#an angel's touch

[andreafmn]

12 Days of Ficmas ❅ Day 3

Word Count: 4.0K Paring:  Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Prompt @12-days-of-ficmas: anonymous donor pays for the kids at your nonprofit to have a perfect Christmas. Wait, this handwriting looks familiar Warnings: mature language

Summary: For a little over half a decade, (Y/N) has run the Angel's Touch Foundation caring for children in need from all over Small Heath. But times are hard and money is tight, and all she wants is to give the children of her foundation the best Christmas. And an anonymous letter might just have all the answers she has been searching for.

A/N: goodness, I love angst a little too much. I think y'all might need to prepare for a christmas filled with just a tad of sad 🫣🫣

<- Previous | Next ->

Life in Small Heath had never been easy. Life in England had not been easy in general. At least not for the everyday man, much less for their children. 

(Y/N) had dedicated her life to making sure no child went hungry in her town. With what little money her family had left her, she had started a foundation in their name to do just that. For a little over half a decade, the woman had seen to it that no child went hungry or homeless, especially during the holidays.

It had been hard to keep Angel’s Touch afloat for years. Keeping the foundation running smoothly required more money than was flowing in most of the time, but she somehow always pulled it off. She didn’t care if she went hungry herself for a couple of days or if she lived in the smallest apartment she could afford. All she wanted was to make sure no child went through the hardships that had been bestowed upon them with no fault to them. As hard as it was. She pulled through every year, and she would continue to do so for as long as she could. 

That particular year had been particularly difficult, with their government funding being cut in almost half, a slow influx of donations, and the amounts of intakes growing (Y/N) didn’t know how they had even made it to December without more struggles. 

“I don’t know how we’re gonna give the kids a good Christmas celebration this year, Margaret,” she sighed as she sat on her desk chair. “We’re barely making it as it is, and I don’t even know where we’ll get the necessary funding for next year.” 

“Well, we could always ask…” 

“So help me, Margaret, if you say what I think you’re gonna say, I’ll fire you right now,” (Y/N) warned. “I don’t care that you’re my closest friend and one of the only reasons I’m still standing.” 

“I’m just saying, love. He could help,” Margaret shrugged as she placed a cup of tea before the woman. “But I understand why you don’t want to call him. We could try the church again. Grovel to the Father for some more donations. At least enough to give the kids a Christmas dinner.”

“Yeah,” she responded, ignoring the fact that her friend had tried to bring up the one man she had wanted nothing more than to forget. “I’ll try to call some family friends or try to kiss up to politicians and remind them or their re-elections. Maybe see if my brother has any money to spare. I just need to find someone with big and loose pockets for this month. Then, we can worry about next year.” 

“You’ll find a way,” Margaret said with a comforting smile. “Somehow, you always do.” 

“Just one year,” she begged. “All I want is for one year to go smoothly.” 

“Oh, darling, we didn’t get into this business because it was easy,” the woman reminded her. “We do it so the children don’t suffer under someone else.” 

“Right,” (Y/N) smiled. “For the children.” 

“We’ll make it through, darling. Don’t worry your pretty little face.” 

It was easier said than done, that much (Y/N) knew. She made more phone calls than she had ever done in her lifetime, trying her best to reach everyone and anyone who would listen. As Christmas day approached, she felt her time running short. Money poured in slowly, and it was spent twice as fast. At the rate they were going, it would have surprised her if all they could give the kids was a hot mutton stew. 

But what (Y/N) didn’t know was that a higher power was in play. Something and someone she had no control over. 

A week before Christmas, after receiving another shipment of donations of basic necessities, two of the children she housed ran after her down the halls. “Ms. (Y/N)!” they yelled as they ran. “Ms. (Y/N)!” 

“Woah, Helen, William, slow down,” she chuckled softly. “You know there’s no running in the halls.” 

“We’re sorry, Ms. (Y/N),” Helen smiled angelically. “But there was a postie outside. Left a package for you.” 

“Yeah, he said it was urgent.” 

The boy extended a pristine envelope sealed with the crest of England. “Alright, thank you, kids,” she smiled “Now, go on, darlings. Go get some lunch.”

Once the children were out of sight, (Y/N) hurried to her office. The envelope didn’t say who it was from, but her name was written on it in the most beautiful calligraphy she had ever seen. Inside the room, she put aside the box she was carrying and sat quickly by her desk to see what inside the letter was so urgent. 

“Slow down, woman,” Margaret chuckled as the woman pushed her aside. “What do you have there?” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Helen and William gave it to me. Said a letter man had dropped it off, and it was urgent.”

“Looks quite official, doesn’t it? Does it say who it's from?”

