she says, halting his descent into the deep end, “You don’t have to dredge up past trauma. I didn’t ask for that. I asked about when you first met Castiel.”

His vision, once blurry, now refocuses on the rivulets of blood trickling from where his nails broke skin. “Right,” Dean coughs, “Yeah… yeah, thanks… anyway -”

Five minutes. Traffic on the highway made him late by five minutes. Dean hurried out of his car and over to the small storefront Dr. Richings rented. Not the most promising places for help in navigating his mental health, nestled between a hair salon and a Pizza Hut, but it accepted his very threadbare insurance. Plus, after getting to know him, Richings earned his respect and vice versa.

Except, with now six minutes past when he should have been there, Dean threw all his hard work away. “If you’re going to be late,” John’s voice in his head echoed, “why bother showing up at all.”

He paused, hand on the door. Breathing deeply, Dean mumbled, “Because if it matters… you have to show up.” The bile simmers and sinks into the bog it rose from, beaten back by one of the mantras Richings taught him. Waiting another beat to calm his rapid heartbeat and remind himself the other man won’t be too mad, Dean finally entered.

“Look, I know what Dr. Richings said but-but I don’t think it’s enough to warrant giving away my appointment!”

Someone with a voice like scuffed leather blocked the path to Tessa’s desk. Broad shoulders, either from actual muscles or extra padding given by the rumpled trench coat. Dark hair sticking up like he stuck a finger in an electrical socket seconds before.

“Sorry Mr. Shurley,” Tessa said, “but as I’ve been trying to tell you, we didn’t give your spot away. The doctor decided last time that you needed to have your session another day.”

“But… but it’s me !” Shurley guy continued, “Dr. Richings always reserves Thursday appointments for me at this time! I mean…” he gestures to the empty row of seats shoved against the wall, “there’s no one else here! No one comes in on Thursdays!”

“Be that as it may, this Thursday is different . The doctor is backed up and has been running over with each session as it is. He’s almost done with his one o’clock, and then he’ll see -”

“Me,” Shurley demanded, “Come on, who else could it be?”

Dean cleared his throat, finally making his presence known. Shurley whirls around, eyes wide at the interruption. Cheeks twinged pink from being caught in the act. Adorable if he didn’t see how much of an asshole he was being. As it was, Dean tamped down the urge to gasp at how the blue of his eyes contrasted with his heated, tanned skin. “Actually,” he said, “Dr. Richings is supposed to be with me for the next hour.” Glancing behind the other man, he nodded at Tessa. “Hey.”

“Dean,” she sighed, smiling, “I was wondering where you were?”

“Traffic.”

Tessa nodded, shuffling papers around on her desk. “Like I was saying, Richings should be finishing up any moment. You can sit anywhere to wait…”

He winked, “Thanks.” Dean smirked, making sure to connect with Shurley’s gaze before striding towards the chairs. Collapsing at the one closest to the magazine pile on a nearby end table, he picked a random gossip rag and began reading.

A shadow fell overhead, blocking the pictures of Michael Jackson’s doctor as he was hounded by paparazzi. “Dude,” he scoffed, squirming under Shurley’s intense stare, “ever heard of personal space.” Their knees knocked together, denim brushing against paper-thin slacks.

“Give me your appointment.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll pay you,” Castiel said, grabbing his wallet, “A hundred dollars. Two hundred. Please .”

“Look,” he said, slapping the magazine closed onto his lap. “I get you’ve got your problems, you’re in therapy. But so am I. Understand that I need this just as much as you, maybe more so?”

Owlishly, Shurly blinked at him. “Three hundred?”

“Jesus!” Dean barked, “No amount of money is going to get me to move.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

“From my experience, people will always compromise given the right amount.”

Dean bristled, feathers finally ruffled. He stood chest-to-chest with the other man. More aware of how different their outfits were. His streaked with faded oil stains and grease marks, having come from work. If Shurley were worried about dirt getting on his clean white shirt or blue silk tie, he didn’t show it. “In my experience, smart mouths lead to fat lips .”

“Was that,” he spluttered, “what that a threat?”

“Yeah it was. Problem?”

Shurley glared, leaning closer. An impossible feat given how thin the space between them was. Electricity crackled underneath, Dean’s ears roaring from an elevated heartbeat. “It may shock you,” Shurley growled, stoking flames in his belly from the low timbre, “but I am no stranger to violence.”

A line pulled from the movies that, in any other context, would have Dean creaming his shorts. Instead, tethered to the aggravating man, the pleasure felt bittersweet. “Actually, I’m not,” Dean told him, “everyone you ever met has probably wanted to knock you upside the head.”

Silence washed over them, then. Tension leaking into every empty crevice until they were wound up tighter than toys. Quickly, in the blink of an eye, it all faded. Sucked away by the sound of a door opening.

“...you did really good today, Ms. Rosen. Next week I wouldn’t mind reading some of these stories you’ve written. Maybe… try your hand at writing something pulled from life instead of TV?”

“But a good story isn’t going to come out of nowhere…” her eyes dipped towards them, a nervous smile twitching to life. “Actually… scratch that. Inspiration has been struck.”

Dr. Richings looked at them, too, cursing under breath. “Why don’t you schedule your next appointment with Tessa, I have to deal with this.”

“Ugh, fine…”

He stalked over, lightning creasing his brows. Imposing in his stoicism. Dean tried to keep his cool, but broke immediately when Richings crushed his wrist in a strong vice. His almost-opponent flinched as well. “No fighting,” he said, “ ever .” Assured they were thoroughly chastised, he let go. Dean rubbed his wrist, wincing. The doctor ignored him in favor of Shurley. “What are you doing here Castiel?”

Shurley tried answering, except- “Castiel?”

Castiel glared at him, “It’s a family name.”

“I bet,” Dean huffed, “people are only named like that out of obligation.”

“Why you -”

“Dean,” Richings hushed him, “quiet. Castiel… your appointment Is not until tomorrow.”

Finally, Castiel seemed uncomfortable. He fidgeted, fingers playing with the ties of his coat. “I know,” he said, “I know we agreed to try stepping… outside my comfort zone . But a whole day? It’s… couldn’t we have done baby steps?”

“Baby steps,” Richings frowned, “you mean like having you order a different coffee from your usual cafe?”

“Well -”

“Or having you pair your suit with a different color tie.”

“Blue with white stripes felt weird -”

“Castiel,” Richings sighed, “we’ve been doing a ton of baby steps. A Friday appointment is still a baby step. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He reached over and laid a hand of Castiel’s shoulder, “That’s what brought you here, right? Fear?”

Nodding, Castiel said, “Yes, I -”

“No,” Richings cut him off, “hold onto that fear. Write it down. Bring it to me tomorrow and we can sort it then. This is Dean’s time.”

Castiel, affronted, glanced between the good doctor and Dean. Dean smiled, a friendly gesture of de-escalation. “An invitation to punch you in the face,” Castiel called it whenever they told the story to friends.

When he left the building, Dean immediately turned to Dr. Richings. “Wow,” he muttered, “what a piece of work…”

“Don’t do that.”

“Huh?”

“Castiel’s a very good man,” Richings told him, “albeit somewhat… peculiar . But aren’t we all?” He scratched at his chin, staring at the door. “He’s been a patient of mine for some time now, and what you saw today was a vast improvement. I’m asking a lot of him, and he’s trusting me. Don’t judge him on an almost bad day.” Brow raised, he trailed his gaze across Dean’s body. “Actually… you two would get along really well, given the right circumstances.”

Dean blushed, “What? Him? No way doc…” Clearing his throat, he pushed past him and towards his room. “C’mon, we’re here to analyze my sucky brain not my sucky love life.”

“I didn’t say anything about love , Dean…”

“Shut up.”

Castiel chuckles, rubbing his thumb across his threadbare jeans. “You were an awful assbutt -”

“Can’t believe you still use that word…”

The woman across from them, perched on her chair, hums through plum lips. “An eventful first meeting,” she says, “Real hell. And that was when cupid struck?”

“No, not really,” Castiel says, “a few weeks later, I brought my car into the shop where Dean works. He fixed my car up while I waited, and we didn’t know who the other was until it came time to assess for payment.”

“Figured the guy who owned the truck was a messy dork,” Dean chuckles, “at least three different books in the passenger seat footwell… empty containers of tea with the bags inside them… and tons of loose pages with so much highlighting -”

“All my students’ tests and papers flew everywhere after the crash,” he says, Dean not needing to look to know his nose scrunched high on his face. Lines criss-crossing over themselves adorably. “Forgive me if I was more concerned with my car.”

“Super concerned,” Dean smiles, “Bothering Bobby every half-hour, asking about your car -”

“Bobby? Oh… your boss, Mr. Singer?”

“Correct Dr. MacLeod -”

“Rowena, dearie,” she coos, “call me Rowena.”

Castiel flushes, squirming. “Right, sorry… Rowena. Bobby was Dean’s boss. And I wasn’t bothering him, I was concerned. I’d had my truck since my dad bought it for me in high school and I… I was a touch too sentimental in the past. I didn’t want to have to get a new car… so Bobby placated me, telling me how his best mechanic was making it better than new.”

“Ol’ bastard did love to exaggerate…”

Rowena smiles, checking through her notes. “Now Castiel, this isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned your… sentimentality . From your files it looked like you were going to Dr. Richings for a number of years about this. Why did you stop going?”

“I started getting better,” he says, “doing what the doctor suggested and… and meeting Dean helped me overcome many of the obstacles I normally struggled with. I’m sure you can see in my files the day I came to Richings without wearing my usual trench coat.”

“Probably next to ‘thank God for Dean’s clumsy fingers and open cans of motor oil’.”

“ Dean ,” Castiel hushes, the name ripped from his lips. A rush of quiet follows, and the warmth normally following his name hurts. Sobers any levity. “Anyway, weekly appointments became bi-weekly… which became monthly and bi-montly until, well… until he passed away.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rowena says, squeezing the arms of her chair in lieu of their knees. Dean accepts the sentiment, meaning well-sourced in her thick accent. “And thank you both for telling me all this… I must admit when you two first started coming to me, I was wondering why. Mainly because of the lengthy history you two had with another doctor. Wasn’t sure if there was a falling out or anything…”

“No,” Dean tells her, “nothing like that. Me, I stopped going when I needed to. Went back whenever I got a bit overwhelmed with life and… spiralled .”

“Do you think that’s what happened then, Dean?” Rowena asks, “Did you spiral too much without Richings’ help until you crashed?”

A storm cloud rolled overhead, thundering. Shadows flashed over Dean’s eyes, vision blackening briefly and exploding with the colors of the room. He mulls Rowena’s words in his head. Uncaring to how they sound when it’s Richings saying them. Or Sam.

“I’m not going to let you give up like this,” Sam said, standing over the guest bed. Blanket held high over Dean so he couldn’t hide under it. Pillow long kicked to the floor. “We’re all worried about you. Bobby keeps asking me when you’re going back to work.”

Dean gurgled, rolling away so he wouldn’t face his brother. Squishing the empty bags of chips, turning crumbs into dust.

“She’s highly recommended,” Sam continued, “I met her through a client. Prosecution wanted us to give a detailed history of her mental health, and MacLeod was her therapist. She helped me with my case and even took the stand when the time came to strengthen our defense.”

“So?” Dean asked, “Good for you. Don’t see how that affects me.”

“Because she’s smart, kind, and won’t take any of your shit,” he tells him, “and you need that right now.”

“I don’t know Sam. That sounds like you, yet I’m still here…”

“Because you don’t want to listen to me. You don’t want to listen to anyone . There are only two other people who might help but you’re not speaking to one and the other is dead .” Sam sat on the bed, mattress dipping. “Dean… Richings can’t help you anymore. You need to see someone… talk about what happened -”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“So much Dean!” Sam yelled, “I might not know all the pain you’re going through but I understand a lot of it. I know what it’s like to feel loss . And now… she was my mom, too, Dean. Jack was my nephew. We’ve already lost enough people… stop giving them away.”

Anger flared inside Dean, and he clawed through Sam’s bedspread. “You think I’m giving him away? No, Sam. Cas can make his own choices. He don’t seem too keen on stopping by anytime soon for a chat.”

“He’s willing to go.”

Faster than the spark breathed to life it was snuffed. “What…?”

“Cas?” Sam said, “I already tossed the idea his way. If you agreed to go… he would too. He still believes you two can fix this.”

Dean let Sam leave without another word. Wouldn’t speak to his brother the following morning, not even attempting to sign his disparate malice to his sister-in-law. Kept to his vow until Sam dropped him off for the first session at the high rise. Made it all the way to the fifteenth floor, stewing in his aggravation. Until the elevator doors opened and he caught sight of a familiar trench coat.

“Cas.”

Barely a whisper, his name echoed in the empty waiting room. His husband looked up from his lap, dropping the strips of his ratty security blanket. Hurt welled in his too-blue eyes until he shut it down. Caged by purplish bags and new wrinkles. He retreated to his trench coat, pulling it over his t-shirt.

Like it didn’t make him any less ridiculous.

Dean signed in with the receptionist, finding the furthest chair away from Castiel and setting up camp until their names were called.

Neither were too keen to do anything in those first sessions.

Four months in, there’s been progress. But no light at the end of the tunnel.

“Tell me Dean,” Rowena carries on, “do you think Dr. Richings could have helped you process the recent tragedies that blew up your life?”

Dean scoffs, “I wouldn’t say blew up -”

“You lost your son to a horrible illness days and your mother to a careless drunk driver,” she speaks over him, tone smooth and sharp like a thumbtack piercing a corkboard. “Burying both within a matter of days of each other. You’ve lost your job. You’re no longer living in your house. And you’re here, in my office, because you’re inches away from your separation turning into a divorce . Tell me again how your life isn’t in complete shambles?”

He glared at her, arms crossed. “When you put it like that…”

She sighed, pinching her brow. “I didn’t mean to get cross with you, dearie, I just…” Rowena sets her notes aside and stands. “We’ve been at this awhile. You’re both good people who’ve been dealt unlucky cards. I wish neither of you had to go through what you did.”

“But we had to,” Dean growls, “I’ve always had to. Mom, Jack… I don’t know why I thought it would be different…”

Mary Winchester nearly died once. The Winchester brothers thought she did, perishing in a fire that consumed their childhood home. John spirited them away before they saw it fully collapse. Too early. For if they stayed a bit longer, they would have seen a fireman carry a somewhat charred, unresponsive woman to a nearby ambulance.

Maybe their family would have been whole. Maybe Dean could have grown up at a normal pace. Maybe their home wouldn’t have been a sleek, black muscle car from the past.

