#debating on whether or not i should even bother with the hour long trip at 7am just to take another 1 hour long trip

[tsukishumai]

pairing: miya osamu x gn!reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn word count: 3.2k summary: In which Osamu finds that the stranger lurking outside his store window has a connection to his restaurant that he could have never expected.

Osamu remembers every single face that has walked through the doors of Onigiri Miya since the day they’ve opened. He has yet to hire another worker, manning all stations of his business himself. The rush hours always provided him with a bit of a heavy work load, but Osamu has learned a lot about diligence and patience. Business had been good enough; traffic was steady throughout the day, and he had his fair share of regulars whose orders he had already memorized.

The stuffy, salt-and-pepper haired man in the pressed three-piece suit always ordered two umeboshi onigiri and a medium iced green tea. The kind old woman that ran the shop across the street would come in for his salted salmon, and if he had extra, Osamu would throw in an extra tuna mayo. She’d always smile and give him a pat on the shoulder, her eyes crinkling in a way that reminded Osamu of his grandmother.

It was when the shopkeeper had slowly walked out of his establishment and back to her own that Osamu noticed you standing a few feet away from his storefront. You had been wearing a face mask, but Osamu could see that you were staring at his sign. Your eyes squinted at the block letters that looked down at you, before they trailed down to land directly on Osamu. You seemed a little startled at the fact that his eyes were already staring at you, but you were standing outside his restaurant, weren’t you?

Before he could lift a hand to wave you in, you quickly turned and walked away.

Every few days, either during the dinner or lunch rush, Osamu would catch a glimpse of you outside of his restaurant. You’d stare at his sign for a few seconds; maybe glance at the menu board that stood a few feet away from his entrance, or look at the pictures of his full menu taped to the restaurant window. he would see the way you studied each item, yet you always walked the opposite direction.

It bothered Osamu. Why didn’t you want to come in? Did his menu look boring? Was his sign uninviting? Is his decoration too traditional? Should he have made it look a little more modern? He grumbled to himself about it each time you peeked in, and walked away. Why do you bother coming so often if you didn’t want to try his food? Osamu huffed.

It wasn’t until four weeks later, when Osamu had posted three brand new flavors on his menu board that you finally deemed his restaurant worthy enough to step in.

You had stopped by a little bit later than usual today, the dinner rush had come and gone, and the only ones left in the restaurant were you and Osamu. He stood patiently waiting behind his counter, desperately trying to look busy and as if he hasn’t been waiting for this moment for weeks. 

He waited until you were close enough to his counter to say his greetings. You nodded at him in acknowledgment, taking a seat at the bar in front of him. He handed you a menu, and your eyes roved over the words as if they hadn’t done so dozens of times prior. 

“Can I get ya anything to drink?” He asked, and you took off the baseball cap you had been wearing, setting it down on the counter beside you. Your finger hooks along the ear loop of your face mask and Osamu realizes he’s seeing your face for the first time. You place the piece of cloth in your pocket, and Osamu fights the heat across his cheeks. 

“Just water,” you said, and Osamu was quick to set a fresh glass down in front of you. 

“What’ll it be?” He asked after a few moments, adjusting the bill of his hat and settling his hand on his hip. 

You hum a little, tapping your finger against your lips before you reply. “I’ll have the combo #2 with the gyoza.” 

Osamu nodded, “What two flavors onigiri would you like?” 

“For the first one, I’ll have your most popular flavor,” you say, before closing the menu and handing it back to him, “I’ll let you choose the second one.” 

Osamu raised an eyebrow at your odd request, but nods anyway, putting the menu away and walking back to give his hands a quick wash. 

He begins to gather his ingredients when he noticed you take out a notepad and a pen from your bag, placing it on the counter in front of your water. 

“So,” he says, starting the process of making his number one seller (salted salmon), “What was it?” 

“Excuse me?” You asked, pausing the drink that was half way to your lips. “What was what?”

“Well, ya stood outside for weeks, so I gotta know,” Osamu said, placing the delicate filling into the ball of rice he was kneading in his palm, “What made ya decide to finally come in?” 

You tightened your lips, awkwardly setting the cup back down on the counter and placing a palm on your forehead. 

“I was that obvious?”

“Were ya trying not to be?” He laughed, looking at you expectantly. 

“It was the flavors on your board,” you finally replied, leaning back in your seat, “There was one that my grandfather used to make.”

Osamu smiled to himself, wrapping his first finished onigiri in the seaweed he had roasted earlier that day, placing it gently on a serving platter and moving over to make the next rice ball. 

“That’s a coincidence,” Osamu said, “Your grandfather must have had great taste.”

“He used to own a restaurant,” you blurted out, and Osamu hummed. 

“You’re kidding,” he said, “Whereabouts?”

You nibbled on your bottom lip, shifting your eyes side to side as if debating on whether you wanted to divulge him in your greatest secret. Eventually, you leaned forward, resting your elbow on the counter and placing your chin in your palm. “Actually, it was this one.”

Osamu’s fingers froze. “Ya don’t mean—?”

You nodded excitedly. Osamu lets out a scoff. “Now you’re just messin’ with me.”

“No, I swear!” A bright smile erupted across your cheeks as you jumped a little in your seat, “My grandparents used to own this restaurant.”

“I thought this was a boutique before I bought it?” Osamu questioned, putting his final touches on the second rice ball. 

“It was,” you agreed, taking a sip from your water, “They owned this place until I was in high school, and sold it before they retired somewhere in the mountains. It’s been a few different stores since, but this is the first time it’s become a restaurant again. I was pretty surprised when I first saw it.”

Osamu felt an odd sensation of pride began to brew in his chest, shown in the way he sprinkled his sesame seeds a little extra forcefully. 

“Well,” he said, placing the plate of two perfect onigiri right on the counter in front of you, “I hope I do this place some justice.” 

You smiled, and Osamu found himself smiling with you. He pointed out the shake on the left, and the surprise flavor on the right. You nodded, intrigued, picking up the onigiri lying on the left side. 

Osamu makes the gyoza while you take your first bite, nearly pumping his fist in victory when he sees you close your eyes in satisfaction, the tension he didn’t even know you carried slowly melting from your shoulders. He sees you quickly jot down comments on the notepad next to you, and Osamu tries to peek at what you wrote when he gives you the gyoza. 

“Ya jottin’ down comments about my food?” He joked, and you jumped a little at his voice, “Got any suggestions, then?”

You smile sheepishly, “It’s just a little hobby of mine.”

He nods, grabbing a towel and wiping down the counter that he had just used. “Well, ya let me know if ya need anything else.” 

“It’s just you working tonight?” You ask, grabbing your chopsticks and picking up a piece of gyoza. 

“It’s just me every night,” he chuckled. 

Your eyes widened as you chewed on your food, swallowing with a loud gulp. 

“Doesn’t that get exhausting?” You ask, quickly jotting down your notes before diverting your attention back to him. 

Osamu just shrugged. “I poured my everything into something I didn’t love half as much as cooking. This is just how I know how to do things.” 

You tilted your head to the side, “What did you do before this?”

Osamu takes a deep breath as he lifts his hat up a little bit to ruffle his fingers through his hair. He flips the cap around and puts it on backwards, his vision no longer half covered by the bill of his hat and he can now look at you fully. He almost wants to laugh because no one has ever asked him that version of this question before. It was always, ‘What are you going to be doing after volleyball?’

He hated the fact that any answer other than ‘I’m going to play professionally’ was deemed a shame, or a waste. For Osamu, he didn’t want to waste another second not pursuing his passion.

So it was refreshing to tell you about volleyball as if it was just a footnote in his food journey; something that he had done prior to finally recognizing his actual potential.

You gawked at him in disbelief, “Volleyball? Were you even any good?”

Osamu actually recoiled in offense, “I’ll have ya know I was on a team that went to nationals three years in a row.”

You raised your eyebrows appreciatively, and Osamu straightened a little.

“So why food?” You question him again, and Osamu wonders if you’re always this inquisitive. He’s answered this question hundreds of times, swore up and down that he would shoot the next person that even dared to say ‘Why food?’ in front of him. Yet for some reason, he felt more than happy to divulge you. 

“Because food is more than just something ya eat when you’re hungry. It’s coming back from a long trip, and it’s the warmth that spreads through your body when ya eat your mom’s cooking for the first time. That taste of victory that spreads across your tongue when ya go out for a meal with your pals after a game. The sensation of closing your eyes in satisfaction when ya take a bite out of a fresh onigiri after a long day,” you pause your scribbles at that moment, looking up to shoot him a playful glare. Osamu chuckled and continued, “It’s laughter shared around the table, and memories made over a plate that makes food more than just nourishment for our body, but also for our soul.” 

Osamu feels his cheeks heat up as he finishes his speech, embarrassment beginning to sink in at the end of his long tangent. You looked at him with a soft look on your face as you finished the last bite of your first onigiri, and dusted your fingers from any stray grains of rice.

“Words to live by,” you commented, lifting your glass of water up in agreement before tilting it back for a drink.

He let out a breath of relief that lasted only a second when he saw you reach over to pick up the onigiri with toppings he picked out for you. He held his breath as you took a bite, not expecting to see your eyes widen so fast, snapping your head down to the innocent rice ball that now sported a bite mark.

“Shio kombu cheese?” you say hurriedly, holding the onigiri closer to your face.

Osamu steps forward, “Do ya like it?”

You take another bite, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors as they melded in your mouth, and your eyes nearly begin to water.

“I never thought someone other than my grandfather would be weird enough to come up with this,” you laughed, scarfing down the rice ball in less than two seconds. “Yet here it is.”

“It’s not weird,” he defended, “It’s refined.”

You laugh as you dive into a story from your childhood spent sitting in this exact restaurant. Osamu listens intently as you recount how many different failed recipes your grandfather had forced you to ty and review, helping him decide what to put on the menu, or which combinations would bring in the businessmen that always seemed to just walk passed the restaurant.

He tells you of the tantrum his brother threw when he told him he was quitting volleyball, but still, Atsumu was his first sale. You pester him about his secret ingredient, and give him an incredulous look when he says it’s the rice. (“My old volleyball captain is a rice farmer.” “… what an interesting volleyball team.”)

The furniture was different, and the lay out was unfamiliar, but the atmosphere around Osamu’s counter had brought you right back into your childhood, reminding you of all the reasons why you loved what you did in the first place.

Long after your plates had been emptied, and the hour hand on the clock had extended way passed closing time, you finally paid for your meal, stood up from your seat and prepared to take your leave.

“Thank you for the meal, and the conversation,” you lean forward to read his name tag, “Miya-san.”

“Osamu,” he corrects, and raises an eyebrow at you.

You tell him your name, and Osamu repeats it in his mind over and over again.

“Come back soon,” he calls out his usual greeting as you walked out the door, but it felt different when he said it to you.

“I will,” you smile, waving a hand before stepping into the night, leaving Osamu with a dizzy head and fluttering stomach.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

In the following weeks since his late night encounter with you, Onigiri Miya had ceased to be a simple stop along someone’s route to work, or an afterthought on the way home.

One could imagine Osamu’s surprise when he arrived an hour and half before he was due to open, and already a line began to form down the sidewalk. He thought, perhaps it was a fluke, or maybe there was some sort of business convention in town nearby – something to explain the sudden spike in popularity.

Yet day after day, the crowds of people came to him by the dozens, climbing over each other to get a taste of his cooking. He couldn’t stop to wonder how long this was going to last, barely having the time to stop and give himself a break.

He finally realizes it’s not merely coincidence when the lines get longer, yet the faces he sees stay the same. Osamu remembers every single face that walks through the doors of Onigiri Miya, and it’s the ones that he sees over and over that truly give his restaurant its meaning. 

The last customer of the dinner rush left thirty minutes ago when Osamu’s phone rang.

“‘llo,” he greets, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he sweeps the floor, thinking about how he needed to start looking for someone to hire.

“Hey, asshole,” the voice of his twin comes through loud and clear, “When were ya gonna tell me ya invited that food blogger to your restaurant? And how the hell did ya get them to like your garbage cooking?”

Osamu stops in confusion, grabbing the phone and holding it up himself. “Did ya finally get hit in the head a little too hard at practice? What the hell are ya talking about?”

Atsumu curses at Osamu, telling him to hold on a second as he sends him the link.

Osamu pulls the phone away from his ear for a second, quickly pressing on the blue url that popped up from Atsumu’s chat bubble.

It took a second for it to load, but when it did, Osamu’s jaw dropped

ONIGIRI MIYA IS AN ONIGIRI MUST HAVE by L/N Y/N

Beneath the obnoxious title was a photo of his sign, shining brightly against the wooden panels of his building, looking very much like a beacon for those searching for the perfect plate.

“Your shop is all over the internet and I had to find out about it on my news feed?! What the hell kinda brother are ya...”

Atsumu’s voice faded into the background as Osamu read the flattering words you had written about his restaurant. You complimented the decoration he had been insecure about, and he chuckled at the way you had described the fluffiness of his rice. He was captivated by your use of prose, painting the perfect picture of exactly everything he wanted his food to convey.

It wasn’t until he got to the last paragraph when he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

Though the years have passed, and the season have changed, the sentimentality of this particular shop had never lost its meaning for me. For the first time in years, I felt the soul of my grandfather, the curator of my inspiration and passion, all around the atmosphere of what is now Onigiri Miya. I have every faith that the new owner has already done him justice.

“Excuse me, are you still open?”

Osamu tore his eyes away from the screen, the very author of the only review that will ever matter to him stood a mere few feet away from his counter.

“Call you later, Tsumu,” he said hurriedly.

“Hey, wh—“

Osamu slips his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention back to you. You had a cheeky smile on your face as you waited patiently.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya,” he says dryly, and you laugh at his tone.

“Should you be on your phone while you’re on the clock?” You joke as you settle in the same seat you occupied the last time you paid him a visit.

“I don’t know,” Osamu crosses his arms, “Should ya be writing articles about people without telling em?”

You winced a little at his words, holding your hands up in surrender. “You saw it then?”

Osamu nodded.

You looked to the side, rubbing the side of your arm. “Did you like what I wrote?”

Osamu smiled, uncrossing his arms and walking to the back to wash his hands. You watch him curiously as he walked back to you, and pointed to a spot on the wall directly to your right.

“That’s where I’m gonna put it,” he said, “when I print it out and frame it.”

You laughed at the seriousness of his face, and he smirked in satisfaction.

You ordered the combo #2 with a side of gyoza, letting Osamu pick the two flavors. You mentioned how you tried to visit a couple of times, but the line was always so far out the door. He realizes that he has you to thank for that, and you blush deeply when he sincerely tells you so.

“So,” you say as you munch on the honey garlic pork onigiri he prepared, “Aren’t you glad you did this instead of boring, old volleyball?”

Osamu nearly chokes at the insult. “Volleyball is not boring.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat, “Let me take you to a game some time. We can eat something other than rice balls.”

You look up from the half eaten onigiri at the chef who made it so carefully, looking so bashful and nervous you couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah. I would love that.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

thank you for reading! reblogs are highly appreciated <33

[lol-despair]

L

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 15 ~Etched On Wood~

Previously in The Element of Surprise

Annalise perked up at Claire's feeble attempt to sound less grumpy. "Har de har har! I didn't realise you could be funny before coffee. A total package for a marauding pirate if I may say so."

"Tell that to Captain Beard," she mumbled, getting out of bed. 

"Aye, matey!" Annalise mischievously winked. "That's if he happens to be in Isle of Harris this weekend. Which is where, by the way, we're going, as in, now! So get packing!"

Claire stilled and shook her head. "Wot?" She began to shake her head, tugging the covers around her as she made her way to the dresser. "Oh no, no, no! I'm not leaving this place for any man or woman, including you, blondie! I've got a pile of work to do. You know I have deadlines."

"Oh no, you don't. You stop right there, missy! Have you forgotten you agreed with Jamie to take a weekend break?" 

Claire's eyes widened. "Oh, did he also tell you how he got me to agree?"

"No. But you can tell me later on the plane."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

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  Claire stood in the quaint wonderland of whisky, gin and assorted spirits, also known as The Island Spirit Whisky Shop. One side of the store was given over to the whiskies, while numerous craft gins and spiced rums were on the other. Absently, she touched one of the bottles of liquid gold, mentally calculating how many bottles she could fit in her small luggage to bring back as presents. When she heard laughter, she glanced up to find Annalise sampling a dram with the owner, effectively ending her dithering and opting to grab just a bottle of single malt in front of her instead. They'd just arrived in Stornaway over an hour ago and decided to put her gift shopping spree on hold .

Annalise raised a whisky glass and winked. "You better start getting busy. Our driver isn't going to hang around and wait for us all day. Found anything you like?"

Claire approached her friend and showed the bottle. "Aberfeldy, sixteen years old. For us tonight."

"Very nice. Glad to see you warming up to this trip for a change. How long has it been since you last checked your phone for Jamie's message?" 

"Five minutes," she replied, scrunching her nose at Annalise for bringing up the sore subject. She handed the bottle and her credit card to the shop owner before facing her friend. "I've sent Jamie a message, and he hasn't replied yet. He's got some explaining to do ...sending me away like this with too little notice." She let out an unladylike grunt. "Why can't our men be here? We're in a beautiful location ...romantic even ..." She waved a hand in the air to prove a point. "I don't understand why you're not so bothered not spending time with your boyfriend when you rarely see him, and you're only here until Monday."

"Oh, poor us girls! Without our men! God help us!"

Claire fought a smile. "Hey, now, if I recall correctly, I had to listen to you moan endlessly about not seeing Willie enough. What was that again, you said just a week ago over the phone?" She tapped her chin and pretended to go through her memory bank. "You can't stand living without him."

"Correction, missy. I told you I couldn't stand living on my own in London. Which means I'm not used to not having you around."

"Ah, my mistake. Must have misheard that part." Annalise snorted a laugh and went to grab a bottle of gin from the shelf, leaving Claire once again to thoughts of Jamie. Any day now, John would summon her back to London, probably with Mary Hawkins and Tom Christie in tow. Though she dreaded going back, she'd placated those thoughts by telling herself she'd be moving to the Highlands soon. 

Despite the valuable inroads to their relationship, Claire wondered if she would have given up London and her job so soon, supposing that Jamie hadn't had PTSD. Would their relationship have moved this fast? She immediately quelled that thought because deep down, she knew in her heart whatever their circumstances might have been, they would have chosen to be together whether it was too soon or not.

She glanced once more at her phone, inwardly debating whether to call Jamie or not. What the hell is he up to? She hadn't heard a peep from him since she'd left the cottage. Something was definitely up, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"So, this work of yours is moving along fast. I bet you can't wait to start your life in the Highlands with your love, no less. So, what's the plan? Are you and Jamie buying a bigger property together, or will you be staying in the cottage to see how the relationship pans out?" 

"His cottage for now. As for what lies ahead, we haven't talked about that far into the future yet."

"Quite right. Future planning is tedious, anyway. It's pretty obvious you and Jamie are meant to be together, no matter what. I saw it coming from a mile away. The way he looks at you ...you can literally see smoke coming out of his ears." Annalise comically waggled her eyebrows as she eyed the other sample bottles on the counter.

"Well, since we're talking about the future and wotnots," Claire began, lowering her voice, "I have been doing a lot of thinking myself. For starters, I want to have Jamie's babies one day." 

Annalise's eyes widened. 

She frowned. "Wot?"

"Babies?"

"Yes, babies." When Annalise continued to stare at her, Claire groaned. "Not now, though, silly! Our relationship might be going at full speed, but God ...I have other plans in mind before that happens."

"Yes, I get that ...but ...but have you and Jamie talked about babies?"

Claire gave the store owner an apologetic smile and pulled Annalise into the alcove by the window. "No. As I said, we haven't talked anything about the future. What's wrong with you? I know it's too early to be talking about babies, but everyone knows where our relationship is heading to. Eventually, somewhere down the line, starting a family would be the next step. Or did you think my move to the Highlands is experimental?"

"No! Of course not! It's not that ... it's..."

"It's wot?"

"I, ah ...the babies part."

"Jesus, Annalise, what's your fret about babies?"

"There's no fret!"

"What is it then?"

"I, ... I'm not sure if I should be the one telling you this, but ..."

"Tell me wot?"

"I thought you knew because why else would Jamie ..."

"Know what? For God's sake, spit it all out! It quite apparent you know something."

Annalise shook her head and sighed. "It's something Willie told me. It was right after when Jamie started to remember bits and pieces about his past. Willie thinks Jamie may have been deeply affected by what he'd learned. You know ...him witnessing your parents' death and you becoming an orphan at such a young age." She puffed out a breath. "Jamie confided to his brother that ...he doesn't want to have children because he doesn't think he'd be able to bear it if they would go through something as horrible as what you've both been through. I know that's not really Jamie talking, and I understand those fears are coming from a place brought about by his condition. Maybe it's something both of you should talk about. I thought Jamie might have already mentioned it."

Claire paused for a few heartbeats, absorbing Annalise's words. Should I be worried? A part of her knew it was his PTSD symptoms amplifying those fears in Jamie's head. The other part, she wasn't too sure. But he'd made so much progress, she thought. She waved a hand in dismissal and let out a humourless laugh. "Oh ... don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure Jamie didn't mean to say that in its entirety. You know how men are like ...they tend to have reservations about children and stuff like that in the beginning. Besides, he understands how his condition affects his reasoning, decisions and emotions. He's very aware of that. He told me so. So him saying not wanting to have children is not a projection of what's truly in his heart." She gave her friend a reassuring smile even though a smidge of uncertainty was starting to creep in. "Jamie and I are in love," she said with all the conviction she could muster. "And we've proven that with love, we can achieve anything. As for his current views about not having children, they will eventually change. After what he's been through, it's understandable he'd be worried about history repeating itself. He's slowly but surely recovering, and as soon as the new therapist arrives, it can only get better from there. I'm quite sure of it"

"Claire ..."

"There's nothing to worry about," she said firmly this time. 

Annalise grabbed her hand. "Claire ...I have no doubt that he loves you. Even a blind man can see that. But think about this. What if ...what if he can't give you what you want? I mean babies. That's what you want one day, isn't it?" When Claire nodded, she continued. "You should talk to Jamie about your dreams of having children one day before moving here to Scotland. I don't want you to invest your time and emotion in a relationship that will probably end in regrets. I like Jamie, and I love you, and I love the love you have for each other. But I don't want to see the both of you hurt ...just because you failed to see each other eye to eye. Please promise me you'll talk about this with Jamie before turning your life upside down and moving here to Scotland and start playing house. There's a lot at stake here, Claire. Please, just talk to him. At least you know if you're both on the same page or not."

"Fine. I'll talk to Jamie. But under one condition." Annalise nodded in response. "If we're going to have this break together, promise me to refrain from any more baby talks."

"You started it."

Claire sighed. "Yes, I did," she admitted. "But it ends now."

"Alright, but I'm only going to say one more thing and then we can go back to holiday mode." Annalise made a broad gesture. "I can see that our little talk rattled you a bit. And don't you dare deny it!" When Claire shrugged and made a gesture to carry on, she proceeded. "I just want you to know, despite the uncertainties you may be harbouring right now, ...thanks to my big mouth, nothing changes the fact that Jamie loves you. I'm sure after you've talked, you'll arrive at some compromise about this baby thingy."

Despite herself, Claire laughed out loud and rolled her eyes. "Holy hell, we sure are a bizarre duo, aren't we? Poor Jamie. Here we are talking about babies when he probably hasn't even thought about marriage. If he could hear us talk right now, he'll probably put me on the next flight to London."

Annalise looked at her sheepishly. "Or perhaps not. Shall we get going?"

She raised a dubious eyebrow at her friend. "Hey. What's that look for?" 

Annalise wandered back to the check-out counter, laughing. "That was my wise, venerable sage look. You like?"

"No, knock it bloody off!"

..........

Jamie pressed the cold pack against his throbbing eye and tried unsuccessfully to tamp down his irritation at Quentin. Stood in the cottage's open space lounge, which comprised the kitchen and dining area, he turned away to face one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. For the first time, he noticed the stunning vistas before him. Looking out to the south, there's the view of the village and valley, and the west the vast, beautiful beach, and to the north, the rolling hills. Under normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed the sceneries, but the crunching sound of Quentin's meat mallet on walnuts might as well have been a tree stump grinder splintering his skull.

"Do ye mind?" Jamie muttered, turning around to glower at Claire's uncle. "That godawful sound is making my headache worse." 

"Stop whingeing." Quentin didn't bother to glance up from the chopping board on which he seemed resolved to make continuous head-splitting rackets. "Because of you, I haven't eaten all day. What kind of boys' trip is this anyway? There's no food or booze except for the bottle of expensive champagne... these walnuts ...and that ..." He jutted his chin at the fruit basket and shook his head in disgust. "Sorry I can't accommodate your headache." He watched the walnut shell fly across the counter when his mallet hit the chopping board. "As for the black eye, I'm sorry about that too."

Willie chuckled from behind his open newspaper as he lifted his feet to rest them on the coffee table. "Everyone will now think Claire dropped one on ye. How did it happen again? I didnae quite catch the whole story since both of ye were too busy grumbling at one another when I arrived."

Jamie glared with one eye. "As ye've already gathered, Quentin did this." He pointed his index finger at the evidence and adjusted the cold pack with a free hand. "And I cannae for the life of me understand why it was supposed to be a good thing."

"I told you already ...we had a bit of miscommunication," Quentin shot.

"Miscommunication?" Jamie sputtered, throwing a hand in the air in disbelief. He spun around and faced Willie. "I said to him if I start having one of my panic attacks on the ferry..."

"...you wanted to be knocked out," Quentin interjected.  

"Jesus Christ! I never said that, and I wasnae having a panic attack. I was feeling queasy."

"Yes, so queasy he turned green," Quentin added, hammering the walnut with more force this time, making Jamie flinch at the offensive sound. "And here I thought he was having a panic attack. He never mentioned anything about being prone to seasickness. So when he started to act all weird on me, I decked him."

"On my eye of all places!" Jamie shouted, slamming the cold pack on the kitchen counter. "When I said I'd knock myself out, I meant I'd take my medication and sleep it off in the car." He pointed a finger to his eye. "Look at this ...I look like I participated in a pub brawl."

Willie glanced up before turning a page of the newspaper. "Aye, that ye do."

"Well, you should have told me more about your condition," Quentin stressed, pointing the mallet at him. "How was I supposed to know what a panic attack looks like?"

Jamie blew out a breath. "Even if it was a panic attack, what made ye think socking me on the eye is the answer?"

Quentin shrugged. "I guess I get panic attacks too, ...now there!" When Jamie turned away in frustration, he pressed on. "Look at the bright side ...I got rid of your seasickness and saved you from having a relapse."

"I told ye already I wasnae having a panic attack, and I havenae had one for some time now!"

"Hey, may I remind you that I offered to drive Claire and Annalise to the airport and fly in later as Willie did? Your brother would have been in a better position to deal with your condition. I know you wanted to talk more about that bloody bench, but ..." Quentin shook his head as if remembering something. "Say ...I still don't understand why we haven't gone altogether. All this palaver with keeping this whole thing a secret and Willie taking the next plane after dropping off the girls." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Another thing, no one's told me yet where the girls were heading to."

Jamie gave his brother a warning cough.

Willie sighed and lowered his newspaper. "The lassies are somewhere having fun. Anyway, ye'll be getting yer wish granted. Ye'll be flying in my place when we return back to the mainland. Jamie told me CalMac ferries banned ye for a year."

Jamie bit back a smile at Willie's smooth change of subject.

"So Jamie told you." Quentin popped a walnut in his mouth. "Did he also tell you he didn't even try to explain to the police that it wasn't my intention to knock him out cold? That my intention was to help."

Jamie took a slow breath. "How could I? My head was still reeling from your punch. The police could only take in reports from eyewitnesses." 

Quentin cast the mallet aside and flattened both hands on the counter. "All right, all right ....never mind that. What's done is done, and I apologised already." He paused for a few beats and frowned. "So ... what's happening now? Why are we sitting around in this cottage when we could be organising some grub and booze?"

"Just hang fire for a little bit more." Jamie took out his phone and pretended to fiddle with it. It was becoming more difficult to distract Quentin by the second, but he needed to do this right if his plan was going to work. "The landlord is supposed to stop by. It shouldn't be long now."

"Well ..." Quentin glanced at the wall clock. "If the landlord doesn't come anytime soon, I'm going to find the nearest pub. I'm starving. And don't tell me to eat fruits. I want a proper hot meal. And I need a drink after the morning we had."

Not happening! Jamie couldn't have him doing that. "Look, dinnae start lining yer imaginary shots just yet. Pubs open much later here. Maybe while we're waiting, ye can show me that bench we were talking about." He gave Quentin a meaningful look. "Remember? It's one of the reasons why we came here for. Ye've delayed it long enough bashing those walnuts."

Quentin lifted an eyebrow. "Can you blame me? If we'd eaten first, we wouldn't be having this discussion, and we could be looking at that bench already. As it stands, I have to settle for walnuts. Besides, can't the bench wait? You said this trip would be entertaining. And smashing walnuts is not my idea of entertainment."

Jesus, why does everything have to be difficult with this man? 

Willie finally took pity on Jamie as he regarded them both with a mixture of impatience and amusement. "Look, I ken ye're both a bit on edge and didn't have a good start to the day." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I know ye're hungry, Quentin, and I know yer eye's in pain, Jamie, but bickering at one another is no' gonnae help yer cause." He clasped his hands and gave Jamie a knowing look. "Why don't ye both go and look at that bloody bench while I wait here for the landlord. That way, we're getting something done. Fair enough?"

"Fine." Jamie and Quentin said simultaneously.

Willie's head briefly fell back, and he heaved a relieved exhale up at the ceiling. "Finally, they agreed on something."

Quentin ignored Willie and looked at Jamie. "Right, we might as well." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "If you'll follow me," he instructed before heading for the front door.

Jamie glanced at his brother, who just nodded and returned back to reading the newspaper. Rolling his head on his shoulders, he followed Quentin out of the house and to the back garden. 

Halfway, Quentin glanced back at him. "So ...about that bench, you still remember this place?"

"Only vaguely," Jamie responded quietly, overcome with acute nostalgia as he began to take in his surroundings. 

The last few nights, while Claire had been cooped up in the shed doing edits, he and Quentin had been trying to piece their history together, mostly to help Jamie understand the past. It had been a frustrating feat at best for Quentin, trying to unravel Jamie's memories as a toddler that they'd almost laid the past to rest. Until Jamie had mentioned a bench with engravings in a garden of a coastal retreat, he'd once visited as a wee bairn. To his astonishment, Quentin had immediately known the place. The more they'd talked about it, the more the memory of that day made sense and became vivid until an idea came to Jamie's mind ...to use this trip for his plan.

When they reached the back of the house, they came to a stop, and there in the middle of the freshly trimmed lawn was the bench. Fragmented images began to flood Jamie's brain, colliding together to form a vivid picture. As if being pulled by an invisible force, he made his way towards the seat. Laying a hand on the surface, he caressed the weather-worn wood, relying on his heart to know what to search for. When he found the familiar yet foreign carving, he knew he'd made the right decision to arrange this trip. "Here it is."

Quentin stooped down beside Jamie to take a better look. "Jesus, it is really here," he whispered. "Just as Henry told me." He glanced at Jamie. "And you remembered. How old were you when you were last here?"

Jamie sat on the bench and briefly squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he took a deep breath. "At the most, I must have been four. It was summer. My ma needed a break from us boys, so Murtagh took Willie and me on a trip here to visit Harry. Jenny stayed behind. I cannae mind what Harry was doing here, but I do remember him showing me this when my godfather disappeared into the house." His fingers traced the engraving. "I never understood then what it meant when he read it out to me. He'd told me it was our wee secret."

"It was a secret, alright. Henry wouldn't have wanted Murtagh to know." 

"Aye, I sort of caught the gist of it then even though I was too young to understand."

Quentin spoke with a distant look in his eyes. "Henry told me everything that happened that day and how it had been difficult for him to keep their trip here a secret from Julia. It was supposed to be a surprise."

Jamie couldn't help laughing out loud. He knew the feeling. "Aye, I can imagine," he replied, hoping Quentin would finally take the hint and see the real reason behind this trip.

"Did you know Henry had always wanted a son for his firstborn?" Quentin asked out of the blue. "Don't get me wrong, though. Claire was the light of his life, and he loved her. So much so, he would stare at her for hours while she slept. So Julia told me anyway. But he'd always said he wanted a son. I think it had something to do with him spending a lot of time with you and your brother during the summer, even before he met Julia." He smiled at Jamie. "He had fond memories of you and your brother, and it was very apparent from the stories he told me of you."

"A son," Jamie murmured, shifting on the bench as another memory popped up. "Aye, he'd mentioned something about wanting a son. He used to joke about having one, one day ...a strong lad like me were his words." He got up from his position and scoured the seat once more with his fingers and eyes, trying hard to remember where the other etching was. "I seem to recall myself asking Harry what if the baby turns out to be a girl. I cannae mind his reply, but he told me to pick a girl's name because he'd already had one for a boy. After I picked one, he carved both names we came up with on this bench ... it's here somewhere."

"Really?" Propping his specs on his nose, Quentin hunched over and began to search. "Can you remember the name you chose?"

He shook his head. "I probably came up with something daft ...like some cartoon character Jenny used to watch. "

"Or perhaps not." Quentin hunkered down, gliding his hand over the wooden surface of the edge of the bench. "Take a look at this." He stood up and took a step back to allow Jamie to see better.

What Jamie saw next took his breath away and only confirmed that niggling feeling in his guts. It hadn't been a misplaced memory nor a dream. He unseeingly watched Quentin squat down again to take a better look at the engraving, barely able to formulate words to express his emotions over the thoughts running through his head. Was this Harry's way of sending him a message ...a blessing of some sort? Or was it just some quirk in the universe, and everything had been purely coincidental? If it was the former, he'd been taken on a merry rough ride, and he could almost envision Harry's delight at his handiwork, watching them by the sidelines. Like Quentin, he was momentarily at a loss for words.

"You know, Henry's been gone for years," Quentin finally spoke after a long silence. "And it astounds me that you refer to him by his nickname with such familiarity. Only Julia called him Harry. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it, sometimes you talk about him as if he's still alive. You may have forgotten many of your memories of Harry, but it's quite obvious the special bond you had with him is still there, and it must have made an impact on your life."

Jamie almost laughed out loud. If only Quentin knew. He debated whether to say anything about Harry's mysterious appearances, but after a few indecisive heartbeats, he thought, bugger it. He might as well let the cat out of the bag. "Harry has appeared to me," he blurted rapidly before he could change his mind. "Numerous time. As solid and as real as we are standing here right now."

Quentin frowned. "What do you mean?"

