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tangledstarlight · 3 years

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Written for Day Two of Jukebox Appreciation Week: Alternative Universe –– @jukebox-week

here is my, somewhat anticipated, firefighter!luke au. this got. so long guys. i’m so sorry. it became a 5+1 and i lost control. this all started because i wanted to see luke do a pole slide and i didnt even fit it in smh. also check out this amazing art by mamirugbee if you get the chance too!! anyway, much love!! enjoy!!

also on ao3!

lil disclaimer: i’ve never been to la and i’m not a firefighter, i tried to do as much research as i could but firefighter forums aren’t helpful as you’d expect for somethings, who knew! so take everything with big dose of suspension of belief please!

trigger warnings! mentions of blood & injuries (nothing graphic), lots of swearing, fire.

RATED T –– there’s no graphic scenes but there’s a lot of kissing and fading to black, so rating might change if anyone needs me to 😬

Word count: 21,184

ONE

When he was a kid Luke had had a lot of dream jobs.

There was a week when he’d wanted to be a landscape gardener after watching too many renovation shows during a week off school sick. When he was eleven he’d seriously considered being a doctor for approximately two days after watching too many reruns of ER with his mom, but it was quickly pointed out to him that he would need to go school for years. And he’d given serious consideration into being a professional bungee jumper, which he still maintains is a real career path and he’d have been excellent at it.

But then he’d discovered music when he was thirteen when his parents had given him a guitar for his birthday, and that had been it.

That was his dream.

To stand on a stage and play for an audience and create a connection with the world. And he’s pretty sure he could have done it. It would have been the dream he reached.

But then the garage they rented to rehearse caught fire while he was asleep on the ratty old sofa they’d found on the street. And maybe the fire itself wouldn’t have been enough to make him change his dreams, but everything that happened afterwards?

Well, there’s nothing like almost dying to reorder your life, right?

(It’s the story he tells everyone if they ask, it’s the one he almost believes too.)

The owners of the house had left a candle burning or forgot to unplug a toaster or something mundane and silly like that. Something that people always warn about but never think will happen to them. He doesn’t know. He can’t remember.

All he knows is he’d been sleeping on the sofa and the garage had gotten warm and he’d woken up to a room full of smoke. There had been a moment of panic, as he sat frozen, chest having and eyes stinging, before he’d jumped up, grabbed his guitar, his notebook, his phone and ran outside.

Luke remembers watching the flames grow higher and higher in the garage, smoke following after him from the door he’d just run from. He remembers watching them seem to jump from the roof of the house to the garage. He remembers seeing Mrs Anderson running up to him, the oldest daughter trailing behind with wide eyes, and asking for his phone. He remembers fishing it from his pocket and dialing 911. He remembers the moment he heard the line click, a voice asking him a question as his eyes locked on the house and he saw two hands hitting at the upstairs window.

After that he doesn’t really remember much of anything, he tells everyone.

Except that he does.

He can still remember the heat on his skin, how he’d been grateful for once that he’d fallen asleep in his coat. He remembers his lungs aching as he sucked in smoke and coughed it back out. He remembers a split second decision. Guitar and notebook falling to the ground and running into the house as Mrs Anderson screamed something behind him.

He remembers, as he tried to cover his mouth, his nose, with the sleeve of his coat, thinking that this would be an awful way to die. He remembers not wanting to. He remembers, as he kicks down the jammed door of the youngest kids bedroom, how he really wanted to hug his mom again. He remembers someone screaming and his name being called and throwing a blanket over his head, a weight in his arms he doesn’t remember picking up. He remembers flames and heat and wet tears on his neck and gasping for breaths and then he really doesn’t remember anything at all.

Until he wakes up in a hospital bed and his mom is in the chair next to him and it hurts a little to breathe and there’s bandages on his arms but he’s alive and Luke’s pretty sure that’s the important part to remember.

It’s the part he remembers when the doctors say he can’t play his guitar for a couple of weeks while the skin on his hands and arms heals, that he should avoid straining his voice for a while. It’s the part he remembers when they pick through the rubble and burnt out remains of the garage he’d called home for the last few weeks. It’s the part he remembers when Alex and Reggie tell him it’s okay that they take a break from ‘breaking into the music scene’ while he heals and they find a new place to rehearse and replace their equipment.

It’s the part he remembers when the Anderson’s show up at his parents house with flowers and a basket of snacks and thank him.

He’s alive and they’re alive and part of that is down to him.

And it’s that bit that keeps tripping him up. No one has ever called him a hero before, but that kid does. The youngest Anderson that he’s shared maybe five words with before running into a burning building to carry out. He’d called him a hero and hugged him and Luke had spent the next hour trying to figure out what that meant to him.

Music was his dream. He was pretty sure it was his heart and his soul and everything in between. But it hurts to talk for the first few days after and it hurts to sing for a few weeks after that and, without really noticing it, he ends up back at school. And then he’s graduating and Alex is going to UCLA and Reggie decides he wants to be a teacher and the band is at a stand still.

And Luke— doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. Doesn’t mind putting this dream on hold while he maybe explores something new. Something he’d never even thought about before.

(And if telling people about the fire kept them from asking why he no longer sang, well, that was a bonus. He nearly died, that was a good enough reason to reorder anyone's life. Right? They didn’t need to know about his performance issues.)

The point was, Luke had once dreamt of playing music to the world and leaving a mark, something to be remembered by.

And then he’d nearly died and music had to wait and he...found a new sort of dream. It wasn’t exactly making a connection with everyone but for the couple of minutes he was carrying someone out of a burning building? It was a connection that would leave a mark, at least for a little while. And it really didn’t hurt that people seemed to love a man in a firefighter uniform.

But just because his dream of playing music didn’t come true didn’t mean he didn’t still love it. Which was why standing outside the burning record store was really hurting his heart.

“Do we know if there’s anyone inside?” He calls over to his captain who’s already directing people around, but Luke’s eyes are on the windows of the second floor and the smoke he can already see against the glass.

“Not that we—” the words have barely left Harrison’s mouth when they both see a face through the smoke and hands banging on the glass. Whoever it is looks like they try opening the window but nothing happens and their knocking on the glass gets more frantic.

“Roof, window or stairs?” He asks, already flipping his visor down and checking the straps across his waist holding everything important.

“Stairs, they’ve cleared the side entrance. Try to come out the same way you go in this time, Patterson. And take Danforth,” she waves one hand in the air but Luke is already heading towards the side of the building, his mind already ten steps ahead.

Get to the door. Check his oxygen. Check Danforth isn’t about to fuck things up. Count to five in his head and walk inside a burning building..

“Going in now,” he says into his radio, as he nods his head at Danforth and pushes on ahead.

Lukes has been into a lot of fires since that first one when he was seventeen and running on nothing but adrenaline and impulse. But there’s still always a moment after he first steps inside a burning building that feels the same as the first time. A rush of heat, heart pounding, thoughts running wild about how this would be an awful way to die.

Then he sucks in a breath, lets the weight of all his equipment resettle on his body, in his mind, and he gets on with his job.

And sure okay, he still runs mostly on the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he’s pretty proud to say he thinks things through a little more now.

Mostly.

They make it up the stairs and through the flat's front door with little issue, which is, of course, when the issues decide to show up. He can see why the girl in the window was looking frantic, and swears at the fact no one downstairs had noticed the huge fucking hole in the ceiling.

It stretches from just in front of the door to what he assumes used to be a living room, but half the sofa is hanging down and there’s flames already licking their way up a kitchen bar stool. His eyes scan the room on the other side of the hole, trying to spot the best place to cross and the stranded resident.

“Hello? Fire and rescue, we’re here to get you out!” He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, and then a hand shoots up from behind a table followed slowly by a head of curls.

“Over here,” at least he thinks that’s what she says. It gets cut off by a cough and her head ducking back down.

“I’m coming to you,” he calls, but she either doesn’t hear or can’t ankowldge it, but that’s fine. Luke just needs to know where she is. He backs up a step, looks back at the hole in the floor and backs up another, and then he runs, jumps, lands with a thud that echoes up his legs.

There’s a cracking sound behind him, and Luke turns in time to see part of the floor where he’d just been standing start to give away as flames leap up and smoke clouds the area, while Danforth hops backwards to avoid taking a fall. He can see wide eyes through the screen of his visor and Luke reaches up to tap the button on the talkie, inclining his head towards the door as he speaks.

“Better tell Harrison I’m coming out the window.” He shoots the other man a grin before turning back to his job at hand. Find the stuck girl, go out a window, hopefully make it home before Reggie eats all of Alex’s leftover lasagna. Oh he hopes there’s still some garlic bread left over too. Or maybe he can convince Alex to whip some up for them, that man knows how to make a good garlic bread. Little cheese on top. Some of the fancy salad he steals from work. Maybe Willie will be over and he’ll have bought dessert.

Luke’s planned out his ideal menu for the evening, and breakfast the next day, by the time he makes his way carefully across the crumbling floor and is kneeling down across from a girl whose face is mostly obscured by wild curls and a damp towel. Someone paid attention during a fire talk, he thinks.

“Hey, are you hurt?”

It’s only four years worth of training and feeling the heat of flames slowly getting closer that stop Luke from completely blanking on his job as wide brown eyes meet his through his visor. There’s a streak of soot on one of her cheeks and he catches sight of unshed tears pooling in her eyes. She’s looking up at him with a mix of fear and worry and what he really hopes is gratitude and a large part of his mind knows this isn’t the right time, but holy crap, Luke’s pretty sure she might be the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

“No,” she coughs out, shaking her head and Luke blinks. Pulling his thoughts back to the issue at hand. The fire, the falling floor, the window, the— was she wearing monster slippers? He bites back a smile even as his eyebrows tick up, just a little.

“Let's get you out of here, yeah?” He ducks his head to catch her eyes and make sure she’s heard him. “You ever jumped out a window before?”

The girl's eyes widen a fraction as they dart towards the window she hadn’t been able to open and when they dart back to him there’s a determined glint mixed with the fear.

“Wait here, I’m gonna make sure we’ve got a soft place to land,” he pushes himself back up and over to the window, gives it an experimental tug and frowns. Someone has painted the window shut, which is bad for fire safety, but great for him being able to show off a little and smash a window. Luke unhooks the axe from his belt just as his radio crackles to life.

“Which window are you coming out of Patterson?” Harrison’s voice comes through and Luke can picture the way she’d probably sighed in resignation when Danforth had turned up outside with his news. He was always being told off about coming out through a window when it wasn’t a part of the plan. Turning slightly so he’s standing side on, Luke raises his arm and swings the axe at the glass. Someone shouts from below and he hears the girl let out a gasp over the sound of shattering glass.

“This one,” he says, holding down the button on his radio and reattaching his axe in one movement before leaning out the window to see them pulling the large inflatable cushion to below the window he’s standing at. He wishes the bigger ladder truck hadn’t been redirected across town, it was much more badass to help a pretty girl down a ladder then it was to push them out a window and say ‘jump’. He waits until someone shoots him a thumbs up and turns back into the apartment.

“Alright, let's get out of here shall we?” Luke says, holding out a hand to help her up, there’s a second of hesitation before she drops the towel she’s holding and reaches up to grab it. He notices the bag she’s clutching to her chest and idly wonders what she’s deemed important enough to save from a fire. He’s been doing this job long enough now to know that everyone has different priorities. Some are more questionable than others.

“Wait,” she pulls her hand out of his grasp as they reach the window and she leans out, “You’re serious about jumping out? I thought you had like ladders or something! I can’t— I—”

“Woah hey, hey,” he puts a hand on her back as she tries to back up into the room and Luke is conscious of the fire still raging, eating away at the floor, and he knows there’s no time, but sometimes people just need a little reassurance, “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

She looks up at him and there’s tears streaking through the soot on her skin as she breathes in shallowly, “Julie.”

“Alright Julie. Normally we do have a ladder, and I know it looks scary but this is perfectly safe. I promise. It’s like jumping onto a giant cushion. Kinda fun if you forget about the fire.”

She still looks unsure, head shaking slowly as her grip on the bag tightens and Luke ducks his head, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he flips up his visor so she can see him better.

“I know we’ve just met and you have no reason to trust me, but I’m going to ask you to trust me anyway. It’ll just be a shortfall and a bounce. Over before you even remember to be scared,” he can feel his lips tugging into what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Julie’s eyes track over his face quickly before she shuts them tightly and nods once.

“Okay. Okay. I’m jumping out a window. Sure. This is fine,” she mutters and Luke grins, flipping his visor back down and slowly helps Julie up onto the window sill before she can change her mind.

“I’m gonna keep hold of this alright?” he gently extracts the bag from her fingers and secures it over his shoulder before helping Julie sit on the sill and jumps up to join her, legs dangling in the open air. “Short fall and a bounce. You got this,” he squeezes her hand that’s gripping the window frame as she flinches at the sound of something falling behind them. “Ready?”

She whispers something that he doesn’t quite catch but nods her head, squeezes his hand back and jumps. There’s a rush of air, Julie sucking in a breath somewhere next to him, and then he’s hitting something, body being absorbed by something cold and bouncing once, twice, and then settling.

Despite the fact he’d just told Julie that there was nothing scary about jumping out of the window, Luke always felt a spike of fear in the first second he’s airborne. There’s a moment, just a single moment, where he worries that this time he won’t hit the ground again. That he’ll float away. It’s illogical and crazy, and Luke knows that. But he still worries. The same way he always worries that this burning building will be the one he doesn’t walk back out of.

For a moment, Luke just lies there. He lost Julie’s hand somewhere in the fall but he can hear her breathing somewhere nearby and slowly the sounds of his crew start coming back to him and he blows out a breath and gets back to work.

One of the bonuses to being the person to jump out of a burning building is that Luke doesn’t have to help deflate and put away the cushion. The downside is that he has to spend twenty minutes with one of the paramedics as they check him over.

No matter how many times he tells them he’s fine. You lie about bruising a rib one time and no one lets you forget it.

“Are we done here?” He asks as the paramedic finally doesn’t swat his hand away as he takes his oxygen mask off and Luke tries really hard to not let his leg bounce too obviously.

“Any sign of issues—” they start but Luke is already pushing up from the back of the ambulance, shooting the paramedic a two fingered salute and picking up the bag he’d dropped by the back tire when he’d been told to sit. It’s only a short journey to the gurney on the other side of the vehicle and the girl lying on it with her eyes tight shut and holding a phone to her ear, though he thinks it’s more for comfort then actually talking given she’s still got an oxygen mask over her mouth.

He approaches slowly, trying for a gentle smile as her eyes snap open and lock directly with his. He holds her bag up, and fully intends to just leave it by her side and get back to work — no matter how much he so desperately wants to talk to her again, even though he’s not sure why, but he’ll think about that later — but she pulls the mask away from her face and smiles back at him.

“Flynn just hold on,” she rasps and there’s a slight wince on her face as she realises how saw her throat is, Luke slowly approaches the side of the gurney and gives her what he hopes is a sympathetic smile. He remembers how shitty a smoke hurt throat can be.

“I gotta get back to my crew but I just wanted to check in,” he says, resting an elbow on the metal railing and pretending the way his eyes rack over her face and body is simply to check for injuries — though he’s glad to see the monster slippers survived the fire and the fall —, before he licks his lips once, and holds her bag up for her see, “and to make sure you got this back.”

Julie takes her bag with a relieved sigh that Luke might think more about if their fingers didn’t brush slightly in the transfer and leave him wishing he hadn’t been wearing gloves when he’d held her hand as they jumped out of a burning building.

Which right. Burning building. Almost dying. Being scared. Priorities Luke!

He clears his throat and smiles again, a little softer as his eyes linger on her face. Someone has wiped away the worst of the soot from her cheeks and forehead, but there’s still streaks of it across her skin. And she’s looking at him with the same sort of grateful look that he’s seen countless times before, and he swears there’s something else. But she had nearly died, and he’d helped save her. His job here was done. A connection with someone that would last long after she forgot his face or his name.

“I should uh—” he points over his shoulder with his free hand, taps along the side of the gurney once, twice before breathing out, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He only manages to take a step back and turn around before Julie is coughing out, “Wait!”

Luke doesn’t hesitate to spin around and back to her, eyes quick to scan her face to see what might be wrong, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No I just—” she coughs again, and Luke reaches across to slide the oxygen mask back on her face, keeping a careful eye on how many breaths she takes before she slides it off again, about to say something when she beats him to it, “Sorry. I just. I wanted to thank you. For y’know. Saving me. And…” she trails off, biting her lip and for a moment Luke thinks she’s about to start coughing again but with the way she starts avoiding his eyes she realises she’s just putting it off.

“And…?” he prompts, ducking his head slightly to catch her eyes.

“And I realised I didn’t get your name. Which sounds silly now I’ve said it out loud,” she mutters the last part, head hitting the flimsy pillow with a soft thud that makes him grin. Because she wanted to know his name! And it’s not the first time a person he’s saved has wanted to know his name, but it’s the first time a super pretty girl has asked and he’s wanted to tell her.

“It’s Luke,” he says with a grin, taps against the gurney one last time, “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime Julie.”

TWO

Luke had taken up running when he was 19, between jobs and starting to worry all his potential had been burnt up in the same garage fire that had destroyed his favourite couch and stolen his voice at 17.

It had been his dad's suggestion. A way to get him out of the house and doing something that wasn’t moping or waiting for his friends to be finished with classes, he’s sure. But, even after he’d signed up to be a firefighter and had a whole new fitness schedule, running was still his favourite thing to do. He and his dad might have had their issues but he’d been right about needing a way to clear his head when he could no longer write.

And while he no longer really needed to run to clear his head about what he wanted to do with his life, he did need to breathe in fresh air and forget about the damage a fire can cause.

Some days he had more images to forget about then others.

Some days he just wanted to run.

And some days, he needed to get out of the house before Alex force fed him some weird experimental fish dish. Apparently they were testing out a new menu at the restaurant which just meant Alex was testing the food out on him and Reggie and occasionally Willie when the skater couldn’t come up with an excuse quick enough.

So maybe he was running in the park and avoiding one of his roommates. It was still a valid reason. He’d seen grapes being mashed up with paprika and had not been interested in trying it. Reggie and Hotdog could take one for the team.

The route he runs takes him past a duck pond and a bunch of teenagers throwing a frisbee and other people walking their dogs and —

“Fire! Dad! It’s on fire!” A voice from his left screams and Luke’s instincts kick in as he changes the direction he’s running without faltering a step.

It’s one of those stand alone bbq things that parks have dotted around and Alex hates. Something about not being able to properly grill the meat. Luke had given up listening the third time he’d started talking about them, much more concerned about how no one ever checked them over or made sure they were safe to use.

He can see the problem straight away, something has fallen between the grates and caught on the coals, and where it should just be glowing embers and small flames there’s smoke billowing and flames jumping out at the teenage boy frozen in place.

“Hey can I borrow these?” Luke asks as he comes to a stop next to him, carefully extracting the tongs from his grasp before he can respond. It’s not exactly standard protocol or even the safest plan but Luke clicks the tongs together once before darting them into the flames and pulling out whatever was causing the fire and dropping it on the square of concrete that the bbq is planted on. He stops on it a few times until there’s no longer any flames jumping up at him and all that’s left is smoke and what looks like a half burnt cloth.

“Carlos! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Luke turns around just as an older gentleman rushes over, eyes darting from the fire Luke has put out, to the still cooking burgers, to the teenager who’s grinning.

“I’m fine,” he reassures his dad and Luke takes the opportunity to shake some ash off the tongs before offering them back to him, “Dude that was so cool! You just stomped out a literal fire!”

Shrugging, Luke rubs at the back of his neck as he shoots the dad a quick smile, “Just doing my job, it was no big deal. Honestly.”

“Your job?” The man asks, head tilted curiously as he accepts the tongs.

“Yeah I’m a fi—”

“Luke?” A voice he hadn’t expected to hear again cuts him off as a girl with a mass of loose curls in a pretty pale yellow sundress skids to a halt in front of them, eyes looking quickly between him and the other two with increasing concern as she seems to notice the burnt ground. “What happened?”

“Julie! I— Hi,” Luke starts and suddenly wishes he was wearing something more flattering than shorts and an old band t-shirt he’d cut the sleeves off of on a whim. He at least wishes he’d had time to shower before she starts to think he just always stinks like smoke and sweat.

“This young man just saved your brother from a flaming napkin,” the man says and there’s a teasing note in his voice as he looks at his son before raising an eyebrow, “You two know each other?”

“Yes. I— well sort of?” Julie says and there’s a slight furrow between her brows, “Luke’s the firefighter who got me out of the apartment.”

“You’re the one who got my Julie out of the fire? And you just saved Carlos too?,” he says, taking a step closer to him and Luke only has time to nod before he’s speaking again, “You must let me thank you! Do you like burgers? You should stay, eat with us.”

“Oh that’s— that’s really kind of you sir but you don’t have to do that. I was literally just doing my job. Both times,” Luke’s quick to say with a shake of his head, but there’s a gleam in the man's eyes that makes Luke pretty sure he’s about to be eating a burger. Which is better than the option waiting for him at home.

“I won’t hear anything of it. You saved my children, the least I can do is offer you some food. And you can call me Ray,” the man — Ray — waits until Luke gives a smile that feels only a little forced before turning back to the bbq and Luke catches him muttering something, “We really should have attended that fire safety course Victoria mentioned.”

Coughing to hide a laugh Luke looks back in time to catch the tail end of a look that Julie shoots at her brother and the way he rolls his eyes before he grins and walks over to his dad. And then it’s just him and Julie. Who apparently told her family about him. Luke bites his bottom lip to try and not smile because of course she’d told her family, she’d nearly died and hadn’t. It was a big deal. It was something you told people. It doesn’t make him special.

Julie’s looking up at him, her head tilted slightly like she’s considering something and he desperately wants to know what’s going on inside her head. But then his eyes glance down and he can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face at the sight of the doodle covered sneakers she’s wearing and how different they are to the monster slippers he’d seen her in last time.

“No slippers today?” the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them, brows rising as he looks pointedly at the sneakers on her feet and back up at her.

“Didn’t want to make anyone jealous,” she laughs, but Luke can see a slight flush in her cheeks as she brushes some hair behind her ear and he’s suddenly struck by the urge to do it for her. He’s saved from making an embarrassing move by her next words, “I see you’re not in a uniform today either.”

And, if Luke didn’t know any better he’d say she was upset about that fact if the way her eyes tracked down his body and back up to his face, and if the deepening colour in her cheeks was anything to go by. But why would she be upset about him not wearing his uniform? That thing was heavy and warm. He did not get the fascination.

“They let us wear other clothes sometimes. The uniform can get a little hot,” he grumbles only for his lips to pull up into a slight smirk as he watches the way she bites her lip and avoids his eyes, “Why, disappointed?”

“What? No! I—,” she sucks in a breath and blows it out and Luke watches as she tosses curls over her shoulders and straighten her spine before looking him straight in the eye, and there’s a fierce sense of determination mingling with something like excitement, “I was just thinking how I never got to thank you properly. For helping me out of the building. And how I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t involve my dad burning burgers in the park.”

Luke blinks and just stares at her because it sounds a little like she’s just asked him out but he doesn’t want to be one of those guys who just assume they’re being asked on a date because of a little life saving. She could just mean a totally harmless thank you coffee and he’s just overthinking it and oh fuck she’s still talking and he’s just gaping at her.

“And I mean it doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be! I could just buy you a– a doughnut or something. Wait, that’s police isn’t it? Shit what do you buy firefighters? Do you have a stereotypical food? That’s not the point. I—” she sucks in a breath like she’s about to ramble on some more when Luke’s mind finally catches up and he grins at her, reaching out to catch one of her hands that had started waving through the air mid spiel.

“Julie. I would really fucking love to go to dinner with you.”

Her eyes light up as she looks from where he’s still holding her hand, their fingers somehow becoming interlocked and Luke doesn’t know if he did it or if she did but she doesn’t seem to mind and neither does he. It kinda feels right.

“So dinner. So I can thank you, and we can… get to know each other,” she sounds a little shy as she says it and Luke squeezes her hand.

“It’s a date.”

He gets to the restaurant ten minutes early and Luke’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s been early for something since they had the chance at playing at an under 21s club when he was 16. He hadn’t even been early for his first day at the station.

But for a date with Julie Molina? On time wasn’t even an option.

There was just something about her that made him want to show up early, to wear his fanciest shirt, to comb his hair. She made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in a long time — which he’s pretty sure says something about a guy who runs into fires for a living and maybe he’ll think more on that later — and so far he’d only really met her twice.

And one of those times probably shouldn't count, given all the fire.

But his point still stood. There was something special about Julie that meant she deserved him dressing up and bearing Alex’s teasing and having to gently push Hotdog away before she left hairs all over his pants.

For half a second, as he stands in the doorway of the restaurant, eyes glancing around before landing solidly on Julie in a booth against the wall, Luke wonders if she thinks he’s special enough to not be on time for too. And then he blinks, and she’s waving a hand at him and he remembers he’s pretty ordinary in the scheme of things and Julie is probably just a very punctual person.

“Hi,” he breathes as he slides into the booth on the opposite side of the table from her, noticing her bag and jacket filling the empty space between them and then the way her fingers are fidgeting with one of the cloth napkins on the table, “Sorry I’m late. You look really nice.”

Because she’s wearing a dark blue dress with little stars stitched into it in silver thread that glints under the lights of the restaurant, and her curls look bouncier, if that was even possible, with some pulled back at her temple with clips. And she looks more than nice, but Luke’s already said nice now so he can’t take it back, can he? Oh no, he’s spiralling.

“Oh. I’m just…early,” she trails off, giving a small shrug and shooting him a smile that he doesn’t hesitate to return and he doesn’t know if it’s him smiling or just the fact he’s shown up or — what, but Julie’s fingers still on the napkin as she seems to settle more in herself, and she blows out a breath before smiling at him, “You look nice too. You’ve got...sleeves today.”

Luke can’t help it, he blushes, a laugh working it’s way past his lips as he rubs at the back of his neck, trying to play it off cool only to promptly give up when he catches sight of the way Julie is trying to bite back a smile at his reaction; because making her smile is quickly becoming one of his favourite things. And hopefully, if tonight goes well, he can spend a long time making her smile, and more.

“You’ve seen me with sleeves more than without,” he points out and this time it’s Julie’s turn to blush a little, ducking her eyes.

“Well your arms certainly make an impression,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes at him. But it’s hampered by the blush still on her cheeks and Luke grins, nudging her ankle with his foot under the table.

“Have you been here before? I looked up the menu but couldn’t decide what looked good,” Luke says, letting the topic of his arms drop for now. Though if all goes well he’ll make sure to bring it up at another time.

“My tia says they do a really nice tagliatelle,” she replies, picking up her own menu and letting her eyes glance at it before back up at him with a smile.

“This is the tia who makes the really good um,” Luke bites his lip as he tries to recall the conversation from yesterday, snapping his fingers when the word comes back to him, “Tostones! That your dad was talking about?”

The smile that graces her face lights up her eyes, like she hadn’t thought he’d been paying attention to what was said yesterday, or that he wouldn’t remember even if he had been.

