#i have no clue yet but i know i want him to endear himself early on in the campaign and die horribly to really hammer in the oh-shit-vibes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

watevermelon · 4 years

Text

Quiet Sort of Love | Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader

✧ Summary: Manager to the Fukurōdani volleyball club, there was no doubt that Itachiyama’s Sakusa Kiyoomi was a strong ace. He brought your team to their knees on multiple occasions, but what you were not expecting was getting to know the nationally acclaimed spiker beyond just the titles and labels.

✧ Warnings: Implicating language and slight spoilers toward the end (you will be warned beforehand :))

✧ Notes: Buckle up boys cause this is a LONG one LMAO -> lots of fluff, angst, slight BokuAka, character development, mutual pining at one point, and just me being sentimental over one of my favorite teams -> #SummerWrites for these! I tended to write fluffier stories

✧ Masterlist

If someone asked you for the full story, there was no way you could explain it. One moment, you were in junior high, relatively enjoying your time on the track team. The next, you were attending Fukurōdani Academy without a clue to which club you wanted to commit to.

While you could have rejoined the track team, you were not especially good at sprints and had only done so for your friends at the time. Now, there was a much more daunting pressure about what you were going to be committing your time to. Akaashi has suggested you take-up the open managerial role for the volleyball club, since you were unsure you wanted to truly dedicate yourself to any sport. And, somehow within a couple days of that conversation, with the eccentric introductions of second-years Yukie and Kaori, the current managers, you were attending their volleyball practice on a trial session.

Fast-forward a few weeks and it was already the best decision you had made in your first-year of being a Fukurōdani Academy student.

They were dedicated to their sport, their passion easily radiating off of them and to onlookers watching a simple set. It was what entranced you to begin with - their strong zeal that easily drew others into their bubble. Yes, you were a powerhouse school with a long history of being winners. But it was the people that encompassed the team that drew it closer to your heart.

From the confident yet silly second-year Bokuto, to the mother hen Akaashi, you made fast friends with the team and the other managers.

There were times that you had to remind yourself that Bokuto, the same Vice Captain and nationally rising spiker to gain acclaim, was the same Bokuto who had accidentally locked himself out of his dorm room only to find his lanyard in his back pocket.

And, while reminding yourself of Bokuto, you remembered the text you received from the team group-chat early that morning. You had gone home for the weekend to pick-up some stuff from your family home, the place of residence sitting outside Shibuya and a good thirty-minutes by train away from the inner city.

But, it was a short-lived trip since the next morning you had to return back to the dorms for a practice match set with your school’s supposed long-term rivals: Itachiyama. GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

6:15 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤) oh no

6:15 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )> (L/N)-chan pls tell me your awake

6:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) (F/N)-chan you are our only hope

6:20 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) @Y/N !!!!

6:23 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ) I’m awake!!

6:23 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤) Please tell me you can pick-up some Dorayaki on your way to the school

6:23 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ) ah yes, the patented bokuto revival snacc?

6:24 haaaruki ! thnk u mom

6:24 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ) >.>

6:24 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤) Thank you, (L/N)-san. 💓

And true to your word, or text rather, you stopped for the snack on your way back to the school. However, with the surprisingly crowded trains on this unfortunate weekend, you were near sprinting down the street once you got some open space. You wanted to still be on time, reasoning regardless, and with the pace of the crowd you were going to be way later than you expected. You rushed between trains, hopping onto the right transfer and letting your foot tap away in impatience as the train pushed onward.

Nearing the school, you were in a dead-sprint toward the entrance and only inwardly sighed at seeing the large school bus, from what you assumed was the rival school, covering the main gateway. You approached from the back of the bus, students filing out from the opposite end of where you were running. You did not want to glance down at your watch, afraid of the time you would see, and instead tried to inwardly navigate a way inside and around your obstacles.

Athletic bags and groups of the students littered the area as they unloaded, forcing you to jump over their stuff if you did not want to break your speed. You were so dead-set in your sprint, you failed to notice the number of eyes on the bus following you in your run.

Just as you turned around the pillar, your speed and momentum came to a stop as you crashed into an unsuspecting student. His hands were in his pockets, a mask covering most of his face, but even you saw the surprised look as his hands shot out to steady the both of you.

Immediately, the dark-haired athlete was chastising you, “Watch where you are going.” The young man immediately pushed you off of him, not in an unkindly way but moreso he wanted his safe distance instantly.

You bowed and muttered out an, “I’m sorry!”

The glare of annoyance was obvious, but it only dropped down when he turned to look at his upturned palms, no longer hidden in his pockets but instead being stared at in a mortified way.

I mean, it’s not like you were dirty? You complained inwardly at his expression, but sucked it up anyway. You were the one who crashed into him and owed the apology anyway and so you could do your duty and then bid the supposed germaphobe goodbye.

Team Mom instincts already kicking in, you reached into your side-bag and took out a small pack of wet-wipes. You opened the container, and not one to incense him further, held it out for him to grab himself.

“An extension of my apology.” You stated at seeing his apprehension, before he took two and wiped his hands clean of your grime.

It was hard to fight down the inward grimace at seeing this utter stranger be so offended at having even touched and breathed the same air as you.

“Komori, nice to meet you.” Another student came up to the two of you, having emerged from the pack of Itachiyama students. “Sorry for my friend here.”

“It was my mistake.” You stated.

“No worries. Nice to meet you, you on the track team?”

You shook your head before glancing down at your watch, losing more precious minutes that you could not afford to waste on a conversation like this. “Sorry, I’m running late. See you around!”

Bidding farewell to the group, who you were sure to see in just a few minutes, you bounded through the school and toward the back gymnasium. The net was already set-up, Akaashi standing toward the center as he warmed-up the spikers, matching up with their heights before the other team made their appearance.

You waved at him as you entered, holding up a bag containing half a dozen of Bokuto’s snacks, before placing it in the careful hands of Kaori. Akaashi thanked you genuinely, only to be surprised when you handed him an iced-latte in a cold glass from the store as well. He smiled, before putting it in the cooler for his undoubted headache later. Yukie looked at you with a curious smile, to which you threw two capri-suns at her - the drink secretly one of her favorites.

They thanked you before rushing back to positions and responsibilities, either continuing to warm-up or simply prep the gym for the other’s arrival. You did as you were told, then lined up to attention when the doors opened to greet your rival school.

While it was only a practice match, the team had already filled you in on the reason behind the unending tension between the two schools. Bokuto spun a tale of wild rivalry spanning generations while Akaashi stated plainly that they had not yet won against Itachiyama in recent years.

Seeing the germaphobe from earlier in the line-up, you stood quiet while the volleyball members silently introduced themselves. Your third-year captain, in his ever so passive-aggressive ire, tightly gripped the hand of the other Itachiyama captain. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and instead let your vision scan the line-up.

The tension was only more palpable during the game. Fukurōdani had practice matches before, but none so eerily… quiet.

Yes, there was intra-team communication and words of encouragement between teammates… but nothing else.

During the practice match with Shinzen, your third-year teammates acted like old friends with some of those students. They even offered some pointers regarding serves between the two schools. And that school was categorized as a rival to your own as well. Shinzen was in the Fukurōdani group after all - they were your close rivals if anything.

But it seemed that the rivalry between Itachiyama and Fukurōdani ran even deeper than that.

Bokuto’s excitement, while usually cute and endearing, definitely contributed to the current atmosphere as well. Bokuto was naturally loud and with every point he scored, there was a chorus right after from yours truly. But, without an audience to drown out his cheers and the Fukurōdani third-years looking seriously quiet, the tiny Bokuto celebration grated on the nerves of the other team.

You watched the young man from earlier, mask gone from his face now and instead replaced with his own brand of quiet determination, as he ran up and smoothly spiked the ball. The action seemed so natural, it was only when the resounding slap signified again how loud and powerful he truly was, the ball smashing into the ground and landing somewhere behind the upper-risers.

That was incredible strength, you thought inwardly, feeling a similar awe you felt the first time you saw the true power behind Bokuto’s spike.

The awed expression on your face quickly squashed down to grimace, remembering this was the guy you had awkwardly crashed into earlier.

“What’s with that face?” Yukie asked, spying you from the corner of her eye. She stood parallel to you, both of you manning the standing scoreboard. Kaori was sitting with the coach, pen in hand as she took notes on the game.

You put back on your neutral visage as you flipped the score number, “That guy who just spiked, he was the one that I bumped into on the way here.”

“Sakusa-san?”

“Yeah...” You affirmed, trying to subtly point in his direction with your gaze alone.

She looked at you with an amused expression, patting you on the back in pity.

Fukurōdani lost the practice match.

And while a part of you was inwardly hissing, there was no doubt that both schools gave their all and the better ended up on top. The third-years commended the team, they were still in the process of finding their rhythm. After all, the points were not that far apart to being with. Having lost 2:1, you noted that the points were relatively close in all three sets.

Bokuto’s displeasure was obvious, complaining loudly that he should have worked on his jump-serve more, but still shaking everyone’s hands at the call of the game.

With both teams working to clean the gymnasium, you walked over to the net to help loosen it and fold the poles. Some of the team members of either side were lightly mingling, commending each other on certain skills while introducing themselves.

You spotted Sakusa in the corner, having helped put away the mats already and retreating to the spot furthest from the crowd. Fighting the urge to bemusedly chuckle at the action, your attention snapped to Komori approaching you, a water-bottle in hand.

“From your running earlier - thought you were a member of the track team.”

You smiled in a friendly manner, “Nope, just a manager of the volleyball club.”

He shot a smile back, “I see. I missed your name earlier...?”

Sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck, embarrassed over forgetting your introduction to your senior, “(L/N) (F/N), nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, too!” He repeated back your words before adding, “How cute.”

You angled your head in question, surprised at his boldness and flabbergasted from replying.

He continued, “So, are you -”

“Yes, this is all good and well.” An arm swung across your shoulders as the owner cut him off, “But we better help our team out.”

Yukie shot a wink over her shoulder, whisking you to the other end of the room as someone else took over helping breakdown the net. You shot her a curious look, before your attention was grabbed back to the corner Sakusa was inhabiting.

It seemed Bokuto had found him, issuing a direct challenge to the other wing-spiker for their next match. Seeing your teammate, boisterous and loud, next to the quiet and narrow-eyed Sakusa was such a direct contrast; you had to remind yourself that they played the same role on their teams.

Bokuto grumbled the rest of the night, which only continued into the weekdays at school. You formed a study group for a particularly painful math class. And currently, said group had some vbc members crowded around a round table in the library. Most occupants preferred to spill the tea - Yukie and Konoha always had something regarding their second-year class.

Which ironically left the younger two to herd the group. You tended to go with the flow. Which left Akaashi, the ever so smarty-pants honors student, to often lead the charge. (He also grumbled that you teased him about this fact, but you were also in the same honors classes yourself.)

You got in five pages worth of outlining before the conversation shifted. Focus on the class was easily torn as Haruki brought out a monthly volleyball magazine.

“Check it out, an entire profile on Sakusa Kiyoomi.” The libero stated, opening up the magazine as Konoha leaned over to look.

“Wow, lots of eyes are already on him.” Kaori stated.

“Anyone who saw him play during junior high would know he’s one to watch during Interhigh.” Haruki voiced.

“Well, I’m in the top four.” Bokuto muttered, arms crossed as he read along the magazine.

Akaashi sighed, putting down his pencil as his curiosity grabbed his attention, eyes straying to the article as well. Besides, Sakusa was a first-year just like the two of you, if he was this much of a threat it would be good to soak up any useful information on him

“The photograph looks a little far, don’t you think?” Yukie said with an unsure smile, pointing to the stiff Sakusa standing at least ten feet away from the photographer. “They couldn’t have zoomed in at all?”

“Maybe this is zoomed?” Konoha asked with a brow raised.

You took a look and fought the urge to grimace aloud, you could barely tell it was him either. The action shot on one page was good, but for their interview photo he was covered completely with a mask and hat, just his eyes visible and still relatively far away from the photographer.

“Well, I don’t expect anything less from a germaphobe like him.” You commented, before turning back to your notebook.

You saw multiple occupants’ expressions reel back in surprise before curiously looking toward you.

Kaori voiced their curiosity with a raised brow, “And how do you know that?”

“I - I bumped into him before the game!” You cursed your weak resolve, hands coming up in defense.

“WHA?!” Bokuto asked, making you realize you only told Yukie about the prior encounter. The librarian shushed your group with a disapproving stare, before walking away. “You knew his weakness this whole time?”

Konoha laughed, “What are you going to do with that information? Sneeze on him during the next match?”

You shot eye contact with Yukie, the brunette simply shooting you teasing smirk as she leaned back in her chair. She was your older-senpai, but damn was the eccentric manager so ruthlessly teasing! Her love of food was the only clear read you could get off of her. Otherwise, it seemed like Yukie just loved to sow mischief.

“Wait. Weren’t you talking to their libero after the game? Was it Komori?” Haruki recalled, asking more out of curiosity then of seriousness.

“Um. Yes, well he introduced himself after I almost knocked over Sakusa-san.” You explained, nearly sweating buckets at some of the second-years’ gazes.

“Wait, knocked him over?” Konoha asked, glancing back down at his textbook to place a pen in it, then close it entirely.

“Well, I was running and didn’t see him when I turned the corner!” You continued to explain.

“Sure, sure.” Yukie waved off, sitting up and then sipping from her water bottle.

“I was rushing to bring the snacks - come on guys, you know this!” You defended, a sheepish smile on your face now as the other occupants varied from teasing to surprised.

“(L/N)-san, didn’t the teacher ask us to get something for her?” Akaashi cut in, already in the process of putting some of his study materials away.

You breathed a silent sigh in relief, agreeing and mimicking his actions as you readied to leave the sudden hot library. Yukie’s teasing was enough, but once Konoha and the rest started rolling it was all over from there.

“Yes, let’s get going.” You accepted immediately as you organized your school things, “See you all after class.”

Somehow, Akaashi was already up from the table and waiting for you at the door. You followed behind him quickly, going in the direction of your next class. Entering it, there were a few lingering students - some on their phone, others listening to music - but otherwise the two of you were alone.

You felt a small vibration from the pocket of your skirt, checking the messages from the infamous instigators of your group.

GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) Nice receive, Akaashi

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

12:15 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ cmon ahkaaashi; don’t you want to spend time with me? :C

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) Enjoy your alone time ;)

12:15 haaaruki ! yah “studying” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Akaashi had a dead-panned expression back on his face, undoubtedly reading the same messages you had just skimmed through. The young man was so smart and quiet, and yet so silently sassy, you really cherished having him as your friend. Akaashi was the mother-hen of the group, undoubtedly, but you wondered how blessed your team was so to have such a patient and thoughtful setter in your ranks.

The two of you relished the silence of the room, sitting next to each other for this class, and resuming the earlier studying that you were interrupted from before.

Life after this moved very quickly - thoughts of Itachiyama and the target named Sakusa was pushed in the back of your mind. Suddenly, your powerhouse of a volleyball club was having non-stop practice matches with others within the Fukurōdani Academy Group. Shinzen, known for their style of combination attacks, and Ubugawa, known for their serves, were two schools in Tokyo you often saw.

But, with them, came the introduction of Nekoma High School.

You almost felt bad for Akaashi after the first training camp with all three schools. Yes, you were familiar and friendly with the other schools, but with the introduction of middle-blocker Kuroo Tetsuro and his friend Kenma, it brought all sorts of adventures for your little group. He was certainly a sly cat, wielding the art of provocation like it was his second-skin. Fukurōdani had many practice matches with Nekoma throughout the spring semester, it was almost mentally jarring how quickly the Interhigh prelims crawled up on you.

Being friends with the other schools made the preliminary matches all the more intense - near screaming in support from the stands. You were friends with people in these other schools - managers whom you shared watermelon with in the scorching sun; and, forgetting volleyball, just teenagers whom you had seen at high school house parties throughout the semester - it was entirely personal during the prelims.

And while your school fell second to Itachiyama - you were excited to see your first ever nationals tournament.

To keep the teams organized in one spot, you were all staying in a swanky hotel not far from the sports center. It seemed to be a popular spot for other teams, since you had spotted familiar red and black athletic gear in the lobby when you entered. Nekoma was standing to the side by the chairs, Itachiyama littering the opposite area of the lobby.

Bokuto immediately bounded over to Kuroo and Kenma, Akaashi following behind begrudgingly, citing he did not want the spiker to wander off and get lost. Your eyes followed them, waving a hand at the Nekoma duo as you mentally weighed joining their conversation. Scanning the rest of the room, your eyes landed on Sakusa in the nearby corner with Komori hovering nearby.

Just as you made eye-contact with the libero, he waved you over with a friendly smile.

“Hey - good to see you, (L/N)-san.” Komori greeted, you waved back and made the small walk over.

“Hey to you too.” You replied, looking at both boys.

“Hi, (L/N)-san.” Sakusa stated back, as curt as ever. He was leaned against the wall, hands hidden in his pockets again. His eyes skipped over you quickly before looking away and scanning the room - you fought the urge to inwardly laugh at how easy he was to read at the moment.

For someone so collected and intimidating on the court, there was something so amusing at seeing him so on edge at the moment.

You were about to say something when someone called your name from behind. Waving a quick goodbye, you skipped back over to your team, seeing it was Akaashi who was herding you back to the group.

It was only when you got in the elevator that you realized something - Sakusa remembered your last name.

Biting your lip in confusion, you thought to the last time you talked to either boy. You only gave your name to Komori during that first initial practice match - maybe Sakusa overhead and just had a good memory? Whatever the case may be, it was not the time to be looking into things. You shook your head, focusing on the present as you turned back to whatever Bokuto was talking about.

The coaches gave you time to organize yourselves before warming up in the nearby gym. With three managers for your team, it was agreed beforehand that you would fight on equal ground for the beds. Whoever won would get the bed to themselves while the other two would share. And yesterday, Kaori claimed herself the victor and you were sharing with Yukie.

Plopping your stuff down, you all got down to business as you organized the room quickly, heading out for auxiliary practice, and then herding the group at dinner.

After dinner, you were still bursting with energy. Excitement, anticipation - all of that was coursing through your veins for the events tomorrow. It seemed that the other managers were facing something similar, since neither had taken a bath yet and gotten ready for bed. Instead, Yukie was still in her outdoor clothes while Kaori was on her phone, scrolling through her social media feed.

Yukie turned to you with a mischievous smile, her brown eyes reflecting nothing but trouble when she finally asked, “So, seen any cute boys yet?”

You sputtered at the randomness of the question, “What?”

Kaori laughed, but then admitted. “Well, we are in the area with some of the best volleyball players in high school. Can’t deny some of them are handsome.”

You could not help the giggle in response, as Yukie added. “Hmm, you right. Some of them are looking so gooood.”

“Oh my god.” There were no words you had prepared for this moment.

Yukie looked at you before incling her head, “Come on, even Bokuto is looking mighty fine when he’s in the zone.”

“I -- “ You stuttered, was she looking for a response?

“Don’t you think Bokuto has such a fine ass?” Yukie asked, “Like damn boy you looking thicc!”

Uhhhhh.

“Lay off.” Kaori came to your defense, or so you thought. “She’s more into the Akaashi-type, right?”

“Strong, but silent?” Yukie asked, “Quiet, but could easily snap your neck with his thighs?”

You blanched at the idea of your reserved friend doing any of the sort.

“No way! He’s just a friend.” You countered immediately.

“Hmmm, sure.” Yukie responded, “When Kuroo shuts his mouth, it makes me want to put it somewhere else.”

“Bruh.” You voiced as you laughed, slapping your reddening cheeks.

Was this something they usually talked about during nationals? The conversation seemed so natural to the both of them - neither blushing or phased at talking about the other attractive men within your prefecture. Just thinking about any of them in a romantic light had you blushing, how on earth could they talk about this so naturally?