Briefly, he filled Quentin in on the mystery that was Harry, from the first time the appearances began and everything in between and watched an array of expressions register on the older man's face. "I've only shared this story with Willie and Claire, and now ...you. It's not something I like to share with just anyone. But because ye're Harry's brother, I thought ye ought to know as well."

Quentin let out a low whistle. "That's some story. I don't know what to say. I've never believed in all these mumbo-jumbo spirit sightings, but ..." He let out a huge sigh. "...though your story is bizarre, strangely enough, I believe you. That night when you mentioned this place and this bench, I dreamt of Henry after. For the first time in years. He was sat right here, not saying a word. That's why I agreed to go on this trip. The notion that he may be trying to say something did occur to me and thought I might as well see this special place of Henry and Julia for myself."

Jamie let out an exhale of relief just as he saw Willie walking in their direction. His brother made a motion of tapping his watch, which could only mean one thing. He needed to make a move. Straightening up to his full body height, Jamie faced Quentin and cleared his throat. "Speaking about this place ..." He swallowed and braced himself. "I haven't been entirely honest with ye."

"Is that so?"

Willie came to stand beside them, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Jamie disregarded his brother's knowing smirk. "There's also another reason for this trip that I meant to tell ye."

Quentin muttered a curse. "You're going to tell me this isn't the all-lads trip you'd been going on about, is that it?"

"Aye ...no! I mean ..." He tunnelled impatient fingers through his hair. "What I meant to say is ...with everything falling into place ...Harry, the engravings on this bench a-and how our history are sort of intertwined together ...I -I thought ...right here and now would be a perfect time."

"Perfect time for?"

Jamie puffed out a breath. "Perfect time to ask for your blessing."

"Blessing for what?" Quentin's brow puckered, but by then, he knew Jamie well enough, and it only took a quick study of the situation to determine exactly what was going to be asked. Quentin's eyes widened at the realisation. "Holy hell, Jamie! Are you bloody kidding me? Is this what all this has been about?"

"It's been coming to this, cannae ye see it?" He worked to steady his voice. "Ye dreamt of Harry sat on this bench. That must mean something, and ye know it. Everything that's happened to me ...Claire coming to the Highlands ....those ..." He pointed at the bench. "...those engravings ....they didn't happen by chance. All of it has led to this day.."

"Jesus! I can't believe you're making me want to thump you a few hours after I just walloped you on the eye and apologised for it." He rolled up the sleeves of his top. "I was just beginning to warm up to you, lad. But it has to be done. It's a rule."

"Rule? What bloody rule?" He watched Quentin clenched and unclenched his fist. "Ye really are gonnae thump me, is that it?"

"Rule is rule," Willie murmured, watching them closely while sneaking glances at his phone. "But best get this settled soon because we dinnae have much time left."

"Time for what?" Quentin shot. "What the bloody hell is going on now?"

Jamie's patience was swiftly deteriorating. "Look, Quentin ...ye can thump me later, alright? I'll even offer ye my good eye. But right now, I need yer blessing." 

Quentin laughed incredulously. "Listen, son, you don't get to schedule your own thumping." 

That was the last straw. Whatever patience Jamie had left dissolved. There was no time for pussyfooting. He took two steps forward and brought his face close to Quentin's. The older man looked too shocked to react, so Jamie took advantage. "Listen to me, ye cantankerous ol' git. I tried being patient with ye because I know ye like me even if ye have a funny way of showing it. But this intent on giving me grief for whatever demented reason ye have and deriving joy out of it is bloody mental. So, I'm asking ye in the nicest possible way ...give me yer blessings. Ye're gonnae give it to me anyway. So cut out all this shite and give it to me now."

A tense silence between the men ensued, and they all stood stock-still waiting for each other to give in, and the only discernible sound to be heard was the waves crashing on the beach.

When the phone notification went off, Quentin and Jamie momentarily forgot their stand-off and whipped their attention to Willie. "So gentlemen, what is it going to be? It's nearly showtime."

Quentin's eyes narrowed. "Showtime?"

..........

"Òran na Mara," Claire read out loud as they drove past the hand-carved wooden sign. "Song of the sea. How very fitting."

"I think it's romantic," Annalise whispered in response, smiling at her from the passenger seat in front. 

"Weel, here we are," the driver announced as they pulled into the driveway. "Welcome to yer home for the next few days." 

Claire leaned forward to take a better look at the cottage with a thatched roof and stone wall. Though it retained its traditional features, the beautiful structure had all the subtle hallmarks of luxury, and she could tell it had been sympathetically modernised without compromising its original character. She smiled when she caught a glimpse of the white sand beach and the turquoise Atlantic ocean. "This is gorgeous, Annalise. Jamie's outdone himself with this surprise."

"He certainly has," Annalise grinned. "Shall we?"

They both hopped out, and while Annalise sorted out the driver, Claire could only stand there in awe of the surrounding. Everywhere she turned, there was something to look at - beaches, rolling hills, and islands on the horizon. She was so taken by the natural beauty around her, she didn't even notice the car drive away. 

"Wait till you see inside. Jamie showed me pictures of the interior." Annalise walked up to the house and opened the wooden door, and Claire followed, hefting her luggage.

Inside was just as breathtaking as outside. "Wow," Claire breathed, admiring the views from the numerous windows. "This place is huge. There's probably enough room to accommodate ten people here. What are we going to do with all this space? The boys should have come."

Annalise just shrugged and smiled as she opened the glass door that led to the back garden overlooking the beach. "Why don't you go out and enjoy the view. There's a seat over there. I'll go and find us something to drink."

She stepped out of the cottage and sucked in a deep breath of salty air, and immediately felt at peace. Shading her eyes from the sun, she surveyed the curved bay of the beach and the peninsula in the backdrop. As far as she could see, there wasn't a soul in the area, nor were there passing cars to be heard, just the sound of nature, white sands and blue skies ahead. Oddly enough, the scenery uncannily reminded her of her mother's painting, which hung in her family home in Oxford, making her momentarily wonder if it was still there.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and swiped the screen. There was still no message from Jamie. She decided it was no use pining over him when he must have spent a fortune sending her here to have some quality time with her best friend. He was thoughtful that way, even though sometimes to a fault. With a shake of her head, she shoved her phone back in her jeans, but something brought her up short as she made her way towards the bench. A familiar scent.

Before she could turn around to seek for the source, a pair of strong arms slid around her waist, soft, warm lips gliding along the back of her neck.

Exhilaration snapped in her veins. "Jamie," she breathed, turning around to wrap him in her arms. "You're here."

"I'm here," Jamie returned gruffly, his big hand rubbing circles on the small of her back. "Did ye really think I'd let ye out of my sight for a whole weekend when ye could be returning to London anytime soon?" He buried his face in the crook of her neck, nuzzling his nose against her skin. 

"A part of me didn't think so." She tipped her head back and forced him to look at her. When his face came to view, she did a double-take. "Your eye! What happened?"

His lips twitched. "Dinnae fash, Sassenach. It's just a minor accident. So, do ye like yer surprise?"

Her lungs released the pent-up breath she was holding in a rush. "I love it and even more so now that you're here." 

He smiled and took a moment to search her eyes before their mouths joined, warm hands cradling her face. His tongue parted her lips and stroked with the utmost tenderness in a slow, savouring kiss making her aware of their hearts pounding in unison.

"Sassenach ..." He trailed off to brush his lips against her temple. "Before anything else, there's something I have to show ye."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Another surprise?"

Tongue tucked into his cheek, he momentarily glanced over her shoulder before his gaze ticked back to hers. "I suppose ye can call it that. Have ye been here before?"

She noticed the immediate gravity in Jamie's expression as he kissed her brow. "No. I haven't. But I must admit this place does feel familiar."

"How so?"

"The views ...it reminds me of my mother's painting. She's probably been here at one point."

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "She was."

"She was? How do you know? Uncle Lamb told you?" she asked rapidly.

"Patience, woman! Too many questions all at once." He tugged her towards the bench, and when he let go, he stooped over the seat and ran a hand over the wooden surface. He glanced up at her and smiled. "Come here and take a look at this."

Claire did as she was told, and as she crouched down, her eyes landed on a string of words carved in what looked like a feeble attempt at calligraphy.

 Henry and Julia - At the end, as at the start, through all the in-betweens, until the world stops spinning.

 A choppy breath passed her lips as she ran her fingertips over the etchings. "It's my mum and dad."

"Aye."

"They were here." She stood up and looked around her, this time, trying to see the surroundings through their eyes. "It makes sense dad brought mum to this place. It's so romantic, and from stories I've been told, he was just ...that. And I can imagine my mum sitting here on this very spot, capturing the moment with her artwork." An intense wave of gratitude suddenly rose, almost making the moisture in her eyes spill. Jamie had done this for her because he knew, just like him, she was trying to put the pieces of her past together. "God, this is bloody insane. I wouldn't have seen this if we hadn't met."

"Ye want to hear the best part?"

She gave him a wobbly smile. "Go on then."

"Yer da proposed to your ma on this very bench."

She let out a soft expulsion of breath. Something expansive and extraordinary stirred within. It was as if, in this very moment, Jamie's revelation had taken back to her parents' past and was there to witness it. "I don't know what to say." 

"The carvings on the bench was yer da's tribute to the day he proposed to yer ma."

"And you know this, how?" she asked quietly.

"Yer uncle and I put two and two together," Jamie explained, with a one-shoulder shrug. "I told ye ....some memories of my childhood have started to come back. Weel, this was one of them. When I mentioned to Quentin about how yer father showed me his handiwork on this bench when I was a wee lad, he'd figured this was the place Harry proposed. Yer father must have spoken of this place to yer uncle. I didnae understand any of it back then. I was too young. I wouldnae have realised the significance of it if I hadn't told Quentin about it. After some thoughts, I knew I had to come back and see it for myself just to prove I hadn't imagined any of it."

"But did you have to put me on a charter plane?" she softly admonished. "With Tom Christie? Are you mates with him now?"

"Tom is often hired to fly some goods to Stornoway for some restaurant. When I heard he'd be flying today, I thought it fitted perfectly with my plan. I must admit it pained me to ask him to take ye girls, but he was happy enough to sneak ye in."

"We could have flown here together."

"Aye, we could have." He took her hand in his and played with her fingers. "But I wasnae sure how I'd fare in the plane with my PTSD. Besides, I had a few personal businesses to attend to. 

"Such as?"

He shook his head in amusement and kissed her lips, lingering there before drawing away. "Ye're distracting me, Sassenach and I still have something to show ye."

She heard Annalise's laughter coming from the cottage. "I presume Willie is here with you too."

"Your presumption is correct. Now stop asking questions and take a look at this." He pulled her towards the other end of the bench.

She sighed. "Alright, let's see it then."

Jamie let go of her hand and tapped a finger on the spot. "Take a look."

Claire leaned forward and read the inscription.

 Jamie/Claire - the promise of greater things to come.

 She frowned as confusion settled upon her. "What's this?" She traced the grooved marks of the words with a fingertip. "This has the same indentation as the other engraving. And it looks old. This couldn't have been recent."

"Yer da wrote it."

She straightened up. "Wot? But what does it mean?"

Jamie blew out a breath. "He wrote the names he would name his firstborn. He chose my name for a boy, and I got to pick yers."

Her eyes widened. "You picked my name?"

"Apparently," he grinned.

A laugh bubbled out of her. "God, so much to take in. Whatever next?"

"This." Jamie picked up a paper bag she hadn't noticed before by the bench and pulled out a padded envelope. "It's from yer workplace." He read the sender. "Dreamcatcher."

She sighed, still reeling from what Jamie just told her. "It's probably from John," she murmured more to herself as she took the envelope. She tore it open and was surprised when she pulled out its content and realised it was a children's book. "It's from Louise." When Jamie gave her a bland look, she sat down on the bench and stared at it. "She's a good friend of Annalise and a children's book author as well as an illustrator. I convince her to publish with Dreamcatcher when she showed me her work. I admitted to her a while back I wanted to be a writer. Every time our paths would cross, she'd asked me if I'd done anything about it. And every time I told her I was still working as an editor, she would give me a disappointed look." She smiled and shook her head. "I wonder why she sent this to me." Admiring the colourful print, she ran her hand over the cover. "What a talented woman."

"So ...what is the book about?"

Claire examined the book. "It's about The Unicorn and the Lioness," she answered, reading the title and leafing through the pages. As she suspected, each page was beautifully and colourfully illustrated. "Well, shall we see what we have here?" She opened it to the beginning and began to read aloud.

 There once was a unicorn

That fell for a lioness. 

She surprised him with her charm,

And her comeliness.

 She grinned as she flipped the page. "Unusual pairing," she observed, making a face at Jamie. "...but hey ...the unusual ones tend to be the best." 

She licked her lips and continued reading.

 The two, you see, 

Were from different worlds 

So it made him wonder, 

How'd it all unfurled?

 "Ah ... makes me wonder too," she added softly. "This is getting interesting."

Jamie laughed, angling his body so he could also see the pictures.

 In spite of their differences, 

It was love at first sight. 

Their feelings grew quickly, 

Their hearts took to flight.

 She smiled and turned to the next page.

 The unicorn, his life, 

Once troubled and scattered 

Now calmed and on the mend

In all ways, that matter.

 She glanced up at him and grinned. "Well, love heals, so they say," she remarked with a wink. "And love is all there is."

"Love is all there is," Jamie echoed with amusement.

She took a deep breath and resumed where she left off.

 There were simply no words 

For how lucky he'd become. 

Without her by his side 

Life would be hopelessly glum.

 She paused for a beat as a peculiar inkling tugged in her guts. Swallowing the odd knot in her throat, she forced herself to say something. Anything! "We wouldn't want the unicorn feeling glum now, would we?" she managed, suddenly unable to draw breath. 

"No," he replied. "A glum unicorn would be a tragedy."

Oh, lordy, lordy! Is this what I think what's happening? She took a fortifying breath and lifted the next page with a shaky hand. 

 It's hard to believe 

Just how happy they were. 

He could not conceive 

Even one day without her.

 "Happy is good," she squeaked, working her throat to be heard. 

"Happiness is always a good choice ...grab it while ye can," he returned quietly.

Unable to get a grip of her runaway thoughts, a dull pounding began in her chest, gradually accelerating and drowning out the noise in their surrounding, portraying the moment with a dreamlike quality. She peered up at Jamie. Underneath his handsome exterior, she could see he was anxious, the lines around his mouth more noticeable than usual. The bruise on his eye, as much as she didn't believe it resulted from an accident, added a mixture of masculinity and vulnerability. God, I love this man! She wanted to stand up and hug him and let him know she knew where he was going with this. But now was not the time to ease his anxiety. She needed to pull herself together to see through what Jamie had probably painstakingly arranged for this moment.

"Weel, are ye gonnae finish reading it?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Batting a speck of non-existent dirt from the book, she filled her lungs, nodded and read the next lines.

 So he got on one knee

To hand her a gift 

A tiny velvet box

Holding a silver piece

 A silver piece? A record-scratching moment descended upon her like a heavy lead. What's a silver piece? Had she misinterpreted Jamie's intention? But when she glanced up from the book, there he was kneeling in front of her. Holding an expensive-looking velvet ring box, looking determined and brimming with adoration. It's not a ring, Beauchamp! It's a silver piece ...whatever the heck that is. Get a grip. She mentally shook herself. Of course, it couldn't be a ring. It's too soon for him to be asking her hand in marriage. The tiny box had to contain a key to his cottage, ....but he'd already given her one. Perhaps he bought a new house?

"Are ye gonnae to open it?" he asked, breaking her thoughts.

At a loss for words, she took the velvet box with trembling fingers. She reminded herself to calm down. She wouldn't want to embarrass them both into thinking Jamie was proposing.

"It's no' gonnae open itself, Sassenach. Or do ye want to keep holding it until ye're ready?" His lips twitched at its corner, and a spark of amusement lit his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. She took a deep breath and opened the tiny box. When she glimpsed its content, she could only manage a weak "Oh!" Nestled in the case was a shiny one-pound coin where the ring should have been. Too confused for words, she gave him a questioning look.

On his knees, Jamie edged himself forward and took her hand. Keeping his eyes on her, he kissed the inside of her wrist. "Sassenach ...ye ken how I've always talked about how fate in some strange, mysterious way brought us together?" Claire slowly nodded in response, unsure where he was going with this. "Weel, to this day, I still dinnae ken how it all works. This may sound mad. But with everything that's led to here and now, I firmly believe some force, unknown or known, has had a hand in bringing us together. And every day, I thank whoever is listening up there for bringing ye into my life." 

Her heart swelled with love. "Jamie, you don't have to do this," she said, laying a hand on his cheeks. "I know what's in your heart."

"No." He took the coin from the box and pulled something from the back of his jeans. "I want to do this." Whatever he reached out for inside his pocket, he kept it hidden in his hand. He cleared his throat and gave her a small smile. "Loving ye is the best part of my life, Sassenach. You brought light and colour in, and for that, I'll always be grateful. Ye brought me back to life when I didnae even realise I'd stopped breathing. From the moment I first laid eyes on ye, I wanted ye for keeps. I want to be yers and for ye to be mine, and I promise I will always try my utmost best to keep ye happy."

"I've always been yours. And always will be. My move to the Highlands should have made that clear enough for you."

"Aye, I had no doubt about that. But I ken that stubborn, practical side of ye will try to argue what I'm about to ask ye is too soon." When he opened his hand, she gasped. On the middle of his palm was a three-diamond stone engagement ring with two smaller ones flanking a bigger brilliant round centre. Emotions tangled in her throat as he raised the one pound coin with his other hand. "If ye, like me, believe destiny ...the universe ...yer da or whatever ye wish to call it ...conspired to bring us together, I'm gonnae dare ye to leave it up to fate with this one-pound coin I have here."

"Wot?" Now she was utterly confused.

"I'm proposing a coin toss. The rules are simple, and it only takes five flips. If it comes up heads each time ... ye'll wear my ring. We dinnae have to marry right away. We can wait a day or ten years. Either way, I want ye to know I plan on loving ye straight through eternity. If the coin comes up tails, weel ..." he trailed off, shrugging. "I guess I have no choice but to wait until ye're ready."

She looked down at Jamie's opened palms, a coin in one hand and a ring in the other. He was doing this so she wouldn't feel pressured to marry but feel secure enough in the knowledge he'd always be waiting for her no matter how long. She squeezed her eyes shut and crammed her fingers to her lips to keep a cry from escaping. She was not interested in tossing a coin to prove they're meant for each other. What they felt for one another wasn't based on fate or luck. They'd met, fallen in love, and now they're taking their relationship to the next level. It's something that happened all the time. They may not love each other the easy way, but their hearts were in the right place every single time. They're rock solid, and she didn't need a flipping coin to tell her that. 

When she opened her eyes, a sound broke free in her chest. "Bloody hell, Jamie! Just stop with all this silliness, and put the damn ring on my finger," she hiccuped, giving him her hand. 

Jamie's shoulders drained of tension as his breath released in a rush. "Did ye just agree to marry me?"

Hot tears rolled down Claire's cheeks as she let out a watery laugh and fell back on the bench, right where her father had proposed to her mother all those years ago. Though it felt right, a slight uneasiness tried to sneak in when she remembered what Annalise had told her about Jamie's doubt about having children of his own. She searched his face, and all she could see was his love and promise to make her happy. Isn't everything supposed to fix itself when two people are in love? She made a decision not to bring it up ...for now. "Yes, Jamie. I did. I want to marry you too," she breathed as she watched him take her hand to slip the ring on her finger. When she gazed at it, she could only make out the twinkle of diamonds through her tears.

"Christ, I cannae believe ye ditched the coin toss. and agreed to marry me ...just like that."

"I don't need the coin toss to know we're meant for each other," she pointed out. "And you shouldn't either."

He gave her a boyish lopsided grin, one that he was very aware always had an effect on her. Damn! He rose to his full height, tugging her along with him. "Ye have no idea how happy you made me, Sassenach," he breathed, pulling her roughly against him and grazing her earlobe with his teeth. "Now, for the love of God, give yer man his engagement kiss."

Committing this moment to her memory, she slipped her hands under his top to feel the warmth of his skin. Standing on her tiptoes, she tipped her head back and laid a soft kiss on his lips. She smiled when his chest and stomach muscles strained and swelled underneath her touch. "Is that better?" she whispered.

Jamie muttered a curse under his breath, rolling his forehead side to side against hers. "Sassenach, I said kiss. Ye cannae touch me like that when there are people that could be watching us from the house."

"Why?"

"Jesus!" Jamie's exhale came out hot against her forehead. "Why? How am I going to walk back in there in this condition? Ye look at me so innocently when ye ken well I feel a little crazy right now. It wouldnae take much to get me going. Look at what ye do to me."

They both dropped their attention to the bulge straining against his jeans. "I see," she whispered with a shrug, drawing away. "Too bad. I guess we just have to have that celebratory kiss later ...when we're alone."

Looking pained, his hand dug into her hair, pulling her back in, in his hold. "Not too fast." His lips swept over hers before his tongue dipped inside to give her his own brand of teasing. Seconds ticked by while he tantalised with a deep kiss, causing a moan to pass her throat. She felt the shudder that passed through him, the ecstasy of this second, his love, the pressure of his lust pressing between their bodies, the awe and gratitude. It was their own private celebration, drowning everything else out and ...

A throat cleared gruffly. Jamie stiffened and dragged his lips from her mouth, pink blooming on the tips of his ears. Just beyond his shoulder, she saw uncle Lamb averting his eyes and rocking on his heels. 

"Uncle Lamb?" Claire croaked. "Don't tell me you're on this as well?"

"Trust me, sweetheart, you're not the only one who's been bushwhacked."

"Bushwhacked?"

"I guess this is the part where we say, congratulations." Willie's voice cut through her surprise at seeing her uncle, causing her head to drop forward on Jamie's chest. As the reality of their surroundings slowly began to encroach, Claire somehow found the willpower to unwind her arms from Jamie's neck and turn around. Three pair of eyes were trained on them with a mixture of amusement and joy for their happiness and mild annoyance from her uncle.

"Aye, we're officially engaged," Jamie announced, his arm going around her waist to pull her back against his chest. He pressed his lap to her backside to let her know the situation in his pants. 

Claire stifled a giggle and put on her best smile, fully aware of Jamie's mild discomfort. "We are, indeed," she grinned, leaning back to kiss the underside of Jamie's jaw. "I must admit, I never saw this coming." She lifted her hand to show them the ring.

Annalise whooped and clapped her hands. "Well, this call for a celebration then," she beamed, skipping towards them. "Let me see it." 

Squeezing her hip, Jamie let her go. She smothered the urge to laugh when she supposed that probably nothing loses a man's erection faster than a sight of her uncle Lamb's tetchy demeanour. Dismissing her silly thoughts, Claire splayed her hand out for her friend. "It's gorgeous, isn't it?"

"Stunning. I'm so happy for you." She looked Claire in the eye and spoke for her ears only. "Did you tell him what we talked about earlier?"

"Which one?"

"Babies. Hello?"

Claire sighed. She didn't want to lie to her friend, nor did she want to taint the occasion by bringing the subject of future babies up. There was a time and place for that and now wasn't appropriate. She hugged Annalise briefly and spoke into her ears. "Everything is going to be fine."

Annalise brows furrowed, but when she saw how happy Claire was, she immediately dropped the subject. "If you say so."

"I know so," Claire smiled, pulling away from her friend at the sight of Willie approaching. "Now, scoot and celebrate with us."

Annalise did an eye-roll and let Willie through.

"Congratulations!" Willie broke in, raising the bottle of Moët in his hand and giving Jamie a high-five with the other. He dropped a kiss on Claire's cheek and grinned. "Welcome to the family, Claire. My not so wee bràthair doesnae mess about, does he?"

"Thank you," she smiled. "And, no, he certainly doesn't."

Jamie received a back slap and a hug from his brother while Claire watched her uncle slowly approached them, shoulders strained, and hands shoved in his pocket. Something was amiss. Quentin was avoiding her eyes, and she noticed his face was devoid of emotions. She strode to his side. "Seriously, uncle?" she hissed, disbelief colouring her tone.

Quentin ignored her. "You sneaky piece of shit!" he barked at Jamie. 

"Oh, dear God, here we go again," Willie muttered, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Again?" Claire gasped as she noticed Annalise and Willie's eyes ricocheting between Jamie and Quentin. She was about to scold her uncle when his face broke into a grin. She held her breath and stilled in anticipation.

"Congratulations, son! I couldn't think of a better man for my niece!"

"About time ye realised it, ol' man," Jamie grinned.

"Who are you calling an old man?" Quentin ground out in mock displeasure.

Annalise, Willie and Claire gaped at Quentin.

"What?" Quentin chuckled. "If I'd come right out and told Jamie right at the start, I couldn't think of a better man for my niece, he would never have fought for her the way he did."

"What kind of logic is that?" Claire fumed.

Jamie crossed his arms. "Oh, this is gonnae be gold."

"It's a men thing, sweetheart and complicated," Quentin muttered, giving Jamie a dirty look.

"I'll try and keep up. Explain."

Quentin released an impatient sigh. "Men in your generation have none to too little backbone. Jamie had to realise he was good enough and strong enough for you. And you had to make him realise it. That's the top and bottom of it."

Her uncle was right, Claire thought. A few weeks ago, Jamie wouldn't have thought himself capable of coming this far with his condition. She might have been instrumental in pulling him out of the darkness where he'd lived for so long, but all the hard work had come from Jamie.

When Quentin took her hand and pulled her into an awkward embrace, she relaxed. "I'm not going to be around forever, darling," he said gruffly before pulling away to look her in the eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were in good hands if anything happened to me." He glanced at Jamie. "I had an inkling when Claire first told me about you, and we talked for the first time on that video chat, that your relationship was serious. The second I found out Henry's connection to you, I had to delve more into your history. When you started talking about fate and all that tripe, I didn't believe in it ...but these last few days, after spending time together, you made me believe in you. I saw something in you." 

Quentin gestured toward the double-headed one-pound coin Jamie had left on the bench. "So when you tried to extract a blessing for this proposal after dragging me here under the pretence of a boys' weekend, I thought I'd have a little laugh and grant it by giving that coin Henry gave me and challenging you to leave it to fate ...without telling you it was double-headed. As you know, I was still a bit miff with you for not letting me into this big secret thing. But you surprised me when you agreed to take the challenge and told me you'd leave it to Claire to toss it. You really believe in all that destiny nonsense, don't you?" He shook his head in disbelief. 

Jamie just shrugged and smiled.

"Uncle Lamb! How could you?" Claire huffed indignantly, crossing her arms across her chest. "For your information, we didn't toss the coin even if Jamie suggested it."

Quentin's eyes widened. "You didn't?"

"I don't need a damn coin to make my decisions, for God's sake."

Jamie slipped his arm across her shoulder and squeezed her. "It doesnae matter, Sassenach. All that matters is he gave us his blessings and that we love each other."

"I know," Claire whispered before glaring at her uncle. "As for you, no more tricks up your sleeves, are we clear?"

"Jamie caught me off guard with this marriage thing. Can you blame me for what I did?"

"Uncle Lamb! That's not the issue here." She pegged him down with a look. "You've been giving Jamie a hard time from day one. No more tricks and no more taunting Jamie. I love you both, and I want you to get along. Promise me."

Quentin raised his hands in the air before placing them on his chest. "Promise. Jamie's read me the riot act earlier today, and you're speaking to the converted. And I meant what I said when I told him I couldn't think of a better man for you. Honestly, I'm happy for both of you." He opened his arms to her. "Forgive me, sweetheart?"

With a roll of her eye, she stepped away from Jamie's hold and threw herself in her uncle's arms. "You know I'll always forgive you," she mumbled against his neck, hugging him close. "Despite you being such a grouch, I want you to know I am happy that you're here."

"Me too, sweetheart, me too," he said gruffly. "Now, shall we start the celebration? I'm parched and starving." 

"About time," Annalise chirped with a little dance and fist pump.

Laughing, Willie popped the cork on a bottle of Moët while Jamie handed out the crystal flutes. 

Claire watched as their drinks were being poured and smiled. She said a silent prayer for her parents and thanked them. There were so many things to be grateful for. Life was good, and her heart was full. She was moving to the Highlands, start her career as a writer and marry the man she loved. This was what she wanted, and she was prepared for this whatever may come their way. Her only wish was, her parents could be here today, so her father could see what a fine lad Jamie had grown up to be.

Her attention was brought back to the present when Annalise nudged her with her foot. With champagne finally in everyone's hand, they all raised their glasses to their new beginning.

"To Jamie and Claire," Willie began.

"To your happiness," Annalise added.

"To family and friends," Jamie beamed.

"To what's next," Claire breathed.

"To my next meal," Quentin snorted. "Now drink up, and let's go. I'm bloody starving."

..........

"Did you really mean what you said earlier?" Jamie asked Quentin once they were alone, and the rest of the party walked ahead of them on their way back to the cottage from the pub. "About believing in me and being happy for us?"

Quentin glanced at him. "I always say what I mean, son. Best get used to it," he grumbled.

"Right ..." They walked in silence, watching Claire, Annalise and Willie as they began singing the chorus of Living on a Prayer for the umpteenth time. "About that double-headed one pound coin ..." Jamie began.

"That was a clever touch, huh?" Quentin grinned. "Would have come handy for you if Claire had decided to use it. You still got it?"

"Aye." Jamie handed him the coin. "By the way, I have a confession to make."

"What's that?" Quentin asked, taking the coin and shoving it in his pocket.

"The reason why I readily agreed to that coin toss you suggested earlier is that ...Harry gave me one too." Jamie dug his own coin from his pocket and showed it to Quentin. "I knew the coin ye were giving me was double-headed."

Quentin stopped to look at him. "You suggested the coin toss to Claire even though you knew it was double-headed?"

"Aye."

"If Claire had agreed, would you have used the double-headed or the normal coin?"

"The double-headed, of course," Jamie admitted.

"What about all your bloody talk of fate and destiny and all that?"

Jamie shrugged. "Oh, I still believe in fate, but I couldnae take the chance. I love yer niece too much. I think ye would be inclined to agree that the universe has an odd sense of humour, and I needed to cover my arse just in case it decided to turn against me." 

Quentin scowled. "Is it too late to change my mind about you?" 

"Aye." 

They watched as Annalise and Willie, doubled with laughter, latched on to Claire's arms after she stumbled onto the curb.

"Well, then," Quentin grunted. "What the hell are you doing here still babbling to me? Go join the fun."

Jamie shook his head. "Oh no, ye don't, spoilsport. Ye're here to have some fun too. Ye're joining in."

"I'm too old for all that. Now go and leave me in peace."

Jamie narrowed his gaze at him. "Is that really what ye want? To be left in peace?"

Quentin blew out an exasperated breath, but Jamie caught the sheen in his eyes and the smile he was battling. "No. I want you to get used to me showing up," he growled.

Jamie pretended to sound annoyed so as not to embarrass the older man. "Fine, as long as it doesn't involve ye decking me."

"Deal."

..........

Jamie looked up from the mock children's book, smiling when he heard Claire doing her nightly routine in the bathroom. The book disguising his marriage proposal had been Annalise idea. As soon as she'd heard of his intention from Willie, she'd made the suggestion, desperately wanting to play a part in surprising Claire. She even had him adding a few of his own words to the poem. How Annalise's friend managed to illustrate and have the book printed on such short notice, he had no idea. But he must admit, The Unicorn and the Lioness book had been a nice touch.

Claire walked into the bedroom, looking fresh in his t-shirt, her face still flushed from the champagne earlier. He watched her shiver a little, rubbing her arms to generate heat. The sight of her bare legs kicked his heart rate up a notch. He smiled and drew the bedcover back in an invitation to get in.

As she snuggled under the crook of his arm, she smiled when she saw the book on his lap. "I never got to read the ending," she said with a yawn, her arm sliding across his waist.

He kissed the crown of her head and pulled her in closer. "Shall I read it for ye?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll start from where you left off."

"Alright."

Jamie got comfortable and cleared his throat. "Here goes ..."

 So he got on one knee

To hand her a gift 

A tiny velvet box

Holding a silver piece

 Claire giggled. "You got me right there."

"I know," Jamie chuckled, turning the page. "Now wheesht and let me finish."

 Confused and bewildered

That it's not a ring

It became apparent

She wanted the real thing

  So still on his one knee 

He uttered the plea: 

"My dearest lioness, 

Will you marry me?"

  He felt his heart beating 

Right out of his chest. 

He could do nothing but wait 

And hope she'd say YES.

 When he ended and a few moments of silence ensued, Claire twisted from her position and looked up at him. "That's it?"

"Aye," Jamie replied, handing her the book. "Louise said you're a writer, so she left a blank page for you to write the ending."

"Is that so?" she said, laughing, reaching for her specs. "Well, let's see what I can do."

Jamie grabbed a pen from the nightstand and handed it to her.

After adjusting the pillow, she sat up and began scribbling, reading the words out loud as she wrote.

 When she finally answered 

He could not stop grinning 

Because he knew, in his heart, 

This was just The Beginning!

 Claire closed the book and took off her specs. "How was that?" she asked, sliding back under the covers.

"It was good, but I'm left hanging. I'm dying to know what happened after?" 

"Hmmm ..." She climbed on top of him and nipped his lips with her teeth. "They celebrated with their loved ones, ate a lot of food and drank too much champagne." She drew circles on his chest. "Although I have a sneaking suspicion, their night is not over yet." 

Jamie flipped her on her back, making her yelp. He scanned her face for a few heartbeats. "Ye're absolutely right. He's gonnae tell her how happy she's made him," he whispered, his words thick with emotions. "And show her in so many ways how much he loves her." 

She blinked away the tears blearing her vision and smiled up. "Well, he's got all night to prove he's not just a bunch of talk."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "A bunch of talk, huh? He's a big man, Sassenach, and he makes love twice as long."

She slipped her hand past the waistband of his boxer brief and gripped him hard, making him catch his breath. "We'll see about that," she challenged. 

He rewarded her by grabbing her hand and slowly pressing his hips into her. "You're on, Sassenach, you're on," he groaned into her mouth before silencing her with his kisses.

Dear Readers,

Firstly, apologies for the delay in the final chapter of this series. As some of you already know, if you read my Tumblr posts, I've had a bad reaction to my vaccination. Though I feel a little better, I don't feel quite right yet hence the delay of this update. I'm easily tired and have been writing sporadically, depending on my energy level. So, after this chapter, I will take a long rest before starting the next series.

Secondly, I'd like to thank everyone for the kudos and comments on AO3 and on my Tumblr and those who left best wishes in my inbox. I appreciate them all from the bottom of my heart. Though I haven't replied individually, please know I enjoy reading them and look forward to what you have to say.

Thirdly, as you may have gathered, this is the final chapter of this series. There will be a third series. When? I have no time frame yet as I will need time to recuperate. If you wish to be updated, you can always subscribe to the WONDERWALL series by clicking here. Or follow me on my Tumblr site here. 

