#fingers crossed the glue and fabric didn’t do anything weird

[nerdierholler]

Attempt number two. Now it dries overnight and hopefully tomorrow I can glue in the text block.

[sunflowerstache]

the one where you’re Harry’s tailor

@theasstour​ and I have been stewing in this idea for nearly a year and it’s finally come together.. we hope you enjoy x.

Word Count: 25.6k | Warning(s): explicit language, alcohol, sexual content

NORA’S MASTERLIST  |  SARAH’S MASTERLIST

There were few moments in life that would equate to being backstage at a fashion show, simply because it was impossible to string together the specific words needed to describe the feeling. Journalists tried, quickly scribbling down thoughts and plans for their future articles in small notepads, while the professionals around them danced about in unspoken, yet somehow synchronized, movements. How would they be able to accurately depict the feeling of fabrics rubbing together between your fingers, in the most comforting way? The almost deafening sound of sewing pins carelessly being dropped on the table, after fixing a foot sized hole in a pair of trousers moments before showtime. Or how, with the amount of people crammed into the room, mixed with the humid Roman air seeping through the open windows, had sweat continuously dripped from your forehead. Yet, there was still a constant shiver running up your spine with nerves. No matter how valiant of an attempt, unless they were watching their own tailored outfits walk down the runway, their written words would never be exactly right.

Even after four years working for Gucci, perfecting hundreds of articles of clothing, clothing that was held on such a high pedestal in the fashion industry, the nerves never settled. Not when Alessandro immediately hired you at the end of your University placement, or when you were asked to accompany him in the closing walk during last year’s Cruise Show. But all of those monumental achievements paled in comparison to the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you were crouched in front of your current canvas, Gucci’s newest runway model for the 2020 Cruise Fashion Show; Harry Styles.

He was making his runway debut wearing Look 51, something you’d taken notice was not too far away from his new wardrobe when you first opened his folder. The wide legged pants were crafted from fine dots patterned blue wool, a single red pin stripe running from the hip, all the way down to the ankle. They were finished with minor details, ones not many people would take notice to, but ones that made your heart race with excitement; hidden horn buttons, front slash pockets, viscose inner lining, and an interior silk belt, all of which were hidden by his coat. Green, red, and blue stripes defined the knee length coat, appearing to crease where the four pockets sat; two at his groin and two more just at the breasts, the left pocket holding Lyre ‘Pas de Rumeur’ crest patch. Barely visible under the wool coat, peaked out a blazer identically matching the pants, only the buttons and red piping could be seen, but you knew what would be hidden to onlookers; an orange lion embroidered onto the upper left breast pocket, the hand stitched word ‘Gucci’ sitting under it’s paws in black thread, and a baby blue silk inside - a fabric that no doubt felt great against Harry’s white tank top covered torso. The rest of his look consisted of minor accessories that brought the look together; a red barrie that had the signature double G’s embroidered in green thread, a pair of crocheted black fingerless gloves, and maroon quilted leather slide sandals, complete with the interlocking G horsebit. The subtle jewelry on his body was a stark contrast to his usual ring clad fingers, now only having a few delicate necklaces rest against his bare chest. He was a sight to be seen, someone who would surely grab attention as he made his way through the dark museum runway.

“Quit moving, or you’ll end up with a pin in your bum.” you mumbled, on your knees behind Harry and quickly fixing a tear in the rear left pants pocket before he was ushered out onto the runway.

The two of you were in the farthest corner of the back dressing room, away from most of the hustle and bustle of all other models, so that you could grab the emergency sewing kit, filled with all colors of thread, baby scissors, hundreds of pins, and even super glue, from your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, Alessandro could be seen weaving through the room, triple checking that each and every outfit was completed in the exact way he had envisioned. There wasn’t much time before all models were set to step foot on the Musei Capitolini floor, and the last minute nerves were finally setting in.

“Sorry, can’t help it. Never done this before, you know.” his voice was muffled by not only the chatter of the room, but also the constant picking of his lip.

“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it, if I’m honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you chuckled, giving the bum pocket a couple tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come undone again, before moving to stand directly in front of him. “You cut yourself the first time we met, ripped your trousers at the first shoot, and fell off a stone wall in the new campaign. You’re not exactly the most graceful lad at times.”

“In my defense, no one told me not to get on that wall.” Harry paused a moment, holding his hand out for you to place the pin cushion while you reorganized your bag,  “Can’t believe we only met a few years ago. Feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Without any hesitation, you nodded in agreement.

You couldn’t really remember the exact date you first met Harry. All you remember is it had been February 2018 and raining - very hard at that - and when you entered the Gucci store on Bond Street in London, your umbrella had been torn to shreds because of the wind, and your hands felt like ice after having been attacked by the raging storm outside. Alessandro had been upstairs in one of the offices, three huge white boards before him with the different campaigns he was planning at the time. Humming along to Malafemmena by Roberto Murolo playing from the speakers on his desk, Alessandro traced a finger over the fabric hanging from the wall beside the boards. You knew those were the fabrics you were going to be using today, your boss having hung them forth so it would be easier for you to work.

“Morning.” You had said, taking your jacket off and placing it on the hanger. “Absolutely horrendous outside.”

“Hmm,” mused Alessandro, tilting his head to take the grey fabric in before he looked over at you making your way over. “Always like that in England.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at the different colours, materials and patterns you were going to use for the new looks. “You’re not wrong.”

Alessandro giggled, looking over his shoulder for a single second.

“Either pouring rain or it’s drizzling.” You said, studying the different designs of each of the suits you would be making over the next few months. “Right annoying when you don’t even want to be here.”

He laughed again, turning around to look at the boards you assumed.

“I’m being serious.” You reached for the fabric your boss had been checking out when you arrived. “Who would choose to live in a country where it constantly rains?”

“Didn’t really have a choice most of my life,” came a voice from behind you and you instantly stopped dead in your tracks. “Can’t really control where we are born, can we?”

Slowly, you turned to see one of Alessandro’s dearest friends: Harry Styles. He was sitting in the brown leather sofa right behind you, a sofa you knew was there from having been in Alessandro’s London office multiple times before, but hadn’t thought to give a second look. You would assume Harry would have someone there with him, like some assistant or manager or… anyone, but Harry was sitting there all alone, looking over at you with this cheeky grin on his face that had your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t a shock for him to be here alone, you thought after a second, as Harry and Alessandro spent loads of time together usually so this was just another normal hang-out for them. You, on the other hand, had never met Harry Styles before. This was your first time being in his company. And so far – you had to be honest with yourself – you weren’t looking very good. Grumpy, soaked through, and with a dash of dishevelled everything, you no doubt looked like a person no one wanted anything to do with. Harry clearly found it very amusing how little you liked being in England. Also most definitely found it funny how startled you were at his sudden utterance. You watched as he got up from the sofa, walking over to you as Alessandro also came to sight again.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro said. “This is Harry.”

You zoned out entirely, the whole situation too surreal. Though you had been born and brought up in England, there was just something about the constant rain that made not only your mood drop, but your skin sticky and hands clammy. So when Harry reached a hand out to shake yours after Alessandro had told Harry your name and introduced you, red lights and a loud alarm started going off in your head. He would have to feel just how bad the effect of the bloody terrible English weather had on you. But not shaking his hand would be weird and impolite. His hand was between the two of you, open and ready for yours. It stood there for a few seconds. And you just looked at it. Quickly realising that not shaking his hand would probably be more awkward than doing so with a sweaty palm, you took his. A breathy giggle left Harry’s lips as your hands met. You let his go, looking over at Alessandro who was giving you a weird look while you heard the slap of Harry’s hand against his thigh in the background.

“Measurements.” Alessandro said, trying to move on from the awkward situation you had just caused. All the blood in your body rushed to the surface of your skin, instantly heating you up. You glanced to the ground, hoping Harry didn’t notice how flustered you just got. Walking to your bag, you took out your notebook and measurement tape. “Glorious, mio caro.”

Getting your pen, you walked over to the board for the Gucci Autumn/Winter Campaign. There were five different suits for this one, a couple of more for the next, and then three for the last one. From the way Alessandro had left some space at the bottom of the last board, it was clear he would be working even more with Harry in the future, they just did not know exactly what or when yet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and you whipped your head to your left to see Alessandro pointing to the different suits on the board.

“These today.” He said, pointing to the specific details he wanted and instructions on where they would be loose and not. “I need to go to a meeting, but you two will be fine on your own. You have a lot in common.”

You frowned, watching as Alessandro walked toward his desk, picking up a huge binder and resting it under his arm. “Have a lot in common?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “You do.”

“Like…?”

Alessandro only gestured with his hands for the two of you to get talking, and then he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. Dettagli - Detalhes by Ornella Vanoni played lowly as the quiet between the two of you filled the room and made it troublesome to breathe properly. A great stream of anxiety suddenly took over and you suddenly felt very awkward. Obvious from the way Alessandro had left in such a hurry and the way he had left with that grin, you knew there was underlying expectations to this encounter. There were multiple reasons why Alessandro had called you to come help him. You didn’t want to think about that, though, because that only made absolutely everything ten times more embarrassing.

“Lovely,” Harry looked over at you from staring at the door Alessandro had kicked closed, standing confidently in his green and white striped tee shirt over his loose light denim jeans. “Likes a dramatic entrance and exit, that one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking over to the board to look at the details once more. Harry only watched you, a bit unsure of what to do next. The rain fell against the windows, creating a lulling sound to go with the Italian music still swaying through the room. The white walls, tall ceiling, and Victorian look of the room only made it feel like you two were actually in Italy. His phone vibrated from the sofa with an incoming text, only giving it a quick look over his shoulder until you wandered over to your bag again. Whipping your glasses out, you hung them from the collar of your white tee shirt before walking back over to Harry.

Quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, you cleared your throat. “Are you ticklish?”

Taken a bit off guard, Harry blinked twice. “Only armpits and backs of my knees.”

“Right.” You nodded your head, hooking your measurement tape around your neck. “Stand still, back straight.”

Harry listened to you, biting the side of his lip as you pressed your ring and index finger to your sternum in concentration. Eyes following you as you started walking around his figure, getting a good look at everything before you stood before him again.

“Clothes too loose?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, it’s fine.” You said, taking your tape back in your hands again. An instrumental version of ‘O Sole Mio by Jack Jezzro started playing just as the rain outside threw itself more forcefully against the windows, but you tried not to pay notice to anything but what was going on before you. You had no idea why you were nervous. Plenty of times before, you had worked with other celebrities; tailoring their suits, dresses and whatnots. For some reason, however, this felt different. Harry was so close to Alessandro, so the notion that the two of you would get along just as well filled you with anxiety, and a hint of awkwardness. Bringing your tape up you took a step closer to Harry as you lifted it above his head and around his neck. Before doing anything else, you put your glasses on, wanting to actually be able to see what the measurements were. Resting the tape on the tops of his shoulders, you put your finger between the tape and his neck to allow for some room for Harry to breathe in his suits. You felt him swallow against your finger. Her heart skipped a quick beat.

“So…” he said, dragging it out. “Where are you from?”

Instantly, your eyes whipped up in the direction of his, staring at you patiently. You glanced down at the measurements again, whispering them to yourself under your breath and doing so continuously till you wrote his numbers behind the ‘neck’ in your notebook.

“You can tell I’m from England?” you asked, knowing your parents had made it very apparent to you how much of your accent you had lost over the four years you had spent constantly traveling.

“Know a Brit when I hear one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking back to him. “Lift your arms, please.”

He did.

You sneaked the measurement tape from where it hung from his shoulders and wrapped it around the widest point of his chest. “Worcestershire, you?”

“Cheshire,” he answered. “Right outside Manchester.”

“Stand in a relaxed posture if you can,” you ordered. “You can let your arms fall to your sides.” Harry did as you told him to. “Now breathe in.” Breathed in, you noted the numbers in your head. “Breathe out.” You did the same again. Muttering them under your breath, you dragged the tape with you while writing everything down.

“And you?” Harry asked, clearly eager to get to know you better while you were this close to him. He didn’t want any awkward tension between the two of you as this almost felt like an intimate moment; you studying him so closely and touching his entire body on your first meeting. Though he was good at knowing when to be professional and when it was okay not to be - and though he knew this was work - he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t. You were a good friend of Alessandro, just as he was, and so it felt more like two acquaintances hanging out than anything work related.

“Evesham.” You answered, enclosing the tape around Harry’s waist this time. You leaned into him, nose almost touching his chest. You breathed in through your nose, and as discreetly as possible, breathed out through your mouth. Why were you acting up? What was it with Harry Styles that suddenly made it hard for you to function? This never happened. Bending your index finger, you started feeling around for Harry’s belly button to make sure you were on the right spot.

“Never really been to Worcestershire, if I’m- Oh!” Harry looked down at you as you poked his belly button a little too hard.

“Sorry, just needed to know I was directly on your waist.” You leaned down, asking him to breathe in and out again.

Harry watched you write the numbers down. “How long have you been doing this?”

“What?” you asked, putting one end of the tape at the mid side of his neck, following it all the way down to where you knew Alessandro wanted the shirt to end. Which was a little too close to his crotch. “You mean working for Gucci or tailoring people?” You felt the spot where his abdomen ended and his leg began. No, no, no, don’t go there, be professional, you thought to yourself.

“Both.”

You hunched down, getting the right measurements, writing them down, and then going to stand at his back. “Since I was twenty. Alessandro thought I had some talent, took me under his wing, and I’ve been working for Gucci since, tailoring people.” Placing your finger near his armpit, and tracing a line upward, Harry jerked.

“Absolutely not.” He glanced at you now that you were face to face, protecting his armpit while he continued on, “Want me to elbow you in the throat?”

“Preferably not.”

“Then don’t tickle my armpit.” He was so serious it took everything in you not to laugh.

“Well,” you couldn’t help your smile now. “I kind of have to know where your armpit is to do your shoulders.”

Conflict ran across Harry’s face, as if he was debating everything that could go wrong if he let you do it. Slowly, he turned back around, shoulders incredibly tense this time.

“Try to relax.”

“I know I’m about to have a finger jammed up my armpit, I’m unable to.”

The urge to laugh was so immense, but you bit your lips together and quickly ran your finger from his armpit and directly up his shoulder. Harry only winced a little, sighing under his breath as you took the measurements and then went to write them down.

“Sorry,” Harry said as you turned back around to him. “Didn’t mean to turn into a dickhead, but I just hate when people touch my armpits.”

You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m the same with my neck.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Ever had someone tailor you?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Nope. I’ll do that myself unless I need someone to do my back.”

“Let me know next time you need help and I’ll do your back.” Harry said. “Maybe wiggle my fingers along your neck or summat to that effect.”

You laughed. “You have free time on your hands now? Aren’t you a busy bloke?”

“Count me in after July.”

“Oh?”

“World tour is over; I get to relax.” He informed, watching as you did his arm. “Going to Italy to relax with some mates and family.”

“How nice.” You said, doing his wrist. “I’m going to Italy as well. Always spend March ‘till August in Florence, then September ‘till February in London.”

“Really?” Harry almost looked a little impressed by your lifestyle, as if his own wasn’t just as adventurous. “Travel a lot?”

You couldn’t help a tiny smile, knowing that no matter how many countries you’d travelled to, Harry had probably done double the amount. But regardless of how well-travelled he himself was, in the low yet curious tone of his voice, you could hear the sincerity of his question. “Mostly between Italy and England, but I do tag along on some of Alessandro’s visits to the States, France, and some other countries.”

“Wicked.” Harry smiled as he noticed the corners of your mouth tip a little upward. “What’s been your favourite so far?”

The eye contact was intense. He didn’t look away, focusing entirely and altogether on you. There was a friendliness to his glance that had you relaxing, which was odd considering how anxious you had been earlier. You were sure that, by this point, Harry had completely forgotten the entire reason why he was here or why it was raining outside. And, to be fair, so had you. This felt like catching up with a friend, the easy chatter you had with one of your mates after months apart.

“I feel like I’m somewhat biased, but Italy. I love my little flat in Florence and that city too much for my own good.” You said, finding the way Harry’s head moved slightly with his huff, endearing. “You expected that?”

“What's not to love about Italy?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “I’m going there this summer, remember? Taking my whole family and meeting some mates.”

“Where abouts are you going?”

“Modena.” He put his hands in his jean pockets, nodding his head as he spoke. “Not really anywhere close to a big city or anything, but I just want to rest once I’m there to be fair. I’m teaching myself Italian at the moment, Alessandro is teaching me some as well.”

“Really?” Your smile grew bigger.

Harry’s smile mirrored yours. “Yeah.”

“Would you understand if I spoke some to you?” The four years you had lived in Italy had made you fluent in their first language. It had been a challenge at first, but you now understood the frustrated Florentine drivers shouting out from their open driver side windows, the old couple owning the bakery near you who loved to mumble, and even the slang some of the interns at Gucci used when they talked to one another. Harry seemed to be able to tell that you mastered this language he had just barely started to learn, but he nodded nevertheless.

“Right then.” He said. “Hit me.”

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself, getting the measurement tape from the table behind you, completely having forgotten about the fact that you were here for work.

“Is that Italian for ‘oh no’?” Harry teased, making you both laugh, but you quickly shut up as you saw what was next on the list. Hip and seat. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Harry, biting your lip as you hunched down before him. You could tell that he too was a bit taken aback by the completely new position you two found yourself in. He quickly looked away.

“Is it okay if you…” your eyes met. “If you lift your shirt slightly and lower your jeans a tad? I need to measure directly onto your body.”

“Alright,” Harry took a grip of his jeans, shimmying them along with his boxers a bit down his hip. “Yeah.” Taking his shirt up next, the bare skin of his abdomen was there right in front of you.

“Modena,” you started, leaning in as you brought the measurement tape around him. Harry felt your breath brush against his abdominal hair. “Non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

“What?” he said, eyes glued to the wall right in front of him, hands gripping his shirt hard in concentration. “Didn’t catch that.”

You memorised his number, then said a quick, “You can pull your jeans up and shirt down now.”

Harry did so, watching you stroll back to note his hip. He noticed he was panting slightly, like he had run up a set of stairs. Closing his mouth, he shook his head and willed himself to act normal, to be respectful. It was a little hard, however, when he had been single for so long and a pretty lass stood right in front of his crotch. As you came back and stood in front of him the exact same way as the time before, Harry settled his eyes on the white boards again. This time around, you brought the book with you, wanting the crotch and leg area to be done with as quickly as possible.

“Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.” You said again, measuring around the widest point of his seat.

He didn’t respond.

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

You giggled, writing down the measurements before inhaling hugely. Inseam next. “Did you catch what I was saying?”

“No, I-“ He stopped himself as your hand came up to the inside of his upper thigh, not having seen it coming. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.” You said quickly, doing his inseam, knuckles softly gracing that spot between his thighs.

“I, uhh, I didn’t understand what you were saying.” He admitted quickly, hands on his hips and gaze faraway.

You wrote down the inseam, and got up, taking the book with you. His eyes instantly fell on you as you stood face to face again; him biting his lips together and your eyes big. Turning around, you placed the book down on the table again, running your finger over all the measurements so far.

“Could you come here, please?” You asked, hearing Harry walk towards you, hands on his back and ready for the next steps. You had been a bit scared to command him earlier, but now that you had talked and been between his legs, you felt it almost got a little easier to be around him. As if the awkwardness had gone away. Now you didn’t have to go far to write his measurements because the table and book and pen were right beside you. You walked over to the white board, mentally jotting down how and where Alessandro wanted the shirt to end and how it was supposed to sit on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry craned his neck to watch you. Still wearing your glasses, he watched your lips move as you mumbled to yourself, the dark blue of the rainstorm from the window beside you, made what Harry looked like seem like a painting. The calmness of you against the raging madness outside. He glanced back at the book, then at the soft fabric hanging beside him, mind wandering to the different places these campaigns would take him. He read over his measurements, about to turn the pages to see some of his other lengths and widths, when he felt a sharp pain in his finger.

He hissed.

You glanced over at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Harry was fast to answer, putting his index finger in his mouth to get some of the blood off his finger.

Walking back over to him, you didn’t pay much attention to how he was quick to put his hand behind his back again where it had been earlier. “Modena isn’t too far from Florence.”

Harry’s brows met above his nose, feeling a little lost at first, but as he slowly started putting two and two together, his grimace evaporated. “Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

You nodded your head twice, giving him a little smile. “Esattamente.”

“Exactly.” Harry translated.

You raised your hand, offering Harry a high five which he happily answered. What he forgot in that second however, was his minor accident just a minute earlier. Right before your hands met, you noticed his finger, and your eyes went immediately to his.

“What happened to your bleeding finger, mate?”

“Oh-” Harry looked at it, looking unsure for a second before he huffed. “Oh that,” he huffed. “That’s nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re a tailor.”

“What…” You shook your head. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Thought we were stating the obvious.” He shrugged. “Just a papercut. I’ll survive.”

“Of course you’ll survive, just wondered how you were able to start bleeding out of nowhere.”

Harry chuckled. “Not to worry, I’ll be able to use my hand as normal in no time.”

“Knob.” You mumbled automatically, immediately regretting it. That was not at all professional. And you were in a very professional setting. You were at work. You couldn’t call your client a knob right to his face. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, you thought to yourself trying to row yourself back to safe territory. You scrunched your nose up as you inhaled sharply. “Can’t even remember the last time I got a papercut, to be frank.”

“Speaking frankly now, are you?” He joked. You looked up at him again, and a second after your eyes met, you both started laughing. You put your hand to your heart, shaking your head at how silly the two of you were when you were under strict orders from Alessandro to get Harry’s measurements. But the fact that he hadn’t taken you calling him a knob seriously, the fact that he was able to joke about it and take the piss, it made it impossible for you not to laugh with him.

Your eyes met, both teary eyed from laughter.

“What’s knob in Italian, anyway?” Harry asked, making you laugh even harder.

And that launched the two of you into easy conversation. Almost a little too easy for the two of you to just have met. The fact that you were in a work environment didn’t seem to face you at all, which was incredibly refreshing for both. The seriousness of the meetings you had to endure most of the time so unnecessarily boring and dry that this was like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro had been right when he said you had loads in common, which you figured out in between you taking his measurements. There didn’t seem to be a topic untouched at the end of Harry’s session, and though he was done with his measurements and such, he stuck around. You two stood by the table you stood at earlier, you still holding onto the tape like once you stopped, Harry would immediately leave. Neither of you noticed how the door opened slightly. Didn’t notice Alessandro looking through the crack and at the two of you, having heard voices from behind the door when he came back from his meeting. He smiled to himself, seeing Harry laugh at something you said before he closed the door again, leaving you two to it.

You became fast friends. Though you could go a week without texting, or a day without thinking about one another, you still knew that when you next met up, you would pick up where you left off. You had formed an easy friendship like that, one which you both appreciated and knew you could come back to without problem. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would befriend someone as high profile as Harry Styles when working as a tailor. You hadn’t really thought you would befriend any celebrity when working as a tailor, actually. But here you were, friends with Harry Styles, and not at all thinking of him as someone who made hit singles or who was the new face of Gucci. Someone who made a living off of singing and who had a huge bloody fanbase supporting him. That part of his life felt surreal, but yours and Harry’s friendship was so genuine, so effortless, that you didn’t really care about the other aspects of his life as long as he was a good person.

The second time you met was at the chip shop, The Camp, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, where the photoshoot and commercial would take place. It was cloudy, the skies a dull grey that threatened with rain, but you knew would just fly right by without interrupting the film crew. The wind was annoying however, bitter at the touch, but you knew Harry was a warm blooded person and would have no problems exposing his chest and hands to it. You strolled up to the Camp School parking lot that was littered with cars and a huge white truck where you knew Harry would be, getting ready. Alessandro had other business to attend to and most of the people on set worked for Gucci, but you were there to see that the suits you had made were okay and that they properly fit. For the first fitting some weeks ago, you had been busy with another client, so Alessandro had done that himself. But he still wanted someone on sight in case something happened, because no way in hell were anyone but him or you allowed to repair a pair of torn trousers or a ruined shirt.

You knocked on the door of the truck, heard a “Come in”, and stepped inside. Harry was sitting in a makeup chair, a woman doing his hair and make-up, readying him for his first ever Gucci shoot. He opened his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror before him. Your smiles were identical when you realised who you were looking at.

“Knob.” You said, standing by the wall behind Harry.

“Wanker.” He answered, grinning at you. “You alright?”

It was something the two of you had fallen into the habit of calling one another ever since the ‘knob’ incident of your first meeting. No one really understood why, especially not the people around you. Alessandro, who thought he had been the mastermind behind a match made in heaven, was surprised to see just how good friends the two of you were. Seeing you two hit it off in his office at first, he had immediately thought he had done it, found each his friends a potential partner, but after months of nothing romantic happening, he had given up. It was clear the two of you just looked at each other as friends and nothing more. Very good friends at that.

“Yeah,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing out beyond the door you had just walked through. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”

Harry chuckled. “Worried about that, are you?” He thanked the make-up artist before he got up, gesturing for you to walk out first.

“Yes.” You answered, stepping out of the van. “You’ll look like a maniac if you get wet in that.”

“A maniac?!” Harry sounded appalled. “You might have to elaborate on why.”

“Wet hair, wearing a suit with no shirt, striking orange necklace, and holding a chicken?”

“No, that’s art, babe.”

You laughed. The two of you started strolling towards the chip shop.

“If anything, I’ll look irresistible wearing this and being soaked.” Harry said, saying a quick ‘hi’ to someone walking by. “You won’t be able to resist me.”

You huffed. “If I saw someone walking down the street looking like that, being soaked through, I’d have my pepper spray ready and already dialling 999.”

“Admit it, you’d not be able to keep your hands off me.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me thinking you’re fit?” You laughed. A short silence followed. Your knuckles brushed against one another. Something warm lit up your chest for a single second. Harry just looked at you for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the question. But before you got the chance to look to your left and at your mate, to make sure he was fine, someone interrupted.

“Harry,” one of Glen Luchford’s assistants walked toward the two of you. “We’re ready for you.”

The photographer stood beside the art director – Christopher Simmonds - further down the street, just outside the chip shop, talking amongst themselves about something. A slight breeze blew past you, Harry’s cologne graced you for two lovely seconds as you watched the man himself follow the main photographer’s assistant. You were a couple of steps behind them, standing by yourself and watching the whole commercial unfold. Harry was handed the chicken, who flapped its wings upon being in Harry’s grasp. The look on Harry’s face had you laughing, and Harry immediately looked over at you, giving you a stern look. However, you were laughing, so it was hard for him not to crack a smile as well. Your phone vibrated in your pocket some minutes later, and you walked a distance away as not to be in the way.

“Lallo, hiya.” You greeted, scrunching your nose up as you felt the first droplet of rain hit it.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro greeted, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “How’s the photoshoot?”

“Not really done much yet, but everything’s fine so far.”

He sighed again. “I am glad to hear. Did the suit fit nice like it’s supposed to?”

You glanced at Harry over your shoulder, standing on the pavement further down, ready to film. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the white sky with big eyes. It was almost as if you could see the peaceful green of his irises. His neck was stretched as he bowed his head back, closing his eyes and letting a few raindrops fall into his face. He looked almost dreamy; peaceful for a few moments as he collected himself. Someone shouted something and Harry blinked his eyes open, looking at the director. Suddenly, his eyes went to you, but they flickered away just as quickly. You looked away.

“It fits.”

“Nothing bad’s happened?”

You kicked at a stone on the ground. “What does that mean?”

“Harry ruining the suit.”

You huffed out a small laugh through your nose. “Do you have that little faith in him?”

“He gets clumsy when he’s nervous.”

You frowned. “Harry isn’t nervous.”

“Are you sure?” Alessandro asked, you could tell he was narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on his hip. He was challenging you. “Really sure?”

“Look,” you started walking towards the make-up van, aware that you most likely had to go get the make-up artist and hairdresser out if it was going to start raining. “Everything’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. If you were worried this was going to be a fail, why didn’t you prioritise this event?”

“Fine, fine. It’s not you I’m worried about, no? It’s that…” Alessandro paused for some seconds. “It’s Harry’s first Gucci shoot and I’m not there. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’m there to fix it. Why I’m here, remember?” You spotted the van. “I’m your eyes, ears, and hands today.”

Alessandro laughed. “Il mio amore, what would I do without you?”

“Do not know. I really don’t.”