“True, but have you seen Sakusa?” Kaori countered, the conversation carrying on.

“Sakusa would be hotter if he allowed anyone within ten feet of him.” Yukie waved off before turning to you with a wink. “Well, I saw you talking to him today.”

You thought back to the interaction with a grimace, “More like a hello before he shut-down the conversation.”

“Think he’s cute?” Kaori asked, this time.

You thought back to him during the practice match, strong and confident when on the court and mask hidden away. But then again, you thought back to all your actual interactions, and grimaced.

You answered candidly, “I mean, I’m not blind. He’s attractive, but I barely know him.”

Yukie giggled, “I’m not saying you have to marry him!”

Kaori giggled and you felt your cheeks flame-up. You felt your embarrassment creep up your throat and blurted out, “Okay, he’s hella attractive and when he spikes it sets me on fire! Like ok - can he smack my ass like a drum??”

Yukie slapped you on the shoulder in jest as Kaori’s laughter got louder. Yukie replied, “Damn girl - I didn’t know you were into that sort of stuff.”

You were redder than Nekoma’s colors at this point, embarrassment at an all time high at having admitted something that even you were not aware of. Kaori and Yukie were so easy to talk to, so funny to be around, they really took away your one brain-cell sometimes.

“But I totally agree - when he snaps his wrist against the ball… well.” She ended the sentence with raised brows, both of you catching onto her mischievous face.

Kaori giggled and you could not help but laugh aloud at this point - you loved the other managers so much, they made wild conversations like this so easy.

You started braiding your hair, conversation shifting to the boys in class at Fukurōdani. And while you admitted it was rather small-minded of you to say, you honestly could not remember a lot of the other student body outside of the volleyball club. You spent almost every free minute of your time on the club - many of the faces outside your class blurring to the side as your priorities lay elsewhere.

Just as you finished your hair, a small sound broke out in the room, Yukie picking up her phone as it vibrated against the bed. The brunette took one look at the caller ID, got up and winked at the two of you, before leaving the hotel room entirely. You turned to Kaori with a curious look, who simply shrugged and said it was probably some cute boy she was talking to.

You accepted it casually, before getting up yourself and putting on your outdoor shoes. You still had all this pent-up, enthused energy - maybe a run would do you good to calm your mind. Voicing this to the other manager, she agreed before laying back down on her bed.

The lobby areas were still littered with other volleyball club members in their casual clothes, some from other schools and some from your own. Some of the third-years were mingling, undoubtedly high-energy for this being one of the last few tournaments they would be participating in.

Putting headphones in, you started your run toward areas you personally knew and were relatively populated at this time of night. Certain areas of Tokyo were always bustling, and so you stuck to roads nearby the main one. Your mind, which was reeling only a few minutes before, was surprising blank during your run. Your focus was on the path ahead of you and the music surrounding you - it felt that simple somehow.

No team entered tournaments to lose - that was obvious. Everyone on this level of the competition had a hug leg over the average team - geniuses, prodigies, top spikers in the entire nation - they were all gathering here for the next few days.

Your team were the protagonists of the world - that was what you repeated in your head like a mantra for the past few days.

Fukurōdani were going to do more than just compete in nationals - they were going to win, you were confident.

“Pour all your soul into each ball.” You repeated, remembering the official banner for your powerhouse of a school.

The confidence in your team was overflowing, any lingering nerves flowing away as you continued on your focused run. And so when a crack of thunder was louder than your music - you reeled back in surprise and turned your attention upward at the sky.

Groaning, you ran over to the side of a building to huddle under a pagoda awning, other people doing the same as you and crowding the area. The weather quickly upturned from a calm night to a sudden downpour. There was nothing about rain in the forecast and this afternoon the sky was a pretty blue - had you just not noticed before?

Cursing your lack of foresight, you took out your headphones and stored them in the fanny pack across your chest. Recognizing the shops around this area, you were only ten minutes from the hotel by run. But, dodging the rain and ducking under pagoda’s would probably make it about a half hour. You considered briefly waiting out the rain, but also did not want to get stuck out late in the case that it did not let-up soon.

Already decided, you were planning out your trek back to the hotel when you scanned everyone else around you. Turning to the other people taking refuge, you could not help the surprise on your face at seeming a familiar person huddled all the way in the back corner.

Sakusa, in all his might, was emanating serious waves of discomfort only a few feet away from you.

What were the odds of this happening? Was this some sort of karmic energy from the universe, due to the conversation you had earlier?

You walked over the spiker, waving a hello and receiving a nod in greeting.

“Looks like we had the same idea, Sakusa-san.” You started, receiving nothing from the conversation but a blank stare.

Boy was he hard to talk to.

Not to be deterred, you continued. “I know the area pretty well. Feel free to come with me, so you’re not waiting out the rain too late?”

Sakusa nodded again silently, and when you turned your head in confusion on instinct, he voiced himself this time. “Thanks.”

You felt a smile crawl up your face as you turned, dodging between some of the street shops’ canopies and awnings in your quick pace. He followed you closely, not wanting to get any of the accursed rain on his bodice, you guessed. Still, it was hard to keep track of someone right behind you.

This situation was altogether so strange - who would have thought that this would be the way you would be ending your day??

Not used to the silence - after all, your usual company was always bouncing with energy - you joked as you turned to him, “I guess this is where I should insert some proclamation of rivalry here?”

The only thing that signified he heard you was by the quirk of a smirk at the corner of his lip - was that amusement?? you wondered.

Stopping at the corner of the street, you had to run the crosswalk and make your way to the cafe’s awning across the way. You voiced this as you both waited for the stoplight to switch over.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” You questioned, filling in the dead air.

“No.”

“Ah, what was I thinking - a nationally ranked spiker like you…” You drew out sheepishly.

“No, as in my team does not play until the day after.” Sakusa explained, making you groan. You forgot - Itachiyama was seeded after all.

“Oh, my bad.” You stated, losing all your earlier confidence to try to speak to him.

Whatever expression was on your face must have made him feel bad, you assumed, since Sakusa turned to you and continued. “But I am looking forward to fighting Wakatoshi-kun.”

The inward book in your mind flipped open, recognizing the name and attempting to find the correct team it was associated with. “Ah, that nationally ranked spiker from Shiratorizawa Academy.”

“Yes, he is… a good benchmark to play against.” Sakusa explained, making you nod in agreement. “But our priority will be watching Fukurōdani’s match tomorrow morning.”

“Oh?”

“You took a set from us during the Representative Playoffs. We won’t let it happen again.”

You smiled at his words - just Itachiyama and Sakusa himself as a whole felt like a goal. The team was the only one ranked above yours in the prefecture. It was your goal to beat his team and him especially. Maybe it was the fact that Bokuto and him were competing on ranking that made it that much more intimate, but it was easy to look at Sakusa as a target more than just who he was: a human.

And so hearing his small admission that Fukurōdani was a strong rival, after dominating your school for so long, you could not help but smile at his candor.

“We’re there to win nationals.”

He raised a brow at your words, and while you wondered if you had overstepped your boundaries for a second, a smirk grew on Sakusa's face as he simply responded. “Ah.”

You watched the countdown timer to the other side of the street, signifying it was soon time for the both of you to break out in a spring to the other side. Both of you readied yourselves just as a car squealed past the corner, trying to beat the clock and make it before it turned red.

It all happened so quickly, eyes darting around the area to see if there was anything you could duck behind. Chairs and tables, the usually bustling Tokyo was already wrapped up in plastic and stowed away. There was no getting away from the large splash of water on the both of you - drenching you and Sakusa instantly.

The groan from the spiker was loud above the city bustle, and if not for your mutual distress, it would have made you laugh in amusement. Sakusa was inspecting his clothes, obvious disdain and surprise on his visage. Figuring it was whatever at this point, you grabbed his upturned palm and led him to a cafe area nearby. It was closed at this point, but there was a wide awning area that would be empty by now.

You led him to one of the empty garden chairs and sat him down, uncaring if he was annoyed at you pushing him around. It was your team mom instincts kicking in at this point.

Reaching into your fanny pack, you took out some of the emergency wipes and offered the pack to him. He took it readily, taking out a few and going at his hands immediately. With your on-hand handkerchief, you patted him down at the shoulders, not noticing how close the two of you were at this point.

Sakusa said nothing to your actions, not even when you moved from his shoulders to the exposed skin of his neck, wiping off the dirty street water. The initial mother adrenaline was quickly wearing off as you stood over him, surprised that he was letting you do this after all. The rosy tinge on your cheeks was growing with every second of that lingering thought.

“Nervous?” Sakusa called you out, making you stiffen up your posture. Thankfully, he did not push the subject and instead said, “I don’t understand you. Your team hates me. Shouldn’t you just be letting me get sick?

“I wouldn’t do that, especially not even to you.” You waved off the thought, smiling as you did so. “We’re going to beat you with our own skill.”

He looked up at you from his spot, initially saying nothing to your words as you moved to take out another wet-wipe from the pack. Sakusa stopped your action, putting a hand over yours and starting, “You should be using some for yourself.”

You lightly pushed it aside, not unkindly. “It’s fine; I don’t care much. Besides, this matters more to you.”

He said nothing, letting go of your wrist, but not moving away out of your range. You took that as Sakusa’s silent acceptance, moving the wipe back to his neck area and even patting him down on the cheek. His eyes never left yours, making you wonder what could possibly be going on in that head of his.

The moment was so strangely intimate, you were silently proud of your usually easy-to-tease demeanor staying calm. Once you were done, you debated taking the seat next to him when he finally looked away. Taking a look at the world around you, the sudden downpour had actually let-up to a slight drizzle.

You voiced your observation, recommending that you make your way back to the hotel before it possibly got worse. He nodded silently in agreement, breaking out into a light sprint toward your destination side-by-side.

By the time you arrived it was already late night, most of the lobby thankfully empty. You were not sure what you would say if Bokuto saw you walk in with his rival completely drenched. The squelch of your sneakers was obvious against the granite floor, making you wince at how others probably saw the two of you right now.

Sakusa bid you farewell with a small word and wave, heading toward an elevator at the other end of the hall. You did the same, before feeling the niggling feeling that someone had their eyes on you. Heading to the elevators, you turned to your peripheral and saw Yukie, sitting at one of the lobby tables with some random guy across from her.

Her face was alight with obvious mischief, her smirk alone was enough sign that she was going to be questioning you about this situation immediately. You winced at her expression, turning toward the elevator doors and waiting for the ding! to signify you were free from her eyes.

A thorough bath later, you were surprised the next day to see that Yukie had not questioned you at all. Instead, all energy was focused on nationals and the upcoming teams you were going to have to play against.

Fukurōdani Academy was a powerhouse in itself and hearing the loud cheers surrounding your side of the court was enough to lift the entire team's spirits. Your audience section was fit to the nine’s - including a marching band, a specific fan cheering area, and even cheerleaders. The team played through their games proudly, passion radiating from the team as you made it to the quarter-final on the third day.

You never got to play Itachiyama.

The third-years were retiring.

The silence on the bus was mentally jarring - no one expected your nationals journey to end this soon. Even Yukie, who was always quick on her feet when it came to comforting the other members, was eerily silent the way back to the hotel.

The only person who was still remarkably confident, was signified by the strong words Bokuto uttered when they first left the court.

“Nothing here was a mistake.” Bokuto started, mind in his thoughts as his back faced the team. You were in the middle of handing a spare hand-towel toward Haruki when you turned to the ace. “Your tosses were incredible under the pressure.”

The entirety of the team turned to the usual mood maker, one who was so easily swayed on the court over simple things, now voicing his introspective words.

Bokuto turned to the rest of you, “We will come back here next year and carve the rest of the way.”

Akaashi nodded from beside you, other second-years agreeing with their newly determined ace. The third-year captain, now sporting an anguished smile, walked over to Bokuto to place a hand on his shoulder. The other older members followed suit, proud of their young owl growing up right before their eyes.

After the game, you split up at the hotel to return to your rooms and shower. Getting ready for the night ahead of you, the third-years stated that they were going to take the team out for dinner after the strong season.

Yukie hopped in the shower first as Kaori and you packed up some of your room. The team was still going to stay at the hotel until the end of the tournament, but your long notebooks and team journals were of no use now. Combination attacks and details on the third-years were now a thing of the past.

You had to fight the sob in your throat when you closed the folder on your captain one last time.

The silent hotel room, which was filled with giggles and teasing only hours before, was palpable against you and Kaori’s attempts to stay calm. She was affected moreso than you, having spent the last two years with the current team.

You were so occupied in your thoughts, you almost missed the silent vibration in your pocket, a notification dinging from your social media platform on Instabook.

Hey. Are you back in the hotel?

What was Sakusa doing, messaging you now of all times?

Waving the thought away, you typed: Yeah. What’s up?

I have something for you - where are you?

The tendril of suspicion shot through you, but Sakusa was definitely not the type to kick you while you were down. You messaged him back your room details, earning back a simple ok omw and nothing else to signify just why he was coming here.

Yukie was still in the shower when you stepped out. Sakusa really was before you, in all his silent glory. Sporting his usual face mask, he took something out of his pocket and thrust it toward you.

“It’s only fair, (L/N)-san.” Sakusa stated, a familiar pack of wet-wipes in his hand outstretched toward you.

You felt your smile grow, your earlier saddened disposition breaking at the strange sight. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Just take it.” Sakusa said as he grabbed your sleeve and placed it in your empty hand.

“Well, okay.” You said with a slight chuckle in your voice.

“I meant to give it to you at the complex, but..”

“Yeah.” You finished for him, the conversation coming to a silence. “Thank you, Sakusa-san.”

He looked at you with an unwavering gaze, “Sakusa is just fine.”

“Then just (L/N) is fine too.” You added, finally feeling that you were coming to terms to some sort of odd friendship with the spiker. Holding up your phone, you motioned to it without voicing your question. “So we don’t have to rely on random appearances?”

“Ah.” He agreed, taking out his phone as you exchanged chat-ID’s.

That was the end of the conversation, him waving goodbye once it was over and walking down the hall to the stairwell. A part of you watched him go, almost smiling when you realized that of course the athlete would opt for the stairs when you were on the tenth floor.

You tried to silently enter back into the room, Kaori in the shower this time as Yukie was packing up her things. Leaning your back against the door, you tried to placate your undoubtedly rosy blush - you did not need a mirror to know that you were adorned with one now.

“Look at you - you think you’re slick?” The smirk on her face was enough warning that you were in danger, “I saw you two from the peephole.”

“He was just dropping off a gift.” You state, as if that would sate her curiosity at all. Instead, she stood up at attention.

She had one eye narrowed at you, “Right, of course. What else was I thinking - other than the totally normal gift-giving for two platonic members of rival volleyball teams.”

“Yup.” You nodded with a reserved smile, before making your way further into the room.

Yukie pushed the conversation as she got on the bed, “Are you secretly dating Sakusa?”

You flushed immediately, “It’s not like that!”

“And what is it like?”

“We’re just… friends?” You bit out, the lack of confidence even obvious to your own ears. Was that a question or a statement?

The relationship you had with the young man was strange. Were you friends? It was more like mutual acquaintances who happened to have a totally-but-also-not intimate moment. You could never really tell what he was thinking - being of very few words.

“And suddenly you’ve convinced me.” Yukie teased, before going silent as Kaori entered the room. You took this as your escape, readying your stuff quickly and entering the shower area before she could continue.

Thankfully, Yukie dropped the subject while you were around others. Your previous, almost giddy expression, came back to a silently gloomy one as you went for your last dinner with the Fukurōdani third-years.

Any previously unshed tears slammed to the forefront when seated around your peers. Even while sad and crying, your team was loud and scorching down food in the small ramen bar. The third-years thanked you all for your efforts, for the growth you had since the start of the school year, and sent you off for the new year.

April swung around quicker than you would like. You were a newly minted second-year, priorities quickly changing almost as quickly. The questions from guidance counselors and coaches were unending: asking you about your future, what you wanted to do, what electives classes were you going to take. It was all preparation before your final year - it was almost mentally jarring against the happy and almost innocent vibe from your initial year of a high school.

Sakusa’s phone number untouched since the day outside your hotel room.

Bokuto rising to the role of captain in his third-year was no question. But seeing Akaashi, now a second-year Vice-captain, it set all your “uwu’s on fire,” as Yukie dubbed it. He earned the role, without a doubt, but seeing the two together was so strangely heart-warming.

Bokuto and Akaashi were a strange pair, but they got along together so well, it was hard to imagine anyone else on your team with these roles. Akaashi mother hen’ed you all, but there were times that it seemed the young setter could almost read Bokuto’s mind.

They were a perfect match, you often teased.

Akaashi would often stare at you blankly when you reiterated this, but Bokuto would only fuel the fire. The duo were almost always in immediate distance to one another, oftentimes your captain would swing his arm across Akaashi’s shoulders or just initiate some time of close distance. After all, they were roommates now in the dorms, that was not just because they were captain and vice, you had a feeling.

It made you wonder what else was there beyond the surface.

But, you still had your own job to do as manager. By the end of the year, Fukurōdani would be losing two of its precious managers. And so, here you were, on the hunt for a first-year to take on the role and get used to the responsibilities of being manager to a powerhouse school.

Your team was focused on finding their rhythm, endless individual practices to get the first-years up to speed with the Fukurōdani standard. The regular line-up was still mostly comprised of third and second years, but first-year Wataru Onaga showed lots of promise. Standing at 191 centimetres, he earned his way to starting middle blocker on the team.

On occasion, you would be found in the library with other members of the volleyball team, studying for classes and researching upcoming teams in the preliminary matches.

You noticed how Sakusa earned himself a formal ranking among the top three aces of the country - Itachiyama now a heavy favorite to win in nationals. He was growing in regard very quickly, attention on him was a far cry from the initial rumors surrounding his first-year. Now he was on the cover of Volleyball monthly, pages dedicated to an expose of his career.

Would he even remember you?

Thoughts of the spiker were pushed away again with the onslaught of practice matches with other schools within the Fukurōdani Academy Group. Captain Kuroo was no better than regular Kuroo when it came to being the instigator. If anything, it seemed like the cat hung around your group of friends even more now.

He was often seen at group hangouts, whether just going to the mall or the local arcade. It was interesting, to say the least, the combination of your loud owl and the conniving cat, their two silent wards in tow.

You had a practice match with Itachiyama around the corner. And while you told yourself that you were not disappointed in your waning friendship(?) with Sakusa, you could not help the lightened feeling in your heart when he took the time to greet you before the match. Komori waved at you as well, before stretching and getting ready.

You watched the sets with careful eyes, Yukie taking notes alongside you. Almost everything was documented - how many times Bokuto was blocked, how many successful jump serves, service aces - and this was for both sides of the court. You could not help the way your eyes were drawn to Sakusa, his flexible wrist combined with his power making a combination the bane of your middle blockers.

Yukie caught you a few times, saying nothing but wagging her eyebrows at you in a wavy motion.

Losing three to two sets, you sighed and moved to help clean-up the gymnasium. Wheeling the scoreboard to the storage room with Yukie, all volleyball members were moving about the gym to make sure it was properly organized. You stepped out to check the hammock cart holding the volleyballs, counting them to ensure that none of them belonged to the rival school.

Should you say something more to Sakusa?

You paused, looking up from the volleyballs and frowning at yourself.

Wait… Why did it even matter? Why did you even want to talk to him? Yes, you were on friendly terms with the ace. But why did you seek him out so much? You were friends with Kuroo, so did not feel the same draw to the middle blocker as you did now?

Why was your mind so intent on just something with the ace?

Mind reeling with these questions, it was to your surprise when he approached you.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You replied in a much smaller voice, attempting to put a smile back on your face, as if you needed to hide your earlier train of thought.