Lastly, I hope you've enjoyed this last chapter. It's the longest chapter I've ever written, with 11560 words. If this update is all over the place, I blame it on my bad days. I personally think it's alright, but I can never be sure. I believe my reaction to the vaccination has dulled me a bit. So, thank you all from the bottom of my heart: for your continued interest, readership, kudos and comments. I look forward to reading your remarks and constructive criticism on this latest update. Kudos to you all, my friends, and be safe. Keep the positive vibe rolling. Much love. X

 PS I will compile a Masterlist for WONDERWALL and post it on my Tumblr site, either tomorrow or in the next few days, depending on how I feel.

[beatles-slash-fiction]

Holy shit...more of the threatening letter pls. Did not know i needed the peril.

Maybe george getting suspicious as ringos behaviour gets weirder and weirder (like ringos keeping a secret so what they hell is going on) and then he finds out?

George had thought that Ringo’s behaviour had been odd when he’d wanted them all to sleep in one of the spare rooms together, but now things are getting weird.

Ringo spends nearly an hour on the phone with someone while George feeds Dhani his breakfast, and when Ringo reappears, he looks slightly panicked.

“Alright, what’s going on?” George demands. “You’re starting to scare me.”

Ringo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He looks tired. Exhausted.

“Do you trust me?” Ringo asks softly.

George frowns. “Yes, but-“

“Then let’s go and stay with your brother for a few days.”

“Which one? Why-“

“Either one. Look, Georgie, I just...I’d just feel better if we went away for a few days. I need you to trust me.”

George has never seen his husband so agitated, so afraid. Even Dhani is picking up on the uneasy vibe in the room and starts to wail.

“I’m not going anywhere,” George says, “until you tell me why.”

He almost wishes he hadn’t asked.

Ringo tells him everything, and he shows George the two letters that had arrived in the post. Looking at them makes his stomach churn. He’s trembling as he stares at the spot where Baby sleeps here is scrawled.

Ringo reassures him that he’s reported it to Brian, and Brian is going to deal with the police. In the meantime, they should go somewhere safe for a few days.

George can’t pack fast enough. He can’t stand the thought of a stranger wandering the hallways of their home, working out where everything is and watching them sleep. Watching Dhani sleep.

A stranger was in their house.

It brings back horrible memories of when they lived in London before Dhani was born. Their flat had been burgled when they’d been out one night, and they’d come home to find the place trashed. George had felt disgusted and terrified at the thought of someone there rifling through their belongings.

They’d had some cash and souvenirs from their trip to America stolen, which George hadn’t been that bothered about. But whoever had broken in had also taken a locket that Ringo had bought George for his twenty-first birthday, and that had been absolutely devastating.

George still thinks about that locket sometimes. He’d kept a tiny photo of him and Ringo in there, and Ringo had had it inscribed with a sweet message. It probably wasn’t worth a huge amount of money, but the sentimental value was priceless.

And now George feels just like he did then, except now he’s not crying over a stupid locket- now he’s crying over whether his baby is going to be safe.

They debate going to stay with John and Paul, but agree that they should go somewhere where they won’t draw attention to themselves.

So they end up going to stay with Peter, as he lives sufficiently far away and George has always felt safe with his big brother. Besides, it also means that Dhani can spend some time with his cousins, as most of George’s family have only met him a couple of times.

George doesn’t tell his brother the real reason for the impromptu visit, but Peter can clearly tell that something is wrong. Nevertheless, Peter and his family are warm and welcoming, and George starts to feel a little more relaxed.

“Not that I don’t love seeing you,” Peter says softly when they’re sitting alone in the garden, watching Ringo play with Dhani and Peter’s children, “but are you going to tell me what this is all about? You’re not really one for spontaneous overnight visits.”

George bites his lip. He doesn’t really want to burden anyone else with all this.

“Is it Richard?” Peter probes gently, his gaze shifting over to Ringo. “Has he done something?”

George laughs. Peter always calls Ringo Richard, which George finds quite funny. His husband and his brother get on well, but Peter will always be a protective older brother.

“No,” George replies. “Nothing like that. I honestly just wanted a change of scenery. It took me so long to recover from the birth, and being home with the baby all the time is so exhausting. And the others have been talking about going on tour again, which I really don’t want to do, so I just wanted to get away from it all.”

Nothing he’s said is a lie, even if it isn’t strictly the real reason he’s here. But it seems to satisfy Peter, which is enough.

George watches Ringo chase his nephews round the garden for a little while longer, while Dhani sits on a little blanket surrounded by some of his toys. It’s been a long, emotionally draining day, and George feels so tired that he politely excuses himself to go upstairs and take a brief nap.

“We’ll wake you up for dinner,” Peter promises. “You go and get some rest.”

Ringo gives George a worried look, but George just reassures him he’s fine. It’s time for Dhani to have a nap anyway, so George scoops his son up and carries him up to the guest bedroom where they’d left their bags earlier.

“It’s been a long day, eh?” George says to Dhani as he settles him in the cot next to the bed. “You must be very sleepy, sweetheart.”

He gives Dhani a quick kiss as the baby’s eyes flutter closed, before letting out a yawn himself.

It’s only when he takes a seat on the bed that he realises there’s something on his pillow.

He frowns as he reaches for the small object, which looks golden and shiny, and he can already feel his blood freeze as he realises what it is.

It’s a locket.

It can’t be.

It fucking can’t be, it’s a coincidence, nothing else; it’s probably Pauline’s and she’s left it in here by accident-

George’s fingers are shaking as he prises it open, and he feels nauseous as a younger version of himself stares back at him, smiling next to Ringo.

He can barely breathe as he reads the inscription on the other side.

To Georgie on your 21st birthday

All my love forever

Ritchie

[inkandpen22]

Young Hearts Divided (11/?)

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader/ James Potter x Female!Reader

Warnings: grief, mild arguing, fluff 

Word Count: 1.9k

Part Summary: While Y/N is struggling to cope with the news of her brother, Sirius is lost as to how to help

Masterlist

Sirius

I hear the others approaching to join Remus and I by the Black Lake. Y/N hasn’t moved from that spot under the young oak for sometime now. I was worried before she sat down, now I’m afraid. I’ve never seen Y/N this way. Usually she never stops talking- and I love that about her- but she hasn’t said a word in hours. I feel terrible because there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve never felt so helpless. Even when I’m home with my parents I can control the situation to an extent, but not here, not now. 

Out of the corner of my eye, Lily settles down beside me. Then, there’s a pat on my shoulder, then a comforting grip. James. 

“How long has she been like that?” Lily glances between me and Remus. 

All I can seem to do is watch Y/N, make sure she’s alright. For some reason, I’m afraid she may disappear. If I glance away, even for a moment, she’ll be gone. 

“A while,” Remus mutters with a rare gloominess in his tone. 

“How long is a while?” James inquires. 

“Hours,” Remus shrugs, sounding uncertain of the the exact time. 

“All day,” I correct sharply, finally breaking my silence. 

They must know the severity of this. They need to understand how much this is affecting Y/N. 

Lily shifts closer to me, eager to learn more. “Has she eaten anything? Had a sip of something?” 

“No.” My answer is plain, short, and to the point, exactly how we should be acting in order to fix her. 

Lily sighs, Well we should-” 

“What do you suggest Lily?!” I snap, finally looking away from Y/N to address her. “If you have any bright ideas by all means share it with the rest of the class! We’ve tried everything and no matter what we do nothing works!” 

Lily cowers, struck hard by my uncharacteristically harsh remarks. 

“Sirius...” James states my name disapprovingly yet calmly with understanding as a best friend should. 

He is right though... I shouldn’t have snapped. None of this is Lily’s fault, nothing is ever really Lily’s fault. 

“Alright, I’m sorry!” I rush out. “I just... I don’t know how to help her! I don’t know how and... and she...” 

I find myself struggling to find the right words. I want to help Y/N, but I don’t know how. 

“It’ll be alright,” Lily assures, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. 

She offers me a kind smile, one I’m all too familiar with. How can she say that when there’s nothing we can do? 

“Are you sure of that? Really?” I question baffled. “Because I have no clue how this will turn out. I don’t know how she’ll recover from this. If what McGonagall said is true, Y/N and her family, they... What would you do Lil? How would you feel if you found out your parents or sister have betrayed you?” 

“None of us understand like you do, Sirius,” she points out a reality I hadn’t considered. 

“Me?” I frown in confusion. 

“Your family, Narcissa, Belatrix, your parents, Regulus,” Lily begins to explain. “They may not be Death Eaters, but they see sense in You-Know-Who, right? You understand Y/N’s situation better than anyone. You don’t know what to do? All you can do is be there for her. Talk to her. When you have nothing say, simply sit with her. All you can do is be present, care, and listen when given the chance.” 

“She’s right,” James adds in agreement. 

“Sometimes the best you can do is be there,” Remus determines. 

I take a moment, processing what my friends have advised me to do. Despite their wisdom, I’m still hesitant. They carry a lot of faith in me. Lily is right, my cousins, brother, entire family haven’t exactly be withholding of their true feelings when it comes to Muggles. In fact, they might as well just declare themselves Death Eaters in order to cease the confusion. Everybody already accuses them of being ones. 

Taking a deep breath, I rise from my position on the grass and brush down my uniform. Y/N remains still, watching the ripples of the lake as she has all day. I wonder what’s going through her mind. Oh what I would give to hear her speak to me. It could be about anything, something as small as a homework assignment. I just want to hear her voice. 

Cautiously, I begin to approach her at a steady pace. I don’t wish to frighten her, but I also don’t want to creep up on her. Perhaps, if I walk normally and act normal, that would make her feel better. I’m certain she hears me coming despite her lack of reaction. It doesn’t help that I feel the others’ eyes on me. They’re all waiting to see what happens. 

Maintaining my composure, I steadily ease myself down onto the grass beside her. Her sight remains ahead, somewhere along the horizon. Her eyes are narrow into slits from the bright sun on the ripples of the water. I turn my head toward her to catch a better glimpse of her face and she still doesn’t react. Her lips remain in a soft frown and her features gloomy. I swallow hard, bringing my attention back to the horizon. I don’t what do. How do I help her? How do I take the pain away? 

Unexpectedly, Y/N’s hand glides over my fists gently and gives them a slight squeeze. Bewildered, I snap my head in her direction. Unfazed, she slowly rests her head on my shoulder. Afraid that the slightest movement will cause her to cower, I remain still. She scoots closer to me and slips her arm through mine, clinging to me. Hesitantly, I plant a kiss to her forehead. I’ve missed her presence. Her closeness to me. 

Resting my chin on top of her head, I stare off into the distance as a though crosses my mind. Then, the thought simply leaves me. “I know this doesn’t help, but I love you...” 

My voice is so faint I nearly lose it in the slight breeze brushing through the valley. There’s a prolonged pause and I debate within myself whether she missed it or I made the situation worse. Perhaps she didn’t want to hear that. Maybe I messed up. 

“It does help,” she whispers as her fingers tighten around my bicep. 

And finally, I can breathe again. At least for now, I’m not losing her. 

__________________________________________

Later that night... 

Y/N

Late following a stroll about the castle after dinner, Sirius and I return to the Common Room. It’s empty as the others have gone to bed. I won’t lie and say I’m not a tad relieved everyone’s to bed. I’m not sure I could handle everyone’s starring. At dinner, everyone tried their best to act like everything is normal, but even Lily couldn’t fake a smile. 

Sirius and I lay on the couch facing each other. The faint cracking of the fire fills the silence. A nice thick wool blanket keeps us warm and I find myself more at ease than I’ve been the last few days. He brings his warm hand to my cheek and brushes his thumb across it. My eyes fall shut at the sensation. Sirius, a blanket, a fire, a couch, and silence is like heaven to me. It’s my safe haven. 

“I think I should go see my brother,” I mumble. 

I already know what Sirius is going to say. Right on cue, his features change to express hostility. The peace moment already becoming a distant memory. 

“Go-” he inhales sharply. “Go see your brother? Seriously, Y/N?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be?!”

“Come with me then!” I plead, griping his hand in mine. 

He yanks his hand from me and sits up in a jolt. “That doesn’t by many means change the level of danger!”

I sigh, leaning up to sit beside him. My arm rests across his back as I rest my chin on his shoulder. “He won’t hurt me Sirius. He wouldn’t, couldn’t.”

“He’s a Death...” he stops himself before he says it.

My head snaps up from its position on his shoulder. “He might be,” I correct him. “We can’t be sure!” 

“Either way, it’s too risky!” Sirius declares as though it’s law now. 

Sirius shakes his head repeatedly as he avoids my gaze. His lower lip remains bit beneath his teeth. It doesn’t take a genius to see that his mind is traveling miles a minute. 

“Please Sirius...” I whisper desperately. “I have to know...”

He sighs deeply as his head falls. “You’ll go no matter what I say, right?”

“Probably,” I answer honestly. 

I don’t have a choice. I have to know. 

“Alrighty then,” he exhales sharply, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “We’ll do a day trip to London I guess. We’ll have to be smart about it though, to avoid suspension.”

I nod frantically, excited that he’s doing this with me. I knew it would be a long shot that he would agree to it at all. “We’ll use the tunnels and leave from the Shrieking Shack,” I suggest. 

His brows scrunch together. “Wait, how do you know about the tunnels?”

“Remus showed me once,” I explain plainly. “You don’t actually think I believed your little story about the four of you hiding in the Room of Requirement during Remus’s changes?” I giggle. He would too. 

He shrugs, appearing a tad offended. “I thought it was pretty convincing...” 

“You couldn’t possibly contain a werewolf in there!” I laugh. 

Sirius leans in a plants a quick peck to my temple. Then, he takes my face in his hands, making me stare into his eyes. “Just promise to never follow us on a full moon and to never go to the shack without me! If anything ever happened to you, I... I wouldn’t know what to do-” 

Interrupting his request, I plant a kiss to his lips. At first, he’s caught off guard, unsure of what to do. Then, he leans into the action hungrily. Before we both get too caught up in the moment, I break from him and rest my forehead against his. 

“Promise,” I smile. 

He shares my smile and brings his lips to mine again. Only this time, it’s gentle and more like we’re sealing the promise. 

“But promise me something in return,” I mumble against his lips. 

He leans back to meet my eyes. A brow rises with curiosity. “What is it?”

“Promise me that you won’t do anything reckless during a full moon. Every month I’m so afraid that you’ll sacrifice hour safety to protect Remus or the others,” I confess a worrisome thought that’s been bothering me for quite some time. “I lay awake at night asking the universe to keep you safe-” 

“I promise,” he blurts out without a second thought. 

It brings an immense wave of relief to finally confess my worrying and for him to be so compliant. 

“Y/N...” He wraps an arm around me, bringing in closer, if that’s even possible. “I would never do anything that would risk me losing you. I genuinely see us together for the rest of our lives. After we’re done here, we have the entirely world to see. I don’t want to lose a chance at that.” 

I lift my hand up and brush my fingers through his long black strands. Goodness, I love him so much. It amazes me sometimes how much I love him. I’m so thankful for Sirius. I look forward to forever with him if it will be just like this moment. 

____________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @hannah220506 @agirlwholovescoffee-blog @a-classic-eye@devilstradegy @blackbirddaredevil23 @tay-mariee @blackpinkdolan @findzela @emilianamason @missryerye @loonyslytherin

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 23

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit​.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Long overdue make-up sex? Long overdue make-up sex. Only the epilogue left before this is all wrapped up!

***

“... I need water.”

“Seconded.”

“Thirded.”

Silence. Some shuffling.

“Well, who’s going?”

“I’m not. I went and got Coco back to sleep when she cried. Did my part.”

“I am not getting off this couch.”

“If you make me go, I’m only getting water for myself.”

“I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Uugh. No, I don’t.” Ernesto groans, rubbing his eyes before dropping his head back against the couch’s backrest. He grimaces towards the kitchen. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Three in the morning.”

“What! Where has the evening gone!”

“Where has the entire day gone, we began discussing this over lunch,” Héctor mutters, laying upside-down with his legs over the backrest.

He is not wrong, really: they have quite literally spent half a day and much of the night discussing where to go from there. They talked through lunch, through the afternoon with Coco passing from one set of arms to another whenever she was not napping, talked while Héctor changed her diapers with a frequency Ernesto found frankly concerning given the child’s small size. They took a brief break from talking while walking their dogs - best to be careful with their words outside - and feeding Coco respectively. 

More talking ensued as they put Coco in her playpen to watch a cartoon, as they cooked dinner, as they ate it, as Coco fell asleep cuddled up to Pepita while the dogs watched with envy from outside the playpen, with Dante having finally learned that trying to jump in would spell disaster. 

They discussed everything they could possibly discuss - their arrangement, how it could work going forward, whether to tell Coco, what to tell Coco once she was old enough, how to keep it private business without having to actively hide, what family members could be told and what family members could never - coming to the agreement Imelda’s brothers were probably the only ones who could be trusted, at the moment, to possibly know if it came to it.

“I never thought I’d see the day I had to say they can be trusted over our father,” Imelda said as she disappeared to put a very sleepy Coco in her crib, and Héctor and Ernesto were still snickering at the idea when she came back. They sat on the couch with a drink, resumed talking, and never stopped except for the time Coco began crying and had to be soothed by a very concerned Héctor.

Until, of course, exhaustion and thirst caught up with them at three in the damn morning. 

“So, I’m going to be the waiter from now on,” Ernesto mutters, just a little dramatically, as he finally gets off the couch to fetch everyone some water. He guzzles down a glass, fills two more, and brings them back. Héctor and Imelda drink just as greedily while he flops back down on the couch, exhausted and honestly still absolutely stunned.

“... This is-- is this really happening?” he finds himself asking, very quietly. Part of him fears this is all a dream, that he will wake up alone in his bed to find none of this has really transpired. The other two pause, look back down at him - and maybe Ernesto let something vulnerable show a bit too much, because suddenly they’re both leaning down with the clear intention of giving him a kiss. Exactly at the same time. 

With predictable results. 

Bonk.

“Ow!” Imelda yelps, wincing back.

“Agh! Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” Héctor frets. Imelda just slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter, which just comes out of her nose with a honking sound. Ernesto just laughs, his own head unscathed but oddly light. Yes, this is happening. He couldn't have dreamed up something so stupid if he’d tried. 

It is happening, he thinks. We’re giving this a chance, he thinks. For the love of God don’t fuck it up, he tells himself, but says none of those things aloud. He just laughs until he has to catch his breath and it dies down in a snicker. That’s when Imelda leans down to kiss him briefly, this time without bumping her head against Héctor’s.

“I think that means we’re officially too tired to function,” she says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Ah. Right. It is three in the morning. Ernesto clears his throat and sits up. “Of course-- I’ll drop by after lunch, then, so we can go rehearse--”

Imelda pinches his earlobe. “Who said anything about you leaving?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. Ernesto’s words die in his throat. 

Right. Yes. This is happening.

Not that anything physical is going to happen just yet. They are all much too tired to do anything other than shuffling into the bedroom as quietly as they can - “whoever wakes her up has to calm her down”, Imelda threatens - and changing their night clothes - it is odd, finding one of his nightshirts still in their closet, washed and neatly folded - before they flop on the bed. 

At least, Ernesto and Héctor flop down on it. Imelda is decidedly more dignified, and leans down between them. Héctor pulls her close, and immediately holds out the other arm for Ernesto with a grin. Part of him is still wondering if he’s dreaming this, really, but when he slides closer, leaning against Imelda’s body with Héctor’s arm around him, again he knows he will not awaken alone after all. He smiles. 

“Your arms are freakishly long,” he mutters, very romantically, causing Héctor to snort. 

“Oh, thanks, amigo,” he mutters, but his hand keeps resting on Ernesto’s side. “Don’t hear you complain when I give the best hugs ever given.”

“That’s debatable, who decided it is you to give--”

“I said--” Imelda cuts him off, then yawns. Loudly, and without bothering to put up a hand against her mouth. “Sleep,” she mumbled, settling her head back down, forehead against Héctor’s chest and one hand resting on Ernesto’s forearm around her waist. It’s not clear whether it’s an order or just a declaration of what she’s about to do, but they do take it as an order. 

They are, after all, exhausted. There will be time to marvel over getting all of this back in the morning; for now, Ernesto leans down his head, closes his eyes, and sleeps basking in their warmth.

***

***

They get to sleep a grand total of two hours and a half before they awaken to a chorus of wailing, barking, yapping and yowling. It’s hard to tell what started first - Ernesto apparently would put money on the wailing, though Imelda is ready to counter-bet a chihuahua yapped first  - but the fact stays, someone needs to go put an end to it before half the condo is at the door with murderous intentions.

Thankfully, Héctor is out of bed almost immediately. He’s still sleepy and misses the door the first time, hitting the wall before stumbling out with a murmured ‘I’m fine’ to go make sure no horrid monster has attacked Coco in her crib. In his haste he leaves the door open, and two chihuahuas as well as the cat rush in, with the small dogs yapping and trying without success to jump up on the bed. 

The other two as well as Dante clearly decided to stay behind and watch Héctor’s baby-soothing operation. Imelda stifles a yawn, bringing a hand up to her mouth. “Those dogs are not allowed on the bed,” she says the instant Ernesto moves to pick them up, just as Pepita jumps to settle down next to her head.

Ernesto scowls. “That’s favoritism,” he points out, and a little monster yaps as though to agree. One of them whines, clearly trying to move her into relenting. Imelda remains entirely unmoved. 

“Pepita is clean,” she replies, reaching over to scratch Pepita behind the ears. Her green eyes, fixed on Ernesto, narrow. Hard to tell whether it is in pleasure for the ear scratch or in displeasure for the man back on her owners’ bed, but if it’s the latter, she will have to get used to it.

Ernesto makes a face. “I can’t imagine it’s hygienic.”

“She grooms herself for hours on end--” 

“With her it tongue, that’s not cleaning a thing--”

“Well, it’s more than dogs do. I have only ever seen them use their dogs only ever use their tongues to lick--”

“They’re clean! I bathe them every week!“

Imelda blinks. In the next room over, Coco’s wails are quieting down. “... You do?” 

“With a very expensive dog shampoo, too. I advertised it on my Instagram account - I mean, their Instagram account. Didn’t you see?”

Ah. That. “I think I unfollowed both when we-- broke things off,” Imelda admits, causing Ernesto to frown. “It stung,” she adds quickly. “Seeing you.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Well, I-- I haven’t been posting a lot, so you haven’t missed much. Should get back to it. I think the dogs have more followers than I do at this point.”

“Well, they are cute. I suppose,” Imelda concedes. Pepita jumps off the bed, clearly satisfied with her dose of scritches, and is followed outside by both chihuahuas. Imelda props herself up on her elbow. “You should try with shirtless photos,”she adds. It’s mostly meant as a joke, but Ernesto is clearly considering it. 

“I already posted plenty. And a couple where I was only wearing a--”

“I mean, more shirtless photos,” Imelda rectifies, very much aware of what photos he is referring to. Unlike Héctor, whose social media accounts are bereft of any sign of life aside for the occasional photo of a guitar, a music sheet, or Imelda going over his latest work, Ernesto is very much active and not precisely trying to disguise the fact his sexuality is ‘yes’.

“I guess I could take a trip to the beach for a few more shots, after we’re back from Santa Cecilia...” he muses, and Imelda is about to ask if they’re meant to join him for that trip to the beach when Héctor walks back in, a triumphant grin on his face and phone in hand.

“She’s sleeping! Look!” he whisper-exclaims, and gets right back in bed between them before he proceeds to show them thirty identical photos of Coco sleeping. “Isn’t she the most beautiful little girl?”

“She is,” Imelda agrees with a small grin, leaning her chin on Héctor’s shoulder. “Not that I’m biased or anything.”

Ernesto scoffs. “You absolutely are.”

“Not everyone is your mamá, Ernesto,” Héctor snickers, elbowing him. “Telling everyone within earshot how handsome you were going to be once you shed your baby fat.”

“Well she was right, I did turn out-- what! She never said that, pendejo!” He huffs, giving Héctor’s shoulder a shove that almost sends him flying off the bed. He laughs it off, flopping back down. 

“She did too, Ernestito! Heard with my own ears!”

“Mph. Your stupid elephant ears.”

Héctor’s expression turns coy. “Ah, what can I say, it’s my cross to bear. Much like a dick a couple of inches longer than yours…”

“It’s not, Héctor!”

“Is too! We checked with Imelda’s measuring tape, remember?”

“... You did what with my measuring tape now?”

“We had a disagreement to settle, mi amor.”

“And we found it’s-- maybe an inch longer! At most! And mine is thicker, too!”

“Oh no, it was longer than that. Need me to refresh your memory?”

“We can arrange that, if you let me catch another couple of hours of sleep,” Imelda mutters, causing the squabble to die down. There is some grumbling, a few more shoves, but soon enough they’re all settled to sleep again, basking in the warmth and enjoying blissful silence.

For another fifty minutes.

***

“Oh my God!”

“Gah!”

“Wha--??”

Héctor barely catches himself before he falls off the bed, flailing his arms and only narrowly missing Imelda’s face. He reaches to turn on the bedside lamp, and sits up to look over to the other side of the bed where Ernesto is sitting upright, hair tousled, a horrified expression on his face as though he just awakened from the worst nightmare a human mind can conceive. 

“Ernesto? What is it?” Imelda is asking, concern plain in her voice. She puts a hand on Ernesto’s forearm and he looks back at them, eyes wide and skin ashen. 

“Oh my God, ” he repeats. “My mother has seen my Instagram.”

Ah, Héctor thinks. 

“Ah,” he says, mind already wandering to some photos that are probably not meant for the eyes of one’s own mother. 

“Oh,” Imelda repeats, clearly thinking the same. 

They succeed in staying serious for almost five seconds before Héctor cracks, and Imelda is quick to follow. 

“Pffft…”

“Heh…”

“She has been looking up my account for ages-- she even mentioned it, I had forgotten-- what if my father-- stop laughing!” his voice comes out a whine, and it’s what entirely undoes them. “This is serious! Stop laughing! I’ll have to look her in the eye when we go back for Coco’s christening! I-- uuugh!” Ernesto lets himself drop back on the pillow with a groan, covering his face with an arm. “I hate you both.”

“No, you do not.” Héctor grins down at him and, while Ernesto scoffs, he fails to say otherwise. 

“If she brings it up, I will dig myself a grave and crawl in it.”

Imelda snickers, leaning across his chest. “If they’re that terrible I don’t think she’ll want to bring them up.”

He pulls his arm off his eyes, frowning a little. “Not that I’m naked in those photos, I’m not an idiot, but I--” he trails off with a sudden intake of breath when Imelda’s hand slips beneath his nightshirt, across his chest. Héctor sits back a moment, watching them - Imelda’s tousled hair and the strap of the nightgown falling off her shoulder, the way Ernesto arches a little at her touch. 

It’s not the most alluring sight he’s ever laid his eyes on, but it comes pretty close - and it hits him suddenly, the realization that they have this again. It leaves a lump in his throat and a dumb smile spreading on his face while he watches Imelda lean in and kiss Ernesto’s lips. When they break apart, Ernesto’s breathing is quicker and his eyes wide. 

Imelda grins, and tugs at his nightshirt. “Since we clearly are getting no more sleep this morning, would you mind getting this out of the way and let me take your mind off your mother going through embarrassing Instagram photos?”

Ernesto is sitting up and pulling the shirt up over his head before she’s even done speaking, but he doesn’t get to take it off - not before Héctor moves suddenly to pull them both in his arms, and squeeze tight. 

“Agh!”

“What the--”

“Really?”

“And here I was trying to be seductive,” Imelda mutters, face pressed against Héctor’s chest.

“It was a very good effort,” Ernesto informs her, head still tangled in the shirt. 

“Thanks.”

“Unfortunately, you married an idiot.”

“Oh, like you didn’t stick to the idiot long before I got him to put a ring on it.”

“What can I say, I felt bad for him.”

“... You guys realize I can hear you, right?”

“No doubt you can, with those ears,” Ernesto mutters, voice still muffled by the shirt wrapped around his head. “Can you let me go now?”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want us to get anything done before Coco needs breakfast, yes,” Imelda says against his chest. “Now, if you’d let go and fetch the lube and condoms…” she adds, and Héctor is off them and across the room so fast he almost topples on the floor. 

With most of his blood flow already getting redirected in his nether regions, Ernesto’s power of thought may not be at his highest. However, as he gets the shirt off his head and throws it off the side of the bed, he does pause a moment to think. Or try to. Something is definitely different. 

“Condoms? Not on the pill anymore?”

“Not yet. It already failed, anyway, and I really am not ready for another little miracle. At least if the condom breaks we’ll notice right away.” She reaches up to brush back his hair, and leans against him. She is warm against his bare chest, her lips so close to Ernesto’s own. Her nails rake lightly down the back of his neck, and he swallows. “But it shouldn’t happen, if you know how to put one on properly.”

He makes a face. “Well, of course I know how to put on a--” Ernesto begins, and then trails off. The amount of blood going straight to his cock is making it very hard to think about anything else, but he’s not yet so far gone he can’t catch the meaning of her words. He stares at Imelda, mouth hanging open.

There are...few things they did not at least experiment with throughout the relationship, but at no point did Ernesto get to be in her. Not with his cock, anyway. It simply never happened, Ernesto would think, but he knows deep down that was not it. It was a line Imelda did not want to cross, the one that marked the difference between her husband and the annoying-- acquaintance -- friend turned unlikely lover. Something Héctor could have while he could not. Until now.

He should try and play it cool, of course. Get cocky and say he’s glad she changed her mind there, she has no idea what she has missed out on. Instead, he sputters.

“What-- are you-- sure?”

Imelda’s expression turns coy, a finger running down his chest. “Well, if you’re afraid to disappoint…”

What!

“What!” Ernesto huffs, crossing his arms. “For your information, I never disappoint.”

“Sofía told me otherwise.”

“Sofía should mind her own-- wait a moment, since when are the two of you on gossiping terms?” he asks, just a hint of panic making it to his voice as he tries to run the numbers on the amount of ammunition Sofía may have to use against him. Unaware of his worry, or maybe all too aware of it and hiding it very well, Imelda shrugs. 

“She ordered a pair of shoes and we got talking.”

Talking about what, Ernesto wants to ask, but before he can open his mouth Héctor is back on the bed and kissing his shoulder, causing him to trail off and his breath to catch a moment.

“Here,” Héctor smiles against his skin, pressing a condom in his hand. “Put it to good use, we have no others left until we restock.”

Despite the rising heat, his own quickening breath and the by now unbearable friction of underwear on his erection, Ernesto raises an eyebrow. “That busy, even with the baby?”

“Not really. It’s that Dante found the box.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ah. The vet judged me the entire time. Not that he said anything, but--”

“... Surely we can have this conversation another time?” Imelda intervenes, tapping her fingers against Ernesto’s chest in a motion that is… a little more annoyed than seductive now. Héctor blushes a little, and gives a sheepish grin. 

“Heh. Right,” he says, and without warning he suddenly pushes Ernesto forward, causing him to fall over on top of Imelda. He barely catches himself, hands braced against the mattress, and almost protests - but then he looks down to see Imelda leaning on her back beneath him, head between his arms and hair spread across the pillow. Her skin is flushed, and ah, the way she looks at him. If one could bottle that look to sell it, they’d make billions.

“I can’t help but feel I’m terribly overdressed for the occasion,” she tells him, and starts unbuttoning her nightgown. She barely makes it to half the buttons before Ernesto’s mouth comes down on hers, hard. She melts into the kiss in a way he cannot recall her ever doing before, fingers tangling in his hair and Christ - Christ - it is almost worth the long months without them, waking up in his own bed.

Ah, it’s good to be home.

“Ah--” Imelda sighs and throws back her head while Ernesto’s mouth trails down her throat, to her breasts. He only stops with a startled gasp against her nipple when a pair of familiar hands pull off his boxers, and a very familiar finger begins to probe as him, slick with lube. 

“Oh, don’t mind me back here,” Héctor calls out, and Ernesto can almost feel the grin in his voice when he slides the finger in, slowly but without hesitation, getting another gasp out of Ernesto he barely muffles against Imelda’s skin. “Want me to put on the condom for you while I’m at it? You look busy,” he adds. His other hand closes on Ernesto’s cock in a soft squeeze, and he almost cries out.

“Christ-- don’t do that!” he pants, suddenly terrified he’s going to just come like that, before anything can happen. Héctor chuckles, but does pull back the hand. The other hand pushes in another finger, sending more shivers up his back. God, he’s shaking - this is bliss, never enough and yet too much, how can he possibly hold himself together?

“That horny?” Héctor asks lightly, as though conversing over a glass of wine. Ernesto snarls.

“I’m about to fuck your wife, what do you think?”

“Ah, good point.”

Beneath him Imelda, who somehow managed to unbutton the rest of her nightgown and shrug it off, laughs and forces his head back by the hair to kiss his mouth. He doesn’t resist - how can he resist? - and only lets out a noise of surrender. The finger within him retreats and Héctor is leaning across his back, putting the condom on him with surprisingly delicate fingers. His own cock presses against Ernesto’s thigh, hard and hot and already slick with lube. When he pulls back, Ernesto lets out a whine. 

“Don’t bother with fingers,” he groans. “I can take it-- por favor--”

A kiss on the back of his neck, just as Imelda’s mouth presses on his throat. She has a leg on either side of Ernesto, and his cock brushes against the warm skin on the inside of her thigh. It is only a soft brush, but it’s almost unbearable on heated flesh. He lets out a shuddering breath, and glances down to meet her eyes. 

Are you sure?, he asks without words, and Imelda responds just as wordlessly, pulling his mouth down on hers and arching beneath him. Whatever shred of self-control Ernesto had left is annihilated and he kisses her back, frantic, before pushing his hips forward purely out of instinct and oh--

He slides in so easily and for a long, blissful moment, Ernesto forgets how to breathe or move or think. There is only that tight heat, Imelda’s scent in his nostrils and her breath against the side of his neck as she clenches around him - the soft moan filling his ears and the nails sinking in the skin of his shoulders.

And then Héctor is bearing down on him, mouth on the back of his neck and weight across his back, pushing into him unbearably slowly and all too fast at once. Everything is too much. Nothing is enough. He wants and needs and yearns and yet it’s everything he could possibly ask for, and more. 

As much as he enjoyed the strap-on and Héctor’s ass, this might just be the best variation of Ernesto sandwich he’s ever had.

“Pepita got your tongue?” Héctor chuckles against his ear, settling deep into him, resting his chin on his shoulder and glancing over at Imelda. “You good?” he breathes. Imelda lifts her head to kiss his lips. Her skin is flushed, eyes half-lidded. 

“Oh, yes,” she says, and kisses Ernesto’s neck again. “You are thicker, I’ll give you that,” she whispers, perfectly audible to Héctor, whose chuckling protests are not very believable. Her hand cups Ernesto’s cheek, her fingers calloused from working leather. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she murmurs, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. “We’ll take good care of you.”