He laughed again and you two hung up just as you knocked on the door to the make-up van. Informing them that it was drizzling out and that they might have to come do a touch-up if it got worse, you walked in as they got everything they needed. A selection of suits hung on a rack on one end of the van, some twins in case something were to happen, and others were lone ones. Regardless, you always found Alessandro’s ability to make clothes into a form of art so inspiring. It was what made you want to work with him in the first place. An abundance of colours and fabrics, of softness and roughness, of modern and rustic. The things he thought to make you’d never in your wildest dreams think of, which made doing anything for him so fascinating. Always something new, always something spellbinding.

You followed the crew out and in the direction of the shoot. It wasn’t drizzling as much anymore, but this was still England, something that meant it would happen anytime soon. The artists were chatting amongst themselves as you made your way over, you read over an email on your phone. Suddenly though, the heels that had walked right beside you stopped. You glanced up from your phone, over your shoulder at the three ladies you had gotten to help you. They stared straight ahead, and when you averted your eyes, letting them land on what they were seeing, you almost dropped your phone.

The hen Harry had been holding was flapping about, two crew members chasing it while a third one ran over to help. Someone was shouting “Stop recording” and someone else “Get the fucking chicken”. But the worst part of it all – at least for you – was Harry getting up from the asphalt. There was a furrow to his brows as he checked his suits for scratches, stopping when he saw the rip at his knee. Your brain immediately flashed back to what Alessandro had just told you.

Harry’s eyes shot up, hastily scanning the crowd around him, and you quickly realised he was looking for you. Stepping forward, you saw him relax some when his eyes landed on you. He jogged over, groaning through his teeth.

“I-“

“-Get to the bloody van, I need to take a look at the rest of your suit.”

“But there’s only the knee.” Harry said as you two started walking.

“I’m not taking your word for it.”

This seemed to become a theme for Harry’s shoots. His anxiety would get the better of him, though he did get more confident with each one that went by. It wasn’t something he was amazing at at first, but something that grew on him overtime. Just like the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, Harry slowly got his feet off the slippery ice he seemed to have been on that first shoot in England.

However, a few months later, you were back in Italy, doing another shoot with Gucci. Harry was wearing one of the suits you had tailored for him; a checked one, a blue shirt, a silk bandana around his neck and another one in his hair. Since the last shoot, the two of you had talked over the phone, texted, and sent each other funny memes on Instagram. You hadn’t met up a whole lot, maybe the odd café trip or two with some friends, but nothing beyond that. So, meeting him in Italy, your second home, was incredibly special to you.

You were on the outside of Rome, Villa Lente, and you had spent most of your morning yawning and getting looks from Alessandro when you did so. Harry yawned with you when he caught you doing so, the two of you giggling at how ridiculous you were being. With raised eyebrows, Alessandro watched the two of you, giving you a slight flick to the arm when you distracted Harry.

But it was when Harry was perched on the stone wall, dragging some hair out of his face as he placed himself steadily on it, that was then it happened. The sun hit him just right, making the ruffle of his curls look like a golden halo around his head; green irises switching to the colour of autumn leaves where the light hit them. He looked ethereal. And in the middle of all of this, Harry reached for the lamb he was supposed to be perching on his shoulders. No one thought Harry would actually fall off the wall. No one thought he was that clumsy. But as he was hurtling towards the ground having lost his footing completely, the realisation that he was indeed that clumsy hit you just as Harry hit the stone staircase beneath the wall.

Alessandro exclaimed a few crude words in Italian, running to Harry’s aid. You stood there blinking, getting yourself back from the slight daydream you’d just had about the poor man that laid on the ground with a dozen people around him. One second he had looked like something straight out of a dream; like an angel that had come down to earth. He had looked too good and you simply had not been able to look away from him. You knew Harry was good looking, you weren’t blind, but something about the sun hitting him like that, when he smiled down at you watching him, how carefully he styled his hair when he at up on that stone wall. It did something to you.

But all of that disappeared right away when Harry hit the ground, exclaiming a grunt of pain. Alessandro was by his side in seconds, speaking so fast you had trouble understanding him. Harry held onto his knee, yet again having ripped the suit and once again bleeding, only this time it was his hand. Why was it always his knee and why did he always end up bleeding? It was only so clumsy a person could get, wasn’t it? And yet, Harry Styles seemed to be proving you very wrong. No one was as easily affected by their anxiety as him.

People crowded him, ready to be of help and to get him standing. It wasn’t like he had broken any bones, because he was able to get up onto his feet without trouble, but the fall had definitely hurt regardless. Your eyes locked as Harry’s arm came to rest around Alessandro’s shoulders, the designer helped him over to the van. Once again, Harry had to change trousers.

“How?” you simply asked, unsure what best way to even address the whole situation.

“Don’t,” Harry shook his head, not in the mood to have you take the mick out of him for this. “Hurts like a fucking cunt.”

Alessandro pinched Harry’s side, making him yelp and put more pressure on his knee than he wanted to, ultimately getting him to gasp. Harry glanced at the designer, an annoyed furrow forming between his brows.

“Why’d you do that?”

“You were being rude.”

“Pinching a wounded man is rude.” Harry removed his arm from around Alessandro, limping towards the van. “I’m getting changed.”

You glanced at Alessandro, both of you knowing that no matter what, Harry would be in a bad mood for a bit now. That always happened when something didn’t go according to plan; he’d get grumpy and need some time alone. One of the assistants was about to follow him, clearly having gotten some orders from the photographer, Glen Luchford, or art director, Christopher Simmonds. You put your hand out warning them from following the already irritated and hurting star of the photoshoot. He just needed 10 minutes to cool off, and then you’d be off after him to make sure he was alright.

Once 10 minutes had passed, you knocked on the door of the make-up van, hearing a grumble of sorts before stepping inside. Harry was standing unzipping his trousers and shimmying them down his hip. It reminded you a bit of the tailoring you had done at the beginning of the year, how he had pushed both his trousers and boxers down so you could get his measurements right. He glanced over his shoulder at you before he sat down, now only his boxers covering the top part of his thighs and crotch.

“Don’t stand there looking for too long,” he said, bending over to get the trousers completely off. “I might end up turning you on.”

You stepped inside, closing the door and walking over to the first-aid kit. You felt Harry’s eyes on you as he sat back, placing the ripped trousers on the chair beside him. Getting some cotton, you put a mild soap on it and poured it under water before walking back over to Harry. You sat down in a chair, getting closer to him, and taking his hand. As you turned it over to look at the scratch on his palm, you could tell that it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be, but it still looked like it’d hurt. Carefully, you dabbed the wound, making sure to clean it up. Harry hissed through his teeth, watching as the cotton came out dirty. It hadn’t been the cleanest ground he’d landed on and you didn’t want him to get an infection.

Getting up, you got another piece of cotton and did the same, dragging the chair even closer to Harry now. Taking his hand this time around, your knuckles brushed his thigh, the dark downy hair you hadn’t noticed till now. How his boxers rested tightly around his thighs, and how far up they were, revealing more than you were intended to see. Your cheeks felt hot and you focused on his hand, lifting it from his leg so you didn’t have to feel his warm, bare thigh against your knuckles. There wasn’t really a trace of any dirt on it now, but you wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything before you let him outside again.

You were very aware Harry could rinse his own wound himself. He didn’t need people to do everything for him, he liked doing most things himself, in fact. And though both of you were sat there knowing you didn’t have to, neither stopped it. Slowly, Harry’s eyes came to rest at your face. They stayed there, just watching you tend to him so carefully. When people go out of their way to help you, to make sure you’re okay, those are the kind of people to hold onto for life. The kind of people who will buy you sweets when you need it on a bad day, who will force themselves to be in a cheery mood to better yours, who will kiss your eyelids when you go back to sleep after a nightmare. The kind of people who will rinse your wound when you get hurt when you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.

You didn’t know why you looked up, didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was your subconscious that knew if you did, you’d find something you’d been searching for your whole life. Maybe something inside you knew that glancing up, you’d see something you hadn’t before. Your eyes met Harry’s, and though you had stared into them on numerous occasions before, something shifted in that moment. With his hand in your hand, his bare knee resting against yours, eyes glancing intently into yours; it was like something bigger than yourselves took over. You felt it on your heart first, like a warm tingling that spread out to every single one of your limbs and cells. It felt like you were drunk; head hazy and feelings heightened. Everything about Harry before you was greater, brighter; more.

“You need to finish the shoot.” You said, knowing that Alessandro would undoubtedly not appreciate the two of you taking this long.

Harry didn’t answer. He just stared at you, like he was seeing something spectacular for the first time and he couldn’t look away. The look in his eyes softened as he gulped, his Adam’s apple moving with a lump in his throat he clearly had trouble swallowing. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes rest to your lips. Following the shape of them, savouring the colour of them. Neither of you realised you were moving in. It wasn’t till the sight of Harry started to blur and the room seem to fill with electricity that you realised just how close you were. You stopped, pulling a bit away till you saw him clearly, but a slight wrinkle to his brows told you he hadn’t appreciated that. Just as you were about to lean in again, to an unknown fate between the two of you, there was a loud knock on the door and a second later it flew open. You pushed away from him, barely even touching his hand as you finished rinsing the wound. Harry blinked, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at Alessandro who stood there glancing back at him.

“Well?” Alessandro asked, gesturing behind him at the shoot that had been momentarily stopped.

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes meeting yours before he dragged his hand out of your grip. “Just a sec.”

Harry got up, walking over to the wardrobe to get changed. Instantly, you threw the cotton away and walked outside with Alessandro, ready to forget the whole moment and never think of it again. But it was easier said than done. The rest of that shoot, that day, that week, it was all you could think about.

Unfortunately, after that shoot, you and Harry hadn’t been able to see one another  It was finally that time of year when you had a bit of time off to relax, and this time it happened to fall in the middle of July. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do nothing more than wander the streets of your home, see some old friends, and fully enjoy the beauties that an Italian summer had to offer. But no matter how happy you were for the time off, it was bittersweet because although Harry had just finished his world tour and now had an abundance of free time on his hands, he was fully booked until you’d see him for your next shoot.

You didn’t fault him for how he spent his time off, he did just get home after a long year long world tour, and that did warrant some time alone. But you did have to admit that you missed seeing him. Somewhere in your mind, you recall him saying he was spending some time in Italy up north with his family, but the dates were jumbled and you didn’t want to disturb his peace. Instead, you settled for knowing you’d see him again in a few short months.

You had set out for the day in order to find some new houseplants, seeing as the young girl who kept yours tended to while you were away - Lilliana - always seemed to let them wilt. It was the most perfect day to stroll down to the market and see some of the florists you’d missed while you were away, what with the sun shining it’s brightest and only the tiniest breeze ghosting by your cheeks. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was your time to bask in the sunlight before heading back to dreary London for some time.

Sandals clapping against the cobblestone walkway echoed through the quiet street, the sound of faint music playing from a nearby open window was carried by the breeze, filling in any silence that would be there otherwise. This was the life you had dreamt about as a child, the kind of life that you only got to read about in books or watch in films, yet here you were. It was yet another reason you had to be thankful to Alessandro for.

“Mi scusi, signora.”

You often walked down the small side street with your eyes closed briefly, not only knowing it like the back of your hands, but also basking in the warmth of the sun, so it wasn’t anything new to have someone speak up to let you know they were near. But something about that voice was familiar. Like when you walk into your home for the first time in a while and you can smell you. Like you can’t exactly put a finger on it, but you know it’s familiar, so you investigate. Which you did, and it caused you to gasp.

“Harry?”

“In the flesh.” his smile could rival the brightness of the sun that was shining between in the tall buildings as he walked up the slight incline of the street towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and through I’d stop by. See my favorite tailor.” Once he finally reached you, your arms were instantly wrapped around one another, squeezing like you hadn’t just been together weeks ago.

“Wha - how are yo-?”

“Don’t tell me you’re speechless. You? Of all people?” he laughed, pulling away after giving a few rubs to your back.

“I know you didn’t come all the way to Montaione to take the piss, Harry.” you took this time to really look at him after your surprise meet up. He looked remarkable, something that quite annoyed you considering he was dressed so casually. Then again, the man could pull off close to anything. He was wearing a pair of grey trousers; a single pleat running from his waist to ankles down the middle of the leg, a plain white t shirt that perfectly accentuated his dark tattoos, and a royal blue bandana that hung loosely from around his neck. The pair of sunglasses he had worn when walking up to you were now being hung from the bandana so that he could get a better look at you, and if you had to look at his sparkling green eyes for any second longer, you were sure you would combust.

“Despite how easy it is to get under your skin, I, surprisingly, didn’t come here to do anything other than see you for a few hours.”

“A few hours? You traveled down from Modena just to hangout for a few hours?”

“Knew I was in Modena then? Keeping tabs on me while we’re apart, are you?”

Your hand jut out and shoved him hard enough to make him lose a bit of balance while you two started walking down the street, just enough so that he had to take a few steps to the side to stabilize himself.

“Thought you weren’t here to take the piss, knob.”

He laughed, nodding his head and sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. “Alright alright. Truce. But to answer your question, yes I did. That a bad thing?”

“Uh, no it’s not. Just a bit surprising is all. That’s a bit of a journey just for lunch.”

“And I’d make it countless more times for you.”

Over the last two years, you grew to know Harry and when he was being serious or having a laugh, so you could instantly hear the sincerity behind his words. Despite the goofy grin playing at his lips, you knew that he was being truthful, and the thought made butterflies awaken in your belly.

“It’s good to see you, Harry.” the nod you gave was more towards yourself, but when you glanced up at Harry, you saw that he was already watching you, smiling as he took in your relaxed aura.

“You too, doll.”

“How’d you find me, anyway?” just as you did each time you met up, the two of you fell into easy conversation as you made your way towards the village square. Harry was one of those people that you could go months without talking to, yet somehow, the second you met back up again, you were able to pick up right where you left off.

“Alessandro may or may not have given it to me.” his voice was timid, like he didn’t fully want to admit he had asked your boss where you lived.

“Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s obsessed with you, you know?”

“He’s not.”

“Mhm. Says you’re his shining star. ‘M sure the man would create a whole collection surrounding you if you give him enough time.”

“Says the woman who he looks at like his next of kin.”

“Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Harry. You know he adores you.”

“Just him?”

It felt like spending time with a lifelong mate when with Harry, but when he said shit like that, when he made your tummy flutter with his mix of words and longing gazes, it made it hard for you to see him as just a friend.

“Didn’t you say that you only had a bit before having to get back?” you changed the subject quickly, not wanting to answer his question.

“Not get back, ‘m not headed back to Modena.” he shook his head when you sent him a soft, questioning ‘no?’ “Nope. Flying down to Sicily for a few days for Google Camp.”

“Google Camp?” your eyebrows shot up in question when he told you, “A sumit for the rich and famous to talk about climate change while flying in on private jets and yachts. How very unlike you mister Styles.”

“Oi, lay off. Got invited, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to turn it down. Besides,” he shrugged, “‘M flying commercial and carpooling. Being as eco friendly as possible.”

“Course, of course.”

“I have four hours until my flight, so just shut up and come get lunch with me.”

The room had gone totally dim during your trip down memory lane, indicating that it was time for everyone to begin getting in their places so that the show could begin. But even in the low lighting, it wasn’t hard to miss the look of fear and doubt flash through Harry’s eyes. The look was something that appeared before every shoot or campaign you had been present for, only lasting seconds, yet always intriguing to you. The man before you was a superstar, someone who pranced around on stage in front of tens of thousands of people every night, without a care in the world. Yet, as soon as your exquisitely tailored clothes touched his body, his shoulders would tense, and he looked like a scared child. You’d never understood why.

“You’re nervous.” It came out as more of a breathy statement than a question.

“‘M terrified.”

You heard those words regularly from your models, especially the new ones, but hearing it fall from between his lips made your stomach tighten. Harry was such a natural at all of this; the superstardom. It was easy to tell that he felt right at home while on stage, how perfectly natural his body reacted whenever the camera was on for a red carpet, how easy going he was when it came to hair and makeup and outlandish outfits. All of it came so easy to him and it blew you away every time you got to witness it. And while he was so good at adjusting quickly to new environments, his team and fans constantly cheering him on with every new endeavor, he was still just a normal twenty five year old guy. He still FaceTimed his mum to get her opinion on new looks, still went out and enjoyed his free time with mates, and still got anxious when trying something new. He never seemed to want to disappoint you or Alessandro when he was wearing the clothes you’d made for him specifically. That was what got to him, you thought, the prospect of ruining spectacular clothes you’d made from scratch. The moments in time you’d just thought back on was indicator enough.

“It’s gonna be great. We saw you during the runthrough yesterday.” you smiled, reminding him how well he had done during the practice show.

“But that’s different. This time it means somethin-” he was cut off by Alessandro yelling it was time for all models to officially line up for showtime. “What if I go too fast and I step on Mae’s shoe, fuck up her walk? Or too slow and clog up the entire runway? Or the hat fal-”

“Hey!” To stop his incessant worrying, your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him stop for a second and look directly at you. He blinked once. “Stop it. You’re going to do amazing. Alessandro wouldn’t have put you in this show if he didn’t have complete confidence in you. And you should know by now I wouldn’t have wasted my oh so precious time making any of this fit you perfectly if I didn’t believe in you.”

Harry’s breathing began calming down, going from almost hysterical to a gentle, rhythmic, intake, indicating that he was coming out of his panic bubble. His eyes never left your own, quite different from all the times they had openly roamed your figure.

“You can do this.” You whispered, nodding slightly and sending him a loving smile as your hands dropped back down to your sides,

Alessandro’s voice yelled over everyone, demanding everyone be in their place immediately, but Harry made no move to leave your side. He continued staring at you, taking a few deep breaths every few seconds and nodding to himself, seeming to give himself a pep talk in his head. The lights went out in the museum, leaving the audience in complete darkness, and you knew the intense sound of an alarm would soon be echoing through the building to start the show.

But none of that held your attention.

In what could have only been a second, Harry’s lips were pressed against yours. It was so quick that you didn’t have time to register what had happened before he was turning to run and join the other models, but it left you stunned. Like being in the warmth of your home during a snowy day and suddenly opening the door, letting the freezing wind hit you in the face.

And as much as the kiss had taken you off guard, it felt so very right that small second it happened. He hadn’t even given it a second thought, leaning in to kiss you like the two of you had been an item for years and it was part of your normal everyday routine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought alone made your fingertips ache to be on his skin again. Shaking yourself out the haze that had formed around you mind, your focus and priorities flipped like a switch as soon as the siren began playing, looking around the room to make sure everyone and everything was where it needed to be.  

Just as the precession of models began exiting the dressing room, and The Shadows Die Twice by Br1002 ranging throughout the museum, you made your way up to stand beside Alessandro. There was never a time you saw him truly stressed; not when you first started working with him and you accidentally ruined an entire bundle of fabric, not when he was in charge of creating dozens of different looks for the Met Gala, and not even now, watching as his newest collection strutted down the runway, making its worldwide debut. He was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

“There she goes.” You admired, resting your head on your boss’ shoulder and watching all 217 of the looks he created and you helped bring to life, be released into the world.

The sense of pride that rushed through your veins each and every time you got to see the pieces you put your heart and soul into, was similar to what you could only imagine it was like for a parent to watch their child flourish. You could remember all the moments during the months leading up to the show that you wanted to quit, when you would get so frustrated with Alessandro and his brilliantly creative mind every time he brought you a new look idea, how badly you wanted to scream after pricking your fingers so much they started to bruise. You remembered all of those times when holding such an important job at Gucci felt like something you just weren’t ready for at the age of twenty four. But every hardship was worth it the moment your work came to a culmination. This moment of absolute pride and excitement.

“How are you feeling?”

Alessandro wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close to his body that it was most comfortable for you to wrap one arm around his back and one around his waist, your hands joining together at his hip. “I feel so much love.”

That was the only way to describe what the two of you were feeling as the show progressed through the museum. Even though the room was dark, tall lighting setups hung in every direction, and hundreds of guests were posted up in chairs, the beauty of the location still shined through. Black and white marble covered the floor throughout the entire building, the diamond pattern flowing easily from room to room, and sculptures of ancient men lined each side of the hallway, seemingly growing from the walls because of the similar colors. About halfway down the hallway, models made a left turn and entered the large area known as Palazzo Nuovo. The “New Palace” was constructed over 400 years ago and was an identical replica of the Palazzo dei Conservatori that Michaelangelo created. You had been to the location many times before since spending 6 months at a time in Italy, but you had never seen it as a place to hold a show. Not until Alessandro had brought you one day and explained his vision as you roamed the hallways.

The quick pass of a red beret on one of the monitors, set up for the backstage team to watch the show, caught your attention. He stayed on camera for a bit, and you wished you could watch his fans meltdown over it in real time because he looked exquisite. Despite the darkness of the room, Harry was glowing. The way the strobe lights would hit his face every few steps and accentuate his already angelic features made your stomach clench. You had spent countless hours up close and personal with Harry, while there was very little fabric covering his body; very intimate and unforgettable moments. Many a-second-too-long looks, smiles when the other wasn’t watching, and an intense almost kiss. And an actual kiss. A tiny kiss. A kiss you still felt on your lips. But now, you were getting hot and bothered thinking about his lips while he strutted down the runway in one of the most conservative outfits of the line.

There was something about the lapel rolls of the jacket flapping open slightly with each step, beautifully showcasing his sparrow tattoos and delicate pendant necklace under the dim lights, that excited you. But it was the faintest smile that graced his lips the second before he left frame that made your heart swell.

The overall look he was sporting was extremely similar to that of his first Men’s Tailoring campaign, with the long robe like jacket and exposed chest, but the glint of both happiness and confidence in his eyes reminded you of the moment you put him into the pink and red ensemble of his latest campaign. Something that still made something inside your tummy flutter and the corners of your mouth tip upward.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Harry said. “I will die. 100%.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, holding the pink blazer up and letting him put both his arms through it. “It’s just pigs.”

“That will have my head if I get too close.”

“This is a Gucci shoot, you’re not on I’m a Celeb.”

Harry huffed, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the blazer over his shoulders properly. “Watch me go on I’m a Celeb and die when I get attacked by an exotic animal or summat.”

“A pig won’t be the death of you and it’s not an exotic animal, now shut up and sit down.” You wagged the red bandana at him. “I need to put this on you before we can get this started.”

“Alright then.” Harry shoved his wrists out for you. “Go on.”

You tried to give him a disappointed look, but you simply were not able to. Laughing, you shoved Harry into his seat, standing between his legs as you tied the bandana around his head. This time around, the shoot was mostly indoors, so there weren’t many ways Harry could fuck this one up. Alessandro was busying himself and so were other crew members, walking about you two and shouting orders at someone else, but neither of you noticed anyone but the person before you. Since the lunch in Florence, you had been incredibly busy, so you hadn’t really had much time to meet up. Harry, who was currently travelling and making his second album, hadn’t been available much either, but you were both over the moon that you got to spend this time together. You really missed each other the time you were away.

Since last time, Alessandro had gone out of his way to make rings for those he held dearest. Gold Gucci rings with each person’s initials, one for each letter, big and bold. It had taken you off guard, as you hadn’t thought yourself to be as important to Alessandro as he was to you, but he had insisted and showed you his own. He told you “Dear friends match” and that did it for you, you simply had to wear his rings without question. And since then, you had been wearing them every single day. You felt part of his little family. So when Harry showed up to your third shoot together, wearing matching rings to yours, you felt your heart skip a beat and Alessandro’s knowing eyes on both of you. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew how you both felt for one another, and he thought, by giving you these rings, you might realise how special you were to him and then see how special you were to one another as well.

“You’ll just have to forget about your fear of geese and be a professional.”

“I don’t have a bloody fear of geese.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tying the bandana properly.

“I don’t!”

“Alright, mate.”

Harry paused for a second. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore the comment and how it made literally every inch of your body heat up. Taking a step back you studied him, giving him a thumbs up before you walked over to the other suits you had to check up on for the shoot. Harry watched you for a few seconds before he got up from the chair, going to check himself out in the mirror again. Your phone suddenly vibrated against the desk right in front of the mirror, and Harry’s eyes instantly fell to it. A furrow appeared between his brows.

“Who’s Jack?”

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry read the text you just got. “Hey!”

“Who is he?” he asked again, looking over at you as you came rushing over. You took the phone, pressing it to your chest as if it was going to make Harry forget what he’d just read. He tried to add a playful undertone to his voice, a slight smile across his lips.

“None of your business.”

Harry looked away from you, nodding as he busied himself with trying to get some kind of lint off his coat. “You’re right.”

You put the phone back in your jean pocket and walked over to the suits again, hunching down to check the seam on the hem on the trousers. You felt your phone vibrate with another notification or vibrate as a reminder that she’d gotten a text two minutes prior. Getting up and about to reach back to check what Jack had wanted, she felt a breath against her neck.

“You’re seeing him then?”

You jumped, holding your hand to your chest as you turned around to face him. “None of your business!”

“Oh, come on!”

You shoved him out of the way, way too much to do to be distracted by Harry’s nosiness. Strolling over to the desk, you started looking through your calendar when Harry showed up beside you again. Leaning on his elbow on the desk, he looked up at you, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible considering how curious he actually was.

“Is he fit at least?”

“He’s not annoying.” You said, covering his face with your hand. You felt him smile into your palm. “Ever tried that?”

“Tried being annoying?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

You shoved him away, making him lose his balance some and lean both his elbows on the desk. He watched as you walked back to the suits, looking at which ones Alessandro said were to be used by Harry and which ones were to be used by someone else at another time. Just as Harry was about to ask another question about Jack – who was just a mate from back home you hadn’t ever talked to him about because he’d never come up in conversation -, there was a knock at the wardrobe door. Alessandro stood there, a raise to his eyebrows and a small smile on his lips that was almost hidden by his dark, thick, long beard. He’d stood there watching you two for a little while, you thought to yourself.

“Is Harry ready for the shoot?”

“Yes,” you glanced at Harry and pointed at Alessandro. “Go.”

Harry sighed but got up, walking over to Alessandro who was smiling, encouraging Harry to do the same. As he passed him, a small beam was on Harry’s lips, but as he walked through the door, you couldn’t tell if he was still smiling or if he just did it to Alessandro wouldn’t make him. The creative director looked over at you, crossing his arms but not losing his smile.

“What?”

Alessandro shrugged.

“No, what?”

“You could’ve at least told him who Jack was.” Alessandro chuckled.

You rolled your eyes.

“But I get that you want to watch him suffer. It’s funny seeing someone you like be jealous.”

“Harry isn’t jealous.” You said, closing the calendar and placing it neatly back on the desk. “He’s just nosy.”

Alessandro didn’t say anything in response, instead he just walked on over to the shoot, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You weren’t really sure why you hadn’t just told Harry who Jack was. It wasn’t like anything was going on between you and Jack, you were simply mates and he wanted to check up on you and see how things were going. You had absolutely nothing to hide. Especially nothing to the point of keeping your phone close to your chest so he wouldn’t reread the message you’d just gotten, holding no significance whatsoever.

Maybe Alessandro was right. Maybe you did want to see if he was jealous or not. But he didn’t seem jealous to you, just his nosy self. Sighing, you followed Alessandro, ready to be of service if something should go wrong. They hadn’t even started shooting when you walked into the room, they were still walking around, placing the different statues and other props around the place to get it to look exactly like the producer wanted it to. You stood watching for a bit, knowing that your phone was still in your back pocket, untouched since Harry had seen the innocent text from Jack.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, saw a shadow mingle with yours, and you recognised the messy hair and the bandana you’d wrapped around his head earlier. Smiling, you continued to stare ahead, waiting a minute before Harry felt brave enough to answer.

“Did you answer Jack then?” You felt the breath of his words against your hair.

“He just wanted to know how I was, Harry.”

“I know.”

You bit your lip, not looking back at him.

“Guess he just wanted to talk. To feel close to you in a way.”

You huffed, standing your ground and not looking back at him like you knew he wanted you to. “And the point of this is…?”

“Being close to someone you love can calm you down.” Harry said, voice low so only the two of you could hear him. You felt a shiver run up your spine. “Like shelter in a storm; entering a small house and staying for tea before braving the terrible weather again, a little stronger this time with some motivation from those you… hold closest to your heart.”

Your breath hitched somewhere in your throat, feeling both Harry’s breath and eyes on you. It took everything in you not to look at him, to see his soft expression after uttering those equally soft words. “I’m not in love with Jack, Harry.”

Harry was quiet for a second before he said, with the hint of a smile in his voice, “Okay.”