“Are you available this weekend?”

“Uh, wait what?” You could not help the incredulous words coming out of your mouth.

Seriously what??? How do you go from weeks of not talking to this??

Yukie was a few paces away from you, opting to walk away from your conversation to give some privacy, after all the two of you were standing in a gymnasium filled with two bustling volleyball teams. But she undoubtedly heard that last question since her head whipped around back in your direction.

Seeing that Sakusa was actually waiting for a response, you thought back to your plans with Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kenma group to play the usual Mario Kart at the latter’s house.

“No, I’m free.” You responded.

Yukie laughed, before walking away entirely, as to not give away her eavesdropping.

“Ok. I’ll text you the details for this weekend.”

Not able to hide your surprise, you let out a sound of uncertainty as you raised your palms. “Wait, for what?”

“Hang-out.” Sakusa stated, as if it was such a natural event. “Komori suggested inviting you so I did.”

You dropped your hands, letting them fall to the sides and letting out a small, “Huh.”

He waved you off, saying he was going to text you the details tomorrow, before joining back with his team. Yukie’s face was indescribable and Haruki sported a similar expression only a few paces away.

Their questioning gazes were only pocketed for later, passed the time the coaches had given pointers and tips to members of the team. Eventually, when the other school had all packed up and left, the third-years were quick to bombard you with questions.

“HAAAA! (L/N), how could you hide this from us?!”

“You two have been close, this whole time?”

“Not dating, my ass.” Yukie teased as she crossed her arms.

Akaashi placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm voice cutting above the rest. “What was that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” You answered candidly.

Bokuto and Haruki turned their heads in confusion while Yukie looked at you with a face asking you, really?

“Yeah, we haven’t actually spoken to each other since nationals.”

“Wait, really? That long ago?” Yukie asked this time, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. That invite really feels… out of nowhere.” You explained, your own confusion evident on your visage and reflecting back on the other volleyball team members.

“Eh, it’s probably nothing.” Bokuto shrugged as he walked away, “We hangout with other schools all the time.”

Yukie held a flat-expression toward the ace’s retreating back, Haruki following behind him with a shrugging expression. Akaashi and the brunette manager turned back to you, the female grabbing your hand as she did.

“Okay, really?”

Akaashi sighed, grabbing your attention. “Text me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Wow, look at you Mr. Chivalrous.” Yukie commented, making Akaashi roll his eyes before turning to you seriously. You nodded in affirmation, to which he accepted and walked away.

You waved goodbye to the other members as they closed up the gymnasium, walking with the other managers back to the female dorms.

Yukie was not letting it go at all, repeating her question from earlier. “Okay, really?”

You smiled this time, voice mocking as you responded. “Yeah, really.”

“What happened?” Kaori asked.

“Sakusa-san asked her out on a date.” Yukie spun the tale.

“It’s not a date.” You cut in.

“Oh yeah, then why are you smiling so giddy?” Yukie asked with wide, accusatory eyes.

“Because it’s… Shut up.” You stated between nervous laughter, “He asked me to hangout with a group - it includes their libero Komori-san.”

“Maybe he likes you.” Kaori commented, to which Yukie agreed vigorously.

“Do not put these assumptions in my head.” You stated with a loud sigh, head angled toward the sky at their words.

Yukie sighed back, “Don’t deny the possibility.”

You shrugged it off, knowing that there was no ending to their teasing at this point. You repeated the truth in your head like a mantra: he was nothing more than a friend. It was not worth looking into every single interaction you had with the young man - after all, he was rather strange when it came to social interactions to begin with.

Ironically, you had to think that the others did not know him like you did. He was straight-up with his words, not fully understanding the meaning of it or how it affected others. If Sakusa wanted to do something or felt something, he would lay it out straight - that’s just the type of person he was.

And you would not be looking into the words between the lines.

But it was increasingly hard to do this when both Yukie and Kaori invaded your room Saturday morning, stating that your usual plain clothes would just not do for a day like this. Two hours later, your hair was in beachy waves and your planned “plain” outfit was replaced with a casual, knee-length springy dress over a white shirt.

What if this really was nothing but a casual encounter for him? Would your outfit be more forward then you intended?

Any of your self-conscious questions were too late, since before you knew it you were already on a train to the destination by Kichijoji. You had a few more stops to your destination, the packed train-car as busy as ever. Distracting yourself from those previous thoughts, you whipped out your phone to check the messages that had been pouring in since early morning.

GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

11:11 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )> Look at how cute (F/N)-chan looks Attached: cutie.jpg

11:11 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) She should dress like this every day!! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

11:11 haaaruki ! WOAH :O 11:11 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ Hey hey hey

11:11 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ look at you ;)

11:12 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤) That would seem difficult considering (F/N)-san’s sleep schedule and the amount of time it takes for her to get ready. 11:13 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑) damn girl u look so pretty!!

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ I still can’t believe she abandoned us for saks >:(

11:13 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )> you can’t stop her from dating dad

11:13 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) well you know what they say bro’s before hoes

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ eye-

11:13 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤) But otherwise, (F/N) looks beautiful today.

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ >>:C

You skipped to the end, scrolling through at least a few dozen more messages that ranged the topic from the picture of you getting ready to the supposed Mario Kart tournament that you were now missing out on. Typing in your response:

12:35 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ) Sorry boys, had to look cute for today only ;)

12:35 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) IT’S A DATE!!! I KNEW IT!

12:35 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑) BO YOU OWE US YAKISOBA BREAD

12:35 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ ITS A DATE??

12:35 haaaruki !! be safe mom!!

12:36 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ) it’s NOT a date (・-・)

12:36 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ HA

12:36 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑) bruh

12:36 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡) JUST YOU WAIT

12:36 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤) Text me the moment you need an out.

You rolled your eyes as you pocketed your phone into your side-bag, leaning into the halting train as it crawled to a stop on the Keiou Inokashira Line. Walking out and looking for any telltale signs of your friend, you scanned the train station with wandering eyes as you walked out.

But, it was not necessary, since Komori’s light brown hair was an easy pick in the crowd. However, next to him was a volleyball player that you could easily pick from the bustling station. While Japanese men were generally around 170 centimetres, seeing Sakusa’s curly mop of hair high above the crowd was enough for you to follow.

It seemed they saw you immediately as well, Komori waving at you to come over while Sakusa merely kept his eyes trained on you. With them were a handful of other members of the Itachiyama volleyball club, from the players to their female manager, you recognized them from practice matches.

They invited you into the group of teenagers quickly, as if nothing was strange at all, waving at you with smiles before shooting looks at both Komori and Sakusa.

What the hell was happening?

You had a feeling in the back of your mind that something was happening around you, that they all knew something that you did not know.

You walked along with the group into the popular neighborhood of Kichijoji - the group traveling from food stand to souvenir stand. Their female manager was so friendly, unlike how seriously quiet she was when visiting. She even asked to touch your hair at one point, saying it looked so bouncy and pretty today.

“The tracksuits don’t do any of us justice.” She complained, “But you look so nice today, (L/N)-san!”

You smiled at her words, “Thanks. We had an off-day today too. So I figured why not.”

“Well, it looks great. Don’t you think so too, Kiyoomi?”

The sudden question had you reeling back in surprise, turning to the black-haired teen. Why was he suddenly being brought into this? What were they trying to do?

But the thousands of questions in your brain came to a halt when Sakusa turned to you and simply said. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” You replied, more out of reflex than truly getting his words. So in your head, you failed to notice the teasing smile she shot her ace, before turning away back to the rest of the group.

They gathered around the menu of a popular crepe stand, you left standing there in surprise as the group continued on without you. Sakusa stayed beside you, before taking a step and inclined his head toward the rest.

Shaking your head away from the niggling feeling in the back of your mind, you lightly jogged to catch up with the rest, finding a pace between Sakusa and Komori.

The brunette turned to during your walk, “You’re probably really surprised to be here.”

“Yeah…”

Komori chuckled, a hand on his neck as he lightly muttered beneath his breath. “Honestly, I’m surprised he did it.”

“Did what?” You asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing important.” He waved off, “I’m just glad you were able to join our group today.”

Deciding not to push it, you instead said. “Well, thanks for the invite.”

The group’s conversation ranged from the food stalls, to your long awaited destination at the billiards club. The building had, true to its name, billiards tables and other vintage arcade machines.

You were unsure where to place yourself within this group, obvious inside jokes that you would not understand between some of the other members. Thankfully, Komori and their female manager were very quick to try to get you to weigh in on the conversation.

“Well, I think Shrek is funnier in Japanese.” She stated it clear as day, as if a fact. You had to stop yourself from chuckling, one hand on the pool cue since it was your turn to go.

“But it’s not funnier than Cars.” Another countered.

“Have you heard Mater in the original movie?” You replied after hitting the ball, watching it not follow the path you had intended to hit it in at all. “That’s the one English dub I’ll accept.”

She smiled before arguing, “As if a cowboy accent is funnier than Shrek with a Jojo’s voice?”

You attempted to dead-pan your face, Sakusa stepping up to the billiards table after you. “We’re Japanese. We all have Jojo’s voice.”

“Alright Pikachu, calm down.”

You held a mock-offended hand to your chest, not able to hide the laughter at her jest. Despite being a beginner at billiards, and getting absolutely wrecked by everyone else playing, you were having fun with the random group.

This was not just the Itachiyama volleyball club - a fan favorite to win nationals.

These were high school teenagers, enjoying their free day off.

It was like a wide-awakening of your perspective. After all, you went to a powerhouse school yourself. When people saw Bokuto, saw Fukurōdani as a whole - how many times were people intimidated at Prelims just because of your team’s reputation? Taking Itachiyama off its pedestal was the same and it was hard to remind yourself of this fact.

But finally putting names to faces, personalities to people, you let it sink in that they were not that unlike you and your team.

After billiards, you continued with the group to a hot-pot restaurant a few blocks away. Komori hung especially around you, you noted inwardly. Was it to keep you from feeling left out of the group? But why were you even with this group to begin with?

Wait.

Didn’t Komori call you cute during your first encounter?

You felt something inside you inwardly swell and then sag. Were you here because Komori wanted you to be here? Even though your direct invitation came from Sakusa, the ace reasoned that it was at Komori’s suggestion. Were you invited here to get closer to the libero?

Despite being surrounded by the loud vbc members, their eagerness to eat bustling in both action and conversation, you felt yourself sag at the realization.

They were trying to get you closer to Komori?

You inwardly slapped yourself on the head for being so closed-minded. Not that he was a bad guy - he was the best libero in the entire country after all. Volleyball skills aside, Komori was trying his best to make you comfortable in the group. He was naturally outgoing, friendly, and had been the reason behind your invite in the first place.

But another part of your mind, the part that you had been trying to close off for so long, could not help but glance over to Sakusa and hoped that he had been the reason.

The silent ace caught your gaze, making you turn away immediately and flush at being caught.

It was… disappointing.

But you failed to notice how Sakusa kept his gaze on you, the female manager watching this interaction entirely with amused eyes.

You were still trapped in your thoughts. You had gotten your hopes up after all, despite saying to all the other members that it truly was not that way between the two of you.

And now it was fully true.

Entering the restaurant, the female manager, having the foresight to call ahead to reserve for your large group, you deliberated where you wanted to sit at the table. You went to take a seat next to the manager, to which she motioned to Komori in a none-too-subtle way, to instead take the seat before you could finish your question.

That left a single seat left on this side - the corner one that was only next to Komori.

Of course they were trying to set you up with him, why else did you think otherwise?? You almost slapped yourself on the head for how tunnel-minded you were before this.

You took the seat, shooting a smile toward Komori that did not quite reach your eyes. But, to your surprise, the brunette muttered a small excuse of having to go to the bathroom or something, you could not catch it exactly since it was so quick. And instead, the ace that had been plaguing your thoughts for the last few minutes, had plopped down into the spot.

You snapped your head forward, grabbing at the menu and stating that it all looked good. The female manager smiled at you, more like smirked, before joining in the conversation of what she wanted to order.

As per your team mom instinct™, you took out your hand sanitizer and offered it to the other table members.

“Thank you, (L/N)-chan!” She replied, taking the small container and using some. You offered it to the rest and let it pass around. “You even beat Sakusa offering it to us.”

Komori took the seat across from you when he returned, adding to the conversation quickly. “That’s (L/N)-chan’s?”

“Yeah. Otherwise, it would’ve been paired with a lecture from our dear ace here.” The female added. “It’s almost like you complete each other.”

Wait, what?

You smiled awkwardly, eyes landing on the silent Sakusa who had yet to say anything.

“Ah. I have the same brand.” He said when the bottle made its way back.

Okay, not what you were expecting at all. You took it from his hands, a small grin still on your face, using it before storing it away.

A few minutes in and it was clear that members of the table were breaking out into their smaller conversations. To your left was a wall and so that left the silent Sakusa or Komori across from you, who was trying hard to converse with only the person next to him.

“I saw the article about you in volleyball monthly.” You started. “Congrats on officially being one of the top spikers in the country.”

Sakusa turned to you when you first spoke, replying. “Thanks, but it’s brought a lot of annoying attention.”

He was actually talking to you? Stop. He’s human too.

“I could imagine - scouts, fangirls - it’s never ending.” You responded. “A lot of girls like to hang around and watch practice matches for Bokuto, I’d assume it’s the same.”

“It’s annoying.” He stated curtly, “They’re dirtying up the gym with their outdoor shoes every time.”

Of all things… you thought inwardly with an amused grin.

“Being so popular now, there’s probably tons of people who approach you based solely on reputation. I hope you don’t think that of me.” You stated.

“I don’t.” He said back just as quickly.

You smiled, before continuing the conversation. “Even if their energy is misplaced, I can’t help but agree that you’ve accumulated a lot of earned attention.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yeah.” Your smile widened unconsciously, “I mean, you’re more than just the title. You were a good spiker before any labels told anyone that.”

Sakusa looked at you, in what looked like a flat expression.

What you did not know was how thoroughly he was scanning your face, just to gauge how genuine your words were. You went to rival schools? Other schools in the prefecture were so quick to antagonize him and his team. After all, Bokuto made his feelings obvious during the last practice match. And yet you were willing to just hangout, of all things, with people you hardly knew? So willing to compliment the ace with the largest target on his back??

Your actions confused a realist like him.

Why even bother to be nice to him way back then? Why try to keep in touch? Why be here today?

And even more so, why did he want to know the answer to these questions so badly?

“(L/N)-chan, what would you usually be doing on your off days?” The manager broke you out of your thoughts.

“Well, today was supposed to be a Mario Kart tournament with some of the Nekoma kids.” You thought back to your earlier plans. “As crazy as it is, we tend to just lounge around and play video games with Kuroo and Kenma.”

“Ah, that’s right. Nekoma is in the Fukurōdani Academy Group as well.” She stated, her voice lowering toward the end.

“Yeah, but we’re pretty close to Kuroo and rest beyond volleyball. I don’t know how, but our captains all get along like frat bro’s.” You reminisced to the last interaction, “But at least with all the managers together, we have five mother hen’s, six including Akaashi, to guide the group.”

She laughed, before biting her lip.

You noticed the action and questioned, “Something wrong?”

“No.” She tried to wave off, “Well. I don’t know. I’m kind of jealous.”

You let out an incredulous snort before leaning forward. “Why?”

“You get along really well with the other schools in the prefecture. Enough so that I see you guys,” she motioned to you in a circular motion, you took this to signify the Fukurōdani team as a whole, “Like everywhere on social media.”

“Oh?”

“Parties, weekends, you name it. Even Masaki-san, who is infamous for being so angry looking, posted you and the rest out swimming last summer break.” You thought back to the event, the name of the now captain of the Ubugawa High volleyball team jumping out at you.

House parties… Wasn’t that a regular high school thing to do? And while you were all responsible teenagers with a lot to lose, the team did indulge in various friendly gatherings that did include teens across multiple schools in the prefecture.

You hadn’t said anything yet, so she continued. “Meanwhile, our coach has us play against college teams since he insists it’s better practice. We don’t really play with anyone else in the prefecture other than you guys - and you hate us.”

“That’s not true.” You cut in immediately, to which she raised a brow. “Believe me. The only outspoken one would be Bokuto and none of that is beyond surface level - he’s a really nice guy and would never actually hate anyone.”

You continued, “It may just seem that way since we’re immediate rivals. But I honestly had no idea that it made you guys feel so isolated.”

“Yeah…” She admitted, her voice trailing off at the end.

“It doesn't have to stay this way. After all, you were nice enough to invite me out now.” You replied, a bright smile back on your face. “Why don’t we exchange numbers?”

She radiated a smile reflecting your own, taking out her phone and quickly inputting your digits in. “Wow, you’re so friendly.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You replied.

She held her smile for a few more seconds, before her eyes slid over to the silent ace between you two.

“I’m so glad Sakusa wanted to invite you with us today.”

You looked toward him as well, Sakusa meeting your eyes before turning away. “Uh, I was glad I was able to join.”

“Yeah, well. It’s no wonder he…”

Her voice came to a halt when the ace looked straight at her, the waves of warning enough for even you to feel, without having to see his expression.

Sakusa wanted you to be here?

“He…?” You questioned, to which she smiled and shrugged, not completing her previous thought.

The rest of the dinner went without any special events - even holding light conversation with Itachiyama’s ace next to you. Conversation with Sakusa was curt, but he meant no harm. If you had to describe it, he was dense in the way of conversation, similar to Bokuto and yet for the opposite reasons.

Bokuto was so extroverted that he got along with people so easily. But, it often led to him mistakenly leading on girls for how friendly he was. Meanwhile, on the other side of the spectrum, introverted Sakusa kept to himself because that was where he was comfortable, not because he thought others beneath him.

You felt your heart swell at having learned a little bit more about the ace.

After dinner, the nightsky reflected back at you as you went to part ways with the group. Dorms in opposite directions, you were surprised when Sakusa offered to walk with you to the train station.

And while your heart swelled at the implications, Sakusa reasoned it was only fair since he was the one that invited you out. Now that it was late, it may not be safe for you to be out late and it would be on his head if something happened.

His manager laughed, while Komori just sighed, muttering that he was hopeless.

She bid you farewell with a tight hug, saying you should text her when you get home. The rest waved at you amicably before walking off in the opposite direction.

Whatever the reasoning may be, there was no logical reason as to why a germaphobe like him would sit directly next to you on the train back home. Your shoulders were even touching, but neither of you voiced this fact.

“Today was actually really fun.” You started, turning to him on your right. There were only a few other people taking this line and they were mostly crowded around the opposite end of your train-car. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“You don’t have to say thanks so many times.”

“Did I?” You asked with a sheepish smile, “I honestly didn’t notice, but I do mean it.”

“Good.” His eyes bore into your own so seriously, “Because I’m glad you did.”

Unsure what to even say, you just kept on smiling. “Thank-

“What did I say?” Despite his normally cold visage, the tilt in his voice was enough to signify to you that he was teasing you.

You inclined your head toward him, “Fine. I’m… really happy, that we’re friends.”

He looked at you fully, not saying anything and making you question if you overstepped, before Sakusa stated, “Kiyoomi.”

“What?”

“Call me Kiyoomi.”

“Oh.” You smiled, “(F/N) is fine too.”

The rest of the train ride had such a lighthearted atmosphere. The only other person you could sit in comfortable silence with was Akaashi, but even then he was so silently sassy that it was nothing like Sakusa’s energy. And yet, at that moment, you felt so comfortable in his presence.

Sakusa did as he said he would, walking you all the way to the school-gates before finally bidding you farewell.

“See you around, (F/N).”