“No. It only has my name.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Margaret smiled. “Open it already.”

“Alright, alright,” she chuckled as she pulled out her letter opener. The wax came off the paper easily and, inside, (Y/N) found two pieces of paper. But it was the one in front that caught her attention. “Oh, fuck.” 

“(Y/N), such foul language,” Margaret laughed. “What is it?” 

“Someone has donated sixty thousand pounds to the foundation,” she choked out. “Do you know what this means, Margaret?” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

“My sentiments exactly,” she laughed. “We are more than set for Christmas, Margaret. And not just the holidays. We’re set for next year!” 

“Happy fucking Christmas,” the woman exclaimed. “Does it say who it’s from? We need to do something to honor whoever it was that decided to answer our prayers.” 

“Uh,” she stammered as she looked for a name. “It doesn’t say.” 

“Anonymous donor? I mean, people do get rather generous during the holidays.” 

“Yeah, I just wish we could thank whoever it was,” (Y/N) said. “But, we have enough planning to do now. Christmas is in a week!” 

“Don’t you worry, darling,” Margaret smiled. “Everything will be perfect.”

As her friend set off to work, making phone calls and ensuring deliveries, (Y/N) looked over the second paper in the envelope. There wasn’t a name there either, but she recognized the lettering far too perfectly. In a handwriting that she wished she had forgotten the words: Happy Christmas to you and the children. 

At that moment, she wanted to break down. It had been years since she had spoken to him, much less heard a word from him. Yet, somehow, when she needed him most, he appeared like a knight in shining armor. In a simple cheque, he had been able to resolve her biggest worry. All it took was the stroke of a pen, and all her problems had disappeared. It was just so easy for him. 

But she couldn’t come undone. Not when there was so much to be done.

In the blink of an eye, seven days had passed, and the Angel’s Touch Foundation was preparing for a feast. Every single one of the kids had received their fair share of toys, clothes, and anything else they might have wanted. It was truly something out of a fairytale. 

Their entire home had been decorated from top to bottom for the holidays. It made the children very excited to see the place filled with Christmas lights and decorations, and many a kid stopped to gawk at the massive tree that had been propped up at the foundation’s lobby. Everything was beautiful and perfect. 

(Y/N)’s mind should have been focused on the kids and their happy faces. She should have been zoned into their reactions when they got to open presents that morning or their surprise when they were told what they’d be having for dinner. That’s what should have been running through her head. 

Yet, since she had received that letter, only one thing lived in her mind. His name and his face swirled around in her brain like it was the only thought that mattered. It consumed her every waking moment and filled her dreams with images of him. She had done so well to avoid him for years, and with just a few words, he was all she could think about. 

After dinner, while the kids all played and laughed a floor below, she found herself inspecting the piece of paper that had started her spiral. Maybe the longer she looked at it, something would happen. Maybe it would make him walk through the doors…

“Darling, you can’t spend the rest of the night locked up in here,” Margaret said as she walked in with two glasses of whiskey. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.” 

“I am,” she smiled softly. “I just… it’s this letter. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“There’s no point to dwell on it, dear. There’s no name.” 

“I know who sent it.”

“What?” Margaret gasped. “So, there was a name?” 

“No,” (Y/N) chuckled dryly. “I recognized the handwriting. Instantly, actually. And I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.” 

“It was him, wasn’t it?” the woman inquired. “It was Thomas.” 

“It was,” she sighed. “I just don't understand how he could have known. I haven’t seen him in years, and then he shows up out of the blue with this letter.” 

“Darling, Small Heath is big but not big enough,” her friend mused. “Why don’t you go see him? It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” 

“And say what, Margaret? That I ran away from our home, and he’s somehow still saving me? I… I can’t go see him.” 

“But you want to,” she said. “And you know where he lives. Everyone does. So, just go to him.” 

“He’ll turn me away.” 

“It’s Christmas,” Margaret smiled. “He won’t turn you away on Christmas. Now, there’s a car waiting for you downstairs. So, go, love. Stop waiting around.” 

(Y/N) didn’t know what had possessed her, but her legs moved faster than her brain could think. And before she knew it, she was in the black car headed toward Arrow House. She could have told the driver to turn back around at any second, proclaimed she had lost her mind, and the best thing she could do was sleep off the madness. But the car kept moving, and the distance became bigger. Then, the grandiose house was looking down on her, beaconing her closer and closer. Once she was out of the car, her decision was made for her. The only way was onward. 

She knocked on the front doors, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anyone up at that hour. One second more, and she would have walked herself back home. Yet, the door opened wide, and an older woman opened the door. “Hello,” she smiled. “May I help you, dear?” 