“Yeah, that one,” Julie looks back at her menu and Luke follows suit, eyes skimming past all the options but not really taking any of them in. His mind is still stuck on the way she’d smiled at him and how pretty her eyes were when she did.

Their waiter comes and Luke takes her tia’s suggestion and goes with the pasta dish, pretending not to notice the way Julie smiles at him when he does.

“So,” she starts when the guy has gone and they’re alone in their booth again, her hands folded over each other on the table as she looks at him, “Firefighting huh? That must be...I don’t want to say fun but...interesting?” She wrinkles her nose a little, like it’s still not the word she wants to use, and he gets it.

“Interesting is a pretty good word for it. And it can be fun,” he nods, biting his bottom lip as he thinks about it, “When we get to rescue cats or someone's trapped on their roof or something. But it’s intense too. Some days are harder than others to go home from.”

“Is it something you always wanted to do?” There’s honest curiosity in her voice and Luke almost feels bad for laughing after the way it makes her blink in shock.

“No,” he shakes his head, still laughing a little, “I uh I was gonna be a rockstar. Not like kids say they’re going to be,” he’s quick to add as her smile returns, “Me and my best friends, Alex and Reggie, we had a band and we were fucking good. Played our own instruments, wrote our own songs. I think we could have been legends,” his voice trails off as he thinks about it. About that abandoned dream and the scars from it he still holds.

Julie tilts her head at him and he blinks to pull himself back to the present as she speaks, “Can I ask what happened? If it’s too painful or anything you don’t need to tell me I’m just...curious. Don’t hear many people who sound so passionate about lost dreams.”

“Ironically, there was a fire at our rehearsal space and uh, no one was seriously hurt or anything. Everyone got out. But um, I was in hospital for a few days for minor burns and smoke inhalation,” Luke frowns and tries to keep to the facts, no need to wander down that memory lane right now, “I couldn’t play for a few weeks afterwards, and then the first time I tried to sing was about a month later and it...hurt. So I haven’t tried since.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I was 17 so uh seven, nearly eight years ago now,” he hadn’t realised it had been so long. Huh.

Julie blinks at him, her mouth opens only to close again a few times before she seems to find the words she’s looking for, “That’s...wow Luke, that’s a long time. But I— I kind of understand. The being hurt and...scared to sing again.”

Ignoring the way she seems to have caught on to his unspoken truth in being scared about singing, Luke focuses on her own apparent issues. And the fact that she’s apparently a singer. He might have pushed down all his own music related dreams but he’s always had a type.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“My mom died when I was 17,” she gives him a sad smile and Luke’s eyes immediately widen, lips tugging down as he starts to get an idea of the story that’s about to follow.

“I am so sorry Julie. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” and it’s instinct to reach across the table and touch the back of her hand that’s strayed back to the napkin, and it seems to be instinct for her to turn her hand over and link their fingers.

“No, no it’s fine,” she sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out again, keeping her eyes on their interlock fingers, “It was um cancer. And we knew it was coming, so we got the chance to say goodbye. But my mom she was— God she was the best person I knew. She was amazing and my best friend and just this amazingly talented musician who used to be in some badass bands. She taught me to play piano, and a little guitar and we used to sit out in the garage that her and my dad turned into a studio and just — write and play and sing together for hours.”

There’s a pause where she looks lost in a memory of a different life, and Luke lets her have it. Lets her play with his fingers and figure out how much of her past she’s willing to divulge on a first date. Alex is always reminding him that not everyone subscribes to his brand of honesty from the get go. And then she sighs, licking her lips before looking up at him with a small smile that he thinks means thanks.

“After she died I uh I couldn’t play or sing for a long time. Music was just— it was our thing and I didn’t know how to do it without her. So I avoided it at all costs and didn’t sing for nearly three years,” she blows out a breath, shaking her a little at him, “And then I was in the car one day, I don’t know where I was going, but the radio was on and one of my mom's songs came on. I didn’t even think about it, I just… started singing along,” she shrugs one shoulder at him before blowing out a breath and laughing.

“God, sorry. I really brought the mood down huh.”

“Best to get the traumatic backstories out of the way now,” he grins, squeezing her fingers quickly, “But hey, you can’t just mention your mum being in a band and having songs on the radio that casually! Gotta tell me more now. If you want to.”

So she does. She tells him all about Rose and the Petal Pushers and how her tia was the original bassist before life got in the way, how they’d played the club scene in the 90’s and landed a gig at the Orpheum, about the few songs they’d had that landed on the charts and the ones that some classic rock stations would still play. She tells him about the vinyl she’d had of their first album that she hadn’t been able to save from the fire and how her dad had been the one to shoot the cover art. She tells him about teaching music part time to kids while she works on making connections and plans for an album and how much she hates looking at apartments.

In turn Luke tells her all about his parents, and Alex and Reggie and how he saved Hotdog the cat from under a hotdog vendor's cart and had been hiding her in their apartment ever since. They spend too long talking about how she knows of Reggie’s music classes and how she’s been to the restaurant where Alex works too many times to count, and how it’s so weird they’ve never met before an apartment fire. He tells her how Alex and Reggie are his family, how they’d been with him through the loss of music and finding firefighting and how he’d already beat Reg at rock, paper scissors five times to be Alex’s best man when either he or Willie popped the question. He tells her how he can’t play his guitar unless he’s drunk and the place that used to be full of lyrics is silent.

At the end of the night, when their waiter finally gets tired of them hogging a table and asks them to leave, Luke knows enough about Julie to know that if they hadn’t met the way they did then they would have met some other way.

So he kisses her slowly, gently, against the side of her car and knows that she feels whatever it is between them too when she asks if he has plans tomorrow.

He doesn’t. And even if he did, he would cancel them for her.

THREE

“Ugh I love my dad but I have got to find somewhere to live before him and Tia drive me mad,” Julie grumbles through the phone and Luke smiles as he pictures her gripping her steering wheel a little tighter as she struggles with her love for her family and her need for space.

“Still no luck with the apartment hunting, huh?” He asks, hoping the sympathy is evident in his voice even as it’s partly muffled by the way he’s trying to pull a t-shirt over his head at the same time.

“Everything’s either too expensive or too far away from work or just has bad vibes,” she sighs and Luke can faintly hear the ticking sound of an indicator in the background.

“How can a place have bad vibes?” he laughs as he pulls the hem of his shirt down with one hand, closing his locker with his elbow of his other, nodding at Harrison as she raises an eyebrow at him as she walks past and Luke already knows he’s going to be teased today. Much like everyday since he and Julie had officially started dating.

But look, it wasn’t his fault he’d somehow met literally the best person on earth and she’d decided he was worth spending half her time with. Even Alex, Reggie and Willie had agreed that Julie was pretty fucking awesome and way out of his leage and had made him promise not to fuck it up. Which personally, Luke had found a little rude because he had no intentions of fucking things up and full intentions of spending the rest of his life with her.

Which yeah, okay, he knows is a little much after only a few months.

It was why he hadn’t asked her to move in with him. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Alex was in the back of his head reminding him that they’d only been dating for two months, or sixty seven days if you wanted to be exact. Not that he’d been counting or anything. Because that would be weird. It was just— Luke didn’t do casual when it came to relationships. He was either all in or not at all. And he was all in for Julie, and he was like, 75% sure she was all in for him too. But even still, it was too early to ask her to move in. Right? Fuck, he was going to have to go back to his pros and cons list later.

“Trust me, if you’d been in this place you’d know what I mean by bad vibes. Carlos would say it gave him ‘bad ghost tingles’, which I really didn’t understand before today,” she laughs a little before muttering something he doesn’t quite catch and then something he’s pretty sure translates to shoving something somewhere unpleasant and Luke grins to himself. Julie with a little road rage is kind of hot.

“Anyway,” she returns to the conversation and he really wishes he was in the car with her and not across town leaning in a doorway, it’s almost enough to make him start pouting before her next words are crackling through the phone, “Are we still on for dinner tonight after your shift?”

“Yeah!” Luke clears his throat, hand rubbing at the back of his neck at just how quickly and loudly he had agreed to that, but he can hear Julie laughing gently through the phone so he’s not really all that embarrassed, “I mean, yeah as long as you’re still up for it?”

“You said Alex was going through a fusion phase and I really want to see how he’s going to combine Italian and Thai food.”

“Oh I see, so you’re only using me to get close to my chef roommate, huh?” Not that he could blame her. Alex made some pretty great food.

“Don’t be silly, I’m clearly playing the long game and intend to use you to get to play with the sirens on a fire engines,” she giggles and it’s nearly enough to make Luke quit his job to spend the rest of his life trying to make her repeat the sound over and over.

Which is of course when the alarm sounds and people start rushing around him. He hears Julie blow out a breath on her end of the line and for a moment Luke can picture her so clearly. Sitting in her car, hands gripping the wheel and fingers tapping along to whatever melody is stuck in her head, hair tied up because she was going to wash it tomorrow, a little crease between her brows as she concentrated on the road that would deepen every time someone pissed her off. God he— huh. Luke blinks and blows out a breath of his own. If it’s too early to ask her to move in, he knows it’s probably too early to say the thought that just stuck him.

“I gotta,” he rasps, swallows and tries again, “I gotta go. Duty calls. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Eight o’clock. I’ll meet you at yours,” he imagines she’s nodding her head at him, “Be careful out there okay?”

“Always am,” Luke wants to say something else, but Danfroth hurries past him and he’ll be damned if he's not ready first, “Bye Jules.”

He holds on for a few more seconds, to see if she’s going to say anything more but it’s just static and their breathing and a click as they hang up.

His first year at the station there had been a massive ten car pile up on I-5 where the Hollywood freeway decided to join the party. It had been a lot of broken glass and people calling for help and a car hanging over the edge as others started burning. Luke doesn’t remember many of the details of the night. Except that he kind of remembers all of it.

Because his brain hates him and insists on keeping hold of all the traumatic moments in his life no matter how hard he tries to forget them.

He remembers being frozen at first. Gripping the strap of the bag he’d been told to hold as people bumped into him as they’d got straight to work. He’d been 21 and a probie and suddenly thinking he’d made the wrong career choice. He’d been seconds away from bolting when he’d heard a small voice calling for help. And Luke had blinked. Sucked in a breath of cold air and got to work.

It had been a series of reassuring smiles and telling people to cover their eyes and trying to ignore the way some people were covered in more blood than what was left in their bodies. He hadn’t had to deal with the worst of it, not really, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still sometimes wake up having dreamt of blood on roads and pulling people from cars before they blew up.

Now, as he closes the door of the engine and snaps the strap on his helmet closed, Luke thinks he’ll be dreaming of this call for a long time to come. On the plus side, at least this one was taking place in daylight.

“The hell happened?” he mutters.

“Truck lost a wheel and took out three cars in front of them and then another four behind. I think the rest are just collateral damage,” Danforth shrugs as he passes by Luke to open one of the side hatches on the engine.

Something about the way he says it rubs Luke the wrong way but he doesn’t have time to figure it out because Harrison comes up to give them assignments and he’s grabbing the jaws of life and heading into the chaos and the mess.

There’s a moment of calm between him helping get a young man out of a car and arguing with someone from a different station about not scaring already scared people by saying they’re going to cut trapped limbs off, where Luke manages to take a moment to breathe. There’s sweat coating the back of his neck and he knows if he looks close enough he’ll spot blood on his gloves but that's a problem for future him. Right now all he wants is a cold breeze to blow across the freeway and to not see an other person stuck in their car.

“Can we get some help over here please!” Someone shouts and Luke rolls his neck, pushes away from the wrecked car he’d been leaning against and heads towards the voice.

The first thing he sees is a car on its side with something leaking from somewhere it shouldn’t and knows they don’t have long before it makes a bigger problem. The second thing he sees is someone with strangely familiar curls kneeling over a body surrounded by an awful lot of glass.

“We’re gonna need a medic over here!” He calls over his shoulder before closing the distance with a jog and dropping into a crouch next to the young woman with her hands pressed into the side of an older man. Luke’s eyes track from his body to the car and the trail of blood and back to the woman's hands, coated in blood and arms that are shaking.

“Okay, we got him. Did you pull him ou— Julie!?” Luke’s hands falter for a moment as he reaches to replace the woman's hands with a wad of gauze as he finally has a chance to glance up at her face and realises the familiar curls were familiar for a reason. There’s blood on her sweatshirt and a streak across her cheek that’s disturbed by tear tracks and Luke remembers the first time he’d met her, crouching behind her sofa with tears on her cheeks, holding a bag full of song books and photos to her chest, and looking terrified.

She looks scared right now, but not like she had then, a different kind of scared that comes from not knowing if you’re doing enough to save someone.

“I— I pulled him out because the car is leaking gas and I didn’t—” she pauses to suck in a breath, hands balling into fits as she tries to steady them and Luke takes the pause to run his eyes over her and check for any injuries. But she seems fine, which is the important part right now. Well that and doing his job.

“Hey, we got him,” he ducks his head to catch her eyes and waits until she lets out a shallow breath and nods, “You need to go get checked out by a paramedic.”

“I’m fine, it's— it’s not my blood. I wasn’t in the crash, I just got out to help,” she trails off as her eyes follow the path of a pair of paramedics hands that come into view, taking over his job of putting pressure on the wound and Luke rocks back on his heels to let someone else take his place.

“Come on Jules,” he puts one hand on her elbow and slowly pulls her up as he stands too, moving them both out of the way so the paramedics can do their jobs. He waits until they’re lying down a backboard and Julie can see that he’s breathing. That he’s alive they’ve done all that they can and Luke practically feels the breath she lets out, shoulders dropping and her hands finally uncurling as she lets him pull her further away from the scene.

“You’re okay?” Julie asks as they come to a stop near his station's engine, hands reaching out for him only to seem to notice the blood and stop half in the air, and Luke can’t stop the half scoffed laugh that comes out of his throat as he unclips his helmet to pull it off his head to see her better.

“I should be asking you that,” he mutters, raising a hand up only to remember he’s still wearing his gloves and starts to pull one off before trying again, letting his palm cup her cheek, thumb brushing gently over her cheek and taking some of the blood with him. “What were you doing out there? You could have been hurt.”

“That guy was hurt and he needed help,” Julie shrugs a little as she looks up at him with a small twitch of her lips, leaning her cheek in his hand as her lips brushing slightly against the skin of his wrist as she speaks, “You’re out here every day risking your life, Luke. All I did was drag a guy from a car and try to stop him bleeding out.”

“Probably saved his life is what you did,” he blows out a breath and tries to send all his worries and concerns with it. He wonders if this is how his family and friends feel everyday he goes off to work, because it kinda sucks, maybe he should apologise to his mom later. Luke opens his mouth to say something before being cut off.

“Patterson! We got another call, come on,” Harrison interrupts, shooting a quick smile at Julie before looking at him and nodding towards the engine.

“Are you okay to drive? I can get someone to drop you off at mine?” He’s pretty sure someone around here owes him a favour, or he can see if Willie’s free or—

“I’m fine to drive but you’re not going to be finished for four hours. I don’t want to be intruding or anything,” there’s a small frown between her brows that makes Luke grin and want to kiss it away. So he does. He presses his lips to her forehead, and rests like that for a second, two, three.

“They won't get this all cleared for a while but they’ll let you turn around and my place is back the way you came,” he points out as he pulls back a little to be able to see her eyes better, “So, you go back to mine, feel free to use one of Reg’s bath bombs if you want, raid the cupboard next to the fridge for some of Willie’s cookies. Relax. Plus you know where the spare key is, and Reg should be back at about five so if you can’t find anything he’ll be there to help.”

“You sure it’s okay?”

“Go. I’ll be back by eight. Promise. I love you.

They stand like that for a few more seconds, his hand on her cheek and staring into each other's eyes in a way that he’s sure is going to get him teased later on. And then Harrison calls his name again and he rolls his eyes to make Julie laugh and press a quick kiss to his lips. Before he leaves her, he catches someone from the 97 and asks them to make sure she gets out fine. And Julie rolls her eyes at him, but he simply shrugs as he starts to walk backwards with a grin.

It’s not until he’s sat in his seat, headset on and clutching his helmet that he realises he’s just said he loves her. Oh fuck.

As the door clicks shut behind him the first thing Luke notices is Hotdog waiting by the pile of shoes for him like she does every Tuesday when he gets home.

The second is the smell of onions and garlic, which means Alex is home and cooking dinner and he hadn’t realised how hungry he was.

The third thing is the sound of Julie’s laughter mixing with Reggie’s and Willies and Alex’s voice trying to sound offended. And Luke smiles to himself as he kicks off his shoes, drops his bag and bends down to pick up Hotdog, fingers scratching under her chin as he thinks about how all of this is something he could get very used to.

Plus, if Julie’s here it means he hadn’t scared her off with his spontaneous declaration earlier. Which is good.

“...found her behind the bookcase in Reggie’s room like, 3 hours later!” Alex finishes saying as Luke strolls into the kitchen with said hide and seek champion in his arms.

“Are we talking about the first or the second time Reg couldn’t find her?” He asks leaning his elbow on the back of the chair Julie is sitting in and drops a quick kiss to her lips as she turns her head to smile up at him. She’s retied her hair up and all traces of smoke and sweat and blood are gone from her skin, leaving her smelling like peaches, so Luke’s going to guess she took him up on the bath bomb offer.

“Hey,” he whispers as he pulls away to run his eyes over her face, pretty sure she’s doing the exact same thing to him.

“I’m still fine. Better even. You have a really great bath,” she says, quite enough that only he hears, and he definitely doesn’t miss the suggestive tone that makes him bite his lip before he says something not appropriate for present company. Instead he settles for poking her lightly between the shoulder blades and letting his fingers trail up from her shoulders to her neck to idly play with a loose curl at the nape of her neck. Biting down on the smirk that’s threatening to take over his face, Luke turns his attention back to his boys and the times Reggie has lost their cat.

“Wait, you lost her more than once?” Willie stares pointedly at Reggie who pauses in his cutting up of vegetables to smile a little sheepishly at them all.

“Hey, Alex is the one who freaked out thinking she was blind when she just didn’t give a fuck about the laser pointer!”

“That’s not even—” Alex starts, turning around and pointing his spoon at Reggie only to sigh and shake his head before turning to look at Luke with a raised brow and a look in his eyes that he doesn’t understand in relation to his next words, “Okay, moving on. Put out many fires today?”

Luke rolls his eyes at him because ever since he’d started his firefighter training six years ago Alex had been asking him the same question every night he came home. It was tradition at this point. So he adjusts his position so Hotdog can jump from his arms to the ground and make her way over to Willie before he answers so he has full range of movement for his dramatic retelling of his day. He only gets as far as lifting one arm to point at his friends before he’s cringing and lowering it again, instead holding up his index finger and nodding towards the bathroom.

“Actually, let me shower first. There was a whole incident with vinegar at a store earlier,” he waves away confused looks and drops one eye in a wink as he starts to back out of the room, “All will be answered soon.”

He tries to shower quickly, but gets caught up in scrubbing his hands through his hair and letting the hot water pound on the tight muscles on his back for longer than he’d like to admit. Someone he’d carried down five flights of stairs had once told him that he carried too much tension in his shoulders, like he was carrying a bunch of burdens and shit that he needed to let go. At the time he’d just said it was because his equipment was heavy. Now he’s starting to think that they might have been on to something.

Only problem is that he doesn’t really know what his burdens are or how to let them go so he just keeps ignoring them in hope they’ll sort themselves out.

Turning the water off and wrapping a towel around his waist Luke wipes condensation off the mirror as he grabs another towel to rub over his hair quickly, pushing still damp strands out of his eyes. He can still hear the boys talking faintly in the kitchen and doesn’t have a chance to wonder where Julie might be when he picks up a voice singing from his room. It’s something from a musical he thinks, something that she’s been working on with the kids she teaches for the last few weeks and Luke feels bad for them because how could they possibly compare to her voice?

Luke leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed on his bare chest as he watches Julie move around the other side of his room, picking through the books and cd’s he has stacked haphazardly on a bookshelf. She has her head tilted a little to the side as she reads the spine of something, shoulders moving up and down as she skips through a verse to hit the chorus again, hips swaying in a pair of his dark jogging bottoms that she’s had to turn up several times at the bottom. He hadn’t realised before that she was wearing his clothes, that she must have relaxed in the bath and then rooted through his drawers to find his softest pants and comfiest looking t-shirt. It must be a newish one, he thinks, because it’s still got sleeves attached and he can’t recognise it from the back. God he kind of loves to see her in his clothes.

The frame of the door starts to dig a little uncomfortably into his shoulder and he hisses a little as he pushes away, grabbing Julie’s attention who looks over her shoulder at him her mouth turning up into an almost coy smile as her eyes track down his body. His eyes brows raise a little as he grins back at her, pushing further away from the door to walk towards her only too falter as she fully turns around and —

Luke sucks in a sharp breath as he finally gets to see the t-shirt she’s wearing. He had forgotten he still had it. Cheap white material that was soft until you washed it once and it turned like paper, but when they’d been sixteen with their only money coming from allowances and busking, it was the best they could afford. He can still remember Reggie spending painstaking hours designing their logo, testing out different versions of the curve and font styles before settling on that one. And then the three of them spent even more hours carefully transferring the logo onto cheap t-shirts.

He hadn’t really thought about those t-shirts for a long time. He didn’t know if the others even still had any left. He didn’t know why he even still had one. The thing hadn’t fit him in years, like the second he’d given up on singing and music the t-shirt had grown too small for him. Or he’d just grown too big for it.

“Are you okay?” Julie asks, and he doesn’t know when she has moved, but suddenly she’s in front of him and Luke is getting a clear, up close view of his old band's shirt on her. 17 year old Luke would be losing his mind at the sight. Actually, 24 year old Luke is kind of losing his mind at the sight.

“Yeah just—” his voice cracks a little and he swallows, trying not to notice the way she’s biting her lip to stop a smile, “Not seen that t-shirt in a long time.”

“Oh?” she hums looking down at her chest, pulling slightly at the hem so she can see the logo a bit better before looking back up at him from beneath her lashes, “Reggie did say you might be a little surprised by it. I can take it off if you want?”

Fuck. He kind of wants to kill his friends for not warning him. Kind of wants to not be thinking about anyone but Julie for the next half an hour at least.

“It looks much better on you then it did on any of us,” he mutters, one hand coming up to lightly trace the lettering across the fabric.

“So you want me to keep it on?”

“Did they say how long dinner would be?” He asks as his fingers move from tracing the letters to up following the curve of her collarbone gently, lips ticking up on one side as she shivers.

“Twenty minutes,” she breathes, arching her neck to give his fingers more skin to explore and letting her breath fan across his lips as her fingers drop to the edge of his towel, using a fingernail to trace his hip bone. He’d want to talk about what he said earlier, to see if she felt the same but there’d be time for talking later.

“Keep the shirt on.”

FOUR

Luke really fucking hates working nights.

It’s a fact Alex is always laughing at him for, because of them all he’s always had the worst sleeping habits, had always been known to be up in the middle of the night doing something else. But that was by choice. This is because he needs money to pay rent and buy food and take Julie on nice dates.

Which is his newest reason for hating working nights.

He misses spending time with Julie. Being on opposite schedules really fucking sucks.

At this point he’d even take just getting to hug her, to watch something crappy on tv and fall asleep together in the same bed.

Logically, Luke knows that Harrison hadn’t been aware of what stage his relationship with Julie was at, but a part of him truly believes she had scheduled his turn of nights just as they’d gotten past that awkward stage of not knowing if they could stay over at each others place and where hitting the stage of leaving a toothbrush and saying ‘I love you’ when they said goodbye. And hello. And just anytime one of them felt like it.

Harrison couldn’t have known, but he’s going to blame her for not getting to see his girlfriend in daylight for the last week anyway. And when he starts to feel bad for blaming Harrison he’ll find a way to blame Danforth instead.

“You’re extra grumpy today,” Alex comments as he stirs something in a pot on the stove, watching the way Luke dumps cream into this coffee and grunting at the way his favourite bowl is still dirty in the sink from yesterday.

“I hate the night shift,” he mutters, giving up on his hunt for cereal and pulling a box of leftover pasta from the fridge instead.

“If you wait five minutes you can have some of this.” Luke doesn’t even have a chance to say anything before Alex is pulling the container away from him and is left with no other choice but to wait.

“Something is smelling good!” Reggie breezes into the kitchen with the air of someone who has been up for hours and is preparing to wind down for the evening. Luke kind of wants to throw something at him for it, and might have tried if he didn’t spot a ball of fur purring away on his shoulder, “What’s going on with Mr McPouty?”

“He’s not seen Julie in a week. I think he’s having withdrawals,” Alex whispers loudly as he spoon what Luke thinks is risotto into a bowl and slides it across to him.

“Can’t say I blame him, we went for coffee yesterday between classes? Man Julie’s so cool! And did you know her dad's this, like, semi famous photographer?” Reggie gushes and it takes everything in Luke not to pout even more at the fact Reggie got to hang out with Julie and he didn’t, “She says hi by the way.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters, flipping Reggie off as he starts laughing and pulling a fork out of the drawer closest to him, it does nothing to dissuade his boys from their laughter and Luke can’t find it in himself to care.

He’s tried and he misses Julie. He’s allowed to be grumpy about it.

“Anyway, you can’t talk to me about being grumpy. Remember when Willie went to that competition thing in San Diego and you didn’t see him for two days?” Luke points his fork at Alex and is rewarded with him having the decency to flush a little at the memory.

“Oh yeah! You lonely baked like, fifty cupcakes!” Reggie grins, snapping his fingers and leans in to whisper to Hotdog, “Two of your parents are lovesick fools. But it’s okay, because Julie and Willie are super cool. I’m sorry I didn’t properly prepare you though, I thought we’d have more time.”

“If I wasn’t so tired I’d take offence at you insinuating we’d never get partners,” Luke grumbles, shoving a fork full of risotto into his mouth and shooting Reggie a half hearted sort of glare.

“Well I’m not tired so I take full offence to it! And stop lying to Hotdog about us!” Alex steps away from the stove, picking up some cooked chicken to toss towards Hotdog, grinning at the way Reggie sputters in protest as she tries to climb his face to catch them.

He knows Alex and Reggie are still bickering around him but he lets it all fade into the background as he eats and thinks about what Reggie had said. Because he wasn’t strictly wrong. Luke's last serious relationship had been at least four years ago and had lasted a month before things had just...fizzled out. And yeah there’d been the occasional girl since, but nothing serious. Nothing like what he felt for Julie.

She made him want to pick up a pen and write again. She made him want to look at old dreams he’d pushed aside out of fear. Which was a kind of terrifying thought in itself. Because Luke hadn’t thought about that dream of standing on a stage and playing music he wrote and making a connection to everyone in a long time. Not since he’d left the hospital after a house fire and the first time he’d tried to sing a month later his throat had felt like it was bleeding. So he’d pushed that dream down and found a new one and had avoided looking at it ever since.

Until Julie.