You reiterated it back to him, only walking off when he disappeared from sight. The smile on your face stayed etched there all the way back to your dorm room - where Yukie and Kaori were eagerly waiting on your lower bunk-bed, your roommate nowhere to be seen.

“Details, (F/N)-chan!” Yukie yelled out immediately, an enthused Kaori not too far behind her.

And you did just so for the entirety of the hangout - from the billiards club, the manager’s desire to be closer to other teams, to your conversation with Sakusa on the train. They nodded along as you explained, having brought snacks with them as well, it was clear they were waiting for a while. How they got in your dorm room - that was a question for another time.

They chuckled at you for thinking Komori was the reason and nodded in understanding about the female manager. It was only at the end when they really questioned you and Sakusa.

“So… not dating, huh?” Yukie asked with a raised brow.

“Not yet.” Kaori answered.

“Damn, that means I owe Bokuto Yakisoba bread.”

You chuckled at the girls’ words, but felt that you could no longer honestly deny their teasing. The two of you were nothing more than friends, but there was no denying that you wouldn’t mind the possibility of being more than that…

Fuck it, you liked him.

No longer doing mental somersaults in your brain, it was surprisingly easy to accept the fact that you had a crush on the Itachiyama ace.

And your relationship only seemed to grow as the school year went on. During the next practice match, you formally introduced Yukie and Kaori to the other manager. The four of you were quick buds and she was invited to your dorm room on occasion. Other members of the team greeted you warmly, Sakusa even calling you by your first name, confirming that your last conversation was not just a fever dream you had one day.

Your heart only squeezed in on itself more when you felt your lingering looks become mutual. Sakusa had always garnered your attention during practice matches. But between plays and matches, you would just be looking at him when suddenly, he would be looking at you too.

No matter how many times it happened, Yukie always made sure to tease you when she caught you.

You would text him memes and would receive a dry lol in return. There were times that he would spin the conversation and ask if you had eaten yet.

Was he really trying to mother hen the Fukurōdani manager? You thought with a smile.

Your small texts and conversations were tantamount to much more when it came to Sakusa. His actions meant much more than it did to the average person. He did not waste movements, nor did he waste his own time. These were more than just dry texts - Sakusa could easily not reply at all.

You learned that he disliked oranges due to its messiness. He actually liked the colors of his school tracksuit, even though they were bright against the soft hues of the Tokyo landscape. He was not a fan of the interviews, but knew it was a small sacrifice if he wanted to go pro. He loved his team and wanted to go far with them.

These little details made you like him even more - there was so much more to him than just volleyball.

When you finally voiced your feelings to Yukie, she gave you a soft smile and a pat on the shoulder. “I have eyes, you know. We all do, actually. But I’m glad you finally caught up.”

You laughed at her words then - maybe you really were a late bloomer when it came to your feelings?

Your frequent texts became frequent calls. Those became frequent late night video chat’s and soon enough, even your coach was teasing you over your close relationship.

“The next practice match with your boyfriend’s team is scheduled for next Friday.” They stated with a straight face to the entire volleyball team, making the third-years chuckle and Bokuto even nudge you with his elbow.

“Not saying you’re just friends anymore?” Yukie asked with a smirk one time.

You shrugged, to which Akaashi sighed before ruffling your hair.

And so, when the managers were hanging out in their hotel room at the next Interhigh National Tournament in the fall, neither Yukie nor Kaori nor the Itachiyama manager, who was chilling with you guys, batted an eyelash when Sakusa texted you to hang-out that night.

You texted back, trying to convey a teasing tone over the words. “Wouldn’t it be weird if I was having dinner with the rival team of mine at Nationals?”

His response was immediate:

Not team; just me.

You blush only increased and Yukie teased you further, “Woah, what could he possibly be sending you for you to get that red?”

“I’m willing to bet Yakisoba bread that they’ll be official before the next nationals.” The other manager stated, outstretching a hand toward Kaori and Yukie.

“Whaaaat?” The former drew out, “I’m thinking by tonight.”

“Shut up.” You stated as you blushed, putting on your outdoor shoes and a jacket.

Going down to the lobby, you scanned the room to see Akaashi and Bokuto at one of the tables. The two had such a… trusting relationship, you learned. Yes, Akaashi played the suffering card almost every day. But the setter loved to watch Bokuto play so passionately, you could see it in his eyes every time they were on the court.

Whatever was going on there, you supported it.

Turning away, you made your way over to the door where Sakusa was waiting. He looked so out of place, as per usual, hands in pockets and looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.

As you approached, Sakusa nodded to you in greeting and - to your eternal surprise - took your hand in his own before guiding you out the door. He had on winter gloves, so none of your germs would be touching his skin, but the action itself was so surprising. Yes, you talked and smiled and pined after him - but premarital holding hands?? Were you both ready for this??

He led the way over to a small cafe, walking in mutual silence and only releasing your hand when the host seated you across from each other. You eagerly soaked up the menu, eyes scanning the sweets while he deliberated over something.

Sakusa had yet to say anything to you, not grabbing at the menu either, which worried you in a way. What was it that was on his mind?

“Something wrong, Yoomi?” The nickname slipped off the tongue easily, having used it in your last night talks on the phone with one another.

“I want you to know my intentions in our relationship.”

You swallowed at his words, sure that he heard your nervous tick as well.

“I want to get to know you.”

The teasing smile was quick on your face, “Me too. I mean, that’s what we’ve been doing all along?”

“No.” He cut in instantly, tugging the face mask he had on down and off. “As in get to know you with the intention of being more than friends.”

“Oh?”

“You confuse me endlessly.” He admitted, “Your initial kindness made no logical sense - why extend it to your rival that you barely know? Why humanize me, get to know my team after all this time?”

“Because I wanted to be kind, even way back then.” You thought aloud your reasoning.

“I know you now. And what I see… That’s what I like about you.”

“Wait. You like me?”

Your humility was cute and such a rare trait in your shared interest; the small question made Sakusa smile inwardly.

“Yes. And you like me too.” He responded with a smirk, to which you could not even deny.

“Well, yeah!” You laughed as you affirmed his statement.

He tilted his head at your outburst - god help him you were so cute. His smirk morphed into one of an endearing expression, before he took a breath and calmed himself.

“I do have to be honest with you.” He started, “I want to get closer to you, more than before. But my priorities right now are volleyball.”

Your bright smile fell to a neutral grin, not really from his words, since you truly did understand his situation. He was in his third-year, college scouts and grades were on the line at every turn for him. Even tomorrow, at the Fall National tournament, his performance could very well carve out the future he was working so hard for this whole time.

Your silence must have been a telling sign for Sakusa, since he started to pour out questions in a way that usually occurred when he fixated on something.

“Stop, you don’t need to explain it to me. I understand fully. There’s too much on the line right now to get distracted.” Your smile was back on your face as you reached over to grab at his hand this time, “But I want to get to know you too.”

“Good.”

The hand under your’s squeezed back lightly, before upturning the positions so yours rested in his larger one. It was a silent moment, sharing eye contact that felt so intimate, and yet similar to the one you shared at the last tournament. His smile, rarer than the times Bokuto fell silent, was small and for you alone at this moment.

What he was asking for was not an outright relationship - nothing about this was normal, but you wouldn’t have preferred it to be.

--------

(continue; BUT SPOILER WARNING TO CHAPTER 392!! :O)

You sat in the stands on the Black Jackals side, cheering on the team of your boyfriend of three years. Adorned on your shoulders was Sakusa’s sports jacket, his last name shown proudly on your back. Next to you, Akaashi and Yukie were loudly cheering for the team’s victory.

Seeing both Bokuto and Sakusa on the same team was no longer a strange sight. And, instead, always elicited a pang of pride surging through you every time you watched their games.

The two of you never confirmed your relationship throughout the rest of high school. And while this made many of your then teammates groan at your ambiguous relationship, especially since many kept betting Yakisoba bread to no avail, you would not have it any other way.

After a few months from your conversation in the cafe, Sakusa would kiss your cheek in goodbye, no matter who was around you. When walking around Shibuya, with either yours or his or even with Nekoma’s team around, he would hover shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

And when Itachiyama, the favored team to win Nationals as a whole, lost to Inubushi East High - you held him in your embrace the entire night in the comfort of his hotel room. He did not cry then, but his disposition was enough for you to know that he was not okay.

And when Fukurōdani made it all the way to the finals of the National Spring Interhigh, only to get eliminated, Sakusa held you close despite your loud crying the next day.

You knew how much Sakusa cherished you, that was all that mattered. And so when he kissed you for the first time, even without a label to your relationship, none of that mattered. Your feelings to each other only grew with time and what happened in the private recess of your relationship was for you two alone.

Watching the pro team win the game 3:2, with your boyfriend getting the first service ace of the game, you almost cried in joy at how far he progressed in achieving his dream. This was a far cry from his first pro-game, but seeing him on the court, surrounded by your Fukurōdani friends, brought so much nostalgic feelings to your heart.

Even as the rest of the audience cleared the stadium, you and the two others lingered. Bokuto made sure to wave at Akaashi, his significant other since the day you lost at the Spring Nationals.

You waited together until you received a text from Sakusa, then headed down toward the entrance of the changing rooms as a group. Some of the members of the Black Jackals were already waiting for you three by the time you made it through the crowd and down.

Hinata greeted you excitedly while Bokuto ran, with not a hint of hesitation, toward Akaashi. Lifting the previous setter off the ground, he placed a light butterfly kiss on his nose, careful not to hit his glasses.

“Kōtarō, please.” Akaashi attempted to chastise the volleyball player for ignoring the rest of the group and stop him from getting any deeper in his public display of affection, but the smile on his face took off the weight of his words.

“I love you.” Bokuto said, forehead to forehead with your close friend to this day, before receiving the words in kind from the previous setter.

You smiled warmly at the two - to think that they were dancing around their feelings also in high school. Having teased them a lot before, it only warmed your heart to know that they found their eternal happiness in each other.

Yukie was also smiling behind you, before Bokuto took the both of you in his arms for a long awaited hug. Your high school best-friend offered him a Yakisoba bread after, it was not a silent tradition after all the lost bets she participated in. Bokuto took it with a smile, putting the bread in his pack before encasing Akaashi’s hand in his own.

Atsumu was next to leave the changing room, shamelessly flirting with both you and Yukie the moment he laid eyes on you.

You laughed at the setter’s attempts, “Come on blondie, give it up.”

“You know, I think you’d make a great manager for our team.” He ended it with a wink.

“(F/N)-chan used to be my manager before!” Bokuto cut in, sticking his tongue out in jest at the end.

You felt strong arms wrap around your midsection from behind, Sakusa having quietly exited the changing room, before feeling his lips against the side of your head. “Sorry for making you wait. I had to wait for them to sanitize the showers again after Atsumu used it before me.”

The setter sputtered in reaction, after being implied as dirty, but was honestly used to it by now.

Only when Bokuto inclined his head toward the exits did Sakusa let go of you. But only for a second, grabbing your hand in his own as you headed out. The group had agreed earlier about going somewhere for the victory dinner - probably the usually ramen place you haunted in Shibuya.

Facing you fully now - Sakusa held your cheeks in his hands, the coarse skin affected by the endless hours of enduring volleyball. You leaned into the motion as he lowered his height closer to you. Familiar with each other’s nuances by now, you angled your head to side as your hands comfortably wrapped around his neck. Nudging your nose slightly with his own, he rested his forehead against yours before the velvet skin of his lips matched your own.

You felt one of his hands move to curve around your waist, bringing you closer to him as he deepened your act of affection. Greedy to just feel more of him, you leaned into Sakusa again, lips meeting twice, three times, before you pulled away.

His loud groan was palpable to the now silent hallway.

Sakusa was only ever so affectionate when you were in private. And so for him to be this forward while the possibility of getting caught still hung in the balance was a rare thing - not that you were complaining.

“Come on, we should go catch-up with the rest of your team.” You said almost breathlessly, still sharing the same breath in your close embrace.

You felt one of his hands travel behind your head slowly, grazing the back of your neck softly as he went. You leaned into him at the feeling, sensitive to the touch. The smirk on his face was obvious, the jackass - teasing you in public of all places.

“Do we have to?”

Was he trying to tempt you to just go straight home to your shared apartment?

Not one to be easily swayed, you gave him a small peck on the lips before backing out of his embrace entirely.

His hands dropped down to yours as you went, “Yes, we have to.”

Pulling you back to him, and chastely kissing your forehead this time, Sakusa replied. “Okay, but only for you.”

Your smile only widened then, at his affection words meant only for you.

Your relationship was never easy, busy with your respective college degrees, and the attention that came with being a professional athlete gaining world-renown. Like every other couple, you fought, and cried, and loved each other so much in your own little ways.

The two of you had a quiet sort of romance. You were not the sort who would flaunt your relationship in public, nor would you so eagerily utter the words I love you as other couples, but you knew that what you had was real.

What started as a chance encounter became the best partner you could ever ask for.

------------------------

Author’s notes:

The only reason I’m thinking Fukurōdani has dorms is just an educated guess:

All the schools that have “Academy” in the name seem to be the ‘higher’ or more prestigious schools. Karasuno High, Nekoma High, Shinzen High - none of these places have dorms. But Shiratorizawa Academy; Fukurōdani Academy; Itachiyama Academy -> since Shiratorizawa is confirmed to have dorms i figured ayyy let's roll with it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ A loooot of my assumptions are going to be based off Shiratorizawa - like the fact that they feel they’re the best and practice with colleges instead of other hs cause they’re not good enough lmao

IT ALMOST KILLS ME that we know only TWO people on the Itachiyama team and then timeskip hits and its like ?? LOL ok ?? hype them up for so long and JUST NOW we see Sakusa play ok ok ok

✧ Masterlist

5K notes · View notes

readerbell · 2 years

Text

The Great Hunt Epigraph & Prologue

Epigraph

I really should’ve paid attention to the Karaethon Cycle because Robert Jordan kept telling us the world will fall apart lol. There was no reason for me to go all Pikachu face when famine and war fell over the world. Even so, all the prophecies in the world wouldn’t prepare me for what actually transpires lol.

“And it shall come to pass that what men made shall be shattered…” I’m presuming these are the crumbling seals?

“and the Shadow shall lie across the Pattern of the Age, and the Dark One shall once more lay his hand upon the world of man.” all the craziness in the latter half of the series.

“Yet one shall be born to face the Shadow, born once more as he was born before, and shall be born again, time without end.” - The cycle that is the bane of Ishamael’s existence. Why has he never goaded Lews Therin into balefiring him? Even if Lews Therin was hesitant to balefire people, Rand was trigger happy and would do him a favour… and nothing says I win again Lews Therin like taking him with him…

“The Dragon shall be Reborn, and there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth at his rebirth.” The Aiel war.

“In sackcloth and ashes shall he clothe the people…” I get ashes but sackcloth? Is that just war and famine reducing people to this?

“and he shall break the world again by his coming, tearing apart all ties that bind.” Said Bashere, the Aiel, and others.

“Let tears flow, O ye people of the world. Weep for your salvation.” I do want to cry already because this time I know what’s ahead of our poor boy.

Prologue

Reading about the airs of the man who calls himself Bors on a reread is so cringe-inducing. The front he presents is so irreconcilable with his true nature as a spineless coward with no endearing qualities. Ballzy mockingly calling him Bors is such a mood; the name, like his airs, is a facade.

Still, his flip-floppy, serve-two-masters nature was apparent this early. He so badly wants to serve the Shadow to progress himself but at his most fearful he falls back on old beliefs. Had I not known he was such a loser I’d have thought Ballzy’s slip that he will defeat the Dragon in this Age or another was one reason for Bors consistently hedging his bets to impotence. His indecisiveness, as much as his general cowardice, hampers him in a way other darkfriends aren’t (they just have other vices).

What I love about this prologue (and the book generally) is that in introducing us first to glory-seeking darkfriends like Bors, Liandrin & Suroth, Robert Jordan pulls the reader into a lull. I was so on the look out for people focused on personal glory (Selene and Liandrin immediately set off my suss alarms) that I had the rug pulled out from under me with the reveal that there are people who turn to the dark for noble reasons and/or because they are so desperately disillusioned.

I also love this prologue (and subsequent interactions) for highlighting how becoming a darkfriend doesn’t erase one’s own prejudices. I too share some of Bors’ dislike of the Tar Valon witches.

I loved playing spot the darkfriend at the DF social. I definitely recognised 2 or 3 people, including my most beloved. Can’t wait to see him brought to life on the show.

“Blue eyes could mean the nobility of Andor” LOL! I thought Elayne saying Rand looked like a portrait of Tigraine was the first clue I got to who his mother might be but our first explicit clue is here? LMAO. (I don’t count Almen Bunt’s rambling as a clue but THIS I should’ve picked up on).

I do have a question though…why did Ishy turn up the way he did? I’m presuming he pulled everyone into a dreamshard. The fires are as cold as they always are in his dreamshard… He could have appeared in any form he wanted. Why appear half-burned? Is it the madness? Did he want to keep his burns so he could fuel his hate of Rand? Or did they all make the trip to Shayol Ghul? If so, why is Bors unclear as to where he is?

Lastly, I can’t believe this prologue was only 15 pages long lmao. I remember the later book prologues going on for around 3 hours & taking up 10+% of the book. I used to celebrate hearing/reading “The Wheel of Time turns…” 😂

#wheel of time #the wheel of time #wot book spoilers #the great hunt reread

22 notes · View notes

greenglassmountain · 3 years

Note

You just finished season 1!!! What do you think of it so far?! ahskshs I can’t wait until you watch season 2, it’s one of my favorite seasons. (also who are your favorite characters so far? 👀👀)

I have finished season one! I am both very confused and way too invested in this show. Everyone’s pasts are being revealed piece by piece, and it’s so confusing but intriguing that I can’t look away. Do I know what their goals are? No. Do I want them to get them? Yes. Everyone’s so intense in this story and I’m pretty sure that counts for 80% of my interest right now. Like goddamn, I don’t know what you want and neither do you but that’s not stopping you from barrelling ahead and I respect that.

Max is my darling, my favourite, my beloved, and I want only the best things for her. Silver has grown on me an alarming amount, considering I spent the entire first few episodes side-eyeing him. His bluntness is definitely an endearing factor for me; every time he’s like “don’t look at me, I just want to stay alive here” I start laughing because it is waaaay too relatable. He’s literally me in a DnD campaign. The chaos is unparalleled, the style is immaculate, the long-term consequences are ignored. My man keeps digging himself into deeper and deeper holes and it’s kind of hilarious to watch.

Flint is… my man’s a mess, tbh. I’m somehow both impressed and appalled by him, and I’m also heavily invested in him getting everything he wants. I was actually trying to explain this to a friend, and the best way I could find—and this is going to sound really odd but bear with me— was to compare him to those clips from video games where a car rockets off the tracks, flies through the air, crashes through ten different things, flips, and lands on its wheels and keeps driving as if nothing has happened. Like, that’s the vibe! That’s Flint! He somehow keeps pulling things off, and I have no clue how he does it but it’s very impressive. Like, this is simultaneously the luckiest and unluckiest man I’ve seen in my life. He’s thinking ten steps ahead while also flying by the seat of his pants. If nothing else, his sheer audacity commands respect. Crew mutinying? Lie. Friend suspicious? Lie. Get called out for lying? You guessed it—lie some more! I take back what I said about Silver digging himself into holes—Flint is definitely the champion of hole-digging. But he also seems to be the champion of unlikely solutions, so maybe it’ll even out. Either way, he’s definitely a touch unhinged and I love it. Go feral, king.