Maybe John Winchester wouldn’t have lost his battle with the demons goading him to drink every night until he couldn’t take it anymore and blew his brains out. Not telling either of his children until they received a call from a motel owner south of nowhere telling them how they found his body.

At least in John’s death, they found a new beginning.

Mary attended like a vision, almost too good for reality. They were right, when Dean approached her and a heavy fog clouded her vision. “Dean?” she said, “It… sounds familiar.”

After the fire, Mary woke with no memory past one of meeting a man with his foot glued to the accelerator and a taste for classic rock. Her parents filled her in on nothing. Keeping her in the dark about her sons, the ones named after them.

It took years for her memories of them to return, to create new ones. And they were for nothing.

Almost as pointless as taking in the child of a dear, late friend.

“He is technically my nephew,” Castiel said, watching Jack play with other kids his age. Arm wrapped over Dean’s shoulder. “And we both know Nick won’t have anything to do with the boy. Kelly wouldn’t want him shuttled off to some foster system, to be forgotten.”

Jack tripped over the basketball, landing on his knee. Dean jumped. An urge to run over and check on the boy awoke in that moment, seemingly from nowhere. He ignored it, instead watching what happened next.

Rolling over, Jack pulled his knee close and checked it. From how exposed the skin was to wear and tear by wearing shorts, Dean guessed he must have scraped it. Except there were no tears.

Jack stared at his knee for a long time, enough that the kids around him picked the ball up and continued playing without him. Then, after a minute that felt like hours, he turned to where Dean and Cas were standing. Looked at them, silently asking ‘Can you believe this?’

Dean chuckled, leaning into Cas’s embrace. “Yeah… yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Sure sure,” Dean said, “We’ll be good for him… and him, us.”

They were wrong then, too. Jack’s father struck with a vengeance, taking them to court for custody over their boy. With Sam’s help Dean and Castiel barely managed to keep guardianship of him.

It wasn’t a long duty. Almost as soon as their legal troubles were over the medical crisis began. Cancer too far along, Jack’s candle flickered dangerously in the wind.

“Dean,” Castiel says, closer than he was before, “Dean it’s not like we could have known any of this was going to happen.”

“But we should have!” he yells, “My life’s been nothing but some big cosmic joke. Some-some show that a cruddy audience jerks it to whenever I’m in pain.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It is Cas,” Dean says, blinking through tears, “Why can’t you see I’m just a lousy screw-up, huh? Your dad was right about me…”

“Hold on a minute,” Rowena stops him, hovering nearby, “what did you say?”

Dean rolls his eyes, wiping at the stray watermarks. “That I’m a screw-up -”

“No,” she waves him off, “about Castiel’s father?”

He scowls. “Yeah. What about it? He’s not the first person to call me a screw-up…”

“But you mentioned him , specifically,” she continues, walking back to her seat. Notes in hand, Rowena asks, “Has your father been a sore spot for a long time, Castiel?”

Castiel startles, glancing away from Dean. “What? I… uh, yes. I guess? Ever since Dean and I started dating he hasn’t been the-ah… the most supportive .”

Something bitter roils in Dean’s chest when he laughs. “It took your brother and sister locking him in a bathroom to keep him from interrupting our wedding.”

“He has this… idea of what me and my siblings should be doing with our lives,” Castiel explains, “Some of us followed in his footsteps and joined the family company. While others… rebelled. My brother Nick went into politics. Gabriel is a producer in Hollywood and Hannah… they teach sculpture at a community college in Maine.” “So your profession as a professor -”

“Was not well received,” Castiel sighs, “Every decision I made that he didn’t agree with, he saw it as me not achieving all I could do. That I was limiting myself. He pushes people very hard. As you can see me attest to in my files many of my neuroses were not aided by his parenting.”

Rowena scribbles on her notepad, tone lilting when she connects a few dots Dean cannot see. Too busy trying to figure out what she’s doing, he doesn’t see her turn to him. “Dean, my boy,” she starts, “why did you bring up Chuck just then?”

“What?”

“When you were talking to Castiel, you mentioned Chuck. Why was he on your mind?”

Dean shrugs, slumping in his seat until his knees hit the coffee table. “I don’t know. Sometimes when I’m in a funk my brain plays a mixtape of all the people who’ve said bad things about me and the dashboard buttons stick, so there’s no stopping it. Like I said, he wasn’t the first to call me a screw-up, definitely not the last.”

Rowena nods, mirroring his too-wide smile. “Of course,” she says, “you’re not telling me the whole truth, are you?”

He pinches his thigh. “I’ve told you enough.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Dean?”

“I know that if I’m not ready to talk about things, I don’t have to.”

“This isn’t about being ready, Dean. This is about not wanting to face whatever happened -”

“Who said anything happened!” he yells, leaning forward, “I didn’t say that! It’s not like there was anything to happen. Nothing happened! I made sure of it when Chuck -” Dean bites his lip, cheeks heating under the victorious leer Rowena shoots his way. He avoids meeting Castiel’s curious stare when he returns to his earlier position. “You’re awful.”

“Awfully amazing,” she says, “Now… you and Chuck. Was it a recent altercation?”

Dean checks the clock, aware of how little time is left of their appointment. Waiting her out is preferable to dredging up that memory.

But then, “Dean…”

Looking at Castiel was a mistake. At his soft eyes, his parted lips, his overgrown stubble. Make him hoist the white flag and resign to mortifying ideals.

“It was a day or two after Jack’s funeral,” Dean begins, talking to his hands, “Cas… you’d gone with Gabriel to pay for the service. I was putting casserole after casserole away…”

“Coming!” Dean yelled, dropping Donna’s plastic Tupperware onto the counter in his haste to answer the door. He hurried when the incessant knocking grew louder. “I said I was coming,” he grumbled, “what’s so important that you’re… oh .”

Chuck stood on the other side, an air of casualness wafting from him. Dressed casually in a fitted Henley, dark-wash jeans, leather boots and a jacket. A total sum of more than what Dean made in a month. “What?” he asked, “Not gonna invite me in?”

“Finally admitting you’re a bloodsucker then?”

He pursed his lips. “Cute.” Chuck strode past him, “Where’s my son?”

“Cas isn’t here,” Dean told him, door still open, “If that’s all?”

Chuck glanced back, smirking. “Not that easy. I didn’t come here for him.”

Dean frowned, slamming the door shut. “What Chuck? What do you want?”

“I came here to talk to you.”

“Sure,” he huffed, “because you couldn’t have done that when you were at the funeral.” They barely shared a glance, Dean only knowing Chuck came by a whispered warning from Hannah and a peek at the back row when going up for Jack’s eulogy. “If you’ve come by to say you’re ‘sorry for our loss’ or some other bullshit… I don’t need to hear it.”

“Well… now that hurts Dean,” Chuck said, “Jack was as much my grandson as he was your son… actually, he was more . Biological factors considered -”

“ God !” Dean groaned, pinching his nose, “Haven’t I already suffered enough ?” Sagging against a nearby wall, he waves at his father-in-law. “Come on. Out with it so we can get this over with.”

Contempt flashed to life on Chuck’s face, quickly smothered by a self-satisfied smirk. “All right. Fine . I’ll skip the appetizers and present the main course.” The metaphor knocks his eyes so far back in his head they roll forward again without help. “I’m here to offer my help.”

“Help? What kind of help do you think we need?”

“The kind of help I can provide,” he explained, “ Money .”

Dean tensed, gaze flicking to the other man. “Money?” Five letters that made every nerve left in his body join their brothers, when one by one they turn to ash. Stoked to burn by memories, time after time of Chuck’s snide comments about their lifestyle. Being forced to listen, to bury his anger, with each insinuation he made from ‘concern’.

“Money,” Chuck said, fiddling with the jacket zipper, “You know… you could make a higher salary if you applied yourself more.”

He scoffed. “If I applied myself any more I’d be pushing Bobby’s wheelchair down a staircase.”

“Then maybe it’s time to consider a change?”

A chill rushed down Dean’s spine. Before he could comment, Chuck rushed into his spiel. About how Michael decided to leave the company after falling for some vagabond during a corporate retreat. “Adam’s a nice boy,” Castiel tells Rowena, “and very charming. I mean, he got my brother to pick up yoga .”

“Anyway,” Dean says, a fierce itch tingling behind his eyes, “instead of promoting from within, he got the idea to rely on old-fashioned nepotism.”

“From how you describe your father-in-law,” Rowena says, “It doesn’t seem like he’d be pretty keen on doing such a thing. What drove him to make such an ask?”

Dean sneaks a peek at Castiel, frowning.

“I know neither of you two are in a good place right now,” Chuck said, “financially, I mean.”

“How would you know that?”

Chuck switched to an even more irritating expression. Lips stretching in plastic sympathy. “Because of something I overheard after the service.”

“Castiel and Gabriel were talking,” Dean says, “About how, with both Jack’s and my mom’s… a huge chunk of our savings was gone. Not taking into account the money we funnelled towards medical bills until we found a St. Jude’s we’re still paying off. We were scraping by each month as it was… after all that…”

“It is to be expected,” Rowena says, “after such traumatic events for money to be a sore subject.”

“But,” Dean sighs, wiping at his nose, “I had to… I had to hear it from hum .” He shifts, turning to face his husband, “Cas, I had to hear it from Chuck and not you .”

He heard a lot from Chuck. When Dean rejected the offer, repeated with shaky confidence how they were doing fine with where they were, his father-in-law went livid. “You really are a fool,” he spat, barreling past him towards the door, “every day my son spends married to a buffoon like you is another he subjects himself to torture. Because you, Dean Winchester, are poison . You take so much from Castiel and push all your problems onto him and give him nothing . It’s no surprise all of this happened, because you wreck everything you touch. I hope you enjoy the gutters when the bank evicts you from your home in a month. Not like they’d be able to turn a profit on this shitty thing…”

“And then he left,” Dean shrugs, numb to the gentle caress of Castiel’s hand on his back.

“After all that?” Rowena asked, “He shouted at you and you did… what?”

“I did nothing,” he said, “I couldn’t do anything when he was right.”

“Dean -”

“He was, Cas,” Dean cries, “I mean, look at us! We’re in freaking therapy because I couldn’t lose just my mom, or my son… I had to lose you, too and I couldn’t handle it.”

Castiel readies another dismissal, but keeps his finger on the trigger. Tongue pressed against teeth, only part of him moving his brows furrowing above. He loads another, more deadly bullet into the barrel and fires at his heart. “Is this why, Dean? Why you pushed me away? Why you… you became so cold ? Why you said all those hurtful things at me?”

Dean wrings his hands, copper all he can taste. “I blew up,” he admits, “You were just… there. Being so kind… so caring, and I - I was so mad that I couldn’t be the same. Too full of my own bullshit that I couldn’t stick to my vows and be there for you.” Choking back a sob, he rocks into Castiel. “I never meant what I said… I… everything I said, were things I thought about myself.”

Rowena hums, scribbling in her notepad. “Dean, is this something you’ve done before?”

He nods. “I… yeah. I’ve had a history of being unable to process my anger in a healthy way. Or… at least that was how Dr. Richings described it.” Dean attempts a smile, lips twisting into a grimace. “After he helped me through that… dark period, I’d still go back to him from time to time-”

“When life started spiralling?”

“Yeah…” Sighing, he pulls from Castiel’s embrace, unable to rely on his husband as a shield. “I’ve… it’s always been a problem, since I was young. This anger. I don’t know why it’s there but it’s like it… it never goes away. And when everything becomes too much, and the voices in my head get too loud I… I…”

“You blow up?” Rowena finishes, glancing at Castiel, “Hurting those caught in the crossfire?” She adjusts in her seat, crossing her legs. “Has he ever blown up at you like this?”

“A few times,” Castiel admits, “But usually, with some time and space, we come back together. Normally only a few days, but…”

“But this was going on for much longer.” Rowena taps her pen, staring at Dean. “Why didn’t you seek to resolve this? If the pattern is blow up, space, reunion… why break the cycle?” He won’t answer her. Chews on his tongue so he can’t answer. It doesn’t matter. “Did you think you were doing Castiel a service by staying out of his life?”

“Shit,” he breathes. A nail pierces his heart, hammered in expertly by Rowena. “How are you this good?”

“Because I am dearie… so if you will?”

His mouth flaps for a beat, only no sound accompanies it. Throat stopped up by fear, thick and watery and not enough to truly choke on. Dean looks at Castiel, studies the infinite sadness rippling across his eyes. The only part of him that dare show how he’s feeling. “Because of this,” he growls, “because you’re holding back from me.”

“What -”

“Here I am having a breakdown and you look like it’s another fucking Saturday!” Dean yells, “Like you… you checked out, and were just waiting for an excuse to leave. At least… at least that’s what I believe, after talking with Chuck.” He gasps, tugging at his hair. “Christ, Cas, if you were worried about money why didn’t you bring it up with me? Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling? I want to help but it’s like… it’s like you won’t let me .”

“Dean,” Castiel says, “I… I don’t know what to - to… I’m not waiting for an excuse to leave you -”

“Well how was the poor boy supposed to know that, Castiel?”

Castiel whips around towards Rowena. “Excuse me?”

She sighs, flipping through her notes. “In every session, you’ve been a willing participant. Moresoe than your husband. However… everything you ever said was about him or in relation to him… we never hear any ‘I’ statements from you.”

“I highly doubt that,” he says, lips twitching into a nervous smile, “I just said ‘I’... and I did it again!”

Rowena arches a brow. “In fact,” she continues, “didn’t you mention how, the day after Dean left you, you were ‘chugging coffee to stay awake in class’.”

“It was a very important week for me, most of my students’ grades were calculated from these presentations -”

“An average person in this kind of situation would not be too keen to go back to class,” she says, “in fact, you didn’t miss a single class since. Did Dean’s absence really affect you?”

“...Of course it did!” Castiel snarls, cool facade entirely shattered under the implication, “My love for Dean is as infinite as the stars in the sky or-or… or the amount of fucking purple you have in your office. But I know when to put my own troubles aside for others -”

“That you do, Castiel,” Rowena agrees, “In fact… it said in your file you have a tendency to absorb others’ burdens at the expense of dealing with your own?”

Dean watches Castiel barely contain his ire. Fingers twitching against his knee, scraping the denim. Eyes almost shut from how tightly they squint across the table, like he could smite her with a thought.

“You spend all your energy trying to fix things,” she says, “that there’s no time to hone in on what you’re feeling -”

“Because I know what I’m feeling!” “Good! What is it, then?”