With her stunning voice and captivating laugh and blinding smile. Until she’d dragged him to a silly open mic night and handed him a guitar and just asked him to back her up.

Luke hadn’t told the boys about it.

That he’d stood on a stage and played while a crowd cheered. He didn’t know what it meant. Wasn’t even sure if it could be classed as progress if he hadn’t actually sang anything. But playing something for someone that wasn’t him was something, right?

He chews thoughtfully at a piece of chicken and looks between Alex and Reggie who have moved on from bickering to discussing weekend plans. Maybe he should tell them, they’d probably have some helpful insight into his problems.

Or they might just call him dumb and point out it’s been seven years and his throat is fine and he’s not had any problems talking since two weeks after leaving the hospital and he’s just been a coward. Damn he needed to get Alex and his stupid logical voice out of his head.

“Dude,” Reggie cuts through his thoughts, frowning at his phone screen, “You’re gonna be late if you don’t get ready soon.”

Luke squints at the screen as Reggie turns it towards him and nearly chokes on the bite food in his mouth as he pushes out of his chair and picking up his bowl as he goes, “Fuck!”

Luke slams the door of the fire alarm panel shut as the beeping and sprinklers in the restaurant finally stop and he’s left with a slight ringing in his ear and water soaking into his back. Which is bad. Because it means he’s torn his coat at some point and is going to need to sort that out before their next call. He’s glad he found out on a false alarm rather than while being in a burning building though, better a slightly damp back to being burnt.

“Alarms off, I’m going to do a sweep through,” he holds down the button on his radio and waits for the crackling to die down and Harrisons voice to filter through a confirmation.

False alarms are his least favourite calls, which he knows is bad, but he likes a little action in his night. If he’s going to be stuck on the night shift he at least wants to be doing something more than opening storage closets to check there’s no one trying to wait out a fire.

He hums the theme tune of some 90’s sitcom he can’t remember the name of as he walks down the short corridor between the kitchen and the main dining area, glancing in the men's room and the ladies and pauses a moment too long as he looks in the disabled toilet.

The last time he’d been out for a meal it had been an awful group event that Alex had made them all go to for one of the waiters at his restaurant. The food had all been weirdly sticky and they kept playing a questionable remix of Bless the Broken Road and the biggest bright spot of the whole evening had been when everyone was wandering around talking, Julie had dragged him down a corridor and into a bathroom.

Letting the door shut, Luke lets out a slight groan as he moves away from the corridor and back towards the main entrance. As if he wasn’t missing Julie enough already. He just had to go and remember that evening.

“Place is clear. It looks like a wire got loose but they’ll need to get someone in to check all the detectors. It didn’t seem like the sprinklers were really doing their job in the kitchen,” Luke reports to Harrison once he’s outside and within earshot of her, taking his helmet off and running a hand through his hair as he comes to a stop beside her, glancing towards the crowd of people waiting behind cones and a man arguing with someone in a police uniform. Luke shakes his head at the sight of the man gesturing towards the building and back at himself as he unfastens his coat and shrugs it off his shoulders, “He doesn’t think he’s actually going to be able to reopen tonight does he?”

“Hm? Not our problem,” Harrison says without even looking up from whatever form she’s filling out, though she does lift her pen up and wave it to something over his shoulder, “There’s someone over there looking for you. You’ve got 15 before we’ll be ready to leave.”

With a frown Luke looks over his shoulder, but can’t see anyone that he knows and it’s as he turns back to tell Harrison that when she taps him on the ear with her pen and Luke gets the hint. He leaves his helmet and coat with her and is halfway to the taped line when he spots a face in the crowd that makes a smile split across his face.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, not even attempting to keep the widening smile off his face as he jogs to a stop beside the tape line where Julie is standing with an arm linked through Flynns.

“Well we were trying to have a nice dinner,” Flynn mutters, and Luke catches the way she wrinkles her nose as he pulls away after leaning over to kiss Julie quickly, but there’s a slight smile on her lips too. Which is always nice to see because winning over Flynn had felt like the biggest test of his life and some days he still wasn’t entirely sure if she liked him or not.

“Just karma for trying to eat anywhere that’s not Alex’s place,” he rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms over his chest, letting the thumb on his right hand hook under the suspenders and dragging it a little across his chest.

“I don’t want him to think that I’m interested in being his friend because he can get me a table at the last minute,” Julie says, a small furrow appearing between her brows and Luke can’t help but shake his head with a laugh.

“Trust me, Alex’s first rule of friendship is don’t eat at crappy places that don’t get their fire alarms checked regularly.”

“That sounds more like your rule,” Flynn points out and she’s raising an eyebrow as she looks at him in a way that sends him back to being fifteen and put on the spot in a maths class.

Before Luke can formulate a reply Julie is shaking her head at her friend with a laugh and Luke’s eyes are drawn back to her, “No. Luke’s first rule of friendship is that you need to be able to name at least one band or artist from the 80’s. Quickly followed by knowing where all your fire exits are.”

“Just like to make sure people know the classic,” he shrugs, lips curving into a smile as realises just how well Julie knows him, and how much she remembers from their first date too.

“Ugh. You two are annoyingly cute,” Flynn mutters which is only when Luke notices that Julie’s been smiling back at him. But he can’t find it in himself to care how annoyingly cute they might look, he’s not seen her in a week and has to go back to work in less than five minutes. He’s gonna stare at her like the lovesick fool his friends accuse him of being.

A yawn creeps up his throat as he balls up his t-shirt and throws it into his bag, rolling out his neck as he reaches for the navy hoodie from inside his locker, foregoing another t-shirt in order to speed up the process of getting home and going straight to bed. He has plans to sleep for the next forty-two hours and only answer his phone for Julie, or his mom if she rings more then twice.

Heaving a breath he slips his hands through the arms of his hoodie and has it half lifted up to his head when a shiver runs up his back as someone traces a spiral pattern up his bare back.

“Hi,” a voice whispers behind him and Luke feels a sudden spike of energy at the sound of her voice. Enough to slip his arms the rest of the way into his hoodie and pull it over his head, he can feel Julie tugging at the hem at his neck, pulling it down to the waistband on his jeans and he tries not to be sad at the lack of her touch.

“Hey,” he finally replies as he turns around, eyes sweeping across her face and the casual leggings and too big band shirt that he’s pretty sure is his that she’s wearing, “You’re up early.”

“Mhm,” she smiles up at him, and it’s sweet and simple and lights up Lukes life in more ways than he’ll ever be able to express to her in words. “Thought I’d come pick you up. See if you maybe wanted to grab a little breakfast before you vanish into your bed.”

If it was anyone else asking him, Luke is pretty sure he’d give them a flat out no and grumble about people being too cheery in the morning. But it’s been five months and he loves her and he’s not been able to say no yet. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to say no to her. Luke blinks as that thought settles within him.

Spending his life being unable to say no to Julie. He really likes the sound of that.

Completely unaware of the sudden life epiphany he’s experienced, Julie has zipped up his bag and is holding it, eyebrow raised as she looks at him. Waits for him. And Luke pushes all thoughts so the future aside for now, he’ll deal with them later and focuses on the now. On how easily Julie slips her hand into his when he offers it to her, how simple it feels to tug her a little closer and drop a kiss to her forehead before they leave the locker room.

“So you're gonna buy me pancakes, right?” He asks as he waves at one of the engine drivers already busy readjusting his seat for the day.

“I’ll even treat you to an extra topping,” she teases and Luke wrinkles his nose at her even as a smile pulls at his lips.

FIVE

“Hey so uh, I have to ask you something,” Luke started, eyes following the hands of the paramedic as they checked her over for any injuries. But, much like all the previous times, Julie seemed perfectly fine. Which was part of his problem. Or not problem. But his concerns. Because this was the fifth fire his station had been called out to that Julie had been at the scene for. And yeah okay maybe asking her while she was sitting on the sidewalk after running out a burning building wasn’t his best move but he’d been holding off on asking for a while and it just sorta slipped out.

“Are you—”

“You’re all good here, just keep with that oxygen for a little longer for me and then we’ll clear you to go,” the paramedic says, giving her arm a single pat before nodding to him and walking away.

“Julie, are you an arsonist!?” He blurts the question out before he can stop himself, and he watches with mounting embarrassment as Julie removes the oxygen mask from her face — slight indents in her cheeks that he’d want to smooth away if he hadn’t just accused her of a crime — and eyebrows halfway to her hairline.

“Excuse me?” she rasps and Luke winces from the hurt look in her eyes.

“I just—” he starts, waving his arms around them to try and encompass where they are. The store that’s still on fire, the firefighters still trying to get it under control, the people being treated for minor burns and smoke inhalation. “This is like the fifth time you’ve been at a fire! And I love you, you know I love you but I just gotta know if I should be covering for you or something here!”

For a moment Julie doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with her wide brown eyes and lips slightly parted and a little smudge of dirt across her chin. And then she laughs, throwing her head back against his shoulder and eyes shut tight as her body shakes with the force of it. Which does nothing to calm Luke’s fraying nerves about dating an arsonist, but does a lot to make him want to smile at the sight of her joy. Even if it’s maybe tinged with a little insanity.

“You’d really cover for me if I was an arsonist?” She asks after she calms her laughter and regains her breath.

“I mean...yeah,” he shrugs, rubbing one hand at the back of his neck as he smiles at her, a little sheepishly as he tries his best not to dislodge her head from where it’s resting.

“Luke, you’re very sweet and I love you too,” she reaches out a hand and wiggles her fingers at him and Luke barely even hesitates before he’s putting his hand in hers, fingers interlocking and rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand as he waits for her to carry on, “But I promise, I’m not an arsonist. I just seem to have really bad luck when it comes to places with faulty wiring.”

He’s silent for a moment as he lets her words register in his mind. Not an arsonist. Just bad luck. God, he’s so dumb.

“And!” she continues, sitting up straight again and poking a finger of her free hand into his cheek and snatching it away quickly before he has a chance to bite it, “You’re not even on duty today! I wouldn’t have even been in that store if you hadn’t been running late because you had to help Reggie with something.”

“Ah so it’s Reggie’s fault then,” Luke agrees and is rewarded by Julie huffing a laugh as she drops her head back to his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek as he rests it against the top of her head. He gently reaches over to reattach the oxygen mask to her face as they sink back into a comfortable silence.

Luke thinks back to an hour ago, when he’d been hovering over Reggie’s shoulder and trying to help him work out the issue with a song he was helping to produce. He thinks about the look of shock and then excitement that had taken over his best friend's face at the sight of him scratching out a rough arrangement on his notes. How it had been the first time outside of drunken nights — and a dark crappy bar’s creaky stage for an open mic night — that he’d played anything on his guitar for someone.

When Luke had sworn off music, out of what he can now recognise as fear, he’d never really stopped to think what it meant for the people around him. At the time, he’d thought his mom was just still trying to keep the peace whenever she’d asked why he didn’t play anymore, had thought Alex and Reggie were happy for an excuse to not follow him on his quest for connections with the world, had thought that maybe music wasn’t for him.

He had never thought maybe they missed him playing as much as he had loved it.

And then he’d met Julie and that part of his brain that he’d shut off had exploded with lyrics and melodies and chords he hadn’t thought about in years. He still hadn’t sung, still wasn’t sure if he could, but Luke was starting to think maybe not being able to sing was okay if he could grab his guitar and finally express his feelings through music again. Some of them at least, he turns his head a little to press a kiss into Julie’s hair before resting his cheek back in the same spot.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he whispers, “And that I accused you of being an arsonist.”

“I’ll forgive you,” she mutters, the sound a little lost by the mask but he doesn’t miss the way her lips are pulled up into a smile, “If you buy me pancakes.”

“Okay what about this one?” Luke asks as he holds up a vinyl, The Bangles staring out at them from under their big hair and questionable bangs of the Manic Monday era.

“I’m trying to find some music from this century,” Julie rolls her eyes at him as she pushes his hand down and Luke pouts at her, which only earns him another eye roll.

“But you’re going to need some of the old classics too! You did say you lost most of your music in the fire,” he points out, slipping the vinyl into the small growing collection under his arm with a sweet smile at her. If she’d wanted someone to suggest modern music she had to have known he was the wrong person to bring shopping.

“You know there’s this thing called spotify? It’s amazing, it has like, all the music you could possibly want on it,” she teases as she leans in a little and Luke can’t help but do the same, wrinkling his nose as he pretends to look lost.

“Never heard of it, guess you’ll just have to come home with me later and show me how to use it,” his eyes glance down at her lips before slowly trailing back up to her eyes in time to see her rolling them again, though he also notices the slight flush to her cheeks and grins.

“Only if you help me find the records on my list,” she whispers, and for a moment Luke thinks she’ll close the distance between them and press her lips to his and is so distracted with the thought that he misses the way her hand comes up to push at his chest, sending him rocking back on his heels and Julie sliding past him.

“Tease,” he mumbles and Julie laughs from behind him, already moving through the rows and looking for things on her list. Things she lost in the fire, things she’s just always been on the lookout for. And Luke here’s to try and help her find them. But he’s also here for an ulterior motive and uses Julie’s distraction of looking through the r&b to head towards the other side of the store where he knows they keep the unsorted second hand stuff.

He’d started his hunt a few months ago, stopping by various music stores and second hand places to look around and ask the staff to let him know when they get a new stock of vinyls or tapes. So far he’d not had much luck. But he was feeling confident about today. He’d played music for Reg and Julie wasn’t an arsonist and Willie was ‘stealing’ them some of his uncles cheesecake for tonight. So today was the day he was going to find it. And it would be the best housewarming gift for when Julie moved into her new place next month.

And he really hopes he can find it because his back up plan is a plant of some kind and that just feels too cliche.

He shifts through copies of The Beatles and The 1975 and a shocking number of The Zombies which is something he’ll be thinking about later. He’s down to the last few vinyls in the crate and close to heaving a sigh when he flips back the second to last one and grins. Purple petals falling onto the upturned faces of four women who are smirking up at their band name on a dark blue background. Pulling it out, Luke flips it over and skims the five songs on the back and bites his lip as he examines the small signs of wear and tear on the edges but otherwise seems fine. Almost perfect condition.

He just knew today was a good day!

“Luke!” Julie’s voice startles him out of his thoughts and he only just has enough time to slide the record between two others in his hands before she spots it as she runs up to his, fingers wrapping around his forearm as she tugs at him, “They have a photo booth! Come take some photos with me. Please?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes and everyone always tells him he has the best puppy dog eyes they’ve seen, but Luke thinks that’s just because they’ve never seen Julie’s. Not that she needs them. He’d say yes to anything she wanted. Which she knows.

“Only if we take the most cliche ones possible,” he lets himself be pulled towards the back of the store where an old fashioned photo booth with a red crushed velvet curtain is nestled between stacks of crates and t-shirts on a railing. Putting the records down on the edge of one of the crates Luke digs some change out of his pocket while Julie slides onto the bench, leaving a space for him to join her.

Her hair brushes against his shoulder as she leans forward to read the faded instructions and Luke hands her a couple of dollar bills before she can even reach for her own purse. There’s a whirring sound after she feeds them into the machine and the screen flickers a few times before a countdown starts and Julie lets out a gasp as he wraps an arm around her shoulders to pull her back just in time for the first flash.

“Oh fuck,” she laughs and flings her arms around his neck, smooching their cheeks together and now Luke’s laughing, their reflections showing two people a mess of hair and half closed eyes. By the third flash Luke has his face buried in her curls as his shoulders shake with laughter while Julie tells him to get it together between her own giggles.

“Shall we try that again?” He asks after the last flash and the whirring has stopped and they’ve managed to calm their laughter down.

“I didn’t think it would be that quick!” Julie shakes her head, but fishes some more money out of her bag, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she sits up, “Okay. We need a plan this time around. Money in. A nice smiling one, a funny face, kiss on the cheek, classic peace sign. Got it?”

Julie waits for him to nod before leaning to put money in the machine again, and Luke honestly has every intention of following her plan. Smile, funny face, kiss on the cheek, peace. Cliche, just like he’d wanted. But as the countdown starts and Julie sits back, shoulder brushing against his as she smiles, he can’t help but turn to smile at her. At the way she’s tucked some curls behind her ear so he can see the butterfly earrings and the little stars that trail up from her seconds to her helix, at the collection of necklaces glinting at her throat, the chain of one resting below the pulse point on her neck that he knows makes her moan when he presses his lips against, the way her lips stretch into a smile that he knows if she was facing him he’d be able to see the little gap between her teeth.

A flash goes off and Luke licks his lips, mouth ticking up a little at the side as she turns to look at him with her eyebrows raised, “You were meant to be smiling.”

“I was,” he defends and proves his point by grinning at her, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tries to keep it in check.

“You’re not following the plan.” But she doesn’t seem to be too annoyed, even as the second flash lights up the booth and Luke knows they only have a few seconds before the third one goes off so he takes his chance and leans forward to capture her lips before she can say anything else.

They miss the third flash, and the forth.

When they leave the booth a few minutes later his hair is sticking up and his lips are a little swollen and Julie has to spend a few seconds readjusting her crop top so it’s no longer riding up. If the guy at the front counter had noticed them giggling or being in the booth for too long he doesn’t show it and Luke’s not about to push his luck.

“See, told you I was smiling,” he mutters as he looks over her shoulder to look at the two strips of photos in her hands, at the blurry giggling messes that they are in the first one and the heart-eyed cliche couple they are in the second. He’s starting to get what Alex, Reggie and Flynn mean about the way they look at each other.

“I’m going to go pay for these then we can go check out that place with the lamp you liked,” he says, pressing a kiss into her temple and reaching around her to pick up the records and gently pulls the second photo strip from her fingers, dropping her a wink as she turns to pout at him, “I’m going to put this one in my locker at work. They’re starting to run low on stuff to tease me about.”

Julie’s laugh follows him as he makes his way up to the counter where the guy doesn’t even blink at his messed up hair or the bruise he’s pretty sure is starting to show up on his collarbone given how tender it feels as he brushes past it to scratch his neck. Which is another thing for his friends to tease him about.

Luke grins at the strip of glossy photos in his hand. So worth it.

+ONE

As he waits for the shower water to heat up a little Luke taps out a quick reply to Julie promising he’ll be at her new place by two to help her move boxes and unpack. Which is all very exciting. He’d personally been round to check all the fire detectors and the wiring were up to code, and should anything happen, her new apartment was in his station's district so he’d be on the scene to help.

Apparently even Ray found that reassuring, and Luke was trying to not let that go to his head. His girlfriend's dad likes him. He thinks that’s pretty cool. Of course Ray had also taken up texting Reggie a lot which was a little weird but it was fine. He had bonus points of saving both his kids from fires.

Locking his phone he puts it on the counter, bobbing his head as a song from a tiktok plays in his head as he moves back over to the shower and stepping into the hot water.

He doesn’t really know what happens next.

One minute he’s lathering shampoo into his hair, head swaying from side to side and hips rocking in a circular motion as he hums along with the song in his head.

And then his mouth is opening and he’s singing.

“We're stuck where we are, with no house, no car. Castaways, ahoy, we are castaways,” his voice tails off as he starts humming again as he sticks his head under the shower stream to start rinsing off the shampoo. Only he only gets as far as leaning a little forward before he realises what’s just happened.

“Holy shit!” he sputters, stumbling a step backwards and wiping water out of his eyes only to wince and swear again as he rubs shampoo into them. Fumbling, he reaches for the face cloth he knows is somewhere nearby and wipes at his eyes again, blinking and heart racing.

For a moment the only thing he can hear is the water hitting tiles and his heart racing in his chest and that damn song still playing on a loop in his head. Swallowing, Luke sucks in a breath and tests his voice out again. He hasn’t sung anything in seven years but he can still remember the lyrics to Now or Never like he’d written them yesterday and as he pushes himself off the wall his fingers absentmindedly start picking out the chords as the words breeze out of him.

Like they’d just been waiting on the tip of his tongue all this time. And fuck, he really does feel like he’s been hit with an electric hammer to the heart with how fast his is beating right now.

He knows exactly what happens next. He acts on instinct. And instinct tells him he has to tell someone else.

Not stopping to turn the water off, or even grab a towel, Luke jumps out of the shower, fingers scrambling with the lock on the door before he can jank it open and then he’s running down the corridor, bare feet slipping on wood.

“Boys!” He shouts, skidding to a stop in the doorway of the living room, chest still heaving as he bends over a little to catch his breath. Pushing wet — and still soapy — hair out of his face, Luke turns a wide grin at the three pairs of wide eyes watching him from the sofa. He hadn’t known Willie was here. But that’s fine. Willie’s practically family, they’re all just waiting for one of them to propose at this point.

“Uh Luke—” Reggie starts, eyes firmly on his face even as his hand waves in the general direction of his legs, but Luke doesn’t have time to worry about dripping water on the floor right now.

“Boys. I sang again.” It’s a statement. A sentence that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. That wouldn't be a big deal or cause for celebration.

But Alex and Reggie had been there after the fire, after the doctors had told him to rest his voice, after he’d tried once and refused to do it since. It had been Alex and Reggie who he’d blown up at one day after school at 17 when they’d suggested going out for the school talent show as an attempt to help him. It was Alex and Reggie who have been with him every song-less day since.

So they get it.

“Holy shit,” Alex whispers, standing up from the couch at the same moment that Reggie vaults over it, both of them grinning just as wide as Luke is sure he is.

“And your voice, it was…” Reggie trails off, but his eyebrows wiggle and Luke gets the point.

“I don’t want to brag but I think a seven year vocal rest might have possibly made me sound better,” he shrugs one shoulder, but the calm, cool and casual air he’s trying to project is totally ruined by the way he’s practically bouncing in place. He feels jittery, his fingers itching for strings, mind racing with years worth of lyrics he’s suppressed.

“We told you!” Alex slaps his hand on his bicep, only to cringe as he wipes his now wet hand on his jeans.

“Dude you are so naked right now,” Willie laughs from his place on the couch, and Luke can’t help it, he drops one eye in a wink and dodges out of the way of Alex’s fist, which only makes Willie laugh more, “Happy for you though man. On the singing again. Does this mean the band is back together?”

The three of them look at each other, eyebrows raised and smiles stretched and Luke doesn’t know. But he does know that something has shifted back into place inside him. Like he’d been walking around a little off balance, not enough to really notice it until he’d been righted.

“How about we discuss future band plans when you’ve washed the shampoo out of your hair,” Reggie suggests, and Luke’s not self conscious about being naked in their living room, but he is starting to feel a little cold.

“Good plan. And then I need to get to Jules’ to help move furniture,” he points once at Reggie, and then at Alex as he starts walking backwards down the corridor, “And then we can get this band back together.”

The bathroom has filled with steam by the time he gets back, and the water is a little too hot, but Luke doesn’t care as he jumps back under the stream and finally washes the shampoo from his hair as he sings through Now or Never twice.

The second he steps through the door Luke knocks into a bed frame and only just manages to catch it before it topples on to him, raising an eyebrow at Julie who’s grimacing at him from the other side, “I say we move the bed first.”

Her eyebrows shoot up and she rests one hand on her hip, “Oh?”

“Not for— I just meant before it knocks someone out! Not for that,” his eyes trail down her body, at the denim shorts and plain purple t-shirt she’s tied up to making to a crop top that expose just a little of her skin, and he can’t help but grin, “Not yet at least.”

“You grab that end? And try not to drag it on the floor, I don’t want to scratch them,” she says, hands wrapping around one side of the frame and tilting her head at him until he follows suit. There’s a lot of awkward pulling and lifting and bumping into stacks of boxes with Julie’s neat writing scrawled along the sides. Then they spend a solid few minutes struggling to fit the thing through her bedroom doorway until they do some pivoting and silly impressions of Ross from friends that does little to help but make them laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Luke pants, resting against the wardrobe that’s already in the room and looking around, “I’ve lifted weights in the gym that were easier to move then that thing.”

“My tia says a sturdy bed frame is always a must have,” Julie grins at him from where she’s sat on the floor, with her legs outstretched and Luke wrinkles his nose at her before pushing away from the wardrobe to offer her a hand up.

“Come on, let's get the rest of your boxes into the correct rooms and we can test out this sturdy bed frame your tia recommended,” he pauses after pulling her up, the lack of distance between them meaning he has to look down at her as his brows pull together in a frown, “Wait that sounded weirder than I meant.”

“Just a little,” she agrees, nose wrinkling and reaching up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and kisses him. It’s soft and quick, like they’ll have forever for something more. And then she pulls away, hands sliding down his shoulders to his biceps, “Can you move the boxes for the kitchen and I’ll get the ones for the bathroom?”

It’s a few hours later when all the boxes that had been stacked by the front door are spread out in the correct rooms and they’re sitting surrounded by pieces of wood and nails that are supposed to make an ikea table.

What Luke is learning from it is that Julie is not very good at flat pack furniture.

“It says the weird squiggly one goes into the inside holes at the bottom! But I can’t find any holes and the weird squiggly things won't turn!” she whines, jabbing the screwdriver in the direction of the half built table and waving the instructions at him like he’s personally written them.

“Well uh might help if you turn it the other way around,” he suggests, fingers wrapping around one of the legs and rotating it so the side that had been facing him and is now facing Julie and she can see the holes she was missing. The flush in her cheeks darkens a little as her mouth opens to form a silent ‘oh’ and Luke grins, stretching an arm out to pry to the screwdriver from her fingers. “How about we take a break from building furniture, have some lunch? I’m no Alex but I know how to fry an egg and bacon.”

Julie heaves a sigh, head falling into her hands and then pushing her hair out of her face as she looks back up at him with a tired smile, “I can go and grab us some coffees?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he smiles at her, pushing up onto his knees and kissing her cheek before pushing up further on to his feet with a groan and then offering Julie a hand up too.

“Try not to burn my new apartment down while I’m gone,” she taps her fingers against this chest and then picks up her phone and moves towards the front door to find her shoes.

“Think you’ll find you’re the arsonist in this relationship,” he calls after her, grinning as she laughs into the kiss that she blows to him before shutting the door. And then he’s in her apartment by himself. The place still feels a little empty and cold, with the only furniture in place being the sofa her dad and brother had helped carry up earlier and the bookcase against the wall that connects to the second bedroom. But Luke had caught a glimpse of her old apartment, and had seen her room at her dad's house and knew that while Julie might not be good at putting furniture together she was really amazing at decorating a space and making it feel like home.

After rooting through one box to find a frying pan and a second to find a spatula, Luke grabs eggs and bacon and glances at the spinach that’s part of Victoria’s welcome package before ignoring it and turning back to the stove. He’s pretty sure she’s got a speaker or a radio in one of these boxes somewhere, but he doesn’t want to go rooting through her things. Not that he needs to, because he can make his own background music now and it’ll probably be better then anything on the radio too.

Idly, as he cracks open an egg, Luke wonders if maybe he’s a little too cocky inside his own head for someone who hasn’t sung a note in seven years but well, he’s never been known as the humble one in his friend group.

