#I’ve just been in an on/off breakdown for the last 2 hours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

finelinevogue · 2 years

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you are the love of my life

summary - you go to harry’s listening party and are reminded how he is the love of your life

warnings: heavily angsty, probably not a conventional happy ending but no pt.2, fluffy moments too don’t worry!, swearing

word count: 3k

pairing: ex-boyfriend!harry x reader

“Harry I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

You rubbed a hand over your forehead as the call you were having with your ex-boyfriend stressed you out. It wasn’t the most ideal moment to be having this call either, since you were waiting for Chris, your boyfriend, to come and pick you up for date night.

Standing in the hallway you leaned against the wall and fought back the tears that were threatening to fall onto your cheeks. It was unfair how much your heart still hurt after breaking up with Harry and yet it was a mutual breakup, in which both of you decided to stay as friends. It was a hard decision for both of you and one you’ve regretted for all 482 days after.

You knew his phone calls were a way of him checking up on you and making sure you were doing okay, which was the exact same reasons why you answered the phone. You each had pieces of each others hearts and that was something neither of you could let go.

“Please, Y/N. I need... Just, please.” He said softly and your heart cracked just a little.

“Uh.. Harry, look I’ve got to go...” You tried to use your date night as an excuse to leave this phone call as it was.

“Y/N...”

The way Harry said your name with such familiarity made your heart so warm. His voice sounded like home and your heart knew it. You wanted him to come home, but his voice was as close as you’d ever get again.

“You know Chris will be there.” You replied and you could hear him thinking out loud. His silence was so loud, thinking over the situation. You knew that it wouldn’t be an easy decision for him to make, but this was unfortunately the situation you’d both arrived at.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” You questioned, just to make sure that had been his answer.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll text you the details later.”

You couldn’t even say goodbye to Harry on the phone because he’d cut the call. Back when you were together Harry would refuse to be the first one to hang up the phone, same as you, so you would both stay on the phone for hours and hours. Now the calls only lasted a couple of minutes, because it was too hard to hear each other without getting to be with each other every day.

Putting your phone in your bag, you walked down the hall and looked at yourself in the hallway mirror. You tilted your head back as you tried to trickle the tears back into your eyes. Sniffling, you looked at yourself and tried to pull the corners of your lips into a smile. When your lips began to tremble you tried to quieten your fast-beating heart, preparing yourself to be loved by someone that wasn’t Harry tonight.

Nodding at yourself, you left your house and walked to Chris’ car. Opening the door for yourself, you slid in the front passenger seat and greeted him with a warm hello.

“Hi!” You smiled brightly, Chris not being able to tell you’d nearly had a breakdown moments before.

“Hello! Ready for some Thai food?” He asked, checking his mirrors before pulling away from your house and down the street.

“Yeah.” You said, when you really meant no.

As Chris drove down the street, talking about the best things to order off the menu tonight, you couldn’t help but think about how different this night would’ve been if you’d done it with Harry. How Harry would’ve rang your doorbell, not just beeped his car horn. How Harry would’ve opened and closed the car door for you. How Harry would’ve been lost for words on how beautiful you looked as his first words to you. How Harry would’ve listened to you when you said you didn’t like Thai food and would’ve simply taken you to Taco Bell instead.

It wasn’t right to think about Chris like that. It wasn’t fair. But Chris wasn’t Harry and that would be something you’d forever compared everyone to.

Four days later and Harry had sent you the details.

Hershel💛: 101 Rosewood Street. 3PM. 20th May.

You smiled at how his contact name was still saved as Hershel; a nickname that you’d heard his stylist Harry Lambert use and had found so adorably funny that you teased him about it for ever. You couldn’t find the heart to change it now. The yellow heart stayed too, because he’d always be a slice of yellow in your cake of life.

On the 20th May you and Chris showed up to 101 Rosewood Street.

Chris walked in without your hand in his, because quite frankly he was not impressed by this event at all. Chris didn’t like that you were still chummy with Harry and he found it even worse that Harry had invited you both to listen to his new album together with him, and some of his fans.

You felt silly walking in alone and pushing the door open for yourself since Chris didn’t hold it, but you didn’t make a big deal about it because there were more important things to worry about; like seeing Harry for the first time in 498 days.

The room was set up so beautifully, with sofas and comfy chairs dotted everywhere. Some fans were already seated and getting to know each other. Some of them noticed you and gasped over seeing you. You weren’t famous by any definition, but you and Harry were very public with your relationship because you weren’t bothered by anyone’s opinions of you. The fans absolutely adored you then and still do now.

You waved to them and smiled, following Chris where he was being directed by a man behind some doors “backstage”. You made note to go and say hello to the fans later.

You pulled your sweater over your hands to create little sweater paws as your heart anxiously awaited to see Harry again. No amount of calls and face-times that you had had with him over the past 498 days could ever mean the same as seeing him face-to-face. You couldn’t smell his familiar aftershave on the phone or really remember the way he hugged either.

“Y/N...” Harry’s voice came from behind you and you turned around to see him standing there in shock. Even though he had invited you and you’d confirmed you’d be here, he was still surprised to see you.

“Harry.” You nodded and smiled, earning a smile from him in return.

Both of you were staring at each other and you felt like you’d just fallen in love all over again. The way his eyes danced with happiness over you made you feel as bright as a Christmas tree in December.

His hair was a little shorter now, but the curls were more obvious because of it. He looked really good and really well. His skin was glowing, most likely from just coming back off a holiday to Brazil for a week for his mum’s birthday.

“You...” “It’s...” You both said at the same time, then laughing when you realised you were still just as eager to speak over each other as before.

Chris then coughed beside you and made himself aware to the both of you. You had no idea how long he had been standing there, but you weren’t oblivious to the fact that Harry and you had just had a moment in a public room. It probably wouldn’t sit well with Chris, but the heart wants what it wants.

“Um, Harry... This is Chris.” You pulled Chris into your side by looping your arm with his. Chris’ body language showed that he was trying to be very alpha and it turned you off. Harry held out his hand politely waiting for Chris to shake it and flinched a little when Chris shook it a bit too harshly. You bit your tongue from telling Chris to stop being so jealous, because you hated it.

“Y/N’s boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, mate.” Harry smiled, feeling anything but happy shaking this mans hand.

“Hmm, likewise.”

Harry turned back to you then and explained how the event would work. He had a million and thirty three things he wanted to talk to you about, but he knew now wasn’t the best of times. He would save those conversations for later.

After being directed back into the main room, you went around hugging fans and talking to them about anything and everything. Harry stood by and watched on with the biggest smile, adoring you even more for how kind you were to everyone and especially his fans.

Jeff introduced the event and Harry said some hello’s before the listening started. Everyone was given a set of headphones and told that the music would play at the same time for everyone in the same order.

You and Chris sat next to each other, but the empty spot next to Harry called out to you desperately.

The rest of the event was where everything changed.

There were three songs that stood out more than any of the others, to you. Grapejuice, Satellite and Love of My Life. Every song was perfectly created, but you knew exactly what Harry was talking about when you heard the lyrics to those particular songs.

Grapejuice was obviously about the afternoon you and Harry had spent in your back garden sharing a bottle of red. It had been a hot weekend and so you and Harry had enjoyed some time in the pool, before relaxing with some wine that Harry had bought back from Italy. In fact, it was from the vineyard he had invested money into.

“Top up?” Harry had asked you, reaching for the bottle of red on the table with a little struggle. Your legs were draped across his lap, so he had to hold onto them as he bent forwards.

“I wouldn’t say no.” You smiled, head feeling slightly hazy from the four glasses you’d had already.

“Here you go, m’love.” He handed you your now full glass.

“Thank you.” Reaching for it, your fingers brushing against Harry’s with a slight warmth.

“I hope I’m living this life in 50 years time.” Harry said, sipping on his wine before putting it back on the table. He put his hand on your shins and rubbed his thumb on the soft skin there, not minding that there were a few rogue hairs that you’d forgotten to shave.

“How so?” You leant your head against the sofa you were sitting on, watching Harry’s face glow in the summer’s afternoon sun.

“I mean, I want to be in this moment in 50 years time with a similar bottle of red, not those crappy whites and pinks. With you, and only you. Maybe a couple of grandkids running and messing around in the pool - that pool. Just want something simple for my–our future.”

You looked at him with heart-shaped eyes, wanting that future to arrive here already. Nothing could break this moment or this love between you. It had engrained so deep into the roots of your soul and you hoped you never had the opportunity to say goodbye to him.

Bringing yourself back to the room where the listening party was taking place you bit your bottom lip to keep it from trembling, looking over to where Harry was sitting across from some fans. He immediately turned his head to face you as if he knew you were looking at him.

“Are you okay?” He mouthed from across the room, just for you eyes to make out what he was saying only.

You nodded in return and swallowed back the lump in the back of your throat, before looking down at your hands in your lap that were fiddling with each other. Chris was sat next to you with a bored expression and not a single thought behind his eyes.

When you listening to Satellite your heart pounded at your chest, begging to be sealed and sent over to Harry. Returned, in fact.

It was clearly about the many moments after the breakup where Harry didn’t care about anything other than making sure you knew he was right there for you still.

“Y/N, hi. Please call me back when you can. I’m getting worried a-and I… I…. Fuck, I just need to hear your voice to know you’re still there.” Harry’s voice faded out on the voicemail and you put your phone back on the floor next to you.

You were sat against the bathtub with a bottle of Whiskey and Daughter’s music playing on your record player. Tissues surrounded you on the floor and your grey t-shirt, that was actually Harry’s, was covered in wet splotches where your tears had fallen or where you’d wiped your nose.

An album that you’d made of pictures of you and Harry was sat to the side of you, but you’d thrown it away from you after your heart couldn’t handle any more happy.

You tricked yourself into thinking you were okay about this mutual breakup, but in reality it was the most soul-crushing event that had ever happened to you. Neither you, nor Harry, had fallen out of love with each other but you were both just so terrified that everything was moving so fast on the same timeline as Harry’s excelling career. You wanted what was best for him, and him for you. Turns out, looking back, maybe that wasn’t breaking up with each other.

The phone rang again but you left it to ring until it made a beep that meant that whoever had called you had left a voicemail.

“I know I’m going round and round, here, Y/N/N, but I need you to know that I’m here. I’m right fucking here and I always will be. Don’t shut me out. Please. J-just, shit, just call me back, okay? I’m a thousand miles away, but I’m right here.”

Your eyes had wept during listening to Satellite, because you were reminded of how you sat on the bathroom floor until all feeling in your bum and legs had gone numb. The tears hadn’t stopped until Harry had travelled all 1,000 miles to knock on your door with a bottle of red wine. You’ll always remember what he said when he stood at your door;

“If you’re going to be sad, I’m always going to be sad with you.”

So, when you wiped your hands over your eyes at the listening party after listening to the song, where Harry reminded you he was still here for you, you expected Chris to put and arm around you and console you. Instead, he took off his headphones and tapped your shoulder.

“I can’t do this.” He said to you. “I can’t deal with it.”

Your brain was confused, taking the headphones out of his hands - not that you had much choice from him.

“Chris…wha— deal with what?” Your eyes widened as you watched him stand up, brushing off his trousers to rid them of creases.

“You, Y/N. I can’t deal with you and your heart.” He cleared his throat and looked away from you, not being man enough to watch your heart break all over your face in front of him. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

And with that he was off out of the room and presumably out of your life.

There was no sorry and no hug goodbye. There was just an emotionless and dramatic man that couldn’t deal with a woman who had more emotions than he a plastic barbie doll. He couldn’t handle a real woman who was in touch with her heart.

The funny thing was, your heart didn’t break in the slightest for him even if Chris thought that it would. If anything, there was this sense of relief of not having him sat next to you and not having to go home with him afterwards. There was a sense of freedom that came from Chris leaving.

And it all made sense when Harry came and sat next to you, making you forget all about Chris and solely focus on the man with the green eyes that you remained in love with 498 days ago.

Harry took one headphone off one ear as you put yours back on your head. “You okay?”

That’s when Love of My Life started playing and your heart started racing from the images his lyrics were painting.

“I.. uh.. I-I think so. Or at least, I will be.” You cleared your throat and looked at him to show him that there were no threatening tears this time. Harry didn’t know exactly what happened, but he was just glad to see an empty seat next to you. This time, he wasn’t going to allow anyone the chance of filling it again. “You?”

Harry’s hand slid over to the edge of his leg and he held his palm up, his fingers still as pretty as always. You smiled at him, with a slight nervous blush as your hand took ahold of his and the dancing butterflies took flight all over again.

“Yeah. I think I’ll be alright too.” And with a soft squeeze of his hand in yours, it was felt between the both of you that you’d both be alright; together.

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miraclewoozi · 6 months

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HIGH FIDELITY, PT 2. -c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

( PART ONE )

pair ; vernon x fem!reader. content ; strangers to lovers. up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader. fluff, angst, smut. (MINORS DNI). warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a big theme pretty much throughout. mentions of past relationship breakdowns. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt, reflected in self sabotage. mentions of sickness (acute). wc ; 12.2k ( ~38k total. ) disclaimer ; this fic was inspired by rob + liam in the series high fidelity and is therefore pretty influenced by the show. if you’ve watched it, you’ll probably see a lot of similarities! i just felt so drawn to vernon in this kind of role that i really wanted to try and put a spin on it. i do not claim that every idea behind this is original. notes ; been working on this one for a while. hope you enjoy it.<3

smut tags : making out. some groping. some 'first time together' shenanigans. oral (m rec) & ball sucking hehe. he has a big cock because i have an agenda to push. implied f rec oral. implied multiple rounds. PLEASE let me know if i’ve forgotten anything.

The clock on your bedside table reads somewhere between 4:00 and 5:00 in the morning when you resign from trying to fall asleep and force yourself to sit upright, fed up of tossing and turning between your now too-creased sheets, brain stuck in a foggy, hellish limbo. Your mind won’t shut down. Your body won’t rest. Birds are starting to chirp outside and you can hear them clear as whistles through the cheap window that doesn’t quite seal shut to your left. Your eyes squint in preparation as you reach for your lamp and flood the room in yellowish light, drawing your knees up to your chest.

You’ve spent so much time in your own thoughts that you’ve begun to feel systemically unwell. Your stomach twists and aches, your eyes are so dry it hurts to even blink and there’s an ache behind them that started as an annoying throb, but has grown over the hours into a roaring flame. From the hairs on your head all the way down to your toes, you feel like you could burst.

You wish you had it in you to cry. To let it out. Keeping this pent up is no doubt making you feel a hundred times worse, and you think it would be nice to feel something other than the endless swooping of the spiral you’re well and truly making your way down. Your alarms are going to go off in a few hours. I can’t let anyone see me like this, you think. I can’t work in this state.

You throw ideas around in your head for a little while, thumbs tweaking over your phone as messages get typed, edited, deleted, and repeat. Part of you thinks maybe you could manage. Just tough it out and put on a brave face, because actually, what right do you have to be hiding away when you’re the one who ran out one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met? But you just know something will go wrong, even if you tell the boys that you need to camp out in the office for the day. When you need peace and quiet, you can never find it behind that creaky old door. When was the last time you got a full admin day without being called through to help with a problem or deal with a drama? And truly, the idea of facing the world right now makes you feel like you could be sick.

Sick…

Could you—?

You’ve never enjoyed taking sick days, even on occasions where you’ve really needed them, when you’ve woken up feeling like you’re knocking at death’s door. Sometimes, you swear the guilt that it brings ends up making you feel ten times worse than whatever your ailment is doing to you in the first place. But your exhaustion lets impulse take hold and you’re already sending a message into your group chat with the boys before you can talk yourself out of it, biting the inside of your cheek as the little indicator pops up on your screen. Delivered.

Well. You’re committed now, whether you like it or not.

Not feeling so hot. I won’t be in today. Take it easy, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Sorry.

You pick your comforter up off the bed and wrap it around your shoulders like an extravagant, well-padded cape, trudging your way through the apartment until you’re stood, barefoot and cold, staring into the bright light of your refrigerator. Somehow in the seconds between pulling the handle and now, you’ve managed to forget what is what that you were hoping to find. More out of spite for how the bulbs are currently bleaching your retinas than because you want it, you pull the milk from its home in the cradle of the door and fix yourself a glass to take with you and put it on the coffee table back in your living room.

Without an ounce of grace, you throw yourself onto your couch: your head rests against the arm of the seat like you’re in the apartment of a sketchy therapist, and you’re wrapped up in your duvet as if it’s a sleeping bag, treating yourself to the luxury of a slightly different ceiling pattern to stare up at. And it could be the change of the room that finally manages to drag you under, or it could be the total fatigue of the emotional rollercoaster that has been your last twenty four hours…

But your glass of milk goes completely untouched as you eventually drift off, either way.

Of course, it’s not for nearly long enough. Barely an hour after finally managing to fall asleep, your phone starts to vibrate harshly against your chest. You tap at the screen blindly, hoping to shut off what you assume is your alarm; when it’s still buzzing a few seconds later, you reluctantly open your eyes, fighting back a sob. It’s not your alarm – it’s an incoming call. Why would it be anything else?

“Hello?” You grumble, putting the phone on speaker and resting it on the couch cushion next to your head. The energy expenditure of holding the device up to your ear feels mammoth.

“Ohh, you sound terrible.” Seungkwan’s voice sounds more taunting than it does concerned, but you pin that down to a symptom of his over-familiarity. “You’re sick?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“I heard there was something going around,” Seungkwan tells you. Great, you think. Good to know. Now go away. “Yeah – one of my cousins… ah, what did she say…”

“Hey, man, I really-...”

“That’s it. She said she was love sick.”

You sigh so hard you think it’s a miracle you don’t pass out.

“Don’t–”

“You better make sure Vernon gives you plenty of Vitamin D, today,” he harps on. “It’s quite the disease. I heard it can really–”

“Seungkwan!” You snap, finally, grabbing your phone and barking straight into the microphone. He doesn’t need to know that you’re stretching the truth to its absolute limit, but you certainly won’t let him keep believing that you’re calling out just to get laid. “Knock it off, okay? I’ve been awake all night.”

(You suppose you should be glad that that much really is true.)

He falls silent, and you don’t know if he totally believes you, but a few breaths later, you hear his voice through the speaker again. He’s softer, this time. Quieter.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, hesitating a moment before he goes on. “Try to get some rest, all right? I’ll swing by after work and check in with some food, and… if you need anything, just text me?”

You’re immediately overcome with guilt at the sharp change in his demeanour, and it does nothing to settle the way your insides are writhing inside you. You clear your throat and pull your duvet up to cover your face, squeezing your eyes tightly shut.

“I will,” you mumble. “I’m sorry – thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. You can hear the front door to his own apartment slam shut and his breaths pick up as he starts to rush down the stairwell of his building. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

“Hey–” he rushes, before you can hang up the call. “Rest up. Run a bath, drink plenty. Love you.”

You cringe a little, but not enough to stop you from saying it back. Sort of.

“Yeah. You too.”

Nobody could ever accuse Seungkwan of not being a man of his word. As irritating as he can sometimes be, as determined as he is to get on your every last nerve, you’ve never known him fail to come through on a promise.

Not long after 6:30pm, you hear a series of knocks at the front door of your apartment. You’ve managed to squeeze in odd shifts of sleep throughout the day and though your head is still in a mess, you feel significantly less irritable than you were this morning. Cleaner, as well. One of your (several) naps took place in the bath, where you laid there and let the hot water draw some of the anxieties clean out of you to float towards the ceiling amongst the lavender-scented steam.

In the knowledge that Seungkwan’s expectations of you are quite literally zero, you don’t bother to fix the one leg of your sweatpants that’s rolled up before you heave yourself off the couch and go to let him inside. He stands in the doorway with a bag of takeout food in each hand, all wind-flushed cheeks and that brilliant smile, and you feel like your stomach settles almost straight away when you see him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, toeing off his shoes as he comes inside and lets the door close behind him. He sets the bags down on top of the small table by your front door and cups your face in both of his hands, squeezing your cheeks and frowning down at you. “You look awful.”

“Wow, thanks,” you huff, squirming to get out of his grip. “I was going to say I feel a little better, but…”

“You look exhausted,” Seungkwan clarifies, picking up the bags once more and following you through to your living room as you start to walk away from him. “I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t realise you were actually… this bad…”

“This is doing wonders for my ego,” you grumble. “Keep it coming. Really.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“No, no. By all means, continue to kick a girl while she’s down. Super classy.”

Your best friend flops down onto your couch with an exaggerated huff at your petulance. You curl up in the armchair instead, bringing your knees up beneath you.

“Do you think it was something you ate?” He asks, refusing to give into your bickering and changing the subject matter instead.

You shrug your shoulders at him. “I don’t-... I mean, it was more of a head… thing?”

He sucks his front teeth. “What, like a migraine?”

“Sort of?”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” He asks. “You’ve had a migraine before. Was it that or not?”

“Well, it’s difficult to-... It wasn’t exactly…”

“Okay.”

Seungkwan interrupts you as you hesitate again, swinging his legs off the couch and resting his elbows on his thighs, leaning as far towards you as he can while still remaining seated. He wrings his hands, plays with his fingers, lips drawn forward in a stern-looking pout.

“I thought something was up this morning on the phone, but I didn’t wanna push it because you sounded mad. Now I know something’s wrong with you. What’s going on?”

You swallow hard and cross your arms over your chest, dropping your gaze away from Seungkwan’s very intense one.

“Nothing,” you lie.

“Bullshit.”

“Seungkwan!”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, tipping his head forward and running his hands through his hair. He’s never been a coddler, always one to prefer the tough-love approach: it’s no surprise that he doesn’t appear any softer when he looks back at you. “But we both know that’s crap.”

You can feel your pulse starting to quicken the longer he stares you down. It’s as if he’s burning two great big holes into your head, laser-beams where his pupils ought to be. He’s the master of the hard stare, and you know he won’t move until he hears the truth.

Maybe I should just tell him. Maybe it’ll help…

“Look, I don’t care how famous he thinks he’s gonna be, if Vernon upset you last night, I’ll kick his ass myself.”

And there are the alarm bells. In hindsight, maybe you should’ve seen this coming; it’s not that far of a reach, and given the few facts that he actually knows, you can’t blame Seungkwan for jumping to this conclusion. It’s quite effective in triggering you to speak up, too. (You think that maybe, this was on purpose. Attack where you’re likely to defend. He knows you like the back of his hand.) In an instant you’re sitting upright with your feet firmly on the floor and you’re shaking your head at him like a dog trying to get itself dry.

“No, no, no, back it up,” you rush. “It’s nothing like that. He hasn’t done anyth-... God, it’s not him.”

“It better not be,” Seungkwan tells you. His voice still has that dark edge to it, and you’re not sure how exactly to stamp it out. “I’m serious. If he’s done anything-...”

“He hasn’t,” you say more firmly. After a couple slow breaths, you clasp your hands together, swallowing your pride. “The food’s gonna go cold. Go grab a couple glasses and-... whatever else from the kitchen—”

“Only if you tell me what’s happening,” he says, slowly pushing himself up to stand.

You don’t assent with words, but you don’t have to. You look up at him and nod a couple of times and that’s all he needs. Seungkwan strides off through the doorway, leaving you to shakily exhale away the stress that is once again squeezing at your lungs.

Once the containers are laid out on the table, food is divided up, utensils are handed over and he’s poured you each out a glass of soda, Seungkwan sits back on the couch. He doesn’t prod you, or ask you again – he doesn’t need to. You know what he’s waiting for. Even so, he allows you a few mouthfuls of your dinner first: seeing as this is the first substantial thing you’ve eaten all day, you silently thank him for the generosity.

“All right,” you say, gulping down a few mouthfuls of your drink to re-lubricate your throat. “Okay. Fuck – you’re gonna wanna make yourself comfy for this.”

The only way he moves is to pick up one of the food cartons and settle it on his thigh. Oh, how you wish you were joking. But if he really doesn’t want to heed your warning…

“You know I went on that date the other week?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek. Seungkwan nods at you, lifting a helping of noodles out of the carton.

“With the hitter and quitter,” he confirms. “I remember.”

“Right,” you say. “Well – okay, wait, no. That’s a bad start. He didn’t do anything either.”

“I mean…”

“Not the time.”

He lifts his free hand up in surrender and gestures for you to continue as he slurps his food into his mouth. You clear your throat, bouncing one leg so rapidly that the decorative candle holder on your mantelpiece starts to rattle.

“So… it was before the date. I was on my way to the bar, walking down past-... that convenient store. You know the one Chan keeps going into ‘cause he’s got the hots for the person who works there on a Friday night? Yeah, I was walking down that way. Actually running on time for once, and-...”

You falter, sucking a breath deep into your lungs. It causes your next words to come out more strained than they ought to.

“I ran into Jaehyun...”

Seungkwan swallows just in time to prevent himself from choking on his mouthful of food, but his eyes still shoot wide and you think his chest convulses a little bit anyway. His is a name you haven’t mentioned in a while, but he clearly hasn’t forgotten who it belongs to.

Because, well… how could he ever forget?

Your ex-partner. Jaehyun.

The ex-love-of-your-life, Jaehyun.

The man who asked you to marry him after three and a half years of dating only to leave you, heartbroken and alone, six months later because he wanted to travel the world and there was too much that you couldn’t bring yourself to leave behind, Jaehyun.

How could Seungkwan forget when he had been one of the people who helped drag you through what was not only the worst break-up, but one of the worst times of your entire life?

Aside from the other week, it’s been… nearly eighteen months since you saw him last. Almost a year since you let yourself talk about him. Even sitting in your own apartment with a box full of your favourite food in your hands, a sense of dread chills you from head to toe just going so far as to say his name. But you’ve started, now, so you might as well finish.

“…right outside that stupid fucking store.”

Your voice cracks when you say it and you hurry to set your dinner down on the floor to free up your shaking hands. You cup them over your mouth, closing your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. It helps enough for you to be able to continue, even if you still feel a bit like you’re drowning.

“I thought he…” Seungkwan starts, putting his own food down and slipping off the couch. He comes to sit on the arm of your chair and puts a hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “When did-...?”

“Yeah, uh… apparently he moved back a couple weeks ago,” you swallow, leaning into your friend’s embrace.

Seungkwan looks down at you and you look up at him, all misty-eyed and drained. There’s more. He knows there is, but now he waits for you patiently, giving you all the time in the world to get through this and to let it out and to lean on him. He doesn’t butt in. The quiet feels worse than the talking.

“He’s with someone now. They, uh— they met in Paris. Just over a year ago.”

Seungkwan finally dares to make a noise and breathes out heavily, so loud that it’s almost a groan.

“Y/n,” he sighs, tightening his hold around you. “Shit – I’m so sorry,”

You shrug, staring across the room to where your record player sits on top of a low cabinet, lid open, table collecting dust.

“For months, I sat here feeling… fucking, sorry for myself,” you say, barely above a whisper. You swallow around the lump in your throat and shake your head. “This whole time, refusing to get back on the horse ‘cause I thought maybe-... but he was-…”

The room goes quiet again as you lose the words you want to say and Seungkwan just rubs small circles against your arm. The problem is that you know this doesn’t explain why you called out of work today. It doesn’t explain what happened last night, and you’re not sure where to begin with that either. Especially seeing as the last time your best friends saw you and Vernon, the sparks flying between you were nigh-on visible.

“I thought I was handling it, you know?” You sigh, leaning harder into Seungkwan’s soft sweatshirt. “Like… yeah — it hurt… but I was okay? I guess. And then Vernon fucking… kissed me last night—“

“He— what?”

“Hang on — no, he… I wanted him to.” You fumble with a thread hanging off the sleeve of your t-shirt as you talk. Why is this all so difficult? At the same time, why does it feel so juvenile to say out loud? “I just… I don’t know…”

Your wall clock tick, tick, ticks away in yet another painful fall of silence.

“How bad was he?” Seungkwan asks when you struggle to elaborate.

You assume this is an attempt to shatter the gloomy atmosphere and lighten your mood a tiny bit; it works, you suppose, because despite yourself, you laugh drily. Not without nudging your shoulder into his ribs, though. He deserves it, and you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that it does make you feel a little better.

“He wasn’t,” you groan. “Don’t—… you’re such an ass.”