I haven’t really gotten attached to Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny yet. I mostly want to fix his hair, to be honest. And Anne getting to stab the rest of their crew for abusing Max was very therapeutic. I swing wildly between rooting for Charles Vane and wanting him to keel over and die, so I’ll let you know when I’ve reached a conclusion. I don’t really have an opinion on Eleanor Guthrie, because I respect her ambition, but she also hurt Max early on, which soured my opinion of her. On the other hand, not doing that would have stood in the way of Flint finding the location for the Urca, which I also couldn’t abide, so… Jury’s out on her and Vane, but I am certain that those two deserve each other. Not sure whether I mean that in a good or a bad way, yet. We’ll see how we go.

My first favourite character was actually Gates. His competency and bromance with Flint gave me life, and then… well… we saw how that ended. I almost cried. Also, Billy. Billy was a favourite. Why do they keep killing my faves? I’d like to register a complaint.

#anyway here are my very disorganised thoughts #also screw richard guthrie he's a bad father and a bad person and ruining everyone's plans #tldr I'm rooting for people and I don't know why #asks and answers #onto season two!#asks and tags

7 notes · View notes

pinencurls · 4 years

Text

“I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”

Hiii so this is my entry to @stellarboystyles‘s three year anniversary fic challenge! I’ve been busy with getting ready for classes starting and balancing other stuff so I wrote it on and off for a week and a bit but I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is so so encouraged and appreciated <3

Here’s my masterlist of some other stuff I’ve written x

Enemies (more like friends but oops) to lovers, prompt 9 “I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”

14k+ :) Not read through sorry! pls let me know of any mistakes and I’ll correct them <3 (also i k n o w the title's bad but i couldn’t think of anything, pls feel free to leave any recs.)

- - - -

It isn’t that I hate Harry. He just makes me feel...insecure. He’s never said or done anything directly but it’s hard to feel good about yourself when all your closest confidants seem to compare you to somebody else, somebody they so clearly hold higher above you. There wasn’t a single day I could meet a mutual friend of mine and Harry’s and not have them sing his praises, and apparently everyone was a mutual friend. I’ve known Julia and Theo for years, we all met in uni when they first started going out but it wasn’t until a year ago that I somehow ended up finding myself a regular within the friendship group they’d formed when they both went into the music and fashion industries. They had ties everywhere and after a pure coincidence of running into them and their circle at a pub, almost all my weekends were spent in various art galleries or new restaurants owned by somebody’s cousin or the guy they met last night at a Fleetwood Mac concert.

I’d met Harry about five months into hanging out with the group. He’d known them a lot longer than I had, weaving his way into the little pockets of interesting people for years since the x factor. I was busy with work the first few times he was in town but after a while, Nick, the persistent party planner of the group who always managed to wrangle us together, insisted that I just had to meet him. . . . . .

Eleanor’s house is huge and buzzing with hundreds of strangers. I cling to Julia and Theo’s side, Nick and Eleanor are nowhere in sight - most likely playing host or drinking too much chardonnay in another corner of the house. These four are the only people I can say I really know here, sure there are a few familiar faces on the dance floor, either from having met them at any of Eleanor's past elaborate parties or just because of they’re not so subtle fame. That’s another thing, all the people sipping wine and dancing around me are fairly...well known. Either just within the industry or to the general public too, they’d all gain fairly high status. It was a fluke really that I got on so well with Julia when we first met on a fashion course in uni.

Julia had big goals, all of which she was on track to fulfil, that conflicted slightly with mine. Her goals consisted of runway show models clad in designer brands she might one day contribute to whereas mine were more...anti, that whole world. It took a few years to find a steady footing but eventually, I was proud of where I’d ended up: a comfortable little cubby in the fashion and sustainability columns of a handful of independent magazines. After a few nights out with Julia, I was pleasantly surprised to find her shared interests and solidarity in my work and ambitions of her own within the same ideology. But whilst that’s all well and good, I’m still very much the small indie journalist that slips through the cracks when it comes to small talk at these kinds of events. It became apparent pretty quickly that my latest articles on how fast fashion had begun its destruction of a liveable environment in developing countries weren’t as relevant or interesting to the people promoting Prada and Calvin Klein as the next met gala theme.

“Do you want another drink?” Theo asks from beside me, pulling my focus from my scan of the room.

“No thanks..I’m good.” I murmur, debating how long I have to stay before I can slip out and feel a little less awkward around all the people I have no clue how to talk to. “Think I’m gonna head off actually..”

“Look I know you hate networking, but this is just a chill get-together yeah?” Theo chuckles, squeezing my shoulder before taking another sip from his gin and tonic. “We’re in the same boat about these snooty things but tonight’s not like that, relax a bit will ya.”

Theo works mostly with small-time music artists, producing debut albums and such so we share the same deep discomfort for the many events we often find ourselves at. It’s how we got close really, week after week we’d trail behind Julia as she strikes up conversations with Hollywood elite...and he always makes getting piss drunk in someone’s pool house exceptionally fun.

Before I can further any excuses about getting home to start on the legitimate and ever-growing pile of work deadlines on my desk, a tall man in far too much Gucci to belong anywhere but in a room full of models and artists makes a beeline straight from the bar to our awkward party.

“Harry!” Theo shouts, embracing the slightly tipsy man in a hug he reciprocates.

“It’s been too long mate, how ‘ave you been?” Harry cheers, leaning back from the hug and grinning down at his friend.

“I’ve been good - busy, enjoying the free bar as always.” Theo jokes, motioning between his and my matching G and T’s. Harry’s eyes wander up from the drink, realisation dawning on his face as he smiles again.

“Ah and you must be the famous Olivia,” He reaches his hand out to mine and shakes it lightly. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself, ‘m Harry, it’s good to finally meet you, love.”

“Likewise.” I smile, trying to suppress the blush his words of endearment tease. I can’t deny the natural charm and charisma everyone always talks about now that it’s hitting me straight on. There’s something about the way he doesn’t hesitate to hold eye contact just that little bit longer that makes the room go still for just a second. He’d got it down to a T.

“Aww I see you two have finally met!” Nick interrupts. My hand falls from Harry’s grip as he’s welcomed into another hug. “About fucking time as well, been trying get this one to take a night off for weeks!”

“I literally came out with you last Thursday!” I counter, not missing the smirk setting on Harry’s face as he watches Nick and I’s back and forth. “And the Saturday before, come to think of it I’m always out with you Nicky.”

“Not when Harry’s in town though n’ that’s a different kinda night.” Nick laughs, his beer sloshing slightly in his free hand as his other remains draped over Harry’s shoulders.

That was maybe the first sign of my slight resentment for Harry. All night I wandered around with Theo hearing little bits of conversations, all surrounding the star of the party. I understood this wasn’t his doing, his humility was clear in every one of his bashful attempts to turn the conversation away from his growing achievements and onto literally anything else. He was, however, a self-proclaimed narcissist. Every time somebody would swoon over him and insist he stay the topic of conversation, a smirk tugged at his lips and stayed there as he consumed the endless and animated praise from almost all the party guests.

I’d expected some of his qualities to be untrue, learning from the past never to believe blindly of someone’s pure character when you didn’t truly know them. Especially when they frequented the gossip columns. But it wasn’t him so much, he was true to his motto of kindness and courteous even as people fawned over him, it was more the attention that surrounded him. As the night went on it became clear what Nick meant even if he didn’t know it himself. A night out with Harry was different because everyone made sure to capitalize off how different he made them feel.

. . . . .

“Can I get you anything else M’am?” The young waitress asks as she clears up my empty mug and saucer. My eyes falter a little as they adjust from the blue light of my laptop I’ve been staring at for the last twenty minutes.

“Um- oh please could I just get a refill?” I ask.

“Sure thing - mint tea right?” She smiles, adjusting the mug in her hands to make a quick note.

“Yeah..s’perfect - thank you.” She’s gone before she hears my delayed gratitudes, definitely used to the throngs of bemused writers tapping away at their laptops for hours.

I turn back to my open google doc. So far it’s written in two parts I have no idea how to connect and my senseless rereading hasn’t resulted in any legitimate progress in almost an hour. I’d accept the rut I’m stuck in and work on something else for the day if I didn’t only have the day. Last night had been filled with plans of settling in early and finishing the last two thousand words on an upcoming sustainable clothing brand. That all went out the window of course as my phone buzzed off the kitchen counter with Nick’s insistence of yet another night out to celebrate ending the work week - his was quite different to mine. It was easy to ignore the persistent beeping of my phone as new texts and call notifications popped up every three minutes, but less so when the rhythmic bursts of noise were replaced by knocks on my front door.

Within 40 minutes of opening it to Nick in a silk shirt and jeans too skinny for someone pushing thirty, I was two drinks in and dancing to Blue DeTiger with a pair of hands on my waist that I didn’t entirely recognise. It was just the six of us: Me, Nick, Ellie, Theo, Julia and Harry.

He was hard to ignore, not that I was trying particularly hard. On the drive over, the limited backseat space in Nick’s car and close proximity had practically forced me into his lap. Even with thighs pressed tightly against each other, we hardly talked, a few polite hellos here and there and then silence as we listened to Eleanor recall her latest night with whichever blonde bassist was her ‘soulmate’ that week. The whole ride over, Harry kept his hands on the thigh closest to the door and leant his shoulders the same way as to touch me as little as possible - which was still quite a lot considering the packed five seater pushing seven passengers. It was fairly common knowledge we weren’t close and I got the feeling he wasn’t too keen on me, but he could at least not act like touching me would be the worst thing ever.

As the night went on he clung to Theo, ever the cuddly drunk, and I stayed more to the pleasant stranger I’d found on the dance floor.

No meanest was ever intended between us but I couldn’t help but watch the kindergarten like bitterness grow as everyone just loved him. We couldn’t go anywhere without a crying fan or two approaching the sweet and smiling man who always answered their questions affectionately and hugged them goodbye. The times he was out of town were always filled with comments about his absence, as if none of us were good enough without his added presence. I couldn’t help but wonder why they even bothered to bring me into their little group. The lack of closeness between Harry and I felt almost like a lack of closeness to the group as a whole, despite how much my individual friendships with everyone advanced.

Just as I thank the waitress - Alice, her name tag read, and take the first sip of my third tea (I had to switch after a particularly strong starter coffee) I notice a familiar man out the corner of my eye looking just as rough as me. Of course he’s wearing it better than I am.

Harry collects a drink from the counter and bows his head slightly in thanks, turning and catching my eye just as he’s on his way out. He waves with his free hand and shoots me a candid smile before making a quick change in direction towards my small table.

“Long time no see,” He pulls the chair opposite me out a little as he chuckles at his own joke. He perches lightly, temporarily. “How’ve you been?”

“A little hungover, I won’t lie..” I laugh, surprised by the whole encounter. “You?”

“Same, I might have had a shot or two too many,” I nod knowingly and shut my laptop softly. He sips what smells like coffee before going on. “Are ya workin? Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh no- I mean I am but it doesn’t matter really, ‘ve kinda hit a dead end.” His eyes hover, waiting for me to go on. “I was gonna get it done last night but Nick had other plans..”

“Yeah Nick’ll do that to you,” He laughs, “What’re you writing ‘bout?”

He leans slightly forwards, holding eye contact and shuffling comfortably into his chair.

“Oh just this promotional piece on a new company, they’re hiring young women and training them to make these handmade clothes. They’re paying them above minimum wage and focusing on sustainability so this editor I’ve written for before offered me it.” I’m not really sure how sincere he is in his curiosity, he always seems to have time to listen when Julia has a new design plan or Theo’s found a new artist but that’s different really. I stop before I start to ramble, just in case.

“That’s so cool, what kinda stuff are they making?” He prompts, resting his chin on his fist, imitating the posture of an eager little kid.

“They've started stocking stuff by other independent artists but mostly dungarees and these cool cord trousers, they’d suit you actually, even got some 70s style ones.” Now that the two worlds are colliding in my head, I can’t help but imagine Harry in a pair of their forest green cords, the wide legs would almost bury his vans but a part of me is pretty sure he’d love them.

“Thanks, if they come at your recommendation I might have to get my hands on a pair,” He smiles, his tone’s a lot different to the usual polite cheer, it’s difficult to place where it’s landed before he’s talking again. “Reminds me of that show you took us to with the upcycled clothes, all those dungarees made of old quilts - remember?”

It’d been a small exhibit just outside of London I’d mentioned offhandedly and somehow ended up showing everyone around. It was nice to have them all in my world for an evening. Marcus, a friend of mine from college, had put it together and created a lot of the pieces. He and the others I’d met through my work were fairly shocked to say the least when Harry Styles came traipsing through the doors behind me. All night he quietly asked Nick questions, to which Nick only responded by motioning towards me and wandering off to the bar.

“I do - I’m surprised you do to be honest.” It slips before I can decide if it sounds passive aggressive or not. To be fair, it had been a surprise to me, meeting everyone at the train station and watching Harry and Nick scramble out a taxi and run towards us. He’d been dressed in proper gallery attire and seemed genuinely thrilled to be joining in on the rare night I actually played host.

“Course I do, it was a good night...I’d choose it over Nick’s tequila Tuesdays anyday.” His phone buzzes on the table, a text popping up in green. “Oh I- my manager’s waiting sorry.”

A sheepish smile is accompanied by a loose arm movement towards the door where, out on the street, I see Jeff. He’s shaking his head and motioning for Harry to hurry up. Had Harry sat down to talk to me whilst his manager had been waiting this whole time?

“It was good running into you, good luck with it all,” He stands. “See you friday yeah?”

I’d totally forgotten about his “Whenever I’m in town Friday film night.” until he mentioned it. I’d been twice in the past and stayed quietly to my corner of the sofa, only watching as everyone else laughed at whatever romcom had been chosen that night.

“I-maybe.” He shakes his head as I smile, not quite ready to commit a whole evening to watching Nick raid Harry’s wine cellar.

“You better, I’m gonna need to hear more ‘bout those cords.” He points his hand in a kind of joking reprimand/wave before he’s gone back down the aisle of tables to the door where Jeff ruffles a hand through his hair and laughs when his hands fly to fix the now birdnest of brown curls.

I open my laptop back up, skimming over the last few lines I wrote to get myself back on track. I take a sip and my tea’s gone cold.

. . . . .

“Are you coming to Harry’s tonight?” Eleanor asks down the phone, her voice chipper as she no doubt raids her closet.

“Maybe, I don’t know..I’ve got this deadline Monday morning that I’m nowhere near meeting.”

“Come on Liv, we haven’t seen you all properly together since last month, and last week doesn’t count it was too loud to actually talk!” She chimes in, the sound of clothes being tossed to the floor clear in the distant background. “Have you got a problem with Harry or something?”

“No Elle, of course I don’t-”

“Then why do you guys never talk? You hardly come with us when he’s around and when you do you barely even say hello.” Eleanor complains, she’s mentioned it in the past but it’s been easy to blow off with excuses of how busy he usually was making his way around the room to greet everyone or how we just hadn’t known each other that long and weren't particularly close yet.

“I just...I don’t know, I don’t think he likes me very much.” I pause. I still haven't decided what last Saturday was in the cafe. “We’re not really close and I’d prefer not to spend another night listening to people tell him - and everyone else - how great he is.”

“You’re saying that like he’s some arrogant twit, if you came out with us more you’d see what he’s really like around his friends. Or you know, you could actually talk to him when we’re together and see that he’s not a dick?”

It was a fair point. I haven’t made much of an effort over the past year to spend any time with him outside of larger gatherings or to have genuine conversations with him that went past the weather or a new jacket one of us had on. Maybe he really is a good guy away from all the pretentious crowds and watchful eyes he usually called to our group. He’d certainly seemed different in the quiet Saturday surroundings of Blondies Coffee Roasters in between sips of coffee.

“Okay, okay yeah I’ll see you there.” We hang up a couple of minutes later and I’m left alone in my kitchen again.

. . . . .

“Hey!” Harry cheers as the door swings open to reveal him in yet another pair of flared pants that hung comfortably around his waist. “Come in, come in.”

We all pile in through the doorway as he steps aside. Arms weaving through each other as we hang coats and jackets and Julia passes Harry the fruit platter she’d made (and scolded us all for picking at on the drive over.)

“Oh very appropriate,” Harry laughs as he uncovers the tray to reveal an array of sliced watermelon, strawberries and grapes, He sets the fruit down on the table in the lounge for us all to eat and shakes his head lightly. I look up at Julia for an explanation but she’s too busy claiming the comfiest loveseat for the night. “I’m never telling you anything again, Jules.”

Julia and Harry tease each other for a moment more until Theo catches my confused stares and laughs to himself.

“Harry wrote a song ‘bout fruit- another one actually,” Theo starts, tucking himself beside Julia and letting her take over before he can finish. “S’not just about fruit though is it H?”

Harry blushes slightly and settles his glare on Julia as he carries six wine glasses through to the table.

“‘S about watermelon, it just has some..” He clears his throat as he fumbles for his next sentence. “Other themes to it too.”

“As if mate,” Theo’s laughter booms, “ Basically Liv, he wrote this new song the other day all about how much he loves to-”

“Watermelon!” Harry yells, pointing an accusatory finger at Theo. “S’all about how much I love watermelons...I’m a fruit guy.”

“Oh are we talking about the pussy song?”

All heads snap round to see Nick, obviously having let himself in and now chuckling softly to himself as he leans against the archway into the room.

“Oh sorry H, were you tryna give an interview answer?”

Harry just slaps his palm over his eyes and lets his shoulders shake for a minute before he bounces back to host mode.

“Okay!” I can’t help but notice how flushed the tips of his ears are as he claps his hands together, desperately trying to move on from the conversation. “Who wants wine?”

Fifteen minutes later everyone is settled onto the sofas with an array of throws between us and a layout of fruits, crisps and other mid rom com snacks that make me feel bad I left my flat in too much of a hurry to remember anything but hummus.

“Okay - Sixteen Candles, When Harry Met Sally or Mamma Mia?” Nick calls out, waving the tv remote above his head to get everyone's attention. An outpour of votes follows - you’d think between only six of us we’d be able to sort out a process by now but still we fall into momentary anarchy as the room divides.

“Mamma Mia is a classic!” Eleanor protests as Nick’s shaking his head.

“And Billy Crystal isn’t?” He yells back, eyes wide and genuinely offended.

“Colin Firth is arguably more iconic, Nick really, come on.” Theo sighs. He accepts the high fives Ellie and I reach out to him and saluts us both.

“We’ve all seen Mamma Mia before though, we’ve never watched When Harry Met Sally all together,” Julia points out, winning a smirk and nod of approval from Nick.

There’s a beat of silence while Nick weighs up the votes in his head. He tilts to the side slightly and eyes Harry up, our gazes following.

“Harry?”

“Ellie?”

“Come on, you’ve got the last vote here, and I know how much you like Meryl.” Nick gasps a little, the mention of Meryl Streep as a wager to win Harry over to his opposing team was definitely foul play in his eyes.

“Yeah but he loves When Harry Met Sally...and he is a narcissist..” Julia offers into the debate, a few snickers follow her comment before we all turn to look at Harry. We’re all already half a glass in but I could swear for just a moment his eyes lingered over me, fluttering down to my smile before turning back to announce his decision to Nick.

“I’m afraid I am in the mood for a bit of Abba,” Cheers and not so subtle murmurs of frustration fill the lounge as Nick scrolls through the Romance bar on Netflix before clicking on the film of just over half of our choosing.

Everyone goes quiet as the film starts, breaking out into bursts of song only as the cast does. From the conversation in the car, it’s pretty clear everyone has just been through a pretty tiring week. We all tended to pile our workload a little heavy so it was always nice to escape for a few hours at the weekend and relax together.

Just as Voulez-vous plays through the room, a slightly tipsy Nick leans into Harry to serenade the singer with his own rendition. The duo sway slightly, both narrowly avoiding Nick’s wild limbs before there’s a crash and Harry’s cursing.

“Oh- H, Sorry!”