“I… It’s... “ Castiel sighs, sagging into the couch now, “I’m tired, I’m… I’m empty . Like there’s been this darkness inside of me, chipping away until I’m nothing but a husk. And I figured maybe… maybe if I didn’t give it any attention, it would go away.”

“That’s no way to beat a beast like that, Castiel,” Rowena tells him, “You should know. Your history with depression -”

“Was a fucking nightmare,” he cuts her off, “some days I couldn’t get up from my bed I didn’t think it was worth it. Once… once, it was so bad, I nearly lost my job because I kept missing classes. All because I allowed myself to stare into the abyss and was foolish enough to blink.”

Rowena won’t quit. “You’re scared.”

“Damn right I’m scared.”

“And because of this fear,” she says, “you shut yourself off. Kept things bottled up.”

“Not… not entirely,” Castiel says, looking to Dean. “I… all your life, you’ve had other people’s shit dumped on you. Your dad’s… your mom’s… grandparents, co-workers, former partners… I didn’t want to be that. Didn’t want to put you through anymore of it. You had your own problems, and I wanted to be there for you .”

“Cas,” Dean sighs, reaching across to curl his arm around his husband’s shoulders, “When we stood across from each other all those years ago… I wasn’t accepting just the good parts. It was all of you.”

“But -”

“Everyone else dumped on me without my consent,” he says, “You… I want to be there for you. To help. Be equal… not treated with fucking kid’s gloves.”

“I know, Dean,” Castiel says, a tear traversing the planes of his cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

“We lost so much already,” Dean sniffs, “and we almost lost this… I’m sorry, too.”

They hold each other. Reacquaint themselves with parts they kept themselves from sharing because of their own stubborn beliefs. Dean breaths in the scent of laundry detergent around Castiel’s neck, heart aching because he missed it. Because Sam makes his own instead of buying Tide like a normal person.

“Now this is really lovely, boys,” Rowena says, clapping. Drawing them from the embrace, “Truly. But… we’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “too easy, right?”

“You’ve made a lot of progress already,” she winks, “so I doubt the rest will be hard. That being said… our time is officially over.”

“It is?” Castiel asks, “That was all an hour?”

“An hour and five minutes but… who am I to rush healing,” she shrugs, “Besides, my next patient is a total narcissist and making him wait will be good for him.” Rowena stands, beckoning them to do the same so she can shake their hands. “I think you two are finally ready for some homework.”

“Homework?” Dean winces, “C’mon, Rowena…”

“Nothing too serious,” she laughs, walking them towards the door, “The two of you have taken so many hits, that it’s definitely bruised your relationship. So I want you two to take it back to where it all began.”

“Meaning?”

“Recreate your first date,” she tells them, “Reflect on what drew you two to each other and remind yourself of all the happiness that existed because of your union. And write it all down, because come our next meeting I want to hear all about it!"

“We will, Rowena,” Dean says, smile more genuine than ever, “Thank you.”

“All in a day’s work, dearie…”

They leave her office, walking side by side to the elevator banks. When it opens up, someone rushes out and between Dean, uncoupling their joined hands. Dean only notices they were glued together when forced apart, and quickly fixes that mistake.

“I’ve missed being able to hold your hand,” he says.

“I missed having your hand hold mine.”

Dean looks at his husband, calm with very obvious tear-stains on his face. “Do you think we’ll ever get back to where we were?” he asks under the delightful mediocrity of elevator music.

Castiel meets his gaze. “I’m not sure,” he says, “I don’t believe we can ever be the same as we were yesterday but… I hope we can be better.”

“So do I…” A breath. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

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

Rowena walks to her car, fixing her hair into a ponytail. “Fucking naturalists,” she huffs, “Not everything can be cured with fucking crystals… if you’re gonna get into witchcraft at least make it interesting .”

At her car, she moves to enter. Only her phone chirps with a new message, drawing her focus. “Please don’t let it be a patient,” she says, checking.

She reads the texts, and smiles.

It was a patient. Rather, patients. Dean and Castiel sent her a photo - a selfie. From years ago, by the looks of it. Followed by another picture. A recreation of the first, with the same table, same candle, and same bottle of wine. Same all-consuming love for each other.

Thanks, doc .

“These are the moments that make it worth it Rowena,” she says, “make it all worth it…”

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn15 #15x08 #Castiel #Dean Winchester #Rowena MacLeod #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic

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paint-pilot · 4 years

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shit it’s been a second, guess it’s time to update again

edit: holy christ this is long, i’m gonna readmore it. tl:dr tyler has many badweird feelings but is getting through it. fun body changes, including hair growth and an unexpectedly nice voice. surgery and legal matters are Annoying. tw for menstruation

it is truly bizarre to think that i’ll have been five months on t in a little under two weeks. another month after that and it’s half a year. it’s uhh...weird. quarantine has just made this all feel weird. it’s like i fast-forwarded through this whole journey i was supposed to go on i guess? like i got randomly torn out of my life one day in march with no warning and then just as suddenly got spat out in august with a new life - new name, new face, new major, new identity - and no transitional period whatsoever. my classmates, my professors, my students, they all have only known me as tyler. and only ever will know me as tyler. and that’s great! it’s great, and i’m truly just blown away by how markedly easy it’s been and how weirdly good my timing was in transitioning. but it almost feels like i’m still a ways behind everyone else, i guess. i’ve spent so much of my life hiding, and lying through my teeth, and covering my ass every second of every day to protect myself, and i don’t have to do that anymore but the instinct is 100% still there and that honestly doesn’t feel good. of course i’m not making any of it up - i’m happier now than i’ve ever been, and i know i’m making the right choice - but it still persistently keeps feeling that way.

it’s just difficult, i think, to balance wanting to be read as male (and, to a large extent, wanting to keep my transness hidden both for safety reasons and so people don’t start treating me differently) and finding it difficult to hide this truly massive life change that, like, four people are really seeing anything of. and y’all, i guess, lol. it’s one thing to talk about all this in therapy, but it’s another entirely to just be able to share it with strangers and not worry about it being weird.

i was writing this with the intent of it being a mostly happy update but i guess there is some negativity boiling up so. gotta be honest, i guess? there’s a lot of fun trauma stuff i’ve been going through lately that i won’t get into but it’s culminated with this bullshit in this really fun way where my mom gets upset because i get kind of uncomfortable when she shows me childhood photos or tells stories about me as a little kid and then i just break down for reasons i really can’t discern. i’m going to try and articulate this, and who knows how messy it’s going to get, so i apologize if it gets kind of incoherent from here on out. as far as i can tell the root thing that she really gets upset about is that i’ve “thrown away” my whole previous identity. like, not a direct quote, but “you can’t just pretend [deadname] never existed. because she did, for a long time.” and...sure, i guess. i know this has been hard on my mom. i know she was raised in a conservative family, and while she has worked hard to adopt an accepting and open mindset she still doesn’t 100% grasp all of it and will make mistakes. i’ve made my peace with that. and yet. it’s not so much, really, that i was this other person and then became tyler, y’know? tyler did not appear suddenly two years ago where she once stood. tyler put on a mask, even before he knew he was tyler, because tyler was scared and ashamed but people seemed to like her and, for a time, she was an easy person to be. and i hated her. that is so fucking scary for me to say, and i’m not sure i’ve admitted that until literally right this second, but i did. not because she was a bad person. because she had a voice and a face and a body that i hated. because people saw her and assumed they knew me. because even she had many faces, because there was no real base or identity to her, just traits designed to paint a pretty picture and make people like her. because i knew, when i finally threw her away, people would miss her. compare me to her. expect me to be like her.

so i don’t know. i don’t have a satisfying way to wrap this up, because i honestly don’t know how to face this because i know it is absolutely not just the trans thing that created this situation. i’m kinda warring with myself, because i do kinda want to go back through this blog and delete photos of myself with long hair and whatever (because jesus, i’ve had this thing since i was like 14) but i genuinely don’t know if that’s healthy. i know i’m going back on my bullshit, fretting this way and that over whether something is “healthy” as though that’s an objective term without considering what’s going to make me happy, but honestly? i don’t know anymore. i keep sensing the mental block - the swathes of my childhood that i cannot recall, just vague, constant unease - and i don’t really know if i want to dig into all of that and learn what lies underneath because i’m sort of afraid of it. like i said, i’m happy now, happier than i’ve ever been, and i’d sort of like to just leave it like that. but i guess the length and tone of this post might argue otherwise.

anyways. anyways. enough mental health therapy, more actual hormone therapy updates since that’s what this goddamn thing is supposed to be i think? i’m finally starting to grow some noticeable hairs - my chin hair is coming back after my mom made me shave it before i left for school lol, as are a handful of mustache/lower lip/sideburn hairs. i keep feeling phantom bugs on my legs/feet and i’ve only just now recognized that that’s just leg hairs brushing against places i’m not used to. my appetite has picked up like absolute hell again, too, so i don’t know if i’m just having a metabolic spurt or what. also, i’ve started bruising more? idk what the hell that’s about - i fucking never bruise unless i’ve been hit Hard, and i kind of assumed testosterone would make you less likely to bruise, but then that’s probably just not related to the hormones at all. i was gonna put this in the tags but seeing as this post is already so long i might as well put a readmore and just put this here lol: my period is late, like, four days late, which is exceedingly unusual for me and might mean i’m finally done. or almost done. fingers crossed.

my voice has started to settle, it seems like. i popped out an e2 yesterday, which is Sick, but i’m not as focused on that anymore as i am on the actual quality of my tone. which is...good? i’m not just a baritone, i’m kind of a good one, at least it seems like. i’m really working right now on just getting familiar with my instrument - i’m second-guessing my pitch sensitivity a lot, but i think i really just need to drill and practice until everything starts feeling like second nature again. but since the musical didn’t happen for me, my coach wants to enter me in a classical solo competition next spring. so...no more retirement from competitive singing. i’m back! and thank god, because i’m starting to go crazy without being in musical work lol.

jesus fuck, i have a lot to say. i should probably split this into two posts but i don’t care. i am frustrated; i tried to get an appointment with a pro bono legal program for a name change, but it happened today and i wasn’t invited so apparently i’m on my own. and i’m frustrated. i’m trying to look at internships and shit for next summer, but i kind of can’t apply right now because my legal name and sex don’t line up with my presentation, and i don’t really know how easy it is to get away with that in this day and age and especially in my field. genuinely, if anyone has any advice, i’d appreciate it. i don’t know how long this will take, i don’t know what the requirements are, i don’t know if i’m better off just applying now and hoping they don’t eliminate me before ever getting me an interview. and, of course, i’m working on getting consultations for top surgery, but i keep catching myself procrastinating that. which seems weird, but listen. i’ve said it before but i have to emphasize, i am capital-t Terrified of getting this surgery. i know i need to, i know it will make things better for me, i know now is the time, i know i hate binding and can’t really get away with not doing so, but jesus fuck i am so frightened of anesthesia it’s not even funny. but i guess i’m mostly just calling myself out here and telling myself to quit being a big baby, schedule the thing, and give myself a few months to prepare.

anyway. that’s all i have to say. i’d apologize for ranting, but honestly...i dunno. i know at the start of all this a handful of you requested these updates, and i have to imagine it’s because at least some of you are transitioning, are thinking of doing so, or know someone who is or will be soon. and i just hope someone out there can at least relate, because there honestly just aren’t a lot of comparable life changes out there. or maybe this is just therapeutic for me, that’s fine too.

i have two midterms next week i should be studying for. i should do that.

#t.txt #not horses #the puberty diaries #menstruation mention

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

Text

Part XI - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

read parts 1-10 here

NOW - Day 1710

I could feel the warmth of his body in my sheets, and it took my brain a second to realize where I was, who he was, and what had happened. He was turned completely around--his back was to me as if there was still some sort of block between us.

This wasn’t one of those movie moments--you have sex, you wake up the next morning and everything is so romantic. Instead of that, I heard the buzzing of my phone and the sound of his breathing beside me.

Which terrified me and soothed me at the same time.

It’d been a while since I’d woken up next to him, and in a way, the warm sheets and his sounds of sleep felt comforting. But at the same time, in a brain that’s wired anxious and over thinks even the smallest things, the buzzing on the nightstand of Sinead’s phone call and realization that my ex-boyfriend was in bed beside me set off a few alarms. The call went to voicemail, I looked over my shoulder to see if Harry was awake.

He wasn’t.

I reached for the phone and pulled open a text to Sinead. Before I could even start typing, she sent a message.

Just came by and Harry’s car is in the driveway. Let me know if I should come back later.

Great. Good. Okay. So Sinead knew. There was that.

“Morning,” his voice sounded behind me--slow and deep and barely even awake. I dropped the phone on the sheets and shifted to get a good look at him.

“Hi, hey, what’s up?”

His lips pulled into a smirk--the scene in front of me felt similar to so many of my past mornings, only this time Harry’s hair wasn’t as long as mine. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. His eyes scanned my face and he raised his eyebrows a bit, somehow insinuating that he knew I was lying and that he didn’t want to fall back into that pattern. I cleared my throat. “Sinead called. She saw your car. I don’t know if anyone else did.”

He thought on this for a second, his eyebrows furrowing into one another as he plucked at his lower lip. He was propped up on an elbow, he let out a long breath that didn’t seem nervous or angry or anything. He was just thinking. “Do you not want people to know that we’re spending time together?”

I rolled my eyes a little bit. “Spending time together and having sex with your ex-boyfriend are two very different things.”

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It wasn’t that I wanted to keep this a secret. If anything, really, it was that I didn’t have the words to quite explain the last two weeks. In a matter of days, Harry had come full force back into my life and I was forced to take a hard look at the end of our relationship. He was finally back and things felt okay and I wanted to protect our relationship. We’d always had third parties sneaking a peek inside. All of that felt pretty overwhelming.

“Margot,” he said, pulling my attention back to him. “Can you think out loud?” He smiled up at me, causing my lips to pull upwards as I let out a laugh.

“I don’t even know where to start if anyone asks about us. And I don’t want a thousand other people in our business.”

He nodded, appreciating my words as he let his head fall back to the pillow. My bedroom--this room that we were in--had been free of Harry. When I bought this house last summer, I realized that it was likely to be the only place in my life that hadn’t been touched by him. The sheets, the couch downstairs, the front door.

None of that held true anymore. I didn’t really mind. It just felt strange.

“We don’t owe anyone an explanation. I mean, so people will find out. People have already seen a few photos.”

He was right--there’d been pictures of us at Geoffrey’s and at the release party and there was even one of us in his car the night we got In N’ Out. People had speculated, people had come up with their theories, but neither of us had said a word.