“Christ--” Ernesto pants, and manages to lift himself up on his elbows just enough to get some weight off her, and rest his forehead on hers. He’s so acutely aware of everything - the smoothness of her skin and Héctor’s chest hair against his back, her hand cupping his cheek and his chin on his shoulder, the heat around his cock and the cock in him. “I don’t know-- how long I can last,” he manages to admit. 

“Ah, don’t worry about that, amigo,” Héctor speaks, and tilts his hips, sending a jolt of pleasure up Ernesto’s spine and tearing a gasp out of him. “Wouldn’t be the first time. And we can do this whenever we wish…”

He says something else after that, or Imelda does, but none of their words makes it to Ernesto’s brain. They start moving in tandem, in him and around him and on him and beneath, and it is all that Ernesto can think of or feel. It is all he wants to feel right now. 

The moans that leave him are louder than advisable, with Coco sleeping just a couple of rooms over, but Imelda is quick to muffle any noise he makes with a kiss. Good move, that.

None of them is in the right state of mind to go soothe a cranky baby, after all.

***

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[prurientpuddlejumper]

Being Fake Soulmates with Dr. Chilton (Part 4)

<- Part 3 | Part 5 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader | The Good Place crossover

Warnings: Fluff, cuddling, angst

1,560 words

He held your hand loosely in his, stroking the soft of your palm with his thumb—an almost ticklish sensation that sent goosebumps rushing up your arm, making your heart skip erratically.

You sat side-by-side on a velvet loveseat whose curling arms were inlaid with patterns of baroque gold—entirely Frederick’s style, but remarkably comfortable nonetheless. One of your legs draped lazily over his, and his arm created a nest for your shoulders. It was wonderful being close to someone whose presence you were completely comfortable in. To feel his soft breathing rising and falling beside you, and the texture of his skin against yours.

The remains of your morning tea rested on the coffee table—a rustic piece of reclaimed farmhouse wood in which the raw natural materials were the focus. Your eco-aesthetic should have clashed with Frederick’s old-world aristocratic style, but somehow the combination elevated both.

Soulmates.

The more you glimpsed of the insecurity behind Dr. Frederick Chilton’s pretentious mask, the more you realized what it meant to be soulmates. It wasn’t about being the same, but different in ways that complemented each other. You kept him humble. He taught you to put yourself first. You filled his loneliness, and he brought out your confidence. But more than that, he was always there—no matter what challenges the afterlife threw at you, you came back home to each other, held each other, and everything was fine.

So long as you had your soulmate, you could face anything.

The steady stroking on your palm stuttered and paused. You lifted your head from his shoulder to see the pensive expression quietly furrowing his brow.

“If we met on earth,” he pondered softly, “do you think we would have...?” Dark notes of distress clouded his voice, as he if already knew and didn’t like the answer to the question he didn’t entirely ask.

“I don’t know.” If you hadn’t been told by an immortal, all-knowing afterlife architect that this was your soulmate, would have ever in a million years given Dr. Chilton enough of a chance to see beneath his snobby crust? You’d rather not hurt him by focusing on a probable no, so instead you said, “I only went to Baltimore once, as a kid. To go to the aquarium. I think it was a side trip from when we visited DC. Were you ever in New England?”

His jaw tensed—the only outward sign of what you expected was a fierce internal debate on whether to correct you for answering whether they would have met when his question was if. He decided to let it go.

“I spent some time there. I went to Harvard, of course, so I am familiar with the region.”

“I went to Harvard. Of course,” you repeated laughing, exaggerating the snobbish drawl of his affected accent. You swung your other leg over his lap to straddle him and peck a playful kiss to his lips.

His green eyes returned none of your mirth as he observed, “You always mock me, and then act as if it is affectionate.”

Your teasing grin fell. A hand lifted to his cheek. The other remained cozily nestled in his hand, but the fact that he didn’t melt into your touch proved how irritated he was.

“Oh, Frederick,” you cooed. “You are ridiculous sometimes”—he must know that about himself, right? The glower he returned suggested, in fact, he did not—“And I love you.”

Your last three words hung in the air and heated his face under your palm. He stared back at you unblinking, some of the hardness evaporating from his eyes at those words. It felt like hours waiting for a reaction before he swallowed thickly.

“Oh.”

He added nothing further than that oh. Though you supposed falling in love was inevitable for soulmates, it was the first time you’d said it out loud, and you itched for more.

“Well?” you nudged. “Are you… happy to hear it?”

“No.” His brow furrowed.

The blunt rejection felt less like a slap to the face and more like leaning back in a broken reclining chair and finding yourself blinking up at the ceiling from the floor. You had expected something different.

“You chose to say it now to avoid blame for insulting me; that is hardly kind. But what should I expect? You… you—” His entire face began to twitch: eyes narrowing in thought, suddenly going wide, then narrowing again. Then he looked at you almost mournfully, the softest, most tender expression clouding his eyes.

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking about it like that. I just thought you were so cute—”

“No, no, no. This—this is not right. None of this is right. It is more than that.” He stood and began pacing the room. “I have been bothered by things for some time, but I chose to ignore them”—he cast a pained glance back at you—“because I wanted to believe it was true. But this makes no sense. Why would you love me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Of course I love you. We… we’re soulmates!”

He barked a dry laugh. “That is the only reason, is it not? Because we were told we were soulmates. How can we be sure we are?”

“Michael said—”

“Ah yes, Michael said. Naturally, we can trust Michael, the supernatural being we know nothing about.” His heel scuffed on the marble floor as he pivoted in his jerky movements to face you. “Think rationally. The existence of soulmates is extremely doubtful. How could every person have a perfect match? Are humans created in pairs? What happens if one’s soulmate dies in infancy? Or speaks a different language?”

“Just because they’re unlikely on Earth doesn’t mean they can’t be made for the afterlife.” You convinced yourself even less than him.

“It is not just you,” he said wistfully, eyes casting over your seated form next to the hollow impression he left on the velvet. “I do not think this is even heaven. No one likes frozen yogurt that much.”

“I like fro yo,” you muttered in a small defensive voice.

“But you like ice cream better. Why are there a dozen frozen yogurt shops and not a single ice cream parlor? It was a clue in plain sight. This place is a mockery of paradise. Every moment we have expected a reward, it has been twisted into a punishment, or a… a test!”

You stared back at him silently. Your tongue went dry, and you realized your mouth was hanging open, paused on the brink of something to say—some retort that would explain everything. But none came.

“Pairing us together,” he announced one syllable at a time, regretting his next words, “was never meant to be a reward. It was a trap.”

“But you make me happy! Not every pair makes sense at first, but I love you. We’re in paradise—”

“I would never have gotten into paradise!” The last piece of the puzzle exploded from his throat, a shouted confession. The air went still. “Perhaps you would have,” he muttered, “but I do not belong in the good place.”

At last, you stood and joined Frederick, your hands finding his again. They were warm, and big, and fit yours perfectly. You understood, then. As long as you were holding onto him, you could face anything.

Even the truth.

You shook your head. “No. I never did anything with my life. I tried. I recycled and drove a Prius, but I was too shy to call senators about environmental policy—too afraid or too lazy to lobby for infrastructure changes. I never did anything significant to fight for what I believed in. If the good place only takes the best of the best… I never came close.”

Frederick squeezed your hand. “I thought—” his breath hitched “—I thought I did. I believed everything had been worth it in the end. I finally achieved something; my work earned the recognition it deserved. Of course it didn’t! At least I am sharp enough to see through their farce.”

“But… but you’re my soulmate.” You clung to him like the wreckage of a sinking ship.

Frederick was silent, but you could hear his words in your head: There is no such thing.

“But you make me happy,” you argued.

But he also drove you crazy. But anyone reading the transcript of your lives would have expected you to make each other miserable. If you hadn’t walked in on him by chance while he was sulking and taken pity, you really would have tortured each other.

“Holy fork,” you muttered. “Is this the bad place?”

“That is the most likely possibility,” Frederick whispered.

Fear crept up your spine. If everything was a lie, then what else couldn’t you trust? Who else knew? Who was in charge? Could you even trust Frederick? You took half a step back from his grip and watched him return your glare with equal suspicion.

He wasn’t your soulmate. He was just a man you barely knew anything about.

You lurched forward and re-entered the radius of his spicy cologne, comforted by the familiar scent and the familiar texture of his tweed suit under your fingertips. “Wh-what do we do?”

“I do not know.”

His arms closed around your back, and he held you.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31​ / @isvvc-pvscvl  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​ / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ 

[onlysarah235678]

A Little Bit Part 12

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

A/N: Wow so never listen to me when I say how long it will take to update… A lot of stuff happens in this one. Mind the warnings. Who made my gif this time? Illuminated-blue of course ❤

Warnings: Brief physical assault, use of homophobic slurs, vague mentions of domestic violence and vomiting.

When you wake up Sunday morning you are immensely grateful that you don’t have to go into work until 11. You had stayed up until almost 2 in the morning on the phone with Billie. She had gone home after your walk, but she’d called you after she’d taken care of the kittens to check in. You still seemed a little down when she left, which was understandable, but she didn’t like it.

For this reason, as soon as she could, she called you just to talk and keep your mind off certain things. You both ended up getting into bed and chatting about nothing in particular for a couple of hours. Things stayed pretty tame, and talking to her definitely helped you relax. Still, you woke up a little on edge as you just sat in bed for a while. Almost an hour had gone by of you just sitting in bed on your phone when you hear Milo start up the stairs.

As quickly and quietly as possibly you lie back down and throw the covers over you. If Milo sees that you’re awake, he’ll bother you until you take him on a walk. You close your eyes and try to feign sleep for a little bit, but when Milo jumps up on your bed you realize you’ve lost.

Usually, he’ll sit in front of the bed and whine a little, or paw at you. If he knew you were up though, he would jump on the bed and then on you.

You really needed to teach Milo about sleeping in on Sundays.

As expected, your dog is already climbing on you and searching for your head. He liked to lick your face to wake you up, and you had to push him away as you groaned in disgust and defeat.

Guess you were getting up.

After changing into clothes that you wouldn’t mind seeing yourself in later, you lead Milo outside and away from your apartment building. You decide to take him a little farther than usual since you have more time before you need to get to work. He of course loves it, but you end up regretting not taking the time to check the ‘news’ for any updates on you and Billie.

You were on your phone for an hour, but it hadn’t even occurred to you that you should check on that. You really should know better by now. You walk down a street you’ve become familiar with because it has the bakery that you love. You are already thinking about donuts as you walk through the front doors still only half awake.

You smile at the woman behind the counter, muttering a quiet ‘hi’ before glancing over the menu. You only decide on the pastry you want before she speaks up. You didn’t hear what she is saying because your mind was fully on what to have for breakfast, so you frown in confusion before making the mistake of asking her to repeat herself.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

The redhead pulls her phone out of her pocket and presses a few buttons before showing you what she was talking about.

“Is this you?”

It takes you a second to realize what you’re looking at because the video isn’t very good. It was taken at night and it was kind of fuzzy and far away. Eventually you recognize Billie as she pulls away from you, and your eyes widen giving the woman the only answer she needed.

You leave without your pastry and you’re more than a little pissed as you pull out your phone to call Billie. You’re too distracted by the task at hand, that you don’t notice the car coming as you cross the road. The driver lays on the horn and you jump in surprise before scrambling back onto the sidewalk. You have a half grimace and half apologetic look on your face as the car passes you before you look both ways like an adult and try again. Luckily Milo was smarter than you and hadn’t even stepped out on to the street yet.

“Come on, Milo. Let’s try and figure out what’s going on.”

Billie is still in bed when you call her because it is Sunday after all. It’s Sunday and not even 9 am yet. Billie sighs before sitting up and reaching for her phone. Seeing that it’s you makes her smile, and she’s quick to answer it as she runs a hand through her hair.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

You smile immediately at the sleep you hear in Billie’s voice before sighing happily. You’re almost back to your apartment and Milo is picking up the pace because it’s breakfast time. Actually, it’s your breakfast time, but that doesn’t matter to him. He likes watching you eat because more often than not he gets some of whatever you’re eating. Not because you give it to him, but you tend to be an absentminded and messy eater.

“Morning, Billie. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

You nearly curse yourself for the tension you can hear in your own voice. You know that Billie will pick up on it and you just wait for her to ask.

She doesn’t waste any time at all. Not that you expected her to.

“It’s not a problem, sweetheart. Is everything alright?”

You can’t help but smile at the fact that you were right about Billie picking up on your stress. You didn’t want to ruin her day with this, but you didn’t want to hide it either. It didn’t even occur to you that she might have heard it from someone else either way.

You and Milo walk into your apartment building and you press the button for the elevator impatiently. You hit it another few times before sighing in defeat. You turn toward the stairwell at the end of the hall and head that way with Milo in tow.

“Apparently there is a video of us on the internet.”

You wait until you’re sure you have Billie’s attention before you tell her what you saw. It was a video from Friday night when you and Milo went to Billie’s place. As you describe the short video showing you sitting on the kitchen counter with Billie standing in between your legs, you open the door to the stairwell and let Milo go through first. When Billie asks how you found out about this, you tell her about how you went on a walk with Milo to your favorite bakery.

“Yeah, the woman working there told me, and I was so weirded out I didn’t even get my donut.”

Billie laughs at this as she smiles sympathetically. She knows how important your sugar is to you and she realizes you must have been pretty thrown off to leave without it. She waits until you’re done talking to Milo, apparently he’s going too fast for so early in the morning, before speaking up.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. That must have been uncomfortable.”

You laugh under your breath because it was very awkward for the three seconds you spend debating whether or not you should leave empty-handed. You opened your mouth to say this when you hear the door on the second floor open and you watch as someone walks out. You hold back your groan of annoyance because this person, your downstairs neighbor is a pain in the ass. He is a homophobic asshole who has no problem sharing his feelings with you every time you run into each other. Luckily this was only the third time since you started seeing Billie.

You start up the next flight of stairs until you remember that you haven’t responded to Billie. You smile before mentioning the end of your trip to the bakery.

“No, it was great. I--.”

Billie was just thinking about getting out of bed when you’re cut off mid-sentence. She frowns in confusion when she hears Milo start barking and a series of thuds as you drop the phone. You tumble down the stairs, hitting your head against the wall as you reach the bottom. You curse before looking up to see the blurry figure that just shoved you continue down the stairs like nothing happened. You realize a few seconds later that Milo’s following him.

“Milo, stop.”

It takes you a moment to regain your bearings and you cringe as you reach for your head. You’re sure you will have a nice bump forming pretty soon. With another groan, you get to your knees before you hiss in pain. Damn that hurt.

“Fuck you, Doug.”

You mutter this under your breath because your head hurts too much to speak any louder. You grit your teeth as you hear his response followed by the sound of Milo yelping.

“Screw you, dyke."

You sit up straight at the sound and feel your head swim as you look around frantically for Milo. You finally spot him shaking his head at the bottom of the stairs and you call him up quickly.

“Milo, come here, boy. Are you okay?”

You wait until Milo is close enough for you to reach out to him. You don’t see anything wrong with him, but you can’t be sure given how dazed you still feel. You sigh as you pull Milo closer to you until you can find where his leash is attached to his collar so you can grab it. You pull him closer before you attempt to get up.

The sound of Billie’s voice coming from somewhere reminds you that you were on the phone with her. You’d completely forgotten.

“Y/N? Are you there? Hello?”

You look around for your phone, but you don’t see it immediately. You move around Milo and frown when you still don’t see it. How far could it have gone? You manage to get to your feet using the wall for support before you take another look around. You finally find it down on the steps headed down to the first floor. You move too quickly to get it and you stumble over Milo before you manage to grab the hand rail with a curse.

“Fuck.”

You slowly kneel down to grab it before standing up again slowly. How it’s not broken you have no idea, but you’re not going to question it. You put the phone to your ear and tighten your hold on Milo’s leash. He’s leaning against you in a way that’s making you more unbalanced. You hurry to lean against the wall before you squeeze your eyes shut to try and recover enough to respond coherently.

“Y/N? What’s going on? Are you alright?”

You sigh again before you respond, your voice a little more telling than you were hoping it would be.

“Hi, sorry. I’m here. I just--.”

You’re not sure why you’re apologizing for someone pushing you down the fucking stairs and you roll your eyes at your stupidity. You don’t get to stumble through your explanation before Billie’s speaking again.

“What just happened, Y/N? Did you fall?”

You merely huff in annoyance as you start up the stairs. You decide not to take the next three flights and just make it to the second floor so you can take the elevator. You don’t trust yourself not to misstep. Especially since you’re on the phone.

“Yes. Well no. This asshole in my building pushed me.”

Billie isn’t sure that she heard you right. Well, no she knows she did because despite sounding ticked and winded, you spoke clearly. Instead, Billie’s trying to figure out who the fuck thought they could pull something like this. Looks like she had more than one person to sue.

“Are you alright? Did you get hurt?”

You finally make it to the top of the stairs and you groan as you lead Milo out into the hallway.

“I hit my head a little, but I’m fine.”

You walk down the hall and make it to the elevator before Billie speaks up. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed before her worried voice snaps your attention back to her.

“Do you need to go see a doctor?”

You’re already shaking your head because it’s past 9:00 and you have to get ready for work. You haven’t eaten yet and you feel yourself getting slightly cranky at the thought. You step into the elevator with Milo on your heels before pressing the button for your floor with a little more force than necessary.

“No, it’s okay, Billie. I’ll be fine. I have work soon anyway.”

Again, you don’t notice Billie’s silence because you’re concentrating on getting to your apartment so you can get something to eat. You don’t know that Billie is debating whether or not you are making the right decision. She doesn’t want to boss you around, but she’s worried that you’re more hurt than you let on. Finally, Billie sighs before she shakes her head in defeat. She’s reaching for a cigarette on her nightstand when she finally asks.

“Okay. Will you call me to check in?”

You smile despite the fact that you can’t promise when this will happen, but you’re all too willing to do this for her. Once your apartment door is opened you let Milo go before closing the door behind you with a nod.

“Of course, but don’t worry okay? I’ll be fine.”

After convincing Billie that you will call her when you get a chance, you get ready for work as you usually would. After making breakfast and drinking a little more than usual you feel pretty good. You take something for the headache you anticipate having before you get dressed and ready to go. Milo’s already waiting for you at the door and you put on his harness and leash before heading out.

You make it to work without incident. You put Milo in his kennel until lunch in a couple of hours before you head up to your office. You smile at the sight of the flowers still there before you put your stuff down and sigh in anticipation. The clinic doesn’t open for a bit so you have time to take a look and see what your day is going to consist of.

You sit down in front of your computer and turn it on. You kill time waiting for it to boot up by checking your phone again. You see that Billie texted you and you frown in confusion before just shrugging in indifference. You don’t know Doug’s last name, but you have plenty of descriptors you can give Billie. You’re too focused on figuring out your day to even think about why Billie would want that information.

Billie’s finally up and out of bed, ready to start the day. After checking on the kittens she hurries to get to work. She has Mickey in her lap as she’s working at the dining room table. She is emailing Jeff her media guru to figure out where this video came from. She assumed it was from the same tabloid that released the morning after story, but she couldn’t be sure. After she sends this, she double checks her phone to see if you texted back. She records everything you say about Doug, even the profanities in her computer in case she needs it for later.

Since she knows you don’t work tomorrow, she plans on dragging you to the doctor kicking and screaming if she has to. She can be just as stubborn as you are, and in this case, she doesn’t plan on giving in. Billie sighs in defeat before shutting her computer. She looks down at Mickey in her lap, and smiles as he responds to her scratches with a quiet purr. She hadn’t planned on doing much today, but now she feels like her entire day will just be worrying about you.

Against her better judgement, Billie decides to watch the video again. It’s only about 20 seconds, but she still finds it disturbing that someone had crept into her backyard without either of you noticing. As the video ends, she furrows her brows slightly as she recalls something peculiar that you hadn’t really explained to her.

You had just played off her concern with a smile and a joke as you normally did. However, Billie could tell that this was somehow related to something from your past that she didn’t know about. Something that had been significant enough for Milo to pick up on it. She didn’t know what to make of it, but she planned to find out. If there was something she could do to help you or reassure you, she would do it.

Lunchtime rolled around without anything too interesting happening in appointments or otherwise. You weren’t sure what to eat and were on your way downstairs when someone from reception came back to treatment with a box of donuts.

You eye them curiously when you notice the name on the box. They’re from that bakery you failed to get breakfast from this morning, but you don’t get a chance to ask before Erin arrives.

“Oh donuts! That’s awesome! Where’d they come from?”

Erin’s already reaching for the card before she realizes that it has your name on it. She and Marissa share a look that you miss as the latter hands the note to you.

“For you, Dr. Y/L/N.”

You only wonder for a second who it’s from before you recognize the handwriting. You smile at the sweet note before you open the box and your eyes grow dark.

You loved donuts.

You see a dozen of the most appetizing donuts you’ve ever laid eyes on and you almost reach out for them before you look to Marissa and Erin who are just watching you.

“Go ahead you two. I’ll get one in a second.”

You watch as the pair eyes the chocolate frosted, sprinkled and glazed donuts hungrily before you go wash your hands. You hear Erin groan from behind you and you smile once you finish up and turn back around to see her with only half a donut and satisfied look on her face that makes you want to laugh out loud.

“Your girlfriend is the best, doc.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but you’re caught off guard by this. You still couldn’t help but smile at the thought before you moved to grab a donut too. You’ll have to get some real food before you eat too many of these donuts, but for now you were going to enjoy yourself. So you just nod in response to Erin’s comment before taking a bite of chocolate.

You can’t hide the smug little smile that breaks across your face at the thought of being able to call Billie Dean your girlfriend.

“She definitely is.”

Billie is on the phone with Michelle when you call her. After ordering yourself a healthier lunch you retreat back up to your office with a slight grimace. Your head still hurts and you had about an hour before you could take anything else. So to pass the time you plan on finishing up some work and calling Billie to thank her and check in.

“Michelle, let me call you back, okay?”

After receiving an ‘ok’ in response, Billie answers your call with a smile. She had been wondering how you were doing and didn’t waste any time.

“Y/N. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You smile widely before you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. You weren’t sure why you thought you wouldn’t have to answer this question immediately.

“Hi, Billie. I’m great thanks. I’ve eaten too many donuts and my head only hurts a little.”

Billie laughs as she thinks about this. She knows how much you like food, and it’s so cute to see you get so excited. She wishes she could have been there to see your face.

“I’m glad you liked them, but are you really feeling alright?”

For the next few minutes, you and Billie talk about what your days have consisted of so far. You mentioned how work was a little hectic, but not bad at all. You also only have about 4 hours left. You were surprised to hear that Billie was talking to her assistant about the video. Rather, you were surprised by the attention it was receiving.

“Wait, what? People think you were...?”

You trail off as you think back to the short clip that you’d seen this morning. It was just you and Billie kissing in her kitchen. Nothing special. Well, you thought it was special, but you didn’t know why anyone else cared. You definitely didn’t get what Billie was saying about people’s reactions.

“They thought I was forcing myself on you.”

You nearly laugh at this but you stop short because you recognize the tension underlying Billie’s words. She seems more concerned about this than you would have thought. Sure, it wasn’t a good thing to have people believing things like that about you, but Billie could make it right. She could release a statement or just wait until her interview.

“That’s ridiculous.”

You say this absentmindedly as you look to your slightly wilted flowers. They still smell great and you breathe in deeply just to get more of them. It isn’t until you hum to yourself that you realize that Billie hasn’t responded.

“Billie?”

The medium sighs as she tries to figure out how to mention what’s really bothering her without being too obvious. She knows that Michelle and Jeff can deal with any bad press this video gets. That’s not what she’s worried about at the moment.

“I know, Y/N. It just doesn’t look good.”

You nod at this because you’d already decided that it didn’t. Whoever thought they saw you running away from Billie didn’t understand what had really happened. You weren’t too keen on sharing what that was, but if Billie was worried, you’d figure out how to explain it without revealing too much.

You weren’t really ready to talk about that yet.

“I know, Billie, but it will be okay.”

Both you and Billie sit in silence for a few seconds. She thinks about how her attempt to get you to confess what really happened failed, while you decide whether or not to even mention it. You eventually fall back on your decision to be as honest as possible with Billie. The decision is made easier by the fact that Billie hasn’t judged you for your past yet, and you trust her enough to share this.

“You know that wasn’t it. Milo just…he was going to try to get you away from me.”

That was the truth, but definitely not really an explanation. Billie was smart enough to figure this out on her own, you were sure, so you were really just buying time to see how she reacted to you saying, or rather confirming her belief. You sigh as you cringe slightly before getting to the point when Billie doesn’t say anything.

“He’s just really protective of me, and he didn’t like you touching me. Even if I did.”

Billie smiles to herself at your words, and her mind’s already wandering to touching you again when you speak up. Billie hadn’t been expecting you to be so blunt, but she had always known that you were full of surprises. Good and bad. This wasn’t one of the good ones.

“Remember how I told you I got him from an ex? Well, she wasn’t the nicest.”

Erin was sitting up front in reception with Lindsey for the first real break she’s had all day. She was finishing up her donut when she peeked out the window to see that the same car that was here when she arrived this morning hadn’t left. They were just waiting around like always and Erin rolled her eyes as she looked to the blonde sitting next to her.

“Do you think they’ll ever give up, Lins?”

The blonde in question turns to where Erin is looking and simply sighs. It had only been a week of this, but it was getting old quickly. She felt bad for you because you honestly were just trying to do your own thing. You had just moved here and barely had a month under your belt when all of this happened.

“I don’t know, but I hope so.”

They both look for a few more seconds before Lindsey turns back to Erin with a curious look. She knows how much of a fan the brunette is of Billie Dean, so she’s really only asking for clarification. She shifts a little in her seat so she’s facing her friend.

“Hey, Erin. Have you seen that video?”

She and Erin were the only ones up here for now since Marissa is on lunch, and Mina was in the back so she didn’t need to worry about being overheard. Erin turns to Lindsey with a slight grimace before she nods in answer. There’s no point in lying because she knew that Lindsey knew her better than that. She just nodded again before sitting up and crossing her legs. She listens briefly to make sure that you were still upstairs before speaking.

“Yeah, I saw it before work. I don’t really--.”

She pauses as she thinks about what she saw and how out of context, it didn’t make a lot of sense. She’d blushed heavily at the sight of you and Billie so intimate, but almost as quickly, she’d been confused by how fast it ended. You’d practically flown off the counter toward something. The video had ended before she saw where you went, and despite watching it an embarrassing number of times, she didn’t know what to make of it.

“Yeah, I get what you mean.”

Erin turns to Lindsey in confusion because she wasn’t sure that Lindsey would know where her hesitation came from. She was surprised; however, when Lindsey practically said what she couldn’t find the words to articulate.

“It looked a little sketch at first, but there has to be an explanation, right?”

Erin nodded in agreement smiling as she started to come to your defense, but she was interrupted by the front door opening. She sat up assuming it was a client, but then she saw the delivery bag and she knew what it was. She stood up in anticipation before nodding when the man said the fake name you’d started using. You learned the first time a nosey employee asked too many questions that it was best to be as incognito as possible.

“Order for Misty Gish?”

Erin has to stop herself from laughing as she takes the bag with an appreciative smile. She doesn’t know how you come up with these things sometimes.

After telling Lindsey that she’ll be right back, Erin heads toward the stairs and up to the second floor. She doesn’t hear anything other than Mina in the back cleaning until she’s at the top of the stairs. Since you’re the only doctor working today, it’s pretty quiet upstairs and Erin can hear you talking to someone.

“No, she didn’t hit me. She just pushed me around for a while and Milo didn’t—oh hey Erin!”

Your chair comes to a stop mid-spin as the brunette appears in your doorway with your lunch. You smile widely as you take it from her with a muttered thank you, watching as Erin smiles apologetically before she starts to back out into the hall.

“Here you go. Sorry to interrupt.”

Erin would be lying if she said she hadn’t been listening to what you were saying. It raised a lot of questions that she wouldn’t dare to ask you.

You smile as you set the bag on your desk, having to move your phone that you had haphazardly thrown down when you saw Erin. You shake your head before mentioning offhandedly.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just talking to Billie. Thank you for this!”

Erin nods before she heads back downstairs with a contemplative look. She thought about what you had said to Billie before shaking her head. It wasn’t her business, but hopefully Billie was taking better care of you than this nameless woman.

Once Erin’s gone, you sigh before reaching for your phone with a smile.

“Sorry about that Billie, but I have food now.”

Billie laughs at this before rolling her eyes at the excitement she hears in your voice. She was glad that you were getting fed because you still had a while until you were done with work.

“I heard. I’m happy for you, sweetheart.”

You’re too excited about your food to roll your eyes at Billie’s teasing tone. You instead sigh again as you take a peek into the bag and sniff your food like a dog.

“Should I leave you two alone?’

This time you do roll your eyes and you laugh dryly at Billie’s words. You push your food away before shaking your head as you stand up to close the door. You probably should have done this before, but it was a little late now. Either way you knew that you hadn’t quite finished your explanation.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, but I can wait until I finish telling you why Milo is my favorite dog to date.”

When your next appointment arrives, you’re not feeling any better despite having eaten. Your headache was getting worse instead of better and you’d already taken as much medicine for it as you could. You just had to power through the next few hours then you could go home and fall asleep watching something mindless.

You don’t realize how tired you are until you almost get bitten by a cat with an ear infection. You smile and eventually make it through the rest of the appointment unscathed. When they leave at 3:30 you are dreading your next appointment. You still feel tired no matter how much coffee you drink and you find out, as you try to work on your records, that you barely write a coherent sentence. You groan in annoyance as you delete the gibberish you’d written yet again before Erin comes back to let you know the next patient was ready for you.

You hold back another groan as you nod in acknowledgement before closing the note in front of you. You’re not sure any of what you’d written is right, but you can’t worry about that now. Your brain is just not working correctly at the moment.

“Is everything alright, Dr. Y/L/N?”

You’re lying through your teeth when you tell her you’re fine, but you manage a smile before you stand up to follow her. Your head spins a little, but you just take a second to steady yourself before continuing on. You walk into the exam room and introduce yourself to the owner and the adorable old golden that greets you by covering you with fur. You are glad this is just a wellness visit because as you do your exam and continue talking with the owner you feel yourself fading. You give Bernie his vaccines and answer any questions that Bernie’s owner has before you send the pair on their way.

You leave the room at an uncharacteristically slow pace before shutting the door behind you. You lean against the wall and close your eyes as you listen to the pounding of your pulse against your skull. You force yourself to take a deep breath but somehow this just makes it worse and you grimace in pain.

Water.

Maybe water would help stop your raging headache.

You start heading back toward treatment, but the second you open your eyes you feel disoriented. You groan before stopping at the door and closing your eyes once again. You manage to pull it open and stumble inside before heading toward the sink without looking.

“Woah, are you okay, doc?”

You don’t hear Mina as you brace your hands on the edge of the sink. You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to will away the pain but even that doesn’t work. In fact, this makes it much worse. Your pulse is deafening and you feel so nauseous just from the sound you think you might throw up.

By the time Mina makes it over to you, you’re shaking from the effort of staying upright. You don’t hear what Mina says, but when she reaches you to steady you, you double over and throw up into the sink, and on the floor. Mina’s quick to grab you as you start falling, and she curses before calling for help.

“Shit! Erin!? Somebody help me!”

It’s only a few seconds before Mina hears the sound of hurried footsteps. The door to treatment opens to reveal a wide-eyed and confused Erin who practically screams when she sees you on the floor unconscious.

“Shit! What happened?”

Mina shakes her head because she has no idea. She saw you dragging your feet a little bit today, but she thought it was because you were simply tired. She tried not to get into your personal business, but she figured your new relationship was to blame for your fatigue. This; however, this was something completely different.

“I don’t know, she just threw up and collapsed.”

Erin was already running for the phone when Marissa arrived. She was quick to ask Mina if she could help, and she grabbed your arm to search for your pulse while Mina left to find a stethoscope. Erin was looking on nervously as she spoke with the dispatcher frantically.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“We need an ambulance at Sunset vet clinic. Our doctor just passed out and she’s not waking up!”

Part 13

[heyheydidjaknow]

I would’ve posted this earlier but, alas, I passed out early. This is a longer one, but tumblr got its act together so I can post it all in one part. You guys know where the other chapters are, and if you don’t, they’re at the end of the chapter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat straight Nutella.

Chapter 10

“I’m thinking about getting some gloves.”

He looks over at you as he laces up his skates. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling slightly to yourself as you look your hands over, trying to imagine what they would look like. “Like, badass, fingerless gloves.”

He smiles. “Dude, those would look metal as fuck.”

“Totally, right?” Your smile widens. “With studs and shit.”

He gets to his feet, hopping onto the ice. “Hell yeah.” He drops a puck to assault as you go back to your backed-up coursework the best you can—your handwriting has gone to hell, but you are working with what you have.

You flinch at the crack of his stick, the cross of the T ending up underneath the letter somehow. A cheer from Casey tells you the rubber cylinder’s fate.

‘I swear I learned this.' You squint at the basic algebra, the pencil, crudely held in your fist, hovering over the packet. ‘Why can’t I do this?’

“How’s your pile coming along?” Another crack.

“It’s comin’.” You run your fingers through your hair. “Just… trynna remember how to do ne—… subtraction.” ‘Not debate. Negating is debate.’

He laughs. Another crack. “Man, that thing really fucked you over, huh?”

“Thoroughly.” You decide against continuing to torture yourself, having been at it for the past five hours—most of it in the library before Casey invited you to watch him practice some more— and set the large stack of homework back in your bag. “Are you actually making the shots?”

“Casey Jones doesn’t miss shots.” Another crack.

“Pardon me, oh almighty king of the ice.” You stand on your good leg, grabbing the side of the wall to watch as he went back to collect his pucks.

You two have managed to bond over a mutual respect/love of heavy metal and hockey and, seeing as you are staying out of the Hamatos’ hair for a while—not upon request, but out of courtesy—you have managed to spend a lot more time with him than you may have otherwise. Your school has not assigned Biology any big projects yet, so, until you are assigned it, you do not have anything other than your health to stress about.

“Pardon accepted.” You watch his form as he performs another slap shot.

“You…” you trail off, trying to remember what you were going to say.

“What?”

You shrug. “Dunno.” You lean your head on your arms. “I’ll remember eventually.”

He drops the second puck. “Got any plans after this?”

You sigh. “Nope. Probably gonna head home and try not to cut my fingers making dinner again.”

He takes another shot. “Then let’s go out after this. You and me.”

You smile. “What, don’t have any plans either?”

“Nah.” He drops the third. “Dad doesn’t care if I’m home late anyway.”

“True, true.” You have decided against prying into his home life; it is not your place and does not concern you in the slightest. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Wanna catch a movie? Heard there was this new pizza place just a couple blocks down if you wanna try to sneak it in.”

You snicker. “In the box and all?”