You smiled yourself, wanting to say something in response but not knowing what would be appropriate. You weren’t even sure why you were feeling this much or why Harry being elated you weren’t seeing someone made you this happy. He stood right behind you, just as close, not wavering, till he had to go do the shoot. Walking backwards, he made sure to catch your eye, give you a small smile, before going to do his job. You hated how your cheeks felt hot, that every single time Harry’s dimples appeared you heard something inside your head scream and the every single one of your cells react to him. Glancing over at Alessandro, you caught the creative director watching you with a grin on his face. As soon as your eyes met, though, he turned away, forcing his smile away and pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing. You rolled your eyes, focusing all your attention on Harry, who didn’t let his anxiety get the better of him this time around.

“He’s doing very well.” Alessandro commented, his left hand resting on his chin in a pondering manner.

“He is.”

“Because you replaced his nerves before the show.” From under his hand, you could see a small smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

“I - what?” Lifting away from his side, you stared at Alessandro’s face. And your wide eyes must have made you look like a deer in the headlights because he started chuckling.

You were positive that no one had seen your moment with Harry, considering how dark the little corner you were stood in was. Backstage at a fashion show was crazy enough, there’s no way anyone had been paying attention to the tailor in the back of the room. But the knowing look in your boss’s eyes told you otherwise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.

“Eyes all over my head, il mio amore. I see everything.”

Alessandro had been like this from the moment he introduced you and Harry, almost two years ago at this point. Always motioning from across the room for you to stand just a bit closer to Harry, informing you whenever Harry was remotely near the office, and always leaving the two of you alone each time he was scheduled for a fitting. It was like he was making it his life’s mission to get his two prodigies together.

“Don’t laugh at me. This is your fault, you know?”

Feigning offence and his hand moved from his chin to his chest, Alessandro turned away from the monitor to finally look directly at you, “Mine? Why do you say that?”

“‘You have a lot in common.’ or how about, ‘look at my two loves together!’ or my personal favorite, ‘The two of you together, assolutamente da togliere il fiato!’”your impersonation of him had gotten extremely good over the last few years, bringing a soft smile to his lips. “Any of those ringing any bells?”

“Only encouraging what you both know to be true, cara.”

“You’re absurd.”

At this point, the first model had made his way back to the dressing room, immediately going to line up for the final walk through. It was scheduled to be a quick show, only about thirteen minutes from first walk to last, but you never imagined it would go by this fast. As the models began to line back up, both you and Alessandro separated, going to either side of the line to join the other tailor in making sure each outfit was still in its pristine condition. You you had a few loose threats to snip here, and a broken necklace to dispose of there, but overall, everyone was still looking perfect.

Especially Harry.

His head was craned, watching you as you made your way down the line behind him, and as soon as you stepped in front of him to quickly examine his apparel, he whispered your name.

“Haven’t tripped yet.” he smirked, adjusting the red glasses on his nose.

“I know, I was watching.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. We were talking about you. Turn around.” grabbing hold of his shoulder, you pulled forward, “Making him proud, you know.”

His shoulders relaxed under your palms, like hearing the news of making one of his idols happy set him free and he could now have the utmost fun with the final walk through.

“Alright. Good luck.”

But before you could get to the next model, his hand caught your arm. In any other situation, you’d be annoyed that you were being stopped from completing your job, but the look on Harry’s face made all worries about any other model fade from your mind.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you proud?”

The question took you off guard. Was really that concerned with what you thought of his performance? He was one of the most renowned superstars in the world, who danced his heart out on stage and did what made him happy no matter what others thought. But your opinion was the one who made his hands clam up? And had you ever made him feel like you weren’t proud? You always thought your quick jabs to one another were all in good fun, but maybe you had gone too far and made him doubt himself.

“Always proud of everything you do.”

It was the honest answer. Getting to watch him excel in every aspect of life he threw himself into, make decisions that helped so many people, putting his friends and family first, and making sure he was happy above all else, was inspiring to say the least. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t feel immense pride for even just getting the chance to know Harry. And in that moment, you promised yourself that you would make it more apparent to him from then on.

A large smile spread across his face, and even in the poor lighting, you could see the apples of his cheeks turn a rosey pink. He looked undeniably cute and following your heart as well as Alessandro’s previous encouragements, you decided to take a leap of faith.

“Come find me after the show. Gotta talk.”

The happiness faded from both his face and his eyes, and you instantly regretted the way you phrased your sentence. “Nothing bad, I promise! Just come find me, yeah?”

You had moved on to the next model, giving her a smile and a quick “Hello Mae” and began checking her dress as Harry was still processing your request. His hands were fidgeting with the fingerless gloves and he was undoubtedly about to break skin with how hard he was biting his lip. You felt like a proper idiot for making him nervous again after he was so happy.

“Calm down, would you? You’re starting to stress me out.” you laughed, giving Mae the okay and moving onto the next model. Sending him a wink, you nodded your head, making him well aware of how unserious this conversation was going to be.

A faster paced rendition of The Shadows Die Twice started playing, just as you finished checking over your designated models, indicating that it was time for the final walk through to begin. After these final few minutes, all the garments you had worked tirelessly on for months, would be totally completed. And usually, you would be filled with ease and comfort knowing you would have some time off before your next project. But this time was different.

This time, Alessandro had consulted you on many of the pieces making their way down the runway, showing just how much he valued and trusted your opinion. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be where you are today, but because of the man standing next to you, believing in your talent and putting your passion to use, you were living out a dream that you never knew you had.

“Thank you.” You whispered

“For what?”

“For believing in me enough to hire me four years ago. For not letting me give up when I was confused. For always encouraging me. Just - thank you.”

“Never have to thank me for those things, tesoro. The potential and passion inside you needs to be explored! I’m honored I get to be the one to help you embrace them!” Alessandro pulled you into a tight hug, the two of you swaying as you watched the models capture the attention of each guest one last time.

Lifting to stand on your tiptoes you whispered in Alessandro’s ear, but even though your statement was barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, apparently it was just loud enough for your boss to hear, because his head snapped back and he grabbed you by the shoulders, holding you at arms length.

“What?!”

“Mhm.”

“Together?”

“Mhm.” It was hard not to continue your giggles at his bewildered expression.

“How come?”

You shrugged, “I guess I just have a bloody persuasive boss.”

Once again, models began entering the dressing room, but this time, instead of staying in strict model mode, they were letting loose. Smiles were spread all over their faces, rushing to give each other hugs and words of encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch, the release of pressure the show brought to the models and the absolute joy they were now basking in.

“Il tuo tempo per brillare, rockstar.” your time to shine, rockstar. giving his shoulder a pat, you watched as he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself to walk the runway and accept the congratulatory applause about to be thrown his way once the last model had arrived backstage.

It was during this part, for some reason, that you always saw a bit of his nerves pop out. Maybe it was because of all the wandering eyes and unknown opinions, but walking out to thank the guests for attending seemed to be the only thing that ever made Alessandro nervous. And you would never admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing him a bit on edge, reminded you that he wasn’t just some fashion robot, but a man who just wanted to be accepted for his unique and creative mind.

Your position in the back room made it easy to be a part of both atmosphere’s; the juxtaposition between the loud, bustling back room and angelic, calming sound of Bach - St. John Passion BWV 245: Herr echoing off of the marble walls was like a metaphor for your life these last few months. How at times, everything around you was so busy and fast paced that it was sometimes hard to get a handle on what was happening. But then moments like this happened and none of failures or pricked fingers mattered. Because watching your boss, the man you admired with all your heart and were lucky to call a friend, walk down his own runway, accepting love he deserved, on pieces you had helped create, was the most heavenly feeling you could imagine.

You watched as he made his way through the museum quickly, stopping every so often to bow his head in gratitude and send kisses to everyone in the audience.

“I see why you like this so much.”

Harry stood next to you, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, the long overcoat pushed back behind his arms, just enough that you got a good view of the sparrow tattoos and the very tip of the bird cage on his rib peaking out from under the white tank top. He didn’t look at you, instead, his eyes were trained on the monitor, watching the man who gave you each the chance to flourish in a world you never expected.

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“Fucking exihlerating walking down that runway.” he admitted, the sentance coming out in a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe how much fun he had. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that created it all.”

“Yeah, quite hard coming down from a high like this, so he usually takes a week or so off before jumping back into things.” you chuckled, thinking back to when you’d received an influx of text messages the last time Alessandro had gone off the grid, depicting how much he loved bees and would be incorporating them into the new collection after staying on a bee farm for a few days.

“Alessandro did a phenomenal job.” he paused, finally taking his eyes away from the screen and turning his entire body so that he was now facing you. “But so did you.”

If he hadn’t been staring directly at you, he would have missed the roll of your eyes. Of course, you were thankful to be a part of something so extraordinary, but this was all Alessandro. It was all his vision and even though you were asked to help finalize a few looks, this masterpiece was all thanks to him, and you wouldn’t take credit for any of it.

But before you could explain all of that to Harry, he said your name softly, moving a tad closer so your elbow was just barely touching his stomach. “‘M serious. These may have been his finalized pieces, but you quite literally put it all together. There would be no final product without your work.”

“Harry -”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, wanker, you’re bloody amazing at what you do. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone walking around this room is example enough.”

Receiving compliments from Harry wasn’t anything new to you. For as long as you’d known him, he was always looking for the good in people and making sure they knew about it. If you had to guess, that was probably one of the his main qualities that initially drew fans in, because all anyone wanted in life was to feel good; appreciated. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for you since the day he walked through your office doors. It was the little things that made your stomach turn to mush; holding your pin cushion when he knew it would make a session easier for you, bringing you a smoothie when you’d told him you didn’t have time to eat before a shoot, sending you funny memes in the middle of the night, or even just seeing his dimpled smile appear when he finally got to see his immaculately executed wardrobe. No matter what the circumstance was, simply being around Harry made you feel happy, calm, and you didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

“Just look around an-”

“Do you want to go on a date?” when you’d asked him earlier to find you after the show so you could chat, you didn’t exactly expect the conversation to start out so blunt, but he just looked so cute and sincere telling you in his own way how proud of you he was.

“Wh-“

“There’s, um, there’s this really great restaurant not too far from here. Most delicious pasta you’ll ever eat, not to mention the cutest old couple on the planet runs it and they’ll def-“

“I haven’t eaten since this morning, so if you’re going to keep talking, I’ll just go eat this amazing pasta by myself.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right, that was a dumb que-“ it wasn’t his words that made you stop mid sentence, but more the soft smile that spread across his face, his dimple popping out slightly beneath his growing facial hair. There was no hesitation in his acceptance to your dinner date, contrary to what you were expecting, and it made the tips of your ears warm up. “Oh! Um, perfect. Yeah, great. Okay.”

Never had you been so flustered by the man standing before you. This wouldn’t be the first time you grab a bite to eat with him, and definitely wouldn’t be the first time the two of you spent time alone, but the way he was looking at you, like none of what he just did mattered, was definitely a first.

“Okay, um, just get dressed and I’ll meet you outside?”

“‘M serious, hurry up. Might starve to death while you’re busy chatting.” Harry joked, slowly walking away while still facing you, his finger coming out to point right at you, “Then you’ll have to explain to everyone how your desperate need to talk to everyone you come in contact with, was the reason behind the death of the Harry Styles.”

“Oi, fuck off. Says the man who made sure to learn something about every single person setting up the show today. Go get dressed before I slap the Harry Styles.”

The slight shake of his head kept your attention as he weaved his way through the bustling room, back towards the vanity he had claimed as his own. You’d watched the scene in front of you play out many times before; models spread out throughout the room, some having changed immediately into their own comfortable clothes, some tossing their heads back in eased laughter, and some every sitting back with their feet up, enjoying a basket of chips. No matter how each of them decided to unwind after such a monumental show, it never got old. Because just as they did, you had your own post show ritual.

You didn’t divulge in unhealthy foods or put on your most comfortable pair of socks; you organized your kit one last time. From the moment Alessandro sits you down with his new vision until the last model walks off the runway, you know to keep millions of pins, thread of all colors, buttons of every shape and size, and even some super glue on you at all times. They would undoubtedly get used throughout the months of alterations and mishaps, if not by you, then by a member of your team. So, taking a moment to sit and go through everything once the night was officially over was a sort of release for you. A way for you to touch and feel just how much hard work had gone into your work. How the container holding your pins was considerably lighter, the spool of black thread had nearly vanished, and the pile of band aids in the lower pocket was down to three. All signs that you put your heart and soul into this collection.

There was never any guarantee when Alessandro would find inspiration next and when his next project would begin, meaning you never knew when the next time you’d be opening your kit was. But this time, that wasn’t the case. He had planned at least three more shoots before the years end, so you were only allotted a few weeks of laid back free time this time around.

“Packing up so soon?”

“You know how I like to close out a show.” You chuckled, not turning to look at your boss, but seeing his hand reach out and fingertips graze over the very top of your bag.

“How many this time?”

“28 buttons, nearly the entire tin of pins, 64 band aids, and two mini bottles of wine.”

“You should be proud, il mio amore, that’s two less bottles than last time! It’s about progress!”

“Two less because someone yelled at me less this time around.” Finally getting back to your feet, you turned to face him and noticed that he had thrown his hair up to get it away from his sweaty forehead. “No need to drink if you aren’t crying in the fabric closet.”

“Lo faccio solo con amore, Tesoro, lo sai.” I only do it with love honey, you know. His smile was contagious as he took your hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Look at how far you’ve come. Such beautiful art comes from these hands.”

“Do you know what you’ll do until the fragrance shoot?”

“I will be taking Vanni to see my brother. A nice peaceful place to become one again. Where will you go?”

“My flat in Florence has been calling my name for weeks, Lallo.” He smiled fondly at the nickname. “Will probably do some redecorating while I’m there.”

“And some dates, no?”

“I really don’t know why I bother telling you anything. Like my father, you are.”

“Well I am the reason for this, am I not? Seems only right that I know all the details.”

“Details of what?”

“How I’m redecorating my flat in Florence.” Your response was quick, and you sent Alessandro a stern side glare so that he knew not to bring up anything of what you were just speaking of.

“Yes, I told her that I expect pictures.”

“Oh, add me to that list as well then! I’d love to see how you decorate. ‘M always looking for new inspiration.”

“Um, yeah sure. You ready?” if Harry could sense how awkward you felt when he joined you and Alessandro, he made no move to indicate it. Especially now, smiling at your agreement.

“Yup. Ready to enjoy some of Earth’s finest pasta.”

“Oh!” Alessandro brightened at Harry’s words, his back straightened, and eyes widened. “Are you taking him to Chiaro Di Luna?” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Magnifico! A wonderful place you will love!”

“Well he won’t love it if we keep standing here so…”

“Have fun my prodigies!”

Both you and Harry laughed quietly as you finally walked away from the man of the hour. You may have known him in different ways, but each of you got the chance to see a side of Alessandro most people didn’t – parental type figure who wanted nothing but love and prosperity for you both.

“He’s like that with you all the time as well?”

“Hmm?”

You took a glance at him when pressing the button for the lift, just to be met with his warm eyes already looking at you. He looked handsome after the show – not that he wasn’t always handsome, but something about seeing him work so hard and then look so comfortable made your chest tingle. He was wearing a pair of dark yellow corduroy pants – the flare at the ankles not nearly as large as some of the flares he owns, but wide nonetheless – paired with a red and blue striped shirt, a tiny Mickey Mouse head embroidered into the upper left breast and a black bomber jacket.  He looked relaxed and everything that spending time in Italy embodied.

“Does he turn into dad mode on you as well?”

Harry laughed, “He means well.”

It was no surprise that Harry had brought along a plethora of fans, all eagerly awaiting his presence back outside after the show, so there was no way the two of you could casually stroll out of the front doors to get to your late dinner date. Instead, you were walking through the basement hallway so that you could make your speedy escape through the lower side exit, directly across from Cafe Capitolino.

“You think you’d do another?”

“You think I’d be asked to do another?”

Your hand found it’s way up to his forehead as the two of you strolled through Piazelle Caffarelli - the quaintest little park directly across from the museum. In the bright moonlight, the beds of flowers and statues almost appeared to glow, directing your path through the garden.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if you have a fever.”

“Huh?”

“You must be sick because I’m not seeing your ego anywhere.”

“Oh piss off.” he laughed, lifting his own arm so that he could slap yours - playfully - away from his face. “‘M serious.”

“So am I. You’re one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you doing your music thing Harry. You’re good and you know it. Where’s that attitude here?”

He was quiet as the two of you finally made it out of the garden and crossed the main street, focusing on stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and tugging it closer to his torso. His hair had grown quite a lot since the first time you’d met him years ago, and the curls, wild from being kept under a cap for hours, were blowing in the small breeze.

“‘Dunno. I was nervous when I did the film as well. Guess doing something new like this makes me question if I’m given the chance to do it because I’m genuinely good at it, or just because they want my name on it.”

That was a surprise to you. From the moment you met him, you could feel the confidence he emitted. In fact, it rubbed off on most who were working with him. He made the people around him feel confident in themselves and what they were doing, and always encouraged when someone was feeling down.

“You’re very much wanted on this team for what you bring to it, not your name. I’m sorry if you were made to feel anything less.”

“No!” he quickly rebutted, gaining the attention of the few people wandering the street late at night. But he paid no mind to them, only focused on looking at you to make sure you heard what he was saying cearly. “You haven’t, at all. None of you have. Just don’t want to be known as the guy who gets jobs because he was in a band.”

“Can promise you that Lallo wouldn’t have asked you to be a part of so many shoots and such an important show if he didn’t completely and wholeheartedly believe you were perfect for it.”

You watched him nod and mutter a quiet I guess, the moon peeking over the Gran Caffe Roma and highlighting his eyelashes and very tip of his nose so perfectly that he began to look like a statue.

“Lallo?”

“Yeah.” a quick chuckle left your mouth, a hand coming up to rub your cheek while you thought of your response. “After I finished my first collection for him, it was a small one so he could see if I was right for the position, he took me out for drinks to celebrate me getting the job. Long story short, we both had a few too many and I started calling him Lallo and it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.” his hand was wiggling about, trying to escape the confines of the jacket pocket, and when it finally did, it brushed against your own. You both looked down at the close proximity of your hands and you felt the air immediately get thicker. He must have felt the same because when you briefly look up at him over your lashes, he was staring straight ahead; very apparently trying not to make any sudden moves.

But the millisecond the warmth of skin left yours, you wanted it back. Maybe it was the tiny kiss you shared backstage just hours ago, or the built up tension between the two of you that had started during his second campaign shoot, whatever it was, you were done dancing around the obvious. Without giving it a second thought or looking anywhere but straight ahead, you lifted your pointer finger ever so slightly. Just enough so that it gently rubbed against his. You wanted to give him the option of pursuing anything further, so just as quickly as the contact began, it ended; your fingers settling by your side yet again.

However, the breeze working it’s way between your hands didn’t last long, because almost immediately after your little move, you felt his fingers slowly creep around your hand. He didn’t move fast, almost as if he was letting the calm Italian breeze join your hands together. And slower than you would have liked, your entire hand was enclosed by his, feather touches to make sure the other was comfortable with where things had gone.

You wanted to make sure Harry knew just how okay you were with his hand keeping yours warm, so you continued talking as if nothing had happened. “‘M the only one who gets to call him that though, so don’t go parading around saying it.”

“Loud and clear. Your secret's safe with me.” he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening when a strong gust of wind blew through the small alleyway you were walking down and you shivered, “Cold?”

“No, I’m alright.” you lied, the air outside always making you significantly colder after leaving the sauna that was a fashion show back room.

Instead of letting go of the idea of you being cold, Harry lightly tugged on your joined hands, stuffing them into his jacket pocket, which then forced you to move closer to his side. Italy in May wasn’t a time you would consider cold; the sun shone nearly every day, warming your cheeks, and there was no need for anything more than a light jumper, but the warmth radiating from Harry’s side made it feel as if you were strolling around on an August day. But you welcomed it, despite the race of your heart.

“Looking forward to having some time off?”

“Absolutely. I really do need to redecorate my place. ‘M sure Lilliana hasn’t been taking care of the plants as often as I’d like so I’ll have to make a stop and pick up some new ones.”  you were mostly speaking to yourself, so you elaborated when he didn’t respond. “Lilliana is a girl who lives across the street. She’s sixteen, and has been watching my place ever since I started with Gucci. Doesn’t want to get paid or anything, only wants me to get her a meeting with Alessandro when she turns eighteen. Told her I’d see what I can do, but he’s already seen some of her designs. She’s very talented.”

“You’re really wonderful, you know.”

The compliment made the tips of your ears warm, and you were worried that the palms of your hands would start to clam up if you thought about the way you could feel him looking at you, so you quickly changed the subject, your hand clumsily sliding out of his pocket to point at the tiny restaurant in front of you.

“Here we are!”

Nestled at the very end of the alley, was your destination. Only two tables were set up outside, the tiny patio was past picturesque; it was straight out of a movie. A metal fence was surrounding the seating area on two sides - the third wall was created by the muted terracotta building and the fourth was left open for easy access. Wrapped around the very tops of the fence were some fairy lights, not enough to cover the entire thing, but enough to give a bit of lighting on the otherwise dark road, and creating a pathway to the front door, sat a nice variety of potted plants. And with the green doors to the shop left open, the smell of freshly baked bread immediately hit you and Harry in the face.

“This is amazing.” his voice was full of wonder and you appreciated the fact that even he, someone who had been around the world and back many times, never took for granted the small beauties of the world.

“Just wait until you try the food.” you smiled, bringing your hand up to your mouth in a mock chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”

The boisterous laugh that fell from between his lips was enough to catch the attention of whoever was working inside. It didn’t take long for them to walk down the front steps, seeing as the inside of the establishment was also small. But the second his face lit up from the wall mounted lights, you smiled.

“Lorenzo! Così bello vederti di nuovo!” Lorenzo! It’s so good to see you again!

“Mio dolce! Mi sei mancato!” My sweet! I’ve missed you! His arms opened wide as he walked down the single step, instantaneously enveloping you in a hug. He smelled of pasta sauce and pizza dough, the evidence of his hard work sprinkled across his withered cheek.

“Mi dispiace! Sai quanto può essere intenso il lavoro! Soprattutto con un capo come il mio!” I’m sorry! You know how intense work can be! Especially with a boss like mine!

You watched Lorenzo’s face light up when he pulled away from you and heard your boss’ name. The two had met ages ago and he was the one who had introduced the two of you. “Ah! Alessandro! Confido che stia bene! E chi hai portato con te questa volta, cara?” Ah! Alessandro! I trust he is doing well! And who have you brought with you this time, dear?

Feeling bad for leaving Harry out of the brief conversation, you angled your body so that you were now facing him, moving your hand between the two men in front of you. “Lorenzo, this is Harry. Harry, Lorenzo.”

True to his nature, Harry immediately stuck his hand out and offered a ‘you alright?’ to the older gentleman, but Lorenzo was having none of that. Completely ignoring the waiting hand, and having to stand a bit on his toes in order to wrap his arms around the younger man’s upper back, he pulled Harry in for a tight hug.

“Any friend of hers is a friend of mine! Benvenuto!”

“Hai un… posto bellissimo qui!” Lorenzo’s smile grew as the two separated and Harry slowly racked his mind for the right words. “Was that right?”

“It was! Thank you, we do love it here!”

“Speaking of..” you cut in, “I know it’s late but do you think we could steal a plate or two?”

“For you, mio caro, anything.” he lifted his calloused hand to gently pat your cheek. “Why don’t the two of you sit down and I will bring you a few dishes. I’ve got some fettuccine alla carbonara if you’d like. I’m sure I can find something else if-”

“That sounds wonderful, Lorenzo, thank you.”

You watched as his frail figure made its way back into the shop, taking an extra second to carefully climb the single step. It was the perfect night to sit outside and enjoy one of your favorite meals, but even more perfect to turn around and see Harry holding a chair out, waiting for you to join him at the table.

“Thank you.” you hoped the smirk you were trying to hide wasn’t visible in the dimly lit back alley and he couldn’t tell how much the small gesture made your heart race.

“So tell me,” he sighed once he finally sat down next to you, his forearms leaning against the small wooden table so that he could look directly at you. “You really like the food here or do you just keep coming back because he adores you?”

“I take offense that you think I’d use my charming personality just to get a free plate of pasta.” the stare shared between you both was one of comedy - his eyebrow raised in question and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I use it for two.”

“I knew it.”

“It really is the best, swear it! Tried to get him to teach me the recipe once but he won’t budge. Says he won’t allow it to leave the family.”

“He always here this late? Seems to be a bit… old… to be here at quarter eleven.” he never broke eye contact while speaking to you, but his fingers began to roam around, slowly inching towards your own empty hands. There was no move to do anything more than brush his fingers against yours, but you longed for him to envelop your smaller ones in his.

“For as long as I’ve known him. Always comes in to prep for the people who come in at five the next morning.”

“Good bloke.” he nodded, craning his neck a bit so he could look around him, “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my own restaurant.”

A deep belly laugh spilled from your lips upon hearing his words, your body’s finally making contact when you lifted your hand and placed it on his forearm to ground yourself.

“What’s so funny about that?” his voice held a certain aura of feigned offence, but you knew not to take it too seriously by the bright smile covering his face. It was a different kind of smile than you were used to seeing him give, but you welcomed it and never wanted to see it end. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle a tad more than normal, mouth open a bit wider, and entire body lean forward.

“Harry, I’ve known you nearly three years. Never once have I heard you mention wanting to have your own restaurant. I’ve been told a lawyer, a florist, even a physiotherapist, but a chef? Can you even cook?”

“Now I'm offended! I’ll have you know that I used to cook for the band all the time!”

“Beans on toast doesn't count as cooking, Harry.”

“Leave off.” somewhere during your mock argument and Harry laughing at you, his hand had fully found its way to yours, wrapping around it carefully as not to disturb the perfect peace the two of you had going. “You’ll just have to come over so I can prove to you just how good I am.”

Obviously he didn’t mean it in any other way than a friend inviting another friend over for a nice meal, but the way his tongue jut out before speaking, leaving his lips shining and nearly begging for attention, made the sentence mean a lot more to you than he led on.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”

“Don’t mate me while I’m holding your hand, mate.” you swear it was like Harry was trying to push every single last button you had. Not only was he smirking while giving your hand a squeeze, but with each word, he seemed to be gradually leaning closer to you.

Almost as if he was waiting for the most perfectly inopportune moment, Lorenzo made his presence known with the clink of two wine glasses that echoed through the small alley. The sound made you and Harry separate as quickly as possible and look towards the older man.

“Two dishes of my world famous fettuccine paired with the best bottle of wine you could ask for!”

“But we didn’t ask for wine, Lorenzo.”

“It’s alright because you are new here, but when I give you a bottle of wine, you take it.”

“He says it makes for a better experience.” you shrug, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray so that he would have an easier time setting down your plates.

“Non puoi goderti i frutti del tuo lavoro senza un po ‘di divertimento!”

“Yeah yeah, as you say. Now take this before I stay here all night and give it to Mateo, because you know he’ll take it.” you tried handing him a few folded up fifties, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t accept, but insead, backed away from your outstretched hand.

“Mio caro, no. I do not want that from you. I just enjoy seeing your beautiful face every now and again.”

“Lorenzo, you know I won’t stop. Please”

“You are too much, ragazza dolce. Please come tell me if you need anything more.”

“What did he say to you just then? I caught fruit and fun but that’s where it stops.” Harry asked as soon as the older man was out of ear shot. He was trying hard to look at you, but the steaming plate of food before you both was enough to pull anyone’s attention away, so you didn’t fault him for being mesmerized.

“Come on, hot shot, have your Italian lessons taught you nothing?”

“Wow you’re really riding me tonight, huh?” if only. “I’m busy alright. Got a lot going on up here.” he used his pointer and middle finger to tap against his temple, “Gets hard to remember things sometimes.”

“You know I’m just taking the piss.” unable to wait any longer, you began to twist your fork in the pasta while giving him an explanation. “Said you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor without having a little fun.”

“He’s got a point you know.”

“If you try and tell me that I need to be prouder of my work, I will dump all of that food on the ground before you even have the chance to try it.”

“You wouldn’t dare. Not if it’s as good as you say it is.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious, love.” Harry had called you many pet names since your first meeting, but love had never been one of them. It sounded so comforting falling his lips, like it was the only word you wanted to hear for the rest of time, and it made your insides instantly warm - and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re outrageously talented. Everyone on the planet can see it except for you.”

“I’m proud of what I do, Harry. Just don’t feel like it’s right to take any bit of credit for something I only helped put together.” sure, you helped transform the clothing from pieces of mixed matched fabrics into the collections that hit the runways, but they weren’t your ideas or designs, so you felt only fair to give credit where it was rightfully due.