“You can't start a fire, you can't start a fire without a spark,” he sings, hips swaying as he pokes at the eggs, “This gun's for hire, even if we're just dancin' in the dark,” he mumbles through the next sentence as he flips a piece of bacon before throwing himself back into the song in full force, “Radio's on and I'm movin' 'round my place. I check my look in the mirror,” he sucks in a breath and raises the spatula up to his mouth like a makeshift microphone and scrunches his eyes shut as he almost growls the last sentence, “Wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face!”

“Oh.”

If he hadn’t been gasping for a breath he might not have heard her. Because he certainly hadn’t heard her come back in, but as lowers his spatula and spins around he comes face to face with Julie clutching a tray of drinks and staring at him wide eyed.

“Uh, hi,” and, for some reason, he waves at her with the spatula while his other hand rubs at the back of his neck with a sheepish smile, “Sorry I uh, didn’t hear—”

“When did you start singing again?” She blurts out before he can finish his sentence and right. He hadn’t told her. He’d nearly gotten squished by a bed frame and forgotten about his news.

“Um like, six hours ago?” He shrugs, finally putting the spatula down and taking a step towards her, suddenly nervous in a way he hasn’t been since their first date.

“That was— you’re—” she trails off, eyes trailing over his face with something that looks like awe, but Luke doesn’t understand why. Shit maybe time has fucked with his brain and he actually sounds shit? Oh god is she going to break up with him for being a terrible singer?

“Fuck Luke, you never said you could sing!”

“Yes I did,” he frowns at her, “I said it on our first date that I used to sing and then I stopped because of a fire!”

“Yeah but I didn’t know you could sing like...that!” She shakes her head slightly, her smile widening as she puts the drinks down on the counter and closes the gap between them, arms reaching up to circle around his neck and Luke’s hands automatically rest on her waist, fingers brushing against the strip of skin above the waistband of her shorts and below her top.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asks.

“Nearly got hit by a bed frame,” he shrugs and flexes his fingers against her waist when she giggles.

“This is big,” she breaths, and her smile softens a little and Luke’s eyes dip to her lips before going back to her eyes, “This is big, right? Because you sounded pretty amazing just now. And it really fucking hot too, but if this isn’t an exciting thing I can—”

“No this...it’s big and it’s exciting,” it’s his turn to cut her off with a shake of his head, and his fingers trail down her ass and trace the edge of the top of her back pocket before sliding in and squeezing, Julie rocks forward, mouth opening to say something but Luke takes his chance to put his lips against hers and find her tongue.

She moans into his mouth and Luke walks them backwards until the hand that’s on her waist hits the counter. He lowers his hand to tap her thigh, and without breaking apart she lifts her leg up to his hip and he hoists her up the rest of the way until he can balance her on the edge of the counter and get better leverage. Julie pulls away first, her breathing heavy and Luke smirks at her before trailing his lips up her jaw and down her throat, paying extra special attention to her pulse point on his way down.

“You really found me singing hot?” he whispers as he sucks at a spot just above her collarbone, nipping at her skin when she only moans instead of answers.

“You already know you're hot,” she groans, fingers in his hair and tugging gently until he gives in and lets her tug his head away from his attack at her collarbone and can reattach her lips to his. And Luke’s not about to complain about that either. Kissing Julie in any way is one of his favourite things. He pulls away first this time, pulling his hand free of her pocket and wrapping it around her thigh to push her further onto the counter. Her whine of protest at the lack of contact pulls a grin from his lips as he leans forward to kiss her again quickly, once, twice, and then runs his hands down her legs slowly as he pulls away again, head lowering back to the dip between her clavicle.

“Fire,” she whispers, and Luke grins against her skin because yeah, he kinda feels like he’s on fire right now too. Julie runs her fingers through his hair again, nails scratching at his scalp, “Luke. Fire.”

“I know, Jules, me too,” he mutters against her, lips moving up the other side of her collarbone and half wondering if she’d mind if he ripped her t-shirt and — “Ow!”

He pulls away sharply, eyes widening as he looks at her while one hand goes to his head to rub at the spot where she’d pulled at his hair too hard, “What was that for?”

“Fire!” Julie shouts and points over his shoulder. Where the stove is. Where Luke had been cooking before getting distracted. Where a small grease fire is now raging in the pan with eggs and bacon for fuel.

“Fuck,” he hisses, dropping his grip on Julie’s leg to lunge for the box of kitchen equipment to pull out a metal baking tray before turning back to the fire and slamming the tray on top, wincing at the heat but pushing through to turn the stove top off and push the pan to the back.

Hands on his hips, Luke blows out a breath and is about to ask if Julie is okay when he hears her burst out into laughter. Eyebrows raised, he turns to see her still on the counter top, fingers gripping the edge as her legs swing back and forth and she leans forward, “I thought I told you not to burn down my apartment?”

“Guess I’ll just have to find a way to make it up to you,” he chuckles and, checking the pan isn’t about to burst into flames again, turns his attention back to what he was doing with a little more attention to detail then before.

“I got you a gift,” he whispers much later after the sun has set and they’d ordered pizza and given up on building furniture to pile blankets and pillows on the floor of her living room to stretch out on. Julie turns her head from where it’s resting against his chest to look at him, eyebrows raised and a small smile playing on her lips.

“You got me a gift?” she repeats, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know but…,” Luke shrugs and gently dislodges her head so he can reach over to grab his boxers and slip them back on before getting up and padding across the apartment towards the front door to retrieve the wrapped box he’d left there earlier. By the time he’s padding back to their nest of blankets Julie is sitting cross legged and pulling her hair out of the neck of his t-shirt.

“It’s uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck as he sits back down, mirroring her position and carefully setting the box between them, it’s dark green paper rustling a little as Julie traces a finger down one edge, “Well you’ll see. And if you don’t like it or— or if it’s too much then that’s fine. I can uh I can take it back or something. But I just, you said it was important to you.”

There’s a quizzical sort of look on her face, brows furrowed and lips pursed as she pulls the box closer and finds the edge of the paper to unwrap it. Luke watches her face carefully as she pulls the paper free and then slowly lifts the lid off the box to see the record nestled in purple tissue paper underneath. Her hand freezes with the lid half in the air, and her lips part and fuck there’s tears in her eyes. He gives her a moment before tilting his head to try and catch her eyes, but they’re tracing over the cover art.

“Jules,” he whispers, though he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, if he should be apologising or comforting or what. “Is it too much?”

Julie blinks and Luke watches as a tear glides down her cheek and he aches to reach over and catch it but she’s closing her eyes, head shaking as a watery laugh bubbles past her lips.

“Where on earth did you find this?” She finally asks, turning eyes of unshed tears at him but she’s smiling so he’s going to guess happy tears.

“Remember that place with the photo booth?” He asks and shrugs when she nods, “I asked a bunch of people to let me know if they got any second hand vinyls in and well, just got lucky that day.”

“Dad looked everywhere to try and find another copy after the fire,” she whispers, and Luke sees her fingers shaking a little as she reaches out to trace the letters of Rose and the Petal Pushers on the cover before looking back up at him, “You’re— Thank you. This is...this is amazing Luke.”

“Good thing we dug your record player out, huh?” He nudges her knee with his own and nods towards the only table they managed to complete, where her TV and record player are set up and Julie wipes at her cheeks before reaching into the box and carefully pulling her mom's record out, holding it like it’s the most precious thing in her life. Which, he supposes it kind of is.

Julie pads across the room to put the record on the machine and set the needle and Luke watches her and thinks. He thinks about music and how it has always been such a large part of his life even when he couldn’t play it, couldn’t sing. How he’d once dreamt of filling his days like this, listening to songs sung by people who understood just how amazing music was. He thinks about how he’d given up on that dream and found a new one, but how he’d ended up back here anyway.

Luke thinks, as Julie sits down next to him, her arm wrapping around his waist, as his goes around her shoulders to pull her closer, his fingers making idle circles on her shoulder through the arm holes of his top, that maybe he was always going to end up here. With Julie in his arms and music playing around them.

He thinks maybe he has a couple of fires to thank for it too.

Luke's fingers are idly playing with one of Julie's curls as the her moms voice echoes around the apartment, drums fading into the background as a piano plays them out of the song and Luke's thinking about how much she sounds likes her, and how incredibly she'd sound singing this song when it hits him. It's sudden and harsh, like a hammer has just landed on his gut and he lurches forward pushing Julie up with him as she looks at him with wide eyes.

"What? What's wrong?" Her hands hover in the air around his chest, like she's afraid she might hurt him by touching him.

"The first song I sang after seven years was the stupid fucking Castaways song that people keep using on tiktoks," he whines, head falling into his hands and Julie's attempts at comforting him by rubbing at his shoulder is lost in the way her laugh replaces the music, both in her apartment and in his head.

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #jatp fic #jukeboxweek #jukebox #jatp #firefighter!luke au #once again staring at the tags unsure whatelse to put #*fics #also look at my cute lil graphic i did when i got annoyed with part 3 isn't it fun!!!! doodles!!!!

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dinosaurtsukki · 3 years

Text

[ to dedicate a song ]

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 2.6k words

contains: bassist!tsukishima, violinist!reader, slight angst, fluff, if you really like fingers and people who play stringed instruments this is for you

summary: tsukishima’s love for music has always been apparent ever since you saw him play at the store you worked at. little do you know that helping him out would result in some changes for you

a/n: after months of fantasizing i finally got around to writing a bassist!tsukishima fic. also special thanks to my awesome myuts who helped me come up with ideas for this fic ! aka @scorpiosanssexy for the bassist!tsukki aesthetic, @ah-kaashi for making reader a fellow musician, and @alto-march-of-death for the classical music recommendations <3

(music pegs at the end of the fic)

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the first time you met tsukishima kei was at the music store you worked part-time at. he was hard to miss, especially with his height and light blonde hair, and even though he didn’t seem to want to attract attention, your gaze couldn’t help but be pulled in his direction.

immediately, he headed to the store section with the instruments that are free to play. it wasn’t uncommon for customers to take advantage of that area to play some music so seeing tsukishima take out the bass guitar and plug it into an amplifier didn’t concern you. but it did make you lean against the counter and keep watching as he placed his fingers along the fretboard and plucked at the strings.

‘electric guitar music’ wasn’t really your thing and that applied to their four-stringed cousins. customers who came in rarely touched the bass guitar and when they did, it was out of sheer curiosity. tsukishima fit your image, built on stereotypes, of a bass guitarist: quiet, withdrawn, stand-offish even. but when he played, it was as if the whole world was falling quiet around him. it was as if he wasn’t right smack in the middle of a music store with a lone employee behind the counter watching him.

the thing about being the only music store in a relatively small town is that everyone who comes in is a regular customer. you were pretty sure you’ve seen tsukishima come in a few times before to buy albums. but after that day he tried out the bass, he kept coming back at least once every few days to do the same thing again. neither of you really paid any mind to the other, but you were both aware of each other’s presence, especially on days when you were the only two people in the entire store.

the tall, blonde guy seemed to have quite the singular objective, so of course, it was up to you to initiate conversation.

“you’ve probably worn down those strings by now,” you said, watching him with your head on the chin as tsukishima removed the strap and placed the bass back on its stand.

“it’s not against the rules,” he muttered.

“no, but you are taking good advantage of them,” you smiled, leaning back in your seat. “relax, i’m not telling you off or anything.”

“then, what are you doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. the question did sound defensive, but judging by how he was holding himself, he was mostly curious.

you shrugged. “you’re probably the most exciting customer who ever comes here, aside from the guy who buys madonna albums looking like he’s buying drugs.”

“oh, that guy,” tsukishima nodded with a knowing smirk on his face.

“anyway, when are you finally going to buy one?” you asked.

“you want me out that bad, huh?”

“terribly.”

“well, if you can somehow get my boss at the car wash to actually pay me for working overtime, that would be great,” tsukishima rolled his eyes.

“ah, figured,” you snorted. you followed his gaze to the row of bass guitars on display and felt a pang in your chest. you knew that look.

“hey,” you called out to him just before he left for the door. “sometimes the boss has a sale on the instruments, usually towards the end of the month.”

“really?” tsukishima asked, eyes wide.

“i could, maybe, suggest something during a staff meeting,” you shrugged. “not making any promises though but, i’ll try.”

tsukishima looked back at the guitars and then at you, looking unsure of what to say, before muttering a “thank you.”

“you can write a song about me as thanks“, you decided to tease. you imagined that he was the kind of person who would get flustered easily and for a second, you enjoyed seeing the caught off-guard look on his face. except, tsukishima recovered his composure completely and used the opportunity to launch his own attack.

“i’m afraid i’d have to know your name first,” he smirked.

in that moment, you were sure of two things: that tsukishima was an annoying prick and that someday, you were going to fall for him.

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for someone who dresses in some variation of the standard jeans and t-shirt combination, tsukishima had surprisingly colorful socks. you knew this because he still kept his socks on when he was hanging out in your room, playing the bass on your bed. he was hanging out in your room because somehow, you had invited him here a few weeks ago and you two had been doing this since. you had invited him because having tsukishima in your room was the opposite of the Worst Thing in the World, especially since he laughed at your jokes about the music store customers and knew how to fry chicken nuggets until they were perfectly crispy.

plus, he was nice to look at with his blonde hair falling over his forehead while he leaned forward to practice the same riff again and again on the bass guitar that he was eventually able to buy. seeing that guitar in his hands gave you a sense of pride. you helped make this happen and now, you get to listen to tsukishima play.

“your timing was off again,” you said, turning around with your arm resting on the back of your chair.

“tch,” tsukishima clicked his tongue, brushing his bangs back from his face. “i was pretty sure i had it just now.” you smiled sympathetically and stood up from your chair before walking across the room. tsukishima’s eyes followed where you went until you placed an object in front of him.

“what’s this?”

“it’s called a metronome,” you said, pulling the needle in the center just so and letting it tick freely to a steady beat. “it will help you stay on time.”

“it sounds annoying,” tsukishima quirked an eyebrow.

“it is annoying,” you smiled broadly. “now get on with it.”

you had never seen tsukishima look more stressed the way he did now while practicing with the metronome. he even practiced standing up at the corner of your room. frustration was written on his face and yet, he persisted.

for a minute, you saw yourself standing there, eyes concentrated at your sheet music while you played your violin. years ago, you used to play without a single care in the world, just like tsukishima. now, all you were left with was an ache in your fingertips and a violin in its case, gathering dust on a top shelf.

“how was that?” tsukishima asked. you smiled a little, realizing that he trusted your opinion.

“much better,” you nodded approvingly.

“really?” he raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. you giggled at the look on his face.

“really, really.”

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tsukishima knew you were keeping a secret. not in a sense that you were deliberately hiding something from him, more like you were deliberately not telling him about something. it started when he caught the longing expression on your face while you watched him play.

“do you, wanna try it out?” tsukishima asked, gesturing at his bass and thinking that maybe you wanted to try playing it.

“what? what makes you think that?” you frowned.

“just... forget it,” tsukishima shook his head hurriedly and going back to working on the riff he was practicing. this time, he let himself be distracted by taking in the details of your bedroom that he was now so familiar with. you had your laptop and other bits of notebooks and stationery on your desk. your small collection of plush animals on a shelf above your bed. some pictures in frames of you with family members and friends on top of your bookshelves. there was a vanity in the corner of the room with different beauty products that tsukishima could now name.

but he couldn’t help but feel as if there was something missing, that there was a part of yourself you had deliberately removed from your room. sometimes, tsukishima felt the same way about you too. sure, your head was chock-full of semi-useless facts and you had the best barbecue sauce recipe for chicken nuggets but, tsukishima still couldn’t put a finger on who you were.

tsukishima’s gaze traveled to the movie posters on your wall until they reached one of the upper shelves. right beside a couple of books was what unmistakably looked like an instrument case.

after that, he started to notice other things too: the fact that you had a metronome that even had a sticker of your name on the bottom, how you could easily tell when he was on or off-beat, even the indifferent look on your face whenever tsukishima recommended a band for you to listen to.

“you’re a musician too, aren’t you?” he decided to finally ask. the two of you were sitting on the floor, your backs leaning against your bed. tsukishima’s knees were pulled up to his chest because of how little floor space there was.

you tensed up at the question before sighing. “well, you were going to find out soon enough.”

“you weren’t exactly hiding it either,” tsukishima muttered. and, acting on impulse, he reached out to your left hand that was resting on top of your knee. they were noticeably smaller than his own hands, but tsukishima couldn’t help but notice how your nails were always neatly cut short. then, he ran his index lightly over your fingertips. it was barely detectable, but tsukishima was familiar enough with the callouses from playing string instruments to know that you once had those too.

all this time, tsukishima couldn’t tell if you were breathing. heck, he couldn’t tell if he was breathing either. the moment felt fragile and at the same time the tiniest bit unbreakable. gently, he set your hand back down on your knee.

“what made you stop?” he ventured to ask.

“when you’re young you don’t care about whether you’re a genius or not, when you get a bit older you strive for that perfection and greatness,” you said, staring down at a spot on the floor. “then, when you get much older than that, you realize that you’re just a normal person.”

“but did you stop enjoying it? playing?” tsukishima asked.

“when i realized that i wasn’t really good enough to listen to, i just... stopped,” you said. tsukishima knew he’d never be able to describe the sadness written on your face. he glanced at his bass, propped upright on the pillows on your bed, and wondered how much longer he would have spent visiting the music store just to be able to play.

“i’ll listen to you,” he said.

“tsuki--”

before you could respond, tsukishima stood up and crossed your room in a few short strides before carefully picking up the instrument case on your shelf and making his way back to you. carefully, he placed the case on your bed. instantly, tsukishima recognized it as a violin case. he smiled softly at the stickers decorated along its sides and carefully wiped away the dust before finally unclasping it.

tsukishima didn’t even need to look at you to know that you had that same, longing expression on your face at the sight of your violin. he picked up the instrument, carefully and with both hands, before giving it to you. you didn’t say anything. it was only when he was about to get your bow that he heard your voice.

“stop,” you sat up with a start. tsukishima panicked, thinking that he had maybe pushed you too far, when you said “hold it by the far end,” gesturing with your chin. “don’t... you’re not supposed to touch the hair.”

tsukishima obeyed, picking up the bow carefully by its small handle before giving it to you. for a while, you just held your violin in your hands and tsukishima sat back down, letting you take it all in. he remembered the first time he bought his bass and took it home, how he laid it gently on the bed and just looked at it, occasionally running his fingers down the shiny fretboard and brand new strings.

“i haven’t played in a long time,” you said. “to say that i’m pretty rusty is an understatement.”

“do you think i’d be able to tell if you were playing well or not?” tsukishima snorted.

“i guess not,” you chuckled slightly before standing up. tsukishima watched as you straightened your back, eyes facing forward, before positioning the violin in place under your chin, your left fingers on the fretboard, and your right hand holding the very end of your bow.

tsukishima had never seen you look more alive than when you were playing your violin again. your brow was knit slightly in concentration, your eyes closed and tsukishima could tell you were purely focused on the sound you were producing. it wasn’t just your fingers and wrist at work but your whole body, leaning back when you hit the high notes and bending forward when transitioning to the lower notes. he wasn’t much of a classical music fan, tsukishima couldn’t tell if you were playing ‘correctly’ or if you were making any mistakes, but he thought you played beautifully.

nothing could distract tsukishima from seeing the shine in your eyes and that brought a smile to his face. and all he could think was ‘i’m going to write a song for them one day.’

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band concerts were way different from the classical music concerts you were used to. even if it was a fairly small one at a local bar, you still weren’t used to the feeling of other people’s bodies pressing against yours. “you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” tsukishima had said. no way were you missing any of his and his band’s gigs.

“thank you all so much for coming,” kuroo, their lead vocalist greeted everyone. you clapped and cheered with the rest of them. he was undeniably the fan favorite and you could easily see why. however, you could never tear your gaze away from the bass guitarist who just stood a little off to the side. you remembered when tsukishima was still a little shy about playing onstage and how he’d often keep his head down, even when they weren’t playing. but slowly, he had grown a bit more comfortable. you couldn’t help but notice the small smirk on his face when someone screamed his name.

‘cocky bastard,’ you thought with a smile on your face.

“now, we have a little, surprise ending number,” kuroo grinned into the microphone at the wave of cheers. “unfortunately, it won’t be performed by me. but, i think some of you will especially like this.” with a sly wink, kuroo stepped away from the microphone and to yours and everyone’s surprise, tsukishima walked up to replace him.

“hello,” he spoke into the mic, earning more than a few screams from the audience. you couldn’t speak, admiring the way the stage lights made the sweat on his arms glisten. he had grown his hair out over the past few months and often styled it to look messy for shows. biting your lip, you remembered the first time you met tsukishima back at the music store.

“so, i’m not much of a songwriter,” tsukishima admitted. “and, this is my first time writing a song and performing it. and it’s... dedicated to someone.” you were pretty sure that that confession earned more than a few cheers from the audience, but you couldn’t hear anything with your gaze focused on tsukishima’s. his amber eyes found yours easily amongst the crowd and the corner of his mouth lifted up in a smile.

you were right in thinking that tsukishima was an annoying bastard and that you were going to fall for him. but never in your wildest dreams did you think that he was actually going to dedicate a song.

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music pegs (aka the music pieces i had in mind for some of the scenes):

y/n’s violin piece: chopin nocturne op. 9 no. 2

tsukishima’s song at the end: slow dance with you (ok i know it’s a wlw song but i just love the idea of anyone singing it for me and real-person bassists)

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @montys-chaos @miyumtwins @strawberriimilkshake @pocubo @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan @therainroguefanfiction @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh @charliefredb @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @doodleniella @haikyuu-my-love @waitforitillwritemywayout @kattykurr @atsumu-brainrot @goodfoodxoxoxo @ah-kaashi @guardianangelswings

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florvinhara · 3 years

Text

my detectives (part 2)

celebrating the end of this semester w infodump part 2 ft luna! (part 1)

Luna [redacted] Kingston

Romances A or M

Age: 27

Birthday: September 12

Star sign: Virgo

Height: 5'3"

Hair: black, wavy and shoulder length w choppy front bangs

Eyes: dark blue

Other appearance details: eyesight is bad enough that she usually wears glasses but she can still mostly see w/out them. long scar on neck from the murphy attack. old scars on knees and elbows (the Klutz special).

Languages: Conversational fluency in lots of them!

Stats:

Charming/Intimidating

Impulsive/Cautious

Sarcastic/Genuine

Friendly/Stoic

Easygoing/Stubborn

Heart/Mind

Optimist/Pessimist

Team player/Independent

Primary skills: Deduction & people

Strengths: Outgoing, kind, trusting, creative thinker, jack of all trades, open-minded, thoughtful, devoted, loyal, strong-willed

Weaknesses: Guilty, flighty, overactive imagination, clumsy, low self-esteem, unfocused, nervous, dishonest, impetuous, irrational at times

Personal:

her middle name is currently [redacted] bc im pretty sure rook's sister is Evil and for the Drama im gonna make luna's middle name the aunt's first name ;) if it turns out the aunt isnt a villain then.... idk maybe she still will be in my heart <3

she's worn glasses since she was 12, but her vision is. Technically good enough that she can mostly get by without them, leading to her always putting them on top of her head and subsequently losing them

in my heart she's an investigative journalist who moved back to wayhaven after sm things went down at her old job that made her want to find out what really happened to rook and reconnect w rebecca, but then got caught up in the murder plot with UB starting book 1, but in the vein of canon, she joined the force to follow in rook's footsteps etc.

she was kind of a weird kid, always daydreaming and making up her own very in-depth games and stories in the corner- she was pretty shy! sometimes she wld write them down and that's what first got her interested in writing

the car is named Tracy and she is a LADY who is doing her best!!!! at this point tracy is a cherished friend, jokes about her being bad will Not be well received >:(

she's very much in her head all the time, smtimes her sentences sort of meander and just go off on tangents and then kind of drift off at the ends

rebecca sent her to boarding school for a while following an Event in luna's childhood that made rebecca feel like wayhaven wasn't safe for the time being, she had lots of fun but that's kind of the time when luna started to worry she'd done smth wrong and that's why rebecca didn't want her around, since she'd kind of blocked out the Incident

many nervous habits! including but not limited to: cleaning her glasses, braiding small strands of her hair, jostling her leg, cracking her knuckles

she is actually v smart! in a book sense at least :0 she's clever and good at solving puzzles, and she remembers a lot of rlly obscure info abt lots of things- look into her eyes and you can basically hear the mii music playing, but she is intelligent!

she loves animals :') walking anywhere with her takes Ages bc she wants to stop and look at birds and if there's a worm on the sidewalk everything comes to a Halt while a rescue operation is performed

rocks!!!!! she's a huge geology nerd and she Loves them sm, fun crystals and pebbles alike :) she collects them all and if you picked one up and asked her abt it she wld know exactly when and where she got it

she hates seasonal music!!!! halloween songs and Especially christmas songs!! she cant explain why but it drives her up. the. wall. during the last few months of the year she's like that gif from community of the woman hitting the guy with a candy cane like "its December 10th!!!" its the one thing about the holidays she doesn't like

lots of her favorite books are from the golden age of detective fiction! she also reads a lot of poetry and history books, and loves nonfiction :D she's a sucker for any book with really in depth worldbuilding and/or a map on the front inside cover- she DID read the entire silmarillion AND enjoy it! she loves animated and stop-motion movies, laika is her Favorite studio and she owns every studio ghibli movie

she loves any food or drink where the main ingredient is sugar <3 catch her eating lucky charms dry straight from the box! she'll only drink coffee if it has like. vanilla or sm other sweet flavoring added to it along with 12 packs of sugar

her sleep schedule.... oh no! she had insomnia even before murphy, and now with the nightmares, it's even worse :( it's ok though! she uses the nighttime to work on art or baking or writing etc.

she listens to lots of indie/folk music- the oh hellos are one of her favorite bands! also she's a big fan of fun pop music- carly rae jepsen, bleachers, hayley kiyoko, HAIM, etc. also smdfnsj she Does listen to lofi music

she's loved chess since she was a kid and often plays against herself or another opponent- she also usually has a puzzle she's working on, and really likes crossword puzzles/sudoku games!

background noise is a Friend <3 it rlly helps her focus!

she loves her potted plants a lot! she has very detailed instructions on how to take care of them and she does talk/sing to them to help them grow

her house Looks minimalist? she values the aesthetic but she cannot commit- open any drawer in her house and you'll find like 7000 receipts she hasn't thrown out yet

she is Sweet but! untapped Rage is there... she has a tendency to bottle things up until one tiny thing makes her Go Off with all the stress and anger she's been holding back :( she Will cry and yell and then be completely horrified and spend the next 3-4 weeks apologizing profusely

she feels bad about. Everything :( she blames herself a lot,, it's easier to tell herself that things are going wrong bc it's her Fault and she did smth wrong rather than accept that it's out of her control

on that subject things with rebecca are Awkward!! they kind of drifted apart and luna feels like she shld have tried harder to keep in touch

her primary love language... probably words of affirmation or physical affection! she's very open w her affections and telling/showing people she loves them (to the extent they're comfortable with it! she prefers to let whoever she's with dictate the pace of the relationship)

if you see her Sleeping on the floor.... just leave her be,, she's sleepy

she is. weirdly lucky at small things and games of chance? catch her being dealt a full house right out of the gate during card games or finding quarters on the street all the time! she wins carnival games like nobody's business <3

absently she knows all the Lucky things to wish on! shooting stars, ladybugs, eyelashes, pennies, 11:11, etc :)

she dresses like. a very specific kind of influencer lowkey, w the oversized t-shirts and jeans ksdfm, the Sweaters/coats, etc.

hot weather does Not spark joy- she owns like 700 fans and loves getting to wear all her cute winter clothes :)

she's not allowed to watch cooking/baking shows unsupervised anymore, following the Incident where she watched one and then spent the entire night building a Giant gingerbread mansion spreading across the floor of her apartment

she deflects. a Lot! not even intentionally really but it just Happens :/ she's naturally a pretty open person but smtimes she just naturally is Not Talking abt it and tries to play things off, especially personal things abt her feelings/reactions to things <3

she is Nervous,, her base level of stress is. kind of up there! surprises Do Not work bc she will just Shriek and drop what she's holding sndfsjn.... it was like that even before murphy but. you know. it's more pronounced now :/

in her heart she is like. a human golden retriever! she's excited!! she wants to be friends!! she's roaming around,, take her for a walk and maybe she will find a cool stick to carry!!

she walks with a little bit of a skip in her step! on her toes a bit so nobody can tell she is Short... (it doesnt work)

#clown girl has entered the arena #my softest oc BY far jsvskssb she is wholesome but also <3 a lil bit of a fool #twc

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lennox-levin-little-lilith-did · 4 years

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Hello people who follow me

For people who haven’t been following my blog all that much, I have Dissociative Identity Disoder, more commonly known as Spilt Personality, or Multiple Personality Disoder (which it’s no longer called this, the shortened version is DID)

DID is a disordercharacterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality states. A reaction to trauma as a way to help a person avoid bad memories.