“Yes.” He grins mischievously and hits this one off the walls. Some way, somehow, it still makes it into the goal. “I bet your sweatshirt is big enough to stick the box under.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Not in the mood for burns on top of scars, Jones,” you reprimand him teasingly. “That just ain't it.”

“Then you can wear mine under that one and—”

“Your sweat-soaked hoodie you’ve been practicing in all day?” You cringe at the thought. “Over my dead body.”

“I mean…” he licks his teeth, smile widening, “it’s not exactly like you’re in the best—”

You laugh. “So not cool!”

He puts his hands up in defense, gliding over. “I mean, am I wrong, though?”

“That is completely besides the point, you ass.” You balance on your foot, crossing your arms. “Damn. Making fun of the girl with the broken leg.”

He leans against the wall. “Man, you were dying before the crash.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, whatever, Jones.” You lean against your hand. “How’s Johanna,” you sing.

He presses his hand against your face, pushing you away. “Annie is doing fine.”

You grin, steadying yourself on the wall. “Do you feel her, Johanna?”

“I’m gonna tell her you call her that if you don’t quit it.”

“Do you think that walls can hide her? Even when you’re at her window?”

He pushed his arm all the way out. You hop back.

“Her name isn’t even Johanna.”

“But she is Johanna,” you whine in protest, not bothering to hide your mirth. “She has the hair, the voice, the disposition. She’s an ingénue and you know it.” You have been teasing him about this for a while now: the girl in question—Annabelle Halshaw, a year below you two—had caught his eye when he had heard through the grapevine that she was the lead singer in some indie band. When he had shown you a picture and told you the story, you insisted on calling her Johanna for her golden hair and soft, sweet singing voice he had proudly had you listen to.

“She’s not.”

You roll your eyes, sitting back down as you grab your bag. “Lie to yourself all you want,” you goad, “but deep down, you know in your heart that the truth,” you put a finger up, “is apparent.”

He hops off the ice, sitting next to you as he unlaces his skates. “Whatever.” He smirks. “How’s The Don?”

You avert your gaze. “I haven’t seen ‘im.”

“Boo.” He tied the laces together. “Some girlfriend you are,” he ribs.

You go red. “Not my boyfriend. Not even friends with benefits.”

“Yeah, sure.” He sets the skates into his bag. “That’s why you already know his family.”

“That—”

“And why you’ve had him over to your place.”

“If you don’t cool your tits, I’m telling Lucy you’re crushing on her friend.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“What,” you simper, “think I won’t?”

He grabs his bag. “If you do, I’ll show her that video.”

You laugh, following him out of the rink. “You’re the worst.” You note how strange it is that he spent so little time on the ice as you two walk out, but you do not say anything about it.

“Hey, you’re the one throwing threats around.”

“Yeah,” you argue, “but my threat is clearly better.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing you again.

You two keep chatting on the way to the theatre about anything and everything, from new bands to upcoming games to the newest blockbuster horror movies. You are not personally on the hockey team, but, as his friend, it is your duty to care. Besides, you figure, it gives you something to look forward to.

The movie is fine. You convince him against sneaking an entire pizza in, you split a bucket of popcorn, and you give him shit for getting freaked out by the disembowelment scene. It is payback for him teasing you about crying during the last movie you two went to a couple of days ago.

You two stand at the streetlight.

“Dude, it’s like eight,” he groans. “It’s not even late.”

“True,” you agree. “Counterpoint: I still have another week’s worth of work to do by Friday on top of the homework I’ll have to do anyway, so unless you wanna help—”

“Forget I asked.” He pulls his hood up against the autumn wind. “Need me to walk you back?”

“Nah.” You shrug. “If someone mugs me, they’ll give me an excuse to not do my homework.”

“Murdered?

“I’m already halfway there.”

He grins. “See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See ya, Jones.” You wave as he runs off.

The walk home is quiet and considerably easier than it was a couple of weeks ago. Seeing as you now get queasy whenever you get into a car, you have been limited to taking the subway and walking, which, among other things, has contributed positively to your physical strength. You know that you should probably at least try to take the bus or a cab around town to build your tolerance up, but the last time you tried, you had almost tripped and fallen from how shaky your legs were getting out. Oddly enough, you note as you go through the door, you do not have a considerably larger fear of heights than you did before, or of fire, but cars were tripping you up, even though you were the one that crashed it. You feel thankful that, at least, you do not think your fear is crippling. At least, you reason, you can still get into the car.

You lock the door behind you, debating whether you feel like adding to the collection of cuts you now possess— they are self-inflicted, but not intentionally so; you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the fact that you physically cannot use your hands to cut things. You decide against it tonight, tossing your bag on the bed as you sprawl across it, admittedly exhausted. You allow yourself a couple of seconds with your eyes closed before you pull yourself up with a groan and get back to work.

A part of you wishes that you had the physical energy to stay out longer. You are always trying to find excuses not to sleep, and although the mountain of homework and readjusting your timelines for things you missed is certainly one way to keep yourself preoccupied, it is not exactly what you would consider fun. Then again, reliving your greatest traumas while you sleep is not exactly fun either.

You catch yourself peeling at the newly applied bandages on your fingers, fingernails catching under the crudely applied adhesives. Applying bandages properly requires more dexterity and patience than you currently possess, and you are hardly going to ask someone else for help with something as stupid as that. You have lasted this long without needing too much help. People can live by themselves. You will live, probably. Well? Not your concern.

‘I should eat something.’ Your eyes strain to focus on the piece of paper in front of you, your mind wandering aimlessly as you try to impress the actual importance of finishing this upon yourself, but you find that is an insurmountable feat.

You drop your bag off the side of the bed, reaching down and pulling your shoe off, leaning back into your pillows, the weight of the day practically immobilizing you. Fumbling hands switch the lamp off, bathing your room in momentary, blissful darkness before the gravity of your decision sets in.

“Alright, me,” you breathe to yourself. “What’s it gonna be today? My folks? Bradford? What’s his face? Hell,” you chuckle, “why not all three? I’m sadistic enough, I’m sure.”

You close your eyes. “Give me your worse,” you challenge as you slip into unconsciousness.

--

Two weeks.

He had kept his distance for about two weeks. It was not as if he did not care or was not morbidly curious what the crash had done to you—his glances through the curtains did not tell him much-- but, after some debate, he had figured you needed time to recuperate before you would want his company. Two weeks, he figured, would be enough time for you to get back on your feet or, at least, for you to start wanting company.

His excuse to see you had come in the form of his brother’s newfound prideful boasting. Feigning insult was as good an excuse as any to go see you; after all, he just so happened to be in the neighborhood anyway, and it was normal to pop in to see someone if you were already just a couple blocks down, right? Sneaking away was easy enough—they would not mind his absence—and he, after much prep work, knew exactly how and why he was going to say the things he would to get in your good favor. The plan, he knows, would have gone swimmingly.

His plans seem asinine when he hears you crying.

His brothers do not cry much. He does not, either; it was a habit that they had all thoroughly bullied themselves out of when they were much younger and, if they still did, he knew nothing of it. His master did not encourage this, per se, but talked, then, frequently about the importance of maintaining a more stoic disposition and not allowing emotions to cripple you in battle. Practically, Donatello was satisfied with that explanation, having not properly cried for more than a year now. To hear the sound again, especially coming from you, was novel.

Novel, too, is how you are crying. The sound is less of actual sobbing and more of you being strangled, quiet gasps for air escaping your lips as you shake on the bed, curled in on yourself and clutching at your chest as if whatever pain you are experiencing is centered and can be relieved by something between your collarbones. His eyes, for the first time, trace the lines on your skin, your sleeves riding up your arms to reveal them to him, tears racing down and along the gash in your face. Everything about the scene, from the soft gasping of panic to your position to the heavy scarring, is completely foreign to him, rivaled only by one or two particularly hard nights when he and his brother were much younger.

He slides in through the window, leaning onto the bed. His fingers flick your lamp back on as he grabs your shivering shoulder tightly, shaking you awake as he mumbles words of encouragement. He is not sure if his help will be appreciated, if snapping you out of it was even what he is supposed to do in this situation, but now is not the time to think of that. You are in pain. He can offer you this kindness. “Wake up,” he pleads, not thinking of how this would look until your eyes snap open to look at him.

Immediately, the reality of the situation sets in, and he scrambles off the bed. ‘Why did I think that would be a good idea?’ Panic. ‘You just walked into her room like a fucking creep. See, now she’s going to—’

“Sorry.”

He blinks, looking up at you from his place on the floor. “Huh?”

You clear your throat, wiping the tears from your eye with your sleeve quickly as you bring your knees to your chest, voice hoarse. “Sorry,” you repeat. “That you… I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for, but I know I should be apologizing.”

He is completely dumbfounded.

Your eyes glance to the open window. “I should probably start closing and locking my window, right?” You rub the back of your neck, voice clearing the longer you talk. “It didn’t occur to me since I’m so high up, but if you guys can get in, The Foot can too, right?”

‘Why is she apologizing?’

You push the hair out of your face. ‘You need something, right? I—uh—need to stop saying ‘right’ so much.” You shake your head to clear it. “’ Sup?”

He hears himself mumble some bullshit out about being in the neighborhood.

You sigh. “Sorry.” You close your eyes. “I’m usually up later; I’ve been so tired lately.”

‘Is she serious right now?’ He is completely lost. ‘She was just crying her eyes out in her sleep and now she’s apologizing? Did I miss something?’ You are smiling now, eyes still bloodshot, as if the whole thing is a figment of his imagination, still shivering where you sit.

He rises to his feet, kneeling in front of you on the bed. “What was it about?”

You blink, seemingly confused. “Huh?”

“Your nightmare,” he clarifies. “You were crying. What was it about?”

You avert eye contact. “Nothing too crazy,” you shrug. “Just about the crash. Nothing too exciting.” If possible, he thinks the bags under your eyes are worse than the last time you saw him.

He takes your hands loosely, turning them palms up to look, for the first time, at the patchwork quilt that is now your skin. “What happened in it?” He runs his thumb along the lines, keeping his voice low; he remembers how that used to help when Mikey used to have fits when they were younger. Leonardo and Raphael were never good at that; they took better to being more violently snapped out of their moods, but, then again, they never had this kind of breakdown; theirs were always more driven by loathing, self or otherwise.

You pause, still not looking him in the face as your muscles relax. He remembers, vividly, how he had done something similar when you two had first met, how much better, health-wise, you looked. ‘How long has it been since then? Three months? A little less?’

You take a deep breath. “Just… family shit,” you mumble, eyelids drooping as you trace his frame loosely. “Fire.”

Your gaze is piercing as you finally look at him properly. He feels something catch in his throat as you bow your head.

“It’s my fault, you know.” Your voice is so soft, barely a whisper. “That they’re dead, I mean.”

The air is a suffocating blanket that smothers you both.

“I never told you, did I?” Your focus does not shift as it might have a bit ago. It is locked solely and intensely on him, taking in every detail of his expression. “How I died? How they died? Why I died?”

Hesitantly, he shakes his head. He thinks it best to just be quiet and let you talk. He does not think he has ever heard anyone speak in quite the same tones, ever looked at him quite the same way you are.

You take another breath. “I wanted to try my hand at baking.” You force your eyes to stay focused on his. “I was—still am—not good about sleep. I always slept bad, and never at the right times. I used to take pills for it, to try to get myself back on track.”

He sees where this is going.

“I thought I could still stay up as late as I was used to.” You glance to the side, stealing yourself a second before focusing back on the boy in front of you. “I sat down in my room, turned on a movie. I set a timer. I fell asleep.” You swallow, hands shaking in his. “I can’t smell well, either. I must not have smelled the burning.” Your lips curl in a bitter smile. “Sure as fuck felt it, though, when I woke up.”

He lets you finish.

You try to blink the tears out of your eyes. “They were asleep,” Your voice rises ever so slightly. “I fell asleep at two something. I woke up when they started yelling.” You purse your lips, face reddening in shame as your nostrils flair. “They were trying to get someone out of bed when the roof caved in above them. My door got blocked.”

You feel yourself smile.

“So,” you strain not to cry, “that, Donatello, is why I’m here and why I’m dead, and why I really do deserve to burn again.” You laugh. “Hell, my body count is rivaling some serial killers, so that’s… that’s certainly something.”

He lets go of your hands, face blank.

You lean forward, placing your hands on your knees. “I don’t blame you,” You wipe a wayward tear out of your eyes, trying to swallow the frog in your throat. “Fuck, man, I’d think less of me, too, if it were me.” You nod towards the window. “I get it if you want to leave, but I thought you might want to know why—”

He stops you mid-sentence, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him.

Your arms lay slack at your sides as you try to process what is happening.

He does not say a word.

You break.

You burry your face into him, tears welling in your eyes as you let out a strangled sob. You hold onto him tightly as you struggle to breathe, body shaking as you wrap your own arms around him the best you can. The sound roars in your ears like thunder, the deafening quiet of the apartment punctuated only by your own cries. He gently holds you there, resting his head on top of yours. Each sound you make sounds as though you are physically being choked by your guilt, and his chest feels as though it is being crushed by an invisible hand as he listens to your pain.

Neither of you knows how long you stay like that.

He considers telling you a story from a long time ago, about some training he and his brothers had back then, but thought better of it; he does not want to upset you any more than you already are, and being in good company with someone like him may not be exactly what you need right now. Granted, he does not know what you do need, but he knows listening to him talk about bashing brains would not help your sensibilities any.

Instead, he stays quiet.

You pull away after a while, wiping your face off again as you mumble out an apology.

“Don’t apologize.” He clears his throat. “It’s good to cry; it releases endorphins.”

You smile at that. “Well,” you giggle tearfully, “if it releases endorphins.”

He smiles back, face flushing. You look good, he thinks, even with your face all red. He knows that, scientifically, there is probably a reason, but he cannot think of it right now.

He stands up. “I’ll get—”

You grab his hand tightly.

He looks back at you.

“Can I ask a favor?”

He blinks. “Of course,” he agrees easily. “Anything.”

You glance off. “Promise not to take it weird?”

He feels his heart rate increase. “Y-yeah,” he nods.

He feels you pull him gently back on the bed. “Can you stay here tonight?”

His eyes widen as they flicker between the mattress and you. “What,” he clarifies breathlessly, “like sleep with you?”

You nod.

“In the same bed?”

You hesitate, nod again.

He clears his throat, face heating again. “Like, actually?”

“If it wasn’t actually, I wouldn’t ask, would I?” You grip his hand tightly. “I just really don’t want to be alone tonight.”

‘Oh.’ He mentally kicks himself. ‘She’s scared. Don’t make her uncomfortable.’

“It’s alright if you don’t—”

He is extremely quick to reassure you that he is more than happy—‘Bad choice of wording.’—to stay tonight until you fall asleep, but that he would not stay the whole night as to not worry his brothers.

You nod in agreement. “That’s fine.” You rub the back of your neck. “Not sure I would be good company when I wake up, anyway; I still have class.”

“Oh, right.” He nods in understanding, pushing himself further onto the bed. “Which side…?”

You shrug. “Which way do you face?”

“I usually lie on my stomach.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” You slide your sweatshirt over your head after a bit of squirming around, tossing it onto the couch.

His face is now scarlet. “Okay then,” he mumbles, laying down on the side away from the window. ‘Is she going to—no, stop that.’

You look over at him, face down on the mattress. You can almost feel the heat coming off him. “Are you alright there, buddy?”

He nods.

You shrug, laying down under the blanket and curling into him, facing the window. “Mind getting the light?”

He reaches over, clicking it off.

You sigh in content, turning to face him, teetering on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not venomous,” you inform him teasingly. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: of the two of us, you should not be the one who’s a nervous wreck.”

“You dunno that.” His voice is muffled by the bed.

“You’re the strong one,” you argue.

“So?” He turns his head to look at you. “I’m the guy laying in the—I’m just gonna stop that sentence.”

“It’s only bad if it isn’t consensual.” You smile reassuringly. “I invited you to lay with me, right? So, unless I make you uneasy, then we’re all good.”

He breaks eye contact. “So,” he clarifies, “you don’t mind if I move closer to you?”

You shake your head.

He hesitantly slides himself further onto the bed. “Can I move closer than this?”

“You’ve already seen me bawl my eyes out. You’re doing me a service. Move as close or as far as you want.”

He moves to press his side against you. “Is this fine?”

You nod. “Look, how about this?” You rest your arm under your head. “If you do something I’m uncomfortable with, the safe word is pina colada.”

‘We already have a safe word?’ He was not sure if he is on cloud nine or just terrified of you.

You are very confused why he looks so warm. “Do you need me to turn the AC on?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good,” he assures you tightly. Slowly, he reached an arm out and over your waist, pulling you closer. You do not seem to resist in any way, wrapping your good leg around one of his to pull him closer.

‘Conscious touching.’ He glances down at you, trying to act cool. ‘Conscious, intentional touching. She smells so nice and she feels—okay, this is not going to work if you keep being a perv.’

“Thanks,” you mumble, humming softly. “I appreciate this more than you know.”

Cloud nine. Definitely on cloud nine.

“Every time.”

You giggle.

He blinks. “What?”

“Every time,” you note, already nodding off. “Like in that book.”

‘Which one?’ “They wrote it down for a reason, right?” The longer he spends like this, the smoother he feels.

“Totally.” You smile, closing your eyes. “Just know that this goes both ways, alright? If you ever need help like this, you know who to call.”

This is new. ‘Help like this? What, like crying?’ His eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand what you mean. ‘Or he means if I ever need company in my—what did I just say?’

You pick up on his confusion. “Emotional help, I mean.” Your fingers trace the indentations in his shell absentmindedly. “I mean, I know sometimes I didn’t want to go to my family about stuff. I dunno if you have that…” you trail off, realizing that you might be unintentionally bashing his brothers. You sincerely do not want to blow this.

“I mean,” he says after a bit, “I think I get what you’re talking about.” He sighs. “You mean stuff that they’d make fun of me for, right?”

You nod.

He feels his heart melt a little. “I’ll have to take you up on that.”

You forgot how safe he makes you feel. “Goodnight, Donnie,” you mumble sleepily.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pass out not long after that. If he has to estimate a general amount of time, he will clock it in at about five minutes. He does not move, however, until about thirty minutes before sunrise, too busy listening to the sound of your breathing and memorizing how exactly your body feels next to his. As he slips out of the window, early morning air waking him back up completely, he wonders if, someday, he could stay to see you wake up next to him. Not out of necessity, but just because you both wanted to stay like that for a while more.

‘I hope so. It’s a nice dream to have, anyhow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 12 - Willie Alone

Summary: Sunset Curve AU, Willex, will he make it?, 5.2k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Day one down with no Caleb. Purple began to border the horizon. Hours of skating broken up with brief rests had Willie pretty tired. Sheldon seemed to be holding up pretty alright, even if he was stuck in the funny makeshift carrier Willie had made from a t-shirt to wrap around himself. Whatever town he’d stopped in was a little ways from the interstate, but it was nice being in a smaller place than a city for once. He actually couldn’t remember if he’d ever been to one.

Willie skated up to a cafe that doubled as an ice cream parlor and let Sheldon down on the ground. He hooked a leash to the cat’s collar but let it drag along the ground, knowing he would be followed. Entering the cafe, he sat at a table and leaned on its surface in exhaustion.

The night before already felt like so long ago. He’d spent all day debating whether it was smart to skate along the highway because it was an easier route to follow, or if he should take some back roads because they had less traffic and likely no cops. Seeing that shed light up was unforgettable. Willie hadn’t watched too many movies since he’d lost his memories, but it was a moment that had definitely felt like he was in one. Did he count as a fugitive now? He sort of liked the flavor of mystery and adventure that came with it.

Sheldon was up on his hind legs, pawing at Willie’s knees to let him climb up. Sitting back so his cat could leap into his lap, Willie cradled him with one arm. He thought about getting some ice cream and realized that he already missed the chamoy candy from Escobar’s bodega. It would’ve been nice to have a few more snacks on him. He’d get something in a little bit - standing up was going to make him feel sore.

He wondered how Alex was doing. He’d chosen to go to L.A. in the hopes of at least finding him and the rest of his friends. That sense of closeness and familiarity that Willie had felt when they were at the Pearl had become everything to him. Even Julie and Flynn would be great to meet again - in fact, he wished he could give them something in return for allowing him the second chance he’d needed to find Alex. Then he could figure out where to go from there.

Finally getting up from his seat, he approached the counter for some ice cream, leaving Sheldon held down by putting a chair leg through the leash handle. A girl who looked too young to be working there came to serve him.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” she said politely.

Willie looked down at all the flavors underneath the glass. What he wanted to do was climb inside and get the cool-off he really needed.

“Uhhh...how about the - ” his eyes narrowed to be sure he was getting it right. “ - the swass?” As far as he could see it claimed to be a white chocolate flavor with cayenne pepper in it. He’d never heard of a spicy ice cream before.

The girl giggled behind the glass.

“How many scoops?” she asked, barely containing laughter.

“Two scoops, in a waffle cone,” he said, watching as she got it prepared. “What’s so funny?”

They traded hands as she gave him the cone and he gave her cash.

“Swass is short for sweaty ass. It’s a summer special.”

Willie snorted and laughed along with her.

“Nice!” he said, pointing a finger to accentuate the word. She held a handful of coins out to him. “Don’t worry about it, keep the change.”

Mood now lifted by his ‘swass’ ice cream (which was surprisingly delicious once he began licking it), he went back to the table. Sheldon kept watching him, eyes hungry for the unfamiliar substance. Willie watched in mild entertainment for a moment as he continued eating. Then he got the idea to move the ice cream around, seeing Sheldon’s eyes follow wherever it went. It made him giggle.

Holding the cone within reach of Sheldon’s face, he let the cat sniff at it for a moment before daring to take a lick. After a few more licks, Sheldon sat back with his mouth wide open in shock, and Willie felt bad for laughing.

“Did you get a brain freeze, buddy?”

Sheldon looked betrayed, and crawled underneath the chair and began cleaning his face. Some noise caught Willie’s attention and he looked up to see a small TV set up in a corner of the cafe. The news was on, and while he couldn’t clearly make out what was being said, he saw footage of a building in flames while a fire department was trying to put it out. Fear clenched in his chest as he recognized it. Lifting Sheldon’s leash, he immediately got up from his chair and headed out the door.

So avoiding public places was going to be the plan from now on. He didn’t know what was being told on that news story but considering that was definitely the shed from behind Caleb’s place...arson had awful consequences, and Willie didn’t like his odds. It certainly put a wedge in his plan to find shelter, but he could get creative.

Grabbing his board, Willie skated through the streets and checked out his best options while finishing his ice cream. It was getting late, and businesses were closing quickly. He didn’t fancy staying anywhere outside, mostly for the safety of his cat. After getting a good look around the town (or most of it at least), Willie had to pick between the movie theater or the laundromat.

He thought of trying the theater. The seats would be perfect to sleep in, and the dark stillness of an empty theater at night sounded so relaxing. But there was the question of getting in without having to buy a ticket or being kicked out after a movie was finished. That was likely to cause enough fuss with the employees for them to identify him. Scratch that off the list.

Willie made his way to the laundromat, albeit unwillingly. It was the only place open for twenty-four hours with no one to bother him about why he was there. As he went inside with Sheldon, he peered up at the yellow lights. There had to be a dark corner somewhere. A handful of loads were going, and they were all spread out so that the noise would bother him no matter what. However, a door toward the back caught his attention and he checked to see if it was locked.

To his surprise, it opened to reveal an empty office. He flipped on the light to get a better look. There was only a desk, chair, and empty bookshelves, as if whatever it was used for had been decommissioned or moved elsewhere. Dragging a finger over the desk, a layer of dust came off. The room didn’t look like anyone would check for a person in there, so Willie decided it was where he’d make camp.

Luckily enough, there was a lost and found area with the laundry of people who’d somehow forgotten to pick up their loads. Finding a blanket in the pile, Willie made sure Sheldon was inside the office with him before turning the light out and shutting the door. It blocked out the noise of the machines well enough. Using his backpack as a pillow, he laid down and pulled the blanket over him as best he could and sighed.

Thinking back to earlier when he’d celebrated being a fugitive...well, it certainly had its cons. As Sheldon nestled on top of his legs, Willie chuckled softly and tried to focus on falling asleep. The backwards dream was bound to happen again, and he wondered if anything about it would change now that he knew what it was really about. Aside from his memories of Alex and his dad, it was the best motivator he had now. He closed his eyes and let the sound of purring lull him to sleep.

Day three without Caleb. Note to self: never underestimate the amount of sunscreen, food and water needed on a trip, and bring a map. Packing light was a mistake. Willie was avoiding the highway now, but had taken a wrong turn somewhere after passing through that small town and thought he’d found somewhere to get back on track, but only ended up more turned around than ever. Now he was skating for miles on some back road with no cars or civilization in sight and was getting worried. He was rationing the water between him and Sheldon, and now that it was high afternoon and the July sun was beating down, he was worried. The food he had packed for himself was already gone, and he was pretty sunburnt.

He’d originally decided not to hitchhike because he didn’t want to be recognized and turned in, but now he was considering it was safer than wherever he was right then. If the laundromat had been rough, rest stops were much less desirable to sleep in.

Slowing his board down, he moved to the side of the road for a minute and set Sheldon down on the ground so they could both stretch their legs. These past few days had been hard, but he was determined to never go back to Caleb. He felt more like himself and a new person all at once, more than he had ever felt since he’d lost his memories. Even with desperation creeping under his skin, he didn’t regret it one bit. Sheldon rubbed against his legs and Willie opened his backpack and dug for some food.

“Here you go, buddy,” he murmured, laying the food down and massaging the back of the cat’s neck. “You sure are handling this better than me.”

All he got in response was content purring. Willie was grateful he wasn’t entirely alone. It wasn’t a usual thing for cats to travel, right? He wondered what made Sheldon so special.

Pulling out his water bottle, Willie saw that it was down to a mere gulp. As if to punctuate his disappointment, his stomach growled loudly. This was beginning to feel like more than a low point. The pain and fatigue started increasing as he sat in the dust, the notion of how lost he was settling in uncomfortably. Shaking the water bottle, Sheldon perked up and watched him pour some into his hand before licking it up.

Finishing the last of it, Willie was hardly satisfied. It was better than nothing. The heat was getting unbearable, though, and with how tired he felt it was a hard debate whether he should take a nap or keep trying to find shelter.

Stubbornly trying not to imagine the worst, Willie reminded himself of his goal. Find Alex, find somewhere to stay, and play it by ear from there. He even teased the thought of finding out if he still had a family. That didn’t sound likely, especially with the amnesia factored in, but this was the first time he could dare to dream bigger than the small life he’d had back in Vegas. If he did make it, it was all worth the strain he was feeling right now.

If - such a laconic, dooming word.

His legs felt too much like jelly to attempt riding again, though, and he pulled Sheldon into his lap. The cat made a few funny chirping noises at him.

“Sorry, buddy, I’m too tired,” he apologized. All the rubs against his shirt couldn’t renew his strength fast enough. Willie felt tears well up in his eyes and he couldn’t tell if they were from fear or exhaustion. Only a couple fell and immediately dried on his face.

He tried summoning the memory of Alex’s eyes, letting the ocean waves bring hope in a dire attempt to fight everything else. Their rhythm and focus remained preserved so well in his mind. If the world was made of hard, painful, unbearable things, Alex was the softness of respite. From bandaging his hand to running his fingers through his hair in comfort, there was a gentleness that made Willie believe in something greater than one day in Sin City. The waves grew and he dreamed of being washed clean and refreshed and like he could leave his soul at the shore forever and never be hurt.

They crashed over him again and again, like a lullaby. The sensation dulled the pain until he was numb. Nothing remained but the beautiful sea of green before him.

Willie didn’t know when he passed out or for how long, but he was jolted awake by feeling his body hitch up and down, like he’d gone over a bump. He heard the running of an engine and opened his eyes. A window beside him was down, and he looked directly into his own reflection in the rearview mirror of a truck. Turning to his left, he saw a person at the steering wheel through bleary eyes.

“Dad?” he muttered thoughtlessly.

“Sorry,” the voice of an older woman spoke. “Not your dad.”

Willie only blinked as he tried to orient himself. The woman had salt and pepper hair styled in a mullet and looked coarse from years of hard work.

“Pardon me for being blunt, but what the hell were you doing out there?” she rebuked. “With a cat!”

He immediately sat up in alarm, looking for Sheldon.

“He’s fine,” she assured. Willie nodded as he saw the cat sitting on top of a blanket in the back seat next to his skateboard.

“It’s a complicated story,” he told her.

“I bet it’s complicated,” she muttered in slight consternation.

There was a few minutes of silence as Willie’s mind tried to understand where he was.

“Don’t try to thank me,” the woman began speaking again. “It was only so easy to put you up in my truck after I saw you had no water, no food, nothing but a few changes of clothes and a wad of cash.”

“Thank you,” Willie said, embarrassed he hadn’t said it quicker.

“I said don’t thank me; I could’ve taken all your cash.”

He looked at her anxiously until her lip curled.

“Don’t worry, you’ve still got all of it.”

This lady was abrasive, but at least she was kind.

“I’m Bessie,” she said. “And if the name is right in your wallet, you’re William. Bet you go by Willie though.”

“How did you guess?”

“You don’t look like a William kind a’ kid.”

It was amazing how she could hold his attention so well without taking her eyes away from the road. Her intelligence was effective. It kind of made him smile.

“You hungry?” she asked. Her head nodded in the direction of a bag sitting between them. He smelled chicken and he hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between the food and her. “Go on, you can have some. I can eat more when we get to Roy’s.”

“Who’s Roy?” Willie asked, carefully pulling out a chicken wing and biting into it.

“It’s a motel. Me and my husband own it. And it looks like you’ll be our only guest tonight.”

“Oh,” he said through a mouthful of food.

“I apologize, but you need a shower,” she told him, wrinkling her nose. Willie only continued to chew in silence and bowed his head. He’d forgotten about that while he’d been focused on skating his way to freedom.

“So where is this motel at?” he asked after a few moments.

“It’s in Amboy. We’re a little ghost town out here. There’s only five of us, the rest are tourists. Sometimes we get Harrison Ford coming through.”

Willie raised his eyebrows, guessing it was impressive trivia. There were numerous names people used that he seemed to be expected to know, but unfortunately most of them he couldn’t keep track of. He silently ate his chicken, relishing in the taste.

“We’re almost there, so just sit tight and keep eating,” Bessie said.

He noticed she hadn’t mentioned anything about recent news, and while it was possible she knew about it, Willie didn’t think she would hold back her commentary if she did. He decided not to bring it up.

Not even ten minutes later they pulled up to the retro motel. Movement was agony, every bit of his exposed skin on fire. Sheldon lifted his head and meowed in curiosity as Willie opened the back door to get his things. Pulling his backpack over his shoulder, he scooped up Sheldon with one arm and grabbed his board with the other. He felt nervous claws immediately dig into his shoulder and he tried to soothe his cat the best he could.

“Shhh, buddy, it’s okay,” he whispered. It was a good thing he had a leash on.

“I have never seen a cat travelling with a skater before,” Bessie said as he followed her into Roy’s. “The things you get in this little town.”

She took him up to the main desk and pulled out a reservation book, licking her finger to turn the pages.

“Alright, let’s get you a room,” she murmured.

“I can pay to stay here,” Willie said shakily. She’d practically saved his life, and he hadn’t exactly counted how much he took from Caleb, but added onto his own money it was quite a stash. Bessie looked at him thoughtfully.

“If you insist,” she surrendered without argument.

Sheldon was sniffing everything and peering around, obviously wanting to explore.

“You can put him down for a minute, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Bessie told Willie, handing him a key and a bottled substance after he let Sheldon go. “You get yourself washed up and put this aloe on. I suggest you stay for a few days at least so those burns don’t get worse.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Willie heard himself say. Too late, he reconsidered the use of ‘ma’am’ but Bessie only smirked and shook her head. He wondered how often she picked up strangers and set them up at her motel, because she was so well prepared. Glancing at his cat, who was content to swat at some flies that had made their way inside, he went toward the room that matched the number on the key.

Showering hurt, even with cold water, but Willie tried to bear it as best he could. At least applying the aloe wasn’t too bad. He was glad he hadn’t skated with his shirt off because it wouldn’t have been any fun to try reaching certain parts of his back. Looking out the window of his room as he got dressed, the sunset was in its late stages. For a while, he simply sat on his bed and hugged his knees to his chest, watching it go down.

Now that he had time to slow down, Willie felt a huge weight finally lift off of his shoulders. He hadn’t been allowing himself to think about it as much since he was so focused on being on the move and trying to stay safe while he had Sheldon with him. Actually, he didn’t even remember when he’d crossed state lines. But he felt a little safer now. Caleb didn’t care enough to come after him all the way out here, he didn’t think. Burning down the shed had been a little dramatic, he admitted, but once people forgot the news it was probably miniscule in Caleb’s eyes compared to everything Willie had lost.

For a minute, a ball of anger grew inside his chest and Willie closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt to cool it down. It was probably a good idea to take Bessie’s advice and stay a while since he was being given the opportunity. He got up and went back out to see how Sheldon was.

The cafe was quiet except for Bessie speaking on the phone with someone. Sheldon was near the cafe counter where someone had set out a bowl of water and a can of tuna. Willie went over to him and knelt down to pet him. Any motion was still a pain, but he made himself ignore it. Footsteps sounded from behind the counter and Willie looked up to see a large man with a mustache peering down at them. He appeared to be from somewhere in the Pacific Islands.

“You’ve got a nice cat,” the man said.

“Thanks,” Willie replied with a small smile as he continued running his hand from head to tail.

“Can I get you some water?”

“Oh...uh, yeah, thanks.” It was going to take a while to get used to people being kind. As the man left briefly and returned with a glass, Willie graciously took it and sat at a table. Like that, the man had disappeared and he almost questioned whether he’d actually been there.

He saw the napkins on the table and pulled one out of the dispenser. The only thing he’d actually learned how to make with origami was those little frogs, and he never seemed to use a proper piece of paper when he got the urge. Now, he didn’t have anyone to gift it to if he did make one. He sure wasn’t going to hand one to Bessie.

Just as he thought that, she came over to sit across from him.

“So what’s the plan, kid?” she asked, folding her hands casually.

Willie looked at her for a moment, unsure what to explain.

“Come on, something’s gotta motivate you to be going cross country on a skateboard,” she pointed out.

“Well,” he sighed. “I’m trying to get to Los Angeles.”

“And the bus just didn’t do it for you?”

Willie sat back, dumbfounded. Part of him knew that there were bus routes across the states, but he just hadn’t remembered that.

“Yeah, so fun fact about me: I only have a year and a half of memory, and I forgot about busses.”

Bessie raised her eyebrows, and then furrowed them.

“I’ve seen some things, I’ve seen some things, and I have seen some things. You are not something I have seen yet. I won’t ask for what your whole story is, but I can only imagine the convoluted circumstances that got you in your position.”