“Oh, um, perhaps you could,” (Y/N) stammered. “I was looking for Mr. Shelby.” 

“Of course,” the woman said. “Come in. He’s just in his study.” 

“This late into the night?” she questioned as she followed the woman inside. “I thought perhaps he would have already gone to bed.” 

“Mr. Shelby keeps odd hours,” she explained. “But I think you knew that if you yourself are coming at this hour.” 

“Right,” (Y/N) chuckled. “I guess if he had been asleep, I could have used that as an excuse to leave.” 

“He was expecting you earlier in the week, Ms. (Y/L/N). But I guess you were quite busy with Angel’s Touch.” 

The woman’s words stopped her in her tracks. “You know who I am?” she asked. “And you knew I’d be coming?” 

“Of course, I know who you are. It’s my job to know,” she smiled. “Well, we’re here.” She knocked on the door before them and opened it ever so softly. “Mr. Shelby?” 

“Yes, Frances?” 

“Ms. (Y/L/N) has arrived.” Frances beckoned the woman inside, and she did as told. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

(Y/N) heard his voice before she saw him, and she felt shivers running down her body. His head snapped toward her the second he heard her name, and the cigarette he had just lit threatened to fall out of his mouth as he stared. 

They stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, wondering if the image before them was a hallucination like the ones they’d had before. Maybe they were scared. Maune they thought the second one of them moved, the other would disappear.

“(Y/N).” Tommy was the first to speak. But his voice was so low it was almost as though he hadn’t, almost like he had said it as a prayer. “You’re here.”  

“Yes,” she breathed, her heart fluttering against her chest and threatening to jump outside of her body. “I came to thank you for your very generous donation.”

“Ah, so Angel’s Touch is yours,” he said nonchalantly as his demeanor changed to the mask he always wore. “I was simply trying to do a good deed this Christmas. The name of the foundation sounded familiar, but I had no way of knowing you were the one running it.” 

“You don’t have to pretend, Tommy. You already knew it was,” (Y/N) commented as she took a tentative step toward him. “Why now? After all these years, why have you reached out now?” 

“I have no need to pretend,” he announced as he filled a glass with whiskey. “I was truly just doing a good thing.”

“Right,” she conceded. “Well, I’ll simply thank you then. And since you did not leave a return address I had to come personally to give my gratitude. Your donation has changed the lives of many children.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted.”

“Alright then. I guess I’ll see myself out. Since you were only doing a generous thing.” (Y/N) turned, fully determined to walk out the doors and leave him with the same indifference with which he was treating her. But she couldn’t walk away. Not again. “Oh, cut the fucking bullshit, Tommy, and give me a real answer. Why now? I can only assume you’ve always known where I was. So, why did you reach out now?”

Tommy’s eyes found hers, and she swore she could have died at that very moment. She was sure in the infinite blue of his eyes, she could see the love he used to have for her, the love that had died after he had come home from the war. “I reached out because I heard you were in need of donations. Truly,” he explained. “I was going to hand deliver the cheque myself. Even went by the building.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“But I saw you, (Y/N). And I realized there was still so much anger and resentment buried that I decided to send it through the post. Because regardless of how I feel, those children deserve a better life than they were given,” he said defeatedly. His shoulders had fallen and she was starting to see the broken man behind the mask. “Yet, I still wrote that note, and I knew it would bring you around sooner or later.”

“For what, Tommy? Why did you want me to come here?” 

“Because I need a fucking explanation!” the man exclaimed, slamming his hands on his desk. “You fucking disappeared as soon as I came home from the war. In the middle of the night. You took your things, and you fucking left. Like I meant nothing to you. And you have the gall to stay in Small Heath. Hidden, but still there. Why, (Y/N)? ‘Cause it wasn’t just me you left. You left the entire family.”

“You’re joking, right? You truly have no idea why I left?” As she was met with silence, (Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh. She crossed the room as she did, staring out the window because it was easier than looking him in the face. “You were a completely different man when you came home. At first, I told myself it was normal. That the things you had seen in the battlefield would have haunted you ‘til the day you died. But then, there were things that could not be attributed to the war. 

I know you used the opium to help with your Shell Shock, and I tried. I tried to be okay with it because I truly believed you needed it, Tommy. But you’d be worse after. The nightmares still overtook you and your behavior… well, long gone was the man that used to make me laugh,” she sighed, wrapping her arms across her chest. “And, up to that point, I would have put up with it all because I loved you more than I loved myself. But then, you brought women into our bed. Maybe you thought I hadn’t noticed, or you believed I would keep my mouth shut and let you do as you pleased. Maybe I did wrong by you for allowing things to get to that. Still, I had not expected you to ever raise your hand at me, Tommy.”