Nick’s wine glass that’d been balanced on the coffee table in front of him moments before now lays on its side. The, luckily white, wine trickles down onto the rug but most noticeably splashes into Harry’s lap. I’m not entirely sure how he managed it, it must have flown forwards when it was knocked but Harry quickly stands to access the damage.

“I’m so sorry Harry I-”

“Don’t worry mate, I’m just gonna go change and toss these in the wash..could you wipe that up for me?” Nick nods, looking a little less cheerful and a lot more guilty now as Harry makes it way out the room. He calls behind him: “Keep watching I’ll only be a second!”

Nick finishes wiping down the table and rug just as Harry jogs back into the room. I don’t mean to and I’m never one to check people out..unless very subtly, but I can’t help but let my eyes linger a little.

He’s still in his plain tee but instead of his fancy pants he’s found some soft wash denim jeans. The whole look paired with his thick rimmed glasses and how his hair's gotten tousled about by Nick throughout the night just made him look so...ordinary. Not in any bad way, anyone who met Harry knew he could never be ordinary, no matter how casual he dressed, but something about seeing him abandon the more dressed up looks and go for the comfortable option just made him seem different.

In a second his green eyes are complimenting the look too as he gazes down at me.

“Hi,” He mouths, nobody’s taken much notice of his return, yet another musical number taking everyone’s attention. It’s my turn to blush a little now. I avert my eyes quickly, anywhere really, before sneaking a quick look up at him to smile back.

Ellie had helped Nick in the “For fucksake save Harry’s rug it probably costs more than your car” mission and had stolen the seat beside him after they were done. It slipped my mind until Harry set the new bottle of wine on the table and sunk down into the space beside me, He curls one leg underneath him and slips me one more smile before turning back to the screen just as Donna and Sam start singing SOS.

. . . . .

“Ah shit, I think I left my book!” I curse just as we make it down the road to Julia’s car. Parking was shit so by the time we found a spot we’d ended up a good 15 minutes away from Harry’s house. “You guys go on, I’m only round the corner anyway.”

Theo and Julia were familiar with my stubbornness so let me go, yelling their goodbyes after a few hugs as they drove away, Ellie and Nick do the same as they clamber into a taxi. I turn quickly in the chilly air and make my way back down the street to Harry’s drive, punching in the familiar code at his gate before running up to the door hastily.

It was open - as always, so I let myself in. He was probably still cleaning the lounge up after we all got a little too tipsy.

“Hey it’s me...just left my book sorry!” I call down the hallway. It’s quiet despite the light Paul Simon playing in the distance so I make my way quickly to the sofas I’d spent most of the night on, praying to avoid an awkward run-in with Harry.

Although we’d actually shared some light conversation throughout the night and a handful of smiles, I’m not sure we’re quite at the stage in our friendship that me more or less breaking into his house wouldn’t be awkward to run into.

The lounge is empty when I get there. The side tables are still littered with wine glasses and tacky red rings on coasters but no Harry in sight. Or book for that matter.

I start pulling back the cushions carefully - god knows how much they cost. Despite scouring the one spot I’d pretty much clung to the whole night - incidentally beside Harry - I have no luck. Nick tossed the book back to me at some point in the night after reading it by my recommendation but knowing him it could have ended up anyway. I follow the breadcrumbs of our night down another hallway as I vaguely remember Nick talking about a certain plot twist as we searched Harry’s kitchen cupboards for the wine he’d sent us off to restock.

As I come around the white archway into his kitchen I catch a glimpse of him from around the kitchen island. He has his back turned to me but he’s leant forwards against a counter with ring covered fingers clutching the edge, a glass of amber liquid set slightly away from him.

“Oh, sorry I was just-” He jumps a little at my voice, turning quickly to face me with his now free hands coming up to hold his chest. When his eyes finally meet mine they’re red and it takes a second for him to register the tears still streaming from them before he replies.

“Shit, fu- what are you..are you alright?” His hands bat between tangling into his hair and wiping the tears from his cheeks, anything to avoid actually looking up at me again.

“Yeah, I just..um..left my book,” I mumble, taking a step closer to him when I notice how his hands shake as they move timidly around his face. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Uuuh um.” He wanders for a moment before slapping a palm lightly atop the counter and pulling out his infamous grin. “Nothing much, how bout you - find your book?”

“-Harry..” I take another step close, “I know we’re not, ya know..close. But you can talk to me.”

There’s a beat of silence when he keeps up the act, I’d almost believe it if it wasn’t for his bloodshot eyes and anxious fingers drumming against the tile.

“What’s wrong?”

He pauses for a moment, assessing whether or not to tell me whatever’s weighing so heavy on his shoulders. But the dam bursts.

“Fuckin’ everything Love” He laughs, rubbing his palms over his face. I try to focus on the matter at hand: Harry weeping in his kitchen. But that name’s only ever left his mouth directed at me a handful of times and it’s never made my stomach flutter quite as it did just now. “Just..Fuck I’m so lonely Olivia.”

I don’t really know any of the details but between conversation - mostly overheard, and the media frenzy, it was hard not to be aware of Harry’s break up two months ago. I can’t claim we were close enough to discuss it, having hardly ever talked beyond trivial issues, but I knew that despite them only being together two or so months, he’d been incredibly distant for the weeks that followed the break up.

“I hear about you and Aubre..I’m really sorry it didn’t work out for you guys-” Harry laughs almost, a pained sort of chuckle that told me I was way off with this one.

“It’s not..that isn’t why I..” He takes a deep breath before lifting his head up slightly to focus on where his fingers still tapped out a nervous beat on the counter. “I was lonely before her...and with her. I just, I can’t seem to get it right ever...feels like nobody wants to be with me for the right reasons.”

“Hey no..what about tonight? Your house was full of so many people who love you yeah? Maybe your bougie wine collection had something to do with it but still,” He laughs at that, peeking up from behind his fringe for just a moment. “They- we love you ‘k?”

“I know but, ‘clock hits the am and everyone leaves, it just gets...it gets so fucking lonely to see everyone in perfect pairs ya know?”

I don’t really know what I’m doing but I’m doing it - my arms wrap over his shoulders and lock with a hand at the nape of his neck. We’ve never hugged before beyond a general greeting but anyone watching wouldn’t know it, his face burrows quickly into my shoulder and his arms cocoon over my waist, holding me tightly and slipping under the thick layers of my jacket.

“I know exactly what you mean, H.”

The hug lasts longer than I imagined it might. He smells of vanilla and the coffee he brought back in bulk from Jamaica. He lets out a shaky breath and melts further into me, nuzzling my neck softly with the tip of his nose. His curls are soft between my fingers and I find myself shhing him, lulling us both into a tired kind of calm.

Another moment passes in the silence of his kitchen before Harry lets out an awkward cough and straightens up, pulling out of our hold and immediately covering his face with his palms again.

“I..sorry Jules and Theo must be waiting for you..” Harry murmured, wiping the last of his tears away and letting his hands fall and fidget by his sides.

“Oh no don’t worry they..um they already went I was actually just gonna walk.” I tell him, making his head perk up a bit.

“Wha-It’s past twelve Liv it’s not safe, how far do you even live?” He clears his throat and his voice is clearer now, it feels like a whole different world to the one we were in just a minute ago.

“It’s fine honestly, only take like thirty minutes walking - I’ve done it before-” I ramble, eager to put this situation behind me before I embarrass myself anymore.

“No - let me drive you yeah?” Harry shakes his head, adamant.

“Harry..we’ve been drinking all night, I think that’s more dangerous than me jus’ walking.” I laugh, holding his gaze for a second longer than I usually would - fuck, how do we usually act around each other?

Before I come to a conclusion, his eyes rest heavy on mine and I can see the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to work his way out of this one. Ever the people pleaser.

“Then stay.”

“Harry-”

“You said you know how it feels.” He cuts in, unwavering now as he doesn’t let my eyes fall from his. “So stay …’s safer anyway.”

. . . . .

“I can take the sofa, really Harry I don’t mind,” I reassure as he tosses me an old t-shirt and joggers to sleep in. “It’s comfier than my bed anyway.

His guest bedrooms had just been painted and were still pretty fume filled so the sofa or his bed were the only options. For twenty minutes now he’s tried to convince me to take his bed and leave him on the sofa, despite the fact we both know he’s a little too tall to sleep without his feet hanging off the end.

“But you’re my guest!” He protests again, coming up from his wardrobe to stand in front of me, hand on hips and an expression of concern on his face.

“And you’re almost six foot!”

“Hey, I am six foot.” He takes a deep breathe, exhaling through his nose in defeat before speaking again. “Okay, you can sleep on the sofa but if anyone asks I was the perfect host and you bullied me into this.”

I laugh softly, this whole new side of Harry had never been directed solely at me before and it was honestly refreshing. Usually Nick or another friend was the target of his jokes and playful demeanor and I only noticed it from afar but now he was right in front of me, hauling pillows off his bed and sticking his tongue out when he caught me staring.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” He asks for the third time since I agreed to stay the night. We’ve just finished setting up the sofa to sleep on and despite the duvet and many quilts far more lush than my own actual bed, he seemed unconvinced it was enough.

“I’m sure” I sit back into the pile of blankets and pillows, tucking my feet underneath me and looking back up at Harry. “If you’re really not, just come watch a film with me and see how cozy it is.”

The quick change in dynamic was a lot smoother than I’d imagined. Within an hour of being alone together we’d already talked more than in all our past interactions, not to mention how close we’ve gotten. He only nods his head quickly and he’s settling under a quilt beside me, rummaging around for a controller to pull up netflix again.

“Mamma Mia two?” He asks.

I chuckle a bit and nod. At the beginning of the evening I hadn’t quite seen it ending in a Mamma Mia marathon with just me and Harry.

He presses play and as the opening display begins we both lean back into the sofa and pull the blankets up over us. It’s only in the quiet of the first few scenes that I notice we’re matching. We’re both dressed fully in his clothes, grey joggers and t-shirt - his rolling stones, mine fleetwood mac. And it all smells of him. I pull the blanket a little higher over my chest and the faint, but now familiar, scent of vanilla and coffee fills my lungs and for a second all I can focus on is how desperately I want to be in his arms again.

. . . . .

“-ow” A groggy voice mumbles from above me and I feel myself being pulled forwards slightly against something hard - and warm.

I’m a few seconds from falling straight back asleep before I feel the painful ache in the side of my neck. I reach a hand up to gauge my current situation and feel my fingers plunging into soft hair - soft hair that ends too soon to be mine.

“Hi..” I recoil my hand quickly back to my side and push myself up so I’m sitting slightly. I look down and see Harry, half asleep still and hand still resting on my side.

“Oh-hey sorry,” What do you say when you wake up beside the guy you barely knew but simultaneously had been incredibly vulnerable with just the night before?

Harry seems to be waking up now and certainly more aware of our predicament as he pulls his hand away from where it was holding firmly onto the material of my - his - t-shirt and pushes himself up to sit against the arm of the sofa.

“We must have fallen asleep..sorry I didn’t mean too, ya know…” His eyes flutter between where I sit opposite him and the “Are you still watching?” Netflix screen.

“It’s fine, accidents happen an’ everything.” I smile, slipping out from the warm cocoon of blankets to stand. “I’m just gonna wash up quickly and I’ll be out of you hair.”

Before I can rush off to tame my hair and hopefully find some toothpaste to rid me of my morning breath, Harry clasps his hand gently around my wrist and tugs slightly to get my attention.

“Not in a rush Love, I’ll make us some breakfast.” He says it effortlessly, like it was a regular occurrence for us to fall asleep cuddling on his sofa. He stands, groaning as his knees pop appreciatively and lets my hand go before he’s disappearing into the kitchen.

“Okay…” I murmur to myself. “....okay.”

. . . . .

Alice is back at my table with my second refill before 11am. I thank her and take a gulp of the fiery ginger tea before reading over the last three paragraphs I just wrote. The spice licks my tongue as I tip the cup up for a second sip; it’s autumn after all.

In the last two weeks September had slipped into October and all the trees in London had received the memo. I’d been busy, hoaled up in the quietest corner of Blondies the whole time with coffee filling all my senses. I haven’t seen everyone together since that night at Harry’s. I grabbed lunch with Eleanor the Monday afterwards and told her nothing, preferring to avoid the texts my phone amassed over the fortnight. I've turned down all proposed group activities and focused on work instead. To be fair, I do have a lot to get done. There were always seasonal pieces in my to do list and with the weather getting colder it was time I got to them before it was Christmas already.

I haven’t talked to Harry either. He made us pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup in the morning and we haven’t even texted since; I’m not sure that we even have a private text between us. Eleanor and Julia have told me how much fun they’ve all had the times I’ve politely but persistently declined, I can only assume Harry’s in the mix with them all. He’s in town for awhile if I’m remembering our breakfast chatter correctly, it makes sense that they’re all hanging out together really when they don’t often get time together. Ellie’s phone calls keep me from sliding into thoughts of how easily I could fall right out of the group and not be missed, at least. I was just taking space for work. The fact that most of my afternoons at the cafe disappeared into me analysing anything I might ever have felt or said to Harry means nothing at all.

Neither does the heightened pace of my heartbeat when he walks through the stiff wooden doors of Blondies.

He orders what I assume is his regular black coffee, scans the room for a second and lands directly on me. He hesitates a little to hold my gaze, turning his head to look outside before looking back at me and smiling. He thanks the server and takes a few quick steps towards me, weaving in between the packed tables to my little spot hidden away in the corner.

“Hi,” He smiles again, although his toneos overshadowed by a slight anxious hilt. “Can I sit?”

Nodding, I close my laptop and pull my tea closer to me to make a space for him.

“Hi.” He repeats, smiling a little sheepishly.

“Hi,” I wait a second, nervous to start when I’m so unsure of how this conversation has already gone in his head. But he doesn’t say anything so I push through and bite the bullet against my better judgement. “Look, about that Friday I-”

“Can I just-” He cuts me off, leaning forwards and opening his hands out as he mulls over his next few words. “I’m sorry if it was awkward at all, I didn’t mean for anything to happen and I thought we were fine an’ everything but then I haven’t seen you in two weeks and Ellie keeps saying you’re not comin’ out. Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh god no,” I hurry, “You didn’t do anything it was just - I didn’t expect to wake up..like that...and it was just a really quick change because we’ve never really been close and suddenly it was just, us, like that.”

He nods, pushing a loose curl back a second later that broke free in the motion. He seems understanding as he looks down before leaning his elbows against the table so only the two of us can hear what he’s about to say.

“I know, I didn’t expect it either but, can I just tell you I’m glad that it happened?” He leaves a three second pause for me to flounder in confusion before continuing. “What I told you, ‘bout feeling lonely, it messes with my sleep all the time. I just get stuck in my own thoughts but the night you stayed over I slept fine - perfect even.”

Not sure what else to do with this new information, I nod for him to continue.

“I know we’ve never been close, but hanging out with you just really calmed me down.” He smiles, gaining confidence now in his vulnerability tucked away in our little hiding place. “Thank you for staying.”

“I get what you mean.” I mumble, slightly anxious any of the busy customers with prying eyes could overhear my confession. “I never really know when to stop working and I think I got the best night sleep on your sofa I’ve had in awhile, which really speaks volumes about how crappy my mattress is.”

He chuckles. Relief seems to settle in as he lets his shoulders relax and face soften.

“I was thinking - especially now that I know it was good for you as well, maybe it could become more of a regular thing?” He asks, his forefinger and thumb pinch together and twist one of his rings a little - a nervous habit, I’m sure.

“How do you mean?”

“Like..when we all go out, maybe we go home together, you know - so we can sleep better.” He moves down to focus on the metal rose he’s still fumbling at. “If..if you don’t want to or you think it’d be weird it’s fi-”

“I’d like that.” I reach forwards to comfort him, absentmindedly cupping my fingers around his. “I think it’d be nice, to get a good night's sleep I mean.”

“I’m glad.” He beams.

“..That and you make a mean blueberry pancake.” I tease, earning a light chuckle from Harry.

Just like our last cafe encounter, the ping of a his phone beats me to my new few words. He checks it quickly, shaking his head and glancing down the large room to the shop front where, once again, Jeff waits. He seems a little more agitated this time, waving vigorously whilst trying not to attract the attention of passersby, all rather unsuccessfully.

“Bollocks okay - I’ve gotta go,” Harry swears, collecting his coffee from the table and pushing his chair back quickly. “I’ll just - we can text before we go out next yeah?”

“Cool, yeah - wait a sec, let me just give you my number.” I reach up for him to hand me his phone but he doesn’t make any effort to move, instead he blushes slightly and stares at the floor. “..What?”

“I um, I already have it.” He fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck before talking again. It’s hard not to remember how it felt when it was my fingers carding through his brown curls. “I got it from Theo awhile back when we were going to this thing, felt weird not having it. I hope that..okay and everythin’”

I nod, smiling up at him. The idea of him having a part of me for this past year without me even knowing is oddly precious. The fact that he felt odd about not having my number and going to the effort of getting it from Theo was unbelievably endearing.

“That’s fine, helpful actually.” I smile still, “Text me before we meet everyone and we’ll make a plan or somethin’”

“Okay,” He smirks, his slight cocky nature reemerging. “Will do, Liv. See you soon?”

“See you soon.”

Jeff flies a hand up to his hair like before but this time is met with a grinning Harry who doesn’t seem to mind so much.

. . . . .

Unknown Number

‘Hey! Is tonight good? We can slip off after drinks at the gallery. H x’

I look down at my phone. Caught off guard by the sudden text, I’d almost forgotten out arrangement. Julia invited us all to a gallery opening of one of her friend's new exhibits. Even as I flicked through my wardrobe for the right jacket, I hadn’t put two and two together and realised I’d be seeing Harry again for the first time since our chat at Blondies four days ago.

I save his number and I think quickly, not wanting to leave him on read when he knew I’d be leaving to see them all any second and most likely spend the whole tube journey on my phone.

‘Hi :) That’d work for me yh, just let me know when you want to leave and I’ll make an excuse. Liv x’

With another thought rushing through my head, I send a quick follow up.

‘Can we keep this between us right now? Might be a bit tricky to explain to the others.”

Harry

‘Read my mind love.’

‘See you in a bit :)’

I’m still not the hugest fan of the airy feeling that rushed through my stomach as I read over the pet name. He was just from Manchester, it was normal up there to call everything by casually affectionate little names. It didn’t mean anything at all.

. . . . .

“Livia!” Nick calls out when he sees me scanning over the faces at the entrance to the gallery. I smile instantly and make my way over, quickly falling into his arms as he rocks us for a second. “Haven’t seen you in an age!”

“‘Ve been working, we can’t all piss about Monday to Friday.” I giggle, smiling wide as he murmurs something under his breath and plants a big kiss on my cheek. “Is everyone here?”

I try not to look suspicious when I peak over around us, trying to pick a certain brunette from the crowd.

“Yeah, they’re just over there with Julia’s friend.” Nick points and I see him immediately. He’s dressed just as I expected - half gucci half grandpa sweaters. “I’m gonna get us drinks, meet you there?”

“Mhmmm” I hum, breaking out of his hold and slipping through the crowds to our small group of friends.

“Hi!” Julia smiles brightly. She hugs me quickly before stepping aside to give Eleanor and Theo their turns. They all whisper quiet ‘Missed yous’ in my ear as if I’ve been gone for years.

“Hey,” Harry appears by my side as everyone else turns their attention to the front of the crowd where it looks like the artist is setting up to introduce the night. “How’ve you been?”

“In the last four days?” I chuckle, “Good. Not been sleeping great, but I’ve got a lot of work done so that’s been great.”

He nods approvingly. A smile tugs at his lips at the mention of sleep, almost like some secret inside joke we’ve managed to form between just the two of us.