Willie bowed his head, unsure how he should respond. It was clear that she truly wasn’t aware of the news, though.

“Do you even know what you’ll do when you get to LA?” she asked.

“Not much,” he said, shaking his head. “But I have a start.”

“Please tell me you don’t plan to skate the rest of your way out of here.”

“Well, do I have any other way to get there?”

Bessie pursed her lips as she considered his words.

“I’d have my husband drive you out, but he just went out of town to do some business. We’re actually trying to sell the town, so once he finishes up his deal this place will be out of our hands. I can’t keep you here for long.”

The news made Willie realize just how inconvenient it was for her to have pulled him from the side of the road, and more guilt rose in his chest. He couldn’t keep getting in everyone’s way just by showing up.

“How soon is he supposed to be back?”

“A couple days. And then we’ll spend the rest of this week cleaning up and heading out.”

Feeling something touch his leg, Willie saw Sheldon had finished his can of tuna and come over to him. Picking the cat up and holding him in his lap, he looked at Bessie.

“You’ve been really generous,” he said. “You practically saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you.”

She shrugged.

“Ain’t much you can do but say it, and that’s okay. And maybe just rest enough so you’re in good shape before you get back on the road. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” Willie nodded emphatically.

“Alright. Well, I’m going to turn in, but you hang in here as late as you like, although I don’t know what you would do.”

Willie only smiled as she got up from the table. He did the same, carrying Sheldon with him to the room. It was going to be nice having a bed and not being on the move from the second he woke up. Even with his skin continually on fire, he was able to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

The next day he woke up and it was already noon. Sheldon was meowing to be let out the door, intermittently coming up to Willie and nudging him with his head.

“Yeah, I get the hint,” Willie laughed.

He quickly got himself together before hooking the leash to Sheldon and heading into the cafe. There were two men he hadn’t seen the day before eating lunch. It was probably a good idea to eat, considering he had slept through breakfast. The large man with the mustache was at the cafe counter, and Willie was silently relieved he hadn’t hallucinated him. It appeared he had set out the bowls of water and food already for Sheldon, who immediately went to it.

“Hello, little man,” he said as Willie came toward him. “What can Big Bo get for you?”

“Are you Big Bo?” Willie immediately loved the name.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I could eat anything, what do you recommend?”

Big Bo thought for a minute. And then he smiled.

“I’m gonna make you a nice burrito.”

Nodding and smiling, Willie watched him leave as he went to a table and immediately began folding napkins into frogs. After a while his face got itchy, and he realized his skin had begun peeling from the burns. That was going to be fun to handle. Big Bo brought his burrito over and then tried getting attention from Sheldon.

Most of the rest of the day was pretty boring. Willie rotated between doodling on napkins, playing card games with the deck Bessie pulled out from the motel office, and walking around with Sheldon. He was reminded to consistently use the aloe vera he’d been given. Boredom rose to the point where he helped Big Bo deep clean various appliances behind the counter in the cafe. By the time they had finished, it was just time to eat a late dinner and Willie was tired out from all the cleaning.

He took a shower and tried to lightly scrub off all of the dead skin. Sheldon curiously poked his head in and got a faceful of water, causing him to make a surprised noise and run off. Willie couldn’t help but laugh with a twinge of pity as he peeked out and saw his cat glaring at him from the bed. Honestly, he wouldn’t have managed to get this far without Sheldon. It felt good not to be alone, but also feel free to just be himself and still be followed out of sheer loyalty.

The bed was already so comfortable and inviting it made Willie sad that he couldn’t stay longer. Maybe in the future he could recreate something like this place - small and friendly, where he was always prepared to help poor strangers find shelter. There wasn’t much to do here, but he could play around with ideas for his own thing. He’d definitely add a skate park, though. A strange thought occurred where he remembered Caleb’s hotel being called the Desert Oasis - the irony of it all couldn’t have been more obvious.

For the first time in weeks, Willie had a peaceful sleep.

A couple days later, Bessie’s husband still wasn’t back in town. She didn’t seem too worried about it, but Willie could feel tensions building up for himself. He was slowly running out of ways to entertain himself while his burns were finally toning down into tan lines, and he was afraid he would wear out his welcome while she was waiting for the town to be sold. His backpack was already packed and ready to go, but it was mid-morning and he still felt unsure about when was a good time to leave. For now, he simply doodled over the top of the comics in the newspaper.

The door of the cafe opened. Willie didn’t bother looking up but he overheard the conversation.

“Well, I am surprised to see you here again,” Bessie was saying.

“Hello, Bess, how’s it been?” A man’s voice was heard speaking. Willie couldn’t tell where he recognized it from.

“Slow. Buster’s been out of town. I guess we oughta tell you we’re leasing the place so you’re not in for a surprise next time you want to fly out here.”

“Leasing the town? Well, that’s a shame.”

“Any day now.”

“Any day now? If I’d known this would be the last stop I make here, I would’ve planned better. I was just gonna go out to the salt flats for a bit and then hightail it back to LA.”

Willie peeked over his shoulder. He still couldn’t see the man’s face, but he felt his heart rate go up at the mention of Los Angeles. Not wanting to appear rude, though, he continued with his doodling and tried to tune out what they were talking about. Eventually the man left the cafe and it was difficult to tell if he was going to come back or not. If it took until later that evening, he was willing to wait to find out.

In the meantime, he let Big Bo teach him how to make his special dinner rolls. The man was very quiet but he clearly loved making food and it made the process more fun. Also, Willie enjoyed the way he got called “little man” because it came out sounding so laid back and welcoming. While they waited for the dough to set, Big Bo showed him some tattoos he had and explained the symbolism of each one.

“This represents Nāmaka, the Hawaiian goddess,” he said, pointing to a woman’s face surrounded by ocean waves on his bicep. “But to me she really represents the course of life. The tide goes in, and the tide goes out, and the good things and bad things do the same. What you and me do is just ride that wave wherever it takes us in life.”

Listening intently, Willie thought back to Alex’s eyes and the countless times he used the visual of ocean waves to bring him calm amid the turbulence. Big Bo had spoken a simple concept, but it was something more powerful than anything Caleb had ever said. Something in Willie’s heart felt like he could finally find a purpose outside of all of this chaos.

After they had finished making the rolls, Willie sat eating one while petting Sheldon when he heard the door to the cafe open again. Footsteps approached and suddenly, a man Willie recognized had put his leg up on the chair across from Willie and was leaning on his knee casually. Surprise seemed to slap him over the face when he realized who he was. Indiana Jones, Han Solo, the Fugitive himself looked down at him in a bomber jacket and jeans.

“So my friend Bessie tells me you’re in a rough spot, kid,” Harrison Ford said. Willie looked back in shock. “I’ve got my own plane out there right now. You want a ride?”

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Kevin Pickford

(Not my gif)(requested by anonymous)

(I love this pointless movie)

- You and Kevin meet after your friends convinced you to go to one of his parties. You could of made up ten different activities you’d rather do than go to a highschool keg party but your friends insisted and you soon found yourself packed into their car.

- Now you had had a little crush on Kevin for a while, ever since freshman year when you saw him for the first time, so even though you weren’t very excited to spend your night surrounded by your drunken peers you were a bit excited to maybe, hopefully see him.

- So you arrive at his house; let’s pretend this is another party that didn’t get shut down, and you walk through the front door to see the typical shit show. You stick by your friends for a while, nursing a beer and trying to convince yourself you’re having a good time. That is until your friends all but ditch you to go and mingle.

- Soon enough you’re all alone standing uncomfortably in the relatively abandoned kitchen. You’re debating the idea of just leaving, walking home didn’t seem all to bad given the circumstances, but just as you feel like you’ve made up your mind...in walks the host. You felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest when you saw him, you stared down at your cup hoping he would just sort of ignore you as he rummaged for whatever it was he was looking for.

“How ya doin?” Shit.

- It seemed like he was just trying to be friendly so you gave him as much of a smile as you could muster and a small “fine” before glancing down at your drink again. From your experience this was usually when the person would just nod and walk out but he didn’t. He gathered the stuff he had came in for but paused at the counter.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before... whats your name?”

- I think you’d have to be a year younger than him because if you were in his grade prior to this he would have asked you out or at least spoken to you before. So you’re a sophomore going into junior year and he’s a junior going into senior year.

“Oh you wouldn’t really know me, I’m a sophomore. My friends brought me, I’m y/n.”

“Oh cool man cool. I’m Kevin.”

“Yeah, I-uh, I know,” you chuckled a little. “Nice party.”

- He smiled and was about to say something before he was called back to the party by a loud shout. “Well I’m gonna go deliver the necess-it-ies. You should come out, join the living, raise a little hell.” And then he was once again lost in the sea of people flooding his living room.

- After he was gone you freaked out for a hot minute over the fact that you had just talked to your longtime crush. You decided that maybe you could stomach a little more of the party and took a deep breath before wandering out of the kitchen. It was maybe thirty minutes later that the two of you found each other again and started up a mini conversation.

- Soon enough the two of you were heading up to his bedroom so that you could actually hear each other speak. You spent a surprisingly long time just talking to each other while the party went on downstairs; it was four in the morning by the time you checked the clock again.

- You figured it was time for you to go home, so you stood up and began to say goodbye before he tried to convince you to stay a little longer. It’s nearly impossible to deny him, it’s pretty much been your dream for this exact scenario to happen. You promise to stay for another hour, which turns into another hour, and finally you really need to go so that you can avoid meeting your parents at the front door. He asks for your number and you write it down for him before you leave.

- You end up walking home in the rising sun which almost feels like the perfect way to end the night.

- He calls you a few days later asking if you’d want to come over which you obviously agree to. You get together, chat some more, listen to music, all that fun teenager shit. But then he leans over and kisses you, pulling away with that gorgeous smile of his and, well, you’re walking on clouds for the rest of the day.

- Later on you kiss some more and he gives you a “so does this mean you’ll be my girlfriend from now on, cause I think I’d like that, a lot”.

- Listen most of your dates are more or less just the two of you hanging out not really doing much besides enjoying each other’s company.

- But he does take you to a drive in restaurant for dinner so you can count that as your first “official” date. He wanted to “give a good first impression for your relationship”.

- You’re together like 90% of the time. The both of you are kind of clingy with each other and neither of you seem to mind.

- Whenever you’re together he always has some form of physical contact with you at all times.

- Sitting on his lap.

- He loves PDA but it’s mostly because he just loves affection in general.

- He’s a big baby who likes being cuddled and that’s a fact. He lowkey loves being the little spoon but it genuinely doesnt matter to him how you cuddle as long as you do it.

- Keeps tabs on you whenever you go out together. He usually stays close by or at least knows where you’re going to be, he likes to make sure you’re alright.

- You definitely have little routines together whether it be when his parents almost catch him smoking or cleaning up after a party or just when coming home from school.

- Helping to make sure his parents don’t catch him smoking in his room. You’re usually sent out to distract them or you clear things up while he talks with them.

- He’s so interested in your talents and hobbies, show him what you’re passionate about baby! He wants to know!

- Always being offered free booze or weed.

- Awkward first introductions to his friends when they crash one of your hangouts to try and buy some herb.

- Being invited to all of his and his friends parties.

- Helping him plan his parties.

- Helping him with all his antics.

- He’s always fiddling with something whenever you’re together so be prepared to see him doing something at any given moment in the corner of your eye.

- Making out, he could kiss for hours.

- Always having shotgun reserved for you.

- Laying on the hood of his car together and talking about random shit.

- Trying to hide your laughter while you listen to his weird weed fueled theories and stories.

- He shows off everything you make or do, he’s a subtle cheerleader.

- You spend most of your time in his room, sitting in his egg chair or on the windowseat while he smokes a joint.

- You’re constantly on the same wavelength.

 “Thats what I was gonna say!!”

- Braiding and running your fingers through his hair.

- He plays with your hair as well, twirling strands between his fingers and stroking it when you’re cuddling.

- He’s honestly so adorable and absolutely smitten with you. All his friends can tell he’s whipped but he doesn’t care.

- He thinks it’s so cute that you had a crush on him, well that’s if you ever admit it to him.

- Hand holding especially whenever you’re walking together.

- Staying up till dawn together.

- Making flower crowns together, dont deny it he’d do it. 

- His parents love you and are always really sweet, his mother is an absolute angel.

- He isnt going to force you to smoke with him but he does need you to accept that hes not stopping just because you dont want to. He’ll agree to not smoke around you because thats fair enough but he’ll still do it with his friends or on his own. I can assume you’re alright with that if you want a relationship with him.

- Kevins pretty chill so there’s rarely any fighting and the fighting you do have are more so just arguments rather than actual fullblown fights. They’re usually over a dangerous idea or stupid action he had/did. These arguments usually end with him realizing and admitting you’re right or saying how he can see why you’d think that. He gets it even if he doesnt think its as big of a deal as you do.

- Kevin is a moderately jealous person, he doesnt think every man you talk to is a threat to your relationship. He’s pretty calm, which is what you’d expect from a stoner, he more so just smirks at the guy he knows is flirting with you and shows that you’re his with an arm around your shoulder and/or a kiss. He never dwells on it or let’s it ruin your night. 

- He’s a very loyal boy, no cheating, no flirting with other girls. You’re the only girl he has eyes for.

- Swapping clothes and accessories.

- You share pretty much everything; food, drinks, homework, joints, a single braincell. 

- Going to the emporium and playing fooseball and pool together or jokingly cheering him on while he plays someone else.

- A lot of nicknames; he definitely calls you flowerchild and other very 70s sounding ones. 

- Having a lot of Polaroids together.

- Concert dates.

- Record store dates.

- Late night hangouts.

- Going on random trips to different stores to get food or drinks.

- Well if you’re becoming a junior then you’ll have a year in highschool without him in the near future. He doesn’t really mind waiting for you to graduate so that you can advance your relationship but it will bother him when he isn’t able to see you for more than six hours, five days a weeks

- Probably proposes to you in bed, late at night with a “how would you like to be a Mrs. Pickford?” while he spins the ring between his fingers.

[blazedgraysons]

Killing Me Softly

The one where Grayson falls in love in under 12 hours

A/N: Here’s another fic inspired by literally nothing. I am pretty proud of this one though. To all the people who said nice things about Drunk Off You, just know that I read every single one of them and you own my heart and soul. Also, I know literally no one knows who I am but feel free to send asks or messages. I pinky promise to respond. ♡

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing: Grayson Dolan x OC (Harlow)

Warnings: nothing really, it’s pretty tame minus a lil angst towards the end. 

“Are you B29?”

Harlow removes an earbud, looking up to meet big brown eyes staring back at her. It’s hard not to notice the rest of the man standing in the aisle.

Brown hair flops over his forehead as she moves her eyes down to appreciate the soft scuff lining his chin - not quite a beard, but not quite stubble. He’s dressed casually in a gym shirt that outlines every single bulging muscle paired with grey sweatpants and some Louis Vuitton slides. She nods slightly to his question, hoping the adonis of a man doesn’t notice that slight blush that’s appeared on her face. He offers her a gracious smile and effortlessly slings his carry-on into the overhead cabin.

“Looks like we’re neighbors then.” Harlow hums in acknowledgment, not sure why he’s so friendly. Most passengers would’ve just grabbed their seat and slept or occupied themselves, but this man intends on making himself known.

He slides into the neighboring seat, and Harlow is instantly overwhelmed. If she thought he looked good from afar, up close was even better. Here she could appreciate all the minute details — the dark mole on his chin, the expensive cologne, the 333 tattoo behind his ear. It took everything in her not to stare, so instead, she settles for quick glances hoping he would be too occupied by his phone to pay her any attention. If he did notice, he spared Harlow further embarrassment by not saying anything. She turns back to her magazine, a random Vogue issue she picked up in the airport convenience store to pass the time, mentally telling herself to calm down in order to get through the next three hours.

“ I’m Grayson, by the way. Just in case we crash, and you need to identify me.” He jokes, smiling widely and — oh shit, does he have a diamond in his tooth? Harlow is so screwed. 

—-

Grayson’s never been a big believer in fate until now. The idea of some external force dictating a situation in your life just seemed like bullshit. Yet, Grayson couldn’t describe meeting Harlow as anything else.

He had been irritated all the way up to that point. An overbooked plane forced him off his original flight and away from his twin brother. Ethan had offered to go with him, but Grayson didn’t see a point in delaying their trip even further and told him he’d meet him in Jersey. While the airline was over apologetic and gave him (terrible) perks, in order to make the next flight, he had to sacrifice his first-class seat for an economy red-eye flight. But at least he had a shitty hot towel to make up for it.

He scowled all the way through the check-in and tarmac, vowing to never fly with JetBlue again as he passed the first-class seats that he couldn’t help but stubbornly think, ‘That should be mine.’

It wasn’t until he reached his row that he realized what he thought was a hindrance was actually a blessing. Because there sitting in the seat next to him was a beauty that could only be described as ethereal. Her long, dark hair tumbles in tight coils down her shoulders as she sits crossed-leg, hunched over a magazine, biting her lip in furrowed concentration. She bobs her head slightly to whatever song she’s listening to as she quickly flips through the pages. She tucks her hair behind her shoulder, revealing blemished copper skin that reflects the light.

A small voice in his head (that suspiciously sounds like Ethan) tells him to stop being weird and talk to her. Before he can justify themillion reasons why he shouldn’t, an annoying cough comes from the lady behind him.

He turns around to glare at her a little and asks the mystery girl her seat number with a smile that he hopes comes off as charming and not predatory.

And fuck, he knows she has to be a blessing because she looks like she was sent straight from the gates of heaven to Grayson’s heart. Ironically, the plane’s fluorescent lights form a halo around her head (‘Or maybe you’re finally losing it.’ Ethan's voice tells him.) He blinks, once, twice, three times before realizing that the girl in front of him isn’t a sleep-deprived hallucination and is actually real. He tries to act unaffected by the slow once-over her round, onyx eyes give him. Still, when he notices her eyes lingering on his chest and thighs, he swallows hard before throwing his suitcase into the overhead and sitting down. 

The grumpy lady behind him gives him a look as she moves down the aisle, and he whips out his phone for a welcomed distraction. The girl, unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on Grayson’s mind and body, continues to sneak looks at him that were a little too obvious for Grayson to not notice. He debates whether or not to ask for her name until she turns back to her magazine and Grayson figures that she doesn’t want to be bothered anymore. It wasn’t until the voice in his head repeatedly calls him a pussy (‘Shut up, Ethan’ he thinks back) that he introduces himself. And when her plump lips turn up into a smile, Grayson pretends to not notice how screwed he is. 

—-

Conversation flows smoothly between the two of them after that. Grayson explains the situation with his original flight and his plans to surprise his mom for mother’s day while Harlow talks about her little brother and the birthday party she helped plan for him this weekend. They talk for so long that their conversation turns from typical discussion to hushed whispers to not disturb the other sleeping passengers. They finally pause for a break when the beverage attendant stops at their row.

Harlow’s honestly glad for the lull in conversation as it gives her time to reflect over what she’s learned. Grayson appears to be very humble despite being heavily involved in the influencer scene in Los Angeles, something Harlow desperately tries to stay far away from herself. Also, despite being one of the hottest guys she’s ever seen, he seems to be so shy that it’s endearing. She notices he stumbles over words, getting so excited about their conversations that he trips himself up.

“So in LA, what do you do for fun? Any friends? Boyfriend?” He asks coolly, trying not to be obvious about his intentions (which makes it so much more apparent in Harlow’s eyes) as he drinks his diet root-beer.

“I work for a high- fashion company doing PR, so I’m always there. I have a couple close friends, but since I’m working so much, I haven’t had that much time for a relationship or finding a guy worth making time for.” Harlow sighs wistfully.

“Ah, that makes sense about the magazine.” He nods, trying to hide his excitement. This situation seems to be working more and more in his favor. “And what guy would be worth making time for?”

“I don’t know honestly. It just seems that all the guys I run into in LA are beyond superficial. All my dates have just been talking about how many followers they have on Instagram or TikTok and just end in hookups. While there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just hard when you want something more, you know?” She shrugs. And as much as Grayson hates to admit it, he does know. Hell, he’s probably been that guy once or twice in his younger years. Still, as he grows older, he craves the same things Harlow does: intimacy, connection, emotion. He takes another swallow of his drink before responding.

“Yeah, I mean hookups and one-night stands are great in the moment, but it’s hard when you just have love you want to give. It’s even harder now that my brother’s dating someone, ya know. Seeing someone you’re close with have what you want; it’s kinda hard not to be jealous.” He shares, hoping she relates and doesn’t think he’s weird for telling so much to someone he met a few hours earlier.

Harlow sits with that for a second before responding, “And what girl would you want to give your love to?” She whispers.

’Someone like you.’ Grayson thinks. But before he could make the bold confession, the plane announces its descent.

——

Grayson realizes almost immediately that he wasn’t paying that much attention to the flight details because the fact that there was a layover in Colorado flew over his head. He lets Harlow pass by him to stand in the aisle and grabs both his and her carry-on to take off the plane. As Grayson stands behind her (and tries not to stare at how incredible her ass looks in her leggings), he does what he’s best at: forming a game-plan. He realizes that a girl like Harlow is too good to let go. So, he figures he could grab a coffee with her, get her number, and plan a date for when they both are back in LA. He smiles, already thinking of the story he’ll get to tell Ethan when he gets to Jersey. As they both slowly move into the terminal, Harlow turns back to Grayson with a bright smile. He smiles back before asking —

“Do you want to get coffee?” He can’t help his heart from swelling as she bites her lip, a habit he notices she does a lot.

“Good, I thought you weren’t going to ask.” She laughs. “Wait here though, I have to run to the restroom.”

He nods, handing Harlow her carry-on. He sits down and pulls out his phone, already texting Ethan that he met his future soulmate.

Five minutes pass: He’s got the future planned out: the wedding, the kids, the farmland in Jersey and the tiny-home in Australia.

Ten minutes pass: He starts to get worried, but figures Harlow can handle herself.

Thirty minutes pass: He considers sending someone to the bathroom to check on her.

Two hours passed: He’s already cased the domestic airline terminal twice, looking for her dark curly hair. 

It’s not until the final call of flight 437-A to New Jersey that he understands: Harlow’s not coming back for him. And he can’t help it when his heart splits into two.

[softsliders29]

Holiday Break (Newton x Hermann) for @hermannsthumb

When Newton gets unexpectedly dumped before he was supposed to bring his boyfriend home to his family, Hermann steps in to help him out. 

A/N: This was made for a gift exchange I took part in, I really hope you enjoy it Maria!

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. This was the last thing he wanted to do but here he was. He felt bad for the guy, he couldn’t just leave him to flounder on his own.

Now, how exactly did he get in this predicament? Well, it was early one day when he stepped into the lab to find Newton crying. He almost considered just walking out of the lab and coming back later, he wasn’t the best at dealing with this type of stuff. But he thought better of it.

Instead, Hermann slowly made his way over to Newton. He didn’t want to spook him or anything, so he barely made any noise until he was right in front of him.

“Newton, are you okay?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper. Newton turned his head to look at Hermann, a bit caught off guard. He still had tears in his eyes and Hermann’s heart broke a little.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It’s nothing.” He shrugs, obviously trying to keep his crying down to a minimum. He doesn’t want to be a bother to Hermann.

“It’s obviously not nothing. Are you hurt?” Hermann asks, becoming more concerned.

“Only emotionally.” Newt can barely manage a joking tone as he says the words, more tears forming. Hermann is slowly starting to understand. He nods.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it then I understand. But I am here for you.” He gives Newt’s shoulder a pat and goes to his side of the lab.

The lab goes back to it’s usual silence, the occasional profanity from Newton as he starts dissecting things. Hermann thinks that Newt has pretty much gotten through whatever was bothering him before and forgets about the whole ordeal.

Until the end of the work day. Newton walked over to Hermann’s side of the lab while Hermann was packing his things away. Hermann had barely noticed the other standing there, he was so concentrated.

“Can I ask you a favor?” He starts off. Hermann looks over and nods, going back to his packing. “So, before, I was having my little breakdown because…” There’s a pause and Hermann looks back at him. Newton is looking down at his feet, almost like he’s debating whether he should say it or not. “Because my boyfriend broke up with me.” He finally says. And it clicks in Hermann’s head. Ah, that makes sense. But there must be more, Hermann thinks. That isn’t really anything he can help him with. “But I promised my family I’d bring someone home. And I don’t want to show up empty handed, y’know. I’d feel like an idiot.”

Was he asking Hermann what he thought he was asking? No, that couldn’t be. Could it?

“Oh Newton, I don’t know…” Hermann was really wrestling with the idea in his head. He wanted to help but at the same time he didn’t know if he could handle it. It would just be…. too real.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a lot to ask, sorry.” Newton said. Hermann sighed.

“I’ll… I’ll do it.” He said. He didn’t want Newton to be embarrassed. It wasn’t his fault he got broken up with.

“Really, cause you don’t have to. I’ll just tell them the truth.” Newton said, eyes lighting up.

“No, it’s fine. I really wasn’t planning on going anywhere for the holidays anyway.” Hermann assured. “Thanks dude, you’re a lifesaver.” Newton hugged him, causing Hermann’s to stop breathing for a second.

After that incident, Hermann went home and started over thinking about the whole thing. He had heard about Newton’s uncle and father but he still wanted to make a good impression. And what about their backstory? How would that work?

Maybe if he just slept on it, he could figure it out in the morning. Of course, that would help. A good night's rest. Except he could not fall asleep that night.

The next morning he went into the lab with very little sleep but with a purpose. He had to get this all sorted.

“So, when are we leaving?” Was his first question. Newton, who was chugging coffee to get ready for the day, looked up at the other a little confused.

“Oh, to my folks? Next Friday. Is that enough time for you?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice. Hermann just nodded.

“Sounds good. What have you told your family about your boyfriend?” He needed to make sure he’d even pass as him.

“Not much. They just knew I had one. I didn’t even tell them his name.” Newton shrugged.

“Thank goodness.” Hermann let out a sigh of relief. At least that was out of the way.

“You don’t really have to do anything. Just get free food and talk a bit. But you’ll have to be nice so it may not be that easy.” He laughed at the other.

Hermann rolled his eyes. “I can be quite pleasant. Some people just drive me up the wall.” He eyed Newton as he said it.

It was Newton’s turn to roll his eyes. There bickering just went on through the day and through the next few days until it was time to head to Newton’s family.

They were driving there, which wasn’t a horrible thing. It was only a six hour drive. And Hermann was glad that they had this time to prepare for the questions that Newton’s family was sure to ask.

“So, I think we should keep it pretty much the same as real life. I mean, they know about you already.” Newton shrugged. Something about that made Hermann’s heart clench. Newton talked more about him than his long term boyfriend? But he couldn’t dwell on that too much.

“Well how did we make the transition from lab partners to life partners?” Hermann asked. Newton was quiet for a moment, thinking it over.

“Late one night we were still at the lab, we were the last ones out, and we just started talking about us. And I kissed you. And the rest was history.” Newton shrugged.

“You kissed me? I think I’d kiss you first.” Hermann argued. He didn’t know why he was offended by the idea of Newton kissing him first. Probably because he had wanted to do it countless nights. But he wasn’t going to bring that up.

“Oh really? And what makes you think that?” Newton asked with a laugh.

“I don’t know, I just think it’s more fitting.” Hermann tried to downplay his real thoughts, hoping they could quickly settle on this and move on.

“Fine. You kissed me and the rest was history.” Newton rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Okay, how long have we been dating?” Hermann asked.

“Well, I told them seven months.” Newton said. This made Hermann turn and look at him completely.

“Newton, I’m so sorry.” Hermann said. He couldn’t imagine dating someone for seven months and suddenly breaking up. It hurt his heart even more for Newton.

Newton shrugged it off. “It’s fine man, I’m getting over it.”

There was silence in the car after that. But Hermann knew they still had some things to resolve.

“What about… displays of affection?” Hermann asked. This was something he’d been dreading.

“If you wanted to kiss me you could’ve just asked.” Newton laughed. It made Hermann’s breath hitch until he realized he was joking.

“I do not. I just want to make sure we convince your family.” Hermann tried to act nonchalant about it.

“Just the normal amount is good. I don’t know, whatever feels natural. Don’t try to force it though.” Newton shrugged. “When you know, you know.”

Hermann just nodded. The rest of the trip went by in mostly silence, Newton’s music blaring through the speakers. But it didn’t bother Hermann as much. He had other things on his mind.

They arrived at Newton’s house a little early. His uncle greeted them in the driveway and offered to take some of their bags, but Newton insisted that they do it themselves.

Newton’s uncle, Illia, Hermann had learned, showed them around the house. It wasn’t a huge home but it was comfortable.

Newton’s dad was apparently out of the house at the moment but would be back soon. And then they’d have dinner. Illia left them in the guest room to get settled in.

The guest room, Hermann had noticed immediately, only had one bed. He made a mental note to offer to sleep on the floor that night. He didn’t know if he could get through a night in bed with Newton.

“It’s a really lovely home, Newton.” Hermann offered. Newton just smiled at that, putting his clothes into the drawer in the room.

There was more silence as Hermann tried to figure out what he should be doing. He settled on folding his clothes.

He didn’t know how to feel at the moment. He was overwhelmed, and really nervous. But he wanted to make a good impression. Not that it mattered, they weren’t really dating, he had to keep that in mind. He knew if he didn’t, he’d get carried away, and he didn’t want that. It’d make the lab too awkward.

Newton’s father got home a few hours after. It was only early morning when Hermann and Newton had arrived, so when Newton’s dad got in, it was a few hours before dinner was scheduled. But Newton wanted to spend time with his dad, so they both made their way into the living room.

When they sat down, Newton put his hand on Hermann’s thigh. Hermann had to do everything in his power to keep his cool. But he was able to act natural.

Newton and his father talked about the latest at the lab, his uncle chiming in as well, while Hermann just sat there. He almost thought they weren’t going to ask about him, which was fine by him, but eventually the conversation did turn to him.

“So, Hermann, we’ve heard quite a bit about you, just didn’t put two and two together. Didn’t think you’d be the boyfriend.” Newton’s father said.

“Yes, well, our work and home life are quite different stories.” Hermann said. Newton looked at him, giving him an eyebrow raise. But Hermann just kept going with it.

“I bet. But Newton adores you. I could tell by the way he talks about you.” His uncle chimed in. This caught Hermann by surprise but he didn’t say anything about it.

“Oh, that’s flattering.” Hermann said, a bit quiet. He looked over at Newton, he was blushing.

“I just love the guy.” Newton said, hoping to stop this.

“You’ve made that pretty obvious. Kinda surprised I didn’t figure it out.” His uncle said. Hermann really had to ask Newt about it later.

“When’s dinner?” Newton asked suddenly.

They didn’t talk anymore about Hermann and Newt’s relationship much to Newton’s relief. His dad started making dinner while Newton and his uncle continued shop talk. Hermann was just left blushing and running the conversation on a loop in his head.

When dinner time came, they all sat at the table, Hermann and Newton sitting right next to each other. It was nice, almost making Hermann forget about the past conversation. He found that Newton’s uncle was a very smart man, enthralled in his discussions about science.

But before he knew it, dinner was done. Now it was on to the part of the night he was dreading. Sleeping.

They said goodnight to Newton’s dad and uncle and went to the guest bedroom. Hermann was almost too nervous to get into his night clothes, almost just sleeping in his day clothes. But he knew the floor was already going to be uncomfortable enough.

When he went to lay down, Newton looked at him confused.

“Come on man, you can sleep up here.” Newton offered. Hermann shook his head.

“No, I don’t think so.” Hermann said.

“Dude, it can’t be good for your leg, and it’s just sleeping. I’ll even put a pillow in between us. But you aren’t sleeping down there.” He knew Newton wasn’t going to give up, so Hermann gave in, moving to lay down on the bed. He kept as much space between them as he could.

He figured this was as good a time as any to ask Newt about what his uncle said earlier.

“You know, I figured you’d told your family about me before, but I thought it’d be in a negative light.” Hermann observed as casually as he could.

“Nah man, why would I do that?” Newton asked, genuinely confused.

“I don’t know. We don’t really get along well. We’re always bickering.” Hermann shrugged.

“Well, yeah, but it’s all in good fun.” He paused for a moment. “Do you not like me?” Newton asked.

“No, I mean yeah, I like you. I just didn’t know….” He trailed off at the end.

“Oh, okay.” Newton said. There was another pause.

“What do you tell them about me?” He asked, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“How smart you are, and how good of a lab partner you are.” Newton shrugged. Hermann was touched, but didn’t get the chance to say it. “Do you tell your family about me?”

“Absolutely not.” Hermann said, causing Newton’s face to fall. He quickly continued. “But I don’t tell my family about most things. If I told them about you, I’d tell them about how resourceful you are and how brilliant you are. And your cool tattoos and just how overall…”

Before Hermann could finish, Newton’s lips were on his. He was shocked and before he could react they were gone.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me but you were just being really nice and I thought it was…” Hermann shut him up by kissing him back.

After a few moments they pulled apart.

“You know, what I said before, it’s true. I really do love you.” Newton confessed.

“I love you too.” Hermann returned.

Maybe the visit wouldn’t be too bad after all.

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 25)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 24

"Oh lord," Bitty whispers to himself. "Oh my goodness."

How long has it been, since the first time he stood in front of the Samwell hockey Haus with a pie in hand, just like this? Four and a half years? No, even longer. Goodness gracious.

He's been able to visit from time to time, since graduation. Providence is close, after all, and the Samwell team will always hold such a dear place in Bitty's heart. It's just, usually, he's come down to watch a game, and always together with Jack. They've stopped by the Haus, of course, have made their rounds and tried to catch up with everyone. Besides, it's not like they don't see many SMH members, former and current, at various other social occasions every so often.

But it's just… Bitty loves coming back to Samwell with Jack, loves reconnecting with their important people and places together. Yet even so, Bitty's relationship with his former teammates isn't quite the same, with Jack added to the equation. Not that going back to the Haus with Jack is bad, or uncomfortable, or anything in between. Not at all. It's just…

Senior year, Bitty became captain. The boys all chose him. Stepping into that role, and leading them through that grueling season, through those excruciating, exhilarating, endless playoffs all the way to actual championship victory, is something that still means more than Bitty can put into words. It was everything. And Jack was there for all of it, yes, he supported Bitty through all of it – without Jack, Bitty isn't sure if he would've held himself together until the end. But while Jack was there, he wasn't there. It wasn't his team.

It was Bitty's.

It's not something that Bitty thinks of as a good thing or a bad thing. It's just the truth. And it probably says something that, when Bitty had hesitantly told Jack that he'd been thinking about making a visit to Samwell on his own, Jack had been completely unsurprised. In fact, Jack's smile had been so knowing, he'd almost looked a little bit smug.

"Of course, Bits. You tell your boys hello from me. Don't spoil them with too much pie, eh?"