He pulls himself away from you at the sound of your laughter and moves to sit on the edge of your coffee table instead, careful not to disrupt any of your food while keeping himself close enough to you that he can hold both of your hands in his and soothe his thumbs over your palms.

“You freaked out on him, didn’t you?”

He sees straight through you and truthfully, no part of you is surprised. No part of you tries to fight it, or reject his assumption, or even question why that’s the first explanation he leapt to. You just nod, looking to where your best friend’s fingers are currently the only things holding you together.

“Ran out his apartment like the building was gonna burn down,” you sigh, still laughing but harshly now. He squeezes your hands gently, urging you to look up at him. You do, slowly. “It’s ruined everything.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Seungkwan tries, narrowing his eyes at you when you scoff your obvious disagreement. “No, seriously. Anyone can see the poor guy’s got it bad for you.”

“Even if that’s right, you didn’t see his face,” you say. “God, he isn’t gonna wanna look at me ever again.”

“Have you spoken to him today?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Maybe if you explain what happened–”

“Oh, sure,” you snort. “‘Hey, Vernon. Sorry for running out on you like a lunatic yesterday. I ran into my ex recently and when you kissed me, it reminded me of being with him and I got freaked out and had to dash. Hope you don’t mind.’ God.”

You try to draw your hands back but Seungkwan just holds onto you tighter. “We’ll workshop it,” he says firmly. “Do you like him, or not?”

“Seungkwan–”

“That wasn’t an option.”

You scowl at him. “It’s not that easy.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yes,” you stress finally, groaning through it. “Yes – I do.”

Seungkwan’s face lights up for a second, his eyes sparkling, lips lifting. You’re half expecting him to say ‘I knew it’. Half expecting him to try and be all deep and philosophical and a little bit motherly, as he sometimes does, especially when you’re upset. He’s always been a sucker for a happy ending. But this isn’t a happy ending, you remind yourself, squaring your jaw. It’s past that, already. It isn’t going to happen, you just know it.

“Stop being so fucking hard on yourself,” he tells you, squeezing your hands one last time before he lets go and moves back over to the couch so he can finish eating before his food goes cold. “If anyone can pull this off, it’s you.”

You’re not sure what’s in the air right now, but this has been one of the busiest weekends that you can remember. Both yesterday and today, almost as soon as the store opened, your first handful of customers came through. Apart from about an hour around lunchtime, you don’t think there have been any periods of time where you’ve not had someone milling around the shelves. It makes a nice change, really, from some of your weekend shifts – hours at a time where the dust starts to settle and hardly anyone disturbs the bell above the front door. But this means you’ve been in full customer-service mode basically all day, and you’re starting to feel exhausted from keeping up the persona.

Still. There’s only an hour or so left — you can push through, and when you get home, there’ll be a nice, hot bubble bath with your name written all over it.

The bell chimes again just as you finish serving a group of teenage girls. You watch them scurry away, excitedly giggling about their new albums and you look towards the door with a smile already plastered on, all ready to greet the new customer until your eyes lock with theirs.

A ‘hey, how’s it going?’ stops somewhere midway up your throat, a pathetic little ‘huh?’ sound escaping you in its place. You’re frozen all of a sudden; you and the man who just came in both stand perfectly still, staring at each other like a pair of bunnies in headlights. It takes you forever to register the strap wrapped around his fist, the purse that hangs just below his grip. My bag, you think to yourself, but the voice that narrates your thoughts is hushed for the first time ever, too. Everything in your head gets sucked away into a little vacuum. The only thing left is him.

“I-… thought you might want this back.” Vernon breaks the quiet first. Your throat runs dry. In a flash, the noise in your brain is as loud as it’s ever been and in amongst all the chaos of thoughts and questions and apologies, you can’t pick out the words you actually want to say.

He slowly unravels the strap from around his hand and takes a few steps closer to you, inching towards the counter.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he hurries to assure you. Your heart aches for how reserved and nervous he looks. It doesn’t suit him. You hate it. “It’s okay. I’m… really sorry, about the other night. I didn’t mean to—” A deep breath. “I’ll see you around.”

Vernon lays your bag so delicately on the wooden surface that you could be forgiven for thinking he was handling an explosive. Then, he takes one, two, three steps back, before turning and heading to the exit.

“Wait—” you call out to him, finding your voice at the most critical time, right as his fingers curl around the door handle. “Wait—, please.”

He spins back around to face you as you slip out from behind the desk. His left brow lifts higher than the right but otherwise, he gives nothing away. He doesn’t even say anything as he stands there, pushing his hands deep into his pockets.

You swallow around the golf ball sized lump taking residence in your throat and clasp your hands together in front of you, wringing and twisting and accidentally popping one of your knuckles in the process. “I shouldn’t have run out on you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

Vernon chews this over in his mind but ultimately just shrugs his shoulders at you. What is there to say? He surely agrees, but he seems so adamant to ensure you don’t feel bad about it happening that he just… says nothing. Again. It’s kind of maddening, even if you fully get why.

“No, I mean it,” you try again. “It wasn’t you. It’s nothing you did.”

“We really don’t have to do the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing,” Vernon offers, his cardboard-like posture softening. There’s even a little bit of a smile on his face, you think — but it’s not the kind of smile you’ve grown used to seeing on him. It doesn’t reach his eyes; he looks kind of like someone who has read their cards and accepted their fate. “Seriously. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you stress, stepping closer to him again. You sigh deeply. There’s something almost relieving about the position you find yourself in. You suppose this really is crunch time; it’s now or never. “Can we… talk? About everything?”

“What? Here?” Vernon asks.

You glance around the store, at the few people doing a very poor job of pretending to be minding their own business, and frown. He’s right. This isn’t the time, or the place. The problem is, you have a feeling that if you send him away, he may not decide to come back and listen to you. In his defence, why should he? He’s already done more than the decent thing and brought you back that which you abandoned in his apartment; several of your previous conquests would have shoved the bag and its contents either in the trash or the back of a closet somewhere. This is more than you could have hoped for.

You hold a finger up to him and ask him to stay where he is, and though he looks a little bewildered at the gesture, he ultimately doesn’t move. You rush off out the back to the storeroom where you banished Chan an hour ago, on account of his raging hangover and your low tolerance for his whining about it; you’re genuinely surprised to find him working, and actually alphabetising the records you got in a few days ago like you asked him to.

“Hey. Can you do me a huge favour?” You ask, not announcing your arrival and subsequently scaring Chan out of his skin. He jolts as he hears your voice and claps a hand to his chest, exhaling hard. You don’t entertain his dramatics, though. There’s no time. “I need you to close today.”

“Huh?” He asks, still acting as if he’s trying to catch his breath. “I thought–”

“Please.” You wave him off, knowing he’s about to ask about the task you gave him. “We can look at this together tomorrow. You did great. It’s just an hour – is that okay?”

He chews the inside of his lip, almost looking disappointed. To be fair to him, he did look like he was in a groove when you appeared, but he doesn’t argue with you as he puts down the record in his hand and picks his phone up off the table to his right, silencing the catchy tune that was playing while he organised.

“Of course it is,” he says, holding his hand out for your keys and starting to walk towards you. “Everything okay?”

“It-...” you start, faltering as you place the store keys in his waiting palm. Your default response was about to be ‘it’s fine’, but you’re trying harder these days to stop pretending, especially around him. So you swallow, nodding your head, flashing him a tight lipped smile. “I’m about to find out.”

“Oh? Is it…?”

A brief pause later, not before cringing at how predictable you’ve apparently become, you say, “yeah.”

Chan claps you on the shoulder as he skirts his way around you, leaning in to give you a sort of side-along hug on his way. You stretch your arm across his waist and pull him closer for a moment, trying to drive home how much you appreciate this. He doesn’t comment on the uncharacteristic display of affection, and you want to find out why, but Vernon isn’t going to wait around for you forever.

“Go get him, tiger,” Chan whispers.

“I owe you, big time,” you promise.

He winks at you before he disappears through the door and you follow him briefly, but as he does a round of checking in with your customers and making sure they don’t need any help, you hurry off to grab your jacket from the office.

Vernon is exactly where you left him when you come back out into the storefront, hands unmoved from where he stuffed them into his pockets earlier, rocking back and forth on his toes and looking around from wall to wall. You think perhaps he took your request slightly too literally and the fact that even his feet are in the same position as before you left is reminiscent of a puppy commanded to stay, but if anyone here is at liberty to start poking fun, you think that it certainly isn’t you. Instead of trying your luck, you lock the office door and walk up to him, returning his polite, yet slightly awkward smile.

“You’re not, like, super busy right now or anything, are you?” You ask him.

His brows crease and his eyes shift side-to-side before they land back at you. He shakes his head.

“Did you maybe wanna… take a walk?”

Vernon nods this time, still not moving or even pulling his hands out of his jeans. His elbows are locked out and the length of his arms means his shoulders are raised quite some way. He could not be more uncomfortable looking if he tried, but he doesn’t say no and nothing on his face gives away that he wants to reject your proposition, either, so you’re the one to take that tentative first step towards the door. When you do, he follows.

You left the store at least ninety seconds ago and still, neither of you have said anything yet. Honestly, it’s taking all you’ve got not to just burst and let it all out; it’s building and building and your stomach feels tight, but it’s less of a knot and more like a tightly-coiled spring. His eyes are dipped to the ground, incredibly aware of every step he takes, in what you realise now are a gorgeous pair of platform boots tucked up beneath his baggy jeans. He’s at least an inch and a half taller than the last time you saw him.

“Your friend,” Vernon starts finally, pausing before he continues. “Is he always so… you know?”

“What did he say?” You ask, peeking over to him. Trust Chan to start getting —

He hurries to shake his head. “Nothing. He just… kept looking at me. In a weird way, like…”

“Like he knows something you don’t, and he’s not gonna tell you, but he wants you to know that he knows it anyway?” You supply.

“Yeah— exactly like that.”

“Mm. That’s just… Chan.”

“Huh.”

“It’s worse when they’re together,” you say. He breathes out a chuckle and you feel his elbow bump into your upper arm. The distance he put between you when you fell into step outside the store has reduced, you realise now; you’re not sure when, or if it was on purpose. Did he move closer once you started speaking? Was it just so he could hear you better? Or…

Either way, despite being side-by-side, he still feels a hundred miles away from you. This isn’t enough.

“You get used to them, though,” you add, trying to stay on track. “I swear.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Jokes aside, he still won’t look at you for longer than a few seconds, which tugs at something deep in your chest. Discomfort clings to you, and even if it does seem like you’re making some progress, you can still feel unease radiating off him. A cheap laugh at the expense of your friends who aren’t here to defend themselves won’t fix that which you took a wrecking ball to a few nights ago. This needs to be heartfelt and genuine, and more importantly it needs to come out right.

But when you open your mouth to speak, still searching your brain for the right way to explain why you acted the way you did, there’s nothing.

How wonderful would it be for the perfect explanation to just tumble from your lips calmly and evenly, and for it to make everything okay? But the reality is that your throat runs dry as petrol fumes make their way through your parted lips. You hold your tongue again just a second later, sighing quietly.

You’re starting to feel like a lost cause when Vernon breaks the silence for you, again. He slows his steps to a halt when he eventually says, “so.”

“So,” you repeat, freezing mid-stride as you go completely tense. It’s like you’re staring into oblivion’s wide open mouth. “I-… don’t really know where to start. I’m sorry.”

“The beginning’s usually pretty good?” He offers.

You nod. “How much did you want to know?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with telling me.”

If anyone on this Earth deserves a medal for their patience, it’s Vernon. You still haven’t turned to face him yet, your eyes fixated on the traffic signal some fifty yards away from you and you’re pretty sure if someone poked you too hard, you’d shatter into a million tiny pieces. But, as impossible as it seems all the while you try to get your thoughts in a reasonable order, you manage to swallow your nerves.

It’s crunch time. It’s now or never.

The explanation you give him is messy. Disjointed. But once you start, it becomes difficult to stop: you end up sparing very little detail and circle back on yourself no less than three times. You tell him about how you were engaged and about the breakup, the run-in, your shitty date, gesturing with your hands to emphasise the most important parts. When you start to move again, Vernon makes his steps bigger until he’s walking alongside you. He never interrupts you. He acknowledges every sentence when you pause for breath. Encourages you to keep going when you fall over your words.

“… and—... I guess I just lost my head. But it wasn’t your fault.” You swallow hard before you continue, “I’m… really sorry.”

He nods slowly, taking his time to digest everything.

“Don’t be,” he says, lightly bumping into your side. It’s a very small reassurance that he’s not going to walk away, but it means much more to you than you’re sure he meant it to. “I get it.”

“I—”

“No, like. I get it.”

“Yeah?” You ask, only understanding when you catch the very pointed look in his eyes.

“For sure.”

Of course, it makes sense. Vernon’s young. Attractive. Nice. Talented. He must have been with people before. Hell, you think he surely leaves a trail of broken hearts everywhere he goes. He gets it.

“We dated for like… five? Years. Her name was Nari,” he tells you.

A few seconds later, you watch him start to shrug off his jacket on one side and expose one of his toned arms to you. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t need to air his dirty laundry out if he doesn’t want to when he twists at his elbow; you catch sight of a tattoo you remember having seen the night he wore that black singlet on stage. Two lily flowers blooming up the inside of his bicep.

It’s so pretty. Intricate. The line work is beautiful, the petals shaded with hundreds of little dots. You wanted to ask about it that night, but you never found the right chance, and now—

Lily?

It takes you longer than you’re willing to admit to join the dots, but when the penny finally drops, so does your jaw. Vernon slides back into his sleeve with a big, entertained smile and a little shrug.

“Mhm.”

“Oh my God?”

“I know.”

It’s not that you’re laughing, per se. This isn’t your baggage to laugh at, no matter how unbothered Vernon seems to be by what he’s just revealed. But you do rub your hand over your face and cover your lips, shaking your head in disbelief as a breath that contains the edges of a bemused chuckle escapes you. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, it appears to give him a boost to keep talking.

“I got that on our third anniversary,” he goes on to explain. “A couple years later… She called it quits. Turns out there was another guy. I thought about lasering it, but… apparently that hurts worse than getting the tattoo in the first place, so…”

“That’s…”

“It’s whatever,” Vernon says, shaking his head. “They’re my mom’s favourite flowers too. That’s what almost everyone else thinks it’s for.”

You haven’t looked back up at his face since the unveiling, not until now. When your eyes meet again, Vernon tilts his head in the direction you’re walking and continues down the street, spinning now so he’s walking backwards but still facing you. “I just mean... It’s okay. I get it.”

The moment you’ve caught up to him and you’re back by his side, he turns to face front, just in time to avoid a collision with a streetlamp. The lingering awkwardness starts to fade to nothing; you can see it in the way he holds himself, and you can feel it in the way you do, too. Everything relaxes. Your neck, your shoulders, your fists. It all ebbs away.

“It really wasn’t anything you did,” you clarify once more.

“So you keep telling me,” Vernon quips, tips of his ears turning pinker by the moment. “It’s okay, I swear. Do you want me to walk you home?”

You accept his offer and lead him down a side-street, picking up a completely unrelated conversation now to purify the air. Before you really know it (what was that everyone always said about time flying?), you come to a stop outside your building. Vernon’s sentence fades away when you stop moving; instead he stills, glancing sideways, and you nod confirmation at him with a lopsided smile.

“This is me,” you say, reaching into your back pocket for your keys. “So…”

“So,” Vernon echoes, glancing around again. “Can I like, lay my cards out, real quick?”

You nod.

“I like you.” He shrugs, now toying with the leather bracelet around his wrist. “Like, a lot. But…”

But. You feel like you should have seen this coming. But. But. Of course there’s a—

“I’ve got some shows coming up out of town and I need to see some family, I’m not gonna be here from tomorrow for like, three weeks...”

Oh.

Well. On one hand, it’s not what you thought. It’s not a flat-out rejection. It’s not a shut down. On the other? You bite the inside of your cheek and look at your hands, playing with your keys to keep them busy. Under any other lens, three weeks isn’t really a very long time at all. You’re pretty sure that the milk you bought yesterday is going to last longer than that. But three weeks… this early into things?

That’s longer than you’ve even known him.

“… and I thought, if you wanted — I could… take you out. When I get back. For real. Maybe.”

Oh.

“Like…?”

“Like… on a date,” he confirms, rubbing the back of his neck. “One where I’m not like… fresh off stage and all gross and shit.”

Relief replaces anxiety on both his face and yours when you let out a quiet laugh.

“I’d really like that,” you say, twitching fingers suddenly still. “Yeah.”

“I’m not asking you to like, wait around, or anything,” he says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, fumbles with it, and just barely manages to soften the fall with the toe of his boot before it lands screen-up on the concrete. “We’ll just see how it goes. And it gives you some time to… deal with things. Whatever you’ve gotta do.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest as he bends low to pick his phone back up, smoothing his thumb over the small scuff on the protective case. It seems remarkably undamaged otherwise.

“And if you’re still interested, then…”

“Interested?” You ask with a small grin.

“Aren’t you?” Vernon asks.

“I—...” You think about playing coy, but when he’s been so open with you about where his head’s at, it feels so silly and childish to bother pretending. That playful ‘I might be’ gets swallowed back. Instead – “Yeah. I am.”

“Cool. Then we’ll figure it out. At your pace, okay?”

“Okay.”

He grabs his earphones out of his other pocket, slides one in, and is about to step back away from you when you do something you don’t really expect yourself to. Something you’ve never done to a man you can barely even say you’re ‘seeing’. You close the space between you and, as if to lock in your words, push forward onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say when you fall back down to your heels. If he wasn’t so dumbstruck, you feel like he’d be about to ask what you were thanking him for; as it stands though, he’s frozen, blushing, and the only reason you can tell he’s still alive is because he can’t stop blinking at you. “For… giving me another chance.”

He still can’t quite find his voice, so Vernon just shakes his head, clearing his throat. (No need, he wants to say.) Alas, his lips just open and close soundlessly.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” you supply for him. He takes in a deep, mind-clearing breath and nods his head.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

You see the apples of his cheeks lift as he presses his thumb against his phone screen and restarts whatever song he was listening to when he walked into your store. A brilliant smile consumes his face. It only grows as he turns away from you and walks off down the street.

For a second, you think it’s all very smooth. Movie-like, even.

Then, he stumbles over a crack in the pavement. When he glances back to pray you didn’t watch it happen, he catches you snickering into your fist. He shakes his head and continues on, leaving you to fumble with your key in the lock before you finally let yourself inside.

You overslept.

Sort of. You heard your alarm go off straight away but you might have snoozed it, and when you heard it sound for a second time, you turned it off completely, telling yourself that you just needed one more minute. You just wanted to rest your eyes for a few more seconds. There wasn’t any danger of you going back to sleep.

Twenty minutes later, you practically fell off your mattress in a panic when you realised that there had, in fact, been a big fucking danger.

You were still able to wash up well and make it to work on time, but you had to sacrifice your morning coffee stop after seeing that the queue at the register was going to take too long. For years, you’ve refused to consider yourself to be the kind of person who relies heavily on a caffeine kick first thing in the morning, but today? It’s barely ten thirty and you’re seriously flagging: like you’ve never known what energy is, like you’ll never feel it again.

(You blame the fact that when you first looked at your phone today before rolling back over, there was no ‘good morning :)’ text to entice you out of bed. But you’re trying really hard not to think about why that is, nor why it was such a deciding factor.)

So, when the bell above your shop door jingles and you’re forced to stand upright (a change your back doesn’t thank you for when it has to readjust from the previous hunched position you had adopted over the countertop), you groan quietly. Nonetheless, your tired eyes crease at the corners as you smile at whoever it is that’s come across the threshold.

After a second, your eyes refocus; when you can finally make out their features, it’s as if someone gives you a shot of adrenaline.

“Oh my God,” You say breathlessly, brushing your hair back and moving to stand up fully unsupported. “I thought you weren’t back until Friday?”

“Change of plans,” Vernon grins, scratching the back of his neck. “We drove through the night. I got home like… an hour ago.”

This is the first time you’ve ever seen him dressed down, and hell, does he look incredible. Gone are the ripped jeans, scuffed boots, the leather jackets and chunky rings. Grey sweatpants and an oversized white hoodie (alternatively: the brightest outfit you’ve witnessed him in thus far) drown him, blurring out his usually so distinct frame. You pin both of these things as the reasons you hardly recognised him when your eyes were refusing to cooperate. Paired with what Seungkwan would call ‘dad-sneakers’ and completed by messy hair and tired, soft eyes?

If you could jump his bones right here, right now… God, you would.

“But hey, it’s nice to see you, too,” he adds facetiously.

“Quiet down,” you groan, fighting the urge to run over and envelop him in a hug. You’re not sure that he’d mind if you did, but you also don’t quite know if you’re ‘there’, yet. “Obviously it’s good to-...”

His arms, both of which have been stuck behind his back since he arrived, now move around to the front, revealing to you a takeout cup and a little brown box from the coffee shop down the street.

“Oh, shit. It is so good to see you.”

Vernon laughs, coming closer until he can set them both down on the counter. “If it’s wrong, Seungkwan gave me your order, so.”

You start to wonder how on Earth your employee and your… Vernon managed to have this conversation without you knowing. Does Seungkwan have his number? Did they happen across each other on one of their socials? Did Vernon call into the store while you were out in the bathroom a little while ago and ask? But whatever happened, you quickly stop caring to find out: popping the lid off your cup, the aroma of your favourite coffee immediately fills your senses. It’s so overwhelming that you think you might start to cry.

“Oh my God. You’re the best,” you sigh, wrapping your fingers around the cup and taking a long sip, eyes rolling back into your head. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Vernon laughs, rolling up his sleeves before folding his toned forearms over his chest. “I got you a-... okay, they only had those gluten free brownies in, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know if they taste the same as the normal ones but… like, he said you hadn’t eaten today and I know you said you liked brownies before, — if you don’t like those ones, it’s okay! I can go back, it’s–”

He trails off, cheeks turning pink when you tilt your head to one side and feel your brow go soft. He asks, “why… are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re so cute,” you say, putting the cup down gently so as not to splash your drink all over the counter.

“Huh?”

“You really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Vernon says, shaking his head.

You almost definitely hear a floorboard creak and quiet shushing sound from just around the corner towards the back room. You don’t call out your eavesdropping friends for trying to listen in on your conversation, though: it barely even crosses your mind. Besides... you can’t take your eyes off Vernon, even if you wanted to. He looks so soft. Like he needs to sleep for a whole twenty four hours, and he must feel like it too, but he came here first.

“So,” he starts, tapping his right thumb against the inside of his left elbow. (The reason why he came so quickly starts to become evident. He just couldn’t wait to ask.) “You don’t have to commit to anything right now…” The silver of one of his rings glints with every tiny movement. “…but, I was just wondering–”

Smiling at him over the top of your coffee cup, it feels like your heart could burst.

“I was just… wondering… if you’d thought any more about letting me take you out?”

You’ve been texting him almost every day since he left. He’s sent you a hundred and one pictures of statues and cool buildings and nice looking food and the sky, and far more animals than you think you’ve ever actually seen in real life. You’ve spoken to him about your strange customers. What’s going on with your friends. Sent him recommendations for songs that you discovered on obscure albums that you pulled out to play over the speakers.

One night after one of his shows, he called you. He was a little bit drunk at the time, chilling in his hotel room with a pizza as he informed you that he’d snuck out of an after-party super early but couldn’t get to sleep. With an audible pout, he went on to confess that he was feeling kind of lonely, that he just wanted to hear your voice: one thing led to another and you stayed up talking to him until he passed out at nearly 4 o’clock in the morning.

To put it simply…

“I’d still really like that,” you say. It’s incredible to you that you can see every one of his features brighten up.

“Okay,” he breathes, unwinding his arms and pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants now instead. “Okay, cool. I’ll… text you later? We’ll figure something out?”

“All right,” you agree. “Now go rest up, okay?”

He laughs as he swears that he’ll go back home and get some sleep, and with that, Vernon takes his leave. You’re once again alone, but this time you have a drink that could only hope to make you feel as energised as he does, and a treat nowhere near as sweet as him.

You aren’t complaining, though, and neither are the two men that miraculously reappear the moment the door closes again.

The smile Vernon leaves on your face doesn’t falter for the rest of your day.

You suppose a big part of the reason you haven’t dated anyone in a while is because you can’t stand the ‘talking stage’. That weird little limbo where you’re never sure if it’s too early to make certain jokes, where you’re checking and second-guessing all your texts, where you can’t figure out if someone’s really into you or if they’re just blowing up your phone to pass the time. The awkward small talk. The ‘getting to know each other’ part. The ‘why haven’t they replied yet — was it something I said?’ anxiety.

Thankfully, with Vernon, that’s not really something you have to worry about.

While he was away, you learned that he’s the kind of guy who just spews random facts at you in the middle of his day and then forgets to check his messages for three hours. Sometimes those facts are interesting things about himself. Other times, you’ve known him to shoot you a text just to announce [ just found out tigers have striped skin as well as fur. wild ].

(On one such occasion, Chan caught you giggling at your phone in the middle of a quiet Thursday afternoon, zooming in on a picture of Vernon’s heart shaped birthmark. This put a swift end to checking your messages while you’re at work.)

[ btw, im allergic to peanuts ], he told you one evening. Completely unprompted, just after dinner time. You spilled half of your glass of juice down your front in panic when you put two and two together and scrambled to ask him if he was okay. [ near miss, dw about it! just felt important haha ], he replied, and your response was just a picture of your newly stained t-shirt and a request for him to never do that to you again.

He can drive — at least, he has his licence — but he doesn’t have a car. He chooses public transport, and he tells you that it’s because he likes not having to worry about fuel prices and it’s ‘healing’ to zone out of reality on the train until he reaches his stop. He tells you that he came up with the melody and two verses of one of his favourite original songs on the bus to his parents house, and one time, he dropped a giant cockroach on a class field trip to the zoo because it tickled when it crawled over his palm and he didn’t like it.

(You later discovered that this piece of information was triggered by the appearance of a large bug in his shower.)

Last night, as you settled into bed after a whole evening of back and forth, he told you that he has all five of the top scores at the piano game in the arcade downtown, and that he has an approximate 75% success rate on claw machines. When you replied saying you hadn’t been to an arcade in about two years, he was horrified. Enough to send 7 broken heart emojis back to back, as individual messages. [ shakespeare himself couldnt write a tragedy that sad ], he said.

But, harrowed as he was by your admission, it did give him an idea.

That idea is exactly how you end up standing side-by-side at a basketball shootout game on Friday night. It’s how he ends up winning one of those cute reversible octopuses — true enough, on a claw machine — which he gives to you immediately. It’s how you watch him hunch over a pinball machine for twenty five minutes before he loses his ball, how you end up tied after four games of air hockey, at which point he calls it quits while citing a ‘cramping hand’.

It’s also how you deliver his ass to him in not one, but two rounds of bowling.

“All right — all right,” Vernon laughs, holding both his hands up in defeat as your final ball takes out all ten pins at the end of the alley. “You made your point. Damn.”

You shrug your shoulders as you walk back in his direction, picking up your glass from the table and sipping your soda through your straw.

(Though the arcade has an entire menu of cocktails, some of which you’ve never even heard of, the thought of navigating an evening alone with him under the influence of alcohol was totally unappealing after last time. Thankfully, Vernon agreed. You quietly think that being stone cold sober has made tonight even more enjoyable.)

“I told you,” you say when you finally sit down. He puts an arm around your shoulders straight away. Naturally, like it’s instinct. Like it’s a position he’s adopted a few hundred times before. “I’m undefeated.”

“We’ll see,” he says, tapping out a rhythm on the ball of your shoulder. “I still think you just got lucky.”

“So,” Vernon says once your leisurely stroll back lands you outside his place, kicking the toe of his left sneaker into the concrete. “What… are the chances that I get a do-over?”

You blink at him a few times, tilting your head. “What do you mean, a do-over?”

Does he not think this went well? Gods, it’s probably the best first date you’ve ever had, but what on Earth else could he mean by that? Did you say something earlier, and not realise? Has he not had fun? What does he m–

“I got these new coffee beans,” he says. “While I was away — and I figured something out with the-… the machine? So— ”

Ah. There he is.