“Alright. Fine then. If you won’t take credit for your work, I’ll do it for you.” he cleared his throat after finishing off his glass of wine, back straightening and his chest puffing out after filling with air. “Hello!” he shouted, followed by introducing your name, “I am the lead tailor for Gucci and I just completed my fourth Cruise Collection!”

“Shh!! Harry!” you really did try to keep it together while tugging on his arm, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he kept shouting praising about you to the empty Roman streets.

“I’m one of the best in the world and everyone is absolutely dying to work with me!”

“Harry!” you laughed again, this time, cupping your hand over his lips that he couldn’t say anymore. “I get it, my god.”

“Do you? Because I can do it again. Hello -”

“I do, thank you.” your smile was genuine, truly appreciating the fact that he always had such nice things to say about you and your work. “But please just shut up and eat, yeah?”

Finally the two of you were silent, smiling to yourselves so that you could enjoy your awaiting food. Until you weren’t.

A loud moan from next to you quickly made your head snap up in desperate need to see where it had come from. There was no one else it could have come from, but to hear the sound fall from Harry’s mouth wasn’t something you were prepared for. Nor was the sight of carbonara sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you were right.” he moaned again, this time much smaller, “This is the greatest pasta on the planet.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now that there are very few times that’d I’m not right.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man indoors, who when you looked up over Harry’s shoulder, you saw standing in the window smiling and giving you a thumbs up. Of course he was on the same page as Alessandro and would be trying to put both you and Harry in the mood for a romantic night. But to hear the chords of ‘So This Is Love’ play through whatever speaker he had in his kitchen, really did surprise you.

“Lorenzo!” you yelled, not caring about waking whatever kind of neighbors he had

“What?”

“Really?”

“I just turned on my music, mio caro! Please enjoy your meal.”

Snickering from next to you made you roll your eyes,  “Don’t laugh at him, you’re only egging him on, Harry.”

“‘M not, I’m not!” you sent him a pointed look, taking the last gulp of wine from your glass and pouring yet another. “Alright, maybe just a little. But only because I think ya look cute when you’re flustered, is all.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you’re a right bellend.”

“Only to a select few!” the sound of his light laugh was drowned out by the creaking of his chair as he pushed it backwards. In a second, he was at his feet, ignoring your question of ‘what are you doing?’ to stand in front of you. “Signora.” his mouth may not have made any movements to smile, but you could see his eyes holding one back.

He mocked bowed, resting one arm behind his back as the other hand engulfed one of your sitting on top of the table. The pads of his fingers caressed the inside of your hand as he gently picked it up, slowly slotting your two hands together. It felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching the scene happen as an onlooker, instead of being a part of it. Because the second he picked his head up from the bow, his eyes met yours. Hundreds of unidentified thoughts raced through your mind and your breathing stopped when he picked up your hand completely, the distance between it and his lips growing short and shorter every second. With one quick, quiet, exhale falling from your lips, he placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, keeping his eyes set on yours.

It could have been every innocent moment the two of you had spent together over the last two and a half years, or watching him perform his heart out just hours ago in garments that you literally built, or maybe even the way his eyes sparkled in the Italian moonlight, but staring at him as he stood back up straight, his hand still holding yours, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

“Care to dance?”

It wasn’t the spark that radiated through your hands or the wind pulling at your blouse, but the look of endearment in Harry’s eyes that made you stand from your chair, accepting his offer. His free arm wound around your waist while yours rested on his shoulders, your body now flush against his. It wasn’t the perfect setting for be slow dancing; the twinkling lights were barely bright enough for you to see where you were stepping, the cobblestone beneath your trainers made the arches of your feet hurt, and the open space was very limited between the table and building, but the soft instrumental of ‘Bella notte’ playing from inside the shop and the wine flowing through your veins, made it something out of a dream.

The sun shone in through the window and straight into your eyes, making you blink awake with a small wrinkle between your brows. First thing you noticed was that you were sleeping in the cream blouse you had worn the night before, your trousers off and hopefully, you thought to yourself, so was most of your make-up as well. Second thing you noticed was the hand on your hip and the other under your head, the breathing against your skin and the forehead against your neck. Third… was something else entirely…

Memories from the night before came back in bits and pieces, bringing a small smile to your face. How you and Harry had both drunkenly stumbled down the hallway at like one, how you had struggled to get the key to your room in the lock, and how Harry had playfully pushed you out of the way to help you with it. How he helped you indoors, and how you’d asked him to stay. There hadn’t been a sexual intent behind the words, just an infatuated drunk speaking truthfully to another. You remember asking Harry to not look as you took your trousers off, and that you thought it’d be a good idea to take your bra off but sleep in your silk blouse. Harry on the other hand, kept all his clothes on, laying down beside you in bed and told you goodnight before you’d even managed to get yourself properly under the sheets. He must’ve been exhausted. It’d been a long day after all.

You woke up in the spooning position; his arm resting across your hip, breathing onto your skin, forehead against your neck, holding you close. Even before Harry woke up and noticed what was going on, you tried to understand why you felt like something wasn’t as it usually was. You felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind you and then him moving his head away from you, lifting the hand that had been placed on your hip, running it over his face. It wasn’t till you were about to turn around to face him that you both realised what was resting between you. You both stopped abruptly, silence filling the room around you.

“Bollocks.” Harry hissed between his teeth, glancing down at where his morning wood pressed against his yellow trousers and your ass and thigh. “So sorry.” He didn’t really know how to move as to not make it worse. Walking away from bed would mean you’d have to see the bulge in his trousers, but staying there would be absolute fucking torture.

You tried your hardest not to giggle, feeling a flush wave through your body.

“I-I… I don’t know what to do now. Sorry.” Harry said, feeling so embarrassed he was unsure what the next right thing to do would be.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, on everything that had transpired between the two of you, you suddenly felt a surge of dominance run through you. The countless times you’d waited for Harry to kiss you, the times he could’ve reached for your hand in the silence of the moment, the hundreds of hours you’d spent smiling at each other. The numerous missed opportunities. All the ‘what if’s. You hated them all, but they’d led you to this moment. It had all came down to this. Here, now. You two, in bed, Harry grunting in frustration into the pillow and you smiling to yourself, not at all sorry for him waking up hard against you. In fact, you didn’t mind it at all. After everything last night, this felt right. After absolutely everything you two had been through, it didn’t feel weird.

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry there with his eyes shut tightly.

“What’re you doing?”

His cheeks were red, obviously incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “Willing my woodie away, what does it bloody look like?”

You couldn’t help your laughter, shaking into Harry who smiled at the sound of your exclamations of joy. Slowly, you moved your arse against him, feeling his erection between your bumcheeks. Harry stilled, watching you with wide eyes as you did it again. Reaching behind you, you took a grip of Harry’s hand that had been on your hip earlier, placing it back there so he could feel you swaying against him. You felt an inhale of breath against you, then Harry’s fingers instantly grip onto you. He watched you as you continued to roll your hips against him, loving the hot feeling it sent to the spot between your legs. You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced down at Harry’s hand on your bare skin, letting him see just how much you liked this.

Instantly, he moved closer to you, wrapping the arm he’d been resting under your neck around you, taking a grip of your shoulder. The other one he slowly slid further down, moving closer and closer to the space between your legs that ached for him. You closed your eyes as he hovered above you, laying his palm flat against your cunt, the breathy and barely audible moan that left your lips driving him insane. Laying some pressure on you, you inhaled sharply, both your hands gripping the arm wrapped around your neck. The heat that had started in the very bottom of your stomach intensified, and got even hotter when he ran his fingers seductively over you. Feather-like touches, soft kisses to your cheek and neck, absolutely nothing mattered but the fire that was being ignited in your core.

Harry pushed your knickers aside, running his ring and middle finger between your folds. While doing so, he pushed your hips to rock against him, causing a friction between the two of you unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. You gasped, opening your eyes and looking at Harry who was watching you more intently than you’d ever seen before. He looked so hot like that, demanding you to please him while he was pleasing you. Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made him feel.

You reached down, wiggling your hips as you dragged your knickers down your legs. You threw them somewhere far away before turning back to Harry. This time, you sat up and onto his lap, looking down on him while you rested your hands at the zipper of his yellow trousers. He let out a small breath, heart hammering against his chest as he watched you sit on him like that; look at him like that. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to find himself in this position, and yet, here he was. You reached for his zipper, undoing it as Harry did both the buttons. You sat up on your knees helping Harry as he tried to get out of his trousers, but it seemed harder than either of you thought.

“Just get them off.” You said, reaching behind you to push them further down.

“Not so easy when you’re on top of me like that.” Harry answered, sitting up to drag them off. Your faces were suddenly very close.

“Alright, I’ll get off-“

“-No,” he answered abruptly. “Please don’t.”

You stopped, letting Harry take his trousers off and throw them to the ground, not breaking eye contact with you once. You felt him against you, felt how hot he was for you like you were for him; how badly he wanted you. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he glanced back up into your eyes again, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the right words for it. You had taken control so far, so you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. And it was as if he knew your thoughts exactly. He took a grip of the back of your neck, bringing you to him.

The second your lips met, you closed your eyes, melting into the kiss and melting into Harry. You hadn’t really shared a proper kiss till now, only having had that small peck and him kissing your hand. But this was a real kiss. You tasted him, felt him. Surrounding you and everything you knew in those sublime seconds your lips were pressed against one another. Heavenly, carefully, gingerly, Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you welcomed him completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. He pulled you to him, devouring one another unapologetically. Now that you were kissing, dragging out the delicious moment, you weren’t holding back anymore. The kisses were hungry, desperate, wet. Nothing had ever tasted better than Harry, nothing had ever felt better than him either. You wondered why you’d waited so long to kiss one another, what had taken so long. Because now you couldn’t think of not doing just that.

You wanted to kiss him till the end of time. Wanted to feel as his hands roamed your body, how his tongue swirled around yours, how his lips got more and more swollen as you continued on making out. Forever, and maybe even longer than that if you were allowed; you wanted to kiss Harry forever. It felt so good, so right. Like tasting every good thing that had ever happened to you all at once, combined into one thing. Harry.

Moaning your name, you felt him grip your bum, squeezing it hard as he dragged you over him. He wanted some friction as bad as you; wanted you. It felt so good knowing Harry was as desperate as you, that he felt the same way and wasn’t ashamed of admitting that he did. You had no idea where your infatuation had begun, had no idea how you had fallen in love with Harry. You just were and that was how it was supposed to be. It had always supposed to be the two of you. Whenever something feels right, you get a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, like it’s your soul telling you that you’ve reached your final destination; you’ve gotten where you’re supposed to be. And you felt that very feeling right now, in Harry’s arms, kissing him, feeling him hard against you.

You pushed him back down on the bed, bending over him to continue kissing. He instantly gripped your arse again, begging you to rock against him so he could get some small friction. You refused however, and instead buried your hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to force you to do anything as he didn’t want this moment to be over. If you wanted to drag this out, then he would not stop you. He was making out with you, you were almost naked on top of him, he got to touch you all over. He wasn’t going to take this for granted.

There didn’t seem to be an end to your kisses, they seemed to be going on and on and on. Not that either of you were complaining, but at one point it was hard to remember how the rest of the morning had gone before you’d started snogging. You suddenly realised just how naked you were, that only your cream blouse was covering your torso, that the rest of you were on display for Harry. But he was way too busy kissing you to pay notice to anything else.

You tugged at the end of his tee shirt and he quickly took it off, letting it fall off the side of the bed before turning his attention back on you again. You ran your hand down his front, wanting to feel his skin under yours unashamedly. Every time you’d touched him before had been under a work setting, but this one was quite different. The hands touching him now were those of a lover, not his tailor. They were the hands of a desperate woman who wanted nothing more than to be with Harry in any way one human could be with another.

Resting your hands at the top of Harry’s boxers, Harry frantically followed your lead, being there to help you get them off. He was ready to do exactly as you told him to, knowing that he was and always would be at your complete and total disposal. As his boxers came off, his cock sprang loose, and you couldn’t help but look down at it. Harry watched you as you took him in, finding you checking him out like this incredibly hot. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through him, so captivated and altogether in love with you that he was sure in that moment and every moment that followed, he would lay down the rest of his life and himself to you wholly.

You took a grip of his cock, looking into his eyes after positioning him right at your hole. He didn’t take his eyes off you, knowing that what was just about to happen would change everything for you and your friendship. Not that all of last night and the rest of this morning hadn’t done that already, but sex complicates things. It’s hard not to form an emotional attachment to those you choose to have sex with, and it’s even harder to forget said person you have sex with if you’re in love with them. But regardless of that, both of you wanted to do this. You wanted to shag; wanted one another.

You guided him into you, holding onto him till he was all the way in. Your lips parted and Harry let out a low moan, your warm walls around him almost being too much to take. Positioning your knees well on either side of his waist, you sat up on his lap again, and started moving your hips over him. Harry gripped your thighs, squeezing them tight and looking up at you with his mouth agape. Your blouse hung loosely off you, unbuttoned to the point of one of your tits showing. It fell off one of your shoulders as you rocked over Harry, revealing even more of you to Harry in the bright morning light.

He moved one of his hands upward, running it up your arm, over your collarbone, to your neck. His thumb ran over your jawline, wanting to feel all of your soft skin under his fingertips. You looked down at him, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes met his. Already the familiar burn of a climax started building up in your core, reminding you of how long it had truly been since you’d found yourself in this position prior to this. Not that it even mattered, because right now you were having sex with Harry and he felt so fucking good inside you and underneath you, you would never get tired of this feeling.

You slid your hands down his front, dragging your nails along this skin till you reached his abdomen, where you let them rest. Harry’s eyes fell to your hands, relishing in the feeling of you touching him everywhere, of you being everywhere. Nothing mattered but you and the magic you were creating between the two of you. The soft skin of the inside of your thighs resting against his hips and ribs, his tattooed arms caressing your entire body. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

He moaned your name, hand sliding down your chest, rubbing his thumb over your exposed nipple. The burn in your core was really starting to build up now, and you knew it would burst any second. Harry sat up, wrapping an arm around your middle. You gasped a little in surprise, but your heart instantly started beating faster at him being so close to you. His grip was tight, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening, it sent a wave of butterflies straight to your tummy. All of them flew directly to your core as Harry started moving his hips more with yours.

“Look so good on me like that, you do.” He whispered against your lips, his voice still having that morning rasp to it that sent a shiver up your spine.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, resting the other one on his shoulder as you continued to rock your hips against him. His eyes were hooded, but there was something in them that was so soft it took your breath away. When you know someone inside and out, you notice every single little change in their behaviour. This wasn’t tiny, though, because there was a type of vulnerability in Harry’s eyes that you hadn’t seen there before. He was laying himself completely bare, both physically and emotionally, wanting to connect and attach himself to you on every level a human possibly could.

Being this close, your movements got shorter and quicker. Bending his knees, Harry brought you flush to his torso, your hips and his moving rhythmically, hard against one another. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. You wanted to melt into him and have you two sitting like this for eternity. Wanted to stare into his eyes, feel his warm breath on your skin, have his arm around your waist and the other hand on her cheek. Having him inside you like this, feeling him grip you hard, whimper against your lips, moan your name, you felt incredibly powerful and so, so good. There was something so magical about this moment, about you two joined like this. Something words lacked the ability to articulate and something your hearts didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to. He reached his hand down to your bum, squeezing you hard.

“Harry.” You moaned, feeling your hips and knees begin to ache from sitting like this. Not that you cared much, because the wild look in Harry’s eyes was enough of a reason for her to endure it a hundred times more.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against you. “You like that?”

Biting your lip, you glanced into his eyes, letting your look speak for itself. Harry moaned, letting his hand fall to the bed and the other to your thigh, pressing you harder around him. You were both close, clinging harder onto one another. The heat in the pit of your stomach grew bigger and bigger, threatening to burst with every grind, every moan, every touch. He thrusts harder into you, entranced as he watched you gasp and moan loudly.

“Fuck me.” You said, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.

“As much as you want me to, baby.” He kissed your jawline, nails digging into your thigh. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You gasped, feeling the heat get more intense. Harry felt your movements get more frantic and he moved his hips quicker, meeting yours and creating a friction so heavenly it caused you to lose all control.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, looking into Harry’s eyes as everything started to blur.

“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling your legs start to shake around him. You came hard. Harry watching you intently, holding back his own release to watch every last second of yours; to make sure you were done before he allowed his own climax. You gasped for breath and moaned ad repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it felt like it was the only word you were able to pronounce.

Harry came right after her, a furrow appearing between his brows and lips parted. His hands tightened around her, holding onto her for dear life as he came in her. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. It was so hot, he sounded so sexy. You watched him till he came down, feeling his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh as he slipped out of you. You breathed together for a few moments before looking at one another, suddenly laughing a little at what you’d just done. He rested his forehead against your chest, feeling you breathe with him.

“That was a thing that just happened.” You said, making Harry laugh.

“That just happened.”

“We just did that.”

You both laughed, holding onto one another still, not willing to let go. For the time being, you two were the only thing that mattered, nothing outside your room existed. But then you laid your eyes on the clock by the nightstand and jumped off Harry. He watched you, wide eyed and confused.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to be at Alessandro’s hotel room in five minutes to go over yesterday, and some other stuff.” You said while you ran to the bathroom, needing to get washed up and dressed as quickly as possible.

Harry got out of bed, quickly putting his boxers and tee shirt on. “When’re you done?”

“Dunno.”

“Meet me for breakfast.” Harry said as you ran back out, new pair of knickers on and rummaging through your wardrobe. “I’ll text you the location.”

“Harry, I-“

“-Please.”

You looked over at him as you put your trousers on, smiling at his pleading words. “Text me.”

He smiled back before looking around the room. “Where are my trousers?”

“I’ll find them later, just piss off because I need to leave.” You ran towards the door with your laptop in hand and Harry – looking quite mortified – followed. He pulled his room key out as you were closing the door, about to run down the corridor for Alessandro’s room when you felt a hand around your wrist. Harry pulled you back toward him, pressing his lips against yours. You both smiled into the kiss, feeling absolutely elated and still not sure how to process what had just happened.

“Hurry.” Harry mumbled against your lips before kissing you again. “I’ll be waiting with that morning after pill.”

“Good.”

Harry smiled. “Now, be off.”

You giggled, giving him one last peck before running down towards Alessandro.

Everything that happened between you and Harry over the last 30 months had culminated to this point; you rushing out of the room after sharing an unexpected, intimate morning together. Looking back on it, you knew that each longing look you gave him had a hidden meaning behind it. You wanted this. Maybe not right away, but the more you got to know Harry, the more you wanted to be more than just his tailor. There had always been more between the two fo you, you just had not figured it out till now.

The way he watched you with admiration while you worked, gave you praises when you were feeling down - quite literally shouting them from the streets - and spoke to you in a way that had your mind in the clouds, it all slowly built over time.

It built until you couldn’t handle it any longer and needed to show Harry just how deeply you were falling for him.

Knocking on Alessandro’s door you quickly tired to fix your hair, aware that you looked like a right mess. Because of your morning antics and inability to keep track of time, you hadn’t given your appearance a single thought. Once Alessandro opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw you standing there panting and looking distressed, instant regret hit you for not at least brushing through your hair. Alessandro would know something had happened, having known you for so long, he’d see right through you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Alessandro smiled knowingly, nodding his head as he let you in. You just raised your eyebrows, but Alessandro didn’t make another comment. You’d told him enough.

“I stopped by Harry’s room last night, wanted to congratulate him on the show and how well he did, but he wasn’t in. Any idea where he was?”

“Nope. None. Maybe he was having a wee.”

Alessandro nodded again, walking over to sit down by the table in his suite along with his event manager, head stylist, and fabric coordinator. Tons of sketches of new outfits and plans for upcoming events laid out on the table, ready to be discussed. You sat down with them, ready to take notes. You had already been a little late, so you didn’t want to do anything else wrong today. Full on concentrating, you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop for almost 30 minutes, and when you did, it was to check your phone. You’d gotten two text messages, both from Harry.

Harry Don’t forget my yellow trousers. They’re my favourite pair. x

Harry Had an amazing time this morning, by the way. Can’t wait to see you later. x

You couldn’t help the smile that spread out over your face at the messages, and you didn’t realise just how wide your smile was till Alessandro cleared his throat beside you. You looked up, turning your phone around and looking right back at your laptop as if nothing had happened.

“What’s got you smiling?” Alessandro questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Hmm? Nothing.” You answered, trying to refocus on the document before you.

Alessandro looked down at your phone, smiled, and went on with the meeting. There would be no hiding what happened between you and Harry. Somehow, someway, the man sitting before you would hear how his ‘two prodigies’ had finally gotten together, and when that day happened, you’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he constantly reminded you that without him, the two of you would have likely never met so it was his doing that you had a best friend in Harry.

So what was he to say when he found out you and Harry were now more than friends?

[spasmsofthought]

knife to the chest (modern spy!zuko au) [i]

Here it is! Bear in mind that this is, hopefully, only the first part. If you feel like you’ve jumped into the middle of the story, I want it to feel like that. I hope it isn’t too confusing! 

This OC/reader’s character will definitely be more explained as we go along, I just didn’t want to give everything off the bat. 

I’m sorry if any of this feels OOC but I wanted to adjust to the world setting, especially a modern spy one. I tried to keep Zuko in character, but writing him as a spy was a tad bit difficult for me, so I apologize if he seems totally not like he should be. 

I hope you all enjoy this! I really wanted to get it out there asap, so excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes! I will try to really go over it in-depth soon! 

Please let me know what you think - I’m worried this isn’t that great because this is an entirely new world to me. 

Keep your eyes peeled for new chapters! 

Next Chapter 

--- 

There are snippets you remember of your childhood: the feeling of laying among the grass, jumping into puddles as it rains, and blowing dandelion wishes into the sky as a breeze ruffles your hair. Every once and a while you see the flashes in your mind when you can escape to the time when everything was normal. You miss those days. 

You miss mundane life. You miss when weeks and months would go by like the snap of a finger and there was no reason to alter your life in any way, shape, or form. 

Having a father go into politics changes those unvaried, innocent childhood days in an instant. Your days can no longer be filled learning at an academy with the other children your age in your village, setting dates to play on the playground, and filling your stomach. 

Having a father, then, remain in politics for over a decade reshapes the entire vision of your life. It means the finest tutors available to educate you in your own home, isolated away from any of your other peers besides those of the same social status. It means you learn etiquette and how to have proper conversation. It means every move you make, every word you say, is scrutinized because your father has been part of the governance of the Earth Kingdom for over a decade. 

Sometimes, it feels like even your thoughts are being monitored by those that surround you. 

It is isolating to have your family be in such a position of power with no way to escape it. You are separated from those of a lower class simply because you have more wealth, and you are distinct at your own level because you are not a family with old money but a family with political power. 

“Are you listening to me?” Your eyes refocus on the face of your father. His face is scrunched up and his shoulders turned inward toward himself, a sign that he is a kind of tense you cannot undo with the sweet words of an obedient daughter. 

Even if people call him the “second most powerful man” in the Earth Kingdom, you can’t believe this. There is no logic. 

“I just don’t understand why it’s necessary,” Calm, like a river, you remind yourself. Stay calm. 

“It’s necessary because I say it is.” Your father has never been authoritarian now, so it’s only confusing to hear him use a tone with you he only uses as a politician wielding an iron fist trying to get his way. He’s never been a politician with you; always a father. He knows better. 

He’s not the right-hand to the King at home. At least, not to you. 

“I just don’t understand how I’m in danger here. I’ve never needed a detail like this in your decade of previous political service!” Calm, and quiet, and obedient daughter, but even your father can’t deny the facts laid at his feet. 

You’re not stupid, even if you hide your intellect behind a veneer of dutiful obedience. 

“Are you alright?” A masculine voice tears you away from your memories. He’s seated beside you in the vehicle, earpiece in and eyes constantly darting across the scenery flashing by him through the window. He’s always assessing, always listening. It’s like he’s always ready. You can’t imagine how exhausted he must feel. 

But then again, he never tells you how he feels. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Lee,” You shrug, leaning your forehead against the window. It’s uncomfortable but cool and it gives you a brief reprieve. “I just want to get out of this dress.” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes at your words, like you really are the privileged daughter of a high-ranking politician. 

You want to joke about it more, but it’s true: this dress is making you miserable. Your arms have been itching since you put them in the fabric, and everything feels stuffy and hot. 

Ever since being assigned to you a few months ago by your father for further protection, Lee has stuck to your side like glue. You can’t do anything to get rid of him (you’ve tried) outside of the times your bedroom door is shut or you are sleeping. 

He’s there when you’re eating breakfast and he’s in the shadows during your classes and when you eat lunch with your friends. He’s there when you’re getting coffee and when you try to go to the gym and just end up wandering around for 10 minutes before leaving. He’s there standing against a wall as you silently eat dinner with your mother, the two of you seated at a twelve-person dining room table. Your father is absent at almost every meal, no matter the time or day, and you learned when you were younger to stop asking your mother where he was or if he was coming.  

Lee may be competent at his job of protecting and keeping track of you, but he’s not exactly the most personable guard you’ve had. 

Maybe that’s the reason why it’s so easy to tell him the truth. Maybe it’s the reason why you’ve felt like you don’t have to wear the “politician's daughter” mask around him. 

His demeanor is so icy that it can feel like talking to a brick wall; a brick wall that won’t tell anybody else. A brick wall that won’t tell your father, for certain. He may report security findings to your father, but he’s not obligated to say anything else. The things you blurt out when you and Lee are alone stay right between the both of you.

He may not offer any advice or speak at all, but Lee has become a confidant of sorts.

In  a world of shifting political alliances and opinions and shifting ideologies, he’s become one of the only people you trust implicitly. Solid and stoic, he’s a dependable presence in a world that is submerged in secrets and double meanings.

You sometimes think if he were normal, you might be able to love him.

“I don’t even know why I have to be there tonight, it’s just another speech.” Politicians are all the same, and you know this because you have lived ten years with one inside your house (that is, whenever he decides to have a family again). Your father’s words tonight will be no different than anyone else on that stage: promising things he know will get him support and trying to appease ears with intricate thoughts that actually pave a road to doing nothing.

Lee turns his head a little in your direction, crossing his arms. You can’t tell if it’s because he’s trying to make sure he says what he has to or if he’s trying to keep himself from bursting at the seams for some reason. Out of everyone else, you think, he’s the person least likely to spontaneously combust.

“It’s important that you attend,” Lee has never squirmed, but now he does. You wonder what’s going on to make him like this.

He’s never physically shown signs of having nerves before. By all accounts, he’s like steel.

Your furrow your eyebrows at him, at his strange behavior, but he doesn’t do anything else but stare out at the window again.

The rest of the ride is dead silent, the kind of silence you haven’t been used to since he was fired hired by your father. You try to pick apart Lee’s words but, as always, he has given you nothing to pick apart.

The stadium parking lot is already being packed with cars, suburban moms with children, men in their 40s still wearing their suits from their jobs. You miss all the inconvenience of traffic and parking out at the edge because, as being the person you are, there is already an entrance and exit marked out for you. One that must have been cleared days before you were even forced to come. It’s easy to go through the routine of letting Lee unbuckle his seatbelt and climb out of the car first, circling around to where you are. The door swings out all the way when he opens it, but one of his hands gently grabs your elbow as you bring your feet to the ground.

He’s never done this before.

Lee has never touched you like this ever, softly and affectionately. It makes you feel like you could sink into a puddle on the concrete as he brushes his hand up your arm to your shoulder and then down to the small of your back. It feels like he’s caressing, not handling or protecting.

He’s never done this before.

You feel like you’re in a different world as the car door closes and Lee walks with you inside the stadium. You feel like you’re sleepwalking as you enter a hallway simply lit with fluorescent lights spanning the ceiling.

Lee’s lips come to brush against your ear and your breath hitches as your body is tempted to stop moving altogether. But you continue walking.

“You trust me, right?”

What an unbelievable question, you think as you pull back. You almost feel like laughing.

“Of course I do, Lee.” His left eye winces slightly, like you’ve said something painful. It draws attention to the scar he’s had on his face since you met him that first time at the end of first conversation with your father.

“You have to do whatever I tell you tonight.” You nod, furrowing your eyebrows and exhaling with amusement. He’s definitely acting weird tonight. You know that it should make you feel apprehensive, but you’ve always felt safe with him. Always, since the first moment, though you’ve never really been able to understand why.

It’s an easy walk to where you’re supposed to be seated inside the auditorium, silent and like a prop until you are given your cue to smile and wave. You take a glance around at the space that has been transformed into a political rally. The colors are gaudy and there are lights and cameras everywhere. It’s almost like it’s meant for reality television and not an event meant to highlight people who want to serve this kingdom’s government. You don’t understand the reason why you need to look your best, your hair and make-up done to perfection, when all you will ever do for these people is smile and wave at them. You are a useless figurine, a pawn on a chessboard who will be sacrificed at some point for the sake of making a better and more strategic move elsewhere. Lee stands to the side, back to normal as your silent guard.