He’d long become the King of Promo--any question about me was answered with a swift and thoughtful diversion. He’d been asked a thousand times what happened to our relationship and I got to hide away in the woods of Tennessee and in the rocky hillside of Malibu. Now he was getting questions about it again--the break up, the time apart, had I heard the album?

“I guess I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what this means,” I motioned between us, to the non verbal agreement that apparently, this was a thing. When I kissed him on the couch through tears, when I finished my wine before bringing him upstairs, I somehow, some way, made a decision that this was certainly a thing.

“We’ve had sex before, Marg, it’s fine.”

“I know, I know,” I said, bringing a hand up to hide my eyes. “I guess, what I mean, is that I want to take it slow.”

Harry let out a laugh and smiled up at me under his eyelashes. “You? Take things slow? I would have never guessed.”

Sinead seemed to walk around like a deer in headlights when I opened the front door. Harry, who was in the kitchen fixing some pancakes, shot her an obnoxious grin over his shoulder.

She turned to me quickly, her eyes still wide and her face still pale. “Did you--did you have sex with him?”

I closed my eyes quickly, feeling more than uncomfortable at all the sex-talk I’d endured so far. Sinead was no stranger to the intimate details of my life--after all, she was the one who filled and picked up my birth control prescriptions and she regularly scheduled my gynecologist appointments.

“I don’t see why that matters,” I challenged her playfully, turning to lead her towards the kitchen. She followed behind, dropping her bag on the island as Harry poured batter into a pan. I would have been fine with cereal, but I guess getting laid made him feel generous.

“This is weird,” Sinead nodded confidently, causing Harry to look over his shoulder again with a pout. Her words were true, but her tone was playful.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pulled his head back, pretending to be offended by her words--falling right back into their typical banter.

Sinead let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that this,” she motioned between the two of us, “hasn’t been a thing since 2015.”

“Alright, okay,” I held a hand up in protest, the sinking feeling in my chest getting the best of me. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it because that feels really stressful,” I said.

Sinead seemed to look from me and then to Harry--apparently me voicing my feelings was something they both weren’t too accustomed to.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod, the spatula in his hand. “Not a big deal,” he said. “Taking it slow.”

THEN - Day 1185

I hadn’t really noticed him at first--he was just a face in a group of people who seemed to watch my every move. I don’t know if they thought I was going to kill myself or try or maybe they were just wondering what on earth Margot Jones was doing in a rehab center in Tennessee--but he seemed to pay attention.

And I think that’s why this all started.

I think the way he seemed to watch me move through the dining hall and the way he seemed to offer me a smile whenever he crossed my path--it felt different than the others and it certainly felt different than Harry.

It’d been three weeks since I’d seen him. Three weeks since I’d heard from him, three weeks since he didn’t have any words for me.

With each day that passed I felt more alone, more annoyed, and more desperate.

Most of the other women on my floor seemed to ignore me--I think the weight of my name made them uncomfortable and unsure of how to interact with me. Almost as if my name made me less human.

I wasn’t all that surprised. I spent most of my time in groups or in therapy with Rita, and the time I wasn’t in either of those was normally spent in the group room by the window. Instead of spending time with the other patients, I felt more comfortable letting the silence sink in around me. After all, it’d been a few years since I’d really been alone.

He’d approached me from behind and at first I felt unsure. He worked here as a floor manager. He wasn’t a therapist, instead, he spent his time babysitting the group of us women who were deemed too broken for reality--was he allowed to talk to me one-on-one?

“Whatchya lookin’ at?”

I turned to face him--his eyes were blue and his hair was light, almost blond--more so now in the sun than I’d noticed before. The thought crossed my mind--what did he think of me? What did he think of my music? My reputation? I pushed it out of my head.

I let out a laugh when I realized that I didn’t have a good answer. “Nothing, I guess. Just looking.”

He nodded. He crossed his arms over his clipboard, his eyes out the window like mine had just been. He was in scrub pants and a t-shirt, I could see my name on his clipboard, next to the others who seemed to be avoiding me like I had something contagious.

Andrew--that’s what his name tag said, definitely no older than 25. He was quiet for a second, his eyes still on the trees at the edge of the field that seemed to surround the entire complex. “Is it weird to be here?”

I didn’t know what to make of his question at first. For a moment it felt like he was prying, maybe he’d get a payout for anything he could tell them about my life on the inside. When his eyes met mine, it didn’t feel that way.

Instead of looking like he had a reason to ask, he just looked curious. He watched me with soft eyes, and for the first time in a while, with someone other than my therapist, I felt like he actually wanted to hear what I had to say. Not because I was Margot Jones, because I was human.

“It’d be less weird if people didn’t look at me like an alien,” I shrugged a little, letting a laugh escape my lips.

He nodded--I don’t think it was a secret to anyone that the rest of the women seemed to keep away. Maybe they wondered if I was too broken for them.

“They probably just didn’t expect to meet a celebrity here,” he laughed quietly, his voice low enough so others couldn’t hear us.

“I bet you didn’t expect it either,” I corrected him, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“That’s fair,” he smiled. He walked to sit in the chair opposite me. “Any idea when you’re done?”

I ran a hand through my hair. Rita and I had been talking about next week, before the holidays--hopefully when the rest of the world would be too busy with Christmas shopping to notice that I’d returned from my time away.

“Before Christmas,” I told him. “Escape back to L.A. and hope no one noticed I was gone.”

He offered a sympathetic smile, but it didn’t sit right with me.

“What’s that look for?” I asked, watching as he shifted in his seat. He still held his clipboard in his hands, but he moved to sit next to me for a minute--careful of the distance between us.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I just--I think people know.”

I sat with that for a second. People probably did know where I was. I mean, it was 2015. People had cameras and cellphones and twitter and facebook and my every move was pretty much tracked down by the second.

But the reality is that I was locked away, safe inside the walls of these buildings in which I now spent my time. I didn’t have access to a cell phone or the news or the internet. I could watch rerun episodes of COPS and I could maybe watch Ellen.

My seat in the day room was a lot different than the seat opposite Ellen in her studio.

“They probably do,” I nodded. “Fuck it, though.”

He laughed at this, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watched me--seemingly interested by my words and my thoughts and my mannerisms. I still couldn’t tell if it was because of my name or because of me, but his blue eyes made me hope it was the latter.

“Fuck what they think and fuck what they know and fuck H--” I cut myself off, I figured it was better to not name drop and accidentally let this kid--Andrew--know something about my previous relationship. Maybe his payout would double if he had any insider gossip about Harry as well.

“Sometimes it’s nice to just say fuck it,” he laughed, his eyes still on my face.

It was uncomfortable for a second--it felt like Nick and Sinead and Harry all watching me. It felt like he watched on to see what I’d say, what I’d do, if I’d break again.

But when I realized that everyone else had left the room, and when I realized that there wasn’t much more I could do to fuck things up, I decided that I might as well kiss him.

Maybe we both got something out of it. Maybe we both got something out of sneaking around for the last week I was there--locking lips and feeling our skin touch in dark closets or in empty rooms.

But I think--in all honesty--he filled a void that I knew was there from the start. He filled a void that was left by the person who’d tried his best to fill it before.

The thing that sucked was that neither of them really worked.

THEN - Day 1202

I sat on the floor of the living room where he first kissed me. In fact, Maya sat in the spot on the couch where it happened. Ben was beside me--still clad in his festive pajama pants that matched mine and Maya’s, a Christmas tradition since Maya could walk.

“Open that one next,” my mom handed a gift to Ben, her handwriting made it clear that it wasn’t from Santa, though she still wrote it on the tag of each box.

Ben shook it slightly, ripped at the paper, and smiled as he pulled out a pair of adidas sweatpants. Simple, yet exactly what he asked for.

Christmas hadn’t changed much--sure, the money I made helped us buy each other some nicer gifts--but it was still a day of family and food and presents.

This Christmas, though, was different. I still had the nail polish on my fingers that I’d painted in the group room the night before I left. I still had Rita’s face in my mind as she hugged me goodbye and promised to email.

I could still hear the yelling of the paparazzi that greeted me at LAX with their big lenses and cold hearts.

“Margot? Honey? You okay?” My mom’s voice was soft, and it took me a second to realize that they all had their eyes on me.

“Yeah,” I nodded quickly. “I’m good.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie--I wasn’t about to break down, if that’s what she meant. I was holding it together, holding together the reality that the entirety of my career was over.

Nick and Sinead and my mom had all agreed that I couldn’t work for a while. Apparently a stint in rehab suddenly turns you back into a child who’s capable of getting grounded. I didn’t know what would happen if I called Nick up, demanded he get me into a studio, on a talk show, anything. I was an adult, after all, I could decide to work if I wanted to. But in all honesty, I was too tired to put up a fight. And at least a small part of me felt like I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to answer their questions and fake another smile and give them things they didn’t deserve.

Maya looked at me with sympathy--she’d laid in bed with me the night I got home, helping me take down the photos of Harry that filled the frames on the surfaces in my bedroom.

“Let’s take a break,” my mom said. “I’ll check on the ham.”

I let out a sigh, watching as Maya reached for her phone and Ben stood to give Sara a call. I knew this game well--they were all walking on eggshells as if I was fragile enough to break at the slightest gust of wind. For a while I was, but it felt somewhat different now.

“We don’t need to do this,” I said, watching as Pete fiddled with the Apple TV that I’d gotten him. He looked up, his eyebrows raised as he waited for someone else to respond to me.

“What do you mean?” my mom asked, turning on her heel to face me once more.

I groaned--annoyed that I had to explain it, verbalize it, acknowledge that we were all doing the same exact thing as before.

“Today sucks, okay? My life sucks right now. But you don’t need to tiptoe around me.”

They all paused, somewhat frozen--and likely concerned that I’d truly lost it--until Maya spoke. “Have you heard from him?”

“No,” I said. “And you don’t need to ask anymore. It’s not going to happen.”

THEN - Day 1274

Sinead was behind me, both literally and figuratively. It was her idea, really, to move out. She stood with a clipboard in her hands--which was extremely characteristic of her--and watched as two men lugged a bed frame through the front door.

The house kind of fell into my lap. Sinead came by for lunch one day at my mom’s, everyone was out. Ben was back at college, Maya was at school. Pete was at work and my mom had gone out to see a friend. Sinead pushed a real estate booklet in front of me in the kitchen.

I’d always wanted to live in Malibu. I wanted a house with private beach access and a view of the ocean from the kitchen. Open floor concept. Dining room. Hardwood floors, granite countertops. Marble bathrooms.

Sinead had already seen it in person when she handed me the booklet.

“Y’okay?” She asked, holding her hand over her eyes to shield the sun. I watched, somewhat skeptically, as the men maneuvered large structures through the door and up the stairs.

This was a good idea.

I needed my own space. I needed room from Maya. I needed distance from my mom. I could swim and write and find new hobbies here.

Best of all, it had no traces of Harry.

The hardest part about being home were the pieces of himself he’d left at my mom’s. A sweatshirt in the bottom drawer, the toothbrush he’d kept in my bathroom. I’d lived in that house since I was 13--it was the first thing we bought when we moved from Raleigh. Yet somehow--though the span of the house had long outlasted Harry--he still inhabited every room in it.

His seat at the dining room table. The spot where he hung his car keys when he was in town. The soccer ball in the garage that he’d kick around with Ben in the summer. The side of my bed that he’d claimed as his own.

I nodded back at Sinead, forcing a smile. I was fine. I saved the crying for therapy and the anger for nighttime. I wasn’t writing much--I’d strum a chord and nothing would come out. Or worse, too much would come out. I’d cry and cry and soon my vision was too blurry to fret the strings and I’d give up.

I stared up at the white house--it was empty. It was big (four bedrooms, one would become a home studio) and had no memories and, I guess, that made it a clean slate. The idea of a clean slate almost felt disappointing. Having one meant I needed it.

NOW - Day 1712

Harry was the type of person who did everything with his whole heart--so when he started spending more time at my house, he really outdid himself. His car keys sat beside mine in the dish in the entryway, his jacket hung in the front closet. He even seemed to buy a few things to keep in the fridge when I wasn’t looking.

He was adamant about making the most of our time together before his departure--his untimely and somewhat cruel departure.

Of course, because there’d be no other way to rekindle an old flame, Harry was set to leave for tour an exact week after we slept together. I suddenly felt like we had a ticking clock hanging over our heads that threatened to undo all the work we’d done in the last two weeks.

So, naturally, I asked him to come to therapy with me.

“Like, couples counseling?” his brows were furrowed together as he sat at the island in my kitchen having a bowl of cereal. We’d decided that we’d shut ourselves in tonight--draw the curtains and pretend that the internet wasn't swirling with rumors whether or not we were back together.

The answer--according to the tabloids--was yes. The answer--according to us--was maybe.

Neither of us had addressed it or really told anyone much of anything, but the paparazzi were relentless and fans seemed to create their own theories of who the two smoothies Harry picked up this morning were for.

“Yeah--Amanda said it can’t be her, though. We’d have to find someone else.”

He thought on this for a second--he blinked a few times while taking a sip of the milk at the bottom of the bowl.

I didn’t know how he’d respond. Harry--as far as I knew--had never been to therapy. I didn’t even know if he knew what really happened inside. The night he came over for dinner--the night we slept together--I told him about Amanda’s office.

A room with green walls and a tan couch. Throw pillows and artwork on the wall that seemed to match her personality. It felt like a safe place to talk about everything that had happened.

Harry cleared his throat and looked over at me. “Yeah, I mean, if you think we should, let’s do it.”

I let out a breath, relieved that he was so agreeable. I leaned against the counter opposite him--we’d watched a movie and Nick had stopped by just to say hi. Now we were likely headed to bed--it was an unspoken agreement that Harry would stay the night until he left.

“Where do you find a therapist?” He scrunched his nose and seemed to look up at the ceiling.

I let out a laugh, which he returned as he stood and brought his bowl to the sink. “Amanda can probably recommend someone. I’ll email her.”

He turned around from the sink and walked up to me, the look on his face slightly apologetic. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say in response. It felt eerily similar--the forced goodbyes and the slipping feeling because neither of us knew what the future really held.

The last time we were in this spot, there wasn’t a future. I think we both knew that.

THEN - Day 1402

Maya was dying to be a senior in high school. I couldn’t blame her. She had a mother and a step-dad who were overbearing, an older brother who’d rub it in her face of how cool it was to live away from home, and a washed-up, older sister who used to be a popstar.

She was in a shitty mood most of the time. And maybe I was depressed.

Maybe I’d never be the person I was before Tennessee. Maybe this was my new normal--sitting on Maya’s bed as she tried to determine what clothes she wanted to keep and what she wanted to get rid of.