You smirk at him, patting the outside of his bicep and rolling your eyes. When you glance down, Vernon is pulling out his key, thumbing over the ridges down the one side. He reaches for the door, happy to take your teasing as confirmation that yes, you’ll come up. Yes, he gets his ‘do-over’...

…but leave it to you to fall for the world’s dorkiest rockstar.

As he slips the key into his apartment door, there’s a steady pressure against the small of your back: the same one that’s been there ever since he gestured for you to step out of the elevator before him. One of his palms rests over the fabric of your t-shirt and you feel weirdly tingly because of it. He gently guides you inside once the door falls open and doesn’t move away when it’s locked again behind him.

With an anticipatory shiver, you turn around to face him. You make a point to leave just a matter of inches between your chests. To have your eyes soft, patiently waiting.

Vernon’s hands are - for the first time ever - cold when his fingers hesitantly come up to either side of your face, tilting your head up so that he can see you better, unobstructed by any shadows. You gasp at the contrast between them and your flushed, warm cheeks. He swallows thickly at the sound.

“Is this… okay?” he asks, gaze darting between the space separating your eyes from your lips. “We can slow it down, if you want. I just—...”

Your own hands find home against his chest in response, fingers curling into the muscle beneath them. Not harshly, definitely not so much that it could hurt — just enough that it makes him puff himself up a little bigger. Enough to make him square his shoulders as he drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth.

“Vernon,” you say quietly, pressing him backwards. Balling his t-shirt into your fists, you send him stumbling over his own feet before his shoulders find the wood of the front door. A quiet grunt escapes him on impact, but he just holds you closer. “Shut up ‘n’ kiss me. Please.”

Clumsiness aside, the moment he obediently ducks his head and presses his smiling mouth to yours, you feel weightless. Even when you tilt forward onto your toes to meet him halfway, it’s as if you’re not even touching the ground anymore: clouds beneath your feet have you floating. Everything about it is so very different from the last time.

It’s so much easier. Not just for you, either – you can feel it from him as well. Your collective baggage has been left out in the hall, barricading the door, shutting out the hesitation and nervousness and leaving you together, wholly alone, to just… be.

Vernon gets increasingly more brave as the seconds tick by. When you separate for air, his head tilts the other way, lips a little parted, hot breaths fanning over your skin as he meets you again, and again, and again. It’s the perfect give and take. Firm one second, waiting for you to chase him the next. The soft sounds he starts to make are amplified as his tongue presses against your bottom lip: he tests the waters, groaning into the heat of your mouth when you so happily invite him into it. He drinks you up for all you’re worth.

One of your hands uncurls from his chest and moves up to his head instead, threading into his hair at the top of his neck. It feels just as soft as it’s always looked, sliding through your fingers. A gentle pull makes him whine. He draws away from you. His lips are pink and shine with the gloss you touched up in the elevator’s mirror, his lids are heavy, his pupils blown, and looking up at him feels like staring into the sun; you physically can’t keep your eyes open, but it’s so hard to look away.

You tuck yourself into his neck as a compromise, laying gentle pecks everywhere you can reach. His aftershave leaves a bitter taste on your tongue as you touch the tip to a stretch of skin just beneath the harsh cut of his jawline, but the way he shudders and drops his hold down to your waist makes the sting in the back of your mouth all worth it. You only stop when one of his hands sinks lower still and he squeezes at your ass, making your eyes roll back.

He mistakes your surprise for hesitation, though.

“Is this… okay?” he asks, tipping his head back and pressing his crown into the door. Though he doesn’t withdraw his palm from your backside, he also doesn’t pinch at you again. You press your hips backwards, pushing into his touch to encourage him, with this green light he starts to knead at your cheek over the top of your skirt.

“You have no idea how hard it is to keep my hands to myself around you, do you?” You say, slipping one up the hem of his t-shirt as if to prove your point, splaying your fingers out over his stomach.

He takes a shallow breath, hovering with it in his lungs, holding back from saying something. You get there before he can.

“I want you,” you say certainly, pulling back from where you’ve been nestled into his shoulder so that you can look him in the eyes again. He releases that breath and his face flushes when his eyes find yours, moving both of his hands back up to your waist, tightly gripping at you as if his life depends on it as he nods.

“I just… I really don’t wanna mess this up,” he adds quietly. “I—”

When you kiss him again, hoping to further assure that you’re just as into this as he is, he reciprocates, sure. You can tell straight away that there’s a little less bite though — a stiffness to him. He doesn’t relax into you the same way he did a few minutes ago.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, falling back onto your heels. Is this because of the way things went last time, or are you going too fast for him? Selfishly, you hadn’t considered that could be a barrier. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want, you know that right? It’s okay.”

You make to step away from Vernon, unwinding your arms from around him to give him some space but he refuses to let you go too far. His hold on you is just as firm as ever.

“Trust me, I want to,” he says. “It’s just–...”

You stay silent, waiting for him to finish. He chews at his bottom lip, his blush deepening right in front of your eyes. To try and steady him, you lay one of your palms over each of his biceps, saying, “Whatever it is – it’s all right.”

“I just… haven’t been with anyone since…”

And when you laugh, it’s not at him (at least, not for the reason a fly on the wall might initially assume). You drop your forehead down onto the muscle of his chest, feeling his heart’s erratic rhythm underneath his clothes as you loop one arm back up around his neck.

“I thought you were about to tell me something awful,” you chide him through your giggles, lightly swatting at his shoulder. He starts to loosen up beneath you, his own body beginning to shake with laughter too. Those strong arms pull you flush against him, the gentle shift of his weight from one foot to another rocking you both side-to-side. “Like– like you were secretly married or you realised you didn’t actually like me, or something. Jesus.”

He stays quiet for another few seconds, but even without speaking, you can feel how he shakes his head above you. You look back up at his face and brush his hair out of his eyes, fingers lingering on his brow when you’re done.

“It’s okay,” you tell him for the third time. The last wisps of anxiety start to fade from his eyes, replaced with the same look he’s been wearing since he showed up at your apartment door earlier this evening. “I don’t care — I promise, I’ll go easy on you.”

The kiss that follows lands hard and with it, Vernon succeeds in wiping your brain empty. You can barely remember what you were even giggling about a few seconds later.

“Don’t want you to go easy,” he insists against your lips. Then, he’s wallowing up your breathy sighs as he licks into your mouth again, pressing your tongue with his own, reminding you that he’s absolutely not incompetent, just rusty.

When you make it into his bedroom, confessions and various articles of your clothing forgotten out in the hallway, you separate from each other long enough for you to be able to to lay one hand on his bare chest and push him down onto the mattress. He bounces on the foam and pushes up on one elbow, watching as you sink down to your knees and press kisses down his stomach while your hands deftly take care of the button on his jeans.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” You say to him as he lifts his hips up and lets you pull both his jeans and his boxers down in one sharp movement.

“M’not gonna want you to,” he laughs breathlessly, pushing a hand through his hair as he kicks the remainder of his clothes all the way off and nudges them away to the side. “But yeah. Okay.”

He looks so pretty like this and you can’t help but think he’s even prettier when the first time you curl your fingers around his length, his jaw falls slack and his fingers curl into the bedding underneath him. You drink him in and he watches you do it; your mouth is watering, desperate to feel him press down on your tongue, and you feel a pull towards him that you’ve never felt towards anyone before.

“God,” you whisper, shuffling on your knees to get a little closer.

“Okay?” Vernon asks. He tilts his head to the side and you nod up at him.

“Just… had a feeling you’d be…” you trail off, tugging a few times to feel its thickness in your fingers. Why are you mesmerised by it, a little? What the hell has gotten into you? “But it’s actually bigger, and—”

He laughs quietly and falls back onto the bed, crossing an arm over his eyes. “Shut up,” he groans.

“Yes, sir.”

You lean towards him and gather saliva on your tongue, dragging it from base to tip before closing your lips around the head. He gasps softly and holds onto his next breath, angling his head back further; you give a satisfied hum and slide a little further down.

The glide is made smoother by the spit your tongue left behind and that which mixes with his pre-cum in your mouth. As you start to bob up and down, some dribbles out past your lips so you start to move your hand, too, smearing the mess all over his cock. When it bumps the back of your throat — and on assessment, you realise there’s daylight between your lips and your fist — you squeeze your eyes closed and whimper softly, holding him in place while you adjust before you can take him deeper.

“Fuck— just like that,” he gasps out in a shattered groan when you start to move a little more fluidly, no longer too intimidated by your gag reflex preventing him from slipping down your throat. Your hand and your mouth work in tandem to get him riled. Every sound he makes feels like someone injects lust straight into your veins. When you look up at him from between your dewy lashes, you ponder that you’d watch him fall apart from this angle a hundred times a night forever and still not get bored.

Your jaw starts to ache from the thickness of having him in your mouth and the way he’s restraining himself from fucking his hips up to meet you tells you that he’s too polite to ask you for more. You suck harshly one last time before pulling away with a ‘pop’, using only your hand to pump his length as you shift down to gently suck one of his balls into your mouth.

The sound he makes is so fucking melodic. You think he’s made a similar one before when he lifts into a falsetto, and you’ve never felt more powerful than you do right now. Knowing you have someone with such a commanding presence eating out of your palm could really do something dangerous to your ego. It’s a bit of a miracle, therefore, that you recognise his desperate tapping at your shoulder, but the second you feel it you settle back from him, looking up at his impossibly tense abs and his blissed-out face.

You catch on quickly and feel your features split into a grin at the realisation. When it takes him a second, you know it’s because he’s still trying to remember the mechanisms it takes to breathe. Bless his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pushing himself to sit upright and running a hand through his hair. “It-… fuck, that was so…”

“What happened to ‘I don’t want you to go easy’ huh?” you tease, resting your chin on the top of his left thigh, grinning up at him.

“I’m gonna come if you keep going like that,” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief at himself. “And trust me — I want to, but…” He swallows hard. “Not yet.”

You nod slowly up at him, starting to get up off the floor. You stop in your tracks when he says, “I’ve gotta taste you first. Please.”

Maybe it speaks too much to the quality of some of your previous lovers, but his desperation takes you a bit by surprise. You blink at him, ignoring how your thighs burn with the position you’ve frozen in.

“If— that’s okay?” He adds. “I’ve… been thinking about it? A lot. Especially since-”

“Shut up,” you breathe, finally standing all the way up. He shuffles back further onto the bed and you quickly move to straddle across his hips, one hand coming up to hold his jaw in place when you’re in place. “Of course it’s okay.”

You lean in for an impossibly needy kiss, only breaking away when you physically can’t breathe anymore. Vernon’s eyes flutter open at the same time as yours do and as you reach behind yourself with one hand to unclasp your bra, he looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

(He tells you that you are no fewer than three times before you fall asleep a few hours later.)

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated. there's approx a scene and a half left for part 3 and then we're all done with this baby! stay tuned for that, coming soon.<3 p.s. no i will not apologise to jaehyun, this is what he gets for making me feel insane. thanks !

#vernon fanfic #vernon imagines #vernon x you #vernon fluff #vernon angst #vernon x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #kpop fanfic #vernon smut #seventeen smut #j writes.#svt smut #re. high fidelity.#*

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debonairprincesposts · 5 months

Note

Absolutely loved your Lucifer x Son reader!! Can we get a part 2? Im eager to see how Charlie and the gang may react!

Hello Anon! Here’s my take on what would’ve happened in the aftermath. As requested. Wasn’t really planning on making more content relating to this Au, but here we are! This is the last one, I hope. The gang haven’t met (Name) so they won’t be included in this.

Enjoy (。•̀ᴗ-)✧

Lucifer was basically contemplating every bad decision he's ever made in his life as he stares at the face of his unconscious son.

He barely managed to save (Name)’s wing by reattaching it, but it'll take a while before it's usable again.

Coat and hat off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair disheveled from running his fingers through it in his moment of stress.

Eyes rimmed red from crying, cheeks stained with tears as he rubbed his eyes to get rid of the heavy feeling you usually get from crying so much.

He practically started having a mental breakdown the moment he knew that (Name)’s life wasn’t in any immediate danger. It wasn’t until a few minutes ago that he finally calmed down.

Sitting on a chair next to his son's bed, Lucifer sighs as he puts his face in his hands. He hasn't told Charlie yet. He doesn't really know how he should go about explaining what happened at the palace without freaking her out.

Wounds inflicted by angelic steel take longer to heal. He doesn’t know how long it would take for (Name) to wake up. It’s been about 3 hours since the attack, and he’s been restless ever since.

Still no sign of movement from (Name) as he lays motionless on his bed. The only way Lucifer could tell that he’s even still alive is the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Running his fingers through his hair as he stood up from his chair, reaching for his phone in his pocket, he hesitated to call Charlie. He didn’t know how to disclose the situation to her. There’s no easy way of doing this. I mean- how do you go about telling your child that her brother could possibly end up in a coma after being attacked by bloodthirsty psycho angels! That’s ridiculous! Everything about this is ridiculous! He’s ridiculous! He’s literally the King of Hell! He should’ve done more to ensure the protection of his son! If he just had the time to construct a barrier around his home then maybe this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. If he hadn’t been in a hurry to go save Charlie, he would’ve given it more thought. The fact that (Name) would be left defenseless all by himself with no one to help him. It’s basically a miracle that he even managed to survive all by himself. What with his inexperience in life or death fights. What kind of father would he be if he can’t even protect his children from harm! An incompetent one, he thinks.

His hands shake as he grips his phone. Taking a deep breath, he presses on Charlie’s contact and hopes that everything goes well.

“Dad! Thank goodness you’re okay! I’ve been trying to call you ever since you left in a hurry earlier- Is everything alright?” Just hearing Charlie’s voice over the phone makes him want to cry again.

He swallows the lump in his throat, “I-I’m okay, sweetie! It’s just- uhh,” just say it dammit! That’s her brother! She needs to know! “It’s (Name). He- he’s not doing good at the moment.” He cringes at his attempt.

“What?! Is he okay?! What happened?”

“He-,” his throat felt dry as he swallowed, “the palace was attacked.”

“WHAT?! Is (Name) okay?!” Her panicked voice could be heard over the phone. He tried to breathe properly to not breakout into another panic attack. “Dad?! Why aren’t you saying anything?!! You’re scaring me!”

“He’s-,” he winces at the break in his voice before clearing his throat, “He’s okay now! I managed to get here on time before he-,” his voice cracked again as tears wells up in his eyes.

The other side of the line goes silent for a bit. Charlie most definitely heard his pathetic attempt at trying to compose himself.

He clears his throat again, “His wounds are healing. But I don’t know when he’ll wake up.” He settled with. His voice raspy from crying.

On the other side of the line, Vaggie was standing next to Charlie, comforting her as she processes the information she just received. It was just them two in the lobby. Everybody else was either out or resting in their new rooms.

“Do you need me to come over, Dad?” Charlie asks.

“No need for that, apple pie- I’ll stay here until he recovers. You need to stay at your hotel. I can handle it. Promise.”

“Okay,” she swallows, forcing back her tears, “Call me if you need to. Okay, Dad?”

“Of course. Goodbye, sweetie.”

“Bye-,” he hangs up.

“Everything okay, babe?” Asks Vaggie, “You seem pretty worried.”

“Worried? Me? Pshh- no! Not at all! I mean- it’s not like the angels attacked my Dad’s castle and put my brother in a coma!-,” Charlie rambles.

“What?!” Vaggie yells in shock, “Is he okay?”

“Dad said that he’s okay. (Name)’s just resting-,” Charlie starts pulling at her hair. “Why would they attack him! He didn’t have anything to do with any of this!”

Vaggie doesn’t say anything. She just takes Charlie by the hand and takes her to their room as Charlie continues to worry about her brother. Which is valid cuz like- (Name)’s her brother-

When they reach their room, Vaggie takes Charlie by the hand and leads to bed.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay. He’s got your father’s blood flowing through his veins, no? He’ll wake up before you know it- Trust me.”

Charlie sniffles, “You really think so?”

Vaggie nods, “I know so. Now- why don’t we rest and cuddle. We’ve had a long day. I think we deserve some rest, don’t you think?”

Vaggie then helps Charlie change into pajamas as they both lay in each other’s arms in bed.

“Feeling better?” Vaggie asks.

Charlie nods, “I just hope he wakes up soon.” As they both continue cuddling in bed.

Imma be honest y’all. This isn’t my best work. Didn’t come out as well as I’d hoped. Kinda lost motivation half way through. Not sure if you can tell. But anyway! Here’s how I thought it would go. Hope y’all like it! Stay healthy and keep hydrated! ∠(ᐛ 」∠)

Bye babes!

-DebonairPrince

Help support your favorite author by buying them a ko-fi!

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babydollmarauders · 2 years

Text

VANCOUVER — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem! platonic! reader

pt 2 to Babe

summary: in which Quinn comforts y/n after she and Jack break up.

warnings: mentions of cheating, ex boyfriend Jack, light profanity

notes: if you like this, you should check out @jackhues Mockingbird AU! Naqia has an entire AU (that you can send requests for) based around being Jack’s girlfriend that has Quinn as a big brother figure and it’s AMAZING!

the eight hour flight to Vancouver felt like a lifetime, but when i felt the plane land on the runway, i feel more relieved than ever. i didn’t want look like the crazy person, crying on the plane, so i held it all in while i was in the air. mostly. there were a few times that i had some lone tears escape, but for the most part, i was just glad i didn’t have anyone sat next to me.

i follow the single file line off the plane, and make my way to baggage claim, where i caught sight of Quinn waiting for me. he spots me and sends me a pitiful smile, meeting me halfway, and that’s all it takes for me to breakdown, finally letting my tears fall. i fall into his open arms, letting him hold me in the middle of the airport.

“shhh. that’s it, let it out, y/n/n.” he shushes me, whispering comforting words in my ear. “it’ll be okay. you’re gonna be okay. i promise.”

we stand there for a few minutes, him holding me as i cry into his shirt. in Jack and i’s three year relationship, i grew quite close to Quinn. having never had any siblings of my own, and having parents who were more strict than comforting and protective, the Hughes became almost like a replacement family for me. but Quinn is who i’ve been closest with, him taking me under his wing and giving me advice when i need it. so it’s reassuring to know that i’ll still have him to lean on even though jack and i are no longer together.

once the baggage carousel starts moving, i’m easily able to spot my suitcase as one of the first few and Quinn grabs it for me. slinging an arm over my shoulder protectively, he leads me out to the parking garage. finding his car quickly, he puts my suitcase in his trunk and opens the passenger door for me before jogging around the vehicle to his drivers seat.

“let’s go back to mine and i’ll show you to your room. then you can talk to me if you want, but i’m not gonna push you to open up to me if you aren’t ready.” he says, switching the car into reverse and looking over his shoulder to back out of the parking space. i just nod in response.

the drive to Quinn’s isn’t too long, but my tired state makes it feel longer than the twenty minutes that it actually is. i wasn’t able to sleep on the plane, too busy thinking, and the fact that i left abruptly at night means it’s been way too long since i’ve actually slept. Quinn walks me into his apartment, leading straight to his guest bedroom.

“thank you, Quinn. you don’t understand how much this means to me. i don’t have anyone else in Jersey and i- i didn’t know where else to go.” my voice breaks and i stutter over my words as i turn to look at him in the doorway.

“i’m always here for you, you don’t need to thank me. you can stay here for as long as you want, y/n/n.” he pushes off from his spot leaned against the door jamb. “i’ll let you unpack and get settled.”

he closes his door on the way out and i turn back to my suitcase that sits on the bed, unzipping it and pulling out clothes and various other things i packed in my rush away from Jack. once i finish unpacking, i lay on my side on the bed, on top of the covers. i’ll just close my eyes for a second, then i’ll go talk to Quinn.

i wake up with a startle, my face wet with tears and my mouth dry. i don’t even remember falling asleep. my dream was a montage of fictional moments, imagery of Jack sleeping with faceless women and then coming home to me, cuddling up to me and telling me he loves me, all while i was aware it was happening but unable to leave him. i guess not all of it was fictional, because the last part did happen, i just wasn’t aware of his secret rendezvous.

i drag myself up from the bed, looking around for a moment in confusion before i remember where i am. Quinn. i leave the room, padding down the hallway to the living room, finding Quinn sprawled across his couch, watching tv. at the sound of my footsteps, he looks towards me and sits up.

“hey. i checked on you a few hours ago but you were asleep. i figured i’d let you get some rest.” he tells me.

“thanks.” my voice is raspy from my sleep and my eyes are still adjusting to the light shining in from his open windows.

“how ya feelin’?” he asks, getting up from the couch and walking over to the kitchen. i follow him and watch as he gets a cup down from a cabinet and fills it with water from a brita pitcher in the fridge.

“like i just found out my boyfriend cheated on me multiple times throughout our relationship and then took an eight hour plane ride to another country.” i shrug. Quinn looks over at me with wide eyes, and in the absence of his sight, the water overfills and spills over the side of the cup, running over his hand.

“shit.” he puts the pitcher down, pouring a little bit of the water from the cup down the sink and using a dish towel to dry the outside of the cup before handing it to me and then drying off the counter. “multiple times? i thought it was just the once? which, obviously is still bad but… multiple times?”

“i thought so too. but he confessed before i left. he said it wasn’t the first time he’s gotten with someone else.” i take a sip of the water and then sigh as fresh tears cling to my lashes. “god, what is wrong with me, Q? why has every guy i’ve ever been with, cheated on me? am i not good enough? do i not satisfy them? am i not pretty? i don’t understand.”

Quinn sets the towel down and steps in front of me, placing my cup on the counter and taking a hold of my face, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“there is nothing wrong with you, y/n. i don’t ever want you to think that this is your fault and not the man’s. he’s the one who fucked up. not you. you were loyal, you’re kind, you were supportive, Jack is the one who took advantage of you. and you’re gorgeous, so i don’t want to hear that you ever think that was the problem. the problem is him.” his tone is harsh and assertive, contradictory to his sweet words. “do you understand?”

i nod and he lets go of my face, pulling me into his chest for a tight hug. my tears wet his shirt as i sob into his chest for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

“i know you’re hurting, and it doesn’t feel like it now but, you’ll be okay. i promise. and one day you’re gonna find someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. do i wish that could’ve been my brother for you? yes. but, unfortunately it wasn’t. and i just want you to remember that just because he wasn’t your endgame, doesn’t mean i care about you any less. you’re my little sister now. blood, legally, or honorary, you’re my sister and i’m here for you.”

his kind words only serve to switch my tears from sad ones to grateful ones. when Jack and i started dating, i had no expectations to grow close with his family. it had never happened with any of my previous boyfriends families. but the Hughes family members have always been so kind and supportive; letting me stay with them when my own parents kicked me out the day after my eighteenth birthday, throwing me a birthday party each year, Ellen teaching me how to sew, Luke coming to me for girl advice. it makes me look at Jack and i’s relationship in a new light. instead of wishing i had never met him, i’m grateful i had, because if it weren’t for him, i wouldn’t have his family. and more importantly, i wouldn’t have Quinn. my honorary big brother.

“thank you.” i sniffle as my tears finally come to an end twenty minutes later. by now we’ve moved to the couch and Quinn holds a box of tissues in his hands.

“you don’t need to thank me. it’s what i’m here for.” he smiles softly. his phone starts buzzing on the side table next to me and i reach for it, meaning to hand it to him, but i freeze up when i see Jack’s name on the screen, his contact picture being on of the two of us at the lake house. Quinn gently takes the phone from my grasp and i watch as his face slowly morphs into one of anger when he sees who’s calling him. before i can ask him not to take the call right now, he taps his finger over the ‘accept’ button.

“what the fuck do you want?” he asks sharply, holding the phone up to his ear. i can’t hear what Jack says but Quinn quickly shakes his head. “no.”

i give him a confused look and he holds up a finger, signaling to give him a minute. i sink back into the couch and curl my legs up to my chest as i watch him speak to my ex.

“no. Jack, i said no. you’re not talking to her. i don’t even know how you know she’s here, but if she isn’t answering your calls then you should take that as a fucking sign: she doesn’t want to speak to you.”

calls? what calls?

i pat my pockets for my phone, but realize i must’ve left it in the guest room. i rise to my feet and Quinn looks at me with a raised brow.

“be right back.” i mouth. i walk to the guest room, finding my phone laying on the bedside table, still plugged in from before i laid down a few hours ago. i pick it up and the screen comes to life, showing multiple unread texts from Jack and several missed calls. i swipe the calls away and skim through the texts, all being some variation of ‘i’m sorry’ and ‘can we please just talk?’. opening the instagram app, i take a few moments to delete every picture i have of or with him from my profile, including the post from yesterday. unplugging my phone and slipping it into my pocket, i walk back out to the living room.

“you’re not fucking listening to me. i don’t care how sorry you are, i won’t even let her think about getting back together with you. you fucked up, Jack. i’m done talking about this.” Quinn hangs up the phone as i walk back in, taking my seat back on the couch.

“i know you keep telling me to stop saying thank you but seriously, thank you, Quinny. you didn’t have to do that.” i say my words quietly, and he remains quiet for a second before he finally speaks up.

“any time, y/n/n. i mean it.” he smiles softly and then nudges my shoulder. “how about we order some take out and watch John Tucker Must Die? what do ya say?”

“i say…” i leave him hanging for a second before smiling back. “chinese food or pizza?”

“that’s my girl.” he slings an arm around me, tugging me into his side. he grabs the remote, switching over to a streaming service, and i pull out my phone to send one quick text before powering it off.

—

To: Jack 🤍

we’re not getting back together. but i’m grateful for your family and i don’t want to lose them just because we’re no longer dating, so i’m willing to be civil with you, if you’ll accept that.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #platonic quinn hughes #nhl imagine #nhl fic #faithlynn’s writings <3 #babydollmarauders

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silentglassbreak · 8 months

Text

Fragmented

Noah Sebastian x OFC

Onward we go. This one is a little shorter, but it ended where it was supposed to. Bear with me folks. I love you!

Warnings: discussions of the sexuals, alcohol consumption, getting pissed at the main character tbh

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing @malerieee @jilliemiw86

Part 2 - Voices In My Head

The absolute worst thing a man can endure is being away from his child and his girl. Hands down. It’s excruciating, being pulled away from my reasons for breathing. It’s worse than dying, which may sound dramatic, but trust me - it’s true.

Yet here I sat, waiting at the table, meet and greet starting in five minutes. We had been on tour for a month now, and I was already over it. Sure, being on stage helped me forget for an hour and a half, but as soon as that high I rode came down, it was just enduring until I could get back to my room and call Mileena, and see her and Addison’s faces.

“You alright, dude?” Nick’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I just looked at him, sat next to me, Sharpie already uncapped.

“Yeah, why?”

“You just seemed spaced.”

I huffed out a long breath. “Just homesick dude. Missing the girls.”

He nodded in understanding. “We’ll be there soon enough. Only three days till we play San Diego. Leena’s coming down, right?”

“Yeah, her Dad’s at the house while I’m gone, so he’s going to babysit.”

“Right, yeah, Laura mentioned he was going to watch her so the girls could come.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “You talked to Laura?”

I saw him avert his gaze, the first wave of fans coming to the table.

“Oh, uh,” We both stood to greet them. “yeah we texted a little.”

He was avoidant, but now already talking to a tall girl wearing one of our t-shirts.

Well, we would be unpacking that later.

I was waist deep in autographs, photos, hugs, words of adoration and appreciation. Maybe this also helped distract me too, making it easy to smile and joke with the people who come by.

I was helping a guy unfold his shirt for me to sign while making small talk with him when I felt a tap on the shoulder.

“Noah?”

I peeked over my shoulder to see Rachel, one of our tour assistants, standing and smiling at me.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“T-minus ten minutes, then you’ve got to get stage ready. Your clothes are in the green room, and your ski masks are on the stairs on stage.” She had an earpiece in that she had to take out to speak to me clearly, undoubtedly getting shouted at on the other end.

“Okay, thanks Rach.”

She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Anytime, hon.”