“(Y/N),” she heard him call. 

“I can understand that you were drunk. Pissed out of your mind with the whiskey and the drugs. But I had told you how my father had treated my mother, and you had promised that you would never stoop that low.” She could feel the tears start to form in the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks in ugly black streaks. “That was the night I decided I would leave because I could not live in a house with a man I was afraid of. I told Polly what my plans were, and she helped me. She gave me enough money to go back to my brother’s, and she promised to keep my secret. I don’t want to think of what would have happened if I had stayed.”

“You know I would have never hurt you, (Y/N).” She could tell his voice was closer but cautious. It was the first time they had spoken, the first time they had gotten answers, and he was not about to lose his chance to understand it all. “I must admit, the man that came back from the war was not the man that left for it. I don’t think such a man even exists. But I would have never hurt you.” 

“How can you be so sure, Tommy? You swore that you would have never raised your hand at me, and you did. How far could a strike be? Or perhaps a push or a shove? That’s how it starts,” she shrugged sadly. “If I had stayed… I couldn’t have stayed. It would have ruined us both. I mean, look how well you’ve done for yourself. This house, your business, I’d say everything worked out well for you.”

“It didn’t,” he sighed, stepping even closer. She could feel his presence behind her, looming over her. She could feel the warmth from his body even as the cold from the winter seeped in through the window. “There’s always been something missing.” 

“I heard you got married,” she said. “Even got a little boy. I’d say that’s more than enough.” 

“My wife is dead. And though, yes, I still have my child, you know what I’ve been missing.” 

“You loved her,” she continued. “If love was what you were missing, you had it.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it, (Y/N).” 

“You gave your heart to another. That’s what I know.” 

“How could I ever give something that wasn’t there anymore? Something that was taken many years before.” Tommy’s chest was pressed against her back, rising and falling at a dangerous pace. His hands ran up her arms, his touch so soft she thought it was a ghost. But he was there. She could feel his breathing on her neck, feel his heartbeat through his chest. Tommy was there, and she could not deny it. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). The last thing I ever wanted was to lose you.” 

“I didn’t want to go, Tommy. You have to believe that,” she sighed as she leaned into his touch. “I didn’t want to, but I had to.” 

“I know, but you’re here now. You’ve come back to me,” he whispered in her ear. “Please tell me you’ve come back to me.” 

“I can’t go through that again, Tommy. The children at the foundation depend on me, the workers… I cannot go back to the woman I was. I lost myself in you, Thomas Shelby. And if I did that again, I don’t know how I could survive.” 

Tommy kissed her neck unexpectedly, savoring her skin as he had done many years before. He breathed her in and sank into the familiarity of her body. He remembered her softness and her warmth, he remembered every curve of her body and the way it would react. He remembered how it had felt to have her belong to him. 

But (Y/N) also remembered how lost she had been without him at the start. Being with him meant losing a part of herself. It meant she would no longer be (Y/N) (Y/L/N). She would be Tommy Shelby’s girl. And she didn’t know if she could go back to that. Not when she had done so much to be the woman she was. 

Yet, the feeling of his lips on her reminded her of the moments they had been happy. They had been young and in love, and even if they had less, they felt the richest they could have been. His hands reminded her of a time when she had not been afraid of him, when his touch was a welcomed solace and not a dark premonition. It all reminded her of the life they believed they could’ve had. 

“Tommy,” she whispered as his kisses became feverish. “Tommy, wait.” 

“What?” he groaned. “We’ve waited long enough.” 

“If we were to do this, if we were to be in each other’s lives, we need to take things slow,” she said. “I cannot jump into these waters headfirst. I need time.” 

“Time,” he chuckled softly. “Time is something we’ve had so much of.” 

“And I need more of, Tommy. Please.” 

“Alright,” Tommy conceded. And though he wanted to be more annoyed, all he could feel was compassion. “At least stay the night. It’s late, and it’s Christmas. You shouldn’t be out on the road.”

“If this is another ploy to get me into your bed, Mr. Shelby,” she chuckled, turning to look him in the eyes finally. Those icy blue eyes that had always haunted her. 

“It’s not,” he smiled. “I can have an entire room set up for you if that’s what you’d prefer.” 

“It takes trust, doesn’t it? And it’s already a cold night, I wouldn’t want to freeze until morning.”

With a warm smile on his face, one he hadn’t remembered he could muster, he took (Y/N) in his arms. “Happy Christmas, (Y/N),” he said. “I do hope it was a good one.” 