You try not to dwell over the sensation of his touch from earlier, but remembering it gives you a slight shiver. You have always been off-limits to everyone but those of your own class, and the boys that do run in your same social girlfriends either already have popular, wealthy girlfriends or have no desire to date someone whose status relies solely on political relevance and position. Lee is the only one you’ve never had to hide any part of yourself with before. He listens to your droning and your rambling, and though he never laughs, his eyes light up when you unleash your sense of humor. He’s perfectly happy to sit in silence or listen to your favorite music on a car ride home. He isn’t ashamed to go on late-night Oreo or ice cream runs. He doesn’t scold you for having political opinions of your own, even if they are ones in complete opposition to what your father says he believes.

The stadium fills with people, murmuring and holding signs, and a timer shows on the jumbo screen, altering many that it’s almost time to begin. You continue to sit in silence, even when the clock counts down to zero. You don’t cheer or applaud as your father steps onto the stage, all smiles and jolly laughter. His façade is easy to see through if you look hard enough. He’s not that hard to read once you’ve been around enough politicians.

“–my daughter came to join us today. She loves being able to participate in what her father fights for – ”

Like the obedient daughter you are, you stand up to smile and wave for a few seconds before you sit back down. And just like it always does, the focus lands back on your father. You show up for 5 seconds to give a boost to his appearance and you are discarded routinely like the old childhood you find in the back of the closet. Before he can really get going, though, you hear doors open and the noise of people talking escalates.

The sight of Earth Kingdom Dai Lee is a startling sight to see, mostly because there is no reason for them to be here.

Lee forcibly grabs you for your seat and forces you to move with him to a covered spot nearby, where you are both out of sight.

“You have to leave.” He says as he discards his earpiece to the ground and begins to loosen his tie. You have no idea what’s going on, so you stare, bewildered, at him for a moment.

“I’m not leaving,” You frown at him as your father speaks loudly into the microphone. The Dai Lee are steadily making their way to the front, occupying the four aisles that people could otherwise escape through. You can feel the tension in the air, wringed with worry and a bit of foreboding.

You stare at Lee and realize he isn’t surprised by this.

“If you don’t leave, I don’t know what will happen to you.” He’s taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. If this were happening in any other situation, you would take some time to appreciate him without a stiff uniform to cover him up anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” You step closer, trying to keep calm as you can hear panic escalate in the stadium around you. “Just tell me what’s going on!”

“If this is about the war,” Your father shouts as the Dai Lee make their way up the stage to him, “we can talk. This isn’t nece-” The mic cuts off and the Dai Lee haul your father away from the podium and start to make their way down a set of side stairs.

“What is his talking about?” You exclaim at Lee as you try to rush forward. He doesn’t let you get very far away, but you’re close enough for people to start noticing you, including some sporadic Dai Lee agents. There is no reason that Dai Lee agents should be taking your father away; they both work for the government! “What war? There’s a war?!”

There is no war your father would always say to you. There are conflicts outside of Ba Sing Se, but there is no war.

He lied.

You glance at Lee, but his face is impassive, set like stone. There are so many things going on that you don’t know what to feel. Your stomach tenses and your heart squeezes, like they both know what he says next won’t be good.

“Lee, tell me some-”

There are screams from the crowd, people throwing things and trying to escape from their seats. There are some climbing over each other. Babies are crying.

“My name isn’t Lee,” He’s so blasé that it takes a minute for you to digest his words. He starts to distance himself, walking away from you as Dai Lee agents approach you too. “And I told you, you should have left.”

The Dai Lee restrain you as they pull your arms behind your back with a tight grip. You try to wriggle free, but one Dai Lee agent holds your left arm, and another holds your right. Their hands grip you so hard, you know you’ll have bruises whenever they let you go.

“What?” Your breathing becomes shallow and you look around, trying to locate your father. You can’t find him, but based on the noise level in the room, which has erupted into complete chaos, he’s still here. You feel the panic seep into your bloodstream, and you try to buck against the restraining grip holding you back. “What is going on?”

Some other Dai Lee agents try to make a move for him, but he puts his hands up. “My name is Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation.” They nod and step backwards, like the words hold weight and you become even more confused. Dread coils and squeezes tight around your heart. You can’t breathe.

Prince Zuko?

The Fire Nation?

“I was just spying on your father.” His eyes lock with yours as you gasp and then begin to physically struggle again. 

He was just spying on your father? 

For what purpose? 

There’s too much going on: screaming in every direction, there are people trying to flee but being trapped by officers. You can’t find your father. Despite your relationship with him, losing him would devastate you. You try to rise to your toes but the agents that hold you force you back down onto your heels.

All you can think is: There is no war.

The Fire Nation.

Prince Zuko.

He’s a spy. 

There is no war. 

Who you knew formerly as Lee turns his back to you and walks towards the stage. It’s like he’s a completely different person. 

He’s a spy. 

Spy. Spy. Spy. 

He was spying. 

He greets a smaller girl with a hug, and you can briefly see the word “brother” form on her lips as she greets him back. She directs some of the Dai Lee to follow her and Le- Prince Zuko and betrayal sinks like a stone in you, weighing you down.

He doesn’t look back once.

You can’t catch your breath. 

You try to wrestle out of the grip the two agents holding you have your body in, but you fail yet again. A black hood comes down over your face as you struggle further. The agents begin to drag you somewhere, your orientation and senses shrouded by black fabric.

The last thing you hear before you are too far away is the sound of gunfire.

---

(I never said he would be a good spy. xo) 

[circumstellars]

This might actually come in two parts, because I thought of a small follow-up I want to do... maybe.

Small ficlet (1600ish words again) featuring Five & Ben, 12 years old. Features my headcanon/theory that Ben was killed by The Horror unexpectedly, not murdered by anyone else. I’m sorry I’m rusty with writing, as I said I don’t often do it anymore. All mistakes are my sad little failures. Inspired by this request by @five-fucking-hargreeves​:

1:07 AM

Five hated time.

Literally, time itself. The whole concept is genuinely bonkers and frankly, is an unnecessary evil. Anyone with a mouth will tell you time is like a river, a constant, gentle flow that is quick to escape through your fingers.

1:08 AM

Time was too slow for Five. Time was spilt molasses, a slow trail of amber creeping along a crease in the universe. Instead of swimming through it like water, time threatened to swallow Five up in its viscous, arcane pools.

He stood at its shoreline and glowered. Soon.

1:09 AM

Fucking finally. He held a deep breath in and patiently listened to the gentle orchestra of creaks and groans performed by their century old mansion.

Then, without fail: the timely, brisk footsteps of his father. Five rather thought his father's predictability was his biggest weakness. It's what he hopes will someday be his undoing (whether it should be at Five's own hands or not, he wasn't sure yet).

The steady sound of Sir Reginald's footsteps disappeared into his locked study.

Five rounded the corner, moving as lightly as he could on the pads of his toes. The marble floors felt like never-ending sheets of ice, but he knew he wouldn't make it the whole way in one jump; last time he ended up in the attic... locked from the outside. Honestly, that was pretty scary.

He swiftly made his way down the hall, past Diego, Allison and Klaus' respective rooms, and down the first 3 stairs of the main staircase before he was able to see the nearest entrance to the kitchen. Without stopping, Five took in a breath and jumped.

That wasn't so hard.

He was standing on the coils of the stove, but he was in the kitchen.

Five huffed in triumph and hopped off the stovetop. Studiously and nimbly he moved down the list, though his stomach howled at him to move it along already - he was twelve now and lately the portions at dinner were looking smaller and smaller. Knife. Plate. Mom insisted the only thing changing was Five himself, something about sprouting weeds, metaphors that make him roll his eyes every time. Bread. Marshmallows. Peanu-- Wait, what? Where is the peanut butter?

Five's brow creased with irritation.

'It's in the freezer.'

The yelp that escaped him was completely involuntary. Five snapped around, genuinely surprised to find his brother was sitting just out of reach of the yellow stove light. Ben was folded over on a stool, tucked away between a china cabinet and the freezer box. He inhaled wetly.

'Thanks,' Five said slowly, and he peered at Ben as he shuffled toward the freezer box. Ben didn't return his look. His brother wasn't in his pajamas, the same ones they all wore; Ben was still in the white linen shirt and trousers Mom had put him in earlier that day. Even in the dull glow of the stove light, Five saw the jagged path of dried blood that had soaked a crimson belt into Ben's midsection.

He'd had an accident on their mission today.

Five looked away and pulled the peanut butter out of the freezer box, careful to let the lid drop quietly. 'Why did you know it was in the freezer?'

Ben hesitated. His arms were crossed and he squeezed his biceps visibly tight. Five had always been very patient with Ben - he was one of the least annoying people in this house, and he might even admit he was rather fond of him at times. A decidedly resigned sigh echoed in the large, empty kitchen. 'Klaus. Don't tell on me.'

Five pretended to mull this request over. His brother is naïve; Five would rather chew on nail clippings than give up info to Klaus.

Besides, he liked Ben.

'Klaus is stupid. One wrong move and someone's going to tell Dad he sneaks out to smoke cigarettes.'

'Sometimes it's glue.'

'You can't smoke glue, Ben.'

Ben exhaled, though Five could tell he was stuffy with snot. 'He sniffs it, Five.'

In a rare bout of sheepishness, Five felt his cheeks warm. 'Whatever. Like I care what weird things that lunatic puts up his nose.' He waves the jar of peanut butter in a careless gesture. 'Unless it shuts him up, it's not working.'

Ben didn't respond. Things fell quiet around them.

A dull ache bloomed in Five's chest. He really didn't want to revisit today's incident. Usually they don't finish a mission with anything more than a scrape or a few bruises, so seeing Ben as heavily injured as he was secretly terrified Five. He shook his head and proverbially shed the darker thoughts. He shuffled uncomfortably on the freezing tile floor.

'Five.'

When Ben's voice came, it was painfully thin. He was still stooped over, his soft, black fringe obscuring his face at this angle.

'Yeah?'

'If... if it happens again, like really, really bad... are you-' Ben choked a bit. 'Are y-you going to have to kill me?'

Five's stomach dropped into the floor. The next breath he took in burned his lungs. The kitchen felt like it was shrinking. '... What?' The sound that came out was more air than word, and Five couldn't seem to feel his toes anymore.

'Five-'

'Why? Why would we do that? Why... why would you think that?' Five found his voice, but his words came out far more accusatory than he meant. He realised right away his anger wasn't with Ben: it was with himself. What in any holy deity's name had he done to make Ben think this garbage?

He didn't think twice about closing the gap between them with a jump. Five immediately dropped to his knees, letting the peanut butter go forgotten on the ground nearby.

Ben was sat a little taller than him in this position, and Five tried to catch his eyes with his own. He persisted, 'Why?'

He felt his brow falling and held as firm as he could to stop his expression from collapsing completely.

'I-I-If It doesn't stop, Five, if It doesn't stop you'll have to kill me, won't you!?' This time Ben was powerless against the tears. In the dim light Five caught sight of wayward tracks left from an earlier time dried on his brother's cheeks, but they quickly disappeared under fresh droplets that were racing toward his chin. Ben was sobbing with his whole chest, and Five channeled everything he was feeling into the tight balls of the fists held at his sides.

'Never. Understand me? Never.' He tentatively reached out, and as softly as he could grasped at Ben's knee. He willed as much as he could into that touch, trying as hard as possible to convey his words. 'Never.' If something did happen, Five would have to simply find another way to fix things; they all would have to. It's logical, the only right answer. Killing Ben was never on the table, Five would never allow something so ludicrous to be suggested by anyone in the first place.

Ben finally tilted his head upward, and the look in his eyes sent a sharp fracture straight through Five's heart. Big, fat teardrops were leaking from both of his brother's eyes. 'Please, please don't kill me...'

Faster than even Five has ever moved, Ben flung himself at Five and wrapped both arms in a vice grip around his midsection. It sent both brothers sliding back a bit on the tile, and instinctively Five in turn wrapped around Ben to keep them upright.

'Please, please, please. I'll get better, I will. Please, please...'

The tiny pleas were rough and stuttered and muffled into Five's neck, interrupted by sobs and hiccups. Words would never impart the relentless, tormenting nightmare of dying at his own siblings' hands.

They sat there on the kitchen floor for a time, Five cradling his brother awkwardly but tightly, knitted expression buried into Ben's tangled hair.

As the shaking in Ben's chest slowed, fury gave way to heartache for Five. Dad may have treated them like monsters, but he knew better. They were valuable. They were powerful. That scared Dad.

Five wasn't scared of Ben.

'It might happen,' he began after some time, his chin brushing the top of Ben's head as he spoke. 'But I'll be ready if it does.'

Ben pulled away just enough to wipe a long trail of snot away from his nose with a linen sleeve. 'How do you know?'

Five glanced at him, saying plainly, 'I'm faster.'

In truth, he was already planning to forgo sleep and work on equations in his room as soon as possible. He doesn't actually know how he would stop Ben from losing control of the beast inside him, but of one thing he was absolutely sure: he won't let Ben die. He will practice spatial jumps until every molecule in his body surrendered, until he can manipulate all of space-time itself: Ben will not die.

'Five -'

'I know. Dad doesn't know shit. Just trust me.' Five searched Ben's face, looking for any sign of understanding the confidence he has in this. 'Everything is going to be okay.' His left leg began to ache, asleep under his brother's weight, but he pointedly ignored it.

It took a moment, but following a shaky breath Ben whispered, 'Okay. Can you promise?'

Ben will not die.

"Yeah," Five pressed a feather-light touch to the brownish ribbons of dried blood on his brother's linen shirt, his eyes glazing over and sight disappearing into the fabric. 'I promise, Ben.'

---

Edit: fixed some tense mistakes and a couple spelling errors.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“He-ey. Em?”

“Yeah?” Emory looks up from his book, string and glue and old pages that have slipped free of their original binding scattered around him. Lux is lowering himself onto the couch, slow and nervous.

The warlock shifts to sit cross-legged. His fingers twist around the frayed hems of his hoodie sleeves, eyes locked on the pointless task of untangling the strands of fabric. “Mmh. I-I just. Need help.” His mouth opens and closes again as hesitation tears at his will to communicate. “Knowing what’s real.”

“Oh, Curls.” The old soft pages between Emory’s fingers suddenly feel rough and heavy. He wants to hold Lux, to rub his back, to keep him in one piece. With smooth predictable movements, he sets down the book and rises to step out of his circle of bookbinding materials. “Okay. How can I help?”

For some reason, Lux flinches, small and sharp. A moment passes and he draws a shuddering breath. “I, I don’t think what’s happening is… really happening. You wouldn’t…” Blue eyes flick up to Emory’s face and linger there, swimming with doubt.

“Are you hearing what I’m saying, Curls? What I’m actually saying?” A step forward, and Lux flinches again, this time squeaking out a whimper with shoulders scrunched up. A small shake of his head, and he visibly tries to relax.

“W-, well… ‘m hearing you, but, you sound angry, and you look a-angry, and… um, my head hurts, so I think… I dunno.” Lux scratches the back of his head in thought. “Mmh, might be hallucinating. All feels kinda… half-fake. Like, you… you didn’t yell for me to come in here, right?”

“No, I didn’t say anything. I’m just fixing this book over here.”

“O-okay. Yeah, like… whatever my head’s doing, that sounded really - really mad, s-sarcastic. I know, it’s not you, it’s… I guess he’s, the Hunter’s in my head or, or something like that.” Lux sags, worn out by just trying to figure out what’s happening.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Emory murmurs, then approaches to sit beside his boyfriend. Lux tries not to watch, not to pull away. He must hear the loving assurance as a mocking threat, something snarled or said with a cruel smile. But the warlock holds steady where he sits, refusing to bolt, even holding still as a statue when Emory lays a hand on his back.

“I love you, Curls.”

Even with the soft, familiar words, Lux quivers. “Y-, you… wouldn’t say that.”

What is he hearing? Emory’s heart clenches with grief as he imagines the things the hallucination could be trying to convince Lux of, as he marvels at how fiercely Lux is fighting against believing it. His hand starts to rub circles into Lux’s back, and the warlock doesn’t react negatively to it. Maybe the hallucinations are just visual and sound, not touch. He can feel real things.

One hand cups the other side of Lux’s head to pull him gently closer. Lux flicks his eyes up to glance at Emory through his eyelashes, and flutter wide with surprise as a kiss is pressed to his cheek.

“Was tha-, that, was that real?” Whispers Lux, stunned. Emory remains silent; he takes Lux’s hands, lifts them to his own cheeks so when he nods, Lux can feel the movement. “Y-, you’re nodding yes?” Emory nods again, but there’s still doubt in Lux’s eyes. He must see a sneer on Em’s face, must have heard a scoff.

“Close your eyes, please, honey?” Emory asks, proud and guilty when Lux makes the smallest nervous sound and does as asked. Steady brown hands slip over the backs of Lux’s hands, over his wrists, up his arms to settle on his shoulders. One slides around to the back of Lux’s neck to pull him closer until their foreheads are tipped together. No words needed.

He wants so badly to say I love you, you’re safe, it’s gonna be okay. He wants to catch Lux’s eyes and ground him with a reassuring smile. But all they have right now is touch. Patient and thoughtful, Emory slides one hand up under the back of Lux’s shirt, eyes cast down, fingertips traveling over the sharp ridges of old scars. Gentle, careful. Lux shudders and leans closer. Up, up along a scar that spans from Lux’s lower back, over at the hip, all the way to the bottom of the opposite shoulder blade. If Emory could speak, he’d say something about how strong Lux is, how brave he is to trust someone with this.

Without words, he can only let his hands do the work. A friction-lightened palm presses warmly over the scar he just traced, holding its place over the cruel mark. An apology for pulling a shudder out of Lux, a question - was that okay, is this okay? Do you want me to stop? I can pull your shirt back down, stop touching, leave you alone, you don’t owe me any trust.

“If you’re, if…” Lux’s arms, now wrapped around Emory, slide up so he can grab at his own curls in frustration. “M-might not even be… be real… if you’re here, and being gentle, Em, I like it, keep, keep doing it? If you… if you’re here?”

No words, Emory reminds himself. A single sound in response and Lux will flinch, the affirming words all twisted into something terrible.

So he goes back to tracing scars reverently. He thinks about the times Lux has lain flopped over him, body loose and too sleepy to retract and apologize and give full context for his decision to flop. He thinks about lying next to Lux, not touching but looking, so in love with the guy sharing his bed, a mystery and an open book, full of fear and deep, deliberate trust. He thinks, too, about the kind of person who would touch Lux’s scars and happily remember carving them into him, happily remember his screams.

Right now, Lux is melting up against him, so Emory knows he’s finally found the key to getting around these awful hallucinations, these mind games from the man in Lux’s head. Lux knows this touch, and despite all his paranoia and bad experiences, he knows Emory’s hands have never, ever brought him pain on purpose. His body reacts to the loving touch even if his mind is lagging somewhere in the territory of breath-stealing horror.

“You said you could ca-all the cops to, to come ta-ake me away if I wa-anna use my magic so bad,” Lux shares with a plaintive sigh. He’s opening up, even if Emory can’t answer to share his sympathy and shock. “Dunno why you’d’ve thought I even used magic today. It’s, it wasn’t real, you saying that. And you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Fingertips pressed over shoulder blades, Emory hugs Lux briefly. Of course not, it says without words. Never. I want you here, right here in my arms, not dragged away begging for mercy. I wouldn’t.

“And over there, where you said you were…? Nnnh, working on a, a book, or something? I saw…” A shiver, soothed away by Emory’s embrace. “...It’s silly. Like a, a dream, all weird and scary and, doesn’t have to make sense, still scares you, in the moment?” An uncertain pause. Emory nods against Lux’s shoulder to convey his understanding. “Uh, saw you… ho-olding a gun. Taking it apart, loading it. Li-ike, like... s-someone used to. Ready to s-scare me into be-eing good.”

I wouldn’t, Emory says with his hands sliding down to Lux’s lower back, around to his waist, holding him steady. Never. I’m holding you, you can feel my hands, nothing to hurt you with. No gun, nothing. Just me, honey, just me and you, close and safe.

“But I’m okay.” Lux loops his arms around Em’s neck, tucks his face down against the back of his own hand on Em’s shoulder. “I-I, I’m safe. With you. You love me, and, and this’ll pass, and you’ll be proud of me. Because I’m strong.”

Yes! Emory pulls Lux into an all-out hug now, tight and emotional. Yes, Lux knows, Lux knows that’s exactly what Emory would say right now. He knows he’s safe, loved, wanted. The warlock hugs back with a weak laugh, clinging too once Emory’s started it.

“Thanks, Em.” The hug loosens, but neither of them let go. Emory closes his eyes to match Lux, and they breathe, calming each other, silent and stable. There are no words to be twisted, no frightening visions to force Lux back. “I know this is real. If, if nothing else. This is real.”

[gaycrouton]

A Sex Education Fic

“A Safe Place” - Snapshots of Eric's relationship with Jean, leading up to the night of the call. 

2011

Otis hadn't locked his bedroom door.

The realization washed over Eric like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on him. One moment they were singing along to "The Origin of Love", trying to figure out how to apply drugstore lashes, and attempting to find the best shade of lipstick for their complexion - the next he was watching the light from the hallway break into their sanctuary.

Did he not realize Mrs. Milburn was home?

With each creak of the heavy wooden door, every muscle in his body froze in anticipation of what he'd always dreaded. Shock. Disgust. Anger. Disapproval. Maybe not all, maybe only one, but those were the reactions he'd always imagined on the faces of his parents whenever he made sure his chair was securely positioned under the doorknob of his room, always making sure to check twice. And a third time. Just to be sure.

Except this time, the reactions wouldn't manifest in the dark brown eyes of his family, but instead he'd see it on the face of an eccentric lady who had always greeted him with a wide smile and open arms.

Otis was frozen for a completely different reason. He remained still as a statue as he held his glued eyelash precariously over his eye, looking into a propped up hand mirror. "Should I be closing my eye when I do this?" he asked before wincing in pain. Eric felt himself wanting to give Otis a warning, but he couldn't find the voice to do so.

The door swung open and Mrs. Milburn looked around, trying to find them before her gaze fell down to the floor. Eric locked eyes with her and he felt the blush on he'd applied to his cheeks starting to burn from the real thing. Her brows furrowed for a moment as she squinted her eyes, looking at them with an intensity that he felt to his core. "We were just kidding arou-," he started, trailing off as he watched her raise a finger to pause him as she spun around on one wedge adorned foot.

She was going to call his parents.

"Mrs. Milburn!" he called out, sitting up straight and watching the multiple layers of fabric billow behind her. He turned back to Otis in panic, just to see his friend was completely unfazed at having been caught. In fact, he was trying miserably to apply lash glue on the other thin lash line.

He heard some rustling in the other room and he felt his heart rate speed up. He wasn't going to be allowed to come over anymore.

"Eric!" she called out. He jumped in his seat and pivoted his head to watch her stomp back towards Otis' room, a large bag in her hands.

"Yes?" he called back, trying to subtly shuck the boa from off his shoulders.

"How many times do I need to remind you to call me Jean?" she teased with a wide smile.

"W-what?" he stuttered, eyes glued to her as he watched her cross her ankles and sit down on the ground next to them.

"No one calls me Mrs. Milburn. Especially not friends," she replied, pulling the bag in between them and unzipping it.

She looked over at Otis and gave him a look of sympathy. "Sweetheart," she prompted, looking through her bag while making a tsk sound. She found what she was looking for and pulled it out with a proud smile. "Use this when you apply lashes. You're getting the glue all over your fingers," she stated, passing him a weird looking pair of tweezers.

"Mom!," Otis whined. "No, look. I got it. See?" He turned proudly to face them - one eyelash a few centimeters from his lash line as the other started peeling up from the side.

"It's a stylistic choice, that's for sure," she laughed as he sighed in resignation and took the tweezers from her hand.

Eric turned to face her again and craned his neck to get a better look into her bag. All he could see was makeup. Different types and brands of makeup.

"So, Eric," Jean beamed, making his attention snap up to her face.

"Yes?" he squeaked.

"What's your color?" she asked, trifling through her bag, the sound of plastic clinking together filling the room.

"My color?" he repeated.

She looked back at him with a friendly smile, lifting one hand up to wipe her finger delicately under his eye makeup to touch it up. "Mhm. What color do you think compliments you?" she asked.

She really wasn't mad. "I-I'm not sure," he replied honestly. He'd been trying to figure that out in one of his sister's Vogue magazines, but he hadn't gotten far before he heard someone coming up the stairs and he ran.

Jean observed his face delicately, holding up a few tubes to his lips before searching again. "Aha!" she proclaimed, pulling out a shiny, silver tube. "I think you should try this," she whispered.

Eric turned to his mirror and upcapped the lipstick, twisting it until an orange tip came out. He turned back over to Jean who was applying a pink color to her own lips, experience being her guide to applying it without error. He turned back and carefully outlined the area of his mouth, covering it twice over so that the orange popped.

In the mirror, he saw Jean's face peer over his shoulder. "Orange looks wonderful on you. Do you like it?" she asked.

She was looking at him with such fondness. No hint of disapproval, no indication there was anything abnormal about this, just a desire to help. He felt an embarrassing wave of heat hit his face again as his throat grew tight and his eyes burned. "I love it," he replied, a shaky smile trying to convey the depth of his gratitude.

He met her eyes in the mirror and saw that her smile turned melancholy and her eyes took on a note of understanding in their blue depths. "I love it too," she murmured, placing a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling back and wiping the trace of lipstick off with her thumb.

Jean stood up slowly, looking down at them with her continued fondness. "Otis, I promise it gets easier over time," she reassured, watching as he tried to dislodge the tweezers stuck to his lashes. She looked back down at him and winked. "You boys can use any of the makeup you want in that bag. Under the condition you come downstairs later and let me see the results!" she proclaimed playfully.

"Okay, Mom," Otis replied.

"Thank you, Mrs-Jean. Thank you, Jean," Eric rambled, sniffling as gracefully as he could.

"I'm going to leave the door open. It's hot as balls in here," she said as she walked down the hall.

He looked at his lips one more time before pulling Jean's makeup bag into his lap, looking at all the treasures inside. "Otis, your mom's really cool," he beamed.

2015

"Do you both have your cell phones?" Jean asked for what had to be the twentieth time.

"Yes, Mom," Otis groaned, reaching under his skirt to re-adjust his nylons.

"And you, Eric?" she asked, turning her motherly worry to him.

He patted the breast pocket of his jean jacket proudly. "Of course, with your number on speed dial."

She smiled at him and as she opened her mouth to ask another question, he beat her to the punch. "And! I have the bus station map with all the routes we will be taking there and back highlighted."

"And the times?" she asked.

"And the times," Eric confirmed.

Jean took a few steps forward and pulled them into her arms, kissing the tops of both of their heads while trying not to get synthetic blonde hair in her mouth. "Mom, we've been on the bus plenty of times," Otis mumbled into her shirt.

"Yes, but you're only thirteen," she replied. Taking a step back and putting on a serious face, holding one of their hands in each of hers, she stated, "I want you to listen to me. Stay by each other at all times. If one of you needs to pee, the other follows. I'd even feel more comfortable if you followed each other into the stall. It's okay to use the big one for safety purpo-"

"Mom!" Otis exclaimed, trying to end the speech early.

"I'm serious, Otis." She paused for a moment, choosing her words before slowly confessing, "The world can be cruel to people who express themselves outside of societal conventions. I love you both and I think you look fabulous, but I don't want either of you to get hurt."

Eric nodded in solemn agreement while Otis just agreed to placate Jean. "I promise, buddy system. We're going to be late," he said, adjusting his purse strap on his shoulder.

Jean smiled sweetly at him before placing a kiss on both boys' cheeks. As they started to walk towards the door, they were stopped one more time by her. "Eric?"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning around.

"Um. They haven't called here since you got your cell phone, but just in case it's loud and you can't answer your phone and they do call. Um, where did you tell your parents you would be?" she asked tentatively.

She never made a big deal of it, but he knew Jean had noticed he wasn't the same around his parents as he was at their house. She'd helped him wipe the makeup clean off his face enough times to see the anxiety in his eyes about any accidentally being left on. She would never lie, she respected them as his parents, but she wasn't in the business of outing kids either.

"There's a showing of Die Hard at the same cinema, so I said we're going to that," he answered.