Tonight’s show was just off. First, Jolly broke a string during Artificial Suicide, making him have to switch to his backup rig, and it never played as well. Then, the fucking security guards damn near let a crowd surfer on stage. My voice kept going fucking flat for no good reason, which was an entirely different issue of its own. And finally, the icing atop the God damn cake, was that three fights broke out, forcing us to skip IDWT$, Never Know, and Limits, as it took security so fucking long to break it up.

By the last note of Dethrone, I was fucking done. Typically any irritation I had all came out during those breakdowns, but tonight I just couldn’t fucking shake it. It was maddening.

I stormed into the bathroom afterwards, and splashed water on my face. Maybe I should’ve called Mileena, let her calm me down with her sweet voice and comforting words, but I was too fucking pissed off. I would end up being a jackass, and she wasn’t even here to torture me for it if I was. I elected to call her back at the hotel.

A loud knock came on the bathroom door, which made me flinch. “Give me a sec.”

Only a half of a moment later, there was knocking again. I growled.

I flung the door open, glaring at Nick on the other side. “What the fuck?”

Nick took a step back. “Sorry dude, I’ve got to piss!”

I shrugged, stepping out to let him in. Before he shut the door, he called my name.

“You’re coming tonight, right?”

I stared at him. “To…?”

He rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s Josh’s birthday? He wanted to go to a club, remember?”

Josh was the lead singer for Catch Your Breath, the band opener on our tour.

I groaned. “Don’t I get a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card for that? Alcoholic and all?”

Nick just shook his head. “Not this time, man. He’s always helping us with everything, letting us use their equipment and shit.” Nick moved to shut the door. “We’ve got to.”

“You’re going to be fine, babe. I trust you.” As I predicted, Leena’s voice was a soothing song in my ear, helping the stress of the day melt away.

“I know. I just wish you were here.”

“Me too, love.” I heard something shuffle on the other end. “Although, I kind of wish you were here.”

I stopped still, my shirt still in my hand, facing the bed where I laid my clothes out.

“Yeah?”

My phone vibrated against my face. I pulled it away, and saw she had sent a text. When I opened it, I nearly dropped my phone.

“Holy fuck!”

The photo was taken from a distance, likely having the phone propped up on the dresser. Leena was on the bed, a distinct Bad Omens shirt on her torso (judging by the listed tour dates and logo), and she was facing away from the camera. She was bent at the waist, looking over her shoulder, naked from the waist down.

Tucked so fucking perfectly between the cheeks of her ass was a jeweled plug.

I almost fell over.

“When did you get that?!” My face lost all color, the blood headed somewhere else.

She giggled. “Laura and I picked it up yesterday. I didn’t know how I’d feel about it, but it’s not so bad.”

I hissed, palming myself over my boxers. “I’m coming home. Right fucking now. If I get a flight I can be there by morning.”

She laughed loudly now. “Baby, you’ve got a show in Jersey tomorrow.”

“Fuck that. You’ve got a fucking toy, inside of you.”

“In all fairness, I took that photo earlier. Took a while to get a good one. I took it out after.”

“Well, I’ll just go ahead and put it back in.” I lowered my voice. “Then I swear to God I’m going to bury my cock so deep inside of you, you’ll never fucking walk again.”

She groaned. “Oh, honey, I’m so fucking excited for that.” She sighed. “But for now, you need to go to this thing for Josh.”

I rolled my eyes. “I straight up don’t want to.”

“Well that’s too bad. That guy totally idolizes you.” I slumped down on the bed. “Plus he thinks you hate him.”

I scoffed. “Why would he think that?”

“Uh, maybe because you never hang out with him?”

“I’m not a God damn babysitter.” I grumbled.

She laughed again. “I love you, grumpy boy. Now be good, go have fun, stay straight, and I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you more, Noah.”

The ride to the club was mundane, especially since I was the designated driver. The streets of upstate New York were busy no matter what time of day. The SUV was filled with laughter from multiple conversations. Jolly drove the other vehicle behind us, opting to stay sober with me tonight.

When we finally valeted the trucks, and entered the club, the volume of the music began rattling my chest. The large room was dark, and the atmosphere was electric. Swarms of bodies danced feverishly with the beat of the music.

Josh got us set up in a lounge area he had reserved, and we all took our seats, a waitress coming over quickly to take drink orders. I just shook my head when she came to me, opting for nothing. It draws less attention than when you order a non-alcoholic beverage, I’ve learned.

Jolly, however, did order a club soda with lime, prompting smirks from the other ten people sat with us.

After a few moments of adjusting, I ended up sat next to Josh, who was chatting away about the band’s album they were working on, asking my opinion on album art.

“I’m having a hard time finding something I like. I want a photograph, I’m really into the realism rather than paintings or abstract stuff.”

I nodded, hollering over the music. “I can get you in touch with the guy who did the photography for our last album. He’s fantastic.”

His eyes lit up, and the AMF he was drinking was slowly seeping through his smile.

“Yeah? That would be awesome, dude!”

He took another long pull of his drink, leaving only ice, and set down the glass. He leaned back on the couch and scanned the room before addressing me again.

“I appreciate you guys coming out, dude.” I nodded. “I know it’s not your scene anymore.”

I chuckled, rubbing a hand over my knee. “Yeah, it’s not. But you’re a friend man, I don’t mind.”

Josh wiped the moisture from his lips, looking straight at me.

“Hey, if you don’t mind me asking?” I leaned in closer to hear him. “How long you been sober now, man?”

I contemplated this, wondering if it was worth telling him. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that it couldn’t hurt.

“Just over two years.”

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed.

“That’s fucking awesome, man. Good for you!”

I smiled, nodding in appreciation. “Thanks.”

The next forty minutes were spent small talking with everyone at the table before most abandoned to go get more drinks and find people on the dance floor. I had told Jolly to join them, trusting he would keep his word.

After about fifteen minutes of scrolling through Reddit threads, I felt the couch next to me dip.

“Hey, Sober Sally!” The nickname made me wince before I could look up to see who had the nerve.

My eyes met stark green irises, slightly red-rimmed from alcohol, and freckles scattered around them. I smirked, my irritation fading when I realized who was now sat next to me.

"Hey Rach." She beamed brightly at me and smiled, her strawberry blonde hair brushing over her shoulder while she set her drink down.

"How ya doing, honey?"

I nodded, scanning the room and the environment. "Bored, mostly." I admitted.

She leaned back on the couch, arm draped over the back. "I get that. Why aren't you dancing?"

I snorted. "I quit dancing in bars right around the time I quit drinking."

She chuckled, and I joined her. She lifted her glass to take a swig.

"Noah, 'm so fucking sorry about all the..." She was waving her hand around in front of her face, clearly searching her brain for the words she was looking for. "...technical difficulties tonight." She snapped when she found it.

I waved a hand at her. "Shit happens dude."

She shook her head violently. "Nope, nope. Not when I'm helping, it shouldn't. I work my ass off to make sure it goes according to plan."

Her words were starting to blend together from the drinks. I raised an eyebrow.

"How many have you had?" I ask, smirking, pointing at the glass in her hand that she was tipping back once again.

She smiled sheepishly behind it. "Two."

I nodded again, eyeing her. "And how many shots?"

She broke out in a full blown cackle at that. "Like, five?"

Shaking my head, I laughed at her. She was gone already, and was going to be just so much fun to be in the bus with tomorrow. Thankfully, it was a short ride from Manhattan to Atlantic City.

"I think maybe it's time to slow down?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Hey! I will stop when I am ready!" She said playfully, her body swaying involuntarily, sloshing the liquid in her drink over the edge of the glass, right between her and I on the couch.

We both jumped, and she squealed as the ice cold liquor hit her bare leg below the end of her dress. This drew my attention to what she was wearing. Short, deep red cocktail dress. Scoop neck, cleavage on full display. It was an interesting color on her. It made her eyes pop.

I tore my gaze away from her as I felt her hand wiping the side of my leg, trying to dry the drink spilled on my pants with...her skin, I guess?

I scooched further away on the couch and laughed, her face nearly as red as her dress.

"Still think it's not worth slowing down?"

She giggled, bashful. It was a merry little sound. "Maybe you're right."

She set the glass down, having to bend her body forward, making her chest push out and her breasts nearly spill over the top of her dress. I cleared my throat, looking purposefully away.

She sat back and surveyed her outfit, realizing the entire bottom right quadrant of the fabric was wet with alcohol. She scrunched up her nose and frowned at me.

"Well, this is ruined."

I gave her a sympathetic look, and she leaned back on the couch, pulling her phone from her bag.

"I think I'm just going to call an Uber and head back to the hotel. I've done enough damage for one night."

I knew what the right and proper thing to do was; allow her to do just that. Let her leave, tell her I'd see her in the morning. But she was frazzled, and sad. She's a young woman, riding home alone, in New York?

"I'll run you up there."

She shook her head, standing off the couch. "Oh no, no way. I am not going to be your excuse to bail on Josh."

I threw my hands up. "Why does everyone think I hate him?"

She just laughed in response. I stood up in front of her, then, catching her attention. Her laughing stopped abruptly, her shorter frame looking up at me.

"I'm going to drive you. I'll just drop you off at the hotel and head right back."

The ride back to the hotel was quicker, but not by much. We sat in traffic under the dull, murky lights of the streets, and I was rhythmically tapping my finger on the steering wheel.

I could hear her singing under her breath to the song playing through the vehicle's Bluetooth being fed by my phone. I slowly turned the volume higher, her voice coming louder as the music did.

"Crawling my way from a prison cell, no one can save me but myself." She clutched her chest dramatically.

I smirked at her. She looked right at me, singing directly to me mischievously.

"I know there's something more that I'm missing." She put her hand up over her mouth like a microphone, giving her voice a background effect. "Hoping to find place somewhere."

I rocked my head, belting out the chorus. "Staring right into the sun. Looking for the ending before it's begun." She joined me, flashing all her teeth at me. "I just need a reason to bleed. It feels like my heart's going numb."

We continued singing, finishing out the song in sync, but way off key.

The final notes rang off as we pulled up to the front of the hotel, and she laughed at me. "I didn't know you liked Sleep Theory?"

I turned the radio back down. "I like a lot of things."

Her eyelids lowered then, her energy changing entirely. I watched as she slipped her bottom lip between her teeth, and I thought I felt something begin burning in my abdomen, but I ignored it.

"Well," Her eyes glanced up and down me, which made me feel claustrophobic, but also really, very warm. "we should take some time, one of these days, so I can figure some of those things out."

I swallowed, hard. Luckily, before I was forced to respond, she was out of the car, and sauntering up to the entrance of the hotel. I peeled off before I could let my mind wander any further.

What the actual fuck? I've known Rachel for over a year, and never, not once, has she ever come on to me. She's met Mileena, and Addison. She knows I'm a happily committed man, so what just fucking happened? The alcohol. It had to have been.

Back at the club, I luckily didn't have to stay too long before everyone was ready to leave, Teddy, Josh's guitar player, already having ralphed in the restrooms. I was still so bewildered by the entire evening, so I didn't say much as Nick and I halfway carried Teddy to Jolly's car (he's not puking in mine), and reminding Josh that we have to go, and we can always go out again another time.

Josh spent most of the ride home telling me about a girl he danced with at the club, trying to convince me that he would be marrying her. He was done, that's for sure.

It took about thirty minutes for Nick, Jolly, and I to get everyone in their respective rooms. Folio elected to walk to his room on his own, something having irritated him at the club. I had my hands so full with the rest of the guys, I made a mental note to revisit that tomorrow.

Finally, I walked Nick and Jolly to our suite, heading inside to my room.

"Noah?" I turned to see Nick, a look of concern on his face. "You good?"

I furrowed my brow. "Yeah, dude. Why?"

"You were just real quiet tonight."

I pursed my lips, deciding that not telling Nick about the event with Rachel was likely for the best.

"Nah I'm good. Just, you know, club, alcohol..." I gestured with my hand and he nodded.

"I get it, man. Thank you for doing that."

I gave a small bow, waving him goodnight before heading into my room.

Once comfortably changed into my pajama pants, a tank top, and fresh socks, I flopped back on the bed. My fingers instinctively went to dial Mileena, but I noticed the time. 2AM. It was already 11PM at home, and Addison was surely asleep. Mileena had to take her to an appointment early. I elected to text her instead, so as to not wake her if she was asleep.

Me: I'm back at the hotel, baby. Sober as a saint. You up?

I waited, staring at my message, begging for the indication she had read the message, but it didn't come. Before I realized, I had been waiting fifteen minutes. Leena returned texts faster than anyone else I knew, leading me to the conclusion that she was knocked out already.

Me: Get some good rest, babe. I'll text you when we're leaving in the morning. I love you.

I locked my phone, dropping it on the bed, and sighed hard. I would need to find something to distract myself.

Slowly, I let my hand wander down onto my stomach, lifting my phone back up, and scrolling up through our text threads to the photo she sent me earlier.

Mother of God she looked amazing. I was still reeling over her use of the toy, having never been allowed to venture into that territory before. My hand reached the waistband of my pants, palming my growing erection through the fabric. I could feel myself getting excited enough to slip my hand in when my phone buzzed.

It was not, however, what I was looking for.

Rachel: Hey

Kill me. Actually fucking kill me.

I dropped my hand on the bed and groaned, opening the text thread. She was typing.

Rachel: Did I leave my vape in the SUV?

I raised an eyebrow. Was she serious?

Me: I didn't see one, but I wasn't looking for it.

Rachel: OK, can I grab the keys from you? I want to get it before the rentals are returned.

I sighed hard, sitting up.

Me: I'll just go look.

Opening the passenger door, I scanned around the vehicle, the hot pink vape becoming visible from under the seat. I swiped it, and began walking back in from the parking lot.

Me: Got it. What's your room number?

Rachel: 323

I whistled in the elevator, turning the vape over in my hand numerously. Once on the third floor, I padded to her room, doing my best to be quiet.

I knocked on the door once, the electric locking mechanism loud when the door swung open.

What I saw had my eyes bulging, my body freezing in place. Rachel stood inside the doorway, cropped t-shirt barely covering her small breasts, boy short underwear all that covered her lower half. Her hair was hung in strings from a shower, her eyes now free of makeup and false lashes.

"Hey! Oh thank God!" She reached to me and snagged the vape out of my hand, my body still frozen in the same spot.

She brought the vape to her lips, taking a long, painfully long, pull off of the device, the end brightening blue. As she inhaled, her eyes rolled back, and her lips pinched together before she exhaled a large cloud of smoke.

I was stone, unmoving and awestruck. I felt a very distinct shift in my pajama pants, my cock stirring at the sight.

"You okay?" Her words brought me back down to Earth for a moment.

"Huh?" I shook my head, tearing my eyes away from her. "Yeah, yeah."

I let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of my neck.

"Well, see you in the morning." But before I could walk away, her hand was tugging my arm, making me stop yet again.

"Wait." I dared to look at her, which I instantly regretted. She licked her bottom lip. "Do you want to," She tossed her thumb over her shoulder. "come in?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, my brain stuttering and glitching in so many different directions. I put a hand up between us, if anything than to just have a physical barrier between her and I.

"No, no I've got to get some sleep. We load up at 9AM."

She nodded, retreating back into the room slightly, a small pout on her face.

"Yeah, okay." She gave me a smile, now a little deflated. "Goodnight, Noah."

I waved, not looking directly at her. "Night, Rach."

I tried not to make such a dramatic beeline to the elevator, but I was nearly at a full sprint by the time I began jamming the button. I stepped into the metal box, sighing with relief and leaning back when the doors closed.

Only two floors up, I was back in my own room, falling back down onto the bed. I took several moments to let my breathing return to normal before I went back to what I had originally planned - masturbating to a picture of my girlfriend, like a good fucking boy.

I tried, I swear I did, but after a minute of running my hand up and down my shaft, my phone fell out of the other, and my fingers gripped the sheets. I would never admit, for fear that I may be sick, that in my mind's eye, I was picturing green eyes, fair skin with freckles, and devilishly long, strawberry blonde hair.

#noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #noah sebastian fic #fanfic

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neutron-stars-collision · 10 months

Text

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 3 - Canning Town Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 2 Summary: Flirting, Leicester Square station mixtape, flowers and breakdowns in the cantina. Or another chapter of an unlikely liaison. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language and imagery and more outrageous flirting. Author's Notes: Chapter a month might just be the new deal here, apologies. And this one's long, by which I mean over 11k 💁🏻‍♀️ It also seems like now that I've started, I can't stay away from Neil's POV so... yeah. Look out for a cheeky cameo too 😉 Other than that, I can assure you this is just as chaotic and ridiculous as the last chapter. These two are in full control, I'm just a mere scribe, doing my best. Hopefully it works. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

Incorporating Neil into your daily (and weekly) life was easy. Almost terrifyingly so if you did as much as stop and think about it. Perhaps the self-preservation rooted deep within forbade you to reflect on it. Which, in hindsight, was a good thing.

After that first victory of obtaining Neil’s number, you did not hold back from texting and bombarding him with daily nonsensical memes that could have driven a different man to madness. Neil, however, took it in his stride. It was rare not to get a reply from him after longer than an hour. And that boosted your courage like nothing else.

Some days, the conversations went like this:

/ 🏹, 12:07 pm/ Show me what socks are you wearing.

/✝️, 12:13 pm/ Jesus, that’s forward.

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ That’s basically my second name. So?

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ I swear I won’t sell the pic on OF.

/✝️, 12:20 pm/ Well, if you do, then at least share the earnings with me.

Although you started the ridiculous conversation, when the next text came, consisting of a single image of a socked ankle bared by the familiar hand pulling up the pant leg, you nearly dropped the coffee cup in the middle of the Covent Garden. It was just an ordinary Tuesday lunchtime, with the square bustling with sound and movement. Using the rare sunny September day, you escaped the confines of the Royal Opera House to have your coffee break on the kerb. Thanks to the dwindling sense of coherence, you did not drop said coffee when you opened the photo. The socks you had asked for were black with a grey argyle pattern. But that was where the normalcy ended, for the rhombuses were filled with corgi heads. The brown-beige dogs stared at you through the screen with their beady eyes and were the reason for your hysterical laughter.

The overprotective mother tending to her children close by shot you a dirty look. Well, fuck her.

/ 🏹, 12:23 pm/ Neil, you’re too cute. Way too cute.

/✝️, 12:32 pm/ It’s what every guy wants to hear. Thanks, Cupid.

/ 🏹, 12:34 pm/ I never said you’re not hot, though. Which you very much are. So much that I thought of you when…

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ Yeah, don’t finish that sentence. Please.

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ I’d rather maintain my innocence.

/ 🏹, 12:36 pm/ As you wish 😘

That was not a lie. It was a result of yet another tiring day and an early night in bed when it was too early to sleep. So, you chose to fill the time like most women would, letting your thoughts drift to images and scenarios that always did the trick as your hand delved between your thighs. When you realised who you had been thinking of, the tension was so close to bursting that you did not try to shift the attention. When you came, the guilt was nowhere to be found.

After all, it was not a sin to think of pretty boys when taking the edge off. As soon as you realised that Neil did not take the flirty line seriously, that feeling of potentially having done something wrong became non-existent. It was fine. It was all fine.

Other times, especially during those Wednesday mornings on the Tube, your conversations looked more like this:

“I’ve got an invasive question…” changing the subject during your weekly chats was easy, for as soon as you set a weighty gaze on Neil, he sobered up too.

The endless questions did not seem to bother him either. Your boundless curiosity was particularly grateful for that.

“As long as you’re not going to ask me what underwear I’m wearing, I think we’re fine,” the poker face was only disturbed by Neil’s twitching lips, and the sparks danced in his eyes as he inclined his head in your direction, blessing you with the golden strands, “Shoot,”

Every time, you took a deep breath, silently gathering the courage to ask, and then let the question fall from your lips without a pause:

“When was the last time you’ve been in love?” the curiosity was all it was.

Yet still, Neil’s widening eyes made you consider that perhaps something else was underlining that desire to know. And that this question was different than others you had asked. Different from “Dogs or cats?” “Typical coffee order?” and “Any hidden talents?”. But it was too late to take it back.

“Oof, you weren’t joking” Neil seemed to shake it off quickly, only briefly offering you a glare before looking down to find the needed words, “Probably two-ish years ago…?” you were sure you had imagined the broken edge in his voice as Neil swallowed hard and continued “It was a disaster. She didn’t- Let’s just say I went in too hard and too fast, and she got scared. Pretty much ghosted me after a half-assed excuse” when he raised his head and meet your gaze, you could see the depths of hurt in his eyes.

Your heart felt pathetically hollow, but you smothered the feeling to nothing but an uncomfortable sting.

“Ouch,” a wince was easy enough to muster, and you followed it with an apology, “Sorry,” Neil’s crestfallen look was an inspiration for you to place your hand on his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze “I know that it doesn’t help, but it’s her, not you” you knew the light statement was the right way to go when Neil cracked a wry smile and gave your other wrist a tap.

“Thanks,” it was evident enough to realise that Neil was eager to drop the subject. It was clearer still that you were going to be the next target, “I won’t ask you the same since I know better, but… Do you really think no one could change your view on love?” yet when the question fell in the space between you, it was not what you had expected.

The surprise must have painted on your face, for Neil looked a second away from taking it back. You stopped him from doing that the only way you could think of – by extending your hand in what was universally thought of as a ‘hold up’ motion. It was not that you did not want to answer. And it was not the first time someone had asked either.

But it was not something you were keen on inspecting and tearing apart to offer an honest answer. It was a fact, pure and simple. A fact that you would believe in till the day you died. There was no place for love in your life, and there would never be. Full stop.

“Yeah, I do,” you met Neil’s waiting gaze and offered him a weak shrug. The strange disappointment in his gaze made no sense, so you chose to ignore it to shift your attention to the world outside the carriage as it arrived at the next station. The belief in your next words was as tangible as anything else you could conceive, “It would take a miracle”.

He did not ask that question again.

Those Wednesday morning conversations also became a source of information, which you had stowed securely in the compartment of your brain labelled ‘Neil’. After almost two months of acquittance, you knew that he was born and raised a Londoner (from Richmond, the posh fuck [affectionate]), was decidedly a dog person and had a chocolate Labrador growing up (a girl named Daisy), listened to alt-rock and 80s music and was what he described as a hopeless romantic. You still did not know what he did for work, only that he was decidedly not a tattooist, literary agent, paramedic, jockey, art critic, dressmaker, choreographer, or bus driver. Whether he was truly not just a priest undercover was still up for debate.

***

Only when you fled the confines of the ordinary tiny London flat kitchen and felt the night breeze of the city on your skin, left bare from the jacket you did not yet put on, had the question of the ages pop into your head. What the fuck? There was no answer. You shook your head against the memories of what had just conspired and stopped on the pavement to put on and fasten the jacket. Even annoyed, you could still feel the biting cold begin to settle in your bones.

You never expected to bump into Liam. Never in a million years would you have considered that those two friends you shared would extend the invitation to that man out of all people. And you certainly did not expect him to come.

Although, as he had unhelpfully explained himself, he only showed up because of the chance you would be there. The audacity made you shake your head vehemently, without a doubt attracting a glare or two from those who remained sober at this hour. In Soho on Saturday night, that was unlikely.

You walked through the cobbled streets with the neon lights lighting your path without an aim or a map. The only objective was to stomp the frustration into the cracked pavement and end up home. Somehow. Specifics were to be determined later.

Sure, rushing out of your mate’s flat like a lightning bolt could be seen as impulsive. But Liam offered you no choice. The pleasant buzz of alcohol did nothing to stop the embarrassment, which grew worse by the minute. The long walk in an unknown direction was a sad but acceptable consequence. Or so you aimed to maintain.

By the time you had seriously begun to consider using the dwindling phone battery to order an Uber and save you from the penance of someone else’s transgressions, the red circle with a navy blue bar appeared on the horizon. Salvation, at last. You picked up the pace, eager to get out of the cold and that one step closer to home. This close to Leicester Square and the theatres just having closed their doors on the last patrons, the bustle seemed quieter somehow, more subdued. It was a blessing for your budding headache and a threat to the thoughts eager to appear with nothing suppressing them.

You crossed the road and descended the staircase with a sigh. The heat of the station enveloped you like a hug as you passed the ticketing gates and spent an unnecessarily long time staring at the Tube map. When the logic kicked in, at last, you rushed over to the correct platform.

Only to regret it as soon as the timing screen came into view. Heathrow Airport 25 mins. The polite PSA text below informed you the line was experiencing delays. No biggie. They were sorry. The usual shit. A curse litany lodged in your throat as your eyes roamed over the platform.

All the noise in your head faded to nothing when your gaze settled on that familiar blonde head of hair. He was sitting in one of the few chairs with his head bowed over his knees in a position so exemplary for a Saturday night in the glorious London town. You skimmed over his body, taking note of the casual jeans and a t-shirt, peeking from beneath the unbuttoned jacket.

Before you knew it, your legs had started carrying you in his direction, a goofy smile present on your face. The improbability of it happening made everything easier. Because what were the odds?

Instead of counting them, you approached Neil, still so blissfully unaware of your presence and delivered an opening line:

“Hello, Father,” the joke did not yet get old, and you still got the kick out of it.

Especially when Neil raised his head fast enough to give himself a whiplash and gasped from shock.

“Jesus- Oh, what the fuck?” clutching at his heaving chest with all the drama he could muster, Neil offered you a look so full of surprise you knew he did not expect this to happen either.

The only weekend plans you had discussed over texts were that you had a party to go to, and he was likely to go out with his workmates at some point. But that was it. Zero specifics, no need to share them because there was no need for either of you to know the details. And yet.

“Is that how you should greet a lady?” playing on his theatrical reaction, you feign a shocked expression.

It was clear you would fail at any attempts of annoyance. Your cheeks were already aching with that kind of wide, manic grin only Neil seemed to cause. You could see his eyes skim over your figure, taking in your clothes with that sort of precision only he seemed capable of. Finally, satisfied with what he saw, Neil raised his head to meet your gaze again and got up to bow lowly at your feet:

“Apologies, m’lady,” before you knew what he was doing, he took hold of your hand and kissed your knuckles. A move so fast you almost thought you had imagined it if not for the fading sensation of his lips still ghosting your skin, “What are you doing here?” with his hand lightly touching your elbow, Neil steered you towards the seats.

Only now, with the surprises fading into the background, you took note of the empty platform. It was just the two of you sitting on the creaky plastic chairs. You shifted an inch closer to Neil, seeking the warmth radiating off his body and replied:

“As I’ve mentioned, I had an invitation to this flat party in Soho… And I went, but then, and you’ll never believe that happened-” recounting the improbable story felt good, and you took pleasure in the attention Neil gave your every word.

“Let me guess… Liam showed up?” his interjection followed your dramatic pause flawlessly.

Of course, he got it. Of course, he guessed. You shook your head at his eager smile, aware of the glee in your eyes:

“Damn, you’re good” your low approving whistle reverberated in the space. Most shockingly, there was a certain level of joy in sharing the story, even as your skin crawled with the embarrassment of what transpired, “Yeah, and it turns out that getting blocked did not make him smarter. It became a whole thing, along with him getting down on his knees in the middle of a kitchen and proclaiming his undying love to me,” you wondered if Liam was still there, kneeling on the tiled floor and waiting for your return.

Partially, you hoped that was the case.

Throwing you out of the strange ruminations, Neil shook his head and offered you a serious look:

“Blimey,” his tsk almost got lost in the PA announcement, crackling from the speakers. When it ended, Neil met your gaze with a sympathetic smile, “No wonder you ran away,” his knee nudged yours, triggering something you would not understand even in months.

Sitting upright, you nodded fervently:

“I had to” the emotions you did not know were present poured out from your lips as the next words fell in the space between you, “And like- He doesn’t even know me? He never saw me on the stage, and he thinks that making me cum a couple of times is enough?” a frustrated growl tore from your chest as you finished the tirade with a tired sigh and simple punchline, “Bullshit,”

There was no time or willingness to take apart where all that anger came from or why it was suddenly so important Neil understood your reasons. It just was. Later it was easily blamed on the alcohol still present in your veins. For now, you met his gaze and shrugged, answering the questions he seemed too shy to ask.

“With that, I must agree. It’s bullshit” nudging you with his shoulder, Neil smiled, brightening the clouds that still seemed to hang over your mind.