“Me neither. Jeff’s been buggin’ me what feels like every hour with deadlines.” I find myself squeezing his hand a little under his long coat sleeves so nobody can see. “Looking forward to just collapsing tonight, if I’m honest.”

“Me too.” I smile tiredly, tonight had been a big ask come to think of it. I've had work piled up twice my height all week and even having worked day in and day out I’ve still only made a crack in the mountain of final edits and emails to respond to.

Harry squeezes my fingers back and our hands linger in each other's hold until Nick emerges beside us and the artist begins her speech.

. . . . .

The comfortable chatter surrounding the booth we’d taken up a few hours ago died down as the clock ticked later and later. We’d left the gallery a while ago now in favour of the after party at a pub down the road but by now the heavy scent of beers and various gin based concoctions were giving us all headaches.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night guys,” Harry announces, a slew of groans following from the group. “Sorry, sorry! It’s been great but it’s getting late.”

Julia and Theo move out the way to let him out the booth. He slides across the red cushion to stand, pulling his coat over himself as he sneaks a quick look at me.

“I think I’m gonna head off too,” I smile, waiting for Eleanour to stand and let me out as another wave of complaints flooded me. “Sorry! I’ve got work and the tube’ll be hell any later.”

“Well if Harry’s going too couldn’t he take you home?” Julia suggests, looking between the two of us as we now stand slightly away from each other. “You drove right?”

“Yeah, I did.” Harry turns to smile at me, amused clearly by how our plan was being unknowingly encouraged by our friends. “C’mon, I’ll drive yeh.”

I nod, biting back a smirk. We say our goodbyes and wave as we slip out the heavy pub doors out onto the road outside. It’s started to drizzle slightly and I resent choosing the jacket without a hood.

“I’m just over here,” Harry points a little ways off. “Hurry, think it’s about to pour.”

We walk quickly down the street and through a metal gate into a car park when there’s a loud rumble of thunder and immediately the rain thickens.

“Fuck!” Harry laughs as he scrambles for his keys, we match each other's paces until we’re practically sprinting to his car in the far corner of the lot. The click of the locks sounds out and his lights flash red a second before we’re both pulling the doors open and throwing ourselves inside onto warm seats.

We catch our breath, chests rising and falling with uneven pants before our laughter settles and Harry slots the keys into the ignition.

. . . . .

“Do you want anything to eat?” Harry asks as he closes his front door behind us and we kick out shoes off in his hall. “I think I have some takeout menus somewhere..”

“I’m not really hungry, thanks though,” I cut off his search as he walks through to his kitchen and starts opening draws. “Kinda just wanna go to bed now.”

He nods and rubs a hand under his eye in silent agreement of my exhaustion.

“I’ll make us a tea, meet you up there yeah?” He calls over his shoulder, having turned quickly to retrieve various packets from his cupboards. “Chamomile okay?”

“Yeah chamomiles good,” I hover for a second in the archway leading into the kitchen, suddenly awkward to be alone in his house again. “Where um..where is it?”

He looks over his shoulder at me, slightly confused. His eye brows unfurrow when I motion behind me.

“Oh- just up the stairs and third room down the hall..on the left.” He smiles, turning back to the cupboard to look through his extensive mug collection.

I nod to myself, spinning on my heel and making my way up his stairs. I’ve never gone beyond the downstairs of his house before and even then I stuck to the kitchen, dining room and lounge. It felt odd to suddenly have access to something as intimate as his bedroom, I try not to overthink things as I push open the third door I see.

The first thing I see is his large bed, there’s probably enough room for three people on it and there’s definitely enough pillows to go around. The room as a whole is tidy, whether it’s always like that or only organised so precisely for my visit, I don’t know, but the thought makes my stomach flutter.

I walk up to the side of the bed with no charger on it’s table and set my bag down. We hadn’t talked about the logistics of our...arrangement, but I’d brought the basics to last me through the night. I plug my charger into the wall and take out my wash bag and a set of clothes to sleep in before sliding my bag under the table. I look around for a second. Somehow I hadn’t really thought through the fact that by the end of the night, I’d be in Harry’s bed. With Harry. In a completely platonic way with the only function to soothe our mutually crappy sleeping habits.

I hear Harry walking up the stairs just as I slip into the un suit to wash up and get changed. He’s humming a song under his breath. The clink of mugs being set down is followed by wardrobe doors opening and closing and a light thud of clothes being thrown on the bed.

I wait a few minutes to make sure I don’t walk in on him changing. Opening the door tentatively, I step out into the room in a large sweater and pajama shorts. Harry turns to look at me, he’s in the same t-shirt he wore last time and a pair of boxer shorts and the whole situation suddenly seems so amusing. After just one night of falling asleep on the sofa together, not having ever talked before, here we are standing at our most vulnerable about to cuddle in his bed together.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” He nods, looking down at himself. “Hope this is okay...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or-”

“It’s fine,” I reassure him, “I didn’t really know what to wear either.”

His eyes flicker down my body and he smiles back up at me. He motions to the bed and we both nod a little awkwardly before making our way over to our sides. I climb in and instantly let a small groan out as my body sinks into the mattress, the pillows and duvet feel almost like a cloud as I burrow under and pull my tea up to my lips.

Harry chuckles from beside me, I peak over the mug to seem him grinning down from where he sits slightly taller in the bed.

“Sorry, you look comfy.” He laughs a little,

“I am, your bed’s insane.” I set my mug down and turn to him, bouncing slightly to emphasise the quality of his mattress that probably cost more than a year of my rent. “I really should start earning millions, feel like it’d suit me.”

He returns his tea to the bedside table and copies me, turning to face me with his legs crossed.

“It definitely would.” He smiles, bouncing a little before I let out a yawn. “Tired?”

“Exhausted.” I mumble, hand still covering half my face. Harry reaches behind him to turn to switch the lights above his headboard off before pulling the duvet back for us to slip under.

“C’mere,” Without hesitating, I shuffle back slightly until I can feel his chest behind me and an arm come up to rest around my hip. “‘This okay?”

“Mhmmm,” I hum, “What about our teeth?”

“We’ll brush ‘em in the morning,” I nod, groaning again as all the aches in my body subside as I sink into his arms and the foam mattress. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, embarrassed to have let myself go so easily around him. “Your mattress is just unbelievable. Might have to make this a regular thing.”

I speak before I think, mind clouded with sleep and my eyes already fighting to stay open.

“That’s the plan, love.”

. . . . .

When I wake up, Harry’s arms are tight around my middle and his body’s like a furnace behind me. I vaguely recall pulling my sweater off in the night to cool down as I lay now only in a vest and shorts. I slept better than I have in months though, despite the warm breaths on my neck turning my cheeks flushed.

The mix of Harry’s company and his safe haven of a mattress made for the perfect night sleep. I push back slightly into his chest and feel his arms tighten around me and a low murmur of his voice in my ear. The clock on my bedside table reads 6:30. It’s a Saturday and I can quite easily imagine spending the rest of my day - weekend even, exactly like this.

I slip back to sleep for a little awhile before I’m woken up to a low groan behind me. Harry shifts slightly, burying his face in the base of my neck and squeezing around my waist again. He must still be half asleep to be this comfortable with me.

I’m proven right when it takes another fifteen minutes for him to poke his head up over my shoulder and mumble:

“Breakfast?”

. . . . .

Our routine works smoothly for weeks. After sleeping so well the first few times, it became a given that we’d pile into Harry’s car after every night out with our friends and go back to his. Sometimes we’d get takeout or watch a film, but it wasn’t so rare that we’d just stumble out of his car, or a taxi - depending what the night had entailed, and walk with eyes almost closed straight to bed.

I stopped bringing things every night about two weeks in when a new toothbrush appeared next to Harrys and an oversized t-shirt of Harrys found its way onto my side of the bed. We also ditched the awkward pleasantries. Spending two or three nights a week in his house, I’d become pretty familiar with it all. I sometimes brought us breakfast if it was a weekend, or left a coffee beside the bed for him if I left for work first, We had very easily slipped into an oddly familiar sense of domesticity. It was strange to never mention any of it to our friends, it made it special though. We helped each other, and it was all just between the two of us. Nobody else knew Harry taught me how to make coffee just the way he likes it, or that we share his lavender shampoo sometimes.

“Ols?” Harry calls up the stairs to me. We’re running late to Julia and Theos anniversary dinner.

“Coming!” I yell back, reaching into his wardrobe to snatch a jacket before running down the stares.

“Oi! Slow down love, you’re gonna fall,” He complains, holding his hands out at the bottom of the stairs to catch me as I skid a little on the wooden floors of his hallway. “Hey! This’s mine!”

He tugs playfully on the opening of his jacket. I pull the fabric from his grasp and smile up at him.

“Not anymore…” He scrunches his nose up and pulls me towards him. The sudden movement pushed the air from my lungs suddenly. “-Fine! Just for tonight...nobody’ll notice anyway, you only just got his one.”

He shakes his head, bringing his fingers up to tickles across my stomach quickly before letting me go and clapping his hands.

“Shoes now!” He points down at my sock clad feet, “Come on we’re late already.”

I sling my bag over my shoulder and slip my boots on before trailing after him to the front door. He’s pulled his large green coat off the hangar before he’s looking back down at me, brows pulled together in confusion.

“What’ve got yeh bag for?”

“Ah see Harry, I tend not to leave my stuff places I don’t actually live.” I laugh.

“You’re not coming back tonight?” The confusion’s not joined by a hint of sadness as his hands fall from the door knob and he turns to face front on.

“Oh I..hadn’t thought ‘bout that. I’ve gotta water my plants.” I haven't been home in two days, I spent the whole day at Blondies yesterday then headed to Harry's after a few drinks with him and Nick. We’ve hung out around his house all day, sleeping in and finishing our last few bits of work for the week. “I can let them go a little dry I guess-”

“Can I come to yours?” Harry cuts me off to ask. “It’s just, I haven’t ever seen it..and that way your plant’ll be fine.”

I stay quiet for a second. Our world of sleepovers and movie marathons and home made curries for dinner existed within his house. My flat was small in comparisons to the homes of our friends, who were all, delicately put, pretty well off. Not that I wasn’t, I’d just gone into a lower paying area of my industry. I lived alone anyway so there wasn’t much point paying thousands in rent when I didn’t need much space.

“It’s fine it you want a night to yourself I can just-”

“It’s not that, H, I just didn't really think about how we only ever come here.” I mumble the last part, “Come back to mine, I don’t feel like going back on my own anyways.”

I smile a little, unsure of where we stand on the whole admitting we’d grown pretty dependent on each other’s presence, front. He smiles back, twisting the door open and holding it for me as I slip under his arm.

The car clicks unlocked and I settle into my seat. I reach over to push my seat belt in as Harry pulls his door shut and the car rumbles to a start.

“Can’t believe Jules and T have been together so long.” He sighs as we pull out onto the main road.

“Tell me about it,” I gaze out the window as rain dribbles lightly. “Feels like the year just went straight by.”

“They seem so happy still, like they’re still honeymooning,” Harry hums.

“I remember when they just started going out in Uni, even then it was obvious they’d end up together.”

“I like those kinds of people. The ones who make each other just completely themselves, ya know?” He glances over at me before turning back to the road.

“Yeah...they’re proper soulmates aren’t they.”

. . . . .

“Okay but seriously, what the fuck is up with you and Harry?” Eleanor bursts out as soon as we reach the bar. We’ve been sent off to get the third round whilst the others stayed at our favourite booth of the pub we frequented.

“Wait what?” I yell over the loud chatter of the pub, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” She’s still waving her hand out for the bartender when she glances down at me again. “You’re tryna say you’re suddenly so close and nothing’s happened between you?”

“We’re not that close.” I quip, “We’ve just talked a bit more lately, I guess.”

“And nothing’s happened?” She raised a brow at me suspiciously. “You guys have left together every night for the past few weeks, just admit you have feelings for each other.”

“No, nothing’s happened.” I sigh, unsure if I sound convincing or not. “We just live close and it’s too cold now to get the tube back so late, he’s just being nice. You know Harry...he’s like that with everyone.”

Eleanor laughs a little, shaking her head. She places our order with the bartender when he makes his way to our side of the bar before turning back to me with her arms crossed.

“He’s nice to everyone, but he’s not just being nice to you.” She smirks, “And he usually doesn't give just anybody his clothes.”

She reaches out and rubs the fabric of my - Harrys - jacket between her thumb and forefinger. She looks up and quirks her brows up a little again. Before I can splutter out an explanation our drinks are being laid out on the counter beside us and Eleanor is pointing to the ones for me to carry and turning back to our booth.

A surge of anxiety washes over me as I follow Eleanor back to the group. My breaths feel unsteady and I can’t help but dart my eyes to get a quick glance at Harry to see if he’s experiencing the same kind of interrogation. He seems fine though, laughing at something Nicks said.

Soon we’re at the booth, slipping back into our seats and setting the drinks out in front of everyone. Harry’s eyes hover on me for a few seconds, brows raised a little in question. I smile and shake my head - everything’s fine.

I don’t miss how Eleanor glances between us throughout the whole night. Especially not when a different two get up for the next round and Harry and I are pushed next to each other when they climb back into the available seats. Harry seems a little suspicious too. He clearly hasn’t noticed Eleanor’s strange behaviour - or doesn’t care - because he’s kept gazing down at me every now and then since we came back with drinks hours ago. When I stop looking up at him, nervous Eleanor might question me about his constant and slightly nervous glances when we’re alone, he reaches his hand under the tables and pulls mine into his lap. He squeezes our hands every now and then. He’s always a touchy, cuddly drunk. Normally it’s a bit more obvious; he’ll wrap his arms around one of us on the dance floor or lap his head on a shoulder, nothing too intimate. Just friendly. But now he’s stroking his thumb over my knuckles and tapping out the beat of the current song playing with his foot, his knee bumping mine.

Julia and Theo are the first to go. Relief settles in me at the idea of not being the first two to leave for once. There’s no way Eleanor wouldn't’ve have noticed me and Harry sneaking the other a glance like we usually do to signal we’re ready to go, without some kind of distraction.

“It was so lovely guys, feels like we haven’t just sat down and talked in so long!” Julia smiles, leaning into Theos side tiredly as they say their goodbyes.

“I think I’m gonna head off too, it’s getting pretty late,” I smile, waiting for Harry to speak when Theo pipes up before him.

“Livs, you want a lift?” Theo looks down at me.

“Oh Olivia, that’s a good idea, you were just saying how it’s too cold for the tube.” Eleanor beams, smiling cheekily as she knows I’m the only one who’ll understand her subtle teasing.

“Oh I-” I stutter before Harry’s squeezing my hand again and looks up at Theo.

“I was actually gonna take her home, we’re only 10 minutes apart so it’s just easier.” He smiles politely, if I couldn’t feel his foot hooking over mine I’d believe he was just being nice and helping out a friend.

“Yeah but you’re gonna stay a little while aren’t you?” Julia countered, “We’re pretty close, it’s fine really.”

I nod, motioning to slide out of the booth. Harry lets me by, dropping my hand before anyone else could see. Julia, Theo and I say goodbye quickly and head out to the car park. As soon as we’re all strapped into their car, I pull out my phone and click Harry’s contact.

Meet me at mine x

Harry

Okay - what was that about?

I’ll explain when u get here, just something w Eleanor

U might have been right about the jacket :/

Theo pulls up outside my flat and I jump out the car, thanking them quickly and waving them off. I climb the stairs of my building and click the keys in my door, pushing it open and kicking my shoes off the second I get in. After a fifteen minute frantic clean, the place is looking slightly better. There’s no time to perfect it as I hear my phone buzzing on the counter, a dorky photo of Harry in one of his infamous sweaters all sprawled out on the sofa and sticking his tongue out at me flashes the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m just outside,” He talks softly, “What number are you?”

“24, wait a sec and I’ll buzz you up.”

I tread quickly to the button by my front door and let him up, hearing a quiet thanks over the phone and a “See you in a sec” before the line goes dead.

A minute later there’s a quiet knock at my door. I open it and see Harry, he looks a little more tired than when I left him forty minutes ago, he rubs his knuckles under his eyes and sighs softly.

“Hey, come in.” I pull the door a little wider, stepping aside to let him inside. He walks past me, eyes watching the floor whilst I lock the up behind us and turn to face him. There's an awkward tension in the air that I haven’t experienced with Harry before, maybe a little that first night when I walked in on him in his kitchen, but nothing like this since we’ve gotten closer.

“What happened?” He asks quietly, lifting his head with an uncertain look on his face.”You barely even looked at me.

“I..” I stumble over what to say, I’ve been thinking I could just explain what Eleanor had said and have it done with but now I know we’re not going to be able to just leave this. If somebody’s going to find out about our arrangement then something would have to change. “Ellie thinks there’s something going on with us and she kept staring all night. I just, I couldn’t give her anything to be suspicious about.”

“S’that what you mean about the jacket?” I nod, “What did she say?”

“Just that we seemed closer, talk more I guess.” I sigh, “She didn’t believe anything I said.”

“What did you say?” He presses. His tone is unclear, he seems less hurt now and more focussed on getting answers from me.

“I just, I told her nothing’s happened.” I mumble, “She asked about us leaving together and I told her it was just because we lived close and it’s easier than the tube.”

Harry bobs his head a little, taking in what I’ve just told him before laughing a little. He shakes his head and brings his palms up to his face, cursing under his breath. We stand in the quiet of my hallway before he speaks up again.

“Can we still do this?” That catches me off guard. Of course I knew we’d have to stop sometime when one of us started dating or a friend found out, I just hadn’t thought seriously about it happening anytime soon. “If she does find out, would that be the worst thing in the world?”

I shake my head, taking a step towards him to close the gap between us that’d been building my nerves throughout this whole exchange.

“I don’t wanna stop hanging out.” I confess. Harry quirks his lips up a little, obviously relieved as he pulls me to his chest. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and rests his chin on my head as we breathe together for a moment. All the while we’ve been spending nights at his, there’s been no serious moments like this. We’ve opened up about vulnerable subjects and confessed more than we probably should have to each other, but never anything like this. There’d never been a time I thought I could lose him.

“What if something did happen.” He whispers into my hair.

“Like what?” I murmur, voice a little muffled by his jacket.

“Like..” He trails off a little and I’m pretty sure I hear him inhale a little and smell my hair. “Like what if I kissed you..or something.”

“Or something?” My chest tightens, stomach fluttering suddenly.

“Mmhhhmm,” He hums, “What would happen then?”

“Eleanor would have a field day.”

Harry laughs, shoulders shaking a little as he giggles above me. He loosens his grip on my and pushes away to create a little space to see me again.

“Oh yeah?” He teases.

“Uh huh,” I smile, “She’d never let us forget it if she knew she was right.”

“And what would she be right about?” Harry lifts his hand to cup my face, tilting it slightly to make sure I’m staring right up at him.

“..Something..happening.” I whisper, “Having feelings for eachother.”

Harry grins, cheeks a soft rosy between the outside cold and the new blush. He strokes the pad of his thumb against my cheek and beams down at me.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh…”

“Really..she’d be right about that?”

“I’m pretty sure-”

Before I can tease anymore, Harry’s leaning down to press his lips against mine. I inhale sharply, closing my eyes and looping my arms around the back of his neck to hold us in place. His hand still holds my face firmly, thumb fluttering over my cheek a couple times before he pulls away and we both breathe in deep.

“She’s definitely right.” He smiles, tone turning serious for a moment. “I really like you Olivia.”

Butterflies surge through my stomach for the millionth time since he walked through my door. Blushing and happy, I tighten my arms and push my face back into his shoulder.

“I like you too H….just a little bit.”

“We don’t have to tell anyone, just want this to be ours for a little while.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he leans back down to whisper into my ear.