She pursed her lips in a smile and nodded. "Okay. Have fun at Die Hard. Be back by eleven! And I wasn't kidding about the bathroom thing!" she shouted as they left.

2018

He didn't even think twice. There was no other choice. All he needed right now was unconditional and non-judgemental help, and his fingers were unconsciously dialing the number for the one person who fit the bill.

Even so, hearing her voice made him want to cry.

"Hello?"

Putting on as cheery as a voice as he could, he rasped out a small, "Hi."

"Who is this?"

"Hi. It's Eric. Um-," he swallowed thickly. He could hear her starting to respond, but cut he cut her off as the words tumbled from his lips. "Something bad has happened. Can you come and pick me up?"

There was a slight pause as he listened to the sound of fabric moving, followed by the unmistakable sound of her shoes on hardwood. "Eric, are you in danger? Where are you? Is Otis with you?"

He looked around at the hanging lights and the crowd of people that had slowly amassed nearby. "E-excuse me. Where am I?" he asked.

"320 North Park Passage. You're at the White Oak Food Truck," the girl who'd given him the napkin replied.

"320 North Park Passage. White Oak Food Truck," Eric repeated. "Otis missed the bus. He said he had something else he needed to do. An errand or something. He said he couldn't make it," he answered.

"But I saw him leave," she mused, almost to herself.

"I-I don't know what happened," he replied, his voice quivering despite his attempts to keep it steady.

He didn't. They'd been doing this exact same routine for years. They got from the bus to the show without a problem. They got stares, they got jokes, but they were safe together. They were just seen as two weird kids having fun.

Tonight he was a faggot wandering the streets in women's clothes.

"Eric," she called out, getting his attention.

"Yes?" he whispered.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, the sound of her engine punctuating her question.

"Um, I-," Eric stammered, taking the napkin off his cheek only to see the once white material had turned completely red. "A little."

"Eric, I'm on my way. I promise I'll be there very soon," she reassured him. He could hear the slight tremor in her voice and he knew she was scared. Scared of what she'd see when she reached him. Scared of what 'something bad has happened' might look like on the boy she's treated like a son. But he also knew that Jean wouldn't ask him to divulge anything sensitive over the phone. "Do you feel safe?"

"I think so," he replied. The men had gone the other way after they were done.

Coughing away the onslaught of emotion that threatened to emerge from the memory, he joked, "But you're not. I don't want to make you talk and drive. That's one of the leading causes of-"

"I'll stay on the phone as long as you need me to, sweetheart," she interrupted seriously, not letting him deflect. "You're on speaker in the passenger seat," she replied soothingly.

The motherly tone in her voice struck a nerve in him and he felt his bottom lip begin to quiver. He didn't have many numbers memorized. He had three: his own number, his home phone, and Otis' home phone. He was in pain, he was scared, and he couldn't call his own family. The strings of rainbow lights started to meld together like a blurred kaleidoscope as tears started brimming in his eyes. He pursed his lips together as he tried to avoid making a sound, curling in on himself in an attempt at self-comfort.

"I-it's okay, Jean. I promise I'll be right where I said I would be," he replied, tears evident in his shaky tone.

There was a moment of silence and he could practically hear her fighting her own parental need to keep him on the line. "I understand if you want a few moments to yourself before I pick you up, but please stay by the phone. Okay, darling? I'll call this number when I'm close," she replied.

"Thank you," he replied, listening to her goodbyes before ending the call and walking to the table.

"Thank you for letting me use your phone," Eric said, looking around the group for someone to hold out their hand and take the phone he was offering. He couldn't actually remember who had given it to him.

"What happened?" a boy, a bit older than himself, asked.

I was jumped. I was beaten up. I was robbed. I was the victim of a hate crime.

Which was the most accurate?

"You can't just ask that, Tommy!" a short girl snapped, making Eric jump.

"Do you need something to eat?" the girl who took back the phone asked.

"N-no, I'm just going to sit over there and wait for my ride," Eric mumbled, pointing indistinguishably to a table.

He sat nearby, hoping that the phone girl wouldn't leave, but not wanting to ask another favor and have her hover over him. He didn't see who did it, but suddenly a bottle of water was placed in front of him along with several fresh, clean napkins. Listening for the seal to break, he drank some of the water, ignoring the copper taste that went down with it, and grabbed a new bandage.

Eric heard a loud crack and quickly turned around to look over his shoulder, checking the road he'd just been walking on for a group of men stomping back to have another round.

But there was nothing.

Turning back to the table, he watched idly as a woman resumed the dancing she'd been doing when he got there. The couples on dates occasionally turning to look at him before focusing back on each other - placing kisses on the other's cheeks and whispering words of comfort for an act of violence they didn't actually experience themselves.

Not knowing what to focus on, and not wanting to make eye contact with the people looking at him, he turned his attention to the wood of the picnic table, reading the various messages of graffiti carved and penned into the surface.

He wasn't sure how long he was staring at the table when he heard a voice call out. "Hey, uh-Eric! Your mom's calling!"

Eric looked over and saw a phone being held out to him. As best he could in his shoes, he got out of the table and rushed over to the girl. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he heard the girl say as he held the phone to his ear.

"Jean?" he stated.

"I'm on North Park. Do you see my car?" she asked, sounding relieved to hear him.

"Uh," he drew out, looking both ways. He saw a pair of lights coming from where he'd been walking and he felt his body tense up before seeing the blue hue of Jean's car. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going to come to you. I'll be there in a sec," he rushed before handing the phone back.

"Thank you so much," he said appreciatively to the crowd.

"Get home safe, mate." He heard as he turned and started speed walking to the car.

He heard the car door slam before seeing a tuft of ash blonde hair rounding the car. "Eric?" she called out.

"Here, Jean!" he replied, his voice breaking from the strain.

He hadn't had a chance to seem himself, but if the look on Jean's face was any indication - he looked like shit. She ran the rest of the way to him, but when she went to throw her arms around him, she stopped herself. She lifted her hand but it just wandered in the air, as if trying to decide whether to touch his head, his cheek, or his arm. Only to end up going back to herself to wipe away the tears threatening to fall.

Her tears brought on a fresh wave of his own, and he bent down slightly to wrap his arms around her small frame. "Thank you, Jean," he whispered, finding comfort in the smell of her hair and the feeling of her clothes.

She coughed lightly, trying to dispel the emotion from her throat as she rubbed soothing circles into his back. "I'm here. I'm going to take care of you. You're safe with me. I promise," she mumbled.

She was barely over five foot, a tiny, willowy woman who was practically drowning in her old, worn pyjamas and slippers. But he believed her. And for the first time all night, he felt safe.

He sniffled and stood up straight, smiling at her as comfortingly as he possibly could. "Thanks, Jean."

She nodded and offered him a weak smile before looking around him, making sure they had privacy. "Eric, you can disclose what happened to you at your comfort level, but I need you to tell me if I need to take you to the hospital or the police. I know it sounds invasive and like the last thing you'd want to do, but-" she informed, Dr. Milburn, Ph.D coming out.

He shook his head and interrupted her. "It wasn't anything like that. I was just robbed. Got roughed up a bit," he explained.

She nodded and let out a long, low breath before pulling him back into her arms, cradling his head. "Thank god," she whispered.

"I did lose my phone and wallet," he lamented, letting her hold him. "And my stylish tiger print coat. I don't have a feeling I'll be getting any of those things back."

"No," she exhaled with a humorless laugh, giving him one final squeeze before leaning away while holding his arms. "But I'll be on the lookout for an even better tiger print coat," she promised with a smile.

She caught sight of his cheek and visibly winced. "How badly does it hurt?" she asked, motioning for him to get into the car.

"Uh," he started, actually evaluating it for the first time in the night. "Badly," he answered.

"Well, let's go home so I can help clean you up before you have to go back to your parents," she offered. She paused for a minute, looking at the sky reflectively. "I'm sorry Otis didn't show up. I tried calling him, but he didn't answer," she apologized before getting into the car, a twinge of worry lacing her voice.

He got in and buckled his seatbelt as he answered. "I talked to him an hour or two ago. It sounded like something important came up. I'm sure he didn't want to miss," he shrugged, wanting to comfort her even half as much as she confronted him.

"I'm sure you're right," she nodded, letting out a low breath.

He sure hoped he was.

The car ride over was spent in relative silence. He was busy enjoying the comfort of not having to watch over his shoulder for danger, while she was enjoying the comfort of having him safe next to her. Eric couldn't help but notice it was taking longer to get there than it seemed the route had taken her the first time, and it brought a small smile to imagine speed demon Jean racing through the night to get to him.

Eric followed her into the Milburn house, agreeing to stay so he could see Otis and have a moment to collect himself, and watched as she ran to the sink. "Take a seat on the couch! I'll be over in a minute. Do you want anything to eat or drink?" she called out.

"Uh, no. No. Thank you," he called out, sitting down on the red and yellow embroidered sofa. He glanced around the room with a deep sigh. He'd been here just the other day, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago now.

Have you got a penis?

Show us your dick!

"Eric," Jean coaxed, making him jump as she sat down next to him.

"Y-yes?" he stammered, glancing over to her.

She stared into his eyes for a moment, as if checking to see if he was really looking at her back, before presenting her medical kit. "I'm afraid I don't have much. Here, face me," she commanded.

He pivoted his body and did as she told, holding still while she gathered some materials. "I'm going to wipe this over your cheek, it will sting, but it will take some of the blood off and help disinfect the wound," she explained, waiting for him to give her permission before continuing.

He hissed and gritted his teeth in pain as the sharp burn of chemicals infiltrated his cut. Her brows furrowed as a small frown tugged her lips downward. "I know, I know it hurts. Just a moment more, okay?" she reassured, scanning his face to look for any other wounds. "Does anything else hurt?" she asked, looking into his eyes again.

His gaze darted down to his lap where he was playing idly with his old bloody napkin. A lot hurt, but nothing that could be fixed with a medkit. "I think I'm good," he shrugged.

She made a tsk-ing sound with her mouth that drew his attention upwards again. "You are not 'good', Eric. You're strong, but you were still hurt," she lamented. She put her fingers under his chin and tilted his head so the light was on him better.

He nodded weakly in agreement as she assessed him. "Just as I expected," she murmured. "Still handsome."

A real smile graced his face and he saw the same reflected on her own. Standing up, she took an old blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over him lovingly, making sure it was tucked into his arms before leaning down and placing a kiss to his forehead, followed by a featherlight kiss above his cut.

"It won't need stitches or anything, will it?" he asked as she sat back down next to him.

"No, nothing like that. Just some care and time," Jean replied, kicking off her slippers and wiggling her toes.

After a moment of silence, he felt her nudge his knee with her own. "Eric?"

"Hm?" he mused.

"What are you going to tell your parents?" she asked tentatively.

A new wave of anxiety washed over him as the reality really dawned on him. He knew he'd be going home after this, but he didn't think about the fact that he now had a bruised face to cover for. "I-I don't know," he replied honestly. "They might be asleep by now. I can probably just-," he began before she interrupted him.

"Sweetheart," she cooed in that all-knowing-Jean way. "They'll know something happened."

He nodded in acceptance and thought through excuses. Tripped into something? Fell downstairs? Fainted and fell?

"Have things gotten better?" she asked.

He looked over at her and saw understanding and sadness, upset she couldn't protect him from the inevitable cruelty she'd been so worried about him facing. He remembered his parents meeting her for the first time. "That is one strange woman. I've never seen a woman so obsessed with orchid art. Her son's pretty strange too."

He reached over and held her hand. "They-um. I'm sure they know. It's just kinda like an unspoken thing in the house. They don't like the clothes, and I never let them see me with makeup on. But- they love me. In their own way."

She nodded, listening to him intently. "Well," she whispered with a small smile, raising their joined hands to her lips. "I think it's hard for someone to meet you and not love you, you sweet, sweet boy."

She said it with so much conviction, it almost made him believe her.

[notthecanadianaverage]

for the 50 questions, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ,6 ,7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, and 50 :)

LET’S DO THIS

1. What’s your favorite candle scent?

Honestly? I’m a basic bitch xD I love vanilla scented anything. Wooden wicks are the BEST. I want to find a candle that smells like fresh cut grass and a candle that smells like lumber. Those two scents, especially together, remind me of my grandpa who worked in a lumber yard and repaired lawn mowers. I treasure those memories so much omg.

2. What female celebrity do you wish was your sister?

Does Amethyst count? I actually don’t know xD I honestly can’t even think of any celebrities that I like??? I’ll say Jenna Marbles!

3. What male celebrity do you wish was your brother?

Again, I’m not really someone who goes nuts over celebrities, heh. I don’t know how to answer this D:

4. How old do you think you’ll be when you get married?

I mean, I’m 22 now and my fingers are crossed that it will happen soonish. The boyfriend lives in California and I think it might make things easier if we get married? Then he can come here!

5. Do you know a hoarder?

I don’t think so??? I mean I could be wrong.

6. Can you do a split?

I have tried for YEARS and I CANNOT DO IT ASLAJBODUBFODSUFNODSUBFLJDBFUBEF I FUCKING WISH I COULD

7. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike?

Fuck if I know... Damn... I remember learning when I was... I think I was... 4? Maybe? I was super young.

8. How many oceans have you swam in?

I’ve only seen one ocean, the Pacific Ocean. I don’t know if I’ve swam in it, though. I know I’ve touched it and waded in it a little, but I don’t know if I’ve actually gone swimming...

9. How many countries have you been to?

2! Just Canada and the US. I’ve always wanted to go to England and Indonesia, though! I love Harry Potter, I always have (fucking fight me) and I decided when I was little that England was a must for me, that I had to go see Hogwarts. And Indonesia, my inner volcanologist NEEDS to go! That’s where my favourite volcano, Krakatoa, is located. 

10. Is anyone in your family in the army?

I hope not! I don’t think so. Or... Maybe? I think my cousin Austin is. I don’t know. I don’t remember the last time I saw him. We don’t really talk about him? My boyfriends dad was, though. That’s all I know.

11. What would you name your daughter if you had one?

OO OO OO!!!! So, my boyfriend and I have discussed this! I have a set of dog tags that I always wear that have our names and our kids names on them! We want two girls who will be named Raven Zaidee Trujillo and Dexter Rosie Trujillo. Dexter’s middle name was originally going to be Bonnuit (French for good night) but one of his best friends was sadly murdered earlier this year and he wanted to honor her memory.

12. What would you name your son if you had one?

ANOTHER QUESTION I AM EXCITED TO ANSWER!!!!! Our little boys name is going to be Blade Wayne Trujillo!!! I’ve always had a thing for the name Blade and Wayne was his dads middle name.

13. What’s the worst grade you got on a test?

Ffffffff I can’t even remember what I did yesterday... Um, I think it was a flat out 0 because I didn’t even do the test. It was a physics test. I was scared of the student aid lady at school so I never switched out of physics and I literally used that block to sleep and play on my phone. I never even showed up to write the exam.

14. What was your favorite TV show when you were a child?

Sailor Moon!!! I fucking LOVED that show!!!! I also loved Little Bear :D When I was 12, though, I was OBSESSED with this show called Disasters of the Century. It was a documentary style tv show about natural disasters and plane and train crashes and it was SO COOL. I LOVED IT SO MUCH. I used to wake up extra early before school just to watch!!

15. What did you dress up as on Halloween when you were eight?

Ummm…. I think I was a ninja? I remember I wore my karate gi out one year. I lived in Alberta at the time so there was like 2 or 3 feet of snow on the ground so I had to wear a snowsuit under my costume which was a HUGE disappointment because I was turned into a marshmallow rather than a ninja. Either that or I was Harry Potter. It was great! People always asked me though if I would rather be Hermione because I was a girl and my parents essentially told them to fuck off because I was HARRY FUCKING POTTER.

16. Have you read any of the Harry Potter, Hunger Games or Twilight series?

YES. My apartment is almost entirely Harry Potter. I have an Expecto Patronum tattoo and my ratty memorial tattoo on my leg is also Harry Potter. I am a diehard fan until the end. Fucking fight me. I also read and own the Hunger Games trilogy. Such good books omg. I was in the Amazing Book Race club in school and one year we had to read The Hunger Games and we even did a book trailer for it! I still have it! We showed my boyfriend when he came out in April xD The books are MUCH better than the movies.

17. Would you rather have an American accent or a British accent?

British! Does my Harry Potter loving ass need to say more?

18. Did your mother go to college?

I don’t think so? I’m not sure. I don’t know if anyone in my family has.

19. Are your grandparents still married?

Kind of? Not really. My Papa passed away from lung cancer in 2010. 

20. Have you ever taken karate lessons?

Yes xD I started when I was 5 and I stopped when I was 13 I think? I got injured in a biking accident and had to leave. I was going to go back but as I was getting ready to, I got a really bad knee injury and I just haven’t been back. I really want to go back, though! It was fun and I don’t get nearly enough exercise.

21. Do you know who Kermit the frog is?

I sure as fuck hope I do!

22. What’s the first amusement park you’ve been to?

I think it was Playland, my parents would have taken me when I Was super young. But the first amusement park I remember going to is Callaway Park in Alberta. I loved that place! I remember throwing a temper tantrum because my dad told the lady was 6 when I was actually 8 and I LOST MY MIND.

23. What language, besides your native language, would you like to be fluent in?

Any language! I speak French but I would love to learn Michif which is the native language of Metis people as I am Metis c:

24. Do you spell the color as grey or gray?

I think I alternate, actually xD

25. Is your father bald?

Yes, he is! 

26. Do you know triplets?

I was about to say no, but I think I met triplet babies once who I may or may not be distantly related to? I’m not actually sure anymore.

27. Do you prefer Titanic or The Notebook?

I’ve never actually seen either! I feel like the Titanic would be a no go for me, though, because I have issues with big boats and the fact that it’s real fucks me up and also James Cameron almost killed his cast by actually making them sit in ice cold water for the sake of hard nipples and realism????

28. Have you ever had Indian food?

I have had very badly made butter chicken once. It was so bad, WAY too much curry. And I think my boyfriend and I once ordered from an Indian restaurant. I ordered from the kids menu because that was the only place where there was non-spicy options xD

29. What’s the name of your favorite restaurant?

Umm... Hmm... White Spot? Maybe... But I also enjoy El Grullesays Grill... I slaughtered that name ;_; It’s a Mexican restaurant in California that serves meaty fries! God I miss meaty fries... They’re like nacho fries! They have mozzarella cheese, sour cream, green onions, and shredded steak :3

30. Have you ever been to Olive Garden?

I actually don’t know. I think maybe? But I was too young to remember it. I think I’ve gotten leftovers, though, from when my grandma went.

31. Do you belong to any warehouse stores (Costco, BJ’s, etc.)?

I’m too broke for that shit ._____.

32. What would your parents have named you if you were the opposite gender?

Pfft beats the fuck outta me. We never talked about that.

33. If you have a nickname, what is it?

Bug! 

34. Who’s your favorite person in the world?

Honestly? My boyfriend xD He is one of the very few people in this world who doesn’t tolerate me because he loves and embraces all of my weirdness xD Him and G are my favourite peeps.

35. Would you rather live in a rural area or in the suburbs?

I actually can never remember which is which and I mean, I’m not picky. As long as people leave me alone and I’m in a safe area, I’m happy xD

36. Can you whistle?

Yes! Can you hear me? I’m doing it!

37. Do you sleep with a nightlight?

I do not. I used to want to when I was little. I have one in my bathroom, though.

38. Do you eat breakfast every morning?

Pfft. No. I’m not a breakfast person. I work nights so I get home at 7 in the morning so if I eat before I go to bed, no joke, I will just make a box of macaroni.

39. Do you take any pills or medication daily?

I do! I take medication for my ADHD so that I don’t eat everything in my apartment and I can function somewhat normally.

40. What medical conditions do you have?

I am ADHD, I struggle with depression (it’s not nearly as bad as it use to be luckily), anxiety, I suspect BPD. I have a few joint injuries that will never really properly heal but other than that, nothing.

41. How many times have you been to the hospital?

Hehehe…. Um… For me? Food poisoning… injuries… suicide attempts… hmmm… 11 or 12 times? All but one in the last 10 years. What can I say, I’m clumsy as fuck xD

42. Have you ever seen Finding Nemo?

Yes! I love that movie!! 

43. Where do you buy your jeans?

Pennington’s. I am THICC. It’s the only place I can get jeans that fit without destroying what little confidence I have. Sadly though they are NOT cheap so I currently only own 2 pairs that fit me and the thighs on both are destroyed so they are being held together by denim patches from an old pair of shorts, fabric glue and some mediocre hand stitching.

44. What’s the last compliment you got?

I have vibrantly coloured hair. Right now, it’s green. I’ve had very brightly coloured hair since I was 15 I think? My natural colour is brown. I’ve only had brown hair once since I started dying it and that was when I went to go visit my boyfriend for the first time because he had never seen me with my natural colour. I just said that I looked weird with brown hair and he said “No, you look incredible.”

45. Do you usually remember your dreams in the morning?

Hmm, sometimes. Most of the time, I do. Been having a lot of nightmares and stress dreams lately, though, so I wish I didn’t...

46. What flavor tea do you enjoy?

I absolutely prefer herbal teas. My favourite is Just Peachy from DavidsTea!! I also REALLY love White Peach omg

47. How many pairs of shoes do you currently own?

Ahh…. Hmm…. I have… 8 or 9? I think? I’m not home so I can’t check.

48. What religion will you raise your children to practice?

None. I grew up Atheist. I knew of religion, obviously. My grandma is religious. But I just never understood it. My understanding was that there was a God and that he lived in the clouds and I remember looking at the sky one day and there were no clouds and I was concerned. I also didn’t understand Heaven or Hell because neither have been seen and the lack of tangibility fucked with me so hard. My grandpa got really sick in 2009, he had lung cancer. I remember when he was in the hospital I really tried to look for something, anything, to turn to for comfort because everything was falling apart around me. He unfortunately passed away and I was angry because if God is real and if he actually loved us, why would he let us suffer the way that he did, the way that I was. How dare he?! That was honestly the last straw for me. If my children want to explore religion or they want to go to church and see what it’s all about, I will absolutely support them in doing so, but I will not raise them in any specific religion.

49. How old were you when you found out that Santa wasn’t real?

That was something I just kind of grew out of. I was never exclusively told that any of that was fake. I actually have a memory from when I was 3 or 4 of sneaking out of my room really late at night and peeking into the living room where I could hear my parents talking and I saw Santa and Mrs. Clause? I also remember one Christmas night where I couldn’t sleep (this is when I was maybe 10 now) so I was watching the snow fall outside and seeing if I could spot Santa in the sky when I heard someone walking in the hall. I lived in a bit of an abusive household so I had learned what everyone’s footsteps sounded like and the footsteps were heavy, MUCH heavier than my dads (who was very overweight at the time), it definitely wasn’t my Uncle, and they were wearing shoes (or boots). I was too scared to go look outside while they walked away but after the house was quiet again, I checked, and my stocking was outside my door, so I still don’t know how to explain that...

50. Why do you have a youtube?

AHAHAHA SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION!!!! I obviously have my personal YouTube but I don’t generally post anything, I just use it to watch shit. BUT MY OTHER YOUTUBE… I use YouTube @RatPotatoez to post videos of my rats! I will also soon use it to post my podcasts!!! RatPotatoez can also be found on Facebook, Instagram, SnapChat, Vent, basically everywhere! You should go follow me everywhere so you can see the cuteness that is my rats c:

[bangtanstanst]

Valentine’s | 2

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five

After spending your Valentine’s with Kim Taehyung, your friends seem convinced of your supposed ‘feelings’ for him. And they’re all too insistent.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: college!au, fluff

warnings: none

word count: 4.1k

a/n: hii! How are you all doing? I’ve been a bit busy with uni myself, but I hope you guys are doing okay. I’m really excited to share the second part to Valentine’s with you! Hope you like it :)

masterlist

It’s still cold, it’s still dark, rain is still pouring from the heavens – but you’re laughing your ass off.

You honestly don’t know how you got here. One moment, you’re walking into a crowded bar and ordering the chicken wings Taehyung dubbed as ‘the best goddamn wings in the whole wide world’, and the next, it’s two AM and you’re walking back to your dorm in the rain, almost falling over from laughter as you listen to Taehyung’s story detailing how his friend Yoongi once got shitfaced drunk, bought a frozen pizza, then broke into a fire station looking for a way to heat it up.

“Needless to say, he’s sworn off tequila for the time being,” he adds, laughing along with you, eyes crinkling in the corners. The both of you are soaked to the bone, shivering heavily, but neither of you seems to mind.

You try to hold back your laughter, but a flurry of giggles still escapes your lips. “I’m just- how do you just break into a fire station?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I honestly don’t think he remembers.”

You wipe away the tears in the corners of your eyes as you enter your dorm building. It’s completely silent inside and all the doors are closed, which surprises you a little, considering there’s always at least one door cracked open, always music or voices echoing off the walls. You just figure it’s because you’ve never really roamed the halls at this hour on a weekday. The air conditioning is blasting even though it’s February and you shiver as the cold air cuts right through your wet clothes. “You have some wild friends.”

He laughs, nodding as you walk up the stairs to your floor. “The absolute wildest,” he says, looking aside at you. “I should tell you about the time Jungkook got thrown out a window.”

“What?!” you exclaim, eyes wide.

Laughing, he puts a finger to your lips and shushes you. “People are sleeping, Y/N!” he hisses dramatically, only making you burst out in more giggles. He’s grinning as he follows you onto your floor, walking you to the door of your apartment-style dorm. “And it was an accident.”

You burst out in laughter again at the mental image, leaning into his side in an attempt to stay upright. “How?” you exclaim in a whisper, stopping at your door. “Just… how?”

He grins at you as you rummage through your purse to look for your keys. “I told you that you never get drunk for free.”

More laughter bubbles in your throat and you try to hold it back, but it comes out in a weird snort. “Clearly,” you giggle, pulling out your keys.

You look up at him, both your laughter dies down. His smile doesn’t really falter, but you’ve noticed tonight that that’s just the permanent look he wears. “So uh… thanks for saving my night,” you mutter, blinking away the tired haze in your mind and realising you’re still holding onto his arm. You quickly let go.

“My pleasure,” he mumbles back, eyes soft. You can’t help but stare at him, study his features up close.

You clear your throat, trying to pull yourself back into reality. Come on, get yourself together, Y/N. Gawking at people is rude. “And for showing me your drawings.”

He smiles. His lips look so soft. “Thanks for looking at them.”

You nod slightly, smiling up at him. You’re standing so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body and you can count the raindrops clinging to his face. You want to reach up, wipe away the hair that’s sticking to his forehead, feel his soft skin underneath your fingertips, but you stop yourself because, well, that’d just be weird. “And thanks for the chicken wings,” you add, your voice even softer. Why do you keep thanking him? Is there really nothing else you can come up with here?

“I’m glad you liked them,” he replies in the same tone as you, breath fanning over your face.

You slowly nod, feeling your heart start to beat out of your chest. Your keys are heavy in your hand and your grip tightens around them, the uneven ridges digging into your skin. “Do you-” you hesitate for a moment, clearing your throat. You feel tense all of a sudden and you don’t know why. “Do you want to come inside, dry off?”

He takes in a sharp breath, nodding quickly. “Yeah,” he says, voice still soft. “That’d be great, thank you.”

You nod, frozen for a second, seemingly too dazed to comprehend his answer, but then coming to your senses. You fumble with your keys and turn them in the lock, your door swinging open. Walking in, you shrug off your coat and hang it on a peg on the wall, switching on the light to illuminate the living room.

“My roommate’s probably asleep,” you whisper upon seeing May’s coat on the rack, turning around to face Taehyung. He’s closed the door behind him, feet rooted to the doormat, raindrops falling to the floor one by one. “I’ll go grab a towel, just make yourself at home,” you say quickly, rushing over to the bathroom. It’s dark there, too, and you turn on the light to start your search for a dry towel. It doesn’t take you all too long to find one and you’re back in the living room in a few seconds.

Taehyung is staring up at an ironic Minion poster May put up a while ago, head tilted in confusion, turning when he hears you approaching. You feel the tension in your muscles fade a little bit, put at ease by his smile. “Thanks,” he whispers, taking the towel from you.

You smile back at him as he dabs his face dry, still standing in the middle of your living room. “You know, couches are usually made for sitting,” you remark, amused.

He chuckles, looking over his shoulder at your old and slightly weathered black couch. “I didn’t want to soak it.”

“Believe me, it’s seen worse,” you reply, plopping down and patting the spot beside you.

He raises an eyebrow in a silent question as he settles beside you, clearly holding back a grin and failing miserably.