You shot him a brilliant grin, brushing away the concerns with terrifying ease. They had to wait, ideally forever.

“Thanks, babe” sugar coated your smile as you allowed yourself to gaze, taking note of the blush spreading on his cheeks. Although you would never admit it out loud, the blue of his eyes was slowly becoming your favourite shade of the colour. It was that thought that triggered your next confession, “Admittedly, meeting you here is a highlight of the night,” you watched as his eyes grew wider, evidently not expecting to hear something that honest. The moment stretched for what felt like ages until you found the strength to look away, focusing on the timing screen and the issues it posed, “Though, those delays are bullshit, too” your eye-roll elicited an instant laugh, which only added warmth to the kindling sparks in your chest.

“Mhmm,” Neil’s hum acted like an anchor, tying you to reality.

It was a better place to get lost in than the chaos raging in your head. You chose to stick by it, following the easy way out with a simple question:

“How come you’re here?” you turned towards Neil, hoping to block the platform and the world beyond from view.

Even if just figuratively and for a short while. If the answering bright smile was anything to go by, Neil was happy to humour you:

“I’ve been out for drinks at a pub, but then our crowd isn’t very… boisterous, so we all went our separate ways, and here I am,” he signed off the summary with an explanatory shrug, but you should have kept your guard up. Once his gaze settled on you with an intensity of intent, a pathetic instinct kickstarted your heart with all the subtlety of trainwreck, “Bored as fuck until you’ve shown up” the joy in that simple sentiment was enough to make your cheeks heat up.

Of its own volition, your brain provided the fresh memory of how Liam’s attention in that cursed kitchen had made you feel. How running away was the only option you saw then. It was different now; the quiet focus of the man sitting next to you was a welcomed change. A company you were happy to keep. For however long you were allowed.

“How long do you think till it’s-” ignoring the shyness that did not seem happy to be buried in Neil’s company, you changed the subject with all the grace of an elephant.

It was evident in how you stuttered, quickly abandoning the idea of finishing the sentence and letting it trail off into the quiet. It was too early to raise your head from the depths of shame it was drowning in. It was all a little too much.

“Could be twenty minutes, could be an hour… or never,” Neil’s voice gained a cheeky edge as if conscious of your minor crisis and happy to offer a distraction.

You risked a peek at his face, finding the signature smirk gracing his face. That expression never failed to feel like a sharpened knife piercing through the walls of your uncertainty. It complimented his face too well, dragging the attention to Neil’s sharp features and his remarkable eyes that always felt like they could see right through your bullshit and the pretending. It was terrifying.

It was then, in the light of his frightening beauty, that you decided what to do next. What was necessary to keep you (moderately) sane. One look at your tote bag lying on your lap offered inspiration:

“Fab,” your dry comment elicited Neil’s laugh and sealed the deal on what you wanted to do next. There was no backing out. You straightened your spine and swivelled on the seat to face him fully. When your knees touched him, Neil’s eyes widened almost comically. But that was only the beginning of the wild ride for him, you were sure of it, “Well, then… Dance with me,” the delivery of that line required a special nonchalance.

One that required you to hold Neil’s gaze long after you had finished speaking, and the words had only just dawned on him. Once they did, his eyes got comically large, and his lips parted on what could only be a mute expression of horror. A giggle got trapped in your throat, but you fought valiantly against it. For now.

“Pardon?” Neil’s choked-out question came after sequenced opening and closing his mouth with nothing coming up.

Your poker face was tearing at the seams. Foolishly.

“Dance with me, Neil,” repeating the request (order?), you extended your hand towards him, signing off the invitation for what it was.

The shock was still present on his face. Despite that, Neil slipped his palm, warm and fitting perfectly, into yours. You could tell that it was not entirely conscious on his part.

You sure did not mind it, though.

“I might have had a drink or two, but I didn’t think I was drunk enough to be hearing things,” Neil’s incredulity bled into his tone as he stared you down as if hoping the sheer disbelief would be enough to deter you.

Tough luck.

“Come on,” squeezing his hand, you switched the tactic with a question, “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” there was no judgment in your gaze, and you hoped Neil knew that.

If asked, you could not explain why that was something you wanted to do with him, there and then of all places. But it still felt important. Urgent, even.

The no-bullshit look you got in return almost made you burst into laughter.

“You’ll see me dance,” Neil deadpanned as if it was clear.

As if that was the peak horror that could befall him at your hands. Using the lifeline of your joined palms, you rubbed your thumb over the tender skin of his hand, hoping to let that act as a reassurance. That was a nonsensical fear to have.

Who gave you, a mediocre ballerina, the right to judge? Absolutely no one.

“And?” you offered Neil a brilliant grin, doing your best not to think about how right it felt to have his hand resting in yours.

That question seemed to catch his attention, pulling him back from the precipice of self-doubt. You watched as Neil pondered the answer, staring at you with that bright-eyed, anxious expression, complete with his teeth nibbling on his lower lip. He picked at the worried, fragile skin, and you did not think about soothing the damage with your tongue. Not at all.

“I don’t know… You’ll leave and block me?” when he finally found a plausible answer, it was the last thing you expected Neil to say.

Despite the seriousness on his face, you could not hold back the laugh that spilt from your lips. What an idiot [affectionate]. The adorable pout in his bottom lip was responsible for the recklessness you chose to implement.

Without thinking about it too much, you leaned in and used your free hand to cup his face, eradicating the remains of the gap between you. As your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, Neil gasped, barely disguising the sound with a cough. The grin spread over your face as you spoke:

“It takes a little more than that for me to block you,” that was true; you could barely fathom blocking Neil, least of all because of such a trivial reason. It was only after a beat that the second meaning of what he said sunk in. The meaning you expected Neil did not exactly consider slipping out like that. You grabbed it with both hands and a knowing smile, “Also… you enjoy talking to me that much?”

The jackpot shot came with a furious blush on his cheeks and an embarrassed scoff as Neil turned away from your watchful gaze. Your hands stayed linked. That, too, was an adorable reaction. It made that pleasant warmth in your chest burner brighter, though you refused to inspect it too closely.

Before you could consider pushing him for a reply further, Neil jumped up from the creaky seat and pulled you to standing using your tight handhold. The fake pep was visible from miles away, especially in that manic grin that almost seemed too wide on his face. But you did not have the time to question it.

“Okay, let’s just dance,” Neil tugged at your hand impatiently.

He did not seem capable of standing still, hopping from one leg to another. If that was a sign of what was coming, you knew you were not ready. Your eyes narrowed in what you hoped was a mildly threatening look:

“That’s a deflection tactic,” still, you took a step closer to him, finally putting that handhold to use.

“Yes, it is,” Neil nodded as his arms opened in a shrug.

That was your answer. You could only cement it with a smile as you allowed him to pull you closer, almost into his open arms, except-

“Wait, we need music,” remembering that crucial missing piece, you let go of his hand and darted back to the tote abandoned by the seats.

“No shit,” Neil’s dry comment was accompanied by the scuffling of his shoes over the cracked tiles.

You grinned, triumphantly holding out the speaker you had fished from the bag. That was the only pro you could think of that came from your earlier practice, and no time in between that and the disastrous party.

“Lucky for you, I came prepared,” you showcased it like a spoil of war and turned the speaker on, awaiting the sound confirming it had connected to your phone. When it came, you ceremoniously placed the device on the vacated seat and pressed play on your phone. Only once the music was playing, you turned back towards Neil with a flourish, “Voila,”

It took him an additional second to identify the song, the synthesizer filling the empty platform with a special kind of vibe. When the proper beat kicked in, you started shimmying your hips and shoulders to the rhythm, awaiting Neil’s reaction. You were not disappointed when he gaped at you with joy barely disguised underneath a frown:

“Really?” still, his foot started tapping with the singer’s voice.

Shrugging, you spun around him, feeling the music fill your body like it always did. You always felt the most alive when dancing. When your feet were following the choreography, and head was deliciously empty of everything but the musical notes and lyrics.

When you stopped to meet Neil’s gaze, you found him staring back in awe.

“What? It’s not me; it’s the holy spirit of the shuffle,” the song started heading towards the chorus, so you added the hand movements, orbiting around Neil and hoping to pull him along, “Can’t argue with it,”

‘Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me

Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me’

It was an all-time favourite. A bop you did not have the heart to resist whenever it came on. Now was not any different. Your lips started whispering the words as your body moved through the space, overcome with the feeling of dancing. At that moment, you were grateful for the sensible footwear your past self had chosen that morning. Sure, dancing in high heels was possible, but the Converse made for a much better choice. They slid along the cracked tiles without resistance, allowing you to double the efforts.

It did not matter that you had an audience. Or that it was a particularly attentive one, for you never once felt Neil look away. He was still staring, standing almost stock-still, save for how his feet tapped out the beat. That had to change.

‘Don't you want me, baby?

Don't you want me? Oh!’

You stopped, chest heaving and limbs still too giddy with the effort. You met Neil’s unwavering gaze over the space and mouthed the chorus, aware of the interpretations he could easily reach. That was fine, nothing you were opposed to. In a way, him noticing half your actions did have a tentative hope behind them would have saved you time. And words. But that was a thought for another time.

Once you heard the female vocals come in, you reached out towards him, yet again presenting Neil with your open hand. Yet again, he did not hesitate, letting you pull him close. When the distance had been eradicated, Neil placed his hand on your waist with an experimental level of timidity. As if he was still fully expecting the move to backfire. Silly goose. Your hand ventured up his chest to his shoulder as you steeled your frame into what was expected of ballroom dancing. The habits were hard to shake off, after all.

Despite the booming synthesizers and grooving rhythm, you let him lead you into a slow dance. With each step, Neil’s confidence seemed to grow, for his grip became firmer as he splayed his hand over the small of your back and pulled you closer. It did not matter that his technique would bring your snobbish teachers from ballet study to tears. What mattered was that you felt safe within his embrace, never shying away from Neil’s gaze as it stayed trained on your face. What also mattered was that the genuine smile was fixed on your face. Especially when the song was slowly ending, and Neil was not letting go. What a novelty that was. You worried that once you tasted it, it would be impossible to let go. To forget this careless feeling, encapsulated within a simple, tender hold and open, beautiful eyes.

“That was hardly a song for slow dancing,” when Neil spoke, the remark came upon a hesitant smile, so at odds with how sure his hand was within yours.

“We made do, didn’t we?” you could only offer him a smile, aware of the wobbly edges of your voice and the yearning of your treacherous heart.

Even with years of practice, it sometimes wanted what it could not get. Affection, namely. Or the tenderness that meant something, rather than the mindless touch of a loveless fuck. You hoped one day those two would disappear, leaving you perfectly satisfied with what you had.

As if aware of your dangerous thoughts, the song switch came at a perfect moment. The last beats of The Human League died down, replaced with an equally cheesy rhythm. If not worse. Neil’s reaction was instant. He stopped dancing abruptly, making you nearly miss stepping on his foot. Your eyes darted to his face as curiosity soared in your chest. The barely masked joy you found there only made that warmth in your heart feel like tongues of fire. You disentangled from the embrace to place your hand on his chest and push him back lightly:

“Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you’ve got,” you completed the encouragement with a wink and stepped back to give him space.

The hesitation stage lasted much less this time. Neil stared at you, evidently weighing the pros and cons of giving in, but as soon as Falco opened the song with the lines in German, he had made up his mind. It was your turn to be dumbfounded as you watched Neil thrash to the music, almost keeping up with the beat. He slid across the tiles, barely managing not to slip as Falco went on about Mozart and his flair.

‘Er war ein Virtuose, war ein Rockidol

Und alles rief: Come on and rock me Amadeus’

It was easy to say Neil got lost in the music as his lean body twisted and turned, claiming the space he was allowed to occupy. There was grace in his movement, as well as carelessness, perfectly balancing the dance into an ideal mixture. A rare spark of envy kindled in your chest as you did your best to ignore the question of what it must feel like to be this free. During the poor attempt at moonwalking as he circled you, you could no longer hold back the laugh. Neil’s hands weaved through the air as he threw his head back to shout the hook along with the singer. With each call of Amadeus’ name, the affection in your chest grew, becoming increasingly lethal. A show of that kind displayed not only his trust but also what kind of a man Neil could be if he got rid of his shyness and inhibitions. It was something you doubt you could ever forget.

And that could be a problem.

When the song drew to a close, and Neil’s heaving breaths alerted you that he was probably worn out with exertion, he stopped. The reverberating beats sunk into the background as you met his gaze, aware of the silly softness you could not eradicate from your eyes. Neil looked manic, his pupils dilated and irises sparkling. He was breathing hard, the exhaustion making him shrug off the jean jacket with impatience, so far that Neil did not bat an eyelid when the article landed on the dirty floor. The reveal of an old, worn-out t-shirt underneath that hugged his broad shoulders and biceps just right made your jaw fall slack.

That, too, could be a problem.

Despite the common sense screaming at you to look away, you stared on, aware of Neil gazing right back. A wiser person would have shaken awake in time to switch off the music and call this quits before any further damage could be done. But you were never the wiser person.

You looked on as the song switched into a different era of music, and gentle, cheesy chords of piano and percussion filled the platform with a ballad almost everyone knew. Neil was not any different. You noticed the change in his eyes, switching from playfulness to mild seriousness. As if he, too, knew your fates were being decided at that exact moment.

However, the results of those decisions would not be noticeable until much later.

Using Elvis’ crooning as a backup to help drown your thoughts, you reached out your hand towards Neil, repeating the invitation. It was up to him whether he wanted to take it. Just like everything else in your friendship. The eager hope was hard to nip in the bud. It itched and ached until you could hardly stand still, awaiting the sentencing for what felt like hours. At last, Neil closed the gap and took your proffered hand with an impassive look.

The second time bore all the experience of the first, making it easier to fall in place without hesitation. Neil clasped your hand in his and let his other arm wind around your waist, pulling you close. Much closer than before. Your hand found its way to his shoulder, curious fingers stroking the expanse of his neck, revealed by the t-shirt collar. You did your best not to notice the goosebumps rising on his skin. It was impossible to tell which of you moved first, leading into the gentle sway. Only once you started waltzing around the empty platform, it was impossible to stop.

‘Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?’

Halfway through the song, you tilted your head back from where your gaze had been trained on the expanse of his chest and met Neil’s waiting gaze. The shock passing through your system felt like a fatal blow. There was no denying the fact that this was a first. The first time you had ever danced like that with someone, motivated by nothing else but the desire to do it. There was also no denying the fact Neil’s watchful eyes and the soft strokes of his fingers, running along the expanse of your waist down to your hip, felt like nothing else you could have ever experienced before or after. It was well past your usual flirty chats and casual innuendos. Well past the daily playfulness of whatever it was blooming between you. It was well past the worn-out tracks and lived-in spaces.

Absolutely fucking terrifying.

‘Take my hand,

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help falling in love with you

For I can't help falling in love with you’

It was impossible to say what had tipped the scales right then. Whether it was the song lyrics, drawing attention to all those things you would rather ignore till the end of time or the unwavering eye contact you had maintained as you spun across the space with grace that had not been there previously. Or whether it was due to how Neil held you steadily, all the while allowing himself to stare, eyes roaming over your face in a meticulous study. But perhaps it was just a trick of fate, a sudden loss of reason and logic that made you tip forward and give in to the gravitational pull of his orbit. Perhaps Neil was guilty of the same thing.

Before you knew what had failed and why, you were close enough to feel the gasp of his breath fan across your face. The air ghosted your lips as your nose brushed against Neil’s, and the time slowed to a crawling speed. There was no denying the fact that you wanted it. The want hummed underneath your skin and made it hard to think clearly.

You only knew that Neil closed his eyes, and his sharp intake of breath hit your lips, making you tilt forward. Making it oh so easy to let go and-

“This is Piccadilly Line service towards the Heathrow Airport,” the PA system crackled to life, forcing you to separate as if burned.

You blinked awake, barely noticing the train slowing at the platform and the music still playing from your speaker. One glance at Neil told you all feelings were very much mutual. It was a close call. So close you could almost feel the kiss that never happened. An uncertain smile played upon your lips as you turned off the music and jumped aboard the train. You could only hope the King of the Rock’N’Roll himself was wrong about this one.

***

It was a well-known truth that a pretty boy could make you a little stupid. Stupid enough to do things that, under normal circumstances, would be off the table. But all it took was a flash of blue eyes and a charming smile, and boom, logic gone, reason decimated. Usually, there was a price to pay for that.

But the potential costs meant nothing in the face of the revelations the Saturday night brought. Namely, the kiss that never happened but you could easily dream of. Which you did, just to brighten up the restless sleep. Needless to say, that night unlocked some things. Things that perhaps were best left untouched. But hindsight was a gift you did not yet possess.

Instead, you battled with a single idea that was difficult to eradicate. Sure, that night, or how it had almost ended, was never mentioned again. As early as the next day Neil reached out to you and set the tone you were happy to follow. But the memory remained, nagging at your brain for a week and not once letting go. It was a seed that planted another thought. The thought that nothing was preventing you from reaching out for more. That there was no script to follow with Neil. That idea was like a brainworm making a home inside your skull.

Because, yes, you were known to be a little stupid for attractive boys. And Neil was potentially the most beautiful man you have ever met. That proved to be a problem.

Exactly a week after that Saturday, you caved in. The autumn breeze was hitting your face and tangling your hair as you stared at the Thames. There was no better place to start a catastrophic chain of events than the Blackfriars Bridge. Or so you told yourself. You took out the phone to stare at the messages and opened the text conversation with Neil. It took an additional fortifying breath to start typing out the proposition and start the exchange.

/ 🏹, 5:39 pm/ So, I figured, since we already broke the rules on our hangouts last Saturday

/ 🏹, 5:40 pm/ Would you like to grab coffee tomorrow?

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ That’s unexpected.

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ Why the sudden change of heart?

/ 🏹, 5:46 pm/ I liked your moves.

/✝️, 5:47 pm/ I’m pretty sure no one’s ever said that to me.

/ 🏹, 5:49 pm/ Maybe they just weren’t looking. I knew I was.

/✝️, 5:51 pm/ Okay, yeah. I’d like that.

/✝️, 5:52 pm/ Any labels I should be aware of?

/ 🏹, 5:52 pm/ Nah, fuck the labels.

/ 🏹, 5:53 pm/ Unless you want to bring me flowers. Then let’s call it a date.

/✝️, 5:55 pm/ Then it’s a date 😘

You stared at the phone long after the screen went dark. Along with the buzzing joy and anticipation of what tomorrow would bring, there was also an eternal question. The question you had avoided pretty damn well so far. What the fuck have you done?

***

By the time you were meeting Neil in a café (chosen because of its perfect location between St. John’s Wood and Swiss Cottage), those nerves of anticipation had transformed into anxiety. The worst was that you did not even know what you were so nervous about. A date (that was not really a date) was nothing new. You have done it many times before, usually to great results. But suddenly, when Neil was inserted into the equation, all that you got was uncertainty. And a strong fear of fucking it up. It did not make for a good mix.

Part of it dissipated once you turned the street corner and saw him waiting in front of the café, a bouquet in hand, despite your line being nothing more than a throwaway joke. An affectionate smile was impossible to get rid of no matter how hard you may have tried. It stayed as you closed the remaining distance and met Neil’s gaze. Then it got transformed into a stupid grin as your eyes scanned him head to toe (hair just as messy as always, leather and jeans completed with sneakers – in other words: fucking hot). Once that foolery was complete, you could shift your attention to the flowers, now held out in your direction like a sheepish offering.

It was a colourful bouquet of wildflowers, freshly bloomed and coming from a florist rather than Sainsbury’s. The thoughtfulness was enough to make you blush. Before you could delve into an embarrassing attempt at cover-up, Neil broke the silence:

“You haven’t specified what kind of flowers,” his shyness was easily seen from the fidgeting hands and eyes unwilling to stay on your face longer than necessary.

That was your cue to get yourself together and accept the bouquet with a courtesy. That, too, was just a trick to drag that shy smile onto his face. It worked.

“Those are perfect, thank you,” with another smile, you turned towards the entrance and went in as Neil held the door. It was a cosy café with only a few tables and a bar-service ordering. You motioned towards the smiling server behind the counter with a question, “Wanna go order coffee?”

You did not expect in response to your innocent ask for Neil to come to a strange stand-still in the middle of the entryway and measure you with a look that spoke volumes about him having something to say and no way of expressing it. You raised your eyebrow, urging the words to come out and save you from death by perplexation.

After a beat, Neil seemingly found the ability to speak again and stumbled through a sentence:

“I’ve got… uh… a thing,” the emphasis on the final word was accompanied by an awkward shift, his hand automatically reaching up to comb through his hair and messing it up even more.

That did not help. At all. You blinked, aware of the comedy role you had just been awarded without warning. You were vaguely conscious of the server’s gaze, undoubtedly staring at the spectacle presented with fascination.

“Jesus, what thing?” when Neil did not elaborate, you prodded with another question, gaining a slightly hysterical edge.

It was probably that tone which made the most impact. Neil seemed to wake up, his hands gesturing as he attempted to explain:

“A thing about figuring out people’s drink order,” he shrugged, almost as if already embarrassed by ever bringing it up; that would not do, “Like a-”

“A kink?” you interrupted his explanation with a devilish grin, knowing that it would do the job.

That and the teasing, of course.

The reaction was instantaneous. Where previously there had been mild shyness and uncertainty, the furious blush had bloomed. Neil looked horrified as he took a step in your direction as if considering sealing your mouth shut before finally admitting defeat. What you got instead was a glare and an affronted reply:

“What? No! More like talent, I guess,” Neil shrugged, visibly battling the dilemma you were not privy to. You decided to help him the best way you knew how – by reaching out and squeezing his hand. Once. Just once. It was enough to do the job and make your fingers itch with an inexplicable desire to prolong the contact. Luckily, it disappeared when Neil recovered from his internal crisis and gestured towards the counter, “May I?”

You could only nod, happy that whatever had just transpired was past you. Not that it was not fun, but because of the audience that did not deserve to see what had happened. Whatever it was.

“You’ve got me intrigued, so now you have to,” shrugging upon Neil’s hesitant smile, you ventured inside the café, scouting for a perfect table.

Soon enough, the ideal booth had been located and taken as you awaited Neil’s return. You did not have to wait long, for as soon as you settled and placed your coat on the backrest, he sat in the chair in front. That sheepish smile was still in place, so you tried to bring back his confidence with dumb chitchat until you were interrupted by the server approaching your table. It worked. As you both fell quiet, Neil was visibly fighting a grin threatening to transform his face. The pride surged in your veins without respect towards your sense of humility.

The woman shot you both a bright smile as she set neared the table and put a steaming porcelain cup in front of Neil:

“Flat White for you, sir, and for your girlfriend-” you never got to hear the end of that sentence as Neil’s horrified expression and a loud interruption stole your attention.

“Oh, we’re not-” your laughter was almost enough to drown out his protest.

Almost because the server still looked extremely apologetic as she placed a larger cup in front of you with a clink.

“-Caramel Macchiato,” you waved off the atonement she seemed ready to launch and smiled, the curiosity at his choice already occupying your mind.

“Thank you,” as soon as the woman was out of earshot, you turned your cheeky smile onto Neil and covered his hand resting on the table with your palm, “Are you ashamed of me, my darling?” your favourite blush spread upon his cheeks, widening your grin in the process.

A blunder like that was not something you would ever lose sleep over. Even less so, considering that you were there with Neil. Even with your deep-rooted dislike over anything that had to do with relationships and the complications they lead to, you could not possibly be angry over being perceived as belonging to Neil. If anything, it was flattering.

“Stop it,” he shook off your hand, way too gently, and shook his head as if desperate to clear it, “I just didn’t-” after a beat, he dropped your gaze, giving up the fight, “It doesn’t matter, sorry” although you would do anything to understand the thought processes unfolding behind those slightly vacant blue eyes, you were not given a chance. Instead, he took a fortifying sip of coffee and looked at your cup, (not so) swiftly changing the topic “So… how did I do?” the anticipation in that gaze offered no space for a bargain.

You glanced at the beverage in front of you and slowly raised it to get a tentative taste. The warm liquid slightly burned your tongue, but before you could mourn the damage, the caffeine and creamy caramel filled your mouth with pleasurable goodness. It was a top-notch choice, making you follow that first sip with another almost without a break. Burned tongue be damned.

“Very good, actually,” raising your head, you met Neil’s proud smile. It was a much better look than the embarrassed expression from earlier, motivating you to add, “Maybe you should try getting into BGT with that talent,” you winked at him, even if to prolong the blush, which had begun to fade.

But also because it was fun to compliment him, considering that you meant every word and because of your suspicions that Neil did not get them often. That alone was a travesty, in your opinion.

“Very funny,” rolling his eyes at you with a happy smile tucked in the corner of his lips, Neil looked even better.

It was easy enough a conclusion that lightness and happiness were a good look on him. Especially when you were the cause. You tried not to let that go into your head, but… Well.

“I know,” you matched his smile with a smirk of your own, “Hysterical,” with the perfect pause to take another sip of the glorious coffee, you shifted the topic, “How was the week at the clergy?”

Without Neil’s continuous amused reactions to the same old joke, you would have dropped it by now. But how could you if it still got a laugh out of him each time? You couldn’t let opportunities like that slip by. No chance.

This time, Neil hid the joyous huff of laughter in the coffee cup as he pondered the answer.

“It’s been good. Fine,” a noncommittal shrug offered no room for guessing what it was that he did, which was still a mystery, but you counted wins where you could find them, “A bit busy, but what can you do. I might have a work trip coming up soon, so…” it was only when the second part of his reply was processed by your brain, currently preoccupied with staring at Neil’s mouth (which was a very normal state of mind to have), that you perked up.

That was important information. For two contrasting reasons. One was that whatever Neil did for work involved work trips, and that narrowed down the field, albeit barely. Two was that it would mean he would not be around every Wednesday, ready to meet you. That second deduction took hold of your heart with the icy grasp of disappointment.

“So, no more Wednesday meetups?” it was impossible to keep the sadness out of your tone as you settled a wary gaze on Neil.

Sure, it was survivable. But where would be the fun in it?

It was not fun to see that same apprehension creep into Neil’s eyes.

“Yeah, but only like… for a few weeks,” from his sudden dislike of eye contact, you guessed that the estimation might have been an understatement. Though you did hope he was not lying. The pitiful look must have been still present on your face, for Neil followed the statement with reassurance, “I’m sure you’ll survive without me,” he hesitated for a millisecond before returning your previous gesture and giving your hand a comforting pat.

You did not move it away, the pleasant warmth and weight of his palm seeping through your skin and soothing the sudden spell of sadness. It was difficult not to let that inexplicable feeling lead you into the deep end as it was not something you understood. It settled in the darkest cavern of your heart and accompanied its beat with its foreboding presence. There was no choice but to push past it.

“I don’t know, I’m going to miss you,” the confession felt dangerously light on your tongue as you registered Neil’s reaction. His beautiful eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he quickly dropped your gaze, choosing to stare at the table instead. The only sign that you were heard was how his thumb stroked your hand repeatedly, “I hope you’ll be back before the premiere,” using the only way you knew of lightening the conversation, you made sure to slip in a playful tone.

Ever since the day you had shared joyous news with Neil, he often asked about the preparations for the ballet. He seemed genuinely interested in the process, the rehearsals, and your impressions at every stage.

When you innocently hinted at a costume fitting in your texts Neil immediately asked for a picture. You complied, gleefully posing in the dressing room mirror wearing the whole get-up, complete with pointe shoes, tights, and a white ballet tutu with the accents of blue flower petals. All in all, you had the right to believe that Neil would be interested in coming to see the ballet when it premiered. You had that covered.

“I’ll do my best,” his hopeful smile was enough to distract you, for soon Neil followed it with a question, “Do I get an invite?”

The cheeky smile was back in full force, almost wiping you off the surface of the Earth. More of that, please. Feeling brave, you slowly tangled your fingers with his to raise your joined hands from the tabletop and squeezed his palm. It was a silly question to ask. You had to make sure Neil knew that.

“Well, duh,” you started with an eye roll, taking pleasure from the feel of his hand holding yours, “I’m going to need a personal cheerleader for when I fail big time,” it was a rare thing to hear you admit the fear and anxieties out loud.