“Well, I certainly haven’t had better in a while,” she chuckled. “But I know it’s the best one Angel’s Touch has seen.” 

“The best one yet.” 

“Right,” (Y/N) said. “I guess all we needed was a true angel’s touch.” 

“I’m no angel, darling. I’m more of a god.” 

“I can see the sense of grandeur hasn’t died down,” she chuckled as she leaned into his touch. They walked through the quiet house in each other’s arms, forgetting the past years, forgetting their absence in each other’s lives. They were simply present at that moment, and that moment only. “But I don’t think there’s anything I could do to thank you for what you’ve done.” 

“Well, there are a few things I have in mind.” 

“Very cheeky, Mr. Shelby,” she grinned. “But that’s not happening any time soon.” 

“A man can only hope,” he laughed. “But I’ll take what I can get. As long as you promise you’ll still be here in the morning.” 

“I promise, Tommy. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Next ->

My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts  or buy me a coffee to support me and my love of writing If you’d like to be tagged in every 12DoF work, any fandom or story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Taglist: @beckiej0073-blog @sl-ut @adaydreamaway08 @thatgirljayy @toomanythoughts33 @haroldpotterson @elijahssuit @shara-ne @nngkay @yuki254 @laylasbunbunny @ritzblitzz @cevans-winchester @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @bibella8swan @coquita @integalacticspacemonkey @euphoria1992-blog @kiroii-ntzl @fresita1218 @evattude @heartfilia01 @bookloverfilmoholic @jinxxangel13 @haikyuuswhore @arcaurix @pinkrockstar19 @venusesworld

[reineydraws]

i dont have a caption for you lol i'll let shanks's heart eyes speak for themselves 🫶

(source)

[drulalovescas]

THE FUNNIEST THING ABOUT ANGEL OF THE LORD CASTIEL GOTTA BE HOW HE TOUCHES DEAN WHEN HEALING HIM (EVEN THOUGH HE REALLY DOESN'T HAVE TO) WHILE NOT TOUCHING ANYONE ELSE

[toughbunnyforever]

trying out human things. its boring

[nartothelar]

But how much would that affect them once they are reunited? Emmet automatically dismissing Ingo when he does something bad for him, for one moment he forgets he actually is there again now and it's only when Ingo's warm and very real hand rests on his shoulder that he snaps out of it. Or Ingo seeing Emmet on the couch from the corner of his eyes and his blood runs cold, his brain is sure that something must be wrong, he's dying or badly hurt bc he is seeing the man in white again, and it's only when Emmet is holding onto his arms, saying words that he can't process through his panic, that he remembers where he is and that everything is okay now. It would be a while before they got back to any resemblance of normalcy after so much trauma they both went through.

are you real?

- ingo just recently returned; emmet can hardly believe it

- when he appears, emmet doesn’t look at “ingo” bc he knows he isn’t real (but also bc if he does, the illusion will be broken that much quicker)

- physical touch grounds emmet

[enduracarrotchips]

out of touch ...

[casdeans-pie]

Dean flirts with a diner waitress one day while him and Sam are working a case (Cas is busy). She gives him a pleasant-customer-service smile until her eyes lock onto his shoulder. She goes pale and backs away and Dean looks at his shoulder like ?????

She tries to make an excuse to leave and bolts out the back door but Dean is Suspicious(TM) and follows her before she can get very far.

She says she's not looking for trouble, she just wants to be left alone, she's made a life for herself here etc etc.

"What are you talking about?" Dean demands, about to reach for his gun.

"You... You’re Dean Winchester." She gestures to his shoulder. "Only Dean Winchester has Castiel's mark and claim on him."

Dean gently touches his shoulder, where the handprint used to be, and he's like, "You're an angel." .......... then he gets his phone out and he's finding Cas's number and slamming the phone to his ear all frowny faced and says to her, "What do you mean, claim? And the mark isn't even there anymore- I- Hey Cas? Cas, there's an angel here who- no I don't know her name- does it matter? Look she says- no don't come here we're fine- she says you left a claim on me with that- y’know that handprint thing and- what do you mean you were going to tell me??? Tell me now-"

And the whole time Dean is getting progressively frownier and his nose is getting redder and he's gripping his shoulder tighter and the angel is watching like, This is the Michael Sword?? This is the Righteous Man??? This is the human Castiel left his mark on?????

[dismas-n-dismay]

The think pieces I could write on how Falin’s first appearance as a chimera- with her elegantly settling down onto the ground while simultaneously crushing one of Kabru’s team members beneath him is metaphorical of the worship and image Marcille (as well as Laios) has of Falin no matter the circumstances.