Symptoms are;

Behavioral: impulsivity, self-destructive behavior, or self-harm (check, check, and check)

Mood: anxiety, feeling detached from self, or mood swings (check, check, and check)

Psychological: altered consciousness, depression, or flashback (check, check, and check)

Also common: amnesia or blackout (huge check)

Let’s start this my early childhood-

I never had a dad, he was in and out of my life constantly. So I was always looking for a father figure.

It didn’t help my mom was hopping from man to man at the time.

However I had one man in my life that never left and loved me like his own. That man was my uncle. I loved him so much, I still do, but by no means was he a good role model. He was in to drugs, never took his medication, and I think was in a gang (that if he hung out with some really bad people). One memory I have of him is him letting me help him make a roll (weed roll) when I was three or four.

I had a been diagnosed with ADHD by the time I was five. It was severe when I was younger, I couldn’t sit still or focus on anything, including school.

Anyways, one day, I come home from school, like any other day. I was happy because my grandmother had picked me up and said she would be staying with me for a while. (Mind you, this is what I’ve been told, I have zero recollection of this month). I come home to strange people and cars around my home, but I go about my greetings as usual. My mom had a boyfriend at this point, his name was Angel, he was nice (we’ll get back to him later). I was told to stay in my room with my kitten, Ella (yes the same cat I talk about to this day) and my dog, Sassy. My grandmother would come in to make I was okay, which I was. The next day was even weirder, a lady in a police uniform watched me get dressed for the day. My teachers treated me differently and I had to leave school early. I was confused, I also hadn’t seen my uncle in two days without communication. I was asked multiple questions about my uncle and I answered them honestly. I later learned that he had buried a woman’s body, had he killed her or not is a mystery as there was someone else with him that day he buried her.

My uncle had schizophrenia, and he had just revealed to me that he had an episode when everything was happening and he was off his meds.

We had moved in December of that year due to people screaming slurs at me whenever I went outside. I don’t remember this, again I have no recollection of that month.

I developed severe emotional issues, including bottling things up and exploding in violent outburst. My ADHD made it hard to focus on schoolwork, specifically reading. I alway spaced out while reading, and heard a small distracting voice, telling me to play with my stuffed animals or watch TV (I didn’t tell my mom this and I still haven’t). My mom didn’t understand why I was like this. She thought I was acting out for attention. So first through third grade I suffered and started to hate school. I started to hate my classmates. So I started to let that little voice speak for me. Eventually I started blacking out during school.

I didn’t know this wasn’t normal.

I didn’t know that when my mom asked what did I do at school, she thought I just didn’t want to talk about school.

Time skip to sixth grade (the worst year of my entire life)-

I was eleven at the time. I had friends, I was a social butterfly. Yeah, sure I had people I didn’t like, but I didn’t let them effect me.

Until November 29, 2016 (yes I remember the exact date)

The weekend before I had slept over at my bestie’s house, then I went home because I had 4-H on Sunday. I got my phone taken away Sunday night because my ‘friend’ wouldn’t stop texting me. I saw on my google docs I had a new document, shared with my teachers. It was nice, complimenting them on their teaching skills. But I didn’t write it. It wasn’t my typing style.

I went to school on Monday like any other day, happy and cheerful. Around second period, I got called to the office. I was asked if I wrote the doc that was under my email. I said yes because it was nice, I didn’t think anything was wrong with it.

Boy, was I wrong... (holy shit I’m about to cry writing this)

I got called down a second time, this time my principal was saying I hacked into others school accounts and wrote a threatening letter on google docs under another student’s account. I started to deny that I wrote anything, that I thought the doc was written on a spur of the moment.

The third time I was called down, it was with my best friend, Angie. We both didn’t know what was going on and denied any and all accusations.

The fourth and final time I was called down was at the end of the day... my teachers were there. They wouldn’t listen... they didn’t care what I said... I was a sweet girl with dreams and passions. I loved my teachers with all my heart... it didn’t matter to them. Nothing mattered to them (here come the waterworks).

I said I did it to protect my friends from getting in trouble...

In the end, I got three days of in school suspension and a beating from my mom that I don’t remember.

The first day, they forgot I was there. I was in a little white room, with a chair and a desk. The social worker came in and asked me if I had really done it. I had a good relationship with her, I really liked her... I shouldn’t have trusted her.

The second day... the second day, the principal, vice principal, and social worker of the school came into the room and I was confused. Then the screaming started... the banging on the desk. They thought on Monday I had written another doc to my teachers, saying they didn’t scare me and they could go fuck themselves and I changed a student’s pfp to a bloody knife.

Then the principal came around behind me, still screaming her head off, and slammed her hands down on my shoulders and squeezed, hard, resulting in bruises later that day. After that, the little voice took over and started crying. Sobbing for them to leave us alone. They walked out leaving a broken child in their wake.

I had curled up under the desk and continued to cried, repeatedly saying, “I want to die, I don’t deserve to live...” the social worker came back in and tried to calm me down, but I looked at her and said I wanted to die. This was the first time of so many, that I had a suicidal thought.

211 services were called and I told them I felt bad about everything I’ve ever done, continuing the lie I’ve been dragged into. I can’t tell the truth... They wouldn’t believe me anyways... I had thought. I went home and stayed home for the rest of the week. That night I walked into my kitchen and opened my knife drawer and pulled out the biggest knife, mind completely blank. I gently slid it against my wrist, thinking about cutting. I didn’t. I put the knife away and went back to my room, empty. I felt lost, and like I was drowning.

A third voice slowly developed. It was a boy this time, he was sad and hated talking to others (I’ll get to my second voice development in a bit). He took over during school, all though I could think on my own and speak, he had main control. I had a mental breakdown later that week after my class had been too loud, I told my music teacher it was because I had sensitive hearing (which was part of the reason). I stayed hidden during recess, and I sat in the back of the lunchroom with people I didn’t like or know. My outbursts only got more violent and more frequent, to the point where I would push my mom and stepdad (remember Angel, yeah him), resulting in more beatings from my mom.

My aunt got a lawyer to extinguish the suspension from my permanent record. The lawyer didn’t want to help all that much because he thought I was hiding something, which I was, but I refused to tell. The suspension was extinguished and I was allowed to use the school computers again.

I went to a new school the next year and transferred to where I’m located now...

First-seventh grade (the second voice’s development)-

My stepdad (Angel) was nice the first year my mom dated him. Then everything started to change. He started coming home drunk. After my little brother was born, things only got worse (and no, I don’t blame my brother for the change, it was envitable). He started getting angry at my mom, and at me. He started calling me a bitch, a little shit, a mistake.

I started to have out of body experiences, whenever I violent towards him. Pushing him, slapping him, punching him, scratching him. One time he slapped my mom and my mom’s therapist called DCF on her. I’ve been told I had walked into the kitchen right when he slapped her. However I don’t remember, I just remember the feeling of uncontrollable rage spreading through my body.

I don’t remember there being a voice in the beginning, I remember being one place or doing one thing, get angry, and suddenly being somewhere else. Especially when Angel started calling me names.

Another time, right after my mom had carpal tunnel surgery, he left suddenly. I was in the basement reading and playing with my bunny at the time. I came back up when my mom started screaming for me. The front door was left wide open and my brother left in the living room. We had Max and Ella, it was the summer of 2016. My mom was hysterical, screaming at me, saying it was my fault he left, that everything was my fault. I left the house and stayed with my neighbors for an hour, waiting for my mom to calm down. I went back and was sent straight to my room. I remember being angry, so mad at myself for no reason. I hated myself. I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression the next year.

There’s a shit ton of stories I could tell about Angel getting drunk or leaving the house and coming back drunk. I won’t. I’m not here to tell a sob story, I never will ask for pity. I’m telling you how small things to certain people can be huge to another. My mom didn’t think it affected my all that much, my therapists thought I didn’t need intense therapy despite everything. All because I didn’t know that hearing voices other than your own wasn’t normal.

I started looking up depression and anxiety to help manage it better, and stumbled upon an article about schizophrenia. I looked more into it and found out about DID when I was thirteen, two years ago. However I still didn’t tell anyone... I was scared.

I was a freak

I was unnatural

I had three voices, three other people, inside of me. They wanted control, they wanted a voice too. They became unbearable, and when I started high school, I broke.

I tried to kill myself. I started starving myself the previous school year and started cutting over that summer... I finally told someone about the voices but no one believed me, and still no does. They think I’m lying...

So I’m not diagnosed, but I know I have DID.

Who’s who-

Little was voice one- she’s a little, under the age of ten. Little isn’t her real name but I don’t want her name out there on the internet where people can manipulate her. She has ADHD and is incredibly hyper. This body doesn’t get much rest, so after someone else fronts, we usually have to sleep. She’s also a trauma holder, knowing what happened that month blackout. She has no interest in people romantically (obviously, she’s a child)

Lilith is angry blackout/voice two- she’s ageless, a prosecutor, and a secret keeper. She’s a trauma holder to the verbal and physical abuse I suffered when I was younger, really up until last year I was verbally abused by my mom. She has anger issues and severe mood swings. She rarely fronts, but when she does, Levi or I have to co-con with her so she doesn’t murder someone. She’s angry and is always aggressive towards me and Little. She leaves Levs out of her aggression though. Lilith is bisexual (no, not pan like I identify).

Levin/Levi/Lev(he goes by all of them however I prefer calling him Levi)- he has insomnia and major social anxiety. (Also is co-conscious with me rn) He’s apathetic and very neutral when it comes to opinions, but he’s humorous and super sarcastic when he’s comfortable. He’s a gatekeeper and he’s 18. He as food related anxiety, but no major eating disorders. He’s has no sexual desires, but is romantically attracted to girls.

Lennox(the writer of this)- they age with the body, so 15, and host/often front. They have social anxiety, depression, body dysmorphia, and is the first alter, or first recognized alter. They are nonbinary and pansexual.

I’m going to start labeling who your talking to, or who’s out at the time, like this

-Lennox (Kay?)

Thank you for reading!

I’mma tag some people I think should see this-

@one-pissed-off-child @madame-ree @queenzie-xo @anon-nom-nom95 @liveto-100 @aleiakit @gogetyoselfsomesoup @nadia-saaaaan @mai-ki-000 @martinidrinkingmartin @scalybunnypapi69 @pumpkineiji @cristinaweeb @pikaweebo @siyarduous-lazyaf @reijishiki

And to lighten my mood and for giggles-

POWER WALK BEFORE YOUR LATE ZUZU!!!

🤣🤣🤣🤣

#tw suicude #tw self harm #dissociative identity disorder #this is me

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

Lost Dog, No Reward (1)

I made a thing! Dw, i’m still working on everything else too, but i needed to work on something new for a while because i have problems disorder

this owes a lot to @ashintheairlikesnow who is among my fave whump writers. i know she didn’t originate the universe, and i’m not double checking a lot to make sure this is actually bbu compliant, but her stuff definitely inspired me to mess with the bbu at all :3

TW for: violence/gore; amnesiac whumpee; choking; references to institutionalized slavery and accompanying dehumanization; gun violence; cops.

---

Ari’s never had a job go this badly before. Not in the years he still remembers, anyway.

Ari’s vision is always lopsided, and he’s always poor at judging distance, and now the blood squeezing between his fingers and ruining his leather gloves is making him dizzy, too, and all three of those things combine to make him trip over the concrete base of a street lamp and jam his torn-open shoulder against the lamp itself, and the pain takes his knees out from under him and crumples him down to the sidewalk, half-sprawled over forwards and losing time he doesn’t have.

He doesn’t know this street. It’s night and he doesn’t know the street which means it’s nothing but a string of locked doors between him and home; on his own street he knows who forgets to lock their doors, who will let him bleed on their couch for a night in exchange for money or a favor, which alleys lead somewhere and which don’t, but here he doesn’t know anything except that the police men shouted after him at first and now they’re not shouting, they’re only running.

While he sucks air in and tries to get his legs back under him, Ari runs through the options he still has in his head. It isn’t hard, because there aren’t very many.

He can turn and fight. That’s what he wants to do; he’s known how to fight longer than he’s known how to talk and he knows it would feel good. But the police men have guns so he also knows it wouldn’t feel good for very long.

He can stop. He can sit here gasping on the sidewalk, holding a lamp post in one hand and his guts in the other, until the police men come and find him. It’s possible they won’t shoot him again, if he’s already laying on the ground, though of course there’s no way to know; but they would certainly drag him away somewhere, somewhere he thinks vaguely would have white walls and no windows, and he doesn’t want to go there with them.

So really there’s only one thing he can do. That’s good. That makes it easy.

His shoulder isn’t too bad, really, or at least he doesn’t think so. It’s turned his coat hot and sticky with blood—the fur collar is all matted with it, which makes him sad, he’s only ever had the one—and it hurts, more now that he’s hit it against the post, but really they barely clipped him; he doesn’t even think it would make him dizzy on it’s own. It’s the hole in his stomach that’s the problem; that’s deeper and wetter and shifts when he pushes his hand against it, in a way that makes him sick. But Rotty said put pressure on the wound—Rotty wailed when he saw the knife go in, and made time for Ari to get away, and told him to put pressure on the wound—so Ari digs his hand against the wound, and he breathes out, and he pushes himself to his feet.

Up ahead there’s a store with its lights on. And Ari can’t stop, and he can’t turn and fight, but he can still run, so that’s what he does.

----

Pryce has always kind of liked closing up alone, because it means he gets to unplug his headphones and fill the shop with very loud vaporwave, which is genuinely pretty chill music to mop floors to but also, more importantly, an inherently funny thing to play very loudly in an empty grocery store.

He’s in the process of emptying the small trashcan next to his seat behind the checkout counter—which is almost entirely filled with the half-pack of cigarettes he smoked during his shift—into the enormous trash bag from outside the bathroom, when the front door opens. He hears it with a full body wince because it is after midnight which means he’s almost certainly blasting some poor unsuspecting drunk with objectively-not-even-very-good vaporwave, and Mr. Nguyen, the very nice old man who owns the store and puts up with Pryce’s bullshit and is thus the only authority figure Pryce respects, will be disappointed if he loses a customer because of Pryce’s unpleasant taste in music; so Pryce is already halfway through an apology before he actually looks up and sees the very large man standing in a puddle of blood in the doorway.

Pryce drops the trash can.

The man is visually bizarre enough that Pryce almost can’t register the full picture, just disparate, equally-baffling parts—the man’s hair is an enormous red-brown mane, it reaches his elbows in a tangled mass weighed down with blood; he’s wearing a knee-length brown-leather coat with a big (bloody) fur collar; his face is a mess of puckered scars pulling up on his mouth and down through one of his eyelids and in the brief moment he stands there staring at Pryce with his (bloody) mouth hanging open the fluorescents turn his eyes—which must be brown, logically they must be—bright orange.

Then the man barrels towards Pryce and all of Pryce’s muscles lock in place as he prepares to be shot or stabbed or at the very least body-tackled—

The man flings himself over the counter and folds his big (bloody) body into an improbably small space half-under the till, next to Pryce’s feet, approximately ten seconds before the front door opens again, hard, the glass banging against the display next to it hard enough to make Pryce wince.

There are two cops, both panting hard. Their guns aren’t pointing at Pryce but they are very much drawn, and they’re both looking at Pryce, who is still frozen completely solid with his eyes bulging out of his head.

“Where’d he go?” one of the officers barks at Pryce.

Pryce blinks.

Then he points over his shoulder, toward the back door. He half-turns, too, which is more movement than he needs to point but does give him time to nudge the big trash bag a little bit out and to the left.

“The back door’s unlocked,” he says, “I was taking out the trash, he must’ve—”

And they rocket past him, toward the back door and the alley, not sparing him or the big trash bag blocking their line of sight, apparently too excited to shoot somebody to notice that it wasn’t even a very good lie.

----

Ari listens to the police men’s shoe-sounds fade into the distance, waiting for them to come back and haul him out of his poor hiding spot and shoot him or drag him away.

They don’t.

The stranger’s worn red sneakers turn away from Ari, take two steps away from the counter; as more of the boy wearing them comes into view Ari watches him plant his hands on his skinny hips and stare after the police men. The boy lets out a breath, whistling on it a little.

Then the boy starts to turn back to Ari; he has time to say “Well—” before Ari leaps to his feet and gets a hand around the boy’s throat and slams him back against the tiled wall behind the counter.

The boy gasps, a thin hand taking Ari’s wrist in a very weak grip. His eyes are very wide.

“Why,” Ari says, his voice as harsh and scratchy as it always is, and thicker because it’s full of blood, “did you lie for me?”

The boy’s mouth opens and closes without words. He is smaller than Ari, and his sneakers are no longer touching the ground, because Ari is holding him up by his throat. His hair is longish—not as long as Ari’s—and colored bright blue-green. Ari doesn’t know how old—he isn’t good at knowing ages—but he’s grown, and Ari hasn’t ever seen him before, he doesn’t have many memories but those he does have he knows very well, he would remember this boy, whose eyes are a color he hasn’t seen before, almost silver, bright in his light-brown face.

The boy makes a sort of gurgling sounds and Ari realizes he is not answering because Ari is squeezing his throat closed. Ari makes himself loosen his grip and the boy drags in a breath.

“Just—trying—to help,” the boy wheezes.

Ari jerks back, dropping the boy back onto his feet; the boy slides down the wall a little, gasping and covering his throat with his hand.

“Why?” Ari says.

The boy blinks at Ari, wide-eyed. Then he looks away, not like he’s embarrassed but like he’s thinking. Then he meets Ari’s eyes, and he shrugs his shoulders with a wobbly, nervous smile.

“I don’t have very good impulse control,” the boy says.

Ari—doesn’t know what that means. And now he doesn’t know what to do, either. Which means he just stands there, staring at the boy for what he knows is too long because the boy drops his gaze with the same nervous mouth-twitch Rotty got at first, when Ari didn’t know how soon to look away. The boy’s eyes drop to Ari’s stomach, and he raises his dark eyebrows.

“You know you’re bleeding all over the floor?”

Ari looks down. If he thinks about it now, he stood from his crouch below the counter without thinking about the wound, and he hasn’t been putting pressure on it for a few minutes now. His ears are beginning to ring. There is a slow-spreading pool of blood on the tile under him. Ari looks back up at the boy, who is looking at him expectantly, and who did help, Ari thinks, though he isn’t sure why.

“I can—mop it up later,” Ari says. He tries to stand up straight and has to lean back against the counter to keep his balance. His vision is getting blotchy, now, a little. The job went bad before they paid him fully, and he’s already spent the advance on food, or else he would offer to pay to have the floor cleaned. Maybe he hasn’t stained the tile too badly yet. He takes a step sideways, trying to get out of the puddle, and immediately starts making another one. Blood has soaked from his shirt into his jeans—he has two pairs of those, so that will be alright—and is dripping out the bottom now, which means there must be a lot of it.

“Um,” the boy says. “That’s actually not—uh. Can I, like… help you with that? There’s a first aid kit in the office.” He moves, though he’s in range of Ari’s left eye, which doesn’t work well; Ari jerks his head up to see what the boy is doing, to make sure he isn’t moving closer when Ari can’t see him, and then the floor suddenly swings up into the side of Ari’s head.

----

The man crumples sideways and hits the floor hard, and Pryce stands there over him with a hand pressed over his mouth, like a useless idiot who’s never seen blood before.

Which. While it is true he has never seen this much blood in one place before. Thinking about that is not going to help this stranger not die on Mr. Nguyen’s floor.

The first aid kit, which he’s never seen used and which definitely doesn’t have, like, a blood transfusion in it, also might not help with that, but it is what Pryce has on hand at the moment. And as long as he’s already actively lied to the cops tonight. He may as well go all the way and also not call an ambulance, he guesses. He turns and scurries to Mr. Nguyen’s office to grab the kit.

Pryce’s throat is tacky with somebody else’s blood, because the hand the man used to halfway choke Pryce out was covered in blood. That’s not a very helpful thought either but it’s hard to make this one go away.

Whoever this guy is, he’s—quite strong. Pryce’s throat feels—well, like it’s going to bruise, for one thing. And the long moment of kicking his feet against the wall without being able to touch the ground was—well. A headrush, certainly. Presumably in an hour when he’s no longer entirely made out of adrenaline he will realize that it was a bad headrush and will have a panic attack or something.

At the moment it feels—he isn’t sure. Good. Exciting. And panicking would not be productive right now so he’s gonna ride this high as long as he can in the hopes that it will make him in any way useful to anyone.

The first aid kit is smaller than he remembers it being.

Pryce almost slips in the spreading puddle of blood when he gets back to the counter. The bleeding man is trying to sit up, which does not seem like a great idea.

“Uh—don’t try to move around,” Pryce says, trying to sound like he has any fucking idea what he’s talking about. “Is it—okay, yeah, let me—” The man’s big scarred hand is pressed against his stomach, just below and to the right of his navel. Pryce takes his wrist, trying to be both gentle and authoritative. “Let me see what we’re—”

As he’s pushing the man’s hand aside, something catches Pryce’s eye—something on the man’s wrist, underneath the blood, and he stops.

There’s a barcode on the man’s wrist.

Pryce stares at it.

Pryce’s brain is never not moving, faster than other peoples’ seem to; he has the impression it makes him an exhausting conversationalist but it does, in this case, allow him to scroll through many thoughts without losing too much time. They are:

Barcode. Barcode on wrist. Barcode on wrist equals… pet??? This huge dude is a pet??? Why would cops be after a pet? A runaway? No, not with their guns out, they wouldn’t shoot a pet somebody wanted back, that’d be like throwing away—Jesus pets are so expensive, why would anybody bring one here, why would anybody let one get so fucked, why would anybody let something so expensive get so hurt—

And then the man shifts uncomfortably and looks up at Pryce—his eyes are brown, though warm and light enough he isn’t surprised he thought they were orange, and one of them droops halfway closed, the eyelid clearly too damaged to lift properly—with clear uncertainty. Like he knows he needs help but doesn’t know if he can trust Pryce to give it.

It’s a human expression. That a human would make.

That’s a human person, Pryce thinks, and he shakes his head clear of everything else and pushes the bloody fabric of the man’s shirt aside so he can see the damage.

#whump #bbu #box boy universe #amnesiac whumpee #original whump #lost dog no reward #meet cute :)#bleeding out #choking #slammed against a wall #guns tw #cops tw #slavery tw

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goldstarnation · 3 years

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JANUARY 2021 GOLD STAR MEDIA SCHEDULES & REVIEW

Members may earn 3 points each (up to 6 points) for writing, by the end of February 7 KST:

A solo para of 400+ words based on their monthly schedule (does not count toward your monthly total).

A thread of six posts (three per participant, including the starter) based on their monthly schedule.

Threads do not have to take place directly during an important date listed on the schedule, but must be related to what the muse is mentioned to be doing in the paragraph explaining their schedule/the company’s schedule for the month and/or their thoughts on the mentioned activities or lack thereof.

These schedules may be updated throughout the month if new information needs to be added.

Reminder: December schedule posts are due by the end of January 7 KST. Please do not post schedule posts in the fmdschedule tag.

OVERALL COMPANY

The company holds their annual meeting near the end of the month to go over goals and plans for the new year and congratulate their artists (and other staff) on a job well-done in the previous year. Also typical, they’ll do their annual health check for the purposes of media-playing caring about their artists’ health. 2020 was a good year for the company’s profits and public relevance, even if things began to get messy behind the scenes. The meeting doesn’t show any sign of acknowledgement about the any behind-the-scenes planning problems, instead focusing on boasting achievements by their artists in Korea as well as other large foreign markets with the aim of “raising morale”.

Important dates:

January 26: Meeting for company artists and those who work directly with them (managers, PR, etc.) headed by CEO Bang Sunyoung. Gold Star Media’s goal statements and overall plans for 2020 will be delivered.

Various dates (up to individual muse): As per usual January Gold Star custom, all group members and soloists will be asked to individually schedule beginning of the year medical check-up appointments on Gold Star’s dollar if they have not had one in the past six months. This will be slightly media-played as it is every year by the company as the company having a clean bill of health regardless of the results, although any medical concerns will be privately addressed.

GOLD STAR SOLOIST 1

"Eight” is the hit everyone expects it to be and is a good omen as the release that ushers in the new year for Gold Star. Promotions are kept simple, as they usually are for her since she doesn’t need much push to succeed with the public, and she’ll film an acoustic performance video of “Eight” as a gift to her fans. She’ll be revisiting some old songs in the practice rooms behind the scenes as well to prepare for an upcoming mini-concert of her own on Yoo Heeyeol’s Sketchbook.

Important dates:

January 4: “Eight” Acoustic Ver. video filming (to be released: January 10).

January 9: Performance at Golden Disk Awards Day One at Gocheok Sky Dome (also performing: BC Soloist 1, BEE, Dimensions Soloist 3, Lucid).

January 11: KBS Cool FM Volume Up radio show guesting.

January 30: End of music show promotions.

GOLD STAR SOLOIST 2

After the end of music show promotions, she’ll fly out to L.A. to do some networking and film an English interview there to promote the English version of her latest single. Gold Star has marketed it as her debut American single in an effort to rewrite her unsuccessful effort a few years ago. Gold Star would like to begin to promote her more online as well to reach more young fans, so she’ll film a cover video that will be uploaded to Gold Star’s Youtube channel, something they plan to have her do a semi-regularly from now on.