You wave it away with a laugh. “You don’t want to know.”

Gently towelling his hair, he tilts his head with an amused smile. “I don’t?”

“Boring stuff, really,” you reply. “Shoes, champagne, apple juice… oh, and homemade rosé.”

“Homemade?” he repeats, eyebrows raised. “You make your own wine?”

You hesitate, an awkward chuckle bubbling in your chest. “Well…” you trail off, looking over at the kitchen, where a few dirty mugs rest on the counter for the night. “Not really. We just mixed red and white to see what would happen.”

He laughs a little. “I never pegged you for a DIY’er.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you lightly hit his shoulder. “I make stuff.”

“Oh?” He leans back, still drying his hair as he gives you an amused look. “Like what?”

You sputter a little, crossing your arms as you try to come up with something, anything you’ve DIY’d in your entire life. “I used to... glue macaroni to things,” you finally tell him, sending him a defiant look as if that’s the best diss you’ve uttered in your entire life.

His shoulders shake in silent laughter, and he nods solemnly. “Truly a lost art.”

“To be made fun of like this in my own home…” You wipe away an imaginary tear, only spreading around the raindrops that are still on your cheek.

He smiles at you, putting the towel down. His hair is incredibly messy, sticking up at weird angles, but relatively dry. “I would never make fun of you,” he replies, looking up at you through his lashes as he bunches up the fabric in his hands.

“And lying, too?” you say, shaking your head and sighing dramatically. “I’m disappointed in you, Taehyung.”

“I’m innocent, I swear,” he defends with a small smile, holding up his hands. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he just laughs and shrugs. “What can I say? There’s nothing to make fun of.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat is picking up its speed and you feel your blood rush up to your cheeks. “Is that a compliment?” you ask slowly.

He hums and nods firmly. You’re hyper-aware of how your legs are touching – when did he even scooch closer? Or was he just sitting that close to you the entire time? “Definitely,” he mumbles softly.

You swallow, trying to get your voice back, but all you can do is stare up at him, stare at the way his eyelashes brush his skin when he blinks, stare at his pink lips and wonder what it would be like to lean forward and close the gap between you, what it would be like to run your fingers through his soft hair as he kisses you back.

“Thanks,” you finally manage, your voice sounding foreign to your ears.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he says softly. You swear you see his eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest of moments, only making your heart beat even faster. “Especially –”

The sudden sound of a door swinging open makes you both jump apart, startled.

“Uh… hi,” May stammers, eyes wide as they stay glued to Taehyung. She’s in her pyjamas, hair a complete mess, standing in the doorway of her bedroom. For a moment, there’s a deafening silence and you’re frozen, mind completely blank as you look at your friend’s shock, time stilling for a moment.

Then, you suddenly snap out of it. You jump up from the couch, looking back and forth between May and Taehyung. “Umbrella!” you exclaim, at which both of them just look at you in confusion. You look down at Taehyung. “I’ll- I’ll go grab an umbrella for you.”

He starts nodding, getting up from the couch as well, holding tightly onto the towel you gave him. “Right, yes,” he says, still nodding. He looks as disoriented as you as he follows you towards your front door.

May is still standing in the doorway of her bedroom, looking at the scene in front of her with eyes as wide as saucers. You can’t blame her – the last you spoke, you were alone in a coffee shop, likely to just spend your night home alone after she cancelled on you, but here you are. Standing in your dorm at two AM, soaked through and through, with Kim Taehyung right beside you.

When you make eye contact, she raises her eyebrows at you and sends you an expectant look, and you shrug at her and shake your head. She just seems more confused at your attempt at non-verbal conversation.

You quickly turn your back to her to face Taehyung and grab a bright yellow umbrella hidden underneath some coats, handing it to him. “Thanks,” he says with a smile. There’s no trace of the moment you just shared- except for the red tips of his ears. “And thanks for the towel,” he adds, handing you the bunched-up package.

You nod, still a little dazed. “You don’t have to keep thanking me,” you remark with a lopsided smile.

He chuckles, opening your door and stepping outside. He turns and clears his throat, looking down for a moment before glancing back at you. “I had a great time tonight,” he tells you, turning the umbrella in his hands.

You smile, leaning against the doorpost. “Me, too.”

“So I’ll see you around?”

His eyes shine brightly, even in the hallway’s dull fluorescent lights. You feel your smile widen as you nod. “Yeah.”

Your cheeks are still red as you say your goodbyes, as you watch him walk back to the stairs and head home, as he waves at you one last time and you wave back. They stay that way as you turn around and close the door behind you, leaning against it with a sigh, putting a hand to your forehead.

“So,” May begins. You look up at her – she’s still in her doorway, her arms crossed as she smirks at you. “Had a fun Valentine’s, did you?”

At lunch the next day, you’re yawning into your food, eyes drooping. The murmuring of other students around you mixes together into background noise, nothing really sticking with you. You barely got any sleep last night – and not just because you and Taehyung had come home late. After he’d left, May had kept interrogating you even as you tried to go to sleep, not seeming to want to stop until you gave her all the details.

“I swear, they were literally about to make out,” May insists. You bury your face in your hands with a groan, just wanting this conversation to stop. You’re honestly too tired to think about what happened, what it meant, or how you feel about it. You probably would’ve never even asked him out if you knew this was going to happen.

“Then why the hell did you interrupt them?!” April exclaims, stabbing her fruit with a fork.

May holds up her hands, leaning away from April. “I just needed to pee! How could I know Y/N was getting it on in the living room?”

“Guys, please,” you say through a sigh, looking up at them. “We were not ‘getting it on’, okay? He was kind enough to walk me back in the pouring rain, so I offered him a towel. I was just returning the favour.”

May snorts. “I’m telling you, you were literally this close to kissing when you fucking jumped up from that couch,” she says, holding her fingers so close together that you can barely fit a toothpick between them. “But, of course, that could also just have been an innocent exchange between two people who are clearly not into each other,” she adds with a pointed glare.

“But do you see those cheeks?” April coos, leaning over to you and pinching one of them with a bright smile. “All flushed and red like a twelve-year-old with a crush.”

“Who has a crush?” inquires April’s boyfriend as he walks up to your table and sits down beside her. Great, you huff sarcastically, let’s involve one of his frat bros, that’ll make it so much better.

“Y/N,” April replies with a smirk as Namjoon puts his arm around her shoulders. “Just look at her! Doesn’t she look in love?”

Namjoon looks over at you with raised eyebrows. “I honestly don’t see a difference,” he says, staring at you with narrowed eyes as if he’s actually studying your features to see if he can spot a minute detail that’ll tell him something.

“See?” you exclaim, sending him a thankful look. “Namjoon agrees with me.”

“That’s just because he only ever looks at Four,” May protests, waving Namjoon’s conclusion away.

“Hey! I look at other people when I’m with her,” Namjoon shoots back, feigning offence.

“You look at other people?!” April hits his shoulder, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Such a cheater.”

Namjoon grins at her, brushing his nose against her cheek. “You know I only love you, baby,” he coos, pressing his lips to her skin. You look away from the PDA in front of you with a scowl on your face, having gotten your fill of it on Valentine’s yesterday.

“In any case,” you insist, looking up at May. “I do not have a crush, not on him or anyone else, nor would I have the time or the energy to start a relationship with anyone.”

“So you’re thinking about it,” is all May gets from your words, making you groan in frustration.

“Wait, I’m lost,” Namjoon interrupts with a frown. “Who are we even talking about here?”

“She went on a date with Kim Taehyung last night,” May fills him in, smirking knowingly as if she’d seen you actually ‘getting it on’ on your couch.

Namjoon’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’-shape as he seems to realise something, bursting out in laughter. Before you can correct May that it wasn’t a date, for God’s sake, he speaks before you, “That’s what’s gotten into him!” he concludes, hitting his palm on the table. “I fucking knew there was something going on!”

“Wait, what?” you ask before you can stop yourself, suddenly curious.

Namjoon seems to have caught the teasing bug too, and he smirks knowingly at you. “You wanna know, do you?”

You huff, putting down your utensils with some clattering, deciding you’ve had enough. “So how was your Valentine’s?” you ask, leaning your chin in your hands, pretending like nothing ever happened, like you’re actually interested in April and Namjoon’s couple business. “What did you guys do?”

“Don’t you go changing the subject, young lady,” April says, pointing at you, eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to run away from this one.”

“I’m not running away from anything,” you shoot back, though your voice is weaker than you want it to sound. You just look down at your food, hoping to avoid your friends’ stares as you add, “There’s nothing to run away from, anyway.”

“Bull. shit.” You’re not sure which one of your statements April is referring to, but you feel the urge to sigh at her either way. “And you know it.”

“I think,” you suddenly announce, jumping up from your seat and effectively ending the conversation, “I’m gonna go to the library.” Your small group of friends looks up at you, all with those looks on their faces and you hate it, you hate the fact that they all just seem to know. “I forgot I’ve got some assignments I need to work on before class.”

“Y/N...”

You grab your backpack, sending them a smile. There’s a part of you that knows you’re being unreasonable, that you shouldn’t be acting like this when your friends are just looking out for you, that their teasing is all fun and games – that you would’ve done the same thing if you’d found May on the couch with a random guy at two AM. But right now, you don’t really care about any of it – you just know that you have to get rid of this weird feeling in the pit of your stomach and that your friends’ teasing really won’t help that process along.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you say finally, turning around, just wanting to get out of there and not really looking where you’re going- which is why you subsequently bump into a body, stumbling backwards and feeling hands take hold of your shoulders, stopping you from falling to the floor. When you look up, the feeling in your belly only grows stronger.

“Hi,” says Taehyung, a distinct, boxy smile on his face, his hands still on your shoulders.

“Hi,” you return, smiling almost automatically. “Long time no see, huh?” you joke, making him chuckle. “Got home okay?” you ask.

He smiles and nods. “Yeah, thanks to your umbrella.”

“That’s good!” That feeling in your belly just seems to be growing stronger. You want to run, you want to hide, you want this all to stop. You want to avoid the pain you know it’ll cause you in the end, you want to escape this before the feelings can really get to you- but you just stay there, the way he’s looking at you rooting you to the spot, discomfort just seeming to fade to the background. Your mind flashes back to last night. Heart pounding, cheeks flushed, hair dripping with rainwater. Sitting so close, thighs touching, faces inches away from each other…

Someone clears their throat from beside you and you look at them, a little startled, mind blank for a second. May and April are sitting there, looking at you expectantly. You send them what you hope is a subtle glare no one but you three will notice, turning back to Taehyung with a smile on your face. “So these are my friends- April and May,” you tell him, even though you don’t need to introduce them, considering he likely knows both of them already. But they’re looking a little too smirky for your taste and you desperately want to steer the subject away from whatever they want it to be.

Taehyung greets them with a wave. “Hi, again,” he says sheepishly.

“Nice to see you again, Taehyung,” May says with a smile. “And properly meet you,” she adds. “It’s a pity you had to leave so soon last night.”

You want to punch her arm, beg her to stop talking, or simply run away screaming, but you do none of those things. Instead, you just stand there and smile, mind running blank as you try to think of a plan to get Taehyung out of here before your friends do something irreversible.

The man in question chuckles a little. “Definitely,” he replies, eyes briefly flickering to you, noticing you’ve become a little jittery. “But I had an early class this morning, so it was for the best, really.”

“So how about a do-over?” April proposes. Your eyes widen and you avoid Taehyung’s gaze, too engulfed in silently trying to get April to shut the fuck up. But all she does is smirk at you. “Say, Friday night?” she continues.

Taehyung looks taken aback. “Oh, uh…”

“Our frat’s actually throwing a party then,” Namjoon jumps in, arm still wrapped around his girlfriend’s shoulders. “Remember, babe?”

“Oh, no!” April exclaims, fist hitting the table for good measure, though you do not see a single ounce of surprise in her eyes. Her pout is way too exaggerated and she sounds like she’s reciting a script, too. “What to do about that?” She looks over at May, seeming to wait for her to speak up.

“Maybe we could come!” May finally says with a sweet smile.

April lets out a gasp and nods in agreement, so clearly exaggerated you wonder how she’s even a theatre major. “Then Y/N can pick up our umbrella while we’re there, too. Saves everyone some trouble. Right, Y/N?”

You purse your lips into a straight line, feeling four pairs of eyes boring into you. “Right,” you say through gritted teeth, knowing it’s just going to get worse if you don’t play along.

When you look at Taehyung, he seems… happy. “Sounds like a plan,” he says, eyes staring straight at you, waiting, almost a little timid. “I’ll see you Friday, then?”

You put on a smile and nod. You’re taken aback by how fast this is all going – back in the coffee shop, when you were the one to ask him out, it was all in good fun. It was safe, it was just banter. He was as cute as ever, yes, but you didn’t have these… feelings when you talked to him. Now, though, it all feels new and weird and a little scary. It’s been so long since you’ve done stuff like this – almost a year now, in fact. So long that you don’t really know what to do, what to say.

So your mouth speaks for you. “Yeah, see you Friday,” you hear yourself answer, once again surprised at your own actions. Taehyung’s eyes widen and so does his smile, his shoulders relaxing a little.

“Great!” says May as you just stand there, a little dazed. “We’re really looking forward to it.”

Taehyung nods, smiling at you. “Me, too,” is all he really gets to say before April and May wave him off, and he says goodbye to your group of four. You watch him walk away, completely unable to move an inch as the fact of what just happened hits you right in the face.

You slowly sink back onto the bench, burying your face in your hands. “That was the worst moment of my life,” you decide, looking up at your so-called ‘friends’. “You are truly the worst.”

“You’re welcome,” May says instead, turning back to her food with a smug smile on her face.

“Welcome?” you repeat in disbelief. “That one minute was more awkward than my entire time at middle school!”

“Y/N, just face it,” April jumps in, one eyebrow raised. “You have a crush on Kim Taehyung and you wanna hold his hand and make out with him and do other stuff, and that’s the tea. We just helped you get a step closer to that, so yes, you are very much welcome.”

Your mouth falls open, but you can’t get yourself to say anything, too flustered to come up with a good comeback.

“You know, I see what you mean now!” Namjoon suddenly decides, pointing at you.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Traitor.”

previous • next

a/n: thanks for reading! Let me know what you think and what you’d like to see next, I’d love to hear from you :) Hope you have a great day/night wherever you are!

masterlist

[heartshapedracetrack]

Because it’s the start of December and I reached 150 follower yesterday ( thank you all so much !! It’s completely unedited though so please don’t kill me.

Happy Holiday time

Here’s some Dele Alli/Eric Dier something

“What the hell are you wearing?” Eric asks, eyes narrowing in disgust.

He’s not sure if he’s actually seeing it right. He never needed glasses before. His eyes were always fine but now he isn’t so sure anymore.

“Is that a christmas sweater?”

It’s hideous and green, with a brown reindeer printed on the front. There’s some red glitter too somewhere on the fabric, looking like santa threw up on it. Maybe he did. Eric wouldn’t be surprised.

“It’s Gucci.” Dele retorts standing up from the couch where he was curled up like a cat, phone in hand. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and some fluffy socks looking so utterly comfortable, that Eric feels mildly overdressed.

“It’s ugly”. Eric says because they both know he’s right. There are no such things as pretty Christmas sweaters. Even Eric knows that with his limited experience in the fashion world. It’s a fact.

“Did you just come over to insult my sweater,” Dele asks, “or did you want anything else. Why are you here?”

Eric blinks for a moment confused to remember why he turned up in Dele’s house in the first place.

“You called me.” he says irritated, not able to look away from Dele’s chest. The reindeer is staring at Eric like he’s some fucking carrot that just wants to be eaten. It’s unsettling and Eric wants Dele to take it off.

“Yeah I did.” Dele says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I actually wanted to do something with you but then you insulted my sweater. I’m not sure I’m still in the mood.”

“In the mood for what?”

“For baking.” Dele says and Eric thinks he must have misheard.

“For baking.” He repeats and Dele nods. “You’re a disaster in the kitchen.” Eric says because he’s seen the pancake video on Dele’s  instagram. Eric has seen a lot of things he tries to forget. The memories of his cooking adventures are  burned  into his brain just as much as the poor fish was burned into Dele’s pan. Unfortunately he can’t throw away his brain.

“That’s why I invited you. To help me.”

It makes sense, Eric guesses. He isn’t a great cook by any means but he knows how to turn on the oven.

“What did you even want to bake?” He asks, because he’s curious now.

“Christmas cookies.” It’s not the answer Eric wanted to hear but should have expected. He was greeted in a christmas sweater after all.

“Who are you and what happened to the real Dele. Who replaced him with Santa Claus.”

“I didn’t know you had such an aversion against christmas.” Dele says, fingers rubbing on his chin thoughtfully.

“I’m not having an aversion against christmas.” Eric says furrowing his eyebrows. He doesn’t hate christmas. It’s just not his favorite time of the year.

“You insulted my sweater, you made fun of me wanting to bake christmas cookies. I really feel the love here.”

Love.

Maybe that was the problem. Christmas was about love and family. Eric loves spending time with his family, he likes the trees and the lights.

He just doesn’t like everything surrounding the holidays. The pressure, the attention around it, the focussing on love. Not when everything seemed so fabricated. He wasn’t a fan of it.

He sighs resigned before looking at his friend.  

“Fine let’s make some cookies.” He tries to smile bright, teeth showing. It doesn’t seem to come of convincing because Dele just rolls his eyes as an answer.

“Great.” He says, lightly touching Eric’s arm, while walking past him into the direction of the kitchen. Eric hates how such a little touch makes his heart beat just a tiny bit faster.

“Are you coming or what?” Dele yells from somewhere far and Eric breaks out of his thoughts. He sighs before following Dele into the kitchen. 

Let the baking begin.

*****

“No.”

“Yes.” Dele says holding the antlers in front of him. Eric tries to lean away as far as possible as if Dele is holding poison. “Come on get into the spirit”

“Is it Gucci too?” Eric asks, because he can’t help himself. 

“Of course.” Dele says straight faced forcing the Alice band onto Eric’s head. He’s not gentle while doing it and Eric tries to fight him off but he forgot how strong Dele could be when he really wants something.

It feels weird on his head and he’s sure he’s looking even more ridiculous. He’s glad there’s no mirror in Dele’s kitchen, so he doesn’t have to see himself wearing antlers.

Dele starts giggling and Eric is not amused.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He says because he really doesn’t know what spirit possessed him.

“You look pretty.” Dele presses out in between laughter and Eric swears to himself to get him back for it.  

“Fuck you.” He says but there’s no real heat behind it. Dele winks at him and Eric feels something melt inside his chest.

“Don’t be such a grumpy reindeer.” Dele says patting his cheek. “Scowling doesn’t suit you.” 

Eric scowls some more.

“You enjoy this too much.”

“You’re my best friend, Eric. Making you miserable is my job.”

Best Friends. 

He likes hearing those words, casual and yet meaningful. The words make him feel a bit dissapointed too, but he tries to ignore that.

“What cookies are we making?” He asks changing the topic.

“The ones you can decorate.” Dele says eyes bright. Eric sighs.

****

“Ugh, they’re more complicated than I thought.” Dele complains hands buried deep in the dough.

The smell of sugar and butter is heavy in the air and Eric is reminded of a time where he and his siblings used to bake cookies in early december. They don’t do this anymore and Eric wasn’t aware about how much he actually missed it. He doesn’t admit it out loud but he’s actually enjoying himself. Just a tiny bit.

“Here it says you just have to mix the flour with the eggs, the sugar and the butter. Then mix it it until it’s a smooth dough.” Eric says reading from the recipe.

“That’s what I did.”

“The flour is still unopened.” Eric says, taking the package, opening it and tossing it towards Dele. Dele doesn’t react fast enough and the flour hits him in the back, covering him and the floor in white powder.

“Did you just throw flour at me?” Dele asks head turning and eyes wide in surprise. Eric tries to suppress the laughter climbing up his throat but he lets out a snicker anyway. Before Eric can realise what is happening, something cold and slimy hits him in the cheek.

Dele grins at him, teeth bared.

“Okay. Now it’s on.”

It’s war and Eric won’t lose. He doesn’t wait long before grabbing some of the eggs not used for the dough and throwing them hard. He misses Dele only by a few centimeters, the eggs cracking against the cupboard behind him.

“Ha, you missed!” Dele yells triumphant before tossing some of the flour on Eric’s face. It’s dusty and dry and tasteless, clocking up his mouth like glue. He can’t let Dele get away with it. He takes the unoccupied bowl of dough from the kitchen counter, ready for  revenge.

He grabs some of the dough, before cupping Dele’s face in his hands. He smears the buttery mass on his cheeks, on his forehead and on his nose. Dele tries to wiggle out from his grip but Eric doesn’t let him. He doesn’t stop until it’s everywhere. When he’s finished he wipes his hands on Dele’s sweater, smiling satisfied.

“Eww Eric.” Dele complains. Eric would find it endearing if he wasn’t currently covered in slimy cookie dough.

“You ruined my christmas sweater.” Dele whines and Eric hums.

“Good.” 

“We should take a shower though.” He adds because he’s still covered in flour and it’s beginning to start feeling uncomfortable to breathe.

“In the middle of the day? Scandalous.” 

They both laugh.

****

When they are clean again, Dele collects a few blankets before dumping them off on the couch. They both huddle in front of the tv trying to get warm. It’s been getting colder in London. There’s no snow yet but Eric knows it’s just a question of time.

“Well that was a total mess.” Eric says while he tries to get comfortable on the floor, back leaning against the couch.

“Hmm I don’t know what do you mean.” Dele says next to him sounding innocent. “It was a total success. I covered you in flour and made you wear a christmas sweater. I don’t know about you, but that was the perfect christmas present already.”

Eric grimaces before staring down at the sweater he’s wearing. It’s the same Dele was wearing earlier but in deep red. He should have know that Dele was trying to get him to wear one of these ugly things and there wasn’t really a choice either. He still doesn’t believe that the sweater was the only clean item Dele had in his closet. It’s comfy though, so Eric ignores that Dele probably had planned all of this.

“December has only barely started.” He says instead and Dele shrugs. 

“At least I haven’t bought a tree yet.” Dele jokes and Eric shakes his head at him fondly. 

“You really do love christmas.” It’s not a question but a fact, something Eric didn’t know before. They have been friends for so long and somehow Eric never noticed.

“Why?” He asks because now that he knows, he wants to really know.

Dele doesn’t say anything and it’s okay. Eric doesn’t want to pressure him into anything that he isn’t ready for. He wants to reach out and touch Dele, just to make sure he didn’t upset him with his question.

“Christmas always meant hope for me.” Dele says and this time Eric does reach out. It’s just a light touch at his elbow but Dele relaxes immediately. He doesn’t look at Eric, eyes fixated on the tv.

“People are nicer when it’s christmas. It was christmas when it all got better.”  There’s  a truth to it only Dele can understand and something bitter lying underneath but Eric thinks he might know what Dele is getting at. He found his real family on Christmas and that’s what Christmas was all about anyway.

Love.

“Is there anything you wish for?”

Dele stays silent for a moment. “Yeah.” he says before looking at the ceiling again.

Eric stares at him in expectation but Dele doesn’t continue. When he notices Eric staring he just shakes his head.

“I’m not telling you.” He says and Eric feels the disappointment surging through him.

“Why not.” Eric pouts and Dele smiles secretively. “It won’t come true If I tell you.” He says thumping at Eric’s sweater.

“I’m pretty sure that’s only true when you see a shooting star.” Eric says annoyed. He wants to know.

“Nah, it’s an unwritten law. You don’t say wishes out loud.”

“How do I know what to get you then.”

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Maybe I want to.”

“I’m still not telling you.”

“I know what I want.” Eric says suddenly because it’s been in his heart for a long time. He realises it’s not a wish, but something more.

Love.

He knows what he wants and it’s not a wish so he can say it out loud. It’s simple but it’s also not. He doesn’t know how Dele’s going to react.

“Yeah?” Dele says and his brown eyes bore into Eric that he’s not able to breathe for a moment.

Now or Never.

“All I want for christmas..,” Eric pauses  before leaning closer to Dele, so that his lips are near his ear. “is youuu.” He sings the last words softly and in his best Mariah Carey impersonation. It’s only a breath, but he hopes Dele understands it anyway.

Dele opens his mouth before shoving Eric against his shoulder. Hard. It hurts only slightly, but it doesn’t keep his heart from hammering faster when his head hits the soft cushions behind him.

He closes his eyes, waiting. One, two, three.

When he opens his eyes Dele is above him, with a soft smile on his face.

“I knew there was some christmas inside you,” he says and then his lips are on his and Eric stops thinking.

Maybe there was something real about Christmas after all.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

I know noone is interested, but I’m 6 chapters into this shit and will continue uploading until I’m out of steam

(yeah more of this still-not LawxOC thing) (on a sidenote I saw a post the other day about how lame he is and I hope we all agree that the canon awkward nerd Law is the one where it’s at) (also AO3 and ffn links for those who value their eyesight)

“... it's... angular...”

The baffled comment wakes her from the awe stupor, and she slowly leans back to stand normally again. He's holding the desk piece, which she didn't notice him taking until now, and is pasting the mess at the entrance. Indeed, that's literally the corner of the desk. Anyway, what?

“What do you mean, 'angular'?”

He directs his attention back to the desk piece and takes a closer look at the cut. It's as clean as it can get, alright- but upon closer inspection, it's not one, straight guillotine chop- towards the far end, it splits into smaller shapes, which are not even cubic, but hexagonal.

“When I use the Ope Ope Fruit, it's... well, spherical in nature. Meanwhile, what you did...” he raises the piece of material with the cut well visible to her, “is this.”

She takes it from him, giving the funky cut a good ogle. “I see... each to their own, I guess? People think differently and such, after all.” He nods. That's probably all there is to it.

She puts the bowl on the chest of drawers that Law raided earlier, and turns the other object in her hand around. Then looks back at the bowl. “I guess I needed an extension to my arm, and that's just what happened... Except I was everything but precise.”

He crosses his arms, thinking- her straightforward conclusions make perfect sense. It makes them no less interesting, though. He might want to record her progress and maybe even get into some deeper research if they have time to spare.

As he's thinking about that, she goes back to the damaged piece of furniture and places the missing block to where it belongs. It will probably need some glue to make sure it stays put, but otherwise? Looking as good as new.

“Well, I'm off to get this mess under control. Meanwhile you could... get into some clothes you are comfortable in?” Now that she noticed, she's really wondering about that. “Which you haven't done yet for some reason?”

Law needs a second to process the question before the penny drops- he's been going through a whole wardrobe, but never even thought about changing. He just about forgot about the dress-induced cramp from earlier. Fiddlesticks.

“Right...” Good thing he's not the type to show embarrassment. Thankfully, she seems satisfied enough with the meager answer and makes her way downstairs with the not entirely wrecked bowl in her hands; meanwhile, he steps back to the bed to pick out a shirt with those rhinestone jeans he's definitely gonna wear just for the hell of it.

After a quick survey of what Kat's left in his stack (and resisting a tee with golden pressed pattern for the time being), he settles on a simple black shirt with some small embroidery on its left. It has the town's name, and by association, its likely crest. Must have been some free merchandise. Now, for the problem at hand...

He'll have to take the dress off, which should pose no problem, in theory. He's also a doctor, been there, done that. The impasse is at not being sure where to begin... there's no buttons or zips he's noticed. The neck seems little too small, but he should probably just pull it over his head nonetheless. The test run never starts, however, because as soon as he grabs the end of the fabric, Kat is coming up, into and out of the bathroom, then reenters her study-slash-bedroom.

“Never mind me,” She says kneeling down with a broom and dustpan to the semi-garbage pile in the doorway, immediately putting a clipped pencil and some undamaged sticky notes aside. Noticing the dead silence, she checks on Law to see him ogling her. Then clearing his throat.

Oh, that's what's going on.

“Sorry... it's hard to remember that you are supposed to care about privacy... I've either been alone or sharing one bathroom-slash-toilet with five other people. Won't look, alright?” With that, she steps over the pile and turns around to clean up the mess that way instead.

He blinks, hands still holding onto the skirt. “Dude...” Whether he's willing to strip with her around, -in his own body, nonetheless, which is the one thing that makes this really weird,- is one thing, but also, that was more detail than he'd ever need.

Which she catches onto almost immediately. Goddammit. “Oh... sorry again, you may have already noticed I don't have a lot of filters. Anyway, thinking about it... if anything, it's our own current bodies that we shouldn't be looking at, no?” She asks, musing. He kinda agrees. “By the way, unbutton the back first, or you'll never peel that dress off.”