It’s near biblical the way they perceive her under desperation to have her back. Obviously they both love and admire her but it’s so easy to see when Falin falls into being a little sister or silly friend to either of them when they’re safe and comfortable, but the way they truly see her is so real. She’s graceful, gentle, flawless in every moment. Hell even as she’s murdering people Marcille says that Falin is just confused. Kabru tells her that she doesn’t care how many people would die if it meant she got to save Falin and he’s right. All her sins are absolved under what she means to them.

To Marcille and Laios to even be near Falin is a grace unparalleled, to be in her presence and acknowledged by her is divinity and nothing else compares. They are elevated only by the privilege of loving her in the ways they do and the privilege of being able to protect her.

Anything less is a failure to the love she so generously, selflessly provides.

[perotovar]

#don't think about how this is probably what joel looked like when sarah was born

[andr0nap]

is it a bird? is it a plane? its interdimensional eldritch flying flora!

[wired-heartbeats]

For the record I think Vox is being effected and possibly swayed by Val’s poison just like Angel is, the pink signifying it on Angel shows up on Voxs screen during and after interacting and being influenced by Val directly, when Vox is operating independently it isn’t an actual normal feature of his

This paired with an earlier moment from episode 2 when Val first mentioned something had happened with Angel Dust, Vox seemed happy about the idea of Angel quitting

“He quit? :D”

It’s interesting for sure, makes me wonder what Vox actually thinks about Angel, and more importantly, actually thinks about Valentino. He’s a business man, and clearly the Vees all teamed up (at least initially) because it helps elevate their status and power spread, they may be friendly with each other but we as an audience don’t actually know if there’s more to it as of now. But still, interesting

[kuzoowl]

Casual <3

[cuubism]

work is driving me fucking insane this week, so here's this silly self-indulgent thing i wrote to distract myself.

the spirit of this post is here as well XD

coffee shop au, meet cute, literally falling for your crush

--

In retrospect, forgetting to eat for three meals in a row wasn't Dream's best move. Not that he'd done it on purpose. Hence the forgetting. But taking time to cook always felt so wasteful when he was finally making progress on his novel. He could eat later, whenever the hyperfocus burned itself out.

The only thing that eventually got him out of the house was caffeine. He'd run out of both coffee and tea in the dysfunction of this week, and thus was forced to venture out to the cafe a few blocks away from his flat in search of enough energy to keep him awake for a few more hours.

Technically, there was a place that was closer. There was also a grocery store, where he could have bought coffee grounds. But Dream took the excuse to go a bit further, and not for the quality of the coffee.

He and Johanna, on the occasion she could convince Dream to leave the house and attempt to be part of society, had first started coming to this particular coffee shop because Johanna's girlfriend Rachel worked there. But Dream had to admit that what really kept him coming back, including at times when he wasn't being dragged along by Johanna, was another employee entirely.

Hob.

Hob was, in Rachel's words, "a perfectly nice guy but I don't know why you're so obsessed with him." In Johanna's words, Hob was, "quite fit, I can't lie, but I really thought you'd have gone for someone who's a bit more of an arts gremlin like you."

In Dream's words, Hob was perfect. He always had a smile for Dream, and a kind word or compliment, and he had kind eyes, and nice hands, and was terribly handsome. Dream had never been particularly attracted to masculinity before but Hob was proving him wrong over and over. He looked like he was strong enough to pick Dream up, and that did all sorts of exciting things to Dream's insides. Dream may or may not have had an actual dream about Hob holding his hand.

Hob also made terrible coffee. But Dream didn't care. He took whatever coffee Hob made him, whether the grounds were burnt, or it had way too much cream, or was vastly overbrewed, and drank it quite happily, sneaking looks at Hob all the while. Because Hob's coffee might be awful, but he always smiled at Dream as he gave it to him, and sometimes their hands brushed and it sent a thrilling little shock up Dream's arms. And anything Hob made for him felt made with love, he could tell, it was like a homemade birthday cake with uneven frosting and an undercooked part in the middle.

It was possible Dream should care more about the quality of the coffee and less about the symbolism of it.

In any case, he went to the coffee shop, underfed and undercaffeinated, hoping that Hob would be there, even if it meant he would have to down another cup of extremely bad coffee. Hob should be there, he did usually work Tuesday afternoons, not that Dream had memorized his schedule like a stalker or anything.

He stepped inside, the little bell over the door jingling, and found that he was right, Hob was there. A thrill of delight ran through him. Dream did not often feel anything as carefree or joyous as delight, but he was very sleep-deprived, and Hob was there, so there it was. Rachel was also working, and waved to him as he stepped up to the counter. As she and Johanna were both very aware of his embarrassing crush on Hob--much to Dream's chagrin--she didn't come over to take his order, instead leaving him to Hob.