Important dates:

January 10: End of music show promotions.

January 18: Front Row Live Ent interview.

January 23: “Tango” cover video filming (to be uploaded: January 31).

GOLD STAR SOLOIST 3

He flies back out in the second week of the month to begin the North American leg of his world tour. He’ll tour for two weeks across the United States before he flies back to Seoul and has the remainder of the month free once again to recuperate and so that he can attend the company-wide meeting.

Important dates:

January 9: Before We Begin tour concert at House of Blues in San Diego, CA, USA.

January 10: Before We Begin tour concert at The Van Buren in Phoenix, AZ, USA.

January 13: Before We Begin tour concert at Granada Theater in Dallas, TX, USA.

January 14: Before We Begin tour concert at House of Blues in Houston, TX, USA.

January 16: Before We Begin tour concert at The Basement East in Nashville, TN, USA.

January 18: Before We Begin tour concert at The Beacham in Orlando, FL, USA.

January 19: Before We Begin tour concert at The Tabernacle in Atlanta, GA, USA.

January 21: Before We Begin tour concert at Lincoln Theatre in Raleigh, NC, USA.

January 22: Before We Begin tour concert at The Fillmore Silver Spring in Silver Spring, MD, USA.

SILHOUETTE

Silhouette have a busy month without awards show to attend. On the second, their first day back to regular work after returning from the cruise and tour, they’ll hold a press conference to hype up their upcoming concerts. They’ll be asked and expected to answer questions about the concept (”til death do us part” / “seduction, desire, betrayal, revenge”), the songs they’ll be performing, and their feelings preparing for the concert without spoiling the set list or special stages. They’ll then hold four concerts over the course of the month, two in Seoul, one in Tokyo, and one in Los Angeles. In between concerts, they’ll fly to Bangkok to film their comeback M/V and shoot photos for the comeback.

Important dates:

January 2: Tonight 37.2°C press conference.

January 9: “Taller Than You” M/V filming.

January 15: Pre-release of “I Miss You”.

January 18: Tonight 37.2°C 19+ concert at Central City Millennium Hall in Seoul.

January 19: Tonight 37.2°C 19+ concert at Central City Millennium Hall in Seoul.

January 21-22: “You’re The Best” M/V filming, teaser photo shoot, and photo book shoot in Bangkok, Thailand.

January 25: Tonight 37.2°C 19+ concert at Shibuya Public Hall in Tokyo, Japan.

January 29: Tonight 37.2°C 19+ concert at Club Bound LA in Los Angeles, CA, USA.

ARIA

Aria has to do the final preparations for their comeback before it releases near the middle of the month. They’re running on quite a late schedule, perhaps a result of the poor management that’s slowly becoming infamous within the company, so both the album photo shoots and the M/V filming are rushed to be finished just before the comeback. Luckily, everything is still ready in time and the release goes off without a hitch. Unfortunately, “Eung Eung” doesn’t get the same attention “I’m So Sick” did, although it does succeed at outperforming their last two releases.

Important dates:

January 3: Comeback teaser photo and photo book shoot.

January 10: “Eung Eung” M/V filming.

January 18: Release of “Eung Eung” & Percent mini-album showcase, music show promotions continue through February 18.

ORIGIN

Origin begins their grand world tour this month with five dates in California. They’ll fly out to the United States for those five concerts before flying back to Seoul so that they can make it in time for the company meeting, though it will be close in timing. They’ll continue to tour for the next several months, but management passes down that Gold Star would really like to see them find mega-success in foreign markets this year and there are plans for both a Japanese comeback and a full English-language release before there are any plans for them to make a Korean-language comeback.

Important dates:

January 10: Performance at Golden Disk Awards Day Two at Gocheok Sky Dome (also performing: CHARM, WISH, Alien, MARS, 7ROPHY, Impulse).

January 16: Map of the Soul tour concert at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, CA, USA.

January 17: Map of the Soul tour concert at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, CA, USA.

January 22: Map of the Soul tour concert at Rose Bowl in Pasadena, CA, USA.

January 23: Map of the Soul tour concert at Rose Bowl in Pasadena, CA, USA.

January 24: Map of the Soul tour concert at Rose Bowl in Pasadena, CA, USA.

IMPULSE

Impulse has one more awards show performance in the form of the second day of the Golden Disk Awards. Before and after that, their priority for the month is to record their next comeback album. It’s their first full-length album since 2018. The sound is overall a bit brighter to match the spring season it will be released in, though the sleek sound they’ve headed toward recently remains in tact.

Important dates:

January 10: Performance at Golden Disk Awards Day Two at Gocheok Sky Dome (also performing: CHARM, WISH, Alien, MARS, 7ROPHY, Origin).

↳ PULS2

PULS2 will be doing a showcase tour in between recording for the full group comeback. They’ll be all over East Asia this month for the beginning of the tour, though they’ll stop back to Seoul in between stops.

Important dates:

January 17: Showcase tour concert at Broadway Theater in Macau.

January 20: Showcase tour concert at Zepp Divercity in Tokyo, Japan.

January 21: Showcase tour concert at Zepp Diverycity in Tokyo, Japan.

January 24: Showcase tour concert at Taipei International Convention Center in Taipei, Taiwan.

January 27: Showcase tour concert at Zepp Namba in Osaka, Japan.

January 28: Showcase tour concert at Zepp Namba in Osaka, Japan.

January 31: Showcase tour concert at Nusantra Hall in Jakarta, Indonesia.

FUSE

In place of any more awards show performances or attendances, Fuse gets back to touring. This time, they have two dates in Japan. It’s their first time touring in several months, so they’ll continue to rehearse beforehand to get everything down for the next few months of finishing their tour. Management is open about their plans for a sub-unit between the leader and main dancer now that the new year has begun, but the pair won’t begin working on their unit debut until next month.

Important dates:

January 9: La Rouge tour concert at Hiroshima Sun Plaza in Hiroshima, Japan.

January 21: La Rouge tour concert at Osaka-jo Hall in Osaka, Japan.

ELEMENT

Now that their comeback music is recorded, Element will throw themselves into mastering the choreography for the title track, as well as two of the album’s b-sides (the latter of which only involves the main vocal and maknae). At the end of the month, they’ll hold a mini fan-meeting to check in with (a few hundred) fans and will be expected to let slip that they’re working on a comeback to appease them. The fan-meeting will be short, but they’ll perform a few of their songs and get the chance to interact with fans who are brought up on stage.

Important dates:

January 31: Mini fan-meeting at Yes24 MUV Hall in Seoul.

FEMME FATALE

Femme Fatale continues their dome tour this month (see November’s schedule for special stages), with two stops in Osaka. While they’re in Seoul, they’ll get news of their comeback plans for the year (Gold Star promises them at least two comebacks) and they’ll receive the demo of their first comeback single of the year, “How You Like That”, before they go in to record it in the studio before the month comes to an end.

Important dates:

January 16: In Your Area World tour concert at Kyocera Dome in Osaka, Japan.

January 17: In Your Area World tour concert at Kyocera Dome in Osaka, Japan.

#fmdschedule #queued post

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smashskate · 4 years

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Sadie Dewitt - For @desysimmer‘s Blake Scott BC

Age: 23

Starsign: Taurus

Height: 5′4

Gender: Female, she/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hometown: StrangerVille

Traits: Music Lover, Loner, Gloomy

Aspiration: Musical Genius

Occupation: Bassist for The Mother Plant

With an arm full of impulsive tattoos and her heart hidden under her jacket sleeve, meet Sadie Dewitt; a shy, twenty-something bassist from the infamous StrangerVille. While she’s not much for the spotlight herself, Sadie’s dream is to write music for Del Sol Valley’s biggest stars. She used her motivation to join a band in hopes of climbing the ranks and making connections with those who can launch her into her dream career. Except... that hasn't exactly happened yet.

Fresh out of college and a toxic relationship, Sadie’s shyness and timidness get the better of her sometimes. When on stage, she tends to blend into the shadows. She tries to give input during songwriting sessions, but can’t seem to get the words out. While she knows her bandmates would never shame her, she can’t help feeling insecure about her ideas. Sadie eventually decided that the only way that she was going to be able to put herself out there and gain some self-confidence would be through force, leading her to Blake’s bachelor application. While she’s still very nervous about how she’ll present herself, she’s hoping that she can gain a little confidence, and maybe find love along the way.

Questions:

How would you describe yourself and your life?

“I mean, there really isn't much to talk about is there? I’m not exactly glamorous, I’m about as plain as you can get really. I have two parents, no siblings, no pets, exedra. I have a dog now, If that counts for anything. I’m a pretty mediocre bassist, and singer as well, but don't tell James I said that. He’s our manager, and he really hates it when I don’t “give myself the credit I deserve” or something like that. I’m just trying not to fool people into thinking I’m better or cooler than I am. Our band plays a few shows a week around the local bars, mainly at Mickey’s. I really don’t like being on stage, but a bassist is kind of necessary to a band. Also, we get free drinks sometimes, which is kind of cool.”

Why did you apply for the Bachelor?

“I kinda mentioned it before, but I’m trying to put myself out there and experience new things. I’m not the most outgoing person, but I figured something like this would put enough pressure on me to step out of my comfort zone. Although, I’m not really sure where that zone is at this point, this whole thing is kind of surreal.” *laughs nervously* “Anyways, my last relationship ended badly. Like, really badly. Like, I had to skip town and cut off my hair bad. I was thinking of swearing off of dating for a bit, but I realized I’m at my best when I have someone by my side supporting me and I can support them in return. Also, I have eyes. Blake’s pretty cute. He seems real interesting, and I think we have a lot in common as well as some differences, but hey, learning is part of the process. I doubt I have a real chance, but what could trying hurt?”

What else should we know about you?

Sadie does currently have a dog! His name is Booker and he’s a Saint Bernard. He’s about 3 years old, but he’s still a big puppy.

Although she’s no longer a college student, she still eats ramen on the daily. Being a bassist for an indie band doesn’t exactly pay the big bucks. Pre-made food is pretty much her lifeline right now.

Her band still isn’t really sure how they came up with their name. It just popped into all of their heads one day. Huh, that was also around the same time those weird purple plants started showing up everywhere in StrangerVille. Weird!

She’s a pretty good swimmer, and did competition in high school for it. Sadly, her college didn't have a swim program, so she had to regress to the occasional lap at the beach instead.

She’s not great at makeup, but she tries to put in effort for special occasions. Don’t tell her that her eyeshadow doesn't match her dress, like at all. She actually might cry.

Her favorite songs are Boyfriend by Florence Rose, Shower Song by Fredo Disco, and Julie by Sean Rogers (all amazing songs, highly recommend you listen)

Once you look past her overwhelming self-deprecation, Sadie is actually very talented. Her bandmates consider her very valuable, and think that she’s really musically gifted. She just hasn't figured it out for herself yet.

She’s that eat-cereal-for-dinner and eat-pizza-for-breakfast type of girl. Hey, time is a human construct, and so are meal-time foods. You only live once!

Sadie lives in a small trailer in the StrangerVille trailer park. It’s not the most beautiful of homes, but it’s pretty cute, and it has a whole lot of personality. Of course, by personality we’re referring to the numerous dents and scuffs on the sides.

She got the scar on her cheek from when she fell out of a tree as a kid. She wasn't banged up too bad, but a branch left a deep gash in her cheek. Since then, she’s had a pretty big fear of heights.

Her biggest inspiration is probably her dad. They were always super close when growing up, and even though he suffered from heart problems he still made every effort to be there for her. He’s still alive, don’t worry! But Sadie will always be very grateful for his presence.

Outfits Pictured are Everyday 1 and Formal.

#blakescottbc #sims 4 #ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 bachelor entry #s4 #desysimmer #I hope you like her!#I kind of modeled her after my younger self #real insecure but wants to make music lol #if anyone can catch a certain ref to a certain video game ill love u forever

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fourmisfitz · 4 years

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Breakthru: Part 3 (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Part One | Part Two

Warnings/Content: Swearing, Angst, etc... the whole shibang, really (but no smut... yet;)) (18+)

Words: 4k

A/N: I cried while writing this 🤗 Hope you enjoy, my lovelies! Please let me know what you thought! (Picture whichever Roger; I switch between seeing it as Ben!Roger and late 70s Rog) P.S. there will def be more than 4 parts to this series. Probably 6-7...

“Did we even pay for this?”

“Oh trust me, I’m paying for it alright.” You scoffed at yourself.

His fork clonked against the plate when his shoulders slumped.

“I meant the food.”

You knew that, but you couldn’t shake your unexpected encounter enough to give undivided attention to dinner right now. You timidly swirled your fork around a cluster of noodles as a barking dog outside echoed into the dining room.

“Right… then no.” You shoved the bite into your mouth, eyes eventually meeting Roger’s as your head remained bowed at your plate.

A huff crossed the table to your hand, carried by the frigid air blowing in through the window behind Roger.

“Okay I get that you’re giving me the cold shoulder for whatever reason, but could you at least clos-.”

“For whatever reason?!” He inquired.

You slumped back in your chair, already knowing you were in the wrong.

“How do you think it feels to be the middleman? And you taking stabs at yourself about how you’re “paying for it” is supposed to make me feel better, I suppose? Like I’m just some inconvenience?” Air quotes accented his irritation.

“No!” You spat. “I didn’t mean it like- but-” You were growing more frustrated, Roger being the last person you wanted to pick a fight with right now, “you know, you’re acting like I invited him, Roger.” Your forearms dug into the edge of the table as you propped yourself forward.

Roger finished a gulp of his beer, his hand paving back his hair out of habit. His head shook as his scurried gaze avoided eye contact, brows furrowed. It’s what he did when he was focused, caring about the subject, but it came with impulsivity.

“Right, no- but you-”

“But I what, Roger? But I: invited him into this mess? I created this mess.” You watched his eyelashes flicker before meeting with yours. “But I: didn’t lie better to keep a suspecting husband out of the picture?- Who, need I remind you, has a reason to be suspicious and even more than that: furious?! Or, here we go-”

Roger pled your name to stop,

“but I: am the one who shouldn’t have cheated in the first place?...” You carried on. “I wasn’t happy, Roger, I-... things don’t always work out picture-perfect for every party, and i hate-” Your voice broke, “-that I’m hurting him- that we’re hurting him, because as much as it sucks, this is equally our problem now.” You shoved your rickety chair out from the table and stood up hastily, banging your knee into the edge as you did so, sobs threatening to escape.

He swallowed his expression before reaching behind him, the clack of the window lock making you jump slightly before collecting yourself and retreating to the kitchen, dishes in hand.

Roger sat, not sure what to do as he anxiously drummed his fingers until they fell out of rhythm when you returned to his chair. With something held by your hip, you reached out a patient hand. After a moment that felt like forever, he moulded his cautious, calloused hand with yours and you led him to the living room.

The leather cushions sank as both of your bodies fell into them. You brought the burgundy object to your lap and Roger squeezed your hand slightly when he recognized it. Scattered black letters that nearly spelled “A Royal Family” were glued to the fabric, a few missing. Of course, Roger had crossed out the family part months ago and wrote “pain in my ARSE” in Sharpie during a pointless fight between his bandmates; it made up for the absent letters.

“You still have it…” His marvelling voice was light.

“Of course; I basically slaved over it for a week.”

He offered an airy laugh as his fingers ghosted over the cover gently.

You flicked through a few pages, crinkled from beer stains and remnants of other unidentified things, collecting your memories with the band. It illustrated you being a friend to all of them, before this “love” triangle formed.

The first instalment was from the second time you met Queen, because the first interaction had you too nervous to introduce your Polaroid camera. Another photo showed Roger pinching your cheeks with one hand, your smile still evidently bright even in the pufferfish lips you wore as your eyes squeezed shut. Also pictured: Freddie in a hospital gown holding a thumbs up while Roger pouted beside him…

Roger let out a deep, throaty laugh, “Do you remember that?” the ink in the image pooled a ring around his indicative finger as pressed into it - the time he had shoved his drum kit off the risers and a heavier floor tom fumbled down onto Freddies foot. Freddie had laughed between his exclaims of pain so Roger wouldn’t feel as bad, cracking jokes and teasing him, perfectly in-tune with his nature.

You snorted, “How could I forget? You screamed siren sounds the whole drive to the hospital, and then some!�� Roger returned a light laugh and rubbed the back of his neck before moving the album onto his lap for closer inspection.

It was all there, all your memories before this messy situation were captured over the past few years in this book. Of course, some had become more tainted memories than others; the photo of Brian kissing your cheek in the studio and your eyes gleaming brighter than the flash ever could. You couldn't remember what had happened before the shutter clicked, but maybe that was from intentional practice to forget. The time you tripped over some amp chords Freddie had left exposed even after countless requests from Brian to tidy it up - in the photo was you on the carpet, right knee all bloodied up as Freddie hugged you, though his passion translated into more of a choke hold. Johns hand was visible, cleaning the wound, and Brian looked scoldingly at Freddie in the background. You didn’t remember much, but behind the camera, Roger was the one who made you smile enough to stop the tears that were still apparent on your cheeks.

“I like this one.” Roger pointed at a corner photo you missed amongst the others crowding the page.

“Why?” You laughed, embarassed.

“Because it was the first time I saw you so… free.” He placed his palm over your aching knee, instantly making the throbbing go away. There you were, in a convertible with the band, your bum on the rim of the side window, only legs inside the car as your arms outstretched behind you and the wind blew your hair every which way.

“I remember you had been going on and on… and ON and ON-” He teased, rocking his head for emphasis.

“Okay, okay!” You felt a bit of that heavy ladening weight dissipate with your laughs.

“-honestly, love, I don’t even know what it was you were saying: you spoke so fast… but seeing you so carefree and in your element speaking pure passion about some song and how music can make us feel-... well it made me think-…” He ogled at the photo some more.

“Made you think what, Rog?”

“...I knew right then, I wanted to be with you.”

You felt the corners of your lips pinch dimples into your cheeks as you kissed his warm cheek and his grip tightened on your knee.

“You’re not an inconvenience, Roger...” you watched the side of his face as he looked up at you.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” You corrected.

He smiled bigger than you’d seen in a while, and he started playfully attacking your entire face with a bundle of quick kisses all over, pulling giggles from you.

At that moment, just when you began enjoying your night again, your phone vibrated from your back pocket. You groaned and dropped your head in response.

“You know I think we should just throw our phones away.” Rogers eyes remained grazing the photos.

“Deaky.” You confirmed, earning an intrigued look from him.

Answering hesitantly, you listened as his soft voice spoke your name worriedly over the line.

“Everything alright, John?”

Roger watched your mouth open several times to speak, but no words came out until you finally put John at ease with, “Alright- yeah, I’ll- I’ll go check it out, okay?”

“What was that about?”

“I have to go check something…”

Roger blinked.

“John’s worried about Brian; says he’s down at The Crooked Frame and he’s well-through a round of shots to himself. He didn’t care for anything he had to say and wants me to try to get him to go home.”

Roger nodded and you pecked his forehead goodbye.

“I love you.” Roger whispered. You levelled your eyes with his, “I love you too.” and kissed his lips properly before grabbing your jacket and keys.

On your drive over, you didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that in over a year, Brian hadn’t had anything stronger than a pint or two, and he definitely wasn’t one to drink alone.

“Sweetheart, turn it down, you’re gonna blow the speakers!” His voice crescendoed in equal amusement and caution as his long fingers turned down the volume knob.

“Hey! I like that song!” You poked his arm as the wind took over for surround sound, only faint echoes of Tom Petty ringing throughout the car.

His laugh was deep and delightful.

“I love that song, but I don’t love false auto repair quotes.”

You returned the chuckle and shook your head in admiration. Smiling contently at him now, you rested your chin upon your fist, propped up by your elbow on the center console.

“Do you know what else I love?” He yelled over the rippling wind, pushing his long locks out of his face with one hand.

“My singing voice?” You turned the volume back up to full.

“Hey, watch it!” He went to reposition it when you interrupted his motion by clasping your fingers with his.

“C’mon, babe- sing it with me…- Tryin’ she, had one little promise, she was gonna keep!” You bellowed the lyrics at the top of your lungs, not a care in the world if you were off key.

He shook his head and unable to resist, joined in on the fun.

“Oh yeah! All right!” Your voices collided in unison, drowning out the stereos guiding voice.

He pointed a finger at you in cue.

“Take it easy baby!” You tried to match the throaty melody in the original song, your torso swaying with passion.

“Make it last-” “Make it last all ni-ight!” You each sang your respective parts and after a moment he redestined the volume back to static.

“I love you.” He finished.

And you looked at him like he held all the power in the world. Your heart caught up to the speed of his car and it felt like everything had been aligned at that moment. Your breath hitched in your chest for awhile until you realized you weren’t dreaming and should probably say something.

“Aww, I love you too, Bri!” And you threw your denim jacket-clad arms around his neck, feeling everything, all at once.

He let go of a breath and took another one in that could finally reach the pit of his lungs in relief. You withdrew your arms and instead hugged his arm. Brian glanced at your head on his shoulder, and turning back to the road, he smiled to himself and kissed your hair.

You closed your eyes at the gesture and squeezed his arm with both hands in appreciation. He loved you; he said it, and you felt the same. And it was almost irrevocable. Almost.

He turned the volume back up once and for all.

“She was, an American girl!” You both sang along again, the song ringing throughout the car again.

♫ He crept back in her memory

God it's so painful ♫

The bar wasn’t a ghost town, but it wasn’t exactly bustling on a tuesday night, either. Brian wasn’t hard to miss, sitting at a desolate counter where the female behind it was tending to old men strewn along the stools. You made your way over, the men ogling at you like you were meat. One of them even squeezed your ass as you made your way to him, prompting you to shoot the man a look and flinch away.

“Pretty dodgy place to be spending your Tuesday, don’t you think?” You offered.

Brians sweaty curls were glued to his face as he slugged back the second shot of what must have been his second round.

He wreaked of body odor and a variety of musky liquor.

You took a controlled breath in and tried again.

“This seat taken?” You asked lightly, only to be answered with a slow look that could only be described as a glare. He looked down at the stool silently, back at you, then shrugged as his eyes returned to the shots waiting to be gulped.

You sat down and when the bartender asked if you could use a quick fix, tequila it was. You figured you would be here awhile.

“Have you seen John, tonight?”

He just shrugged and mumbled.

You leaned the side of your head on your propped palm, facing him.

“Well he’s seen you, and we’re worried.” You prodded.

“Bull.” He croaked, reaching for the third shot.

You covered the shot before he could grasp it.

“You can’t just drink away the night, you know. I know you’re hurting, but-” You took a confirming gaze around the room, a thick musty layer of smokey fog glazing the air. Scattered coughs and clinks of pints between men with their pants too low echoed throughout. “-but we’ve gotta get you home, Bri.”

You reached out to take his arm, but he swatted you away, pure offense lacing his long face, all the way to his clenched jaw. You watched on timidly.

He dipped his head back again and slammed that third glass down, clattering against the rest, not earning a single head turn.

“Home? Is that so?” He scoffed. “Yippee, I get to go home to a warm cozy bed, to my wife, and- oh no- that’s Roger who’s pulled that straw, isn’t it?”

You tried to keep calm even though it was becoming more obvious that this wasn’t going to be pretty in the slightest.

“Brian, don’t be mad at Roger-”

He didn’t stop you, but when he looked at you you realized you didn’t even know how to continue your sentence.

You twiddled your fingers and starting faking interest in your cuticles.

“I want to kiss you.” He finally chirped.

Your hands began to shake beneath your gaze, then you met your eyes to his. Yours grew glossy first.

“Brian,”

“I want to kiss you and shove you against a wall and fall asleep with you cradled in my arms, against my chest-” Brian took your wrist rather aggressively and pressed your palm to his sweaty chest. “-where you’re safe.” You could feel his heart beating fast enough to put him into cardiac arrest beneath his button-up.

You swallowed your shaky breath and glanced from your hand to his worrisome eyes.

“I love you.” You spoke softly.

His eyebrows allowed some space to come between them. Hope, until:

“But-”

“Don’t say but,”

You drew in another breath, and you began to feel the alcohol bubble in the pit of your stomach. That- or brians words sank like an anchor that would always be instilled in you.

“Alright... I love you, and,” You retracted your hand to your side, “You’re not my safehouse, anymore.” You stood up from your stool and dove your arm under the strap of your purse; it was time to go.

Brian grabbed your shoulder like a warning as you pivoted away from the bar, trying to shake his words into your veins.

“Well you either love me, and you feel that-” but all you felt was a growing numbing sensation from the tequila settling in. “-or you don’t feel anything at all, and that’s why you’re able to do this.” His voice croaked on the last few syllables.

Ultimatums didn’t make the choice any easier, and you were well invested into your decision by now.

His eyes pierced you with a stern, desperate gaze, practically burning a hole in your face.

You wanted to tell him so many things in this moment; how it’s more complicated than whether you do, or you don’t. How you’ll always have a spot for him in your heart, but you have more love for Roger, because he was there when Brian wasn’t. You didn’t just wake up one day and hate him in a heartbeat, after one fight. It was small at first - things you would have shaken off on their own, but then everything piled up, one after the other, and over time it bottled up and overflowed out of you. You were coming home and leaving your 9-5 for a 24/7. You had your transgressions to be burdened with for how you dealt with things, but he drove you away. You wanted to say so many things to Brian, but all that came out when you took his quivering jaw into your hands was:

“You are an epic person, Brian, but you’re not my person anymore.”

You bowed your head and went to leave again when he added,

“What am I supposed to do then? You’ve got part of me inside you.”

You looked back, caught off-guard by his words.

“’n case you’ve forgot...” He added. “Or are you running away from that, also?”

As those last few words left his lips, slurred from boozing away his sorrows, you heard the bell of the tavern door chime. Had you not known it was Roger from his white jacket swallowing your peripherals, it wouldn’t have caught your attention.

Brians swallowed hard. “Right.” He smacked his empty shot glass on the counter and stood up messily, earning some preventative arms from you, just in case, only to be returned with a stern flexed hand dismissing your caution. “I see your person’s arrived.”

Roger watched, trying to guage the situation and determine a safe distance, hovering by the door.

You looked between the both of them, Brian sitting back down and already moving onto his next shot. You huffed and held up a waiting finger to Roger before retreating to the bathroom.

While you were gone, Roger took the liberty of trying to get on Brians level, or at least remind him that his liver hasn’t taken that much booze in too long.

“Come for a pity party?” Brian quipped, brows raised into his hairline.

“Look it’s time to go, Bri. I’ve called a cab, just let me help you u-”

“Fuck off.”

“Easy...” Roger lowered his voice, “Look mate, I know you’re upset, but I can’t watch you ruin yourself and run this any deeper-”

“Oh, you don’t know shit! And quit the high and mighty strut like you have no part in my ruining.” Brians eyes practically bulged out of his skull.

Rogers breaths kept to his nose as they became more heated, his pursed lips containing himself.

“You’re a homewrecker, and you’re a right twat.”