Noted. He releases the fabric to fiddle around his neck. Which is really dumb, how is he even supposed to reach there easily, her arms apparently being flexible enough to do so notwithstanding...? Actually, why do clothes for women even have buttons and zippers in places like that all the time? It's so unpractical... eh, there's probably some sexy factor. Either way, this.. is not getting him... anywhere...

“... um...”

“Need help?” She asks just about the time he's given up on the two buttons he managed to find at least, sweeping the leftovers she deemed disposable onto the pan.

“... I do...” And it's such a simple task, too... Those times when he could just snap a finger and get rid off everything he had no patience getting out of after a long day? Yeah, he remembers those. Good ones.

“Alright, let me see,” she mumbles walking up to him. As he doesn't react past standing still, she takes matters- that is, her hair- in her own hands.

Every single strand of his sticks up from the sensation. He's always been picky about letting his hair being touched, but the same with long hair is worse... the less ticklish and more nerve-stroking, odd feeling on the nape that sends shivers down his spine is not something he'll want to experience again any time soon. The locks fall over his shoulders, then he feels a warm finger on his back for the shortest moment and the collar loosen shortly after. Thank god it's over.

“I see you are uncomfortable... sorry about that.” she says with a sheepish half-smile, feeling somewhat embarrassed because of that herself.

He shivers once more. “Never mind, had worse. Anyway, I'd rather do this without you being around, okay?” He says, tucking the hair back.

“Well then...” She is about to go and bring out the trash, but before even taking one step, she takes his hat off on a whim. “This will be in the way, though.”

“Ah...” His hand instinctively reaches towards it and he sounds almost... disappointed- and is beating himself up for both immediately after.

Aw.

She offers it back to him. “I won't take it anywhere if you don't like.” He takes it away with a hum, but doesn't look like putting it anywhere anytime soon. Peeking at the nodachi she propped up against the wall upon arrival, she comes to the realization that letting him keep it is actually counterproductive: the item on her body's head could eventually get them both into trouble. It's way too easy to have an outsider get the wrong and dangerous idea. He's a wanted man for various reasons, and she could be seen as a weak point. Law could get targeted while he's stuck inside her, but at least help would be ready at an arm's length; Kat herself could, however, also get into deep shit if the trouble hits after they get their bodies back and the alliance is long gone. They would probably come back or send help because of people like Nami and Chopper, who were also likely the only reason they stuck around to help her and the townspeople taken hostage last week, but still, this is bad in either scenario. She sighs. “I think you do agree that it's probably a bad idea to wear it yourself out in public, though. No?”

Hearing this breaks him free from the frigid haze. He doesn't like it, but he knows what he means and she's right, hell, late with the reasonable remark as they already marched down the main street like this. “Yes, it's... indeed a bad idea.”

He reaches the fluffy piece back over to her after giving it a thoughtful stroke.

“I'll take good care of it,” she assures him, giving her own hand a small squeeze before taking it. “I'll be your coat rack while outside, and you'll have your stuff back as soon as we're back on the ship, alright?”

He nods, to which the answer's a reassuring smile. “Well then... I'll let you do your thing. Will come  back up in about 10 minutes, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, still feeling a little naked with the hat gone just like that. She puts latter on to make her hands free for the other stuff, then takes the door by the foot and hop-drags it until it counts as closed, somehow keeping all the paper and whatnot in the dustpan while at it. She could have used the broom to do that... but she's rather goofy, so whatever. Indeed, he can hear her hum a tune while leaving. He shouts after her:

“Slick it back, otherwise the hair will just annoy you.” There's a brief stop outside, followed by a muffled 'got it'.

Before long, he can barely hear anything she does. He looks back at the clothes, but stops to rub her fingers a bit before changing. First, he thought that his body's temperature seemed really high...  but it's her hands that are as cold as ice.

[snake-house]

Tsukiyama Shuu X Muse!Reader - inspire.

Fashion Designer! Tsukiyama Shuu x Muse! Reader warnings: none really her/she pronouns used for reader when you see '--' it means some time has passed i use gender-neutral pronouns for kana btw OuO *this is a total au, everyone is human and alive and not dead ok, i just want them to be happy ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д<)*ﾟﾟ･｡ _____ When you applied for the ad, this was not what you expected. All the ad said was 'Muse', and since you were a model you were used to posing for artists and art classes, both nude and clothed, this was definitely different. I mean, that was what first came to your mind at the title, 'Muse Wanted'. 

You did make sure you googled this 'Shuu Tsukiyama' before emailing in with your resume to know what you were getting yourself into. Apparently, he was a very well-known fashion designer. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Tsukiyama will see you now."   You started following them down a long hallway past wall-less offices, looking into the windows as you passed by. "Just a tips for you before you go in there," They spoke, "Mr. Tsukiyama is rather flamboyant so don't be surprised, also he works well if you answer all his questions honestly. You will probably get the job, you are the only one who has inquired about the ad, so please don't even show up wearing brown and black, the man will surely have an aneurysm. Don't be shy, always keep your back straight, slouching annoys him, but that shouldn't be a problem with your background. Always wear heels, and you should be good. I read your resume, so I don't think you'll have a problem, but it is policy that I should tell you that you'll be asked to change in front of people." They gave you a bright smile, "Good luck, my name is Kanae von Rosewald by the way." Kanae opened the door, to you assumed, Mr. Tsukiyama's office and motioned for you to enter. "Mr. Tsukiyama, [Full Name] is here." And shut to door after you stepped into the office. Your eyes met a large room that was surprisingly organized despite everything going on. The large drawing table had scraps of fabrics thrown over the top, sketches piled on top of each other but seemed to go together. The desk also had different pieces of clothing, obviously prototypes by some of the frayed stitching. The man you assumed was 'Mr. Tsukiyama' was fiddling with a mannequin, pinning and unpinning a purple patterned fabric. You felt sorry for that mannequin. He turned towards you as you approached, giving you a once over before beaming, "Oh cherie you are gorgeous, you are perfect for the job!" You were different from what he expected when you emailed Kanae your resume, but it was a good different. You had a new face for the modeling world, and that was a very very good thing. "Uh, Thank you," You spoke. "Alright, you came just in time, strip and try this on." The man threw a silk-embroidered mermaid gown at you, that was surprisingly light you noticed when you caught the dress. "Um, Mr. Tsukiyama?" He gave you his attention when you said his name, "I still don't understand the job, Kanae didn't really give me a full explanation, you said you needed a 'muse' in the ad." You held the gown lightly, your fingers dancing over the expensive fabric. The taller man ran a hand through his hair and gave you a bright smile, "I'll give you the simplest terms of what is expected for you from this job!" He proclaimed, throwing his hands in the air now standing a mere two feet in front of you, looking down his nose at you, "I need you, Miss [Full Name] to simply wear anything I ask of you and inspire me, to be my muse!" His voice came off in a very sing-song tone, putting his hands on his hips, "Also down along the line I may ask you to attend events for my fashion lines with me and or walk in a few shows, that sort of thing." "So a living mannequin that can 'inspire' you?" You reworded. "Precisely! Now hurry and change." Doing just as your new boss said, you placed your bag on the floor by his desk, slipping off your shoes as well, and started taking off your clothes. You did this all the time, well, you were naked multiple time in front of people, but you rarely undressed in front of someone, but it didn't bother you. Plus Mr. Tsukiyama was looking for something on his desk. As you undressed, you folded your clothes and set them on top of your shoes and bag, "Mr. Tsukiyama? Do you want me bra or no bra?" You were now only in your underwear, holding up the dress, surprised that it actually looked your size. "No bra, it will ruin the construction of the dress to wear one." He said simply, grabbing a sketchbook and waiting for you to put on the garment. Nodding, you took of your bra and dropped down with your other clothes and stepped into the dress. Pulling it up, it was a little snug around your hips, but nothing to restrict your movements. Without having to be asked, Mr. Tsukiyama came over to zip up the back, "My, you look amazing in my dress, but who doesn't?" he laughed and went back behind his desk to retrieve a pair of black pumps. Right, you needed to wear heals. "I'm sorry, I was only told today before you saw me that I needed to wear heels." You apologized, taking the heels and slipping into them, using his arm for balance. When you were finished, he disregarded your comment with a hand apparently not worried about it and went to his desk and grabbed a sketchbook and sat down on top of his desk and looked over you. You smoothed down the silk over your stomach, the texture the elaborate embroidered pattern a nice touch you thought. His pencil scribbled a few things before crossing his legs and arms at you, "You have wide hips for a model, oui?" "That's correct." You agreed, he had a mirror by his drawing table, which you walked over to look at yourself. It really was a gorgeous gown, and it didn't look half bad on you, "How am I supposed to inspire you?" You inquired, turning back to face him only to see his head was down as his pencil flew across the paper. "You just walking around is fine," He spoke up, "You can look around, just getting a feel in my gown is good enough for me today." You did just as he suggested. You looked over his work on his drawing table, getting a better view, he was quite talented you remarked. The mannequin he was fiddling with when you walked in was the next thing you investigated. The purple fabric was a silk print, you had a feeling he like expensive fabric. "Do you mind if I talk while you sketch?" You asked, rubbing the purple silk between your fingers. "Not at all, please do actually!" He beamed, looking over at you, not surprised at your interest in the fabric since it has been his new obsession. "Ok, thank you." You paused for a moment before asking, "So what are you planning to do with this?" You looked over at him and held up a piece that wasn't pinned to the mannequin. Shuu looked up for a moment before going back to sketching, "I'm not too sure, I just fell in love with the pattern and color and just knew I had to make something out of it, even if it doesn't make it into my collection!" He chimed, hopping off the desk to join you by the mannequin, "But, what was intriguing me was starting a line of lingerie highlighting the color or pattern." You nodded, gazing over at him when he came over, "I think it's a good idea, it's new for you right? You do mainly gowns and high fashion, so personally I think it's a good idea. I've always admired designers and artists who step out of their comfort zones every once in a while." Shuu rubbed his chin and thought over your words, smiling as he spoke, "I appreciate the input, I'll certainly take them into consideration." He replied, "Now walk with me, I want to introduce you to the rest of my staff." The flamboyant man led you around his work place, introducing you to the designers and interns who worked beneath him, as well as the other secretary, Ken Kaneki, who you thought was definitely the glue to Tsukiyama at times. But all in all, everyone was very nice to you, and you thought it was actually going to be pleasant working as a 'muse' here. -- As the days working for Shuu progressed, you slowly adjusted to him and his style of work. You noticed he worked in bursts of effort, being broken up by frequent breaks to talk to you normally or to walk around the place. There was also the fact he had a weird attraction towards Kaneki, which you later learned from Kaneki himself that Shuu tried to make him his muse after he started working as a secretary, but obviously refused. It was odd really, how easy it was to adapt to the man. You usually didn't hang around people of his personality type, but here you were, being a muse and rather close friend to one. Shuu sometimes would have you accompany him to his boutiques around the place, even having to fly to New York with him for two days. It was exhausting, but a fun little adventure for you. And the pay was sickeningly well. You haven't been paid this much for any job you've ever done in you life. You are being paid so well by Tsukiyama that two months after working for him, you were able to move yourself into a bigger and nicer apartment that actually allowed you to have pets. Now you didn't have to keep you cat a secret. Life was starting to lighten up for you, and be something you liked waking up to. You enjoyed talking with Shuu, and everyone else of course, but especially him. It was kind of an attachment. He would make you strip and try on different clothing pieces every day, and wearing such expensive clothing and having real conversations with an equally expensive man was amazing. You didn't have many friends up until this point in your life. "[Name]?" Shuu called you from your thoughts, "Are you ok? You seem a little spaced today." He commented in a worried tone. You smiled at him and shook your head, "I'm fine, thank you, just a little stuck in the clouds lately, so nothing bad." You replied, standing up from where you sat in one of the chairs in his office. Today you were wearing one of his prototype wedding gowns, trying to create more wedding gowns to form a collection. It had lace sleeves and a high neck, contradicting the key-hole back of the dress that poofed out into a ball gown. It was a very princess-type dress. Shuu had also made sure you had your hair pinned out of your face today, "Are you sure? We can call it a day if you're unwell or just need a break. In three, almost four months, you've never had a sick day so I wouldn't hold it against you." Though it was scarring you how concerned he was for you, you brushed it off with another convincing half-smile, "Shuu," You hardly referred to him with his first name, "If I needed a break, I would let you know." You paused before playfully adding, "Do you need a break Mr. Tsukiyama?" The said man chuckled in front of you and set aside his sketchbook, "How about we go out for lunch?" He asked. "Sure, should I change? Or would you like me to show off your beautiful design Mr. Tsukiyama?" Tsukiyama knew there was something still on your mind, but since you were slowly starting to return to your same self, he would let you work through it until you wanted to tell him, if you wanted, "You can change if you'd like." He stood, "I'm going to go see if Kaneki or Kanae would like to join us." With that, he slipped out of his office. You changed out of the gown easily and changed into your clothes that were folded on his desk. You found Tsukiyama by the front desk talking with Kanae, who smiled as you approached. "Glad you are ready cherié!" Shuu beamed as you walked over, "Kanae isn't going to come with us, but we do have to pick them up something on the way back. But Kaneki is coming, and now we just have to wait for him." You nodded. "Alright, sounds good." Soon enough, the dark-haired boy arrived and the three of you headed out to some Italian bistro that Shuu said he's been 'dying' to try. Kaneki whispered he probably saw it on his was to work this morning. The bistro was only three blocks away, so you decided to walk. But as you guys chatted on your way to lunch, you started getting cat-called at. "Hey, nice ass sweetheart." A construction worked called out to you. You gritted your teeth before replying in a sickly sweet voice, "Why thank you asshole, why don't you shut the fuck up." Neither Shuu nor Kaneki have heard you curse before, so they were stunned for a moment, "Why don't you keep it on your pants before you embarrass yourself." You were going to flip him off as well, but you decided against it, thinking that would be a little too much. "Fucking bitch, just take the damn compliment." He seethed, but you didn't care. You were about to go off again, but Shuu surprised you by stopping you and speaking up himself, "I would appreciate it if you didn't talk to my girlfriend that way or you'll have a lawsuit on your doorstep tomorrow that you won't want to pay." It seemed like the man must have recognized Shuu from tv or something, because he paled and instantly apologized and went back to whatever he was doing. The three of you started walking to the restaurant, and didn't speak until you were seated. "I didn't know you were so well spoken [Name]." Kaneki complimented as he sipped his tea. You smiled, "Thank you, I've had my fair share of cat-calls in my days, so I have to have a defense ready." You looked over at Shuu, "And thank you for your help as well too Shuu." Shuu smiled at you, a nice smile actually, not one of those fake smiles he gave the press, "It's no problem [Name], anything for you, I don't ever want to hear someone talk to you like that ever again, so I will make it my mission to protect you!" He beamed, making you and Kaneki giggle at the claim. "I appreciate that, thank you, but really," You brushed some of your bangs out of your face, "It's not the first time, and it certainly will not be the last time so unless you plan to accompany me everywhere, you mission for protecting me may be a loss." Kaneki glanced at Shuu, you noticed the look and narrowed your eyes at the designer, something was up. 

"Well [Name] I guess you'll just really have to become my girlfriend so I can protect you properly." Shuu replied smoothly, holding his chin in his hand as he stared at you from across the table. 

Sure it wasn't the most romantic way you've been asked out before, but you've never blushed harder in your life. 

You averted your eyes and covered your mouth with you hand in effort to hid the blush, but you knew it was a loss. 

"Ah Tsukiyama, that's very nice of you!" Kaneki beamed, trying to help you out, but was failing. 

"R-Right..." You mumbled. 

"So [Name], what do you say? Will you inspire me outside of work and be my muse for every aspect of my life?" He asked, you could see the sparkle in his eye he got when an idea would hit him during your sketching sessions. 

Behind your hand you were grinning madly, it really was so sweet, "I would love to," Shuu beamed at you, "But I kind of really need this job, so if you can get me a new job, then I'll say yes." You tried to bargain. 

"Why would you need a new job?" Kaneki asked, genuinely confused by your statement. 

You sighed, "Because of if and when the media gets ahold of this and finds out that the internationally known designer Shuu Tsukiyama is dating one of his employees, they'll have a field day. And I couldn't do that to Mr. Tsukiyama." You explained. 

You expected Shuu to understand where you were coming from, but he just scoffed, "Then move in with me," He leaned towards you, "If it's financial reasons behind the publicity reasons, you can move in with me and I'll buy you everything you want, and you can still be my muse." 

He must have been feeling like this towards you for a while, because he was willing to bribe you into dating him. 

There was a not-so heavy silence in the air. 

"You'd do that for me?" You whispered. 

"Of course I would! In a heartbeat." Shuu assured you, and though Kaneki felt like the third wheel, he felt honored to witness something so sweet. 

You let yourself smile as you nodded, "Ok." It was short and simple, but everything Tsukiyama needed to hear. 

"Great! Call your landlord tomorrow, you'll move in as soon as possible." Shuu cheered and grasped your hands to place a dozen kiss on the backs, making you laugh. 

"Alright I'll do that, but I have a cat too, I hope that's ok." You commented. 

"Oui, perfectly fine with me." He said in the midst of his flurry of kisses. 

And to think you were astonished by finding your life wonderful for once by having people around you that you cared about. 

They cared more about you too than you originally thought. 

It gave you more hope to life because it seemed it was more amazing than meets the eye.

[howardlinkedin]

Shelter - Part 11

Running title: Shelter Part 11 Summary: Alma reveals their talent for costume design and Kanda cuts things out while the story leads to the inevitable meeting with those Noah folks. Also, Allen makes a very gushy revelation to Link and Cross gets stuck in a bush.  Part 10: Here Part 12: Here

Alma dumped a pile of fabric into Kanda’s arms. “Here, make yourself useful and cut this into a feather pattern.” 

“What the fuck, why?” Kanda asked, because he had literally just walked through the door. Now that he looked around Alma’s room, it was covered in downy fabrics and piles of shredded bits. “Did your beanie babies explode or something?” “No they’re safe in the closet.” Alma corrected, because their collection took a lot of time and heart, and there was no way they’d leave the dolls out to fend for themselves whenever Kanda was about. Their boyfriend had a bad habit of wanting to cut the tags off of everything.

Beanie Babies needed their tags.

Which was not the main point at all. “We’re making Allen his first stage costume!” Alma redirected with cheer. They pointed to the stencil cut out of the feathered design they made and wanted Kanda to cut out.

Kanda looked between the fabric and Alma, contrite. He was between wanting to scowl, because why the hell does he need to make anything for the beansprout, and intrigue, because cutting out patterns for his sweetheart was probably one of Kanda’s favorite ways to waste the day away. Alma was doing that thing with their mouth and their eyes that always made Kanda give in anyway, so the other teen went to the impromptu cutting station. “Why feathers?” “Because it’ll look cool, that’s why.” Alma stated smugly.

---

Ever since Allen had met Mana, even when the child version of himself didn’t want anything to do with the man, a song had started to form in the place of his mind where the music often collected. It started out as a myriad of all that Mana made Allen feel. The frustration, the anger, confusion…

The feeling of belonging.

The longer Allen stayed with Mana, the better form the song took. It’s quality started to make sense and the notes began to adjust into something quite like a melody.

He often imagined that, if he had more time, Allen would have had the entire some completed and composed long before now.

The song itself came to an abrupt stop the night Mana left.

---

“Uh, guys?” Allan’s eyes wavered between Alma and Kanda uncertainly. School was done for the day, and somehow Allen ended up at Kanda’s place.

Tied to a chair.

Alma had a look of approval on their face while Kanda stirred a bowl of...something. All Allen knew was that it was white and smelled like glue.

He thought Kanda hated glue.

“Okay Allen, sit back and think of Link.” The tallest teen joked, eyebrows quirked while Kanda approached with the bowl. Allen began to squirm, because what now?!

“H-hold on KANDA WHAT IS THAT?! WHY-”

Tiedoll, Kanda’s father, popped his head into the room, and asked curiously. “Yuu, what on earth?”

“Don’t worry sir! Yuu’s helping me make a mask mold for Allen!” Alma practically sparkled with faux innocence.

Nodding, and seeing nothing wrong with the situation at hand, the older gentleman left. “Have fun then!”

Allen tried to bite Kanda’s hand.

---

“What is all that white shit in your hair?” Cross asked, tears of laughter streaming down his face, because holy shit. He took a picture of it on his phone and sent it to Socalo.

Considering his kid’s hair was already stark white, it was quite a sight to see it matted up in...even more white. Allen had the look of a very pissed off cat. The actual cat in their house was currently sleeping in Cross’ hat, which god fucking damn hell creature.

Allen practically threw the swear jar at his guardian’s head and stomped down the hall, presumably towards the bathroom. Timcampy, who had not stopped pitter-dancing around Allen feet since he came home, followed after.

---

Lenalee was the first to ask. Always polite and kind to a fault, Lenalee never means any harm. Regardless, her curiosity always got the better of her.

“Hey, Allen? If the Marshall adopted you, whatever happened to your parents?”

Kanda looked up from his homework that Alma was hassling him to complete. Both were also curious, but also shocked that their friend had asked out of the blue.

At Allen’s expression, she regretted asking. “Gosh! I’m sorry; that was insensitive of me! You don’t have to answer if you don’t want!”

With a melancholy quirk of his lips, Allen reassured that it was alright. “You can ask, it’s alright Lenalee.”

With his friends, he explained.

---

“Wait, so you were in a circus?” “Ha, yeah. I don’t really remember much before that.” “And the guy who was gonna be your dad was a clown? Are you serious?” “Kanda why would I lie you butt head!”

“I’m gonna butt your head right off your shoulders beansprout!”

“Yuu don’t curse it’s rude.” “ALLEN WALKER YOU GET DOWN FROM MY DRESSER!”

---

“When I was five, my parents were murdered.” Lenalee allotted. The reality still stung, but after all her years being raised by her brother, it hurt much, much less. “I’ve only ever had Komui as family.”

“I never knew my parents either.” Alma shared. “My birth parents anyway. I don’t think they could afford to take care of me, so I was in and out of foster care since I was born. Foster care sucks! But I’m okay now, with my adopted mother.”

Kanda grunted from his corner. “The old man found me wandering the streets one day. For some stupid reason he decided that I was worth his time. So here I am.”

Allen had learned that it was nice, to have friends who understood. Despite the sadness of all their combined pasts, they had found family.

---

Somewhere between waking up in the hospital to a gruff man with wild red hair, and meeting Link, the song had started back up again.

Which, for Allen was like the first breath a drowning man takes when his head breaches the surface. It had been torturous silence in that place inside of himself. Now the song was back, but the melody was beginning to change.  

With Mana, the beat of the song was steady and consistent. Allen could mimic it with the tapping of his fingers if he had wanted. It was a comforting melody, just like Mana’s hand on his shoulder.

Cross and Link had changed the melody almost entirely. It was no less a comfort than it was much like painting your room a new color. It was still the same, but different now. It excited Allen to no end.

Then came Miranda, Lenalee, and Kanda and Alma. One by one, each person added to the refrain. Even the other Colonels at the Precinct added to the song (except Lvellie. The man had a tune about as refined as a squeaking sneaker on tile).

Which, may explain why Allen had such a difficult time getting the song itself written and composed.

In retrospect, he soon learned that he was actually missing a key component to his song.

---

“My friends are embarrassing and weird and I’m firing them.” Was Allen’s greeting to his nightly Skype session with Link.

The former arched an impressive eyebrow, and moved his laptop so it’s camera was directly on Tokusa and a mutual friend, Goushi, playing a very formidable match of “Chubby Bunny,” as if to say that both of their sets of friends are embarrassing.

“Oh my gosh, I would totally win at that.” Allen states with Atuuda nestled deep in his arms, purring up a storm as though to agree. Timcampy barked from atop Allen’s desk.

“I believe the objective of the game is to get as many marshmallows into your mouth as possible, but not to eat them Walker.” Link sassed, because that is totally what Link does, Allen knows. The young man was the sassiest person alive, and no one could tell the teen otherwise. “Also, why is your dog on top of furniture again?” “He likes to feel tall.”

---

“You know, Lenalee once asked how I knew you loved me.”

Link looked downright flabbergasted on the computer screen, completely unsuspecting the turn of the conversation. He really should have been used to Allen sudden subject changes by now.

“I...see?” Link didn’t really know what to respond to this. The elephant in the room had gone purposefully unnoticed all these years, simply because Link still had no idea how to address it.

“And I gave her a really silly answer.” Allen scratched Atuuda’s ear, which made the cat chirp in praise. “But after this whole thing about...Mana’s family, I really know why now. Like, I always knew? But I didn’t notice.”

Link was belatedly aware that Allen did not state what he had answered to his friend previous on the statement. “And I am to assume your answer is a more satisfying one?”

“Yeah.” Allen blinked his clear gray eyes and smiled at the chat window. “You make me feel really safe Link. Thank you.”

---

Allen took a quick screenshot of the chat window, because never had he seen Link get so red and flustered.

---

“Alma, why is there a cape with feathers?” “Shut up Allen and put it on. It’s cool.”

---

The day of the party, Allen walked up the driveway of the very expansive and pristine mansion that belonged to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Allen began to wonder what, exactly, is his life. Especially since there was a strong possibility that the people inside were Mana’s family.

Link had came, as promised, walking besides him. Also with them were Lenalee, Alma, and Kanda - Allen’s own personal musketeers it seemed.

Also with them was Cross, because like hell he was going to let his kid do this without him. He held less trepidation, though, as he marched right up to the door and kicked it loudly. Allen jumped and hissed to his guardian. “What are you doing?!”

“Shut up.” Cross mumbled and then shouted. “Oy! Sheryl you slimy fuck! Open up! We’re here for your brat’s party!”

Allen was too mortified to demand compensation for the curse, instead thinking of just shoving Cross into the bushes to make him stop. Which, he did. “Allen what the fuck!”

Kanda took a video with his phone. Link signed, while Lenalee and Alma tried to look like they didn’t know any of them.

“Sh-shut up! Why do you have to be so-” Allen was interrupted by the door swinging open.

---

“Welcome to the party, boy.”

“AH! Gas Station Hobo!” Allen exclaimed, pointing at the man who opened the door. It was the xylophone man!

Said man looked rather put off at being called a hobo. “Well that was rude.”

There was giggling further inside the mansion, and Wisely poked his head from behind the xylophone man, newly dubbed Gas Station Hobo, looking as expressionless as he could while stating, “Petition that everyone calls you that from now on.”

“Bite me Wise.” “AH!” Allen once again exclaimed. “Wisely!”

“Hiya Allen, Link. Long time to see.” The young adult waved them all in. “Come in, come in, and thank you for accepting my invitation.”

They all were ushered inside. Cross was still stuck in the bushes. “Oy!”

---

Once inside, Allen was accosted by a rather strong hug around his middle. “Oof!” “I’m so excited to finally see you in person Allen!” Came a squeal. Oh boy, and there were now legs wrapped around him too. Excellent. Link looked particularly bothered and prickly at the situation.

Kanda kept filming.

The human koala had somewhat wild dark hair, and definitely a good head shorter than Allen. Which. Finally. Someone smaller than him that wasn’t his dog.

“Road get off of him and let the boy breathe.” Admonished the accordion hobo. Now that Allen got a good look at the man, he didn’t look like a homeless person anymore, not with the expensive suit he was wearing, or his slicked back hair. Noticing the teens stare, the man grinned and held out a hand. “Tyki Mikk.”

“Um? Hello?” Allen shook the hand.

Kanda had only just stopped taking candid videos of Allen’s discomfort when a rather tall and burly man came out of nowhere and offered Alma a candy bar. “Do you like sweets?” “Yes, actually!” Alma answered, enthused, despite the odd situation they found themselves in. “Hey asshole back off!” “Yuu don’t call people asshole it’s rude!”

Lenalee startled slightly, when two other popped out besides her. They were sniggering in unison. “Hobo and Asshole!” Said one, while the other joked, “I’m sure we can get Neah to change their names for you Wise!”

Everything seemed to be getting out of hand, thought Allen. Link managed to shoo his attack hugger - Road, away and decided standing close enough to be Allen’s very intense shadow was efficient use of his person for the time being. Which, Allen was grateful for, because he felt like he was on the slow verge of a panic attack.

“I would arrange it, but I don’t want dad to get after me when the inevitable fall out happens.” Said yet another new voice somewhere in the mansion. Allen looked towards the voice, which was at the top of the grand staircase in the center of the floor, and felt all the air leave his lungs.

His mind was bombarded with the loud chime of a grand piano, that only he could hear, and it held such an aching familiarity his bones echoed with it.

“Mana?”