Most of the time, they only existed in your mind, never expressed. And especially not in a conversation because that fear of someone else confirming all you feared was overwhelming. It was better to appear invincible to the world than to let them know your weaknesses. Somehow this logic did not want to apply itself to Neil. No, he has heard it all. And yet, he did not seem keen on confirming you were right to doubt yourself.

“That’s not going to happen. You’ll be the perfect Cupid,” punctuating the encouragement with a squeeze of the hand, Neil shot you a brilliant grin.

The nickname was growing on you. It was also the cause of a few silly smiles during the rehearsals when you were addressed with your character role. That was alright, too.

Now, with the force of his beautiful smile shining upon you like a rare beacon of hope, you tried your hardest not to let the praise consume you whole. Instead, you turned to the faithful vice of sarcasm as you let go of his hand and settled your chin on your folded palms. Eyelashes and doe eyes in full force. Naturally.

“Wow, my charms must be working if you’re this blindsided,” curling the corner of your mouth in a smirk, your eyes roamed over his face in familiar patterns.

It was refreshing to remember why you invited him out in the first place. Why you have decided to break the unwritten role and step on the line you both had been tiptoeing from day one. Why nothing was holding you back from reaching for what you wanted.

This time, Neil did not turn away from your taxing gaze and met it head-on. Almost as if permitting you to proceed with whatever you desired.

“You’ve no idea, sweetheart,” mirroring your tentative smirk, Neil offered you a wink and picked up the coffee cup.

You were certainly not going to eschew a chance like that.

***

As far as first dates (could he even call it that?) went, meeting up for coffee and letting the conversations run without a disaster somewhere in between was rare. Even rarer still considering that Neil did not know how he got to this point and whether it was not all a dream. The jury was out on that. Even though Sunday was now two days ago, the meeting was still fresh in his mind, posing a thousand questions.

Because he really did not know how he got that place. The only certainty was that sometime between the surprising Saturday night meeting at Leicester Square station and the day after, Cupid made up her mind and chose to strike. Alternatively, she decided to act considering the realisations he was not privy to. Sure, that night at the station almost ended with a kiss. He knew that. He was there. But it did not offer answers as towards why an almost kiss made her behave in contrast to what Neil thought he understood about her.

Because a date was definitely a step above flirting. And it was hard to understand what that meant. If anything at all.

Now, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Neil stared out the window of the HQ cafeteria and tried his hardest not to think about it (her) for a change. It was not going well, as one could expect. From the corner of his eye, he could tell Ives was staring. Those piercing blue eyes (bluer than his, which has once or twice been proved during a night out as those things usually are) have been glancing his way instead of focusing on the sandwich on his plate. What a prick (affectionate). After what felt like a fiftieth glance, Neil dropped the napkin onto his place with force and turned towards Ives with a glare. The patience has worn out.

“Oh, just spit it out,” Neil hissed the words with ire.

The grin spreading upon Ives’ lips did not help a bit. The soldier leaned forward, abandoning his food and setting the perceptive eyes upon his friend. Mercilessly. With years of friendship, Neil knew this was not ending well.

“I haven’t said a word,” the man shrugged; a picture-perfect nonchalance.

If only.

“But you’ve been staring,” Neil’s attempt at covering up the tension with a bored tone failed.

He knew that as soon as he saw Ives’ unimpressed smile. There were no doubts about where this conversation was heading. It was the interrogation Neil had feared from day one. It was only a matter of time. Damn it.

“Go ask Henrik. Maybe he can help you gauge my eyes,” in moments like this, Ives’ cockney accent came out in full force, tearing at the shreds of patience Neil seemed to have.

Despite himself, he cracked a smile at the comeback.

“Doubtful,” quickly hiding it in the sip of tea, Neil muttered a quip of his own.

While Henrik, the team’s medic, was a peculiar man, it was improbable he would be into that kind of thing. Unfortunately.

“Eh, I wouldn’t put it past him,” before he could hope this was the end of the conversation, Ives levelled him with another no-bullshit look and delivered the sentence in four simple words, “Mate, spit it out,”

If only it were that easy. For one, Neil did not even know what there was to tell. Sure, he has met a girl. He was probably thinking too much about said girl daily. But that was it. The end of the story. Pathetic, as per usual.

“I’d rather not,” as the last resort of keeping his dignity intact, Neil averted his gaze and fixed his stare on the dirty floor of the cantina.

A solitary potato chip was lying there, attracting attention. For one, maddening second, his brain tried to concoct an elaborate metaphor in which he was like that lonely, forgotten chip on the ground.

Thankfully, the idea was soon dispersed by his irreplicable companion and his booming voice, cutting through the idiotic thoughts:

“I beg to differ,” the hint of reassurance in Ives’ voice was responsible for luring Neil into listening, just as the soldier delivered the question, “What’s her name? His name? Their name?”

Admittedly, the inclusive way of asking was a nice touch from someone who frequently lacked decorum. Or, more accurately, did not bother with it. It was that addition that made Neil crack, with the final resolve crumbling as he tried to protest:

“There’s no- Cupid,” giving out a tired sigh, Neil finally raised his head and repeated the nickname with something ridiculously close to the softness of affection, “I call her Cupid,”

It made no sense. He knew that. But it did not help that whenever he thought of her, that stupid, embarrassing part of his heart was roused awake from periodical slumber. So much for being reasonable.

As soon as Ives whistled lowly and that familiar sardonic grin appeared on his face, Neil knew it was a mistake.

“Kinky,” his murderous glare got ignored in favour of another pressing question, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Lucky was definitely an overstatement if you asked Neil. But he did not fancy getting into the specifics of the relationships yet. Instead, he happily let himself delve back into memories of that first meeting. He still could not find other apt ways to describe it than a strike of fate. Dramatic? Sure, that was his second name.

He did doubt that Ives would appreciate the insane poetic ruminations, however.

“I’ve met her at the Tube, and she’s a ballerina… Pretty fucking cool, at that” that was a non-negotiable fact. Period.

Yet from the way his friend stared at him, Neil could easily deduct that here, too, he sounded like the insane idiot that he was. An idiot that finds friends on the Tube and lets that develop into something else. Something he tried very hard not to define. It was going splendidly well. Of course.

“Uh oh,” as if reading his mind, Ives, the prick, pasted on a silly grin and bated his eyelashes down at him, continuing the interrogation, “Is that a crush I’m sensing?”

Fuck. That was, indeed, a mistake.

Not that there was a crush because there absolutely wasn’t anything of that sort. Idiot, he might have been, but not… No. No. Which is exactly why Neil had to pause to cover his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. Conveniently ignoring Ives and his bullshit assumptions.

Only once he felt like the annoyance had simmered to an acceptable white noise, Neil dropped the hands covering his face and met his destiny in the form of an infuriating sardonic smile.

“No, she’s just… I’m fascinated, okay? I’ve never met anyone like her before, and we’ve got a good thing going with weekly chats and… stuff,” running out of steam, Neil let the last word trail off into silence.

He knew what it all sounded like. He did. Except that there was no better way of describing it (them) to the outside world. And he was certainly not keen on showing Ives the texts. Not after the last conversation this morning, which involved more innuendos and another rendition of What socks are you wearing? - his favourite game. Truly. What made the exchange more incriminating, however, was the fact that Cupid’s current socks brandished an image of an adorable pug with a caption: “Send dog pics”. Yeah, that. That was a theme he was so far happy to ignore. Kind of.

“Did you kiss her yet?” another ridiculous question acted like a wake-up call as Neil felt the loathed, crimson blush fill his cheeks.

“What is this? Middle school?” another outburst got met with a stoically blank face, not helping to ease the shame of being so goddamn transparent “No, I didn’t,” I wish, “We danced” offering the alternative lowkey felt like self-sacrifice.

Not because Neil was embarrassed of what had happened that Saturday night but because it stayed a secret to anyone who was not him or Cupid. At least, that is what she told him, much to inexplicable surprise, which he could not and would not try to understand.

“I never knew you dance,” the soldier’s remark, as always, missed the mark.

Annoyance at the whole world, at this rate, rose at a steady pace. Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that Neil was frustrated at the circumstances of the relationship with the woman in question, but it was too soon for self-realisation to do its work.

“Of course, I do,” instead, it was the distant feel of pity that nagged at the edges of his soul as Neil allowed the dismissive reflection to be voiced without the veil of fake pep, “Anyway, none of it matters. She’s not into relationships, so…” he shrugged, aware of the pitiful picture.

In a way, it was easier to know that about her ahead of time. It was perfect information to push at his brain and heart whenever they got too comfortable with the situation. To remind them (and himself) that it was not going anywhere, and it never would.

But, for some infuriating reason, the heart tended to be a stubborn beast holding no regard for facts. Not that heart had anything to do with this just yet. Of course not. Neil just… liked her. As a human being likes another human being. Platonically.

“Surely, your roguish charm will convince her otherwise,” as expected, Ives looked as if he was trying very hard not to feel sorry for him and was failing.

The reassurance hardly worked if Neil was being honest. The existence of said roguish charm was highly debatable. But who was he to argue?

“Nah, it’s fine. I can be just friends with her” manifesting much, or whatever. It was a blessing to have a different topic to switch to, “Anyway, I’m not going to see her for the next couple of weeks since we’re leaving,” another attempt at a nonchalant shrug got lost in the heaviness Neil could not shake off if he tried.

Going off on a mission right now, in the middle of it all, was far from ideal. Neil liked his job, loved it even, but then, some operations felt like a drag from the moment they appeared on his desk. That was one of them.

“Yeah, Lisbon is on,” from the tiredness written all over Ives’ face, Neil could tell the lack of enthusiasm was shared, “Two weeks, but it might be longer,”

“Great,” sarcasm dripped from the word as Neil glanced at his friend and asked, “We’re going to bunk together?”

It was only half a joke. Because only the company made the perspective of that mission seem a little less daunting.

“You wish, love,�� the answering grin on Ives’ face was the perfect punchline to the dramatic conversation. The soldier got up from the table with another quip, “You know I’m not into blondes,” he walked away without another glance, yet the laugh he elicited from Neil could be heard in the room above the cantina.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet 2020 #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

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twocrabcake · 1 year

Text

alright here’s the deal

i’m gonna make a percentage of how many trap victims/related persons survive

wish me luck this is gonna be tedious 🫡

it’s been an hour or two since i wrote that lol i got busy

idk i’m starting when its like 12am????

survived: iiiiiiiiii

not: iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

special (survived): iiiiiii

special (not): iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

special is either 1 the game was rigged or 2 they beat the game but died some other related way (ex: adam) 3 or if it was up to somebody else to save you as part of their game (ex: eric matthews, like a lot of them actually)

special good is when it was rigged/something was against them or different but they still beat it. hold on hold up i’m looking for an example rn. ok the secretary lady deborah or something she was in a trap out of her control but she survived.

(timing these for some reason) 1:12 am

dude idk where to put matthews bc his first game was a fluke and he survived but he was also like saved? idk man i’ll think about it (i put him in special died OH GOD NO LOOK AT NOTES)

i can’t put my headcanons/theory’s in here okay cowabummer dude (i have to put adam in dead i’m sorry ok)

1:20 (^im realizing now a shit ton of these fall into the special category whoopsies maybe i got too specific)

1:28 aw dude the fatal 5 are gonna suckkkk bc they’re all working together and linked and connected and shit fhhhghh

1:33 okay dude the steam lady is difficult bc the first half was a special but the last wasn’t. fuck it im just gonna say she could have survived the burns herself

1:40 can’t decide if the first and rebooted games from jigsaw should be put in together or if they should be separate. i just finished i smoked an entire bowl and i am trying my best here ok

1:50 the train guys is rigged they don’t explicitly say it but there’s no way

1:58 alright. fucking finally. that experience was just a downward spiral haha get it bc i hate that movie. also hate jigsaw the movie jigsaw. this was very unpleasant once i’m done with this shit i’m gonna fall asleep to saw 5 or smthn.

2:02 i have to use a counter online bc i’m too tired to count all those little i bitches

2:06 the fruits of my labor. my creation. behold

Pie chart

there we fucking go. a ratio. OH MY GOD THEY FUCKING SEPARATED THE 2 DEADS IM GONNA KILL. YOU. YOU WILL BE BOILED.

oh thank god

ok so there it is. the ratio of victims that survived and victims who’ve perished in jigsaws traps. you don’t know how much footage i’ve skimmed through. 1 like=1 ass kicking for to me because what was i thinking

me laying down in bed after this ↓

WAIT NO I FORGOT TO INCLUDE FUCKING ERIC MATTHEWS. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN.

2:18 ok here it is. the real true official one.

sorry for all that. thank you for accompanying me on this task. i did not have fun. except when i was watching 1-3d but then after that it sucked. 1-3d even took up almost all of the view time but the last bits were so unpleasant it threw that all out the window. gonna go watch one of the original saw movies. you can tell saw x will be good bc it has saw in the name. the title. oh my god oh god i’m realizing i forgot people. i think i forgot bobby. what the hell man screw this i’m going to sleep. i’ll deal with it when i wake up and wonder what the fuck i was on last night. thank you for joining me on this journey of a mental breakdown everybody. a mental spiral, even, if you will. i’m imagining cheesy ending scene music like the character/actor is thanking the audience. signing, logging off at 2:34 am. goodnight everyone.

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virgo-mess · 6 months

Text

The Birds and the Bees

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Chapter List

1.Alexithymia- The Inability to Express your Feelings Parts 1 and 2

2.The Woes of Adolescence/ What the heck Happened that Summer Parts 1 and 2

3.Caught in a Summer Storm/ What the heck Happened that Christmas.

4.Summer Bluffs? Part 1

5.Disco, Strippers, and Margaritassss Part 2

6.Sleepless in a Hotel Suite Part 3

7.Shades of Pink

8.The Things I’ve Dreamed Part 1

9.Renewal Part 2

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TW: None really just two angsty pretty people that can't communicate, flirting, with a little fluff ....ENJOY!

Alexithymia- The Inability to Express Your Feelings Part 1

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“For adults, summer was different- flatter, the way everything became flatter when you grew old, like the hills you once sledded and stood on your pedals to climb, like the Christmases and birthdays you once anticipated, even after you discovered they disappointed, again and again, until you became numb to their disappointment.”- Dana Cann

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Shay’s Pov

Shay hummed softly to the radio while she inhaled the salty scent of the New England coast, she watched the deep blue of Plymouth Harbor flit past her car windows for the first time in two years. The ocean and their pretty beaches were one of the things she missed the most about coming back to her hometown of Plymouth Massachusetts, at least when they weren’t hidden under a thick blanket of winter snow. Winter was usually the only time of year Shay could afford to slip away from her job as Vice President of an investment banking firm on Wall Steet and make the nearly four-hour drive back home. She had moved to New York what felt like a lifetime ago to attend school at NYU but in reality, it was only seven years. She had only intended on majoring in marketing, but the allure of upper-class New York City living was too strong. Shay ended up toughing college life out for one more year to earn an MBA and before she knew it, she was calling NYC home and worked her way up the investment banking chain. The hours of being a VP of investment banking were grueling, but the pay was good with extra perks like end of the year bonuses and paid time off, but Shay had come to find the life of a workaholic was also incredibly lonely. The only reason she was even able to swing this trip home was because her boss, Harold Weber, had suggested she take a sabbatical after having a mild mental breakdown in front of a few clients a couple of weeks ago. A breakdown that landed her in the back of an ambulance. Needless to say, Shay jumped at the opportunity to expand her horizons for a few months and oddly enough home seemed like the best place to do it.

So, here Shay was back in her hometown about to meet up with some of her oldest childhood friends, her breakdown had conveniently lined up well with some major life events. Her best friends Daisy and Pete were getting married in a few weeks, and Shay was sweetly bestowed the title of Maid of Honor. Daisy had gone all out and had showed up at Shay’s New York loft to hand deliver the biggest bouquet of flowers and spa basket Shay had ever seen about three months ago. How could Shay say no after such a grand gesture? Truthfully, she would’ve accepted if Daisy had just shown up with a cupcake and a big hug it had been so long since she had gotten one of those. Shay turned her forest green Audi R8 into the 1620 Wine Bar parking lot at exactly 12 o’clock for her scheduled lunch date with Daisy Martin, soon to be Daisy Foster. They were meeting to not only catch up but to also put together some of the last-minute touches on the wedding Shay had promised she’d help her with as soon as she got the time. Luckily for them both, Shay seemingly had all the time in the world now after this sabbatical she wasn’t sure if she was going to stay in the world of investment banking or New York in general.

Shay sighed stepping out of her car and taking in the warm summer rays as she made her way up to the small wine bar at a leisurely pace. She only made one stop the entire four hour drive up and that was to put actual clothes on, so she didn’t show up to a fancy wine bar in a pair of skimpy pajamas with a set of hair rollers in her hair. Instead, she opted for a simple mint green floral mini sundress and a matching cardigan that matched her misty green eyes. She even took the time to apply some make up and the hair rollers helped her achieve her routine picture perfect 90s blowout in a sketchy gas station bathroom. Shay looked at her reflection in the glass for a moment before pushing the heavy door open and walking into the dim wine bar with an awed expression on her face. Soft jazz music lulled through the overhead speakers as Shay’s green eyes took in the antique furnishings, beautiful stone walls, and gilded ceilings.

“Welcome to Sips at 1620, do you have a reservation?” a girl’s voice came from behind the hostess stand pulling Shay out of her thoughts with a polite smile on her face. She couldn’t help but feel a bit underdressed and fidgeted with the hem of her sundress as she took the last few steps up to the hostess stand.

“Yeah, it should be under Daisy” Shay said feeling a bit out of place in such a pretty place despite how polite the hostess was being to her. She wondered why Daisy picked such a romantic looking establishment, it seemed more suited for a date night than to just be planning parts of your wedding with a childhood friend but perhaps they weren’t going to be alone, and Daisy was looking to make a good impression.

“Looks like you’re the first one here, do you have a seating preference we have our main room off to your left here or our patio overlooking the harbor is just through doors.” The hostess said with a knowing look in her eyes as she watched Shay fidget with the hem of her dress again.

“The patio sounds perfect” Shay admitted letting out a faint sigh of relief. She could push her suspicious train of thought to the back of her mind for a little while and worry about surprise guests later, for now all she really needed was a glass of wine.

“Good choice, I know it can be a little intimidating in here, but I promise we aren’t nearly that fancy you’re not underdressed. You can go out and have a seat wherever you want, I’ll send someone out to bring you refreshments while you wait.” She said with the same knowing look in her eyes and a soft smile. Shay let out a soft, embarrassed sounding giggle and wondered how some people were able to get a read on her so easily.

“Thanks, could you make the first refreshment a glass of sangria please” Shay asked with a sheepish smile on her face, the host chuckled nodding her head as she began to shuffle out from behind the desk.

“Sure, thing hon, I’ll be with you in just one second sir.” The hostess said giving her one last smile before disappearing through a back door. Shay took one last look around the bar to get a closer look at some of the pretty furnishings before heading towards the patio doors and stepping out into the warm late June sunshine. The patio was empty but had a much more relaxed feel to it than the main room. The tables were covered with black and white striped umbrellas and the chairs were a pleasing assortment of cushioned patio loveseats and cute wicker chairs with brightly colored pillows. Shay all but skipped to one of the tables closest to the rippling blue of Plymouth harbor, she sat her purse down and quickly discarded her cardigan before taking a seat on one of the comfortable loveseats. Her green eyes fixate on the crashing waves and a loved-up couple in the distance, the faint lull of soft music could still be heard floating through the balmy air. Only instead of smooth jazz, the soft notes of a dreamy sounding indie pop song graced Shay’s ears. She couldn’t help but get dewy-eyed as a small wistful type of smile made its way across her face because the music and the couple on the beach reminded her of the happy summers of her girlhood. Most of which were spent with the boy next door, her first crush, and also her best friend before she and Daisy got really close.

“Hey gorgeous, what are you doing over here by yourself?” a deep, flirtatious voice asked, Shay jumped slightly in surprise halting her daydreaming to focus on the tall man standing in front of her table with a flirty smile on his face. Shay blushed under his gaze as she let her eyes trail over the man’s tall, muscled body for a bit longer than socially acceptable. He’s dressed in a pair of dark fitted jeans, a white button down that gave her a very teasing display of his muscled chest, and a dark blue blazer. Cropped gray hair sits atop his head and a pair of dark sunglasses shield his eyes from Shay’s view but even with the sunglasses on she can tell he’s incredibly handsome in a mysterious, brooding type of way. Something about the man feels remarkably familiar to her but she can’t quite pinpoint what it is.

“I’m um, waiting for my friend and my glass of sangria” Shay said awkwardly letting her eyes sweep the patio to find it still completely empty save for her and the mysterious man wearing sunglasses in front of her that almost seemed to appear out of thin air. The man let out a soft chuckle under his breath that somehow had Shay’s stomach doing flips and her eyes giving him another quick once over because she swears, she’s heard that chuckle before.

“Sorry I startled you; would you mind if I keep you company while you wait pretty lady?” he asked in the same deep coquettish tone, Shay felt her cheeks flush a darker shade of pink as she gazed up at him for a long time. She couldn’t see his eyes but part of her knew he was gazing right back at her in a way that made her feel like he was undressing her and staring into her soul at the same time in a sensual, tantalizing sort of way.

“You’ve complimented me twice in under a minute that can’t be good, have a seat Casanova” Shay said coyly motioning to the two other chairs around the table. Mystery man let out another soft chuckle before plopping in the empty spot next to Shay on the patio chair close enough for his large thigh to ghost hers in the most teasing way. He flashed her another flirty smile as he propped an arm on the table and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. Shay rolled her eyes and let out a soft giggle of her own as she teasingly mirrored his action, placing her chin in the palm of her hand as she flashed him a coy smile before deciding to break the brief silence the pair of them had seemingly fallen into.

“Have we met before Mr…?” Shay trailed raising an eyebrow at him expectantly as her eyes continued to try and pinpoint why on earth, he felt so familiar yet oh so different at the same time. She watched him bite down on his lip like he was trying to bite back another chuckle. She concluded that the sunglasses were what was throwing off whatever picture she had of him in her head.

“Right or Perfect for you, whichever you prefer darling. You know I think we have met, in my dreams…” his tone had a playful edge to it this time and Shay could see one of his eyebrows peek up at her from behind his glasses, mirroring her expression with a teasing grin. Shay giggled, shaking her head as she felt the familiar fluttering of butterflies in her stomach.

“Yeah, okay Casanova. Let me guess, you’re in town for that big rodeo happening down at the fairgrounds and you need some ‘eye-candy’ in your cheering section…” Shay said with a coy smile on her face at her artfully subtle tack of asking the silver haired mystery what he’d be getting up to while he was in town. It’d been ages since Shay actually let loose and entertained a random guy that had the guts to brazenly flirt with her like this but part of her felt like the guy sitting next to her wasn’t just a random guy and that she’d known him her whole life. There was only one other guy Shay had felt such a thing for, someone she knew a lifetime ago back in those carefree days of her youth…

“I’m no cowboy, doll but you aren’t too far off about me wanting some eye candy and luckily I just happened to stumble upon the prettiest girl in Plymouth.” He all but purred, reaching out to brush his thumb against her flushed cheek affectionately, too affectionately for a supposed stranger… Shay eyed him suspiciously but couldn’t find it in her to pull away from him because everything about him had her utterly transfixed and once again feeling oddly homesick, homesick for a person rather than a place.

“Let me guess, you’re in town for that over-the-top Foster wedding, aren’t you blondie?” he crooned in a teasing tone. His long fingers left Shay’s flushed cheek to toy with a lock of her blonde hair and Shay found herself biting down on her lip to prevent a displeased whine from escaping her throat at the loss of contact. Familiar waves of conflicting feelings coursed through her veins as she gazed over at him with the same coy smile on her face.

“That obvious huh, seems a bit unfair that you know what I’m doing here when you still haven’t told me your name or what you’re doing here. To think I let you sit at my table with me and everything.” Shay said letting out an exaggerated sigh and ditching her coy smile for a playful, mock pout of sadness. He chuckled shaking his head to himself for a moment before settling his shield gaze back on her with a teasing smirk on his face.

“Oh, I’m just here looking for my soulmate maybe you’ve seen her. She’s wearing a cute little green dress that matches her eyes and has an adorable albeit, fake pout on her pretty face right now” he said in a teasing tone, still twirling a lock of her blonde hair on his long finger. Shay rolled her eyes playfully and found herself biting back a giggle.

“Do you use that line on everyone, Casanova?” Shay said nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow at him as she rested her chin back in the palm of her hand, she silently wished she could take his sunglasses off not just because she wanted to see who was behind them but more so to getting a better feel for what he was thinking. Interpreting his thoughts and expressions based on eyebrows alone was getting tedious.

“No, just a cute little blonde with pretty green eyes and an adorable button nose who also happens to be my soulmate. Haven’t you been listening?” he said in a low borderline seductive tone as he bit down on his lip and gave her a teasing bop on the tip of her nose with one of the long fingers that had just been toying with her hair. Shay didn’t resist the urge to giggle this time, finding the action mildly ridiculous but strangely adorable all the same. Her giggles took a second to die down but when they did, she found herself analyzing his face again.

“She’s got a cute laugh too…why are you staring at me like that ch…blondie?” he all but cooed, dragging a finger down her thigh delicately, staring at her in a way that implied he was searching her eyes for something. Shay tensed a bit at both the action and the intensity of his shielded gaze as she felt an unexpected wave of arousal creep up on her.

“You remind me of someone…” Shay breathed out tearing her eyes off the man for the first time since he had magically appeared in front of her table a mere twenty minutes ago because it finally dawned on her to dig through her purse for her cell phone. She doubted it was a coincidence he showed up at the exact time Daisy was supposed to be meeting her here. No, Daisy Martin was playing matchmaker again and she was in for an earful when she finally decided to grace her and mystery man with her presence.

“A good someone I hope, tall, handsome, pretty blue eyes, might be a cop, could’ve got suspended for beating up a dirtbag named Tyler in a hotel lobby in New York…” he trailed nonchalantly.

“Huh” Shay said though she wasn’t really listening to what he was saying as she unlocked her phone to see about ten text messages from Daisy.

“…Nothing, what’s your favorite flower?” he asked in the same nonchalant tone, pointedly running his fingers up Shay’s thigh again in a teasing matter to get her attention. Shay sighed, pausing her skim through Daisy’s messages to arch her brow at him again though this time it was in a snarkier manner than the previous ones she raised at him. He smiled over at her almost seeming sheepish under her gaze for the first time in the last twenty minutes or so.

“Why does that matter, you gonna buy me some Casanova?” Shay sighed, forcing a tight smile on her face before glancing back down at her phone to read the first few messages her meddlesome friend Daisy had sent her. Apparently, Pete had convinced Daisy to go up to Boston with him early this morning to take a look at some incredibly last-minute ideas for their reception décor, they hit a ton of unexpected traffic on their way back down but would be here at 12:40 by the latest.

“I don’t know maybe, women like that stuff you know, and I bet a favorite flower says a lot about a person. Looking at your phone when someone is trying to talk to you is rude blondie…” he said letting out an exasperated sigh before placing a long finger under her chin, urging her to look at him with a teasing grin plastered on his face. Shay scoffed, narrowing her misty green eyes at him.

“Well, if we’re really soulmates shouldn’t you be able to guess what my favorite flower is. Pretty sure I read that in the soulmate handbook, I can fact check that for you on my phone if you want…” Shay said coyly. Looking past him, she finally spotted a glimpse of Daisy’s black curls in the afternoon sun coming out of the patio doors with a disheveled looking Pete Foster in toe. “Sure… stuck in traffic…” Shay said sarcastically under her breath as she watched Daisy try to discreetly readjust her denim skirt.

“You don’t have to do that; I already know the answer is cherry blossoms Shay” he chuckled. Shay sharply settled her green eyes back on the not so mysterious man’s amused-looking smirk at the sound of her name and her childhood nickname coming out of his mouth in the same sentence. There was only one person that ever actually used that nickname for her on a regular basis, he had dark curls and a pair of carefree, captivating blue eyes.