Brian was getting well up in Rogers face now, only making him grow more agitated by the second. Roger averted his eyes for a second, but Brian made sure to revert that with a prompting shove.

“Brian, you’re pissed drunk. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I think I know quite enough.”

“Alright,” Roger readjusted his shirt with a shrugging motion, “Fine, have at it - rip into me. I hurt you, I know that...” Brian watched on. “But she needed you. You pushed her away. I-” His index finger repeatedly stabbed his own chest, “won’t be blamed for being there for someone who needed somebody.”

“If she really needed me - if she really didn’t feel heard, she would have spoken up. She knows she can come to me with anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“Quite.”

“Willing to bet your life on it?” Roger pressed.

“Everything alright?” The bartender chirped, her expression appearing more annoyed than her tone, a lousy attempt to diffuse the situation.

Without either of them breaking eye contact, Roger nodded.

“Yeah. Was Just leaving, as a matter of fact.” Roger added, realizing he was only feeding the flame as he went leave before things got too ugly.

“Hey-!” But he was yanked back when Brian clenched a fistful of his jacket.

“You don’t get to just walk away.”

“I’m not walking away from you, Brian. But this-” Roger glared at the cluster of shot glasses, some spilling onto the floor, the receipt of them trailing down Brians chest. “isn’t you.”

“Oh so you know everything now, huh?”

“You’re right sloshed, just quit, and get in the cab, and we’ll talk later-”

“you know how my wife smells?”

“C’mon mate-”

“You know how my wife’s hands feel.” Brian took a step closer, really getting into rogers face, now.

Rogers only response was his nostrils flaring with anger and forced restraint, trying with all his might to contain himself and walk away.

“You know how my wife-” his nose was practically aligned with rogers, “tastes.” he growled.

You walked out after hearing some commotion, in time to see the aftermath of what followed a fist colliding with a nose, blood weaving into the spilled booze on the floor.

You gasped and threw yourself between them, screaming at them to stop. You took the hand of the fallen and yanked him back to his feet, spinning around to block them off.

“Do I need to call the cops? Or have you got your wives under control?” The bartenders raspy voice hollered.

“This is ridiculous.” You spat, looking between them, while one of them literally spat a bloody mess out of their mouth and the others chest heaved.

“C’mon, that cabs going to leave soon.”

You got in the backseat and instructed the driver with a huff, rubbing your eyes in exhaustion. You looked down at your growing bump and placed a palm to it as it kicked, tears pricking your eyes and you bit your lip to contain your rising sobs.

“I’m sorry.” He offered, placing a hand on your forearm.

“Me too.” And with that, you lifted your hands from your bump and habitually began wringing out your fingers.

You looked over to him, a dishevelled mess. You took his bloodied hand, uncurled his fingers, and as your tears fell into his palm you searched his eyes. You hunted for hate, because all of this would be a lot easier if he hated you, but all that came up to the surface was an ache. You placed your hand in his, wrapping your hands around it.

“Here we are!” The impatient taxi driver announced your address, and you withdrew your hands from his, unbuckled your seatbelt, and paid the driver.

“Wait-” He tried to call, but his voice barely rose above a croak.

“This is for him too, please make sure he gets inside.”

He pled your name softly, “Wait,”

You offered him a glance, waiting.

“C’mon, are you going or aren’t ya?” The driver grew more aggravated and you could tell caring about the passengers well being wasn’t exactly something money could buy.

You looked out the window at Rogers flat, then back to a speechless Brian, then waved the driver off, changing your mind.

Once you stumbled upstairs into your shared flat, you retrieved a washcloth from the linen closet, soaked it with warm water, and after you finally got Brian to quiet down from his guilty mumbles blaming himself, you pulled the duvet over him and pat his head with the cloth.

“’m sorry I did this. I pushed you away, I caused all of this. I’ll change- I’ll change myself for you, Y/N, I swear-!”

“Shhhh-shh-shhh...” You moved a clump of dampened curls out of his eyes as he gulped, looking between your eyes, his growing more heavy. “This isn’t on you, and I don’t want you to change.” You bowed your head and placed a kiss on his forehead.

He closed his tired eyes, and you rubbed your thumb soothingly over his cheek and temples for a moment, watching him doze off in seconds.

You placed something on your nightstand before crawling back up to him in bed and pressing another chaste kiss to his cool skin. “Things will feel whole again some day...”

And in the morning when he woke up, he didn’t find you in bed with him, but instead, a note.

He reached over and yanked the paper through half-asleep eyes, water spilling over from the glass you left him, as well as a clanging sound eliciting from something hitting it.

It rang throughout his ears as he read the words you left for him.

“I will always care about you, but right now, I can’t find my love for you. I should’ve done this awhile ago, and I’m sorry I didn’t sooner.”

Without peeling his stark eyes from the scrap paper, he outstretched his other arm and slammed his palm down on the source of the noise at the nightstand, and to his face, he lifted up the ring he put on your finger nearly a year ago.

♫ Something that's so close

And still so far out of reach ♫

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ckcker · 4 years

Text

I Walk in Madness

Nobody has or can have all the information, but they have the requisite amount of information and agony in combination to believe they accurately see the entire thing. I don’t and can never have all the information, but still I must have an opinion that seems binding or confident. The information I selected and pressed into an opinion is now my special soul, and defines me. It must be released and time-stamped to show that at one point, I made this all-encompassing definition, which is a summary of my self and the window of all my beliefs hereafter. Elevate yourself to say, “I no longer wonder.”

I have made myself publicly available; all that the community asks of you is that you participate. To not participate is to disrespect those who put all of their time, effort and mental filaments into the ideal of community. Such a reclusive impulse should be modified swiftly but in the most holistic way if possible, it is not helpful for others. It is not helpful for you. It is, at heart, cowardly, as it turns away in fear from the difficulties involved in building a resilient, healthy and just community. It courts isolation as a comfort, when in fact voluntary isolation is the fortification of unhealthy habits and delusional or paranoid thought processes which precariously redirect the lost person away from the tough but rewarding civic duties necessary to building a fact-driven social network. If I am lonely at night, the solution is to participate. Though I walk in madness, I end up at the voting booth. A discussion takes place in which everyone pretends to know how recycling works; one inches towards integration. Recipes are shared, and an evening passes with an attempt to perfect avocado gazpacho.

I love traditional open-toed sandals. Making the body more vulnerable to the elements of the outside world shows a general dissipating apprehension. Though current events inevitably fade in relevance and thus sustained public attention, their emotional immediacy and rousing thrust are exceptionally good at forcing the under-opinionated to participate and commune with others. Opinions always coalesce under the pressure of current events, and since current events are established and projected much more widely and much more often in this era, it follows that one should have more opinions, and participate more. Of all the methods I’ve tried, the most effective and least artificial toner I’ve used is two tablespoons of rose water mixed with 1 cup of filtered water. The rose water I use is a brand from Lebanon and you can probably find it in a local middle eastern grocery store. Having a very public life no longer makes me uneasy!

I published the post and I was feeling satisfied, though very likely no other person would see it. My only patron appeared to be a woman in her early 40s with hard bangs and a diamond choker smiling in her icon’s bubble, with arm around a presumed husband and the suggestive text “Be Kind” pegged in lower left corner in hot pink with white outline. Miscellaneous background details in the icon, particularly a hanging silver streamer, communicated that at the time of the photo this woman had been at a New Years party. Her silent interpretation of my persistently scarce content was eager musing territory for me when her icon focused my attention in the midst of a wild scroll, or when her face and militarized endorsement of kindness intruded with the elegance of a twirling maple samara upon my mind during a bout of fear-walking. She made no effort to contact me, had no posts of her own or even personalized layout style, and yet she hypothetically watched me. Of course it was pointless on her end — my posts were designed solely for the tactical misdirection of algorithmic spectres, conceived and published only in order to convince those supra-wiggly archivists of instinct that I was overwhelmingly a different person. I did not want even the smallest gleak of truth to land online. This “lost mind” plan even extended to my video watching and digital window shopping maneuvers, though in the case of the former it was impossible to totally restrain myself from a true curiosity and craving to pursue certain videos. This lack of impulse control expanded even more robustly when porn entered an afternoon; it was insurmountable to search and watch against the specific desires and images I knew would satisfy me the most. Yet I tried in rapid toe dips, once spending eleven minutes on a video of a nude bodybuilder shot-putting a collection of corns and lettuces into a wall, and with no o-face to conjure.

“I walk in madness” was both my unorthodox phrase of meditation and most important sentence of self-parody. When walking around at night in a certain state, I would now and then repeat to myself, “I walk in madness.” After this I would laugh and say, “that’s dramatic.” Self-parody swooped in to dehydrate the potential mirages, delusions. But no other summary was as accurate — literally I walked in madness. From the habits of my mind, a complex system had emerged and, quite simply, enveloped my unhinged ass. I had strobe-nurtured my preferences for “the best way to think” over the last several years, so that now I was only sufficiently energized when mentally combining (1), an act of making fun of myself for feeling out of sorts, with (2), an earnest attempt at my own healing. This perverse combo made me feel very aware but rarely good. And when these thought commands then marinated in the head to a fully abusive gush, there was one more thing to consider. What was the source of that powerful sensation that took me over when I went walking alone and without a plan at night? What was it in the body that prodded me along that highly nummy snack trail of mini-catharses? What was the source of those tiny pecks of transcendence that scattered down the back of the neck when nearing the production of an abyss? That is, I did not only walk in madness because I had to, but also because it had become fun. It raveled me on a line leading to some other connection, a connection which was not to The World. It promised recognition of and commune with everything that did not matter or had not ever been confirmed to exist.

These areas were very important to pay attention to — I had ignored them for the majority of my, to be acutely real, goofiest years, it was important to know everything that was possible. This was my routine. I walked with glamour in circular patterns around less populated city neighborhoods at night, always listening to music that accentuated a spike in insane flavoring. I only chose music that had the strength to combine halo and blurred hole, it was always music that floored my sensation to its final speed. I knew I was so lucky to have built-in machinery that let me expand all of my reserves through music. It was my only advantage. It made me proud to turn inward. If my skill was extreme sensitivity, it could only flourish in its most insular and native format.

But I desperately needed new songs to fill me up, and over-listened as a resting state. I over-listened, and a night out, i.e. the sustained advancement of nightlife over several hours, was an exhausting condition for me. In a bar, I was penetrated by the old song I had heard over two thousand times before, but which now had been remixed in a contemporary style wherein synth stabs commanded by creatine hands had replaced what was once very clean, antiquated AOR guitar strumming. The popular song I had highly ignored for the length of my life, and which hearing did not provoke outrage (or even flashback to wedding dance floor) but instead perpetual indifference in me, had been updated using the most cutting edge technology to produce aural depths not possible with the recording equipment available when the song was originally produced, and which now plunged the emotions much further down and much harder. The original voice was now placed in a melancholy minefield of hysterically deep bass and plummeting, omnidirectional dynamics and, when the remix passed through the tequila that I was allowing to patrol my body, it replicated itself with viral menace to produce in me the extraterrestrial threat of a single tear.

In this instance of a night out, Rob had invited me to this bar and party that I had never been to before. Where I had expected to see more of his friends or even the endless hallway of acquaintances he seemed to be able to mobilize at random, instead I only saw Gail, revealing the conditions were such that Gail and I were the only people Rob had invited to the event. There I stood under the song, almost leaking with melody-induced sentimentality or globular nostalgia mucus. I looked across at Gail who was leaning on a wall, who did not seem to be able to observe me after our initial greeting when I arrived at the bar. She appeared to not take in much information when moved from location to location, and when looking in her eyes I did not ever get the sensation that enormous perspectival changes were part of her social rhythm. A common conclusion from a young person would be that she was fried, but whether as a condition of drugs/alcohol/trauma or some combo, there had not been any stories shared on which to focus a rock hard drama-horny eye. Though I yearned to know what details flanked the long road leading to her hellscape, I realized it was unjust since I wasn’t prepared to present the full set of demonic coordinates that had led to mine. How can one appeal with another story of lost sleep? “Awake all night” is not the story anyway, yes we know, please make your complaining entertaining. I was in the heart of the club, I understood it was not the moment to emerge brumal vapors in the form of uninteresting plot points excerpted from my very personal checklist of booboos. “Oops,” the convicted serial killer said when the public did not like the realistic paintings he made of his victims while in jail. Gurn: it was possible for the public to see horrifying paintings made by a serial killer.

Several screens around the bar played the same music video, which the dance floor area magnified via projection on the wall, so that, in the most emotional part of the bar, emotion was keyed up considerably by the illusion of entering the world suggested by the song. Rob and the bartender were near cheek-to-cheek, taking turns cocking their heads to the side so the voice of the other could enter the ear successfully over the newest Chicago house-derived, 80s-synthpop-infused rap song scorching the lair. Gail stayed against the wall, looking around but appearing totally comfortable, a woman in her 60s drinking a High Life surrounded by a different generation, I was moved. Being young is incredibly dangerous. The bartender poured Rob and himself shots and they downed them together.

Snippets of Gail’s circumstances had reached me, I knew she had been living with her son in Texas but now was essentially homeless, that Rob and Q.C. had met her at a goth club where she was hanging out with a much younger woman named Lillian. Lillian would often be run into at the goth club or other clubs and bars, flirting with Rob and Q.C., and though she was definitely younger than Gail, she wore enough makeup to sufficiently alter minds and, with the support of moody bar lighting that left certain preferred corners in medium darkness, had an age that was unrecognizable. “My instinct tells me she’s at least 35,” Rob had suggested after explaining to me the situation and after a long silence in which I didn’t respond or engage at all with what he had just said. The pause had felt uncomfortable and also unnatural after such bulbous gossip so he apparently felt it important to break the silence with this one more detail of her estimated age. I knew it would make both of us more comfortable if I said something in response to the story of Gail and Lillian but I didn’t, in the end, have anything to say, and so Rob told me he thought Lillian was at least 35, and I responded, “oh.” Lillian and Gail were good friends and Lillian would often bring Gail along to the goth club; Gail did not dress on theme. Eventually Rob learned she lived in her car and he invited her to stay with him for an unspecified amount of time. Inevitably this increased my estimation of Rob’s worldview. When he would decide once again it was time to throw trash from the neighborhood off the 2nd floor apartment balcony — for instance a decommissioned flatscreen or legless American Girl doll — Gail, watching through the open door from the beige velvet couch, would laugh once.

Rob concluded his interaction with the bartender, turned to me and explained the bartender was hot and straight, and when the bartender worked the weekly gay night they held at the bar, he would appropriately enhance his image in honor of the conventional gay male eye — pouring himself into a tight black tank top that demonstrated his tactful chest hair and relevant bicep gains was the respectful thing to do. “I’m going to dance now,” Rob said as a commanding female voice shook the establishment with its first notes.

I wandered over with him but stuck to the doorway that connected the bar area to the dance floor, watching as he threw himself, alone, into the writhing environs, quite clogged with personal freedoms. The mass of dancers sang the chorus of the song all together, the subject matter concerned a protagonist that felt jealous and sad to see their long pined after crush dancing with another girl. In fact the protagonist likely never had a chance with the person who was their crush but had built up a dream narrative in which their idealistic love with this person was nearing possibility. In the midst of such crushing circumstances, the protagonist, now left alone and heartbroken at some event they likely attended simply to engage further with their crush, has decided to dance through their loneliness despite it all, even if it will only enliven them for a moment, and for the length of the song. Rob danced “with” almost anyone he turned his body towards. Some people engaged, dancing back, and others stealthily maneuvered away. At some point it was discernible that he no longer had on shoes or socks. A girl very much liked that, drawing her friend’s attention to the fact, then touching Rob on the arm, saying something inaudible. All three laughed. I stood and watched, occasionally pinged by passing bodies gunning for the most emotional part of the bar. I watched the video on the projection screen. The female vocalist danced specifically, had short pink bowl cut hair, conveyed well-lit and accessible agony. Several bar dancers unmistakably entered a sub-orgasmic flehmen response. My left shoulder reflexively darted front and back — a significant space-grabber had brushed me by on their way to the dance floor. It was eventually revealed to be Gail. I watched her scream “YAHHHHHHHHHH!!!” as she launched herself into the crowd.

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 4 years

Text

Strange How We Fit Each Other, Chapter 4: I Couldn't Help It, It's All Your Fault

Welcome back to this story! Thanks goes to @bethanyactually for helping me with a plot point in this chapter a while ago--and also to everybody who never gave up on this fic. You’re the reason I didn’t.

Avoidance, misunderstandings, and a reluctant confession. (This one is angsty, folks! There will be happier times ahead.)

Penelope x Schneider, One Day At A Time. also on ao3. ch 1 / ch 2 / ch 3

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“God, nothing.” Everything. “You just really didn’t have to buy me flowers, okay? You didn’t have to go looking for flowers I would like, and bring them to my work in the middle of the day, Schneider! It’s too much.”

She meant, it’s too much for me to handle right now. It’s too sweet, it’s too you. How am I supposed to lock my feelings back down when everywhere I look, you’re this guy? How can I not be in love with you?

But of course he didn’t know that’s what she was thinking. Even Schneider couldn’t read her that well--he wasn’t psychic. What he was, was panicking. And apologetic.

“I’m really sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll take them back. Out of here, I mean. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Lydia was waiting on the couch when Penelope let herself in. She sprung up eagerly--too eagerly, Penelope thought. She was way too emotionally drained to deal with whatever this was.

“Welcome home, Lupita. How was the party? Was it a magical night?” Her Mami drew out the words with a flourish.

Magical was not the word for it. Confusing...overwhelming...life-changing, even. But between Schneider’s father and her nightmares, the only part of the whole experience that Penelope could honestly say resembled a fairy tale was the tense silence between them on the ride home. Schneider had regarded her from his seat like he was trying to recognize her, and she couldn’t help feeling like Cinderella after midnight.

She hated keeping secrets from him, when he never did with her. But their friendship was too important to ruin over some stupid hormone surge she was sure would pass now that he was out of that tuxedo.

Just give me a pumpkin and a few talking mice, she thought as Lydia clasped her hands together. Watch me running from my feelings as desperately as the girl ran from the ball.

“No, it wasn’t.” Penelope told her mother flatly. “Not even a little bit.”

“Oh...” She sank back into the couch, disappointed. “What happened?”

“We went, we danced, I yelled at Schneider’s father, and now I’m home. Honestly, Mami, it was exhausting and I’m ready to forget all about it.”

Lydia frowned after her, but Penelope headed for her room without waiting for a reply.

Her phone buzzed while she unpacked her travel bag, not surprising her at all when it turned out to be a text from Schneider.

hey pen wanna watch a movie after dinner? i heard the queen musical is good and i’ve got popcorn

Penelope sat on her bed, phone in hand, and squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. Schneider was just being Schneider; it wasn’t his fault she couldn't get her feelings under control.

It also wasn’t a good idea to spend the night at his place with snacks and Freddie Mercury. Not if she wanted to put them back on steady ground. More time with him was not the way to do that.

sorry gotta study, she typed back. maybe next weekend?

sure sure, Schneider sent almost immediately. see you later

Penelope sighed and tossed the phone over her shoulder. She couldn’t get out of seeing him at dinner, but at least the whole family would be at dinner, a perfect buffer and also the quickest way to return Schneider to the place where he was supposed to fit in her head.

To ease the sting of avoiding him, she grabbed her science textbook and curled up with it on her bed. Now she wasn’t lying, she told herself. Not really. And anyway, it was for the best.

She needed to keep Schneider in her life. She couldn’t risk losing him. That was all that mattered.

****

He was his usual self that night at dinner, joking around and slipping into the occasional Canadian pronunciation of a word and making her Mami laugh. See? Penelope scolded herself. He’s just the goofball who lives upstairs. He’s your friend, and you got all worked up over nothing.

He was as nice to her, as sweet, even, as he always was. That was just Schneider. If he directed his jokes to everyone else more than he did to her, Penelope told herself to be grateful for it. Maybe he’d sensed her need for a break. She almost felt bad for skipping the movie.

Except...in the rare quiet moments around the table when she glanced his way, and saw him staring back at her, it felt like a lightning bolt. Every time. His eyes were so blue, so piercing as they searched her face for something. You’re not a teenager, she reminded herself more than once during the meal. Get ahold of yourself, Penelope.

Schneider didn’t come by for coffee the next morning, or breakfast, and by lunchtime at work she had to admit she missed him. All the more reason to get back to normal--one night out together and his absence started to feel weird.

Penelope had ten minutes of her lunch break left when Schneider showed up. Her first thought was panic, a mental cataloguing of every member of her family that Schneider might have come to warn her about. Her second thought was annoyance. Did Schneider have to show up everywhere she was?

Her third thought was the dull shock of a flatlining heart monitor--a ringing in her ears as her best friend offered her a tentative smile and a giant bouquet of sunflowers.

“What’s this?” She blurted out, and watched his smile wobble before his resolve firmed it back up.

“Roses are a cliche,” he explained. “I know you like these, so I thought...I just wanted to thank you again, Pen. Saturday was a disaster, and you only did it as a favor to me.”

He bought her flowers.

“I...”

Schneider held the flowers out to her again, beaming when she took them.

“Schneider, I didn’t--you didn’t have to--”

“I wanted to.”

The impulse to bury her face in them as though they were actual sunlight she could soak up warred with the equally strong need to explain why he really shouldn’t have gone to the trouble. Her overwhelmed heart lay in the middle of that battle, and it’d had enough days ago.

Penelope’s eyes filled before she realized it was happening.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Schneider’s alarmed expression swam through her unshed tears.

But of course he didn’t know that’s what she was thinking. Even Schneider couldn’t read her that well--he wasn’t psychic. What he was, was panicking. And apologetic.

“I’m really sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll take them back. Out of here, I mean. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Schneider was looking just beyond her, to the empty front office, rather than making eye contact, but he held out a hand for the flowers.

She shook her head and gave his open hand a quick squeeze. “Stop that, Schneider. You’re not taking my flowers anywhere. They’re mine now. And it was really sweet of you.”

The storm passed quickly, the way it always did with her. She could offer him a sincere smile, even when he squeezed back and held on a little too long.

“Thank you,” Penelope added. “They’re beautiful.”

“You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay.” She wanted to bang her head against the front counter that Schneider was resting a hand on. You have got to get better at this. You’re trying not to hurt him, remember?

“It was really sweet of you,” she repeated, slipping her hand free.

He didn’t look convinced. But Schneider nodded and offered her another smile. “Okay, then. I’m gonna go. Let you get back to work.”

“Thanks. Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner, yeah?”

“You betcha. Your mom’s making frijoles, she told me over lunch.”

That made her smile for real, a spark that Schneider caught and reflected back to her as though he’d been waiting for it.

Of course he spent his lunchtime with her mom, she thought, shaking her head. He was practically living at her house, the son her Mami had always wanted. God, that made this even weirder.

How could she be attracted to Schneider?

He cleared his throat, his smile fading away, and caught her gaze. Right, she remembered as she felt herself warm up just looking at him. That’s how.

“I know Saturday was rough,” he said, apology soaking his tone. “But I hope it wasn’t all bad. The hotel room was nice, at least. Right?”

A lake-sized bed, soft clean sheets, Schneider curled around her like an anchor in the soft Sunday morning light. His curly hair mussed and damp, his hand against her cheek in the dark.

“Right.” Penelope swallowed hard. Her words were pitched higher than she would’ve liked, but at least she got them out at all, around the tightness in her throat. “It was great.”

If he still seemed worried, Schneider gave up pressing the issue. “Cool. Dinner, then?”

She exhaled in relief. “Yep. Good. See you then. With everybody.”

He lingered at the doorway on his way out, but didn’t look back--just tapped his fingertips against the doorframe before loping out of sight.

Penelope slumped against the window cutout where Lori would have been sitting if she and her husband hadn’t moved to Texas. She was still holding a riot of sunflowers in both hands.

Glancing behind her, she made sure it was safe to have a moment, and then tipped her face closer to the blooms, closing her eyes.

They didn’t smell like anything, really. Not like roses would’ve. They smelled like growing things, like a garden on a sunny day, insects buzzing in the distance while the light beamed down and heated her skin.

It was a silly mental image, since Penelope had never owned a garden--hard to do when you lived in a third floor apartment. But it was a nice picture anyway, imagining herself in ugly gardening gloves and a big floppy hat. Schneider finding her there after her workday ended, crouched down by her rooftop garden, taking her hat off and running his hands through her hair. Schneider’s hands running down her back in the sunlight, fingers lacing through hers while he kissed her.

“Penelope?”

“Doc!” She spun around, guilt heating her face behind the sunflowers.

Well, that happened. We’re fantasizing about Schneider now. Damn it.

“Mrs. Lewis in Room 4 is ready to schedule a follow up. Could you set that up and also send over her labs?”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Nice flowers!”

“Yeah. Thanks. Here.”

Still shaking herself back to reality, Penelope handed him her flowers and went to do her job. She would be halfway through processing Mrs. Lewis’ bloodwork before she realized she’d given her sunflowers to her boss.

Luckily for her, he was used to far weirder behavior in the office. She had Scott to thank--reluctantly--for that. Dr. Berkowitz didn’t even blink when she retrieved the flowers from the table where he’d put them in a vase for her.

****

Schneider had lunch with Lydia again the following day, at her invitation. He assumed she had missed him while he and Pen were schmoozing with high society.

He wasn’t wrong, but being Lydia, she also had an ulterior motive. Or two.

“So, you were distracted yesterday,” she pointed out over ropa vieja. “I am still waiting to hear all about your date with Lupita.”

“It wasn’t a date,” he replied automatically. “Not like that. She was pretending to be with me. For my Father’s benefit.”

“Ah, si. It looked very much like a date to me,” she argued, “with you both in those clothes, and the limo--tan fancy! But what do I know? I am just an old woman.”

“Very funny.” Schneider set his fork down long enough to kiss the back of her hand. “You’re younger in spirit than every woman I know.”

“This is true.”

Taking a sip of rum, she tried again. “Lupe seemed upset when she came home, but she would not talk to me. She said that she yelled at your father?”

“Oh. Yeah, she did. But he deserved it. Mostly.” Schneider sighed. “She seemed upset? I wondered about that when I dropped her off.”

Lydia’s antenna were up. Both Schneider and her Lupita seemed less happy, less their usual selves. Her instincts told her that it had to do with what happened on their non-date, and her instincts--like her--were never wrong.

Schneider was easier to get information out of than Penelope, but she had to do it with caution. He was not as carefree as he liked to believe, she had always known that about him. Treading lightly on his feelings was a necessity.

He was a good man. He was a good friend to her. And to her daughter.

“What happened with your father?” she asked, patting his hand.

“Well, he was being...Father. He got angry at me, said some unkind things. He was drunk, and not everything he said was wrong, but he’s never been one to couch his words in tact, or gentleness.”

“Ah.”

She could only imagine what Schneider’s father had said to him. About him. If it upset Lupe, it had to be worse than Schneider was implying.

“Penelope got angry, too. She got between us, told him off. I was afraid she might punch him there for a minute, but she pulled back when I stopped her.”