It was the dead of summer, and spending all of my time with a 17-year-old didn’t really do me much good. But Maya’s honesty and sarcasm were a welcome change from the previous world I lived in of people who walked on eggshells.

That was the good thing about Maya--I could always count on her to keep me grounded. When she was 13 years old, she told me to get my head out of my ass when the rumor that I’d gotten a nose job had me crying on the floor of my bathroom.

I had a garbage bag beside me as Maya dumped things inside. Contents of her drawers, clothes from her closet, pictures and mementos from her dresser. This was a big summer for her, she’d told me. Being a senior in high school meant you weren’t a kid anymore, and apparently, that meant she needed to deep clean her room.

Maybe I was depressed, and maybe I was bored, but I wasn’t really sad--and I certainly wasn’t really angry. I was more just existing. That’s how my days seemed to be now.

I’d heard their last album. The month I was in Tennessee I got to avoid it--pretend that there wasn’t an album out there in the world that seemed to hold pieces of our story. I had heard a few songs in passing over the summer a year ago, bits and pieces here and there as they recorded it and shaped it into what they wanted.

At Christmas, Maya told me that she liked it. I didn’t have the courage to listen.

So finally, last week, I decided that I’d listen to it in my car as Maya drove us around the hills of Malibu. I skipped the ones I knew, listened to the few that I didn’t. It almost felt like it wasn’t real--like I was on autopilot, not really taking in the words and the messages.

Instead, the music floated around me and when it was over, I unplugged Maya’s phone and offered to buy us lunch. Then we pretended it never happened.

It was all written before we broke up. It was written over the spring and summer, recorded throughout and crafted carefully as my life fell apart. I hoped I’d never hear it again.

That’s why, now, as Maya cleaned her own room, I decided to throw out most of my belongings that seemed tangled up in him. My clothes, my jewelry, my books, my pictures from tour, my One Direction merch.

I didn’t know who I was, really. And in some ways, that felt okay.

Maya was kneeling in front of her closet, sorting things into piles of what she’d donate and what she’d simply let go of. Another hot day in Los Angeles made us stay inside in the air conditioning, and apparently, cleaning out our closets was the most entertaining thing we could find.

I noticed that she had a stack of picture frames in front of her when I put my phone down, she picked up the first and then turned to me.

“These are yours,” she said simply. She turned it around, showing me a picture of Harry and I from 2014. We were on his bus, it was after a show one night in Texas. His arms were draped over my shoulders from behind and we both offered huge grins to the person behind the camera--likely Niall. It had originally been sent as a snapchat, I think. He mailed me 24 printed pictures of us from for our two year anniversary.

I leaned forward to reach for it, she handed it over to me and then stood up with the others in her arms, bringing them over to set them on the bed in front of me. She watched as I looked over them.

There was one of me and Niall and Maya, one of our family and Harry on Thanksgiving in 2013--another of me and Harry all dressed up in the front yard for the Billboard Music Awards in 2015. The absence of normal prom photos like most teenagers meant that my mom tried to take nice photos of us whenever she could.

“Why do you have these?” I asked, still confused as to why they’d been on the floor of her closet.

“You made me ‘get rid of them’ when you came home from Tennessee. I guess I never threw them out.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of them--they seemed to serve as a sad reminder that it’d been a whole eight months since we’d spoken. A whole eight months since he walked out of my hotel room, and a whole eight months since he told me he loved me.

Maybe Maya had saved them in hopes that we’d get back together. Maybe she felt guilty throwing them out. Whatever reason she kept them didn’t matter, I picked them up in my arms and carried them back to her garbage bag.

“No point in reliving it, right?”

She offered me a small smile and shrugged. “As if you haven’t been reliving it every day.”

NOW - Day 1714

Harry sat on the couch to my right, close enough that our knees touched as Hillary--the woman Amanda had recommended--smiled politely at the two of us.

I wondered if she’d ever done any celebrity couples counseling before. It sounded like it could be the name of a bad reality show.

“So,” she spoke suddenly, her smile was sweet. “I think a good place to start is for both of you to tell me, in your own words, what brought you in.”

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes flashing to mine in an attempt to encourage me to speak. I figured--if only because I was the one to initiate this--that I should at least set the stage.

“Uh, sure, yeah,” I shrugged. “We met in 2012, and we started dating right away, really. And we dated for three years, and then we broke up.” I looked to Harry, almost to ensure he didn’t have anything to add. When he nodded, I continued.

“I wasn’t doing too well, like, the year leading up to our break up, and when we did, I went to treatment in Tennessee, and so we didn’t speak for a year and a half, and now we’re--” I cut myself off, wondering how to label the relationship between us.

The boy next to me on the couch was someone who had been my best friend, my confidant, and someone who I thought was the love of my life. As far as I was concerned, he still had the ability to be all of those things, but I wondered if labeling him as anything right now was appropriate.

“We’re trying to work things out,” he said.

Hillary nodded, her hair was tied up in a pony-tail and she seemed to focus intently on both of us as we spoke. She nodded slightly, “and was it a mutual decision to end the relationship?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “No, I ended it,” I said quietly.

“Did you want the relationship to end?” She brought her eyes to Harry, who was now tracing a circle on the black denim of his pants.

He shifted uncomfortably and let out a small laugh. “No--I, uh, I would have stayed together, absolutely. But things weren’t really going well.”

“What do you mean they weren’t going well?”

Harry pursed his lips in thought and I checked the clock. Fifty-six minutes left.

“We were very distant, I think, and I knew that something was really...wrong with Margot--but I didn’t know what to do about it.”

Hillary nodded thoughtfully and turned her attention towards me. “Does that feel accurate to you, Margot? That you were distant?”

I nodded. “I think I felt distant from everyone and everything.”

“Did you tell Harry that?”

“No.”

Another nod from Hillary and another uncomfortable shift from Harry.

“So what are some goals in terms of being here, together? Have you talked at all about that amongst yourselves? Have you ever been to therapy before, Harry?”

He nodded and tugged at his lower lip, which caught me off guard.

“You have?” I asked him suddenly, the surprise evident in my voice.

“Yeah--I went a few times in December of that year. With you and Zayn and the band and everything, it felt like a good time.”

It wasn’t that I was totally shocked--I mean, Harry had always been one to reflect and want to talk about things. If anything, it was more the thought that I had fucked him up enough that he felt like he needed therapy.

“You look like you didn’t know that, Margot,” Hillary prodded, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

“We didn’t exactly talk for a while,” Harry shrugged simply, his words not meant to hurt, but they strung a bit as he ran a hand through his short hair. Translation: you don’t know things about my life because you left.

“You asked about goals,” I changed the subject, bringing my eyes back to Hillary. “I think for me it’s learning how to communicate better. I don’t think we ever did too well with that.”

Hillary nodded, moving her eyes to Harry to see if he had any input.

“I would agree with that. And I’m leaving soon--for tour--which feels like incredibly bad timing.”

“Most things are,” Hillary smiled sympathetically, her eyes darting between us.

Harry reached a hand out and placed it on my knee. “But I hope that we can handle it.”

THEN - Day 1449

“This place is huge,” Niall looked around the foyer, taking his sunglasses off of his face to admire the tall ceilings.

I shrugged nonchalantly--definitely proud of my house, but more excited to have one of my best friends in the same state for a minute. Niall and I would FaceTime, meet for lunch, text back and forth--all the while pretending that my relationship with his bandmate, his best friend, hadn’t gone south as the colder air came into New York that year.

“It’s beautiful, Marg. When did you move in?”

“I did it kind of slowly over the spring. Officially been here since March, really.”

He dropped his keys on the console table and then put his hands on his hips. “Does it feel better?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean--you know, new start, space from him?”

Fuck. If there was anyone who’d be able to see through me, it was Niall. Sure, Sinead and my mom and Maya and some other close enough people in my circle knew that buying a new house was a good way to find that space. It was a good way to start fresh, move away from the memories and towards a future that was--decidedly--Harry free.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Still haven’t heard from him?”

“No, Niall.” I walked towards the kitchen and he followed me in. He took a seat at the island, watching as I took out some tea for him. “You don’t have to keep asking.”

“I’m just askin’ ‘cause he asks about you every time I talk to him. Asks what you’re up to and what you’re doin’. He’s just as much of a mess as he was at the end of the year.”

I was thankful to have my back to him--that way he didn’t see the fact that I had to pause and collect myself before responding. What was I supposed to say to that? Was I supposed to admit to Niall that I fucked up and that I missed him? Surely that wouldn’t change the last nine months.

“Sorry--m’not tryin’ t’be annoying. Just--” he trailed off, and when I turned around, he offered an apologetic smile.

“Just what?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. He’d been dying it for years, but it was less blonde now than it was in the band. “I just think you two can get through this.”

I braced myself on the counter, leaning forward to let him know I was serious. “He hasn’t called me, Niall. He can ask you as many questions as he wants--but if he really was curious, he’d ask me himself.”

I think he disagreed with me--the quick eye roll as he stood from the stool told me that he did. I turned back around to make the tea, hoping that one of us would find a new topic for our friendship.

Niall knew me just as well as Harry in some ways. And in others, he knew me better. He didn’t have the added stress of being my boyfriend, but he still got to see me at my worst and now he saw me in the current stage of rebuild. He stood by throughout all of it, which was more than I could say for Harry.

“Look at this, by the way,” he turned his phone to show me a picture of a blonde-haired baby. “Freddie’s almost 8 months.”

I smiled at the photo--I hadn’t met the baby, but I knew Niall had. “How’s Louis doing with it?”

He shrugged his shoulders and clicked his phone shut. “Dunno--alright I guess. Busy and whatnot. Have you spoken to him?”

I let out a quick laugh. NIall was the only one to actually keep in touch. Sure, Liam had reached out to wish me a Merry Christmas and a happy birthday after his initial text when I was in rehab, but Louis had only sent a “hope all is well x” text when I got back from Tennessee.

And I couldn’t be mad, really. They were his friends. I was lucky that Niall and I were still as close throughout all of it. He’d made it clear that he took my side--not because he hated Harry or anything like that--really it was because he knew I needed the help and he cared enough to make sure I got it.

He was the one to FaceTime me when I got home before Christmas and he was the one who talked to me late at night on the phone when I felt like my lungs were caving in without someone beside me in bed.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone but you, doofus. They all hate me.”

He smiled at this--likely somewhat smug about the fact that he’d always been my favorite. I wondered, though, if he felt at all bad for me. A lot of people decided a stint in rehab was too much to handle.

“They don’t hate you,” he shook his head, waving off my statement as if it were completely false. “Liam’s been with his mum and dad a lot, Louis has the baby, and I mean, Zayn hates all of us so--don’t wait around for him to call you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Zayn kind of did hate all of us. He’d been so quick to leave and so quick to take a strong stance against the band that I don’t think I ever expected to speak to him again--especially if I didn’t have Harry as a reason to do so.

Niall’s phone buzzed on the counter in between us, I looked down quickly to see an obnoxious picture of Harry light up the screen. His name scrolled across and seemed to stare up at me. Niall looked up at me quickly and seemed to hesitate.

“No, you--you can take it, if you want. It’s fine.”

“Nah, all good. He’s fine. Dunno what it’s about.”

“Niall, it’s fine. I’ll go outside.”

“It’s your house,” he reminded me.

“Then you go outside.”

“No, Margot, it’s fine. M’not gettin’ it.” He clicked the phone to silent and I watched as the screen went black.

It struck me as strange, really, that buttons on a phone stood between us. I could undo the days apart with one phone call or one text. A quick dial of the familiar number that I’d memorized so long ago--and his voice could be in my ear. The distance between us--the months of pretending like I didn’t miss him--would be gone. Undone as if there’d been a bow tied around our past lives. But then again, I couldn’t undo it at all.

NOW - Day 1718

It was his last night before he left to go back on tour. His last night of living in this private fantasy world with me--hidden away in Malibu as if we didn’t have the public to answer to. He’d wanted to go to a nice dinner, but instead, I suggested we bring a nice dinner to us.

He’d ordered a chef, let me pick out the menu, and so we sat on the deck of my house drinking pinot noir and a salad as we waited for the main dish.

He was excited for tour and I was excited for him--but we both seemed to dance around the topic that he was leaving and I was staying. A reversed version of the past. He got to run away this time--and I think both of us knew that if he wanted to, he could do just that.

I was hopeful that he wouldn’t, that he’d listen to the words that Hillary had said. That he’d take it seriously and come back in two weeks and we could meet with her again. I think it was important.

But my mind seemed stuck on words he’d said earlier as I slid the half eaten tomato on my plate towards the edge, watching as Harry pushed his sunglasses up on his nose.

Of course, due to the fact that we hadn’t been intimate in a year and a half, we both felt like we’d had catching up to do. Harry had sat on the couch as we watched TV and told me, you’re the only person who’s made me feel so at home.

I knew I wasn’t the only person Harry had slept with. I knew about the girl he dated in high school before the band, I knew about the two women he’d told me about during his first year in the public eye. And if that was all that had happened, that made me number four.

But now, with eighteen months between us, I didn’t know if there had been a five or a six or even a seven and eight.

The reality of my relationship with Harry was that there were always people throwing themselves at him. One of our first--and biggest--fights was about different meet and greet photos I’d seen of him kissing girls on the cheek. Call it stupid, but at 19, it made me feel terribly insecure to realize that there were tons of girls out there that didn’t really respect our relationship.

And maybe that was selfish of me--maybe it was asking too much of his fans to not want to touch him and hug him and press their lips to his skin. Maybe I was taking it personally and maybe I was overreacting. But one thing I’d learned in therapy was that if I felt it--it was there. There wasn’t really much use running from it.

Harry was only the second person I’d slept with. And it didn’t matter to me that our numbers didn’t match--what mattered was that we got to a point where I was the last person he slept with and vice versa.

He cleared his throat across the table. He could tell that I was thinking--and so far, we’d done a good job of trying to communicate more when I felt the need to pull back. That made sense, right? If the problem the last time around was that I was too in my head, maybe being more verbal would do the trick.

“Y’alright, love?” he picked up his wine glass and took a sip, smiling as the chef came to deliver our entrees.

I thanked him quickly, switching my salad plate for one that looked more satiating, but then brought my eyes back to Harry. “Uh--I just,” I blew a breath of air out of my lips, giving myself a silent pep talk to verbalize my emotions and fears--if only for the good of our relationship. “You made that comment earlier when we talked about,” I shrugged slightly, feeling awkward discussing our sex life with a chef and a few other catering staff within earshot.