“CASHTON MICHAEL EWING!” Shay all but snarled, reaching up to aggressively tear his obnoxious sunglasses off his face and carelessly tossed them down on the patio harder than necessary. Cash let out a deep annoyed sounding sigh as he watched the glasses clatter and skid against the stained wood with an audible smack.

“I just bought those, that was rude Cherry Blossom, bad girl” Cash chided her though his amused smirk and spread into a full grin as he teasingly bopped her on the tip of her nose with his finger again. Shay scowled at him through her lashes and swatted at his shoulder as hard as she could before finally scooting away from him. Shay crossed her arms over her chest and tried to process everything that happened between them in the last twenty minutes.

“You haven’t seen me in almost seven years, I was hoping to get a warmer greeting especially from you, Cherry Blossom. You’re not being very neighborly, you know.” Cash sighed with an unreadable emotion swirling in his eyes. Shay let out a sigh of her own but refused to meet his gaze even though he was in fact the person she’d been thinking of in the back of her mind this entire time. The someone she had known her whole life, the someone she was feeling homesick for. Cashton Michael “Cash” Ewing was Shay’s neighbor, the first friend she made when her parents moved into the Manomet neighborhood and her first crush though looking back on it now, it was more than just a crush. From the ages of four to fourteen Shay and Cash were basically inseparable, they did everything together back then and Shay had so many happy memories of those years. The innocent years, the ones before the dreads of awkward adolescence crept in on them both and set them down different paths to live separate lives that no longer involved the other.

“Well, we haven’t been neighbors in like eight years Cash… I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you with the hair…it’s looks great though really suits you, brings out your eyes” Shay tacked on awkwardly finally meeting his gaze with a timid look in her eyes. Cash gave her a half smile in response though there seemed to be a million thoughts running through his head as he gazed back at her with almost affectionate eyes. Shay was sure she was misreading the look in his eyes though; she felt the all too familiar bundle of conflicting emotions Cashton Ewing often brought upon her were still coursing through every fiber of her being.

“You don’t have to apologize Cherry Blossom it’s not your fault, I figured Daisy didn’t tell you I was coming when you checked in with the hostess. I’m just surprised and only mildly offended it took you so long to piece it together” he said lightheartedly though his blue eyes were sincere as they stared back into her green ones for what felt like an eternity. Gazes like this always had Shay’s mind flooding with happy memories from those early years of their friendship but then she’d remember all the more dreadful, angst filled memories of her adolescence and somehow some way, Cash Ewing was at the center of them all. She could remember all the summers their families spent together down in Cape Cod and all the days she and Cash spent running up and down the beaches, the day trips up to Boston during Christmas, stargazing in her backyard, eating ice cream every Tuesday at the parlor downtown, and movie nights with pizza in Cash’s basement. The Cash in those memories was like the one sitting beside her, gazing at her with sincere blue eyes yet something about him still felt so foreign. In the early days they told each other everything and sought comfort in each other when one of them was upset or cried. Shay missed the way things used to be between them before she knew the depth of the feelings she had for her then best friend. Shay knew the distance between them was her fault, they say girls mature faster than boys and that was definitely the case for her and Cash. She still remembered the summer, everything changed though sometimes she really wished she could forget it.

“Shay… are you okay?” Cash asked, pulling Shay out of her moment of reminiscing by running his thumb along her still rosy cheek almost tenderly. Shay nodded her head in acknowledgement without even thinking about it, a habit she picked up that summer between middle school and high school. The summer she no longer felt comfortable letting Cash Ewing know every thought and feeling she ever had because the weight of her feelings and the heartbreak that came with having a crush on her best friend were too embarrassing to admit.

“I’m fine” Shay replied softly, not really knowing what else to say to him because she still felt mostly confused by his charade of choice. Shay knew she should be used to Cash giving her a hard time by now but given her still ever-present feelings for the doofus she can’t help but feel hurt by it. Cash and Pete had been routinely teasing her since they were Sophomores in high school. Shay always assumed it was just because she spent most of her time with Daisy after she pointedly distanced herself from Cash that sour summer, but she didn’t know why he bothered to keep it up after all this time.

“Good, I thought I lost you again” Cash said, flashing her an almost sheepish grin as his finger trailed the length of her thigh again. Shay gave him a weary look before gently pushing his hand off her leg and rising to her feet to greet Pete and Daisy, clad in their matching pastel pink polo shirts and denim bottoms like a couple out of a magazine spread.

“Hey guys, you’re a little late don’t you think” Shay said giving Daisy a pointed yet playful look as she pulled her into a hug. Daisy rolled her eyes but hugged her back, nonetheless before pulling away with an unmistakable impish glint in her brown eyes.

“Didn’t you get my text messages, Pete insisted on driving on up to Boston at the crack of dawn like a deranged rooster because we simply have to have this over-the-top archway at the end the isle. Long story short we’re already way over budget so this fanciful archway ain’t happenin’.” Daisy said giving Pete a pointed look of her own, Pete let out an exasperated sigh before pulling Cash into a brief half hug.

“Yeah, I did get your text messages and you failed to tell me Cash was gonna be joining us for lunch in all ten of them Daisy Martin. Also, don’t think I didn’t see you readjusting your skirt on your way out the door over there, stuck in traffic huh.” Shay said in a hushed tone, Daisy blushed giving Shay a sheepish smile.

“I could’ve sworn I told you that, what’s it matter anyway? You two sure looked nice and cozy together from what I saw. Love is definitely in the air” Daisy said wiggling her dark eyebrows suggestively. Shay let out a sad sounding sigh and gave Daisy a weary look.

“What you saw was Cash toying with me like always. Made a whole show of flirting with me because I didn’t recognize him right away. I’m sure it meant nothing…it never does” Shay said quietly, Daisy’s brown eyes softened a bit, and she reached over to place a comforting hand on Shay’s shoulder the same way she’d been doing since they were kids.

“Shay, you don’t know that alright. I think Cash just has a hard time flirting with you as himself, you can come off a little cold towards him sometimes you know. That doesn’t mean he isn’t being genuine, maybe you make him as nervous as he makes you. You two should really talk…” Daisy trailed; her tone implied that she knew something Shay didn’t, but Shay was already feeling too vulnerable for her comfort level.

“Cashton Micheal can’t have an honest conversation to save his life, Daisy even you know that. Let’s just eat alright, I’m starving, and the hostess forgot to bring me a glass of sangria” Shay said in a lighthearted tone, but sadness was swirling in her green eyes even as she glanced over at Cash and Pete who were having a hushed conversation of their own. Shay could still recall the last two serious conversations she and Cash Ewing had on the last Christmas Cash had come home for and the one on Thanskgiving seven years ago. A conversation that landed her in tears on a train to Cleveland, she was headed back to reassemble the shambles of her first traumatic break up with her ex-boyfriend, Tyler. The second break up happened a mere two years ago but Shay knew their relationship was over the first time around. She just didn't want to be alone...

“Okay, are these yours?” Daisy asked, grabbing Shay’s attention she held up Cash’s battered looking sunglasses with a raised eyebrow. Shay bit her lip to stifle a chuckle as Cash grumpily walked over and took the sunglasses out of Daisy’s hand. The annoyed look in his blue eyes as he looked over the scuffed lenses left Shay feeling oddly satisfied.

“No these are mine, Shaylee Rose thought she’d try her hand at being Walter Johnson before you got here. You owe me a new pair, Cherry Blossom, I know you can afford it, I saw you pull up in that fancy green Audi” Cash smirked with an all too familiar mischievous glint in his ocean blue eyes as he glanced at a surely grinning Pete behind her. Shay rolled her eyes and mentally prepared herself for Cash Ewing and Pete Fosters routine teasing session to begin.

“It was awful nice of you to take a break from your upper Manhattan circle and spend some time with us poor people, Shay. After you ditched us these last two Christmases, I was beginning to think you turned into Scrooge on us.” Pete chuckled, reaching over to pinch Shay’s cheek playfully. Shay scowled and let out an annoyed sounding sigh as she plopped down on one of the wicker patio chairs instead of the loveseat Cash weaponized to entice and torment her just for fun as it would seem.

“You didn’t come home for two whole years, and you couldn’t even come see me an hour car ride over in Jersey City, Cherry Blossom. I’m not too sure she hasn’t turned into a Scrooge after all Petey. That’s not your spot, Shaylee.” Cash said pointedly, sitting back down on the loveseat with a raised eyebrow. Shay stared back at Cash blankly watching his large hand patting the spot next to him almost…seductively. Shay felt her cheeks flush despite her growing annoyance towards him and his cocky attitude at the moment. She knew Cash moved a few years back, but she never realized he had only been a half hour drive from her on a good traffic day.

“Doors work both ways Cashy, I didn’t know you moved to Jersey City but if you wanted to visit me all you had to do was show up Daisy does it all the time.” Shay said flatly, pointedly ignoring his adamant ‘pleas’ for her to sit by him even though part of her wanted to more than anything. She was sure his insistence was just part of whatever this playful act of flirting with her was, she wouldn’t allow herself to fall for it this time.

“Well, I figured if you wanted anything to do with me you would’ve at least answered one of the letters I sent you. Now get out of Pete’s seat.” Cash said, matching her flat tone with a serious expression on his face. Shay furrowed her brows at his words, she hadn’t gotten a letter from Cash since her sophomore year at NYU. She’d received it shortly after that sad Thanksgiving at his mom’s house but at the time she’d been trying her hardest to forget about that day all together. So, she just never answered it with the vague after thought she’d just talk to Cash about it at Christmas if he ever brought it up. Of course, that was because Shay didn’t know Cash had no intention of ever coming back home for a holiday again…

“Pete can sit by you, what letters are talking about?” Shay asked in a gentle but serious tone as her green eyes searched his blue ones for an answer. Cash sighed and shifted uncomfortably under her gaze for the first-time since he walked up to her table which took Shay a bit by surprise. She could count the number of times Cashton Ewing had ever looked this vulnerable on one hand and most of those times were back when his abusive, alcoholic father, Huck Ewing was around. Seeing him like this had forgotten memories of a battered Cash crawling through her window with tears streaming down his face and Shay couldn’t help the twinge of guilt that came along with them. Shay wasn’t sure how her brain ever let her forget the way they used to cling and hold each other back then. Or why neither of their parents seemed to care Cash and her slept and cuddled in the same bed every night until they were fourteen, innocently of course, but Shay can’t recall them ever being supervised. Shay glanced over at Daisy and Pete who were looking between her and Cash like they were watching a daytime soap opera.

“Pete doesn’t want to sit by me, do you Pete?” Cash asked him sharply, taking a turn at ignoring part of Shay’s words this time. Shay sighed feeling some of her guilt subside to make way for her growing annoyance towards Cash once again.

“Nope, I’d very much like to sit by my future wife Shay, so, mosey on over there by your silver fox why don’t ya” Pete replied almost instantly, almost as if he and Cash had rehearsed it beforehand. Shay felt another blush sweep across her cheeks as she looked at the two feeling equal amounts annoyed, suspicious, and embarrassed that Cash had told him about her complimenting his hair.

“No can-do Pete, Daisy and I are planning for the wedding and the bachelor parties. I know Cashton is insufferable, annoying, and obnoxious but do you think you can manage sitting next to your best friend just for today?” Shay asked in an overly sweet tone. She stared up at Pete and batted her eyelashes while a trace of a smirk made its way onto her face at the annoyed look, she could see Cash making out of the corner of her eye. Pete looked like a deer in headlights, his brown eyes darted between Shay and Cash before settling on an amused looking Daisy.

“You didn’t find me that insufferable when you thought I was a total stranger Shaylee Rose. In fact, it looked like you were contemplating letting me get you out of that cute little dress before they got here, and all I had to do was touch your thigh.” Cash said with a coquettish smile plastered on his face. He barely even had to move from his planted spot on the loveseat to trail a pointedly teasing finger up Shay’s leg because his arms were just that long. Shay felt her whole face flush a bright shade of red as she swatted Cash’s hand away from her sharply despite the wave of arousal she felt radiate throughout her body.

“Don’t flatter yourself Cashton and mow I know better than to let someone sit at my table so, trust me it won’t happen again” Shay replied with a scowl on her face, Cash’s coquettish smile didn’t falter, and he opened his mouth to say something snarky back to her, but Daisy cut him off.

“Okay let’s pause the bickering like an old married couple just for a second here…” Daisy said clearing her throat awkwardly though her brown eyes looked very much amused as they looked between them. Shay narrowed her eyes at her comparison of choice but managed to not snap back at her even though she could feel Cash tugging on a few of her curls teasingly.

“Actually Shay, I think it would be easier to talk about things if you sat across from me so, you and Pete should switch. Cash will behave himself, won’t you Cash” Daisy said sharply, Shay heard Cash let out an annoyed sigh and his pestering pulls on hair stop immediately.

“Sure, I’ll behave myself but only if you do darling” Cash said, reaching over to bop Shay on the nose with the same coquettish smile on his face. Shay narrowed her eyes and looked between him and Daisy with an obvious pout on her face.

“Daisy, I don’t think that’s necessary…” Shay said through gritted teeth, Daisy batted her eyelashes innocently, but Shay didn’t miss the impish glint swirling in her eyes. Shay had a sinking suspicion her original train of thought had been correct; Daisy Martin was playing matchmaker and for whatever reason she’d decided Shay and Cash were going to be the new couple that emerged from her wedding party.

“Shay it’s just for lunch” Daisy said reassuringly but it did absolutely nothing to soothe the influx of conflicting thoughts and emotions running through Shay right now. Part of her wanted something to happen between her and Cash and yet part of her didn’t. Part of her wanted to believe Cash was being sincere and that his flirting wasn’t just him toying with her but part of her still felt like it was and ultimately, she’d be the one hurt in the end because she always was…

“Daisy…” Shay said looking at her with pathetic and pleading green eyes that seemed to be having Daisy rethinking something at least. Cash let out a dissatisfied sounding grunt and Shay felt him wrap his arm around her waist firmly enough that she couldn’t wiggle free.

“You heard her, Cherry Blossom, come on now, be a good girl and sit with me, please…I won’t bite you without your permission” Cash said, his tone was more playful than anything this time, but Shay couldn’t help but still feel annoyed with him and everyone really. She made sure to shoot every one of her friends with a menacing glare before she begrudgingly let Cash guide her into the spot next to him with one strong arm.

The minutes ticked by with a long-awaited waiter finally coming out to take their order. He returned sometime later with a pitcher full of sangria and a heartfelt apology for Shay never getting her glass. Shay was mildly aware the waiter was flirting with her at some point during said apology, but free wine is free wine, and she wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Cash had mostly stayed true to his promise to behave by the time the appetizers came out and Shay and Daisy had finally got around to discussing plans for the bachelor party. Shay noticed that Cash seemed to become increasingly grumpy every time, said waiter emerged from the wine bar but she chalked it up to him being annoyed he couldn’t pester her the way he really wanted to.

“Instead of doing separate parties for bachelor parties we could do one big, combined party and pick a fun theme” Shay said, trying her best to ignore the way Cash resumed twirling a lock of her hair. She could see him staring at her intently out of the corner of her eye but kept her gaze trained on Daisy. Daisy nodded her head and pondered the idea with a smile on her face.

“That could be fun everyone could dress up, what do you guys think?” Daisy said animatedly, looking over at Pete with hopeful eyes. Pete nodded his head in agreement because his mouth was full of spinach and artichoke dip at the moment.

“Depends what theme Shay thinks up in this pretty head of hers. I for one don’t fancy dressing up and I know a lot of the guys feel the same way” Cash shrugged nonchalantly. Shay rolled her eyes because you could always leave it up to Cashton Ewing to be a party pooper for the sake of being the cool tough guy. Shay hadn’t seen him dress up for anything other than a school dance since they were kids and of course he wasn’t dressing to impress her. Shay took a long swig of her glass of sangria as names of Cash’s past connections flashed in her head in big angry letters.

“Then I guess you won’t be coming to the party, how sad” Shay said dryly though her gaze was still fixated on a now uncomfortable looking Daisy. Cash didn’t reply but his finger halted twirling her strand of hair and his ocean blue eyes bore into the side of her face for a long moment.

“Well, I’m sure it’s okay if not everyone dresses up…it’ll still be fun” Daisy said, Shay shook her head just as their waiter reemerged from the bar with a tray full of their food.

“Nope, I’m putting it on the invite dressing up is required if people don’t want to dress up, they’re welcome not to but then they aren’t coming. They can stay in their suites and pout, I’m sure they’ll find someone to keep them company and warm their bed…” Shay shrugged, she felt Cash’s hand fall from her hair and another dissatisfied grunt escape his lips.

“Or we could just have separate parties like traditional people. The guys can do what they want to do, and you girls can play dress up and throw your party like you want to do. Then everyone wins because like I said a lot of the guys share my stance, right Pete?” Cash said, Pete once again looked like a deer in the headlights and didn’t seem to want to pick a side for once. His brown eyes grew wide as saucers and pleaded with Daisy to rescue him.

“Oh, please believe it or not, not everyone is a party pooper like you. Some people enjoy having fun and even if they don’t the party isn’t about them. I think you can afford to not be selfish for once and go to a party, smile pretty, and dress up for your best friend Cashton Michael. You can take Pete to the strip club on a different night, can’t you?” Shay said coolly, finally turning to meet his gaze with harsh green eyes. Cash’s face hardened into a glare and his blue eyes turned icy as they met hers in a way that oddly enough had her stomach doing flips again.

“Who said anything about a strip club, I just don’t want to dress up in a stupid costume for a party you just started planning five minutes ago and Pete already knows I don’t like dressing up. And why do you keep saying ‘your best friend’ like that when you’re the one who decided you didn’t want that title anymore, I didn’t take it from you. So, I’m really failing to see how you think I’m the one being selfish here Shaylee Rose, what about you” Cash said sharply, Shay stared at him blankly for a minute before rolling her eyes.

“What about me Cashton when have you ever done anything for me or anyone for that matter just to make them happy, huh? Because last I checked I was always the one bending over backwards to make you happy in our friendship and I just couldn’t do it anymore, sorry. I bet if Opal May, Winnifred, or any number of your girlfriends from Boston wanted you to dress up for their party you’d do it in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you” Shay said dryly, gulping the rest of her wine before angrily pouring herself another heaping glass. Cash stared at her with disbelief swirling in his blue eyes, he opened and closed his mouth several times appearing to finally be at a loss for words. “Yeah, that’s what I thought” Shay muttered taking another long swig of her fruity beverage.

“I don’t know what Opal May has to do with any of this…Is that why you planned a whole trip to Cancun for spring break and didn’t invite me because you think I’m selfish and prioritize other people over you…Are you talking about what happened at Thanksgiving with Winnifred because…” Cash asked her in a soft, careful tone with an unreadable expression swirling in his eyes. Shay pursed her lips and took another small sip of wine as she focused her seething gaze on the waves crashing on the shore in the distance.

“I didn’t invite you because I didn’t think you’d detach yourself from dear old Winnie long enough to get on a plane. Besides she shot down the idea about sunny vacation after she whisked you away to help your mom in the kitchen said something about redheads and the sun being mortal enemies or something… Where is Winnie anyway, not enough glory being the plus one to a small-town wedding?” Shay grumbled; she heard Cash let out a frustrated sounding sigh behind her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze as unwanted flashbacks from that Thanksgiving trampled her brain. A thick layer of silence fell over their table with a level of awkwardness that matched the one that loomed over them the last holiday the four of them had spent together. That Thanksgiving was the first holiday and last, to Shay’s knowledge, that Cash had brought one of his girlfriends home only he seemed to fail to tell everyone about her including his mother. Everyone was shocked when a redheaded Winnifred Howards popped up out of seemingly nowhere, at least that’s what Daisy told Shay after she’d already gone back to Tyler and New York. Shay wasn’t stupid, she knew when nothing came of her seemingly unrequited crush on him in high school the day would eventually come that Cash showed up with someone better than her in every way on his arm. She had just hoped it would happen at the point in time when she was finally able to put her feelings for Cashton Ewing to rest. All her efforts to do so over the years had failed and Thanksgiving had been Shay’s biggest failure to date.

“Well gee, I guess I see where I fall on your friend roster Shay. You didn’t know I moved less than an hour from you and you apparently didn’t know Winnie and I haven’t seen each other since that Thanksgiving seven years ago either. You can say we broke up I guess but I’d hardly even call her my girlfriend, I just…” Cash trailed, his tone was low and serious but somehow had Shay’s annoyance and anger flaring tenfold. In her eyes Cash put her at the bottom of his friend pool long before she ever put him at hers, sure she distanced herself emotionally that sour summer but after that they still saw each other every day. They still talked regularly, which can only be expected when both of their other friends were dating each other. The emotional distance was more a necessity to protect what was left of her pride because she’d been stupid enough to fall for her best friend, the most desirable boy at their school. She’d also had been stupid enough to let herself believe that there might be something between them on far too many occasions for her liking. The last of which was that heavy conversation on Thanksgiving they had in his bedroom, which seemed more like a confessional more than anything to Shay now. Whatever hope of requited love she had during that conversation walked right out the door when an overtly perky redhead came in and insisted Cash help her and his mom in the kitchen. No amount of Cash pleading with Winnie to give them a few more minutes could ever make that level of heartbreak go away. It was a level that surpassed the angsty melodramatic one she felt most of that lonely summer with her aunt in LA but still it wasn’t quite as gut wrenching as walking into Tyler’s hotel suite in Cleveland later that evening.

Shay felt her green eyes well up with bitter, vulnerable tears before she finally turned her gaze back to Cash. Cash gazed back at her with intense, melancholy looking blue eyes that seemed to be searching hers for something. You could cut through the growing tension between the two with a knife as another awkward type of silence overtook their table.

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“Daisy, she really looks like she might kill him right now maybe this wasn’t a good idea…” Pete said in a hushed voiced, his brown eyes were fixated on the two friends he’d known since his grade school years with a fearful type of fascination. Daisy sighed, still looking at the pair like she was very much watching a soap opera.

“I know, I don’t even know what happened. They looked so cute when we got here, maybe we should just let them have lunch alone. Cash seems to perform better that way, I know he’s nervous but this… this is just sad” Daisy muttered, Pete stifled a chuckle as he finally let his eyes fall on the love his life adoringly.

“We still can you know, lovely. Honestly, they probably won’t even notice at this point. We could go to the beach and sip cocktails, we could even…” Pete trailed, Daisy furrowed her dark brows at him although she was smiling at him as brightly as ever.

“We could even what?” Daisy asked.

“Leave the rest of the planning for the wedding and the parties up to them. The two of them working together might implore them to finally unpack allll of this” Pete said in the same hushed tone as he motioned between their two glowering best friends. Daisy bit her lip, pondering his proposal for a moment. Honestly, nothing could be worse than whatever was going on between the two now.

“I love it when you encourage me to play matchmaker, my lovely but what if Shay actually kills him?” Daisy said in a joking tone as she started jotting a quick letter for their unsuspecting best friends on a piece of paper. Pete stifled another chuckle.

“She loves him too much besides you and Shay weren’t going to get any real planning done with Cash doing… what his doing now?” Pete said letting out an almost disappointed sounding sigh as he took in the sight of Cash gripping Shay’s face in one of his large palms and gently squeezing her cheeks with a serious look in his eyes.

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Shay glowered at Cash for what felt like forever partly because she couldn’t decide if she just wanted to argue with him some more or just cry her eyes out. Those always seemed to be the only options she ever had with him since she was fourteen and she hated it.

“I don’t know how that’s my fault Cash, you bring him flings home and treat them like regular girlfriends and somehow it’s my job to be able to spot the difference?” Shay said in a low bitter tone, Cash sighed and with it his blue eyes softened up a bit.

“No, I’m saying you could’ve just asked me, Cherry Blossom, you used to ask me things you know and now you just shut me out…” Cash said in a careful tone, Shay opened her mouth to argue with him but part of her knew she couldn’t because he was right. She had shut him out and she wished she could tell him why, but her words always seemed to fail her when it came to him, and she could never figure out why. Talking to him used to be so easy and now it just felt like an up-hill battle, an endless trek that seemed to lead her nowhere.

“I don’t know what to ask you anymore, Cash, okay. Everything between us is weird and different and awkward, and I just don’t know how to talk to you anymore, I guess. So…” Shay’s rambling was cut short by Cash reaching over to grip her cheeks in the palm of his hand, gently squeezing them between his thumb and fingers with amusement swirling in his blue eyes though his expression was serious.

“So don’t talk, Cherry Blossom” Cash chuckled softly, Shay felt her cheeks flush at both the action and his words as familiar nervous, smitten butterflies swirled in her stomach. His squeeze loosened the slightest bit as the two of them stared deeply into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. Unlike the previous silence they had fallen into over the twenty or so minute emotional rollercoaster they went on, this one was more comforting, more wholesome, and dare Shay allow herself to think it almost loving in an odd way because she for once felt like Cash heard her loud and clear.

“Your foods getting cold, Cherry Blossom…” Cash said just above a whisper though he made no move to let go of Shay’s face for some time even after the words left his mouth and hung in the air. The faint lull of another dreamy indie pop songs floated between them in a way that seemed oddly fitting for the odd little moment they were sharing.

“Well, I can’t really eat until you give me my face back, Cashy. Unless you want to feed me” Shay said almost timidly, she watched Cash’s lips curl into a genuine smile that reminded her of the ones he used to give her when they were silly kids running up and down the sandy beaches. And she swore she felt her heart flutter when his blue eyes lit up at her before looking over at Pete and Daisy.

“I’ll feed you if you want me to darling and I’ll even drive you home, preferably in that fancy new Audi of yours if you’ll let me but you’re definitely going to need a designated driver after lunch…” Cash chuckled, turning Shay’s head to face their table full of food and cocktails with an amused smirk on his face.

“They ditched us” Shay gasped in disbelief taking in Pete and Daisy’s now vacant chairs with wide, mildly offended eyes. Surely the last twenty minutes of her and Cash’s bickering couldn’t have been that bad, no this was all part of meddlesome Daisy’s plan.

“Oh look, they left us a cute little note, how sweet of them” Cash said finally letting go of Shay’s face to grab the piece of paper neatly tucked under one of the cocktail glasses.

“It says and I quote, Dear Shay and Cash, if you're reading this it means you’ve finally noticed Pete and I ditched you bickering old bats to go to the beach or Cash is dead and the detectives assigned to solve his case are reading this…in which case it definitely was not Shaylee Harris. Cash is pretty and all but he ain’t that smart and I’m sure he just pissed off another blonde and got himself shot in the shoulder nothing to worry about…. Any who, during your insistent bickering Pete and I decided your problems would best be solved by you two spending some quality alone time together 😉. From here on out you two will be tasked with working out our wedding details and planning those parties TOGETHER. We know you can do it just put those pretty heads of yours together and figure it out, talk it out, kiss it out…. DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, just get on with it already. Lunch and cocktails are on us. Have fun, lots of fun, Love Pete and Daisy” Cash finished reading out loud.

“Ugh, they planned this you know” Shay said glancing over at Cash with the fainted pout on her face and rosy cheeks. Cash flashed her yet another uncharacteristically sheepish smile that had Shay narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion because she swore, he was blushing.

“Were you in on this too…Casanova?” Shay asked him pointedly, Cash shook his head and busied himself by twirling her pasta on a fork.

“No, Cherry Blossom, I can honestly say this…was all them but I’d be lying if I said having an excuse to be attached at your hip for the foreseeable future wasn’t making me giddy. Now be a good girl and eat some of this for me, I’d hate to see you hurl all over those nice leather seats of yours, beautiful” Cash said raising the fork to her mouth with a teasing smile on his face.

“This is going to be the longest few weeks of my entire life…” Shay muttered, picking up her wine glass with a soft, defeated sounding sigh despite how many flips her stomach was doing….

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#thomas ian griffith #black friday 2007 #eventual smut #cash ewing #friends to lovers #cash x oc #the kidnapping 2007 #terry silver #summer romance

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leftnotright · 1 year

Text

A TEXTBOOK EDUCATION

"This will be a skill-building experience. You've had it too easy. You've had your Family name to back you, and your Right Hand at your every call. It's time you learn to carry yourself, to build from the ground up." Dino Cavallone, the Cavallone Don, fresh out of high school.