Bitty adjusts his bowtie, a little wearily. Gosh. He's actually nervous, isn't he? He has literally no reason to be. It's just the boys, his boys. His home away from home. They'll be happy to see him. Won't they?

Maybe turning up unannounced was a bad plan.

"Bits?"

Bitty almost jumps, he's so startled.

Thankfully, it's just Dex.

"Morning!" Bitty tries for cheerful. It almost works. "I was in the neighbourhood, so. Thought I'd pop by for a bit."

"It's so good to see you, man." Dex is grinning widely as he goes in for a hug. Bitty somehow manages to balance his pie and wrap one arm around Dex, simultaneously. "How long can you stay?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose too much, I'm sure y'all are swamped with homework and practice and-"

"Don't be an idiot. Everyone's gonna be so psyched to see you." Dex's grin softens. "Actually, today, we're-"

"Bitty!"

"Holy shit, Bits!"

"Pie!"

Bitty can't help his smile as Nursey, Tango and Hops tumble out of the Haus. It's debatable, whether or not Nursey has actually managed to put shoes on.

"Careful," Dex mutters as he swiftly takes the pie out of Bitty's hands. "Got your back, there you go."

It's just in time before Bitty is engulfed in something that feels so much like a celly, his heart actually aches.

"Goodness, I've missed y'all." Bitty smiles helplessly. "My, Hops, were you always this tall?"

"Probably," Hops says. He grins widely. "Maybe you just got tinier? Even more itty-bitty."

"Hey, now!" Bitty exclaims. He's grinning, too. Somehow, he has a feeling he'll be doing little else, today. "I'll have you know I'm a perfectly respectable height, Jonathan."

"Come on!" Tango is literally tugging at Bitty's arm in excitement. "This is such perfect timing, we were just-"

"Holy shit. Isn't that Bitty? Hey, everyone, Bitty's here!"

There's the unmistakable sound of a hoard of hockey players sprinting down several flights of stairs, and that's only the calm before the storm.

It takes well over half an hour before Bitty actually makes it inside the Haus.

His heart feels pleasantly warm as he steps into the familiar kitchen. Dex has set his pie to the side of a counter, his aunt’s old curtains are still hanging in the window and someone has managed to keep those plants on the windowsill alive. There's even a couple of succulents that Bitty doesn't quite recognise. Evidently, Bitty's housekeeping ambitions are actually being honored.

Most importantly, though, the kitchen is absolutely bustling with activity.

"We're having a deluxe team breakfast," Chowder is telling him enthusiastically. "Or, well, sort of a team brunch. Except, it's more brunch and lunch, really-"

"And snacks!" someone chimes in. It takes Bitty a second to remember his name – Joseph Lyons, one of the so-called Scones. Bitty has met all of the freshmen before, and he's tried his best to be his usual, charming self and make an approachable impression, but there's certainly something of an endearing flush on the boy's cheeks as he speaks directly to Bitty. "We're actually making baked potato bites, soon as Whiskey's done with the oven. I hope you'll like them!"

"Oh, that's exciting! I'm sure they'll be delicious."

Bitty offers Joseph a somewhat distracted smile. Whiskey? The oven?

He looks further into the kitchen, and… Yes. There's Whiskey. He's mixing something in a bowl, and listening to a boy next to him. A boy who is prattling on about something as he chops vegetables, his brown eyes bright with excitement.

A decidedly unfamiliar boy.

"Hey, Ocean," Nursey says – the boy looks up. "Can I borrow that knife, when you're done?"

"Do we want Derek Nurse with a sharp object in hand?" Ocean asks, just a bit too loudly. He grins as the kitchen at large provides a good round of chirps in agreement. "How about you hand me those tomatoes, Nursey, and I'll take care of them for you."

Bitty watches the boy for a moment longer, his brows slightly furrowed. Ocean seems to fit in quite seamlessly. Did he recently transfer from another school? Or did Bitty somehow actually manage to forget a Scone?

"Hey. Bits."

Whiskey has looked up. For some reason, he's watching Bitty with a certain level of apprehension. Bitty quickly offers him a bright smile.

"It's good to see you," he offers, because it truthfully is. "Jack says hello, by the way."

Whiskey smiles, too.

"Tell him I said hi. I hope you're finding the Haus in a decent enough state?"

"Oh, you best be taking special care of my old room, too," Bitty chirps good-naturedly. "I hope it's to your liking, and all?"

"For sure. You can head up and take a look, if you'd like that trip down memory lane." Whiskey's suggestion sounds surprisingly sincere. "You know the way. Door's unlocked."

"Oh," Bitty says. It hasn't been on his list, exactly, but now that it's being offered… "You know, I'll actually take you up on that."

Whiskey nods towards him, once, before returning his attention to his bowl.

Stepping into his old room feels more than a little bit surreal. It's familiar, of course, but also very different. Whiskey clearly keeps it quite neat – the bed's been made, and it's not too cluttered, overall. There's a Samwell banner pinned to the wall and two eye-catchingly colorful yet discreetly minimalist posters above the desk. It all fits in well with how Bitty remembers Whiskey, on and off the ice – here lives someone with a good amount of discipline, and a simultaneous desire to stand out, and fit in.

On the desk, there's a framed picture of the team from last year's championship victory that Bitty can't look at without getting a lil’ teary eyed. He directs his attention out the window, instead. Unsurprisingly, the view is just the same as ever.

"Changed the decor a bit."

Bitty looks over his shoulder. Whiskey is leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. There's a bit of flour dusted over his sweater in a way that Bitty has no idea how to chirp him for. His expression is almost entirely unreadable.

"It's nice," Bitty tells him carefully. Gosh. This shouldn't be so frightfully awkward. "You look well, Whiskey."

"I'm doing alright." Whiskey steps a bit further inside the room. "Actually, I'm doing better."

"Oh." Bitty tries to smile. Is he supposed to offer a follow-up question? Is this a heart to heart, or small talk? "That's… That's nice to hear."

"Excuse me, sorry." Suddenly, unexpectedly, that boy from before pops in. Ocean. He goes straight for a backpack that's sitting on the chair by the desk. "Just need my charger. I'll get out of your way."

"No, wait," Whiskey says quickly.

The boy stills. There's a moment of eye contact between the two of them that Bitty can't seem to interpret.

"You two should meet."

Whiskey turns back towards Bitty. Slowly, and very deliberately, he places an arm around the other boy's waist.

"Bitty, this is Miguel."

Oh, sweet Mary.

Bitty looks between the two boys, blinking slowly. Of course. Of course.

"Hello." Evidently, Miguel has taken it upon himself to fill out the silence. His smile is, quite frankly, lovely. "Eric Bittle, right? I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, sugar, it's wonderful to meet you." Bitty has recovered enough to extend a hand. He's beaming, and it's probably ridiculous, but he can't quite bring himself to care. "My goodness. Hi. Are you a junior?"

"That's right." Miguel seems to take his enthusiasm in stride. He gamely shakes Bitty's hand. "Me and Whiskey had a class together, this fall."

"And now I can barely get you alone for a minute, given how the whole Haus has collectively adopted you." Whiskey doesn't sound at all bothered by this turn of events. He's got his hands back in his pockets, and he looks quite a bit more relaxed than before Miguel came in. "The Waffles are literally going to all of your games."

"Well, so are you," Miguel says, with a fond smile towards Whiskey. He quickly turns back to Bitty, though. "I'm on the water polo team."

"Isn't that something," Bitty says. And then it clicks. "Oh. Ocean, right?"

"Right." Miguel grins. "We don't really do nicknames in water polo, at least not the same way you lot insist upon, but it's actually-"

"Hey, Ocean!" 

There's someone in the doorway. It's… A Scone. One of the Scones. Bitty really must try to visit more often. The Scone looks between the three of them, his expression mildly confused, before he states his business.

"Joyo and Jader need your advice on their potato-ricotta experiment."

"I'll be right there."

Miguel glances at Whiskey for a second, and there's another moment of silent communication. Then Whiskey nods.

Miguel offers Bitty another smile.

"I'm sure we'll have the chance to talk some more, but I believe I really must see to those potatoes.”

His hand touches Whiskey's briefly on his way out. Bitty would never have noticed, unless he'd known to look for it.

Unexpectedly, Whiskey closes the door behind Miguel. He turns back towards Bitty.

For a second, they just look at one another.

"He, uh." Suddenly, Whiskey seems flustered. "He's great. So great."

"I'm glad." Bitty has rarely meant something so much in his entire life. "Am I right to assume that the team doesn't know?"

"That's right." Whiskey actually looks a bit apprehensive. "We don't… I'm not out to my family. Or to many of my friends."

"I'm just so happy that you're happy." Bitty smiles. "And, can I… He's kind of unfairly pretty, isn't he?"

Bitty would never have guessed that Whiskey could smile so gently.

"Yeah. Honestly, he's kind of everything."

"Oh, Connor." Bitty wants to hug him. That would probably be a little much. "Aren't y'all just too sweet."

"I would, um." Whiskey hesitates. He starts over. "Could you not tell Jack?"

Oh.

Bitty feels surprised. And, surprisingly, just a little bit pleased. It's been somewhat unsettling, figuring out bits and pieces of Whiskey's current life through Jack, watching the two of them connect in a way that Bitty was never able to no matter how hard he tried. Still, he's grateful to Jack for trying to help Whiskey, and even more grateful to him for succeeding. Really, he is.

But it's honestly nice to know that Whiskey trusts him with this. To know that, when it comes to this, Whiskey actually trusts him more. Maybe it shouldn't matter, but if Bitty is completely honest with himself, it does.

"Of course." Bitty smiles. "Honestly, I'm so happy you even wanted me to know."

"I did. I really did." Whiskey runs a hand through his hair. "Bits, you… You must know that I have a lot of respect for you."

Bitty stares at Whiskey. He looks so earnest, and there's a depth to his words that Bitty already knows he will always remember. It's one of those moments in life.

"Thank you," Bitty says warmly. "You know, I've never wanted to make you feel like you need to make choices that aren’t right for you. That you’re not comfortable with."

"No, I know." Whiskey shakes his head. "You haven't made me feel that way. I've struggled with this for a lot of other reasons, I guess. The narrative is always about coming out."

"It is. And that's something I've certainly contributed to."

Whiskey actually smiles.

"Sure. But more than that, you've… I've been in this sport for years. And with everything that's happened with you, and with Jack, it's… There's a before and an after. Things are better."

"Oh. That's… Oh." Gosh, Bitty might actually be tearing up a little. When, exactly, did Whiskey grow up so much? "I'm so glad you think so."

"I believe it goes a little beyond my personal opinion," Whiskey says plainly. He's still smiling. It is, quite frankly, unsettling. "Should we, um. I think the Scones might die a little if you helped them with those potatoes. In a good way."

"Oh, I'd love to cook with those sweet boys." Bitty manages a slight grin. "You know… I almost thought Miguel was a Scone, too. Your boy's not really built for hockey, but he just fits in so well, I didn't know what to make of him."

"You sure you wanna talk about being built for hockey?" Whiskey chirps. He sounds almost playful. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

"Hey, now," Bitty admonishes cheerfully. "What happened to having lots of respect for me? Let's go back to that."

"Why don't we go back to the kitchen, instead?" Whiskey suggests. "I kind of need to check on the oven."

"Of course," Bitty agrees quickly. Obviously, the oven needs to take priority. "Is there, um, any chance you could remind me which Scone is Jader? I think I know, but…"

"Jaden Brant," Whiskey supplies readily. "Tall one. In your defense, he's pretty much joined at the hip with Joyo."

"He is, isn't he? Those two…?"

Whiskey smiles.

"Yeah. Those two." He looks away for a moment. "And that's… They're coming in as freshmen, immediately knowing they'll be accepted. No hesitation."

"That's so wonderful."

Whiskey looks at Bitty again.

"You did that," he says simply. "You know that, right?"

"No, I'm…" Dear lord, he's going to cry again. "Their decision to be open can't be only because of little ol' me. It can’t.”

"Maybe not only," Whiskey concedes. "But they chose Samwell for a reason. They knew they'd be safe here."

"Well. That is nice." Bitty wipes at his eyes. "Dear me, I'm… We should… Oven?"

Whiskey nods. His expression is soft in a way that Bitty can't quite put into words.

"Come on. There are literal and figurative scones to attend to."

As they're leaving the room, Bitty feels brave enough for one final, careful question.

"You actually bake?"

"I know," Whiskey says. He sounds… Relaxed. Content, even. "It's not bad. Feels like I'm doing something nice for everyone. You know?"

"Yes," Bitty agrees eagerly. This day is already turning into so much more than he could ever have hoped for. "Believe me, Whiskey. I know."

ch. 26

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 1

“You know, if they’re really buggin’ you…” Van’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through the soft background noise of the street. He gives another one of his shrugs, as if what he’s about to say next isn’t important. “We could head back up to my room,” He finishes.

or

Your annual birthday trip with your best friend to San Diego ends in a chance encounter with Van McCann.

A/N: Clearly I’ve just created this blog and popped up out of nowhere, but I wanted somewhere separate to post my writing. This is a full length fic that is (almost) finished and I plan to post a new chapter once a week. It’s incredibly long and I’ve been working on this universe forever so if you’d like to come talk about it in my ask please do lmao.

Word count: ~11k

Chapter One

January 2019

Every single year you debate driving down to San Diego for your birthday.

But once you’re there, welcomed into the city by bustling shops and their neon signs, the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the comfort of your usual hotel and the good company you bring with you, you never doubt this tradition.

It started three years ago, making this your fourth trip down here. At first it had been impulsive, a dangerous combination of your desire to run away after dealing with your family for the Christmas holidays and your best friend Mary’s down-for-anything attitude. You two had packed up and made the 3 hour drive from L.A., making a hotel reservation on the fly. After a relaxing weekend shopping, laying out on the beach, and forgetting about all the chaos of the holidays, you two returned back home refreshed, renewed, and determined to make this a usual thing.

And so it became. The next January you two made your return voyage, this time scheduling the trip so it landed on your birthday, which only amplified the excitement and festivities. That’s how the tradition remained; despite internal debates between you and Mary about whether you could afford it, and whether the drive was worth it when you could easily do something fun closer to home, you two faithfully continued to celebrate your birthday in this fashion.

This year is no different from any other, except for the addition of Theo, Mary’s boyfriend. She was dating him on your last birthday, but not long enough for you two to guarantee he wouldn’t spoil your fun. By this year, however, he was practically a second best friend to you, fitting into you and Mary’s clique nicely.

After a long, afternoon car ride in traffic under the blistering California sun and a two-hour debate over the music, the three of you have finally arrived and checked in to your hotel. And once you’re finally out on the hotel room balcony, looking down at the sprawling view of the beach and sparkling ocean, you know that despite your doubts this was so worth it.

\\

After getting settled in and some light shopping, your first order of business is getting some food, preferably something greasy and carb-y. Thankfully, there’s a bar right across the street from the hotel that has excellent reviews and some amazing photos of bar burgers online, so you three decide to have dinner there.

It’s a quaint place, a narrow building fighting for sidewalk space, but considering its positive reputation and its proximity to the hotel it’s packed. It takes a good forty-five minutes to be seated at a small round table near the outer edge of the room, and still some time after that for someone to be available to place your orders, but eventually everyone has hot food and cold drinks.

And even after the food is gone the drinks keep flowing, the three of you ringing in your annual trip by ordering rounds of whatever drink name sounded the most interesting.

“You know,” Mary starts when Theo brings back a tray of mixed drinks that have sliced strawberries laying at the bottom of the glass, “I think that guy’s been staring at you.”

You roll your eyes. “Stop.”

“I’m serious!” Mary insists, her voice raising slightly. “I thought maybe he was into Theo, but he didn’t check him out when he went to get drinks. He’s been glancing at you.”

“Lost another man to Y/N,” Theo shrugs.

“You’ve lost zero men to me,” you correct him sternly, “Because men are not interested in me.”

“Not true!” Mary argues. “I’m literally watching someone be interested in you!”

“Is he a creep?” You lean forward to whisper. Mary keeps glancing over your shoulder, so you know he’s behind you, and you’re absolutely determined not to turn around and make a scene trying to take a peek at him.

“No! He seems normal.”

You sigh. She’ll never get off your case unless you humor her. “What’s he look like?”

Mary narrows her eyes, takes a long sip of her drink, and seems to mull over her next words. “Really… normal. Floppy kinda hair. But not in a Justin-Bieber-swoopy way, ya know? Clean shaven. Simple clothes. Can’t really see if he’s got tattoos or anything.”

You try to piece together a mental image. “What color hair?”

“Eh. It’s hard to see in this light. I think brown. Maybe black?”

“How do you know he’s looking at me?”

“He’s not like, staring at you,” Mary looks down quickly, pretends to be interested in the drink menu. “Oh fuck, I think he saw me looking.” She points to a random picture of a drink, pretending to look interested. “He’s mostly on his phone, but he’ll glance over once in a while.”

“Who’s he with?”

“Nobody. I think.”

“So he’s just sitting at a table alone?”

“He’s not at a table,” Mary chances a glance up. “He’s sitting at the bar. I haven’t seen him talk to anyone so yeah, I think he’s here alone.”

“Good to know,” you murmur, taking a long sip of your drink. “Anyway…”

Your efforts to get a new conversation going last for a little while, but Mary stays persistent.

“You should go get us another round,” She suggests.

You narrow your eyes at her, lifting your half-full glass. “We don’t need another round!”

“I do,” She insists, and with an obnoxious slurping noise she gulps up what’s left in her glass through her straw.

“That’s lovely,” You nod, “Enjoy grabbing yourself one.”

Theo snorts at that. Mary is not amused.

“Y/N!” She huffs.

“What?” An edge of irritation has crept into your voice from her persistence. “Why are you always trying to matchmake me? I’m just trying to enjoy my birthday weekend!”

“Hey, you’re the one that told me you wanted this year to be different for you! You know, try new things, put yourself out there, get out of your comfort zone, all that good stuff! What better place to put yourself out there than somewhere away from home?”

You let out a long, agitated sigh. Of course Mary would turn the heart-to-heart you guys had last week into excuses for her meddling.

“This isn’t what I meant,” You huff. “I didn’t mean pick up a random creepy stranger the second I get to San Diego! I more meant, like, I wanted to go on more dates! Have more nights out with you! Get a better job!”

“Plus,” You continue, encouraged by her silence, “I was talking about the year in general. No need to rush into this weekend!”

Mary lets you finish, listening carefully to your rebuttal. But you know better, bracing yourself for her next point after she takes a long sip of her drink.

“Obviously, you have all year.” She states it like it’s an obvious fact, adjusting the hair hanging over her shoulder. “But hear me out, and stay with me here: To set up the rest of the year so that you can enjoy yourself, like freely going on dates, you’re going to have to break your dry spell.” She says the last part with her hands pressed together in prayer position, her fingertips pointing towards you.

Mary lets the first part of her message sink in while it’s your turn to sip your drink. When you’re done you fidget with your straw, eager for something to do while your cheeks heat up in a mild blush. It’s not like it’s any secret that you’ve been busy and haven’t been on a date in a… long time, and as a consequence have not been having sex, but you can’t help but duck your head, feeling called out.

“So to enjoy the rest of the year, you’ve got to do some preparation. Like jumping in a pool, right? If you want to swim, you’ve got to get in the cold water first. So I’m saying have some fun this weekend, and then you’ll be warmed up to do all the crazy, uncomfortable shit you want to this year.”

She was right, but you won’t admit it. And even if she’s right, there’s still no chance, ever, in a million years, that you’re going to go hit on a random guy at the bar.

“Mary,” You say sternly, “I am not hitting on a random ass man in this bar. The end.”

Theo, well-accustomed to the bickering that occasionally happens between you guys, finally clears his throat. Mary doesn’t say anything either. It’s obvious that the conversation is over, and the matchmaking topic is best dropped for the time being.

You take the last sip of your drink, surprised when the straw slurps. 

“I’m gonna go get another round,” You tell them, and don’t bother to take their orders. You use the moment to collect yourself, heading for the bathroom first, and that’s when you see him.

He’s just as Mary described; hunched over his phone, thumbing the screen while he takes idle sips from a bottle of beer. He’s in a dark jacket, collar pulled tight to his neck, and dark jeans. You can see his knee bouncing anxiously where it’s bent so that his feet can rest on the bar of the stool. As you pass by him, a necessary evil to get to the bathroom, he looks up. He looks away just as quick, but his eyes flit back to yours, the two of you making awkward eye contact for a millisecond before he’s looked away yet again. He sets his phone down on the bar, his fingers nervously running through his hair as he looks to the bartender as if he’s going to order, but you notice he doesn’t. You’re overly aware of the breeze between your bodies as you awkwardly step behind him, but once you’ve shimmied between him and another table you’re in the clear, ducking your head down and trying to make it to the bathroom a little faster.

When you head back to the table you make sure to walk around the perimeter of the room, avoiding the bar altogether. 

\\

The rest of the night is as fun as can be. Matchmaking topics are dropped, Mary is in a better mood when you return, and the drinks keep flowing until suddenly it’s last call. 

“Aw,” Mary groans as the bartender makes the announcement a second time. “But I’m still having fun! What sort of bar in a city this busy isn’t open twenty-four hours?”

“That is pretty dumb on their part,” You nod. “They could make a lot of money.”

“Should we grab something? Or call it a night?” Theo asks, gesturing to his empty beer bottle.

“We have been here a while,” You realize when you check the time on your phone, which has been forgotten in the business of today. “Maybe we should call it a night.” 

There’s a reluctant agreement to that until you guys stand up, shuffling your chairs back in place.

“Wait!” Mary exclaims, eyes shining as she throws her bag over her shoulder. “The hotel bar is open all night!”

Everyone’s mood seems to perk up at that suggestion, and you chew it over as you flip through your wallet, looking for some cash to pay your tab. You should probably be exhausted by now, considering the day you’ve had, but the hustle and bustle of the city at night makes it hard for you to feel tired.

“We could…” You trail off, glancing at Theo. He seems into the idea too, and by the time the three of you have paid your tabs and merged with the crowd of people heading for the doors, your plans to continue the night are set. 

The sun had set when you guys make it outside, the sky blanketing the street in a navy blue, barely any stars visible from the light pollution. The neon light from the bar sign shines over the cement, and for a moment in the quiet air the chime of the door opening and closing is the only sound.

“C’mon,” Mary giggles, and you realize you've been swimming in your own thoughts, drunker than you expected to be. She leads the way, fearlessly dashing onto the street as you and Theo stumble behind. You can see headlights making their way towards you, but they’re far enough away and you cross safely.

As soon as the car passes, and the street is shrouded in darkness again, you see him. The guy in the dark jacket is crossing too, a little ways down the road, hands buried in his pockets, head bowed towards the ground.

Instantly his presence sets you on high alert, your stomach feeling uneasy and heart palpitating. Theo and Mary are already headed through the hotel doors and you follow behind them, praying the guy hasn’t seen you. He was far enough down the street that it didn’t seem like he was coming to the hotel, but you can’t shake the fear that there’s a sinister connection between the way Mary and Theo said he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and the way you were both headed in the same direction. 

The hotel lobby is warm and glowing, and despite the late hours there are still people bustling about. You usher Mary and Theo away from the doors under the guise of trying not to block anyone’s way. You check over your shoulder in a fit of paranoia, but there’s no strange man in a dark jacket to be seen through the glass. You breathe a small sigh of relief.

“I need to go back up to the room,” Mary announces, and you see she’s examining herself in the black screen of her phone. “My makeup’s smeared everywhere.”

“I’m sure mine is too,” You agree. “Let’s head up there real quick.”

“I’m gonna go have a smoke, then,” Theo says, “So just come meet me out there when you’re done. Don’t take forever!”

You and Mary promise not to take too long before heading for the elevators, unsteady on your feet and overly giggly.

You realize that Mary was right as one of you finally gets the room key to work, and you both dash to fix yourselves up as quick as you can. You didn’t feel the slightest bit tired, and instead you were actually excited to keep the night going. Maybe it was just the alcohol pumping through your veins, but you felt a sudden surge of gratefulness for her as you dabbed away a bit of smeared mascara from your under eye.

“You were right,” you say out loud. 

Mary is leaned over the bathroom sink next to you, and you watch her eyebrows furrow. “About what?”

“Tonight,” You say, grabbing for your hairbrush. San Diego humidity has made your hair resemble a frizzy bird’s nest, and you try to smooth it back out. “It’s just got that kind of vibe, you know? You were right about needing a round two.”

“Right?” Mary gestures with her hands, makeup sponge almost hitting you in the face. 

“You’re good at getting me out of my comfort zone,” You admit. 

“Exactly!” Mary seems overjoyed at this admission, and she turns to you, putting her hands on your shoulders. “That’s what best friends are for! That’s my fucking job! And I’m fucking good at it!”

You two realize how drunk you sound and burst out laughing, steadying yourselves on the marble counter.

“Okay, okay,” You say as you start to catch your breath, “C’mon, Theo’s waiting!”

“Ah, fuck him,” Mary jokes, gathering up her things and shoving them back into her purse before following you out into the hall.

“Speaking of,” Mary groans, before bringing her phone up to her ear. “Hi, babe!” She chirps happily, before rolling her eyes at you. You can’t stifle your laughter.

“We’re headed downstairs right now,” Mary confirms as she pushes the call button on the elevator. “Okay, we’ll come to you.”

Down in the lobby, you two navigate your way out of the hotel and around the corner of the building, based on the instructions Theo had given Mary on the phone.

“Hey,” Mary greets Theo when she rounds the corner. You’re right behind her, but when you turn the corner you stop in your tracks.

“Hey, guys,” Theo greets you both easily. Mary is tucking herself under his arm while another figure standing next to him watches. You recognize the dark jacket instantly, and your mouth goes dry. 

You realize you’re an awkward distance away from your friends, and force yourself to step closer, watching the other man take a puff of his cigarette. 

“This is Van,” Theo tells you both, taking a drag of his cigarette. He exhales before motioning between you two. “Van, this is Mary, my girlfriend, and this is Y/N, her best friend.” 

“Ah, Mary, that’s me mum’s name,” the british accent that comes out of the stranger startles you, and you watch as Van reaches his hand out for a handshake with Mary. “Lovely name,” He laughs. Mary takes his hand happily, and they laugh about her name for a brief moment before he’s suddenly turned to you.

“And Y/N, that’s a great name too,” You can see his grin in the darkness. “Don’t know anyone named that, but it’s a lovely name regardless.” He extends his hand to you, and you swallow thickly as you take it. His hand envelops yours, and there’s a warmth that lingers even after the handshake is done.

“So’s Van,” You say after you’ve realized how impolite your silence must seem. “Never met anyone with that name either.”

“Yeah, It’s after Van Morrison,” He quips, “But when I was born my name was Ryan. Bet you’ve met someone with that name.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Mary speaks up suddenly. You smile at the mention of an ex-fling.

“Bad associations, huh?” Van seems to find it funny, beaming at her. “Well everyone calls me Van, so hopefully that’ll be alright.”

“Anyway, before you guys walked out, I was just telling Van that he should join us tonight,” Theo chimes in. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Yeah!” Mary, of course, is all for the idea even as your stomach continues to do somersaults. How strange was it that this guy actually was headed for the hotel? And even more strange that he ended up chatting with Theo!

Thankfully nobody notices your silence as Van tries to brush off the invite, Theo and Mary playfully pressuring him into it.

“Please!” Mary begs, “It’ll be so fun. It’s Y/N’s birthday, so the more the merrier!”

Van turns back toward you, face still covered in the grin that hasn’t left from the moment he shook your hand.

“Is it really?” He inquires, cocking his head.

“Tomorrow, technically,” You explain. “As in, it’s past midnight right now, so there’s all of today, and then it’s my birthday.”

“Oh, cheers, happy birthday. How old are ya?”

“Gonna be 24.”

“Ah, I loved 24,” Van lights up, taking a puff of his cigarette before gesturing with his hands. “One of the best years ever. Had the best fucking time.”

“How old are you, then?” You can’t help but ask.

“‘M 26. Gonna be 27 in the summer.”

“Oh. You made it sound like you were way older. Scared me.” The nagging anxiety that he’s some murderer that’s stalking you still tugs at your chest, but something about him keeps the conversation flowing, you volunteering information without thinking about it. 

“Nah. Seems like forever ago, though.”

“So you’ll get drinks with us?” Mary cuts in excitedly. 

“Well, I guess that’s up to the birthday girl,” Van laughs, gesturing to you. “Am I invited to the party?”

All of the sudden Theo, Mary, and Van are looking at you expectantly, and what were you supposed to do then?

“I mean, why not?” You can’t help but laugh, more in disbelief at how this night is turning out. “Like Mary said, the more the merrier, right?” 

“Mary’s are always right,” Van nods in agreement. Him and Theo snuff out their cigarettes on the sidewalk before heading around the corner back towards the main doors. 

You and Mary lag behind, Mary silently clapping in encouragement and you widening your eyes in an attempt to portray your anxiety. 

“You said I was right about tonight!” She hisses as you two head through the front doors. 

“About having more drinks!” You hiss back. “He’s some weirdo that’s been watching me all night and then followed me to the hotel!” You glance around for him, worried he heard, but thankfully you spot him with Theo heading into the hotel bar.

“Because you’re both at the same hotel and went across the street for drinks?” Mary asks, dubious. “He seems super nice!”

Your conversation dies out as you follow the boys to the table. It’s a small four-seater nestled in the corner, and with Mary naturally sitting next to Theo that leaves you next to Van.

In a quick motion Van’s grabbed the back of your chair from where he’s sitting, pulling it out for you.

“Oh, thanks,” You tell him, taken aback as you sit down.

“No problem,” He says casually, turning back towards Theo and continuing their conversation. You and Mary make eye contact, her eyes widening in what you can tell is pure delight.

“Let’s grab drinks,” Mary announces suddenly, hand coming to rest on Theo’s arm. He goes with her easily, leaving you and Van alone for a moment.

“I never get used to this kind of thing,” Van says. He turns toward you, but he’s looking past you at the rest of the bar. “Places being so busy at night.”

“That’s L.A. for you,” You sigh. “I guess technically we aren’t in L.A. right now, though. But still.”

Van nods in understanding. “Are you from L.A?”

“No,” You shake your head. “I’m from the midwest. From a much, much smaller town. But I live in L.A.”

“Ah. I’ve got a place there, too,” He tells you.

“Obviously you’re not from there,” You say, unable to help the smile that makes its way onto your face at the unspoken joke.

Van’s signature grin is back. “Obviously not,” He laughs. “Nah, I’m from somewhere much, much smaller, too. From the U.K., obviously.”

“Obviously,” You echo him, and you two share a smile before drinks are being set on the table, Mary and Theo having returned.

“So, Van,” Mary begins as she hands out everyone’s drinks. Van must’ve told Theo what he wanted, because there’s one for him that he accepts graciously. “What brings you to San Diego?”

“I’m in a band, actually. We’re called Catfish and the Bottlemen,” Van admits, taking a sip of his beer. “We’re on tour right now. Had a show here tonight.”

“No way! Where did you guys play?”

“The House of Blues.”

Mary sputters on her drink. “Holy shit!”

Van laughs, taking another sip. “Yeah, it was fucking incredible.”

“Sounds amazing,” Mary agrees. “We’ll have to check you guys out!”

“Yeah, for sure,” Van nods eagerly. “Y/N was just sayin’ she lives in L.A., next time we’re around there I could get you guys some tickets.”

“That’d be perfect,” Mary beams at him. 

“You’re up late!” You can’t help but blurt out. You’d checked your phone while Mary and Van were talking, and it’s closer to morning than you thought.

You realize everyone at the table is looking at you and clear your throat, putting your phone face down back on the table. “I just mean, aren’t you exhausted? After doing a whole show?”

“Nah,” Van shrugs. “It’s such a rush, the adrenaline keeps me going after. I can’t just head back to the hotel and go to sleep. Keeps my heart pumping, you know?”

You nod, even though you can’t personally identify with the experience. Just like that, any awkwardness from your random exclamation is soothed away from Van’s laid-back response, and as conversation continues to flow easily again you can’t help but marvel at his charisma. Maybe Mary was right about him not being a potential murderer.

Van’s the first to notice when everyone’s low on drinks, and politely offers to go grab another round. Everyone else had been too preoccupied in their current discussion, which consisted of questioning Van on the different aspects of U.K. culture and stereotypes. 

“Y/N, go help him,” Mary tells you, peering at you over the rim of her almost-empty glass. You blush and roll your eyes, but you listen. 

Van’s already standing at the bar, so you try to strategize the least awkward way to come up behind him. Thankfully, he sees you out of the corner of his eye, turning towards you and giving you a small smile.

“Hey,” You start nervously, leaning on the countertop next to him. “Just thought you could use some help carrying this stuff back.”

“I could, actually,” Van smiles gratefully. “I ordered it before I realized there were four of us. Was kinda hoping you’d be the one to come help.”

You blush at his words, but try desperately not to read too much into it. “Sorry,” You say suddenly, and Van’s head cocks in confusion.

“About us grilling you back there,” You explain. “I’m sure you get those questions all the time. It’s probably annoying.”

Van’s easy-going shrug makes another appearance while you two watch the bartender mix up your drinks.

“I don’t mind,” He replies. “You guys are proper funny. Anything you wanna know, I’m happy to tell ya.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, another potentially awkward moment dissolving.

Midway through his beer, Van starts shouldering on his coat, which had been hanging on the back of his chair. Your stomach sinks as you realize this is probably his way of saying goodbye. 

“Gonna head out for a smoke,” He tells the table, then nods to Theo. “You need one?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Theo declines, but there’s an edge to his voice that sounds like he’s being dishonest. You mull over why he just wouldn’t go have one when Mary pipes up.

“Y/N, you look like you need some air.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Van hesitates where he’s been pushing his chair back in.

“You’ve been yawning,” Mary explains, and her eyes widen at you for just a quarter of a second, trying to convey an urgent message. “Go get some fresh air.”

You can already feel your stomach tying itself in knots at the idea of being alone with Van. It was one thing to enjoy easy conversation with him in a group setting, never mind how he’s had to iron out your awkwardness more than once. It was a whole other thing to go pester him when you’re sure he wanted a minute alone. You stay frozen in your seat.

“Can’t have you yawning,” Van says from behind you, and you feel the back of his hand brush your shoulder playfully. “C’mon.”

You swallow hard but give in to the peer pressure, slowly rising from your seat. You glare at Mary before you turn to Van, who nods his head towards the door as you two head out together.

It’s a silent walk outside and around the corner, to the same spot you’d first met Van in just a couple hours prior. He fishes a box of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and pops one into his mouth, offering the open box to you.

“You smoke?” He inquires.

“No,” You tell him, and he goes to put the box back. “But gimme one,” You say quickly.

Van doesn’t question it, offering the box to you again. You pick one and Van fishes out a lighter. 