“Having sex?” He asked, his voice somewhat hushed so as to not draw attention, but a playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, only making me more anxious and uncomfortable holding in the thought.

“Have you had sex with anyone since we broke up?”

He sat across from me, his face hesitant and his eyes were locked on mine as if the world had stopped turning. For a second, the only sound was a bird overhead and the water beneath us.

“Margot, I--” he let out a sigh, setting his fork down on the table. I couldn’t tell if he was mad--he didn’t look it. He looked tired and confused and unsure. “I was going to tell you. I thought maybe you...assumed because of the lyric.”

“The lyric?” I asked him, my voice barely coming out above a whisper--the reality settling into my bones that the answer was clearly yes.

He let out another sigh, breaking eye contact for a minute as he recited the words that he--apparently--knew so well. “Woke up the girl who looked just like you,” he didn’t finish the last line, but he didn’t need to.

I nodded, trying to process the flood of thoughts and feelings that seemed to clog my brain. Could I be mad at him for sleeping with someone when I’d been the one to leave? Could I be mad at him for trying to move on and forget about me?

I stood from the table, our uneaten plates and the half-drank wine glasses clinked when I slid my chair in with force. “I need a minute.”

“Margot,” he said my name again, this time with more anger. He stood from the chair and when I turned to face him again, he stalled. He looked like he wanted to move, to speak, but like he couldn’t find the words.

“I’m allowed be to upset by that.” I said the words confidently. I didn’t say if I deserved it, I didn’t say that he shouldn’t have done it--I said that I was allowed to be upset.

“At that point I thought you’d never come back,” he nodded, his voice more calm. “I thought that that--meaningless sex--would be the rest of my life. I didn’t know that this could be a thing and I didn’t know that you were even thinking about me.”

I shook my head, still unsure of what to say--so I said the truth. “I was thinking about you every day.”

He closed his eyes for a second, as if it would give him the retreat he needed. “I know that now.”

“Who was she?”

He broke eye contact at this, he reached a hand up to rub his neck and he pushed his lips out in thought. Was it someone I knew?

He shrugged and shook his head, bringing his eyes back up to mean mine again. “I think her name was Katie,” he said.

“You think?” My voice was more angry now, my heart beating faster as I thought about his legs intertwined with someone else’s. Did he kiss her forehead like he did with me? Did he give her the lazy smirk that always seemed to follow a mutual finish?

“She was someone in Jamaica, Margot, okay? I don’t know who she is and I only saw her once and I was incredibly drunk.” His arms lifted and then fall against his side in a show of emotion. “She was staying at a resort with friends and I never spoke to her again.” His voice was raw, and when he finished his sentence, he swallowed and licked his lips. “Did you sleep with anyone?”

“No,” I said quickly, my mind instantly retracing the steps from my room in Tennessee to the group room where I kissed Andrew. We didn’t have sex--in fact, we never moved beyond making out in a supply closet--but I didn’t feel the need to explain all of it to Harry in this moment.

He nodded, not pushing me any further. How was I supposed to have a romantic night with him now? How was I supposed to send him off on tour and feel like this was a good idea? How was I supposed to trust that each and every girl in the audience wasn’t an opportunity for him to put more distance between us.

And here I was--the girl who’d spent the last year and a half thinking she’d been the one to ruin everything. I was blaming myself for the downfall of our relationship and everything that seemed connected. Yet he’d been the one to put the nail in the coffin.

“Margot,” he took a step forward, causing me to look up at him hesitantly. “I’m sorry. I was hurt and confused and I was willing to do anything that would make me forget you.”

Maybe it was a stupid question to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Did it? Did you forget about me?”

He let out a sad laugh, his eyes on the deck beneath our feet. “No--that’s why it was so stupid. When I woke up in the morning and she was still there I went and cried in the bathroom. Then I got my shit together and told her to leave.”

A strange feeling of comfort washed over me with that--the thought and image of him feeling so empty and broken--just like I had been. But it didn’t fix it. It didn’t change the story and it certainly didn’t change the aching in my chest.

“I don’t want you to stay here tonight.”

“Margot,” he said my name in a sigh, his eyes searching my face desperately--begging me to take it back and not send him away and lock him out again. “What are you feeling? Please just tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m fucking angry!” I yelled now--unperturbed by the chef and the two servers who were loitering just inside my house. “That was always my fear, Harry. I was always worried that eventually you’d realize you had all these people willing to fuck you whenever you wanted that dealing with me and my brokenness would just get old. But it sounds like it did!”

“No, Margot, don’t turn it into that,” he said, his voice more angry and stern as he looked up at the sky. “You’re the one who walked out. You’re the one who gave up and left and you’re the one who backed out of this.”

I shook my head--I wasn’t willing to have the same conversation about how everything fell apart. We’d both lived it--we both knew what happened. But, when I brought my eyes back up to him, I suddenly felt like there was more to say. Like I had the words to explain how I’d been feeling in the summer of 2015 when everything around me seemed to be spiraling out of control.

“Because I was fucking terrified, Harry, okay? The band was splitting up and I was supposed to release another album and do another tour and there were still all these people in our business and all these girls who hated me for no reason and I was terrified that if I didn’t back out first, you would.”

He seemed to pull back, the anger on his face was gone and his expression softened, apparently this was news to him. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

I let out a sigh, feeling guilty for all the things I’d done wrong. The list only seemed to grow.

“Because I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

Harry hung his head and walked to sit back down at the table. He pushed his plate away from him, before reaching for the glass of wine and taking a sip. He swallowed, reached up to wipe at his lips, and then spoke.

“I would take it back, if I could. If I could go back in time I’d change a lot of things,” he laughed sarcastically. “But I would certainly change the fact that I had sex with someone in an attempt to get over you. But I was feeling pretty desperate.”

I took a deep breath, unsure of where to go from here. How was he supposed to get on a plane tomorrow and spend two weeks away from me? How were we supposed to keep in touch and decipher the past when his life was moving full steam ahead?

He looked up at me from his seat at the table. “I know you want to walk away right now. I know you’re angry and upset--but please, come and sit down.”

I stared at him--slightly bothered by the fact that he knew me well enough to know my exact thoughts.

“Don’t put up another wall,” he said, “we’ve got enough to take down.”

#udos #harry styles fanfic #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles story #harry styles jamaica fic #harry styles hiatus fic #the untimely downfall of strangers #idkthisisjustforfanfic

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chuffyfan87 · 5 years

Text

Hiding. Part 63a (NSFW)

Cowritten with @disastrousintention. Trigger warnings for discussion of abuse, rape and self harm.

-x-

Thursday, 2pm. It was the only time this week that Duffy and Charlie could schedule an appointment to see their therapist. They’d been going for just over a month and so far it did seem to be working. Of course at the beginning they both seemed reluctant to engage, but it was just learning to trust another person and allow that person to help them see where they were “going wrong”.

Duffy cast her eyes around the waiting room, her fingers tapping on her thigh. Why were the plants in these places always half dead? It didn't inspire confidence.

Turning his attention to Duffy when he heard the slight tapping of her fingers against her thigh, he placed his hand over hers.

She turned and smiled softly as she felt the warmth of his hand envelop hers.

He smiled, “Why are the plants always dead?” He asked.

"I was wondering that too." She chuckled.

“Doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence, does it?” His thumb ran over the back of her hand.

"Not one bit. At least we manage to keep the plant in our office alive."

“Just about. I think you water it more than I do.”

"That worries me when I haven't been at work for several months." She smirked.

“I think Tess has taken on the responsibility to water it.” He laughed gently.

"Oh thank goodness for that!"

“You’ve got quite a connection with that plant haven’t you?” He smirked.

"Some days I get more sense out of it than I do out of you!" She giggled.

“Rude.” He pouted.

"Aww, poor baby!" She teased.

He continued to pout.

She leaned over and kissed him.

He smiled as her lips connected with his.

Moments later she rested her forehead against his. "Do you know what else I've noticed about this place?"

“What’s that?”

"We seem to be the only couple here that actually like each other."

Looking around after listening to his wife, he noticed what she meant. The other couples in the room didn’t seem to like each other very much. “Not enough sex, probably.” He replied, slightly louder than he intended.

"Charlie!" She hissed, turning scarlet as several of the other occupants of the waiting room turned to stare at them. She nudged him in the ribs, her head down as she struggled to contain her giggles.

He smirked, “It’s true. Half of them are probably here because of a lack of intimacy.” His hand squeezed her upper thigh. “I’m so glad that’s not us.” He whispered.

"You carry on like that and they'll wonder why the hell we are here!" She giggled. "I knew I shouldn't have worn a skirt." She added as his hand strayed under the hem.

His hand moved further and further up her thigh. He whispered, “How naughty would it be to have a quickie in the toilets?” He smirked, nipping her earlobe gently.

"It'd probably be the only time something like that has ever happened in there!" She replied, trying to contain the moan that his actions was iliciting.

“When is our appointment? 2pm? It’s 1:45, I’m game if you are.” He nipped her ear again.

"You are a very bad man!" She giggled.

He chuckled softly, “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

"It would make life very dull, that's for sure. So what's your plan genius?" She asked playfully.

His hand stroked the edge of her knickers under her skirt. “I want you.” He whispered.

"Well you can't have me right here so am I going first or are you?" She asked, squirming slightly in her seat.

“You go first. I’ll come and join you in a few minutes.” He removed his hand.

"OK. See you shortly handsome." She grinned as she got up from her seat and strode confidently, with just the slightest hint of a wiggle, across the waiting room and through into the corridor where the toilets were.

He waited for a couple of minutes before he got up and went to the toilets. “Baby?”

"What took you so long?" She complained. She was lent against the wall, her right leg bent up as her foot was resting against the wall, causing her skirt to ride up her thigh, her arms folded underneath her chest.

He closed and locked the door behind him. “Sorry babe. I didn’t want it to look too suspicious.” He smirked as he cast his eyes over her body. “You’re so sexy.” He stepped towards her, immediately kissing her passionately.

"I'd say that made it look suspicious enough already." She giggled, reaching down to squeeze the obvious bulge in his trousers.

He moaned softly as she squeezed him. His hands went under her skirt to remove her knickers.

"In a hurry are you?" She giggled.

“Yes. I’m about to blow and I don’t fancy a mess inside my pants.” He dangled her knickers on the taps of the sink.

"Well you better get your trousers down then."

“Can I request something?” He smirked as he undid his belt and pulled down his jeans and boxers.

"You can but I can't promise to say yes." She giggled.

“That when I’m about to blow, I do so down your throat.”

"Well, that's preferable to sitting in a therapy session worrying that it's gunna trickle down my leg!" She giggled.

“Alright gorgeous.” He kissed her with a sense of urgency before he picked her up and pressed her against the wall. “The things you do to me.”

"Me? You started this!" She moaned.

“Did not.” He entered her with a low moan.

"Oh fuck!" She moaned.

“Oh baby.” He began to thrust hard.

"Oh shit!" She giggled as her head bounced off the wall from Charlie's movements.

He chuckled softly, “Sorry babe.”

She shifted slightly and hung onto his shoulders.

He continued to thrust hard and fast. Their moans echoing off the walls.

Duffy felt her muscles clench as her orgasm hit.

“Come on baby,” He encouraged her.

"Oh fuck, Charlie!" She moaned loudly, attempting to muffle her voice with his shoulder.

Feeling her climax on his cock; Charlie felt the familiar tightening of his balls. “Baby...”

"Huh?" She mumbled as she moved her head back from his shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum.” He declared.

She tried to move but her back was pressed up against the wall. She was also reluctant to lose the feeling of him inside her.

He held her gaze. “I so want to come in you.” He mumbled, “But we can’t chance it.... Can we?”

"I'm game if you are!" She repeated his earlier statement to him with a wicked grin as she tightened her grip.

He began to thrust again, bouncing her against the wall.

"Fuck, yes!" She moaned loudly.

After a few more thrusts Charlie came with a loud moan as he filled her.

Duffy slumped against the wall, breathless, sweat trickling down her chest.

His head was against her shoulder, his breathing heavy.

She ran her hand through her hair, catching sight of herself in the mirror. It was pretty obvious what she'd been up to..!

“I love you.” He mumbled as he took a few seconds to collect himself. He put her down on the floor, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Are you sure we need couples therapy?" She giggled as she attempted to clean herself up.

“Not as often as that miserable lot outside.” He pulled up his boxers and his trousers, sorting himself out.

"I swear we've probably had sex more times in a week that those lot have had in a year between them!"

“That’s very true.” He checked his watch, “1.59pm. Impressive. Shall we have a final session and then... maybe knock it on the head?”

"Sounds good to me." She replied, still fiddling with her hair with one hand and her knickers with the other. She let out a dramatic sigh. "That'll have to do. I still look like I've been fucked every which way to Wednesday but there's nothing more I can do."

“Well you have been fucked every which way to Wednesday.” He grinned.

"Yeh, but the therapist and the other clients don't need to know that!"

He laughed gently. “True. Do you want me to walk out first or you?”

"I will." She headed towards the door. "Urgh, these are really not the best knickers to have worn had I known I was gunna get fucked in a public toilet!" She grumbled.

“What’s wrong with them?” He asked.

"They're the wrong material. I'm all sticky."

“Ah. Got’cha.”

"Urgh, let's get this over with shall we?" She groaned before heading out the door.

He waited a few seconds before joining her. Just as the therapist called their names.

Duffy grabbed for Charlie's hand as she tried to ignore the looks from the other clients in the waiting room.

He took Duffy’s hand and smiled brightly. They followed the therapist into one of the rooms.

Once the door closed on the small room Duffy became very aware of how strongly her perfume smelled. Admittedly she had liberally doused herself in it before leaving the toilets in an attempt to disguise their antics but now she realised it probably just served to draw more attention to her.

They sat down on one of the couches whilst the therapist sat down opposite. “So how’ve you both been since our last session?”

"Fine. Just fine!" Duffy replied quickly.

“Just fine?"

Charlie nodded, “Yeah I guess.”

Duffy couldn't help but squirm on the couch.

“Everything ok, Lisa?” The therapist asked noticing her squirming.

"Perfectly OK!" She stuttered.

Charlie’s thumb ran over the back of Duffy’s hand. “Individually we’ve had things that have been a bit difficult for us.” Charlie confessed.

Duffy sighed. She didn't really want to talk about these things but she knew that was the point of them being there.

“And what things are those?”

Duffy fiddled with her fingers but didn't reply.

Charlie squeezed her hand and non-verbally tried to encourage her to talk.

Duffy sighed, she really struggled with relaxing into these sessions.

“I’d be happy to share but I feel it’s something my wife should be comfortable with sharing first.” Charlie explained to the therapist.