Reborn, the deadliest hitman of the modern era, has a special kind of torture up his sleeve for his dear struggling student. Dino will have to see how well he handles alienation, isolation, and worst of all, class participation. “Now, go on, my useless student Dino. Let’s continue your education.” (Or: Reborn sends Dino to Australia. It goes better than he could have ever hoped.)

Parings: N/A Characters: Dino (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Vic Hunt (OC - Original Character), Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Romario (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)Cavallone Famiglia, Enzo (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Original Characters Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, University, Pre-Canon, Financial Issues, Fluff And Angst

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

CHAPTER 4: AND THEY COME UNSTUCK

The TV - ‘’tele’ as they called it - was playing the morning news on channel 7. Dino had been listening to it since he had rolled out of bed, too sweaty and stressed to get any decent sleep. Fittingly, the news show was called ‘Sunrise’ and Dino had been watching since then, listening to the news and how they spoke about everything.

There is a fire - ‘bushfire’ - in Penrith, firefighters were trying to keep it under control. Up in New Castle, there was a surfing event. Parliament was discussing the pensioner retirement age. Fundraisers were being held at multiple Bunnings for the NSW Regional Firefighting Service after a particularly bad fire season.

“I think I might pop down for a sausage sizzle,” the blond woman chimed in after the segment, “Been a while since I’ve had one’a those.”

“One’a those,” Dino echoed absently as he moved his pen along a line of text.

Calendar reminder: EDST1001 LECTURE 11:30AM

Dino paused his ledgers and looked at his phone as it beeped on the table. He had spent the whole morning pouring over the few documents he had left from the Cavallone offices, trying to quell that anxiety that bubbled in his stomach and made sleep hard. He only had a few documents left, most of them were copies of the original documents back at the Cavallone. Receipts, mostly, and barters for the last bits of furniture and assets the Cavallone could afford to sell off.

Everything, spare what was bolted down or irreplaceable, had been sold already. It had left the halls of his home barren. Gone were the antique paintings, gilded statues and handwoven carpets. And gone was much of the Cavallone’s prestige with it.

A Family selling off their history.

He sighed and rubbed his nape, free of sweat for the first time since he had landed in this ‘sunburnt land’. That air conditioning truly was his saviour.

Calendar reminder: Meet Vic U-Bar Courtyard 3PM

Dino blinked. Then he gave a sharp heave of panic as he remembered that, yes, he had indeed promised to meet up with Vic today.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, he was just meeting a friend it was going to be okay he didn’t need to panic like this it was just his only peer friend in years and he wasn’t going to screw this up he promised-

Enzo snapped at Dino’s toe and make him jump out of his minor mental breakdown.

“Ow!” Dino yelped and yanked his foot away from the turtle. “I’ll go to the grocer’s today, so stop!”

Enzo wheezed at him accusingly before slowly turning and began the long plod to his newly found sunbathing patch.

Dino frowned at Enzo’s back while cradling his toe until his phone buzzed again, warning him he only had an hour until his lecture. He grappled with his drawers and pulled on his most civilian of clothes, feeling blessedly comfortable in a white shirt and cargo shorts.

One thing Dino loved about university was the lack of uniforms. He didn’t think he’d survive this heat with the blazer, vest and tie he wore in high school. He had barely survived yesterday in that suit-

Dino clapped his hands loudly as if to scare off that memory and the incredulous looks of his classmates. He hadn’t had time to change for his Econ class either, but without a tutorial, he had managed to hide in the back rows of his lecture’s amphitheatre without drawing too much attention.

But he had learnt his lesson: No mafia suits in civilian classes.

Dino rubbed his stomach absently as he made his way back to the living room. He hadn’t been eating well since coming to Australia. Hell, the largest meal he had so far was that KFC with Vic and, as she said, it had enough salt to season the sea. He really needed to go to a grocer.

He hated to admit it, but he was procrastinating going to that ‘Woolies’ Vic had mentioned before. He didn’t feel confident in his English enough to go alone, and Dino had - well, he had never bought something in person before. Everything was done by middlemen, through order or pre-emptively in bulk. He’d never bought a carrot before! Could you buy a single carrot? Or did they only come in 20-kilogram packages? Dino didn’t know what he’d do with 20 kilograms of carrots!

Dino filled up a cup with water and took a long drink to calm his nerves before he thought himself into yet another panic attack on this fine, totally normal morning. He took his pills and proceeded to drink another glass of water to fill his stomach until lunch.

Dino checked the clock on the wall and quickly shoved the last of his schoolwork into his briefcase. He needed a more civilian bag damn it, he stood out too much with this thing since it was from his high school days.

White tee-shirt, cargo shorts, joggers and a briefcase. What a sight Dino must be.

Before Dino walked out the door, his anxiety beckoned him to apply another layer of antiperspirant deodorant. Sweating so much yesterday had kind of traumatised him. He needed to figure out how to clean his suit.

Enzo wheezed when Dino picked him up off the floor but slid into the cargo short’s thigh pocket without fuss. For good measure, Dino tossed a few of his pellets in too before pressing the velcro shut.

The trees of Wally’s Walk did little to block the swelter of midday Summer, and Dino pulled at his collar to air out his shirt. He checked his phone again to find his classroom, Building 27, the Lotus Theatre.

“Fancy,” Dino muttered to himself and moved towards the cul-de-sac end of the Walk.

There was a crowd of students loitering outside building 27, and Dino was quick to join them, standing off to the side to allow the traffic to flow between. He let his eyes scan the crowd, feeling much more at ease with how he blended in. No one was staring this time. Excellent.

Dino pulled his briefcase closer and pulled out his phone, content to just scroll on the news apps for the next fifteen minutes or so. He was halfway through an article about something called the Powerhouse Museum of Science being moved to a Parramatta location when he felt eyes on him.

Carefully, Dino flicked his eyes to the side, using his peripherals to see who was watching him so intently. If they were a hitman, they were doing one hell of a bad job. What kind of assassin allowed their presence to be so obvious- Oh .

He lifted his head and waved, smiling with a sheepish relief. Vic stood at the edge of the crowd, and came over when she was acknowledged.

Reborn must really have done a number on him.

“Oh hello,” Vic hummed as she came to a stop next to him, and Dino didn’t miss the quick once-over she gave him with her eyes. “I see we’re going casual this time.”

“Please don’t talk about yesterday,” Dino withered and Vic let out a laugh.

“Kay, got it,” she assured and shifted her weight again. “So we’ve got the same class again today, huh? EDST101?”

“Yeah, I’m happy we are together again,” Dino smiled, putting his phone away to pay full attention to Vic. “What time is your tutorial? Are we together as well?”

“I’m in the 2 o’clock group.”

“Ah, we are not. I am the 1 o’clock group.”

“Fuck,” Vic sighed forlornly and crossed her arms.

Dino tilted his head when he noticed she was wearing another faded band tee, adorning the same logo and name as the last one with a different design. Maybe it was her favourite band? It was a talking point!

“What, uh, song, is that?” Dino asked, pointing to Vic’s shirt.

“Song? Oh,” Vic looked down at her shirt and opened her arms to show the logo splashed across her chest, Smoking Cucumbers. “It’s my cousin’s heavy metal anarchist band. Don’t really know how the anarchist plays into it, but he insists it does. Gives me a shirt for New Years nearly every year.”

“That’s nice of him,” Dino uttered, “Are they good?”

Vic made a noise and rocked her head from side to side, looking off into the distance as she visibly thought about it.

“Varying quality,” she decided to say.

“I see,” Dino chuckled, then he shifted his weight and reached for the next topic. “Do you have a large family?”

Family, that was a familiar topic. Dino could talk about Family easy!

“Nah, not really, I’ve only got a brother. But the cousins add up, you know?” She shrugged, “I’ve got like, uh, six cousins from my dad’s side. The youngest is nearly seven months old, I’m going to meet him during semester break.”

Dino smiled as Vic fished around to show a picture from her phone. A child, cute as a button, was cradled in the centre of a mass of pillows, arms and legs askew like it had fallen asleep mid-crawl attempt.

“Ant’s so adorable. He looks like a fucking blobfish,” she cooed and Dino couldn’t help the snort of startled laughter. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

“My Family is large. The house is always busy,” Dino started, recalling all the faces he was so used to waking up to every morning. Oh, he missed those faces. “I have no siblings, but many uncles and brothers.”

Vic blinked at that and Dino smiled sheepishly, wondering if he had misspoken somewhere. She didn’t interrupt, however, so Dino continued. Talking about his Family was cathartic, and made the overbearing sun, innumerable people and unfamiliar terrain, all seem less horrible for a moment.

“Romario looks after me well. I am sure he is the reason I survived so long.” Not that Reborn didn’t try to stop that, with all those bombs and bullets. “My father introduced him to me when I was young, we have been together since.”

He remembered that day, so many years ago. He had clutched the ends of his coat and fought to stand still, surrounded by five of his father’s Guardians as they stood at attendance for the Don’s return. His father arrived with a teen trailing behind him, scuffed up and covered in grass seeds and dust like he had crawled out from the barley fields that surrounded the Cavallone estate.

“Brutus means well, but he is, uh, a bad influence,” Dino chuckled, recalling how Brutus had ridden a mattress down the spiral staircase and broke through the railing. “He has been with us for a few years now. Growing tall. Too tall.”

That last comment was said with its fair share of bitterness. Brutus liked to use Dino as an armrest in casual settings these days. No respect!

Vic smiled as he grumbled at the memory, another one of her snorted laughs bursting forward.

“Are you the youngest, or..?”

Dino frowned more, “Brutus is the youngest. Everyone is upset.”

Vic wheezed a laugh and pocketed her phone before rocking back on her heels and asked, “Anyone else of note?”

“Too many,” Dino hummed softly, “I hope to see them soon.” Then he winced and let out a weak laugh, “Ah, but I am sure they will make me pay back all my missed turns in stable work.”

Vic blinked and then squinted a bit, like she was trying to piece together what he had said. Dino watched her for a moment before it dawned on him: Vic didn’t know about the Cavallone Family’s main stock.

“My family breed horses. I will be missing my turns to help in the horse stables. We rotate.”

Vic’s face twitched, then she snorted out, “So, you’re like an equestrian?”

“Uh, I was part of my high school’s equestrian club, yes?”

The girl sighed through her nose and reached up to massage her forehead as she muttered out, “My God, he’s a horse girl too.”

“Horse girl?” Dino echoed.

“Have you ever watched something called The Saddle Club?”

Dino shook his head and Vic made a dismissing wave of her hand, before turning her head as the crowd began to move, a slow and steady flow of students pouring into the amphitheatre.

“Time to move,” she uttered and the two of them wriggled their way through the mass of sweaty students.

Dino winced as a girl's tote bag poked into his arm, and then nearly fumbled his walk as the first step of an incline surprised him. He wheezed and gave a sheepish smile as someone in the crowd gave him a withering glance.

Vic chose somewhere to sit and Dino trailed after her, eager to get out of the river of slow-moving bodies that shuffled along unsurely. They pulled their chair seats down and spent a good few seconds fighting with their flip-up desks before settling down.

“Wow, yours is a bit fucked,” Vic commented as she looked to the hazardous angle Dino’s laptop was teetering on, no doubt only held there by the non-slip pads.

“It’s…a bit weak. But it will hold,” Dino agreed feebly, trying to realign his desk.

“Nah, nah, mate, not with your luck. Move before that thing snaps.”

Dino fiddled with his desk for a moment longer before making the short shuffle to Vic’s other side. It felt disconcerting, to be stuck in the aisle now. Vic was blocking an easy exit, whether she intended to or not. Dino could feel that anxiety all the way in the bottom of his feet.

Someone behind Dino coughed loudly, before they gathered their stuff and moved a few seats away, still clearing their throat. Dino noticed Vic watch them out of the corner of her eye, a vague grimace on her face.

“But hey,” she uttered suddenly before Dino could ask what the issue was, turning back to idly click around on her laptop to get an empty Word document up for notes. “This way, you’re less likely to get called on for audience participation!”

Dino blinked, then he gave a relieved smile and rested back into his seat.

“Yeah, that’s…That’s a good point.”

“Yeah, but fuck we’ve still gotta talk during the tutorials. We’ve gotta talk at least once per session to get that twenty percent.”

Dino dropped his head back with a groan.

Before either of them could say much more, however, the large screens at the front of the amphitheatre lit up with the introduction slide of a powerpoint and a woman took centre stage. The lecture rolled on with the same amount of ease as the others, just another orientation lesson to get the students used to their first week in university and what would be expected of them in the coming weeks. Dino was starting to get more confident with his English comprehension, since a lot of the classes were repeating similar content and using the same phrases.

They were maybe half an hour in, Dino centring all his focus on breaking down the word ‘pedagogy’ when he heard, in the softest and most bamboozled voice possible: “Dino, is that a fucking turtle in your pocket?”

Dino’s head snapped around and then looked down to see Enzo’s little head peering out from under the flap of his pant pocket, beady eyes peering back at Vic. Dino wheezed and shoved the flap down, trying to cover up Enzo from prying eyes.

“Uuh,” Dino uh-ed.

“Dino, why is there a turtle in your pocket?” Vic asked again.

Dino fumbled for an answer, before he just shrugged and said, “Well, I, I couldn’t leave him at home alone.”

“But to a lecture?”

“Hey, could you two stop? It’s really distracting.” A young man sitting ahead of them grumbled and Vic quickly tossed out an apology.

Enzo let out a wheeze and wriggled his way to freedom again, head poking out into the fresh air of the air-conditioned amphitheatre. Dino rushed to hide Enzo again, but Vic quickly bent at the waist and cooed in delight.

“No wait, lemme see the baby,” she whispered and pushed the flap away to get a good look at the small tortoise that squinted back at her. “Oh, hello little man!”

Dino watched as Vic reached out and gently pet Enzo’s head with her pointer, grinning like some kind of loon as she did. He thinned his lips in a moment of thought, before Dino reached into his other pocket and produced a small handful of pellets.

“Do you,” he began slowly, unsure but hopeful. “Do you want to feed Enzo, Vic?”

Vic looked up at Dino and utterly beamed.

Dino kept that in mind: Vic likes feeding Enzo. Good, good, he had a way to socialise now. Enzo truly was the best wingman.

Dino smiled down at Enzo who was quietly crunching on his pellets. The little turtle squinted up at him.

☁ ☁ ☁

Vic Hunt Class done

Vic Hunt Do you still have Enzo?

Dino Cav Yes

Vic Hunt On my way!!

Dino snorted into his hand and sent a quick laughing emoticon in response. He had already chosen a table for them to sit at for their meeting, a shaded table outside one of the courtyard’s student cafes, off to the side and more isolated than the others. It was most likely for studying, Dino liked the privacy.

Enzo sat snugly in his pocket happily fed after all those snacks from Vic during their lecture. Dino smiled to himself and patted his pocket, feeling that hard shell. The most secure weight.

“Show me the baby,” Vic demanded as she rounded the corner and dropped herself in the chair across from Dino.

Not even a hello? Dino couldn’t blame her though, no one could resist Enzo. Spoilt rotten that little turtle was.

Dino huffed and glanced around, before sliding Enzo out of his pocket and onto the table between them. He stretched his arm out on the exposed side of the table, covering Enzo up just in case.

Immediately, Vic dropped down to Enzo’s height and started cooing, murmuring unintelligible little noises at the turtle. She grinned and giggled as she watched Enzo plod about the table, quietly exploring the area with his usual squint of suspicion.

“Look at his little feets!” Vic nearly gasped and Dino couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “Oh shut it, Dino. All that talk of horses, why didn’t you mention the turtle in your pocket! ”

“I don’t know… Enzo didn’t come to mind?” Dino offered unsurely. He hadn’t meant to not mention Enzo, it was just that Enzo was such a constant for Dino that he honestly didn’t realise that someone wouldn’t know about Enzo at this point.

“How did you even get the allowance to bring him?”

…Allowance? Dino blinked. He didn’t know anything about an allowance.

The silence stretched on until finally, Vic looked up, a smile creeping onto her face.

“Dino, did you smuggle your turtle into the village?” She asked.

Dino thinned his lips before he slowly murmured, “No one told me I couldn’t .” Vic grinned then, something vicious and joyful with so many teeth. “That is to say,” Dino continued, trying to explain himself for breaching university rules. “I need Enzo. I go nowhere without him. I need him.”

Vic let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, before giving a shrug and leant back in her chair.

“Hey, no skin off my back. It’s not like lil’ Enzo here’s gonna damage the room for the next student. Not like some dog or cat.”

Dino relaxed a bit when she said that, a tension in his shoulders seeping out. Dino admitted it, he hadn’t met many civilians in his time. Most of his social circle consisted of Mafia and their middlemen, the people he knew were utterly steeped in the criminal underworld.

Maybe it was his naivete getting the better of him, an opinion from childhood he had never had the chance to rectify -- Dino thought of civilians as a rather pure existence. Morally right, law-abiding citizens of the world to counterbalance the presence of the Mafia.

Dino had broken university policy. A horrified little part of him was sure that Vic would be appalled by his blatant disregard for the established order-

Dino let a long breath out through his nose, slow and steady. It was fine, though. Vic didn’t care. The rules weren’t so cut and dry in the civilian world. Within limitations, of course.

Vic shifted in her seat, and pulled her computer up onto the table just aside of Enzo. She booped him on the nose for good measure, unaware of the stress Dino had gone through.

“Anyway, I did a bit of work last night and I think I know what I’m going to be talking about.” She said, and opened a tab to start scribing ideas. “But I kinda wanna talk about your activity. The resources one.”

Dino tried his best to join the discussion as the two began to finally dig into their assessment. Vic scrolled through her document and showed Dino what she had scraped together the night before, which was honestly an obscene amount.

“Uniforms?” Dino asked, seeing how the word was bolded as a heading.

“Yeah, in Australia uniforms are mandatory for Primary and High schools,” Vic explained, “It’s to more of less, stop students from seeing the difference in status. Like if one kid came in fucking Gucci, and another comes in second-hand Kmart. Uniforms stop that shit.”

Dino hummed and thought back to his school, they had worn uniforms too. And they were right, you couldn’t really tell who was from a better Family -- if you were using clothes as a tell. Posture, presence and poise. Those all could tell just how large a gap there was between Families. And the Dons who led them.

Vic continued to scroll to her next point, and Dino scooped Enzo into his hands, thumbing at the edge of his shell to try and soothe himself.

“I’ve also got ‘homework assistance’ and tutoring.”

Dino’s eyes snapped up from Enzo at the word. ‘Tutor’. God, that sent chills to his very core.

“People with money can afford to send their kids to better schools, and can afford to support their kids with, ya know, tutoring. Basically, the better off the parents, the better off the kids.”

Dino thinned his lips. It was true, Dino had no doubt that the smaller Families wouldn’t have been even able to dream of having the Reborn as a live-in tutor. He didn’t even want to think about how much of the Cavallone funds must have gone into the little devil-man’s pockets just so he could torture Dino day in and day out for the past year.

“We got this yesterday,” Dino muttered quietly, almost unwittingly.

Dino could see why Vic wanted to be a teacher, she obviously felt strongly about the imbalances in the education system. Direct action, it seemed very up her alley.

Vic blinked, and then she shrank back in her chair a bit. She gave a huffed little smile and shrugged, sheepishly and kind of drowsy.

“But yeah, that’s just my idea for my part,” she said idly, “And I think it’ll segway nicely into your activity. So, uh, how’re you going with your intro?”

Dino winced, “I have not, ah, started it yet.” Gosh, Vic had already produced all of this and Dino hadn’t even looked over the assessment properly yet. Dino traced the pattern in Enzo’s shell. “English, is, uh, not my strong skill.”

Vic made a short noise of understanding on the back of her throat, before she gave her own work a look-ver as if to see it in a new light.

“I will have to begin in Italian, and move to English,” Dino said slowly, and Vic waved her hand at him.

“Hey, whatever floats your boat and gets the job done. Do what makes you comfy,” she shifted on her seat and tugged on the end of her shorts before uttering off-handedly, “And, ya know, if you need help, I can lend a hand with those dickish words like ‘pedagogy’ and shit.”

Vic pointedly looked away from Dino as she said this, eyes fixed on her document that she scrolled through to give her hands something to do.

Dino blinked, then quickly said, “I don’t want to be a bother!”

“Nah, no, it’s ‘right,” Vic insisted lazily, and took a drink from her thermos.

Dino could hear ice rattling around inside. God, that was a good idea.

Vic and Dino leant across the table to look at Vic’s computer screen, organising a file for the project. Vic pulled up a powerpoint and wrote ‘SOCIAL CLASS IN EDUCATION by Dino, Jessica and Vic’.

“Great, that’s enough work. I think we’re due a break,” Vic said and closed her computer.

Dino decided not to point out the fact that they had only been ‘working’ for a total of maybe 10 minutes, and that the most progress had been naming and sharing the group slideshow.

“Okay,” Vic said suddenly, breaking Dino out of his thoughts as she stood up. “I’mma go get some lunch. You coming?”

Dino grabbed Enzo up off the table and stuffed him into his pocket. Vic stared with wide eyes before she glanced between the pocket and Dino’s face and asked, “Is he, uh, always in there?”

“Usually, I keep Enzo in a breast pocket,” he answered, before patting his chest and added, “Over the heart.”

Enzo’s shell was practically indestructible. Nothing short of Reborn’s Chaos Shots could pierce it.

“Aw, that’s fuckin’ sweet,” Vic chortled.

By the time Dino and Vic sat down again, they were balancing their chosen meals in their hands. Dino carefully slid his salad and chips plate onto the table, and watched Vic quickly slurp some of the excess butter chicken gravy from the edge of her plate before doing the same. Vic wasted no time in drumming the tabletop with her hands until Dino ‘produced the goods’.

Enzo immediately stole a whole leaf of lettuce from Dino’s salad.

“ Smettila, Enzo! ” Dino scolded but didn’t try to take the leaf away from the happily munching turtle.

Vic smiled at the little turtle before using the handle end of her fork to tap on the side of the bottle of water Dino had bought. It was wet with perspiration and creating a puddle on the table with every jolting tap; just as shiny as Dino was.

“Drink, mate, you’re sweating buckets,” Vic urged with a frown.

She was right. Dino wiped his chin with his arm and grimaced as sweat just smeared on both sides. Dino was as shiny as a newly minted coin, and the back of his shirt clung to his spine, two shades darker than the rest of it. He made an expression of great sensory discomfort as he sat forward to try and peel it off. Australian heat was very different to the Sicilian summers Dino was used to.

“Yes,” Dino murmured and took a sip from his bottle. By the time he put it back down, more than half was gone.

“You gotta be sun-safe, or I’ll slip-slop-slap a bitch,” Vic warned. Dino stared at Vic for a long moment, before the girl reeled back a bit and asked, “Wait, you know about the slip-slop-slap sun thing yeah? Or is- wait, fuck of course that’s an Aussie thing.”

Dino smiled as the girl rubbed her face in a mixture of frazzle and embarrassment.

“I, uh, will be ‘sun-safe’,” he said, “I do not want to be ‘slip-slop-slapped’.”

Vic blinked, and then she grinned with teeth.

“Okay, but what’s up with the horses?” Vic asked and then spooned a generous helping of rice into her mouth.

Dino paused halfway through another guzzle of water.

“The horses?”

“Yeah, like, you breed ‘em, right? What for though?”

Dino quickly swallowed the water that had dammed up in his mouth. He settled back in his chair and smiled a bit, idly spinning his bottle on the table with his fingers.

“Uh, we- we breed them for… Well, every job. Labour, farm, carriage, show. We used to make war horses.”

Vic made a sharp whistle of surprise and leant her cheek against her hand, elbow on the table. Dino stared at it, her elbow on the table, for a moment, before he pulled his eyes up.

“Warhorses? So, this is like a tradition thing. Family business?”

‘Family business’. Dino withheld a snort, he smiled weakly and said, “Yes, for at least ten generations.”

“ Whew, that’s some old blood,” Vic wheezed.

Dino smiled and remembered the history walks down the legacy hall. Walls adorned with past Dons, and those faded faces of the nameless patriarchs who tilled the fields and corralled wild horses long before the time of the Cavallone Famiglia Mafia.

“We are proud of our horses,” Dino said, an undeniable truth. But it was an undeniable truth also that- “Horses, however, are not very- very, useful. Today.”

Vic winced, “Ah, yeah. With cars and all.” She took a slow bite of her curry and tilted her head. “So with all those horses, surely your family, like, races them? Got any cool ones…” Her voice trailed off as Dino’s face pinched.

Dino ran his thumb along the edge of Enzo’s shell, the little turtle squinted up at him.

“We are banned. No Cavallone horse may race in Italy.”

Vic thinned her lips and scraped her wooden, disposable spoon along her plate, drawing a random shape with the orange, butter chicken gravy.

“Can I… Can I ask why? Or would you rather just, ya know,” she made a waving motion with her hands. “Not talk about that.”

Dino let out a frail burst of a laugh that was equal parts bitter and vindictive.

“We kept winning.”

Vic paused, and looked at Dino. Looked at the way Dino’s smile had gritted teeth in the corners.

Vic gave a bark of laughter.

“So instead of beating you fairly, they booted you?” She asked and leaned forward.

Dino took in a sharp breath. Despite her tone, her smile wasn’t playful. It had an edge to it. Annoyed. Frustrated. Angry. Vic was angry. For some reason.

But, Dino quickly scanned her over, not at him. Always good, always good!

“Cavallone horses are hard to beat. Very,” Dino explained and Vic scoffed hard enough that Dino thought she hurt her throat.

“Look, unless you’re doping your horses, I don’t see why you should be kicked.”

Dino shrugged, “Our horses are special.”

“I’m not fucking surprised! You’ve been working on them for over ten fucking generations!”

Vic pinched the bridge of her nose, before Dino watched as Vic clenched her teeth, her biceps, her forearms, her fists, then all the way back up again. Then, like she was suddenly exhausted, Vic slumped back into her chair, shoulders sagging under her loose shirt. She let out a long, slow sigh through her nose. She smiled and started cooing at Enzo.

Dino stared, baffled. What the hell had happened there? Had she gotten so upset that she had to actively calm herself down?

Dino shifted in his seat. He looked down at his salad -- slowly being stolen one leaf at a time by Enzo -- and bit down on the need to smile.

Vic was upset for him. He didn’t expect that to feel so… Nice. Validating.

“So you can’t race in Italy,” Vic hummed, tone low and almost dragging itself out of her mouth. “Why not race in a -- fuck I don’t know horses,” she tilted her head back and waved her spoon around, “Melbourne Cup is a horse race. Why not race here? Or does the ban keep you?”

Dino reached for his fork and ate a mouthful. He realised what he was doing only halfway through: buying time.

Did the ban keep the Cavallone from racing outside of Italy? He didn’t know.

The ban had been his grandfather’s greatest shame. The Eighth Don of the Cavallone hadn’t been able to fight off those little Dons who had climbed on top of each other to seem taller and tip the scales. The beginning of the end for the Cavallone, really.

After that, the Eighth had fallen to illness and Dino’s father had taken the reigns as the sole heir. Everyone knew how that ended.

Dino nudged an olive and watched it roll across his plate. Enzo stole another leaf with a satisfied ‘crunch’ .

Dino had never seen a Cavallone race on a track before.

Could he? Did he dare? Enter his Cavallone horses into civilian races? How close could he get to the civilians when the Mafia were so careful to keep that strict divide?

Hell, even their resorts were Mafia and Mafia-adjacent exclusive! It took a whole boat or plane to get to the separate island .

Dino swallowed the leaf, long gone mushy in his mouth.

But if it worked? If he dared to start racing their Cavallone-style bred horses -- if it worked?

Break the tradition, break the rules, break the bonds of debt that tie down the Cavallone.

“Good idea?” Vic asked, a lazy smile on her face. “You look excited. Practically chomping at the bit.”

Dino looked up, he hadn’t realised he was grinning.

‘Never race a Cavallone.’ Time to bring that old saying back.

#fanfiction #khr #leftnotright #dino cavallone #ao3 #alternate universe #canon divergence #oc #katekyo hitman reborn

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