Lydia was imagining the picture of it, her daughter so much shorter than Schneider, and presumably his father, but making herself as tall as she could, standing up to him.

“You would have been proud of her,” Schneider said, smiling a little. “When she’d said what she wanted to say, she tilted her head, like this.” He did his best impression of a haughty stare.

“She held out a hand, and said that now, we could go. As though she was dismissing him, the host of the entire affair. As though she judged him and found him unworthy of her time. She looked like you,” Schneider added, his voice full of affection.

And gratitude. Lydia caught the gratitude in his memory as well. She wanted to know what Schneider’s father had said, even more now that she realized it had hurt his feelings.

“Si,” she agreed. “I wish I could have been there. I think...I am proud of you both.”

“Us both? I didn’t do anything.”

“You kept her from going too far,” Lydia said with an approving nod. “If you had not been there, Lupe may have done something she would regret. Instead, you can both be proud.”

“I guess so.”

She was definitely going to be asking Lupita for details about this party, about the argument with Schneider’s father. Later, when Schneider wasn’t around, when Lupe could be honest without making him sad.

“Besides the scene with your father, what was the party like? You and Lupita looked so elegant, please tell me you danced.”

“Yeah, we danced. A little bit, before I had to give a speech. We left right after that, so there wasn’t a ton of time for dancing. And yes, you would have enjoyed the crowd at the gala. Lots of fancy dresses and very dapper men.”

“And was Lupe the prettiest one there?”

“Of course.” Schneider flashed her an easy grin. “She was stunning. And real. The world I’m from, all the pretty is on the outside. Underneath...it gets ugly. I’m glad she agreed to come, it wouldn’t have been fun at all without her.”

“I am happy for you,” she told him, smiling back. Pobrecito Schneider, he was so lonely, she wasn’t sure even he understood how much. But his love for her daughter, it was like a spotlight, whether anyone else noticed it or not. To Lydia, it was blindingly obvious.

So obvious, she almost felt bad pressing the issue.

Almost.

“So, if you left the party early, that gave you more time at the hotel, yes? Was it fabulous? I did not get to ask Lupe about it. But I’m picturing gorgeous rooms, with beautiful views and expensive soaps that are shaped...like flowers.”

Schneider chuckled. “Not flowers. Swans. And the bed was huge. The view was alright, I mean, it’s L.A. Lots of lights, lots of traffic, even if you’re twenty floors up. And yeah, the suite was super fancy. The furniture wasn’t as comfortable as it looked though. My neck still hurts.”

Lydia hummed. “A suite? How luxurious. Did you get Lupita a suite too?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, actually, there was a mix-up.”

“¿Que es eso? A mix-up?”

“Yeah.” Schneider cleared his throat again, his cheeks reddening, and Lydia knew she was closing in on something very interesting.

“They booked us for a suite, by accident. What I’d requested was two rooms, nice rooms!” He hastened to add. “But two. They...I don’t know, something got screwed up. They didn’t have any free rooms for one of us to move to, so we shared.”

“You shared the room? With the one bed?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. And Pen said it was fine since we just needed somewhere to sleep. The room had a couch and a pretty comfortable chair, so she could take the bed.”

“I see.”

She was in fact certain there was more to the story than that, but Schneider looked like he might abandon his lunch if she forced him to detail more of their time sharing a room--and possibly a bed--so she took pity on him and accepted his woefully incomplete retelling of the story.

Lupe would have a lot to add to the picture, she thought. Getting her to talk about it would be the tricky part.

Knowing that Schneider would have spared no expense, Lydia changed the subject. “How was the room service?”

“Oh, it was good!” He brightened. “I ordered everything on the menu, basically, so we wouldn’t have to waste too much time deciding. They make an amazing French toast, and this thing with blueberries...”

****

Penelope had been avoiding Schneider a little in the two weeks since they came home from his father’s gala.

Okay, maybe she had been avoiding him a lot. Having him stop by with flowers hadn’t exactly helped her in the quest to squash her feelings for him, and she couldn’t do anything about the way he came to dinner or stopped by for coffee and always seemed to be studying her when she was trying to look at him without making it obvious that she was looking at him.

But she could try her best not to be alone with him, staying out of the kitchen when she knew he would be helping her Mami clean up, or leaving for work a few minutes early rather than having time to chat over coffee. She hadn’t even noticed how often they did that, how quickly that had become her new normal--sure Schneider was always around, but had he always been around when she was the last one home? When did that happen?

After a few more attempts, he’d stopped inviting her over for movie nights or his weird hobbies that she used to occasionally indulge. She didn’t miss his seahorses, but she did miss him.

It was better this way, she reminded herself whenever she was about to text him without thinking about it. This was short-term pain to spare them a more permanent problem. Just a few more days to get her feelings under control...maybe a week, and it would all be normal again.

It would be fine. They would be fine.

She hoped he would still be speaking to her, when she was ready to be best friends again.

And then Thursday afternoon came, and her carefully laid plans all fell apart with one phone call from St. Bibiana’s.

“Oh, I am going to kill him!” She snapped at Schneider as soon as he opened his door.

He was gaping at her, baffled, but still had the presence of mind to grab her by the shoulder before she stormed the rest of the way into his apartment. “Wait!”

“What?” Penelope finally noticed the scene in front of her and shook his hand off her, without moving any closer. “This...is a disaster. What on earth?”

“Mikey McGurb was over this morning, I dropped him off right before you got here. He had a little too much fun with the Legos.”

“Schneider, your house looks like a Lego factory exploded! And then exploded a second time. How did you even get to the door?”

“Very carefully. And I still managed to get two permanently embedded in my foot, I think,” he admitted.

She watched as he unstuck them from his heel, then hopped over to his shoes and led her back out of his apartment.

“Let’s head upstairs, okay? It’s way too chaotic in there.”

“Upstairs? You live on the top floor.”

“We have a roof, Penelope.” His scoffing tone almost made her smile through the mad. “I keep bees up here.”

“Wait, what?” She stopped walking as she processed that, then allowed Schneider to lead her to the stairwell. “When you say you keep bees, are we talking professional hive equipment, or like, a swarm of free ranging hornets? Because I’m not allergic, but that still sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Please. I have a guy. He got it all set up for me, and I’ll have you know I’m an excellent apiarist. I wouldn’t put you in danger,” Schneider added, and she almost stopped walking a second time, undone by how deeply she knew he meant that.

“Right. The roof, huh?”

“Best place for bees,” he informed her cheerily, as they stepped out into the open air. The sun was high above them, but the wind was strong, making it chilly at their altitude.

Schneider strode over to a selection of chairs she could tell he had set up, mainly by how expensive they looked. Only Schneider would invest in fancy outdoor furniture when some folding chairs from Target would be good enough. Settling into the striped blue lounger, he gestured at the chair next to him. “Now that you’re well away from other people, who is it you’re planning to kill?”

The cool breeze and Schneider’s presence had already done wonders for her mood. She took the seat. “Alex. But I can’t actually kill him. My mom would kill me.”

“Right,” he agreed, as though that were the only reason she shouldn’t murder her youngest. “What did he do?”

“He skipped school today, and forged a note from me to do it. St. Bibiana’s called me at work to confirm his excuse, and of course I had no idea what they were talking about. I left work early to see if he was home, but he isn’t, and Mami didn’t mention anything. He’s out there doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who, Schneider, and he isn’t answering my texts...”

She was back up out of the surprisingly comfortable deck chair now, pacing while she vented. Schneider nodded along and let her unspool for a few minutes, the way he usually did--until her radius widened, and then he hopped up and guided her back in.

“Okay, come here.” He tapped his fingertips against her sternum, watching as it distracted her from her panic, and left his hand there until she took in some air. “Alex is fine. I’m sure he’s okay. Okay? Breathe in. Good.”

“He should be in class,” she argued, between shallow breathing. “He knows better than to disappear on me like this.”

“I know. But Pen, he’s a teenager. Kids do stupid things like cut class and think they’re going to get away with it. Right now, Alex is goofing off somewhere, completely unaware that you’re picturing the worst case scenario. I’m guessing that’s exactly why he tried to cover his tracks. To protect you.”

“More like protect himself from being grounded 'til he's eighty.”

“He’s a good kid. Deep breaths, Penelope. There you go. Keep breathing. He’s not doing this to freak you out. Your son is just the usual amount of self-centered and clueless for a teenage boy, I promise you--as the only person here who used to be one.”

“Did you skip school?”

“Oh, constantly. Nobody really noticed, though,” he added thoughtfully. “Between Father’s remarriages and my lousy grades, I wasn’t exactly at the top of anyone’s radar. And I didn’t care about very much back then. Like I said, kids can be dumb.”

“Schneider.” She caught herself about to reach for him, grip hold of the hand that had been resting against her chest while she panicked, and pulled back. She let her words do the reaching, instead. Safer that way.

“I’m sorry that’s what your childhood was like. You deserved better parents.”

“I turned out alright.” He shrugged, a little pink now that she was caring out loud.

“You did, in spite of them. I’m still right.”

“Aren’t you always?” He joked, lifting a hand towards her before he too, reversed course.

She felt guilty then, watching him hold himself back, when she was the one with the problem. On top of everything else--how mad she was at Alex, how sad she was thinking about Schneider at Papito’s age, so alone and miserable--that was too much even for the badass she considered herself to be.

She had her limits, and apparently one of them was the look on Schneider’s face as he smothered his natural urge to comfort.

For her sake.

“I don’t want to murder Alex anymore,” she told him, grateful when that made him smile.

“Glad to hear it. What’s your plan B?”

“Well, I’m working on a very serious lecture. But I’m considering just telling my mom and letting her put the fear of God into him.”

“You’re terrifying,” Schneider said, admiration tinting his voice.

“You know it. Thanks for talking me down.”

“Anytime.”

Preparing herself for the reaction she knew she couldn’t control, Penelope reached over to hold his hand. “I mean it. I was going crazy. You’re really good at helping with that.”

“Well, I do have some practice. It’s no big deal, though. You’re not a burden, Penelope.”

“It’s a really big deal.” She tugged on his hand. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Acting like nothing you do is important, or serious, or special. It is. You’re special. I don’t show up at just anyone’s door during a meltdown, you know.”

He was quiet for so long, she worried she’d lost him.

“Yeah,” he agreed when she was about to try and bring him back. “I know. But I don’t ever...I don’t want you to feel bad about it, about needing me.”

He was still holding her hand, fingers wrapped around hers where she’d originally grabbed onto him. His thumb stroking the back of her hand was soothing.

“What about what you need?” She asked before really thinking about the words coming out of her mouth.

“Hmm?”

“You, Schneider. You’re always trying to make life easier for me. Who takes care of you?”

“Your mom,” he answered with a tiny smile. “You,” he added more seriously. “And mostly me. It’s important that I take care of myself, you know. It’s part of recovery, taking responsibility for things.”

“That makes sense. But it sounds lonely.”

“Eh, it’s not that bad. I’ve been on my own my whole life. At least now I know where I can grab dinner, if I’m in the mood for company. For family.”

She’d forgotten herself, Penelope realized, in the solitude of Schneider’s rooftop bee home. She’d gotten caught up in him again. It was easier every time--she used to have to make herself tolerate his presence, but now it was the most natural thing in the world, like a full-body exhale just being near him.

But he was right. She was his family, along with her mom and her kids, and well, everybody else she was related to. They’d all claimed Schneider as theirs, and she wasn’t allowed to screw that up.

Clearing her throat, she stood, letting his hand fall free of hers. “I still have to find Alex. While I’m waiting, did you want help with the Lego flood in your apartment?”

“I don’t know, Pen, it’s pretty dangerous.”

One sidelong look from her reminded him who he was talking to, the sorts of injuries she’d accepted as par for the course of a military and family life, and he grinned. “Yeah. okay. That would be awesome. There’s so many little pieces! I could still be up there by dinnertime.”

“Come on, then.” She waited while he unfolded himself from the weird outdoor couch thing he’d paid for but didn’t seem like he spent much time on.

She had a head start, but Schneider’s gait was so much longer than hers that he got to the stairwell door first. She thought it was a joke when he tugged on it without moving. Not a funny joke, but she wouldn’t put it past Schneider, especially when he was trying to cheer her up.

“No, I--” He didn’t get to finish his protest before she nudged him out of the way and yanked hard on the metal handle. It wasn’t budging. Not opening, not even responding to her attempts.

“Is it locked?” She planted both feet and tried again, barely feeling a shudder in the metal under her hands.

“I...think so?” Schneider’s voice was a nervous squeak, sensing her coming reaction. “And I went a little overboard with the fire code, so that’s reinforced steel you’re pulling on.”

“Schneider!” She let go and spun around. “You’re serious? We’re locked up here?”

“...Maybe?”

“Dios mío, esto no puede estar sucediendo en este momento. You have got to be freaking kidding me.”

She pulled her phone out, texting her Mami. She might not respond right away, she was slow with her cell phone, but she was home, so getting her up there to help them would be quicker than asking anyone else.

schneider and i got locked out on the roof, can you come open the door?

After she hit send, she looked over at Schneider, realizing he was on his phone too. “Tell me you didn’t just text my mom. One message will get her attention--two will make her think somebody died. I already asked her to come up.”

“Oh, no, it wasn't Lydia,” he assured her. “I was texting my seahorse guy. I just remembered he’s bringing me a new protein skimmer tonight. Asked him to wait til tomorrow.”

Her suspicion was palpable. “Why were you doing that? Asking him to wait?”

“Uh, because we’re trapped on the roof?” He waved a hand at the expanse in front of them.

“Yes, but my mom will be up in a minute to let us out. it’s not like we’re actually trapped up here.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he warned her. “Did your message send?”

“Of course it sent! I typed it out, I hit send...I didn’t get an error message,” she concluded as she stared down at her phone. Wanting to prove him wrong had backfired. “No service?”

“It’s really bad up here,” Schneider offered apologetically. “Sometimes my phone works, but not often.”

“If we can’t text, why were you messaging your seahorse guy?”

“Whenever we do get service, I didn’t want to forget.”

“Schneider! If we can’t get somebody up here to let us out...how do we get off the roof?”

He shoved both hands in his pockets. “Watch for a plane we can signal?”

“I can't believe this. We’re stuck on the roof of your building, and you don’t have a way for us to get down?”

“Well, I’d suggest that we write a note and toss it down to the street, but I don’t have a pen, Pen. Or paper. And I’m guessing neither do you.”

“No, I don’t just carry paper around with me--especially not when I’m coming over to see you. We can at least try to get someone’s attention,” Penelope declared. She stalked over the edge of the roof and started yelling. Schneider watched her with concern etched across his face but didn’t try to interfere.

After a couple of minutes, she paused to take some deep breaths. “You could be helping me,” she told him. “Two voices would be louder than one.”

“We’re five floors up in Echo Park.” Schneider shook his head. “Nobody’s going to hear us. And if they do, they won’t try to come up here. Most people mind their own business.”

“And what would you know about that?”

He had taken her frustration and anger in stride so far, but that comment crossed some line she couldn’t see through her rising panic.

“You know what? I didn’t invite myself into your business, today, Penelope.”

It hurt to hear him say her name that way, annoyance changing the inflection. Even if she deserved it, she still hated it. He was usually so friendly with her name, the same as he was with her. Sweet.

“We’re on the roof because you needed me, remember? After you’ve been shutting me out for the last two weeks, you came to me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don't need you treating me like it’s my fault. If I did something wrong, if I said something...tell me.”

She was surprised he’d noticed, though she couldn’t explain why--Schneider noticed everything, when it came to her. He was usually the first who did, even before her Mami. The harder part was finding herself speechless at him actually mentioning it. Didn’t he understand that this only worked if they silently agreed to step around what had happened? About things they shouldn’t talk about?

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it? Why have you been avoiding me lately? I know that sometimes you need a break, or that I’m around too much, but when that happens you always tell me. I can give you space if that’s what you want--I can’t help you out if I don’t know how."

The pain in his voice was unavoidable. By trying not to hurt him, she was hurting him. How had this gotten so complicated?

When was love ever easy? Her heart replied, and she steeled herself before she spoke. If her voice wobbled, it would be so much harder to convince Schneider that things were fine.

“I do need space,” Penelope admitted. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not like that, not at all.”

You did everything right, she added silently. That’s the problem.

“That’s good then,” Schneider assured her, visibly pulling that mask back on that he always had in his back pocket for moments when he wanted to put her before his own feelings. When he wanted to bury his feelings completely. “I can’t promise not to worry. You usually...we usually talk. But I can back off so you don’t have to keep making excuses. Okay? That’ll help?”

“Sure.” Nothing would help. Being around him and being away from him both made things harder--just in different ways.

“Okay.”

Schneider paced away from her, settling near the exit door, leaning against the frame. He left his phone in his pocket, apparently unconcerned with his lack of connection to the world, and closed his eyes.

The silence between them wasn’t comfortable anymore. She missed that so much, it was a physical ache in her chest.

This was the only option, Penelope reminded herself. She stared down at the street, listening to the sounds of the city below.

She tried not to feel Schneider behind her, the way he was so carefully giving her space. She tried to focus on anything else, to think about anything else.

She failed.

****

Penelope waited a half hour before she walked over to the door, and Schneider. His eyes were open, watching her cautiously as she approached. Not like he was afraid of her, she noted, but like he didn't know what to expect anymore. She couldn't blame him.

“Got phone service yet?”

“Nope. You?”

“Nothing. Any more ideas about how we could get down from here?”

“Unless you’ve developed a superpower in the last few minutes, I’ve got nothing.”

“Then I guess we just...wait.” She slumped against the wall next to him.

It took Schneider less than a minute to push off the wall and walk away from her, toward the nearest corner of the roof.

“Well, I’m not offended or anything,” she muttered, knowing she was being petty and ridiculous. She was the one who said she needed space, wasn’t she? So she should be glad to see him go. Look at all the space she had up here.

Penelope breathed in the cool air, aiming her gaze at the cloudy sky above them, then back over to Schneider. It didn’t matter how much space was between them, she admitted to herself. Nothing would make her less aware of him. Nothing would make her love him less.

She was scared not even time could, but it had to. Something had to. She just needed to figure it out.

And she needed to get down off this roof.

But keeping themselves in separate corners wouldn’t make the wait pass more quickly.

She was taking her first step in his direction when Schneider started moving again, toward the next corner of the roof. She frowned, watching him as she cut across the space in a diagonal, narrowly passing his beehives on her way.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to try that hard to avoid me, right? I’m starting to feel contagious here.”

“What?” He shook his head. “I’m not avoiding you, Pen. I’m trying to stay warm.”

“Stay warm? It’s not that cold.”

“It is too! That breeze is so chilly. I’m shivering. Look!”

Schneider held out his arm, showing her what she assumed were supposed to be goosebumps. She just saw Schneider’s arm, tan and toned and too close to her.

She chose to humor him. “I’m sorry you’re cold. Is the walking helping?”

“Not really. The wind kind of steals any heat I’m generating as I move through it. Maybe if I tried jumping jacks.”

“Well, I definitely do not need to see that,” she declared, turning away to spare her eyes a picture she could too easily imagine. The sounds of his attempt lasted thirty seconds before he huffed out a breath.

“That generates even more wind,” he complained. “Not a good solution.”

“Try thinking warm thoughts,” Penelope said, facing him again.

“What I’m thinking has no effect on my body temperature, Penelope. What do they teach you in nursing school?”

“Would you stop whining? You’re a grown man.”

“But it’s cold.”

“You're from Canada.”

“I left Canada!”

“Ay dios--” Penelope yanked her jacket off and shoved it at a bewildered Schneider.

“Put that on and help me keep busy until somebody finds us. I’m gonna go crazy otherwise.”

“But--”

“Just do it.”

Schneider slid his arm awkwardly into one of the sleeves, and only then did Penelope realize her mistake. Of course her jacket was too small for him--she should know that better than anyone, since his shirt had been so big on her.

“Schneider, never mind. You can give me that back. I know it won’t fit.”

“Wait a second,” he protested, managing somehow to get his other arm into her coat as well. ��I’ll have to be really careful taking this off, but it fits.”

“Barely,” she muttered with a suspicious glance at the sleeves. If he hulked out and ruined her jacket it would be half her fault for giving it to him, but it would still suck.

“This is better,” Schneider said. He patted her arm in thanks. “I mean, it’s weird, but it’s helping.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Pen? You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. Small lies were okay, weren’t they? she asked her conscience. Compared to the friendship-altering truth she was already covering up, what was this little one?

“I don’t believe you,” Schneider said. “You look...I don’t know, but I can see it. Something.”

She shook her head, not sure if she was more annoyed at him or her own pride, but it wasn’t as though she could escape his concern.

“Fine. I’m trying not to shiver.”

“Oh my god!” Schneider, to his credit, didn’t actually laugh at her. But she saw the possibility cross his mind. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Turns out a coat makes all the difference up here.”

“Well, here--” He arched his back, attempting to pull her jacket off, and Penelope winced watching it.

“Schneider--Schneider, stop. You’ll rip it. And you were freezing before. I can handle the cold.”

“Of course you can, but you shouldn’t have to.” He squinted over her shoulder and nodded to himself, then took her hand, surprising her into following him across the roof.

The vaguely couch-shaped piece of furniture he sat on had just enough room for them both. Schneider patted the space next to him. “Look. I saved you a spot.”

“Schneider...”

“Come on, Pen. Sticking together can help people stay warm. I’ve watched entire documentaries that prove it can be the difference between life or death.”

“In the Arctic, maybe! We’re in L.A.”

“Yes, and we’re cold.” He patted the cushion again. “C’mere.”

Penelope shifted her weight, deciding that if she insisted on doing her own jumping jacks just to avoid being near him, it would make things even weirder. Also it would make her a coward. Which she wasn’t. Usually.

Sighing, she sat down and let him put his arm around her, trying to imagine they were in the Arctic. If it were life or death, then she wouldn’t have to feel guilty, right? She wouldn’t feel a tug-of-war inside her, her head scolding her for taking advantage of her best friend’s kindness while her heart felt nothing but relief.

That was one of the strangest things about all of this. How quickly it had changed their relationship, sharpened Penelope’s feelings for him--or just forced her to pay better attention.

Being this close to Schneider wasn’t new. While it did make her heart race, it also warmed her in a different way. Whatever else happened between them, Schneider was a harbor for her, and nestling into his side like she belonged there was a homecoming. It was all the excuse she needed to pretend they’d never argued.

Schneider wrapped part of her coat around her, and Penelope tilted her head back to smile up at him. For a while, there was nothing between them but quiet.

She could hear the city noises buzzing down below, but they were far enough away that it was easy to imagine the whole world was them on that roof, under an endless sky. Waiting, for something.

“What will we do if we have to sleep up here?” She wondered out loud eventually.

“We shouldn’t have to,” Schneider said, with more confidence than seemed warranted. “I guess if it came to that, we could try sharing your coat as a blanket? But even if your text never sends, your mom should come find us up here. She knows I have bees.”

Penelope chuckled. “Of course she does.” Her mom spent so much time with him, she’d probably watched him play beekeeper. She probably had a favorite deck chair on the roof.

Schneider reached up and rubbed her arm under the coat, his touch sending shivers through her of a different kind. She jolted, reacting before she thought about it.

“Sorry,” he said softly. He pulled back, and she shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry. You were trying to help.”

Penelope understood why he seemed frustrated--that was exactly the reaction she would have expected when she leaned away from him on instinct. Like she was repelled, when the opposite was true.

She didn’t know how bad it really was, though, until he spoke.

“Can you please accept my apology, instead of brushing it off?”

“What?”

“I don’t know what happened, exactly--I mean, I could guess, but I don’t know for sure--but you’ve been so weird and distant since the hotel, I’m pretty sure it has to do with that. Whatever it was, I feel terrible, I really do. And I-I miss you, and if there’s some way I can fix it, so you’ll...I don’t know, trust me again. What I can do?”

Schneider was only inches away from her, his eyes as somber as Penelope had ever seen them. Something about the worry in his voice, so thick it verged on fear, made her feel like the biggest jerk.

It was a good plan, she thought faintly. Keeping him safe from her feelings. Protecting what they had with distance. Too bad it wasn’t working.

Penelope was capable of a lot of things, but letting Schneider suffer wasn’t one of them. Not even if coming clean would affect their friendship. Clearly, she had done that already.

“Schneider, listen.” She hesitated before bridging the cool air between them. Was it fair to reach for his hand now? Probably not. She wanted to anyway.

“I’m the one who needs to apologize. I meant it when I said you haven’t done anything wrong. But I’ve been making a mess of all of this.”

“All of what?”

“Well, us.”

Schneider tilted his head to the side, ready to listen, and she softened. Penelope reached for his hand, relieved when he held on.

“You’re my best friend,” she said, putting as much force behind the words as she could. “You’re an important part of my family, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He might seem forever grateful, but Schneider’s quiet agreement wasn’t surprised. “Yeah, Pen, I know that.”

“Good. That’s good. That’s why I was trying so hard to--not to--” She swallowed hard. “Not to fuck it up.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he tried to tell her, but she let go of his hand to raise hers.

“Please, let me finish. It was the formalwear. And the dancing, and the flowers. Waking up with you in that hotel room. I started to feel like we could be more than friends, like I wanted to be more, and it really freaked me out. I’ve been avoiding you because I needed some time to put all of those feelings away. So things could be normal again.”

“Whoa, Penelope--”

She pressed one before he could say more. “The last thing I ever want to do is make you uncomfortable or cross any lines. And the way I’ve been acting lately, what I’ve been thinking and feeling, it was just...crazy. The whole night was like a fantasy, and being in the middle of that was so intense. It got me all mixed up. Our friendship is the most important thing, though. I can’t imagine my life without you in it--or at least, I don’t want to.”

He stared down at their joined hands, silent for a long time.

“Okay.”

She frowned at him, not sure what to make of those two syllables, or his lack of inflection. “Okay?”

Schneider nodded, squeezing her hands and then letting them go. “Yes. Okay. I get it. And I’m glad we’re okay.”

He smiled at her, and Penelope had the weirdest urge to cry all of a sudden.

What did you expect? She wondered, annoyed at herself. That he would argue with you? Confess his undying love? Don’t you think that if Schneider had feelings for you too, it might have come up already?

Telling him didn’t ruin anything. She should be glad.

But she couldn’t go back to cuddling on the couch with him, even if she was developing goosebumps of her own. The tension between them was different, not gone.

Now, Schneider knew that for weeks she had come close to wrecking what they had. Though he might not be angry at her--when was Schneider ever angry at her, really?--she couldn’t help thinking he looked sad. Only a little, only noticeable because she knew him as well as she did.

That was her fault, Penelope thought. And he deserved better. So she let the cold shock her system, turning away from Schneider’s warm presence at her side. Silence filled the space between them.

And when her Mami opened the imposing steel door a half hour later, Penelope was like an arrow to a target, through it and down the stairs before Schneider had a chance to say anything at all.

#alvareider #penelope x schneider #odaat #one day at a time #alvareider fic #odaat fic #my fic

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