“Ladies first,” He hums around his cigarette, and offers the flame of his lighter to you. Once your cigarette is lit he lights his own, and you watch him visibly relax as he takes his first drag.

Off the top of your head, you figure it’s been at least a year since you’ve had a cigarette. You’ve never done it as a habit, but you’re not opposed to having one on occasion, especially on nights like these when your nerves were making you crawl out of your skin. The taste isn’t pleasant, but it’s familiar, and it soothes you.

“I’m sorry about them,” You apologize after you two have had a moment of peace and quiet. “They’re being… obnoxious.”

Van tips his head back, exhaling a puff of smoke and laughing at the same time. “Ah, don’t be. I love ‘em.”

“That makes one of us,” You joke, soliciting another laugh from Van.

Silence lapses over you two, and it leaves too much space for you to realize how attractive he is, sneaking glances at his face the way you have been all night. You catch him looking at you and quickly divert your eyes down to the pavement. But when you look back up, he’s still looking.

“You know, if they’re really buggin’ you…” Van’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through the soft background noise of the street. He gives another one of his shrugs, as if what he’s about to say next isn’t important. “We could head back up to my room,” He finishes.

Your stomach squeezes, sending any butterflies in there into an absolute frenzy. You stare at him in absolute shock as you try to process what he’s said. 

“Or your room, if you prefer,” He tacks on, punctuating his offer with an inhale of his cigarette. 

As he smokes you remember your own cigarette and take a puff from it, buying yourself time to try and weigh your options. It was hard to think rationally with your heart about to pound out of your chest, but in general the more the possibility turned over in your mind, the more your mind ticked off reasons it was a good idea; You were attracted to him, and if anything went wrong, you’d be in the safety of the hotel. Plus, besides for the fake-stalking incident you overreacted about, he hasn’t triggered one red flag, which is more than you can say about any date you’ve had in the past year.

“Well, considering we’re sharing a room,” You start, exhaling smoke, “it’s probably best if we go back to yours.”

Van laughs at that, tipping his head back to rest against the brick wall. “My room it is.”

You both finish up your cigarettes with a poignant silence hanging between you. It makes your mouth go dry and your hands shake, nerves getting the best of you, and you conceal it the best you can from Van, who seems cool as a cucumber. He’s looking at you openly now, desire written clearly on his face, and it feels like the temperature outside is rising when you meet his gaze. 

“Ready to head back in?” He asks, done with his cigarette first, stomping it out.

You follow suit. “Yeah.”

Van keeps pace with you as you two head back into the hotel walking side-by-side, his hands buried in his pockets. He gets the lobby door for you, gesturing dramatically, and you laugh, feeling some of your anxiety melt away.

“I have to grab my bag,” You tell him as you two head for the elevators, which is past the hotel bar. “And tell them where I’m going.”

“Course,” Van replies, letting you lead the way to the bar.

You turn to him just as you’re about to walk in. “What’s your room number?”

A slight smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “337,” He tells you.

He hangs back as you head to the table, the gravity of what you’re about to tell Mary and Theo finally hitting you. 

“Hey guys,” You say nervously as you approach. They’re wide-eyed and silent, obviously curious about how your moment alone with Van had gone.

“So, I’m gonna head up to his room,” You explain slowly, grabbing your bag off of the seat of your chair. “He’s in room 337 in case I go missing.”

“No way!” Mary exclaims, and you see her peering around your body towards where Van is standing. “I can’t fucking believe this!”

“Are you guys gonna be okay without me?” You ask. You’re mostly kidding, but there’s an edge to your voice. “I mean, this is for my birthday and all, so if you wanted me to stick around I-”

“Oh my god,” Mary says, exasperated, but she’s grinning. Theo is too. “Shut up and go! Get on with it!” She makes an exaggerated shooing gesture with her hands, before she mimes pushing you away from the table.

“Remember to use a condom!” Are her parting words as you head back to where Van’s leaned against the wall by the entrance.

“Like I said…” You say as you approach, knowing he’s seen the entire exchange even if he couldn’t hear it. He’s beaming, and when you look over your shoulder you see Theo and Mary giving you both a thumbs up, waving you away. “...Sorry about them.”

Van doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, leading the way to the elevator. It’s pretty late, the amount of people awake at this hour starting to become sparse, so the elevator comes immediately when Van calls it. Predictably, he lets you on first before he trails behind, punching the button for his floor.

The wait for the elevator to make it to the third floor is about as awkward as it usually is, maybe a little less considering there were no strangers in your breathing space. You flip through your phone even though it’s got no service and nothing will load, and Van opts to gaze around, looking lost in thought. When the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open, Van presses his hand to the seam of the doors so you can safely exit before he follows.

“Do you always let everyone go first?” You can’t help but ask as he leads you down the hall and around a corner.

“Um,” He seems confused at the question as he pats his pockets, clearly looking for the room key. “I mean, it’s different with my mates, but usually I do. Is that not something you do here?”

“Holding the door? Yeah, sure, but I’ve never met anyone who does it as… consistently as you.”

Van’s found the key card in the inner pocket of his jacket, and he comes to a stop in front of room 337. 

“Raised with good manners, I guess,” Is his explanation as he gets the room unlocked. He turns the knob but still lets you in first, your bodies brushing slightly in the narrow doorway. It gives you goosebumps.

You don’t know what you were expecting to walk into, but you’re pleasantly surprised that his room is just like any other suite. It’s a bit more spacious than yours, but that’s due to the fact he’s only got one bed, a king bed that looks so soft it practically makes your eyes water. It’s still impeccably made, the entire room untouched except for his luggage arranged nicely by the room air conditioning unit.

“This room is nice,” He remarks from behind you after he’s put the chain on the door. “I haven’t been in here yet, not gonna lie, I was a little nervous about what we’d be walking in to.”

“Whose stuff is that?” You ask in confusion, pointing at the suitcases.

“Oh, that’s mine. Someone from the crew brings ‘em up.”

“I see,” You murmur, as Van shrugs his jacket off and slings it over the chair resting at the desk. 

“Want something to drink?” He asks, and when you look at him you notice there’s a gift basket resting on the desk, a corked bottle of wine and glasses perfectly arranged inside.

“Yeah, sure,” You agree, setting your purse down on the desk while he procures a corkscrew from the basket. 

“I’m gonna freshen up real quick,” You tell him as he goes about trying to open the bottle. You linger for just a moment, watching the way the tip of his tongue sticks out of his mouth in concentration and the fabric of his button up shirt strains over his arms before you walk away.

When you come back into the room Van’s sitting on the bed against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed over each other. He’s messing around on his phone, and on each of the bedside tables there’s a full glass of red wine, Van’s with slightly less than yours.

“Jeez, at least take your shoes off,” You laugh, his black boots looking sorely out of place on the white duvet. He looks up at you, then, his gaze following you while you make your way to the empty side of the bed and take a seat. 

“Just my shoes?” He inquires, a mischievous smile appearing. But he sets his phone aside, leaning forward and unzipping his boots, chucking them off.

“And your socks, duh,” You joke, and he obeys, and soon his bare feet are exposed.

“That all?” He asks, the pitch of his voice lower than it’d been a second ago. It makes your heart skip a beat, and you swallow thickly.

In a sudden rush of boldness you reach over, giving the fabric of his button up a quick tug. “This too, maybe.”

“Ah, but it’s got so many buttons,” Van says in faux-concern. It’s so cheesy, and you can tell he knows it from the grin on his face, but you climb up onto your knees on the bed anyway. 

“I can help,” You try to keep a straight face while you say it, but a laugh manages to bubble up despite your best efforts. Still, it doesn’t stop you from completing the task, undoing his buttons only to reveal a black t-shirt underneath.

“Sort of anti-climactic,” You tell him. 

“S’ exactly why I needed help,” He tells you, leaning forward. “Two is just too much work.”

You slide your palms over his shoulders, easing the button up off of him. The slide of your hands against his arms is the first real skin-on-skin contact you’ve had, and the feeling of his smooth skin and soft hairs is strange and exciting. 

“There you go,” You hum, tossing the shirt away from the bed. There’s a moment of panic where you wonder if maybe he’s someone who’s particular about his clothes, and you could’ve just thrown some sort of priceless designer shirt on the floor like it was nothing. But from the way he’s looking at you it’s clear a shirt on the floor is the last thing on his mind, and you exhale in relief.

“Alright, round two,” You say quietly, but Van shakes his head.

“I’ve got this one,” He murmurs. “Just needed help with the buttons.” One of the corners of his mouth quirks up, and suddenly he’s pinched the hem of your shirt between his index finger and his thumb and given it a slight tug. “You worry about yours.”

You oblige, trying to get your top over your head as gracefully as possible. Van’s tugged his t-shirt off in record time, and you jump when you feel his cold hands help you get your shirt the rest of the way off.

Instinctually you go for his belt, starting to get into the rhythm of how these things go. He lays there quietly while you get it unbuckled and tuck your fingers against the warm skin of his stomach to unbutton his jeans, and tilts his hips up obediently so you can shimmy them down his legs. 

There’s a heavy moment where you take him in, laying back against the headboard in only his briefs. He’s got a smattering of dark hair no matter where you look; over his thighs, on his chest, in a thin line making its way under the waistband of his underwear. 

“No fair.” Van finally interrupts your gazing. “I’m the only one not wearing pants.”

It takes all your willpower to rip your eyes away from his form, but you stand up from the bed, unbuttoning and starting to peel your skin tight jeans off of your legs. He watches you the whole time, and you blame his gaze and your self-consciousness for throwing you off balance as you kick your pants off of your ankles, almost falling over.

Van is sitting up straight in a flash, his hand shooting out to steady you. It lands on your hip, his fingers digging into the skin right above your underwear, and you look up at him, gasping in a mix of mortification and surprise.

“Ya good?” Van asks quietly as you steady yourself.

“Yeah, yeah,” You assure him, although you can feel your face heating up from the blunder. Van withdraws his hand and it feels like the most frustrating thing in the world, your body screaming for more.

“Sorry,” You apologize nervously as you get back on the bed, making your way over Van’s long legs and settling down next to him.

Van seems amused at your apology. “No worries,” He assures you, turning his head so he’s facing you. His face is way too close, self consciousness burning through you as you two examine each other from mere inches away.

His hand comes to rest on your side again, this time landing on the skin right under the band of your bra, and before you can inevitably make the moment awkward by any means necessary he’s leaned in, and your lips melt together.

It’s a bit chaste, but definitely not the worst kiss you’ve ever received. After a few beats Van pulls away.

“Sorry,” He grunts, shifting his body weight. “This is such a weird way to sit. My arm’s getting crushed.” He tries to move himself from where he’s pinned his shoulder against the headboard in order to face you.

You make the snap decision in that moment to slide down from where you’re sitting so that you’re laying down.

“Here,” You tell him, “Let’s try it this way.”

From the way Van’s eyes travel up and down your body, you know he’s caught your drift. 

“Yeah,” He smirks, laying down next to you. With a few minor adjustments he’s got most of his body weight pressing you down onto the bed, his nose just barely brushing yours. “This might work a bit better.”

Then he’s kissing you again. You’ve already got the chills from the way his body is pressing tight against yours, but once the kiss deepens, Van’s tongue pressing into your mouth, you can’t help but shiver. Van feels it and must think you’re cold, because a second later his palm is rubbing over your arm like he’s trying to warm you up.

Any trace of chastity or awkwardness from the initial kiss has completely disappeared, revealing Van’s true talents as a kisser, and with every second that passes you feel him climbing up your makeout leaderboard. His mouth is absolutely incredible, and tastes like the glass of red wine he’s got sitting on the nightstand, and you can’t get enough, your hand instinctively coming to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You don’t expect him to moan, the sound so satisfying your body reacts on it’s own, your back arching as much as it possibly can with him pressing you down. It only encourages Van, who exhales sharply out of his nose, the hot air brushing over your cheek, the kiss becoming more desperate.

You two separate to breathe, every inhale causing Van’s chest to brush against yours.

“Christ,” Van says quietly, and the way his voice is rough around the edges sends another shiver down your spine. He gets off of you, sitting up and reaching over for his glass of wine. You take the opportunity to sit up too, unclipping your bra and sending it over the edge of the bed. You cup your breasts in your hands, not yet ready for Van to see you exposed, but you work up some courage after a few moments, letting them go in favor of using your hands to shimmy out of your underwear. 

There’s the soft clink of Van setting his wine glass back down, and when you dare to glance over at him his expression is neutral, his eyes flitting over you.

“No fair,” You start, but have to stop to clear your throat. Van’s eyes dart up to meet yours, listening intently.

“I’m the only one naked,” You parrot his joke from earlier, and give him a nervous smile.

“Yeah,” Van’s long fingers come up to scratch at his jaw. “I guess that isn’t very fair.” Within a handful of seconds he’s chucked his briefs on the floor.

He changes position then so that he’s resting on his knees, and you hold your breath while you get a proper look at him for the first time. 

“Oh-” You start to speak, but you’ve got the common sense to swallow the rest of the sentence.

Van stills, waiting for you to finish.

“You’re… British,” You say sheepishly. 

Van chuckles, looking down at himself. “M’ uncut,” He voices your exact thoughts.

You gulp, nodding, hoping you didn’t ruin the moment.

“Same thing underneath,” Van murmurs, wrapping a hand around himself. With the slide of his wrist the foreskin moves back, revealing the flushed head of his dick. “See? Works just the same,” he quips cheerfully, looking up at you.

“Right.” You nod. “Good to know.”

The kissing resumes after you two lay down again and Van can’t keep his hands off of you, stroking at your sides and stomach and eventually your thighs.

“This alright?” He asks, pointedly brushing one of his knuckles against your inner thigh.

“Yeah, yeah” you choke out, spreading your legs so he’s got access to you.

The first press of his soft, tentative fingertips against you makes your eyes squeeze shut, but you can’t hold back your moan when he starts working in tight circles.

He teases his way lower and lower, the only sound in the room your harsh breathing and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. When he starts to feel his way inside, slowly and methodically easing in two fingers, your back arches up off of the mattress. 

“Van-” You breathe, and feel his stomach clench from hearing his name.

“You can just-” It’s hard to get the words out with the way he’s pumping. “You should stop,” You manage finally. “We can just get started.”

Van’s fingers still, and you blink your eyes open slowly, greeted to his face mere inches from yours, his hooded eyes watching you.

“Yeah, I…” You breathe out, your face burning in self consciousness at the thought of him watching your face throughout that. “I’m definitely ready.”

“If you’re sure,” Van says slowly, and you feel his fingers slide out of you, leaving an awful empty feeling in their wake.

“Definitely sure,” You tell him, eager to feel full again. “Do you want me to…” You trail off, but Van understands the unspoken rest of your sentence.

“Probably best if you don’t,” He laughs quietly. “It’ll be over before things even get started.”

You nod against the pillows in understanding, and Van rolls over, hanging off of the edge of the bed for a moment until he rights himself, leather wallet in hand.

You watch him procure a condom from one of the folds, and then he’s getting up on his knees, shuffling so he’s in between your legs before ripping the wrapper and sliding it on.

“You settled? You ready?” He asks you, one hand on himself, the other resting on your hip, warm and reassuring. 

“Yeah,” You tell him, nervously adjusting the way your knees are bent.

“Alright,” Van says quietly, and it sounds like it’s more meant for himself. There’s a few quiet moments and the sound of the duvet rustling before you feel the head of him press against you, warm and persistent, and your body adjusts for him instinctively, letting him inside.

It’s been a while since the last time you’ve had sex, but thankfully the warm mix of attraction and your drinks from earlier leave your body relaxed. Van looks like he feels the same, any tension in his face dissolving as he eases in, replaced instead by what looks like pure relief. You feel it too, sighing contentedly.

When Van’s done pressing in, the heady feeling making it hard to breathe, you two make eye contact, the spell that had you two so engrossed in yourselves broken. 

“Good?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” You affirm. “Now get going.”

You say the last part with a smile that Van returns, and without further ado he starts trying to find the rhythm. He tests a few out while you shift your hips, attempting to find the perfect angle, and after a moment there’s a palpable feeling that you two have gotten it right, punctuated by Van’s sharp intake of breath.

The sound catches you off guard, in sync with another push in, and you gasp in surprise, one of your hands reaching out to grasp at the blankets. It only encourages Van to stay persistent in his thrusts, and you can’t help but groan.

“God,” You croak out. You release your death grip on the blankets, instead putting your hand on his back. You’re careful not to scratch him, but the feeling of him fucking you is amplified with the way you can feel his muscles strain under your hand. “Van,” You breathe.

You kept it quiet, the remnants of your usual self-consciousness still floating around in your head, but you can tell he’s heard.

“Ah, fuck,” Van moans, long and low, and your other hand comes up to grasp at him wherever it can reach as you feel the steady pulse of sparks down your spine.

Your hand lands on his shoulder blade, and it’s as if you’ve given Van some sort of unspoken permission. He leans forward, your lips meeting in a wet and clumsy kiss. It’s more panting in each other’s faces than it is actual making out, but your hand still slides from his shoulder to his jaw, taking care of guiding the kiss while he’s in his distracted state.

You can feel him starting to come apart, missing a beat with his hips every so often and letting out a whine when you take charge of deepening the kiss, tilting his jaw with slightly more force than necessary so you can lick into his parted lips. You’re getting close too, so you decide to let go of his face, instead slipping a hand between your bodies so you can start to rub at yourself.

Van’s head sinks down to your neck, kissing at any skin he can reach while you cry out at all the sensations your body’s trying to take in at once.

There’s a shift of Van’s body weight, his lips leaving your neck. You want to yell at him for taking his lips off of you but you’re too preoccupied with getting your fingers to match the pace he’s set, every moment in sync taking you closer to the edge.

Without any warning there’s the warm brush of the pad of his thumb against your nipple, and your whole body jolts with it.

You’re too distracted to moan but your jaw falls slack. That’s all the approval Van seems to need, starting a very light pace with his thumb, brushing over you back and forth.

“Is it good?” He asks quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You can hardly form a proper word with your mouth. “Huh?”

“This bit,” Van clarifies, and his thumb rubs your nipple more insistently. “Do you like that?”

“Yeah,” You manage, your eyes squeezing shut, closer than you thought. You can sense that Van understands the gravity of the moment, his movements all becoming very precise and impeccably consistent.

“Don’t stop,” You can’t help but beg.

“Won’t,” Van assures you quietly, and he holds true to his word, fucking into you and circling your nipple without fail as you feel your orgasm start to crash down upon you, squirming and calling out through the entire thing.

You lay there catching your breath when you’re done, Van free to set his own rhythm to get himself to the finish line. He speeds up, setting a frantic pace that you can hear as your skin slaps together with his. 

“What do you need?” You slur, removing your hand from yourself in favor of rubbing over his back again.

“Nothin’,” Van answers, his voice tight and slightly higher-pitched. “Nothin’.”

You stay quiet, leaving him to it, and after a few ragged breaths you can feel the way his whole body goes rigid, thrusting fast but shallow as he rides out his climax, burying his head in your shoulder and biting down hard.

You yelp in surprise from the pinch of his teeth, but let him stay there until he’s done, when he releases you with a long, content sigh.

There’s nothing said as you two catch your breath, your brain attempting and failing to find words for the experience.

“Shit,” Van sighs after your breathing has slowed.

“Holy shit,” You agree. You’ve been looking up at the ceiling, but you turn to look at him. The angry red indent from his teeth against your shoulder catches your peripheral vision, and you crane your neck more fully, examining the crooked lines of his teeth pressed into your skin.

“Sorry,” Van says. “I didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

It’s so refreshingly sincere, so different from the few other apologies you’ve received from men during sex, their smug faces usually indicating their value for their pleasure over yours. You actually laugh.

“Totally fine,” You tell him, and you mean it.

Van heaves himself up from where he’d flopped down, half on top of you and half on the bed, and carefully pulls out, the sensation of the heavy condom sliding out of you making you cringe. You watch his long fingers tie it off before he clamors off of the hotel bed on shaky legs, depositing it in the garbage by the coffee maker before nipping off to the bathroom.

“Ugh,” You sigh, starfishing out your limbs on the empty bed.

“Do you care if I don’t go back to my room right this second?” You ask Van as soon as he emerges from the bathroom.

“Whatever you wanna do,” Van shrugs. As he approaches his side of the bed he starts to tug the duvet down. “At least get under the sheets with me.”

You shimmy your way under the sheets, your body melting with the heavenly feeling.

“Mind if I shut the lamp off? It’s starting to give me a headache shining in my eyes.” He asks.

You dismiss his concerns with a wave of your hand. “Go ahead.”

With a click the room is shrouded in darkness, the only exception being the blue glow of Van’s phone.

You yawn. “What time is it?”

“Five.”

“Are you not tired?” You ask him around another yawn. “Even after your show and everything?”

His smile looks tired. “My body’s on a different time.”

“Oh.” You curl up under the covers. “I’ll go in a second, I promise. I’m just fucking exhausted. Unlike you.”

Van snorts in amusement, but you miss his facial expression, your heavy eyelids falling shut.

\\

You wake up to the echo of running water and the glow of the lamp painting your eyelids red.

You squirm, tugging the blanket around your head so you can peacefully return to sleep, but as you start to doze off the water abruptly stops, and you can hear the clatter of Van getting out of the shower.

Soon he comes out of the bathroom, singing softly under his breath as you hear the rip of different zippers through the air.

You kick your legs out, shuffling around sleepily. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty. Sorry if I woke you. I was trying to let you get a couple hours of sleep in.”

“Did you sleep at all?” You ask him, concerned, as you peer over where he’s bent in front of a suitcase, hair dripping wet and a white hotel towel wrapped around his waist.

“I slept for a good hour,” He shrugs, before he’s gotten what he needs and heads back into the bathroom. “Probably steal a couple more on the bus.”

“Where are you headed next?” You can’t help but ask, raising your voice so he can hear you from the other room. 

“Got no idea, to be honest,” Van tells you. He stands in the bathroom doorway, in the process of running a brush through his hair. “That’s a good question for Steve, actually.”

“Our tour manager,” He’s quick to tack on after he notices your blank stare. “He keeps track of our schedule.”

“Oh.” It’s the only thing you can think to say.

“I guess I should get going,” You say awkwardly after a moment of silence. “I didn’t even mean to fall asleep, sorry. I haven’t stayed up that late in forever.”

Van seems to think that’s funny, giving a quick laugh as he goes for something else in his bag.

“God, my contacts are so dry,” You complain, rubbing at your eyelids in hopes of clearing the foggy film clinging to your vision. It doesn’t work, and you flop back down onto the hotel bed, sighing as you try to gather the willpower to get up and get your things.

“What shirt size do you wear?” Van asks.

You tell him, and after a moment feel a soft thud of something landing on the bed. You sit up to see a rumpled lump of fabric.

“One of our shirts,” Van explains. 

You grab the gift, holding it up to examine it. “Um… What is it?”

Van lets out a belly laugh at that. “It’s our next album cover.”

“Oh, alright. Thanks,” You tell him, sliding it on immediately. It feels weird to still be naked, and you’re grateful you don’t have to get into the tight top you were wearing last night.

You go through the process of retrieving all your scattered clothes from the night before, made less awkward by the fact Van is preoccupied with getting himself ready. You cram your bra and top into your purse before shimmying back into your skintight jeans and getting your shoes on.

You do a quick once-over, making sure you’ve grabbed everything as Van pulls a fresh button up over his shoulders.

“You, uh,” He starts hesitantly. When you look over, he wipes underneath one of his eyes with the tip of his finger. “You look like you’ve got a black eye.”

You realize in that moment you’d rubbed at your contacts while you were still wearing makeup. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, heading into the bathroom and trying to clean up the mess. “Thanks for letting me know. Mary probably would’ve been worried.”

“Wouldn’t want Theo catching me in the lobby,” Van jokes, and you two laugh for longer than what was probably warranted.

“I was wonderin’, before you go, if I could get your number. For those tickets the next time we’re playing in L.A..”

“Oh, definitely,” You say, extra enthusiastic to assure him of your interest.

There’s a knock at the door, and you hear Van answer it, talking to someone for a moment.

“Got interrupted for a second,” Van tells you, and when you come into the room you see he’s loading his luggage onto a bellman cart. “But perfect. Lemme grab my phone.”

He retrieves his phone off of the bed, typing into it for a moment before he offers you a screen to enter your contact information.

“And y’know, the next time I’m staying in L.A. I’d love to have dinner.”

He says it so casually, no trace of nerves even as the question hangs in silence.

“Me too,” You offer him a smile as you hand his phone back, a satisfied look spreading over his face. “I’d love that.”

“It’s settled, then,” Van punctuates the deal with a nod, walking you to the room’s door and undoing the deadbolt for you.

“Alright. Well, see ya?” You offer as a goodbye, internally cringing.

“See ya,” Van echoes, swinging open the heavy wooden door for you. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

With that you step out into the hallway, Van shutting the door softly behind you. You hadn’t realized how awake the outside world was while you were safely cocooned in Van’s quiet room; There are a few doors open, the smell of hotel room service wafting around. There’s a luggage cart supporting a mismatched stack of suitcases that’s haphazardly rolled so it’s blocking a doorway, and you startle when the door behind the cart swings open. 

There’s a deer-caught-in-headlights moment between you and the man in the room, before he examines the obstacle.

“Jesus Christ, Bond,” The man groans, struggling to roll the cart out of his way. “It’s too early for this!”

You hear a deep chuckle come from one of the open doorways, before a man in a newscap sticks his head out into the hall. “C’mon, Blakes, food’s here! I got you your ice cold oatmeal and raw eggs in a cup, just as requested.”

The man in the hat notices you standing here, and you watch the way his eyes latch onto the t-shirt Van’s given you. But he’s gone just as soon as he appeared, and you head for the elevators despite the nagging feeling you should’ve helped the guy that was barricaded.

Once you’re on the elevator, you realize with a start that you’d just unknowingly met two of Van’s bandmates. 

\\

As quiet as you try to be, of course Mary wakes up as soon as you slip into your shared room.

“How did it go?” She stage whispers, and you notice Theo’s still asleep.

“It was…” You take a deep breath. You knew these questions were coming, and had tried to properly prepare for them, but you still couldn’t comprehend last night.

“Incredible,” You eventually settle on.

Mary’s face lights up at that. “What’d you guys do?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to hide your smile.

“Did you fuck him?” She asks. “Please tell me you fucked him.”

As hard as you try to conceal it, your smile widens.

Mary gasps. “You did, didn’t you?”

When you nod, Mary leaps off of her and Theo’s bed, sitting cross legged in her sleep shirt on yours. 

“Tell me everything!” She begs.

“Hold on,” You shush her. “Let me get out of these damn jeans. And take my contacts out.”

“I can’t believe it,” Mary muses to herself as you peel the denim back off of your skin. “I can’t believe you’ve finally had your first one night stand.”

“Me either,” You admit, screwing the lid on your contact case closed.

“How was he?”

“Amazing. So nice,” You gush, sitting down on the bed with her. “It’s like, no matter how awkward I was, he just thought it was funny! It was the weirdest thing ever!”

You recount most of last night’s details back to Mary, making sure to include the part where you almost fell over, awkwardly called out the fact he was uncircumcised, and almost left his room with racoon eyes before meeting two of his bandmates in the strangest circumstance. You talk until your throat is dry and you’re exhausted, climbing under the covers to resume the peaceful sleep you’d been in the process of getting in Van’s bed.

\\

The next day you get a text from a phone number you don’t recognize while you’re out shopping.

Happy birthday. Van x

Thank you, you send back, but there’s no reply.

\\

Read Chapter 2 here

[scandeniall]

Dear Diary

song 1: dear diary |  good & bad masterlist | prev | next

Pairing: sakusa x reader

Summary/warnings: life has been kicking your ass yet you don’t want to tell sakusa/profanity

WC: 1.5K

“How’ve you been,” you paused debating on answering honestly or not. Switching your phone to speaker, you fiddled with the covers resting beneath your fingers before sighing out. “I miss you Yoomi.” A silence comes settled through the phone line. “How are you doing?” The insistence of your well being causes another sigh to escape your lips. Of course he could tell that something was off even through the phone and a part of you curses his observational skills. “Im just--really fucking stressed,” you mutter out reluctantly. 

“Have you been taking care of yourself? Eating real meals and getting proper sleep?” The questions being rattled off on the other side of the phone causes you to crack a small smile at his concern. You could only imagine the furrow in his brows at the thought of a lack of concern for your own health. You almost miss the ending of the questions as he tells you not to lie to him. Your silence causes Sakusa to sigh on the line. 

“Sometimes I hate how much you really know me.” You voice the thoughts that had previously been in your head. Sakusa could hear the slightest of background noise as you maneuver yourself under the warm comforter and shifted to get comfortable. “Do you need me to come home.” The words aren’t phrased as a question, and that causes you to quickly shake your head despite the fact that he couldn't see that.

“No-no. Yoomi, it's fine. I just- I just need to get my mind right and relax. I just needed to hear your voice tonight, that's all.” You tell him, despite wanting nothing more than for him to be back with you.He’d been on the road for the last month, a series of away games and such. And right before he left, you’d been out of town on a major business trip. It seemed as if time nor luck were your friend. It’d been at least a month and a half since the two of you were anywhere near one another. He’d still be gone another month and all either of you could do was wait it out. 

The silence that followed your response was telling. You could already imagine the way Sakusa has his eyes narrowed in thought. Thinking about whether he should push for your well being or let it go for now. The quietest sigh escaped his mouth from the other side of the phone. He’d made his decision. “I miss you too. I’ll be home soon.” 

Life after that phone call seemed to grow progressively worse. Not only had you and Sakusa not been able to squeeze in another talk in the following week, but life sucked. Your job has been giving you more and more responsibility, and allowing you more freedom. On one hand that was great, a celebratory text sent to your boyfriend at the talks of you in for a promotion, however it was tiring. You were coming home later and later, exhausted and starting to neglect your own health.

It’s not you were intentional in the neglect. It just felt too damn hard to come home after a long day and cook a healthy and fulfilling meal. When you were home you were suddenly reminded of just how empty the apartment was without Sakusa. Dust that was normally absent due to his cleanliness began to appear. Dishes piled up more than he would have liked. Whenever you did bother to straighten up at least for his sake, it drained you. 

Adulthood was really kicking your ass and it came to a head one night when you woke up sweating. As if life couldn’t drag you down even more, your AC had gone out right during the hottest part of the summer. Come morning you found out that your landlord had gone on vacation and could not and would not be able to fix the unit for at least a week. 

So you’d done what you usually did. Sucked it up and forced yourself to push through. Not a word of your woes to Sakusa who had more important matters to attend to other than your slump. You went to work, exhausted yourself there and dragged your feet into the dreaded heat of your apartment. 

Upon entering you were automatically hit with a wave of heat, making your already sluggish steps heavier. Kicking your shoes off you offhandedly waved hello to the person seated on the couch before dragging yourself towards the kitchen like it was completely normal. A moment later you stopped in your tracks. “Yoomi?”

The slightest nod from your boyfriend caused you to blink in surprise before launching yourself into his arms. “What are you doing here,” you muttered as his hands ran up and down your back. Pulling away slightly you eyed him. He looked tired. Eyes unusually sunken and you noticed the tiniest sheen of sweat across his forehead. You went to pull away knowing the touch paired with the heat would likely make him uncomfortable. To your surprise, the hands wrapped around your middle didn’t make any moves to release you. “You needed me so I came home.”

You felt a squeeze in your heart as your arms tightened wrapped around his shoulders. “But I didn't say anything—“

“Your voice. On the other week. And then your texts were different.” Of course he noticed. The conversation had already signaled to him that you weren’t the best. Your shaky exhales as you insisted that you were fine and that he didn’t need to come home. Then he noticed the jokes within your texts began to slowly subside. You’d also found yourself saying that you missed him more than usual. “So you came back?”

“I have a 3 day weekend this week. Then I’m back to practicing.” You nodded in understanding the two of you releasing one another and you noticed Sakusa frown. “Why’s it hot?” You explained about the broken AC and about the suffering you’ve endured for the past 2 days. “Did you get any more fans?” He looked annoyed once you denied purchasing any additional appliances knowing he’d had to get that done for you. “You know you’re more susceptible to nosebleeds in the heat right?”

“Thank you Dr. Omi,” you teased, laughing at his scowl from the nickname. The two of you settled onto the couch, your head coming to rest on his shoulder. “It’s common knowledge.” His replies allow a lightness to settle in your heart. One you hadn’t felt in weeks. The two of you settle into a silence for a little while his hand rubbing soft circles on your knee. “You need to take better care of yourself. And tell me when you need me.”

“I didn't want to take you away from your busy schedule,” you hum out. You feel the movement against your knee stop, a former grip replacing it. “I don't care how busy I am, I’m here. Now stop being annoying and tell me things.” You feel yourself jokingly roll your eyes before agreeing. However that wasn’t enough as you heard the scoff from next to you. 

“I’m serious. You remember what you told me back in college”

“Pretty sure I told you a lot of things back then,” you tease, taking his closest hand and interlocking your fingers. “You believed in me,” he started catching your eyes. “Told me you always knew there was no limit to me. That means I can handle it. Don’t feel like you’re annoying me.” Your eyes widened at how he remembered that very specific moment. 

It was around 4 years ago. He’d just told you that he signed to MSBY, something everyone around him was dying to know. Yet you were the first person he told. He remembered how your eyes beamed as you sat on his lap, your phone camera in his face recording the moment for memories sake. He didn’t even bother swatting it away like he usually did. He’d allowed you to place messy kisses all across his face despite the feel of your tacky chapstick. “Why do you remember that,” you questioned a soft smile gracing your own features. 

You notice the shrug of his shoulders as he helped to to sit you sideways into his lap. “Doesn’t matter. Now tell me what’s wrong. And then we’re going to get some fans.” You nodded leaning so that your lips met his for a soft kiss. “I really missed you,” you murmured into the kiss. And while he was only there for the weekend it was enough. He came home for you. The one who has loved and supported him with open arms for the past 5 years. He’d be damned if he didn’t try to make up for it. 

So you told him everything on your mind. Laughing every time he scolded you for the little things. “Don’t let the dust build up by the time I get back next month.” To “You need to sleep more.” And in return you got the same. You got the story from the exhaustion laced in his eyes. The hours it took to get to you, and the germs he forced himself to sit through to make it happen. And despite the annoying heat in the apartment, neither of you have felt that good in a while.

a/n: wow i FINALLY got at least 2 consective songs in a row done so now my prev/next is relevant for at least 2 parts. This took a different route than I initially planned for, nor is it exact in its storytelling. It was also started 2 months ago and finished now bc it was kinda hard for me. Anyways hi um did you catch the no limit to you ref? bc yeah i love that and to date still my fav piece ive ever written. you dont have to read that to understand this but its 5.4k words if you have some spare time.

anyways: im about to be on an 8hr car ride so feel free to request stuff. rules