Duffy reached nervously into her bag and took out a bottle of water.

There was a silence between all three adults in the room.

After several moments Duffy sighed. "Fine..!" She rolled her eyes.

Charlie rubbed the top of Duffy’s thigh.

“Would you like to talk?” Asked the therapist.

"I had a small relapse." She mumbled. "But it's fine now." Her voice grew stronger towards the end of the sentence.

“A relapse? What kind of relapse?”

"Flashbacks." She admitted reluctantly.

“Flashbacks of what?"

"The way my exhusband treated me."

“How did he treat you?”

Duffy's hand moved to grip Charlie's hand more tightly. "Badly."

He smiled sadly, holding her hand.

“In what way?”

Duffy shook her head softly, looking at Charlie beseechingly.

He squeezed her hand, “You can say it out loud.”

Duffy shook her head once more.

“Yes you can. He doesn’t control you anymore.”

"He hit me." She whispered, her voice small and frightened.

The therapist smiled sadly, “You’re very brave to say that out loud. That can’t have been easy to say.”

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

Text

So it took interest rates that were like WE OWN UR SOUL NOW U FOOL HAHA TWILL BE OURS FOREVER, but joke’s on them lol like I never use that thing anyway. But I got the personal loan for $10K in the end after like a month of searching but who knew that obsessively raising my credit score for a year by like....occasionally chilling all night in an IHOP rather than use a credit card too much on a room would like....pay off with a credit score that actually is useful to me in a way that means I don’t even care right now that hahaha credit scores are just pointless imaginary numbers that really only exist because capitalism’s a dick?

Look I’m allowed to be a hypocrite for three weeks let me have this, I promise I’ll go back to ranting about people selling their souls for the sake of strings of binary code on a computer screen, like just cuz I wasn’t using mine doesn’t mean other ppl don’t want theirs.

Because oh yeah so I was like gimme the loan plz and they were like ugh fine and I somehow got my credit card companies to raise my limits because I’ve had them for over a year now and I honestly couldn’t even tell you how I convinced them to do that like did I haggle did I beg did I put out, who knows, it’s been a very long and strange and sleep deprived month and that’s on top of a long, strange, sleep-deprives two years. Point is between raising my limits on those two, the loan of DOOM and getting a CareCredit card with the remaining credit left to me or before the latter realized I’d just massively dinged my credit cuz the raised limits and loan hadn’t been reported yet, I came up with the $12400. Like again most of that is in the form of imaginary money that I’ll probably spend years paying out of future paychecks so if anyone wants to go ahead and put The Revolution on the books for like, say October, that would actually really work for me. I’d even be all pumped and full of rest and vigor and extra fightey and like, you know how fightey I usually am to begin with I’m just saying....

So now I am literally just waiting for my loan check to clear in my bank account cuz my doctor doesn’t accept checks. Second it does, probably Monday, I’ll go down to my doctors office, pay the $6200 upfront and finish the insurance paperwork for them to submit the claim for the insurance company’s part of it, and they can officially schedule my surgery, possibly in as little as three weeks??!!

Which is absolutely surreal to me, like after literal years of treading water and setbacks and everything dragging out endlessly and he’ll even just yesterday, it’s utterly bizarre finishing my stuff at my bank and doctor’s this morning and hearing how matter of fact they all are about how quickly things could happen now and like. Finally be over. Or like, start lol in the sense of holy shit I could actually maybe have an actual life again.

They can’t confirm a date until my first payment is processed, only then does she officially put me on the books at Cedar Sinai when they can get me into an open OR, but it hopefully could be the 20th. She’s already got another surgery scheduled for that day and an OR booked for it with potential slots before and after it but I can’t count on the 20th as a given just yet. Could still be one, two or even three weeks after that before they actually fit me in, so I’m trying not to set my thoughts and hopes too much on that three weeks from now appointment but that’s easier said than done. LOL.

But whenever it’s actually set for, I go in the day of, pay the second half of the payment, and the surgery takes a few hours but they send me home the same day. My high school friend from San Diego hopefully is going to be able to take enough time off to look out for me while I recover, we’ve been tentatively planning for that for most of a year but couldn’t guarantee anything with her work until we had actual dates which I mean we still don’t technically have. But my jaw will be wired shut for ten days so there’s no way I can manage on my own, esp the way I’ve been getting by day-to-day, and I’ll be on a liquid diet and having to drink everything through a special straw and stuff and completely unable to talk the whole time and oh yeah also apparently in agonizing pain that I’ve been extensively warned could put anything I’ve experienced thus far to shame, so I’m really REALLY looking forward to that part lol. Currently pondering the viability of just knocking myself unconscious every day. We’ll see how it goes.

But after that I go back in ten days later and they unwire my jaw, check that everything looks okay and I’m healing the way I’m supposed to, and I have two weeks of physical therapy and....that’s it. It’s over. I’m just. I’m just leaving that right there for now because I honestly don’t even know what to do with that thought after all this time, it’s. Like I can’t quite wrap my head around it and even really picture how that works. Idk my brain just fizzes out and it’s like wait, are you sure, that doesn’t sound right.

But like I made them go over it multiple times to make sure I wasn’t missing anything or understanding it wrong or whatever, like my doctor was this combination of kinda amused but also exasperated when I finally stopped asking to go over it all again. LOL look I just really really really needed to be sure there wasn’t something else involved that like I was supposed to already know or have been told by someone else, I don’t know okay? Anyone who’s been following me the last couple years knows that this isn’t how this sort of things go, they’re supposed to get my hopes up and then tell me they have no clue what’s wrong or send me off to someone else or tell me oh yeah you also need another thirty thousand and an MRI and some headgear that’s like made of platinum, but we just thought you already knew that. LOL.

But. I mean. Yeah. That’s it. I checked. A lot. Theoretically though unless there’s some new bizarre development in which case I will most likely detach my spirit from my body and evolve into my ultimate great rage power Digimon form, AreYouFreakingKiddingMeMon, and go like, fight god or the physical embodiment of the universe or whatever like I keep threatening....like, that really is what’s left. And then it’s all over. My jaw should by all accounts be restored to its full functionality from before all this. No more pain, no more eternal headache, no vertigo, blind-outs, no problems eating any particular food or swallowing or 45 degree slope to my lower jaw, none of the shit that’s been my day to day existence for well. Years. LOL.

Yeah. Really don’t know what to do with that yet. I just. Can’t. Haha.

Anyway, as I’ve said before, I literally couldn’t have made it to this point without the support of people here, both emotionally and financially. I hate to ask it because you’ve helped so much already, but I’m definitely going to have to ask for your help a little longer, there’s just no way around it. I am completely wiped and tbh overwhelmed so I’m probably going to try and sleep the rest of the day - I was pretty much up all night, unable to sleep while I waited to hear back on all this.

Then when my head’s fully processing things again and not friztzing our because I’ve forgotten how to process good news, lol, I’ll probably be putting together a post asking for your help paying my insurance premiums one last time, and on Monday or once I get the official set in stone date for my surgery I’ll be doing another, basically begging you guys to help keep me afloat the hopefully no more than three weeks til then.

I really really hate having to do that when I know you all have helped and given so much already, and it’ll literally be nothing more than my basic expenses of motel room and food, I don’t need anything beyond that, but I truly don’t see anyway around it. I exhausted every possible avenue available for me to try with my credit in order to get this loan and raise my limits enough, and I milked every cent I could out of those. There’s just no more money to be pulled out of any of that, it took everything I had to get what I needed for the surgery. And I’m afraid of the very real possibility that if I don’t ask for this help because of pride or because of how much I’ve asked for already, I’ll end up using one of my credit cards to pay for my room and such and end up stuck without enough money at hand to cover the second half payment on my day of surgery and I truly literally can not afford that. I have no idea what will happen with my insurance if I have to reschedule, how long it would take to reschedule, etc.

And the other side of this is there’s really not a whole lot left I can do for work at the moment. I’ve finished off all my existing projects except for one last cover and they already paid for it in advance. I honestly don’t know that I could take on new jobs if it ends up with my surgery on the 20th in just three weeks. Searching for more jobs and clients has become more and more time consuming these past months as is, and the simple truth is I couldn’t in good conscience or in honesty guarantee any new clients that I could finish their job in that time frame. Not with my present state physically and mentally and the uncertainty of my day to day expenses and stress about potential complications hanging over my head and not, truthfully, mixing all that well with my pre-existing mental health conditions lol. And yeah, if I can’t guarantee getting any new projects done in three weeks, I can’t afford to take them on for any potential client’s sake, not to mention the sake of my professional reputation, which I will really need to be, y’know, intact, in order to rebuild my life basically from the ground up, once my previous physicality and quality of life comes back after my surgery and recovery (knock on wood). With at least two or three weeks of recovery after the surgery even assuming it goes well and has no other complications, that’s way too much time to leave clients hanging and not be available to address any needs, concerns, revisions, etc. Especially if they’re not returning clients but brand new ones.

So yeah, as much as I would love to not have to ask for any more help than I already have and have been given, I sincerely just don’t see any alternatives that don’t jeopardize or risk wasting all the help I’ve already been given. You know I am fully aware of just how much that is and what its cost some of you, and I already could never repay you for this, not even in terms of just the money itself, but the fact that I know some of you have given at your own very real expense, sending me money that you really could have used yourself, that wasn’t any kind of surplus. I am already beyond grateful and humbled and overwhelmed how many of you have stepped forward to help me in ways that even though I’m older than many of you, I honestly have no precedent for, in ways and to an extent I’ve never received help or support from family. So I just needed to say that again, because I have not asked for any of this lightly, and I don’t now either. Really, really thank you. I’m not exaggerating or being dramatic or hyperbolic or silly for a change, when I say you guys most likely saved my life. Its simple fact. Hell, I was genuinely hours away from sleeping outside freezing my ass off in December, that first time I posted asking for help and you guys came through for me. So, yeah. I will never ever forget this, and never ever be able to give back as much as I’ve been given these past few months, though I will always do my best to pay it forward.

I’m going to go ahead and leave my paypal link here anyway, though I’ll be making those two additional posts tomorrow and next week, as I said. Aiming to keep them shorter than this, well, shorter than any of my posts, really, as shorter posts really just get more traction and I’ll need that. I can always link to the longer explanations of my situation for those wanting to know more.

Again, thank you all more than I can figure out how to put into words. I’m finally. Fuck. LOL. Sorry, I’m being very umm, sentimental over here but like its your fault I’m overwhelmed lol, like omg you guys, you can’t just throw love and affection and support at a guy with so much childhood traaaaaaaaauma, his brain doesn’t know how to handle it, look, you broke him. Are you happy? You broke his brain machine.

Okay cool, we’re back to inanity and obnoxious humor as an overcompensating self-defense mechanism, whew, everything’s normal, everyone can relax. LOL. Anyway, I’m gonna shut up now and go try and get some rest. Just know that I’m doing so feeling way more....hopeful? Optimistic? Faith-in-humanity-and-goodwill-and-community-ey? Than I have in years.

....the fact that I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now is called probably tells you all you need to know about me, huh? LMFAO God I’m so messed up lol. But whatever. Still alive and kicking. So. Y’know. There’s always that.

https://paypal.me/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

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dylanobrienisbatman · 6 years

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Oooh blarke prompt! Sick fic or an exes to lovers but bellamy was the one to break up with clarke cause somehow it's almost always the other way around? 😘😘

AHHH!!! okay! I am SO sorry this took so long, but i finally finished! You can read it on AO3 here, or under the cut!

Caution Tape Around My Heart

Bellamy had always hated hospitals, his whole life he had hated them. At first it had just been in that way everyone did, the too sterile smell, the sick people everywhere, how there was always that one doctor who was sort of a dick but you couldn’t be a dick back because he was literally performing a procedure on you right then and there. But then, when he was 16, his mom died in a hospital, from a drug overdose, and that was the proverbial straw that broke the camels back. He was always on the brink of a panic attack when he was in hospitals, and the slightest thing would set him into a spiral that would take hours to come back from. And then, when he was 25, he found out he had cancer. He fell, playing soccer with friends, and the bruise just grew and grew and grew, over the next week, until it was almost his whole thigh, and he went to get it checked out, and they told him he had stage 3 non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. He was 31 years old now, and had been in remission for almost 3 full years, but his monthly checkups with his doctor still required an anti-anxiety pill beforehand and some serious attempts at meditation (recommended by his therapist that he had during treatment). It was his 2 year and 10 month checkup, post remission, and he was sitting in the waiting room at 945am, before his 1015 appointment, and his leg was bouncing up and down at full speed, and he kept continually having to wipe the sweat off his palms on his jeans. Any small thing was going to set him over the edge today, he had come down with a nasty cold last week and had convinced himself his cancer was back, had even called his doctor in hysterics (he had been assured that people just got colds, it was normal, but he asked to move his appointment up anyway), and so he was especially on edge.

Which meant Clarke Griffin walking into the waiting room REALLY was not what he needed today.

Oncology shared a waiting room with physical therapy, and she went to the check in desk on that side of the room, giving him a chance to quickly hop from his seat and find a spot in a corner, and also to be mildly relieved. She wasn’t here for cancer treatment, as far as he could tell, which… for all their difficult history, he wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy. He studied her from the back while she waited in line. Her hair was shorter, but it had been almost 6 years since he had seen her, but other than that she looked mostly the same. A little older, but still the same.

Clarke was his first love, and the girl he had loved most. She had been in a class he was a TA for when he was a senior in college and she was a freshmen, and had made it her mission to challenge him on every single thing he said, and he had basically loved her instantly, in that way that made him angry at himself because she was so clearly irritating. They had figured it out, when she was 20 and he was 23, after almost 2 years of being inseparable friends, and he was almost positive he was going to marry her. But things didn’t always work out as planned, and he had broken up with her pretty soon after he found out he had cancer, for a lot of different reasons, and that had been that. She had moved away pretty soon after, from what he had heard, and he hadn’t seen her since they broke up, until this moment, in the hospital, while he was already panicking about his checkup.

Perfect.

He tried his best to shuffle down into his seat, and grabbed a random magazine off the shelf, pulling it in front of his face, but shocking literally no one, not even himself, it didn’t work, and when Clarke turned around, they made eye contact instantly. Her eyes grew to the size of small dinner plates, and she looked frantically around, he was assuming for some kind of escape route that wouldn’t look suspicious. They stared at each other for a second, and then he watched as she steeled herself a little, and walked over to him. He had been expecting acknowledged ignoring, so this was a shock. She walked slow, like she was trying not to startle some small forest creature, and plopped down in the empty seat on his left.