"Hey, it's Dream, right?" said Hob, wiping off his hands on a towel and leaning on the counter, looking at Dream with a smile. He knows my name, Dream thought with a heady rush, then remembered that Hob was obligated to write it on his coffee cup, and that Dream came here often, and it didn't have to mean anything. "Dark roast with almond milk and caramel?"

How Hob could be so diligent about remembering his order and so terrible at making it, Dream didn't know. "That's correct," he said.

Behind Hob, Rachel mouthed keep going, which Dream took to mean that if he wanted to get anywhere he had to attempt to engage Hob in slightly more conversation than his usual coffee-ordering script. This was unfortunately true, particularly since Hob had already nullified half the sentences Dream would usually say by predicting his order.

"You remembered my order," he said, which felt like a reasonably normal response, definitely better than do you want to see if you can pick me up? which would probably be creepy. Rachel gave him a thumbs up.

"Of course. You're quite memorable," said Hob, and winked at him. Was he flirting? Dream would like to think so, but he wasn't usually very good at picking up on that sort of thing. Why would Hob be interested in him anyway? Perhaps he meant that Dream was memorable in a bad way, that he was annoying or weird, or--

Dream still hadn't responded.

"I am not trying to be," he said, and behind Hob, Rachel sighed. It was true, though. In most areas of life Dream preferred to go unnoticed. It was only Hob's attention that made him feel all bubbly inside.

"Task failed successfully," said Hob, "because I can't stop noticing you."

Was Dream... still succeeding at the conversation? That was truly unexpected, that he hadn't already turned Hob off by being utterly unsuitable for human society.

"Is that a good thing?" Dream asked.

"Is it?" asked Hob.

Undoubtedly it was. Dream liked the thought of Hob noticing him. He liked the thought of Hob remembering his name, and his coffee order, and when he came into the cafe, with as much detail as Dream had memorized his schedule. He did not normally like having people's eyes on him but he liked the thought of Hob looking. Of Hob caring about what he saw. It made him feel interesting and worthy, and sort of giddy and lightheaded--

Oh. No. That wasn't Hob's attention. That was the fact that the last meal he'd eaten had been a sleeve of biscuits for breakfast two days ago, and that he'd been on his feet for a long time, or what constituted a long time when one had only had a sleeve of biscuits two days ago to eat. And he hadn't slept, and he'd had quite an exciting few minutes just now, and apparently this all meant that his body had decided it needed to check out for a moment, thanks, goodbye.

Inconvenient timing, Dream thought, as everything went sort of spinny and blurry. He was making such progress! He really thought Hob might even like him, and falling on the ground was not going to help his case.

Inevitable now, though. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Hob's face, expression shifting from amusement to concern, and really, there were worse ways to go out.

He woke up not much later, or at least it felt like little time had passed, to find himself lying down on a couch in what seemed to be the cafe's back office, as best as his overtaxed mind could gather. And Hob was crouched beside him, looking at him worriedly, Rachel leaning over his shoulder, face likewise creased in concern.

Dream wondered how he had gotten to the couch. Had Hob carried him there? It was a pleasant thought, though he wished he could have experienced it in person.

"You know," said Hob, "there are easier ways to get out of talking to me than blacking out." The words were light, but he sounded genuinely stressed out about it.

Dream immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry."

Hob chucked him on the cheek, a light touch that felt fond. "Not what I meant. Are you okay?"

Dream carefully pushed himself up to sitting, Hob watching all the while, hands hovering over him but not touching. Dream sat up. His head didn't spin. "I am okay," he said.

"Probably didn't eat anything today, huh?" said Rachel. She didn't look quite as concerned as Hob did, she was used to Dream's habits. Meanwhile, for all Hob knew, Dream had a brain tumor and would imminently die.

"No," Dream admitted. "I was... occupied."

"Will you be okay here for a sec?" Hob asked, brow scrunching as if he truly thought Dream might just collapse again onto the floor without him. "I'll get you some water. Something to eat, too."

It was worth fainting in a public place, Dream thought, just to have Hob look at him with such care.

When Dream nodded, Hob hurried away to do just that.

Only now his crush was going to be one million times worse, and certainly not reciprocated, not after the scene he'd caused.

Beside him, Rachel was laughing, hiding it behind her hand.

"Is my suffering humorous to you?" Dream asked, but there was no heat in it, he was too busy looking after where Hob had disappeared.

"You should have seen it," she said. "He launched himself over the counter to catch you. Oh my god, I wish you could have witnessed it."

"Surely Hob would aid any customer in distress," Dream sniffed. But something turned over in his stomach, a little flutter of hope.

"Yeah but not literally vault the counter. It was terrific. I was worried he'd break a hip."

"I'm not that old," said Hob, coming back around the corner and crouching beside Dream again, water bottle and what looked like a chocolate muffin clasped in his hands.

Rachel was unrepentant. "You're lucky you didn't wind up on the floor, too."

"You caught me," said Dream, staring into Hob's eyes. He had such pretty eyes. Rich brown, like coffee with a dash of cream.

Dream might still be a bit lightheaded.

"Of course," said Hob, and uncapped the water, handing it to him. Dream took slow sips, realizing as he did that he hadn't drank any water all day. "I'm fond of you, you know. Can't let you hit your head on the floor."

Fond. Dream might faint again.

"Should I take you to hospital or something?" Hob asked, still so concerned it was making that floaty feeling bubble up again in Dream's chest.

"I will be fine here," he said.

"He just fell for you, that's all," said Rachel, and Dream glared at her. She just smiled back. "Swooned and everything."

"I did not swoon," Dream protested.

"You kind of did, actually," said Hob. "I've never seen someone just crumple so dramatically."

"Oh, have you seen many people faint, then?"

"No, but--"

"I'm going to man the till," said Rachel, patting Dream on the arm. "I don't think I want to be in the middle of this. Let me know if you want me to take you home, Dream." She winked at him. "Unless you'd rather Hob do it."

Johanna was never this meddlesome, Dream thought bitterly. She just made fun of him and left it at that.

Then he was alone with Hob, which was both an exciting and anxiety-inducing state of affairs. He clutched his water bottle for balance.

"Um. I got you this," said Hob, and handed him the muffin. "Made them this morning."

Dream was really quite hungry, so despite Hob's poor coffee record, he took a bite of the muffin.

And this was how he learned that Hob was utterly lacking in coffee-making skills because all his talent was in baking.

The chocolate was so rich, it tasted more like cake than a muffin. the chocolate chips melted on his tongue, and he had to force himself not to just immediately take another huge bite. He really was so hungry. Perhaps, now that he knew he could get such things here, he would have a reason to visit the cafe other than just Hob -- and a reason to eat breakfast, too.

"Good?" said Hob, and Dream nodded, licking the melted chocolate from his lips, and he didn't fail to notice Hob watching the movement of his tongue. Perhaps Johanna and Rachel were right, and it wasn't hopeless, even if Dream's best attempt at flirting back was collapsing onto the floor.

He did not know what possessed him then. Perhaps it was the chocolate. Perhaps it was the worry still lingering in Hob's warm eyes, or maybe he had just hit his head and forgotten about it. Either way, he leaned forward in his seat, and kissed Hob on the lips.

His lips were so soft. Just as Dream had dreamt they would be. Hob made a sound of surprise against Dream's mouth, and caught him by the arms so he wouldn't fall out of his chair. Which was a definite possibility, though now the lightheadedness was not caused by a calorie deficit but rather because he was kissing Hob.

Hob who was kissing him back, too. Softening against his mouth, licking the remaining chocolate from Dream's lips. Would Hob hug him, too? If he had already caught him? Dream had fantasized so much about being hugged by Hob.

Only one way to find out. He leaned into Hob's arms, and Hob caught him again, wrapping his arms around Dream's back. He was so warm, and strong. He was wonderful.

"It is a good thing," he said into Hob's shoulder.

"What is?"

"You noticing me."

Hob chuckled. The sound rumbled through Dream's chest. "It's not hard to do. I've been eyeing you for a while, you know. I always hoped you'd talk to me more."

"I am not very good at talking more," said Dream.

"I think I've got that now." Hob pulled back to look at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Falling over is more your style."

"I only faint on occasion," Dream protested, which only seemed to amuse Hob more.

"Well. If talking is a bit tough, maybe we can go for a walk sometime?" He tucked a strand of Dream's hair behind his ear, and Dream shivered. Hob clocked it, too, and let his hand rest on the back of Dream's head, fingers curled in his hair as his gaze flicked to Dream's lips and back up. "Or. Something else?"

Dream thought something else might make him spontaneously combust. That might have to wait a bit, at least until he could cope with Hob looking at him like that without feeling like he was about to explode in a flurry of butterflies.

"A walk, if you will hold my hand," he said, and Hob smiled, and took his hand, and Dream learned that all dreams really could come true at once.

[izeia-rt]

[u3pxx]

[bad omens] you know how it is with me and body swaps and roleswaps orz

[yoan-le-grall]