“Hi Bellamy.”

“uh… Hey. Hey Clarke.” He wasn’t sure you were supposed to say to an ex that you hadn’t spoken too or seen in 6 years. He didn’t even know what she was up too. “What are you.. uh.. what are you doing here?” He wasn’t sure if he meant in town or in the hospital… he figured whichever she answered would be good enough.

“Raven had physical therapy today… I just got back in town a few weeks ago and she asked me to pick her up today.” Raven had known Clarke was in town for a couple of WEEKS and hadn’t told him? Which meant his other friends probably knew too. Dicks.

“That was nice of you.” He said. He was sincere, but she scoffed. He wasn’t sure he actually blamed her, but he tried to recover. “No, really. I’m not… I’m not trying to be a dick.” She looked at him through the corner of her eye. They hadn’t actually made eye contact since she sat down, an awkward position for an awkward encounter. She smiled, wary but apologetic.

“What are YOU doing here?” She asked, glancing over him. He didn’t seem like he had an injury that required therapy, and he had never told her about his cancer.

“Uhh, i’ve got a… i’ve got a checkup with my oncologist.” Her eyes widened, finally turning to face him.

“You ha-“

“I’m in remission. I’ve been in remission for… a while. Just a monthly checkup. A few blood tests, a couple questions. No big deal.” He wasn’t sure if he actually succeeded at feigning the blasé attitude, but to be fair, he didn’t really care if she believed him or not. She wasn’t entitled to his story, not anymore. He felt a weird sense of rage grow in his belly.

“Oh.. Well.. congratulations.” Platitudes, meant for strangers and acquaintances. He wasn’t sure what category she was even in.

“Yeah… Thanks..”

They sat in silence for another minute, which felt like hours. He wasn’t sure what to say, and clearly neither was she. She opened her mouth to speak a couple of times before snapping it shut, and retreating back into her seat. She finally opened it again, and was about to actually say something when the nurse opened the door and called his name.

“Wou-“

“Bellamy Blake?” He stood up, but turned to face her. Eye contact was terrifying. He looked at her nose instead. He waited a second, and then turned, because she had clearly decided not to finish her sentence, and walked about 3 steps before she finally spoke up.

“Would you like to grab a coffee or something? I’d love to talk. To catch up.” He paused, and the nurse looked expectantly. He smiled at her, and turned.

“Yeah… uh… Raven has my number. Just… text me. or call me. or whatever.”

She nodded, a small smile on her mouth that looked almost forced, and he turned away from her and followed the nurse inside.

He was numb through most of the appointment, barely hearing what the doctor said. The real news came later, thankfully, when they called him in 2-3 days with the results of his call, so he wasn’t concerned, and he hopped on the subway home at around 11, barely even paying attention. Thankfully he didn’t have to drive. He really didn’t expect her to text, but at around noon, his phone rang, and an unknown number was CALLING him. He contemplated letting it go to voicemail, but his more impulsive side got the better of him and he answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hello… is this Bellamy?” Her voice was sort of shaky and unsure.

“Yeah, hey Clarke.”

“Are you busy right now? I’m at Ravens and she said you live close. I could meet you for coffee wherever.”

He contemplated making up a busy day, but he had taken off work for the appointment and he was just planning on lounging around his house and finishing up the new book he had picked up on the rise and fall of the ottoman empire, and that nagging feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. He had to know, had to have a moment of closure even if it ended in a fight. He didn’t have high expectations.

“Nope, not busy at all. Theres a little local place on Atlantic and Smith.” She agreed, and they scheduled about 30 minutes out. He thought about changing into something else, but she had seen him this morning, and she would know. He didn’t want to give her the impression that he was trying to make himself look good for her. He ignored the way his heart was about to bust through his ribs and run across the room. He pulled on his shoes, tucked his book under his arm, fumbled trying to lock his door, and made his way there. He figured if he was early he could pick a good table, order himself a drink, and look reasonably comfortable before she showed up.

Apparently she had the same idea, because she walked in while he was ordering.

They stood awkwardly near the counter while their drinks were made, and settled into two comfy chairs in the back corner. She broke the silence after a moment.

“I just wanted too… I don’t know. This seems stupid now.” She looked at him for something. He wasn’t sure if she wanted him to contradict her or confirm her thoughts, but he didn’t even really know what he thought anyway.

“I mean… maybe it is. But were here now, so we should probably at least talk a little. No point in all this discomfort otherwise.” She chuckled, and some part of him, some 6 years hidden, 25 year old part of him, preened at making her laugh. The feeling hit him baseball to the face, and he didn’t know how to respond to it.

“Very true.” She agreed, which was a relief. “What have you been up too?” It was such a broad question to cover 6 years.

“I’m a history professor, at Columbia. I have been for about 2 years. I’m working towards my Ph.D. in their history department too, taking a few night classes and stuff. Living here, obviously.” It felt so pedestrian, talking about his job with the person who used to know him best in the whole world. “You?”

“I.. uh.. I just moved back. To the city. I have a job as a curator at the Brooklyn Museum. Finished up college, obviously, with my art degree… you know that you were there,” she was talking so fast, her nerves apparent. She hadn’t picked up her cup in a while because her hands were shaking. “…And did a masters, and I was working as a curator for a small gallery in San Francisco for about a year before I applied for this job. I am staying with Raven for a few days before I can move into my new place.” Another weird conversational standstill. She looked at him with this look that just sort of told him that she wanted him to ask something next. He just wasn’t sure what to ask.

“That’s great, sounds like the perfect job for you.” He realised this was somehow weird to say, because while she might not have changed that much, 6 years is a long time. She could be a totally different person. He didn’t know her at all anymore. He tried not to think about that. “I don’t know what to say, Clarke.” It was true. Their breakup had been gnarly, full of anger and cruel words, and resentment dies hard. And he held quite a bit of it towards her for the thing she had done.

“Bellamy I-“ She started but he cut in.

“Your mom called me “welfare trash” Clarke. To my face. And you just… stood there. We had been dating for almost TWO YEARS, and you let her call me that.” She shrunk into her seat. He realised that his words were still coming, a stream of things unsaid, things unresolved. “You let her tell me I wasn’t good enough for you, that my “status” in life would never be enough for you, and that you would leave me for someone with more money once you realised that I couldn’t give you the life you wanted.” She was welling up, but that just made him angrier. She didn’t get to cry about his pain. “And then you let her sit there, and tell you about how much better for you this man and that man and this girl and that girl, ‘some young lawyer maybe dear’ ‘perhaps doctor whats his nuts’. You let her humiliate me. And I just took it, and you apologised to me afterwords, but you never corrected her. You never stood up for me. And for the next month, you just let her keep it up. And at that point i already knew about my cancer, and you just… let her keep at it.” Her eyes widened. He hadn’t told her about the cancer. “And i know you didn’t know, but you didn’t need to know. I was your boyfriend and you just…” He trailed off, shutting his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself down. He got his breathing straight.

“So I broke up with you. You clearly didn’t want to defend me to your mom, and maybe you agreed with her, maybe you didn’t, but you never told her. Maybe you did later, but you should have done it in front of me, or at least in the days following. And I had cancer, and I couldn’t pile that on to someone who couldn’t even stand up to her mom for me.” Her face was a maze of emotions, from distress, shock, and sorrow, to something heavy, like grief. He finally sat back in his seat and just… breathed.

“I’m sorry.” That was what he wanted to hear, but not at all what he expected. He almost dropped his coffee. “I was 22, and I know thats not an excuse, but she… well… its my mom. And that was when i still had this weird hero worship complex towards her. I didn’t know how to stand up to her back then. I didn’t know what to do.” He was sure he looked stunned, and maybe a little angry. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I’m not. I deserved everything you said back then… and everything you said now. You were everything to me, and i let her… i let her treat you like garbage. I just want you to… I don’t know. A couple of years later, when I finally got my head out of my ass a little, I confronted her about it. I told her you were… my best friend,” Her voice was shaky, like she was going to cry. He resisted the urge to reach across the table and take her hand. “You were my first REAL love. I had boyfriends, and girlfriends before you. And i loved them, sure. I loved Lexa, I loved Finn, kind of,” it was his turn to chuckle, “but you were different. And i just… I’m just sorry. I know i was wrong, and I’m just sorry. I wanted you to know that.” He wasn’t sure what to say.

“What did your mom say?” Was what came out, entirely unprompted by his conscious brain. He wanted to kick himself. She smiled, to her credit.

“She was shocked to say the least, but i think i got through to her. And a couple years after that I found out about her involvement with my fathers death, so we don’t speak anymore anyways.” That was the kind of bomb of information he wasn’t prepared for, and his subconscious took the opportunity, yet again over riding his conscious choice to maintain the appearance of not caring, to take control of his mouth.

“She WHAT?” Clarke shook her head, and suddenly the conversation flowed. She told him about her mom and what she had done, and that flowed into stories about their lives. The conversation was simple, nothing too exposing, except the story about her mom, and his story about his cancer. She asked about his sister, about his job, he asked about Wells and HER job, and they just sort of traded stories. It still felt weird, like talking to a stranger who somehow new too much about him to ever be a real stranger. The only stayed for about an 45 minutes, nothing too long or intense, but at the end he felt like a weight was lifted. They didn’t hug, or touch at all, when they parted ways, but he saved her still ‘unknown’ number in his phone during his walk home and he figured that was a start.

Over the next few months, she slowly reintegrated into his life. She was invited out for drinks every weekend, now that her friends knew that he knew she was back, and asked him to lunch so often that it was a scheduled thing now, to see her at work or on the weekends. But it was Raven’s birthday were it all came to a head.

Her “party” was just a get together at her loft, with all her friends and her girlfriend Luna, and when he got there it was just the two of them and Clarke. He dropped the 12 pack of beers and the pack of cupcakes he brought on the counter, and found them all three out on the balcony, drinking a bottle of red wine. He tried to ignore the way it stained Clarkes lips pink. He had caught himself thinking about her a lot the last couple of times they had spent time together. Their time together had gotten more familiar, easy like it used to be, and the way he used to feel, at the beginning of their friendship, so long ago was creeping its way back in. He had broken up with her out of rage, and betrayal, and in an attempt to protect himself from her, but it had been so long. Every time they spent time together, she would find a way to apologise again, to assure him that she knew, she knew she had been wrong, so long ago, she knew that what she had done had hurt him, and he felt the wall he had built being brought down, piece by piece. He tried his best to force it back up, to retain the barrier between himself and his feelings, but it was harder than he expected it to be.

The night wore on, and the beers got him fuzzy, and wine always made her touchy, and before he really realised it, her arm was around his waist, and they were sharing the recliner. He thought about pulling himself away from her, but the smell of her hair and the feel of her, warm and solid around him, was like every dream he ever had those first couple of years after she left, and the part of him that made good choices with logic was hiding behind that wall that kept shrinking down, and letting the part of him that led with his heart take the lead. So he stayed, pressed against her, letting himself feel it, letting himself maybe think that he could see past it. that he could forgive her. Her hand found his knee, his thigh, his arm, his shoulder, over and over again, and his brain just kept getting fuzzier as the night dragged on. When it was finally time to go leave, she hugged him goodbye, tucking her nose into the junction of his shoulder and his neck, and when she leaned back, she pressed up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, closer to the corner of his lips but not quite, and the place where her lips landed was on fire. She untangled herself from him and wandered out to go home, leaving him shell shocked.

She didn’t call him the next day, didn’t reach out at all, and he felt like he was going out of his mind. He picked up his phone at least 7 times to call her, and then put it back down. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, just kept pacing around his apartment. He couldn’t find anything to distract him, and before he really realised what he was doing he was putting on shoes and grabbing his keys and catching the train to her apartment, his brain rattling around as he rode. He knew it was stupid. She had only been back for 6 months, but the anger of a 25 year old him, scared of dying, scared of loosing her, scared of not being good enough seemed... far away now. Far away from the 31 year old version of himself that was standing here now, missing this girl he had told himself it was stupid to miss. Longing for this girl he had made himself push away. She was just like he remembered. She was his perfect match. She was strong, and bright, and beautiful as he'd ever seen her, and full of so much joy. She was everything he ever wanted, just like she had been at 23, and 24, and 25. Just like she had been all those years in between, when he made himself ignore how he compared every person he dated to her. She was made for him. She was a part of his heart. She was his "One".He got to the door, and realised he had no idea what to do. He paced outside for almost 10 minutes, and was just about to ring her bell when his phone buzzed.

He pulled it from his pocked, and her name flashed across the screen. He answered it.

“Hey..”

“Hey where are you?” He paused, but before he could answer she kept talking. “I’m at your place, and you’re not answering your bell.” He couldn’t hold it together, and started laughing, right there on the street. “what are yo-“ He interrupted her through his laughter.

“Im at your place.”

“What?!”

“I was just… I don’t know. So i came to your place to.. I don’t know.”

“Just stay there,” she said, hanging up the phone. He stood awkwardly outside her house for the next 20 minutes until she rounded the corner and saw him. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of him, and then took of at a run, barrelling into him, holding him tight. He took a second to respond, and then wrapped his arms around her waist. She unhooked herself from him, and took him by the hand and led him into her apartment. He stopped just inside the doorway, and she turned to face him. “Look, Bellamy, I know it was all… a mess. And its only been a little while… but. It feels the same. Like it did at the beginning.”

“Yeah… it does…” He felt like he was betraying some small part of himself by feeling it all. By feeling it again. But they had alway been sort of undeniable. And the problems between them were so long ago, and so… gone. Her mom wasn’t in her life anymore, and she had finally stood up for him, even if it was a little too late, and she had come back, and apologised so much that he had to finally ask her to stop. He had forgiven her.

“i was so angry with you, for treating me that way.” She nodded, and him, taking both of his hands. “I dont want to feel that way anymore.” She squeezed his fingers, and kept her face trained and neutral.

“I understand… Forgiveness is hard for us. It always was. And this… this was big Bellamy. I know i hurt you. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it right again. I need you Bellamy. I always did.” Her sincerity was palpable.

“You were my person, Clarke. I never found another person in my life who was as good for me, as right for me, as much my other half… you.” A small smile finally creeped into her cheeks. “If we take this slow…”

“Glacial pace… I promise.” She took a step forward, just slight but enough to put her in his space.

“Okay.” He said, soft. She took another step, and pushed up onto her toes, slow. Waiting for him to meet her in the middle. He leaned down, and she pressed up just enough, and pressed a soft dry kiss against his mouth. She stepped back, faster than he maybe wanted, but he knew they made the right choice. Six years and all that history, they needed time, time to get it right.

And this time they would.

Together.

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