“I want this to be ours forever.” I hum, words quiet and part of me hoping he doesn't hear my honest confession.

A comforting quiet settles over us. I remember how tired I really am as I melt further into Harry’s body, breathing in the sweet cinnamon and vanilla scent. His breathing lulls me half to sleep as I let my eyes flutter shut and bury my head further into his neck. I feel him lifting me up as my body relaxes against his and I catch his last few words before I he’s shifting me into his arms and walking us up the stairs.

“I could hold you ‘n listen to your voice all night long, love.”

. . . . .

“Oh my god!” Julia yells out, unravelling a long shawl from pristine white tissue paper. “Okay whoever got me, thank you so much!”

She continues to squeal a little as he wraps it over her shoulders and presses the end to her nose, inhaling the lavender scent of her favourite designer brand.

I’d only spent one Christmas with the whole group before but it was clear secret Santa was a bit of a tradition. Between the six of us we all had other friends, family and mostly, relationships. Organising a secret santa within our group just relieved some of the stress of present buying - and it was fun.

We’re all sitting around Harry’s living room, it felt the homiest to us after all. The kiddy advent calendar I bought for him hung by the fireplace reading December 21st. We’ve all finished our egg nogs, meaning it was officially present time. Over the next few days we’ll all be driving up and down the country to visit family, meaning today’s the last day most of us will be seeing each other. Harry had whined about me leaving, begging me to stay another day with him or better yet - spend christmas with his family up north.

It was when I told him my own parents were spending the holidays visiting my sister and her kids in New York that his campaign started. We kissed almost three months ago now and have been on a slew of dates since. Between all the secret dinners out, brunches and farmers market trips, we haven’t found time for the talk. We had no official title. I’ve heard Harry refer to me as “m’girl” a couple times when I’ve wandered into the kitchen and overheard him on the phone to mitch, but nothing he’s told me himself. Despite this, he still insists I have to come and spend christmas with him and his close family. The idea of me hanging out with my young cousins and distant relatives apparently doesn’t satisfy him.

“Are you serious!” Eleanor gasps as she unwraps her own present. Everyone had picked the perfect gifts for each other this year. In a pure coincidence, I ended up with Harry’s name after Nick made me trade because he’d already bought Julia’s present for her. I’ve been nervous about it all evening, I was sure he’d like it, a little too sure. That was the problem. One night, wrapped up in Harry’s bed, he’d recalled his latest tragedy to me: He’d taken shroom with Mitch on his last trip to LA and subsequently decided to skinny dip in the sea, losing his favourite mustard cords in the process. The only times we’ve seen everyone else has been with the both of us present and , to my knowledge, he hasn’t mentioned this to anyone else. The brown paper package that sat on the coffee table could invite a few more questions that I was prepared to answer.

“Harry, you’re next!” Ellie grinned, hugging her present to her chest.

Thanks to our early secrecy, there’s been no opportunity to tell our friends we were dating. Eleanor hasn’t stopped her constant questioning but we’ve kept up a pretty good front of excuses. It was still freezing out so it made sense for us both to climb into his car together at the end of the night. Nobody had to know we would be going home to the same house where we’d climb into the same heavenly bed and scramble eggs together in the morning.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Harry laughs as Ellie tries to hurry him up, playing perfectly into her role as the youngest in our group.

He pulls the first fold of paper back with his ringed fingers and immediately looks up at me as the mustard fabric shines up at him. He grins wide, beaming back at me before pulling the rest of the paper back and laying the trousers out in front of him.

“No babe...where did you find them?” He’s running his fingers down the cord, in awe to have his favorite trousers back - or at least a copy.

I don’t miss how Eleanor and Nick’s heads turn to share a look of shock as the pet name tumbles out. Before I can put anything together, Harry’s standing and leaning over the coffee table. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug and whispering his thanks in my ear.

“Wait I dont - how did you know it was h-” Julia pipes up, before she can finish she’s cut off by the joint gasps of Nick and Ellie as Harry plants a wet kiss to my cheek - then my lips, and laughs at our friends reaction.

“I knew it!” Ellie yells, pointing frantically between the two of us, Harry now having stepped over the table and come to sit next to me, pulling me into his side.

“What was-” Julia stammers, “Since when!”

Harry’s eyes flutter down to my face. He giggles quietly when he catches on to my glare. This wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined the evening going.

“Have you just been lying to my face for the past three months?” Ellie asks, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips.

“Five,” Harry mumbles, almost just as an inside joke for the both of us to enjoy. I slap my hand against his shoulder to shut him up but the damage is already done.

“Five months!” Even Theo’s joining in now. “How didn’t we know?”

“It didn’t start out like this honestly, we would’ve told you.” I try and explain, eager for this to quiet down so we could get to the roast dinner waiting for us in the oven.

“How did it start?” Nick pokes, drawing Julia and Ellie’s attention as the same puzzled expressions adorn their faces.

“Unimportant,” Harry brushes off, standing up to tower over us all and reaching a hand back for my own. “We better get dinner, we wouldn't want burnt potatoes.”

Harry pulls on my arm gently, leading me out the room before anyone can object.

In the kitchen, he picks up a tea towel and starts to check on the food, prodding at the parsnips. I roll my eyes as he ties his lavender apron around his waist and tentatively pulls the potato tray from the oven.

“Harry..” I sigh, trying not to laugh as he turn to face me, spatula in hand.

“Yes dear?”

“What was that?”

“Oh - You’ve gotta shimmy a little spatula under the potatoes or they’ll break apart-”

“No, obviously not that,” He makes it so hard so stay stern, a giggle leaks out as he lifts a hand to rest on his hip. “Why did you do that?”

“I want them to know.” drops his utensils, tone sincere as he takes another step towards me. “I want our friends to know how much I love you already, and you remember about my mustard cords so..it felt like the perfect time.”

“What?” I stutter, looking up at him from where he’s pulled me into his chest. His hands rest on my waist, rings a little hold against my exposed skin.

“You remembered the trousers I lost last month in LA -”

“You love me?”

His eyes go a little wide, a smile peaking through as the sides of his mouth quirk upwards. Realising what he just said, he lifts a hand from my waist to rest it against my face and lean down a little.

“Of course I love you.” He whispers, his voice a little croaky and I can see tiny droplets gathering in his eyes that make my heart flutter.

“Love you too..” I mumble. I wipe a thumb over his cheek before pulling him down into a kiss. I feel his smile against my own, and everything’s perfect for just a second.

“So you’ll come to Christmas with me?”

. . . . .

Hiii I hate the ending :)

Tysm for reading !! pls leave a like or reblog (it rlly helps <3) if you enjoyed it x

#Harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #stellarboystyles3years #“I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”#dani's masterlist #dani's writing #fan fic #harry styles #nick grimshaw #reader #idk #what do u even put in tags #christmas vibes?#friends to lovers

304 notes · View notes

magniloquent-raven · 3 years

Text

See What This is Worth

Harringrove Week of Love: Day 4

Teacher AU || School Dance

Rated: T

Read on Ao3

Billy is not, by nature, the kind of person who likes to be overly helpful. He doesn’t go out of his way for people he doesn’t know. He’s not especially charitable.

And yet here he is, taking time out of his Friday night, setting up tables and supervising idiots with no upper body strength who think they can move a whole stack of chairs on their own. He has better things to do than hang out at work and chaperone a bunch of middle-schoolers trying to score their first kiss to some truly grating top 40 shit.

He didn’t even like school dances when he was a student. As a middle-schooler he was too fucking terrified that some girl might ask him to dance, so he just never went. And in high school...well. He ended up more the type to get high in the parking lot and ditch with whatever chick was too drunk to notice he didn’t put out.

There was never a boy he liked well enough to do this shit with. Get dressed up and pretend not to want to dance and get flustered when he so much as touches a hand. No one in school was worth suffering through this shit for.

Until now, unfortunately.

He’s a grown-ass man and somehow feels like a dumb, lovestruck teen and it’s all Steve Harrington’s fault.

Him and his fucking face, and his ass, and his looking unfairly good in a suit.

He looks good in his stupid dorky khakis and paint-splattered apron too, but holy shit Billy never really got the phrase cleans up nice until he saw Steve in formal wear. His hair all combed neatly for once, wearing a blazer and slacks that have clearly been tailored.

Billy is seriously considering sending a thank you note to whatever tailor Steve visits, because they are very good at their job.

Good enough that Billy’s spending half his goddamn time staring at Steve’s ass instead of setting up. He’s bossing some volunteers around, gesturing animatedly about crepe paper and streamers and it’s so distractingly endearing that Billy kind of forgets he’s supposed to be doing anything other than watch Steve work.

And he gets caught. Steve turns, spots Billy staring. Scowls. Which is kind of his default expression when looking at Billy.

As much as Billy secretly wants to have Steve look at him like he can actually stand spending more than five minutes in the same room, the irritated frown kind of suits Steve. It’s cute. And when he gets pissed it’s hot. His eyes get all intense, mouth set in a firm line and Billy may or may not have had a fantasy or two about Steve making that exact face right before absolutely destroying his ass, so...Steve might not like him, but Billy’s dealing.

By being annoying, but still.

He wiggles his fingers in a sarcastic little wave, leaning a little more pointedly. He’s been lounging against the wall for way too long, his shoulder is going numb, but he’s not about to scramble to look like he’s doing something just because Steve spotted him.

Steve’s shoulders heave as he sighs, eyes rolling skyward. He hands his clipboard to the nearest volunteer, whispering something before turning on his heel and marching over.

Billy’s inspecting his nails when Steve reaches him. Stops a few paces away and folds his arms.

“Something I can do for you, Harrington?” He knows the bored tone gets to Steve, so he plays it up.

“Yeah. You were supposed to be helping Nancy put chairs out. You know, the thing you signed up for?” There’s still an edge to that statement, has been since Billy walked into the first committee meeting with a big, shit-eating grin and Steve glared at him looking like he was about to pop a blood vessel. He always says it all accusatory, like he’s not sure Billy even did sign up, and he’s just hanging around to be a nuisance.

Which, he is, but he’s doing it officially.

Has his little chaperone badge and everything. It’s pinned to his jacket, which he isn’t actually wearing, but he has it.

“Got tired,” Billy says with a dramatic weariness, head lolling to the side, rolling back against the wall. He looks up at Steve through his eyelashes. “I’m allowed to take a break aren’t I?”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hargrove, you’re telling me moving flimsy plastic chairs tired you out? You’re built like a brick wall.” He puts his hands on his hips and gets the same look he gets when his students start throwing clay around.

“Are you objectifying me?” Billy puts a hand on his chest with mock-offence, the corners of his mouth turning upward with genuine delight. His grin brightens when Steve’s cheeks flush, gaze darting away, the annoyance flagging a little, replaced with something else for just a moment.

“I’m stating a fact. In a completely...imparted way.”

“Think you mean ‘impartial’.”

The flush darkens, a splotchy red instead of the petal pink he was a moment ago, and his mouth twists. “Whatever,” he mutters. “You’ve been standing here for like ten minutes, man, get back to work.”

He stalks off in a huff, leaving Billy wondering how the hell Steve knew how long he’d been slacking off for.

Then again, he is in charge, so. He’s probably keeping tabs on everyone. At least that’s what Billy has to tell himself so the butterflies in his stomach don’t get any ideas.

He wanders off, back to where he was supposed to be, but Wheeler doesn’t actually need his help. She got most of the chairs in place while he was checking out her ex. He gets an impatient brush-off when he half-heartedly asks her if there’s any more work to do.

She never did like him much.

Not that he’s bothered, he doesn’t care for her either. She’s too snooty. Up her own ass. Self-righteous. ...and Steve’s ex.

Rumour has it Steve’s finally over her, but Billy will believe it when he sees it, the man hasn’t been on a date since Wheeler tore his heart to shreds three years ago.

Heather gossips, okay. She’s nosy, and her family knows Wheeler’s family, who know Steve, and word gets around. These upper class assholes never have anything better to do than talk behind each other’s backs. Especially when the only son of a wealthy family is, at 28, single and teaching snot-nosed brats how to fingerpaint.

And Billy has a vested interest, sue him. He asks some pointed questions here and there.

God, he’s never gotten this fucking desperate over a guy before. Pining away. Putting up with Nancy Wheeler bossing him around at meetings because he doesn’t want to piss her off too much just in case that’s the final straw for Steve. The thing that tips their rapport from not-friendly to outright hostile.

Because for some reason the guy still gives a shit about the ex who cheated on him. Fucking martyr.

Billy’s not sure if he’s jealous that she gets forgiven and he gets angry glares for no goddamn reason, or if he’s just flabbergasted that anyone would be that self-sacrificing. Both, maybe. It’s a little impressive, honestly. How far out of his way Steve will go to forgive people.

Except Billy.

Who still doesn’t know what he did wrong in the first place.

Not that it bothers him. No, not at all. He’s just constantly thinking about it, and trying to hold on to every detail of the early days of their interactions so he can analyze those moments for clues, and sometimes lying awake at night wondering if he’s just fundamentally unlovable and he’s never gonna figure out what he did wrong because he just is wrong.

He’s fine. It’s fine.

Thank god Steve is occupied for the rest of set-up. Always finding someone who isn’t Billy to boss around when he isn’t physically doing something himself. Gives Billy some room to breathe. And watch, like a weirdo.

He gets a couple weird looks from other volunteers but that’s nothing new. Wheeler glaring at him. Heather smirking. That one parent chaperone who’s here early and was making eyes at him at first, but it’s devolved into side-eye.

He thought maybe the dance actually starting would be a distraction, but it’s just loud. He’s still constantly stealing glances at Steve. While he’s making small talk. While he’s repinning some streamers that got knocked loose. He looks gorgeous, even under the harsh fluorescent lighting of a school gym, and Billy really wishes he had a flask on him right now.

Yelling at some rowdy kids doesn’t help either. Just earns him a dirty look from that one overprotective chaperone mom. No one asked you, lady, the kid was bouncing around like an over-caffeinated gerbil, someone was gonna get hurt. It’s Billy’s job to break that shit up.

He needs a smoke. This is unbearable.

Slipping out of the gym unnoticed is easier than he thought it would be. No one seems to give a shit that he’s sidling out, which is a little insulting, honestly. But useful.

The hallways are quiet. Empty. It’s always a little creepy being here at night. The squeak of his boots on the linoleum, the artificial white light keeping the nighttime gloom out, it always feels a little dream-like. Nightmarish maybe. Liminal.

He props the door open on his way out, with a chair he lifted from a nearby classroom. The last thing he needs is to get locked out. Embarrassing. He’d probably just leave, but then he’d get chewed out for ditching.

He sighs, turning his face skyward for a moment to breathe before he lights up.

The cool air is a relief after being cooped up with so many rambunctious pre-teens. Billy’s still not a fan of Indiana weather, and he probably never will be, but anything is better than being in there another goddamn second.

This was a terrible idea. It was barely an idea. An impulse decision that got his ass stuck babysitting on a Friday night just so he could spend more time staring at Steve.

Pathetic.

Maybe he should just ditch right now.

He’s weighing the pros and cons when a familiar voice cuts into his contemplation.

“Hargrove, where the hell did you—” Steve’s face appears when he pokes his head out the cracked-open door. His pinchy annoyed face. He wrinkles his nose when he spots Billy, and the cigarette in his hand. “Seriously?”

Billy shrugs. Puts the cigarette between his lips and takes a pointed drag, cheeks hollowing.

Steve, who was trying to sidle out past the chair, trips. The chair clatters to the ground, Steve stumbling in the opposite direction, arms out and flailing.

The door slams shut behind him.

Billy gapes, incredulous gaze flicking between Steve, frozen in place, and the closed door. “Seriously?”

“...Shit. I—” Steve grimaces. Runs a hand through his hair, tousling his neatly combed locks. “You have your key, right?”

The glare Billy levels at him is positively icy. “Yeah, no, of course I do, the chair was there for fun. I wasn’t worried about being locked out at all.”

“Okay, okay, Jesus. You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

“Don’t I?” It comes out far more bitterly than intended. Steve stares at him.

“No? What kind of—” he huffs, loud, frustrated, “What the fuck is your deal, Hargrove?”

Well. That’s a layered question. One he isn’t going to answer even a little bit. He scoffs instead, turning away and taking another angry pull off his cigarette. It warms him but does nothing for the pit in his stomach.

They stand there in silence for a beat. The muffled noise from inside is muted, distant.

“Fine, whatever,” Steve mutters. “I just don’t get why you hate me so much.”

And he sounds hurt. He sounds sad, and it throws Billy for a loop. Knocks him down a little. But then his chest gets tight, his heart flip-flopping around in the clutches of something caustic and resentful.

He flicks ash in Steve’s direction with an emphatic gesture, a petty vindictiveness. “You’re kidding, right?” he snaps. Steve’s jaw drops, just for a second, surprise passing over his face, before his expression hardens, his mouth snaps shut, jaw clenching.

“Alright, fine, I get it, what’s not to hate.” He clutches his elbows, not quite folding his arms. It looks more like he’s hugging himself. “Good talk.”

Billy squints at him. The tense line of his shoulders, the way he can’t quite meet Billy’s eye. He’s struck with the absurd urge to pull Steve into his arms. The impulse just pisses him off more. “You know what, princess, you get what you give, alright? You can’t treat someone like shit from the jump and then get mad when they don’t want to be your best fucking friend. Fuck you.”

“What? I never—”

“Oh, you never? You never asked Heather why she ‘puts up with such an asshole’?” He tosses his hands in the air, air quoting around the phrase, and takes a step towards Steve. “The day after we met? And you never talked over me at my first staff meeting, right? You would never.” Another step. He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t do it on purpose, but he ends up standing inches from Steve. The cold air mists their breath, and it mingles in one seething cloud between them. “You’ve been treating me like the dirt under your shoe since I got here, Harrington, don’t you dare act like you haven’t.”

Steve sets his jaw, a stubborn tilt to his chin. “You were an asshole. I still don’t get why she puts up with you!”

Billy grinds his teeth. He’s asked Heather that himself. With varying degrees of seriousness. It stings hearing it from someone else.

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be people pleasers,” he spits, hands clenching into fists at his side. To channel his anger, more than anything else. He isn’t seventeen anymore, he can’t just start throwing punches at a co-worker.

His nails bite into the skin of his palm, sweat stinging the shallow scrapes, and his hands tremble, itch.

“I’m not—you know what, I’m not doing this with you.” He steps back. Just like that. Like it’s that easy to walk away. Like none of this matters to him, and he’s just...venting frustrations that have nothing to do with Billy. Because Billy doesn’t matter to him. This is about getting locked out of his own stupid party. Or Wheeler saying something bitchy maybe. Or any number of things going on in his life that Billy doesn’t know about because he’s not a part of it.

And the tumbling, tangling web of twisting thoughts wrap around each other ‘til none of them make sense, ‘til he doesn’t know what he’s upset about he’s just gutted, just standing there in the cold staring at Steve, his eyes stinging and his toes going numb because he didn’t wear his good socks today.

He shouldn’t give a shit about this either, but he does.

Story of his fucking life, apparently.

Steve’s gaze wanders, looking for what, Billy doesn’t know, but his profile lit up by a dirty streetlamp has got to be the most beautiful fucking thing Billy’s ever seen. He wants to kiss Steve so badly it hurts.

And he hates that he still does, even when he’s angry. Even bitter and hurting he still wants.

He flicks his cigarette butt away and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“The fuck are you looking for, Harrington,” he asks flatly, as Steve cranes his neck peering around the building.

Steve shoots him a glare. “Trying to remember if any of the doors got left unlocked.” He shivers violently, and sticks his hands in his armpits. “It’s freezing out here, in case you didn’t notice, and I’m not really into the idea of frostbite, so.”

“What, Mr.Born-and-raised-in-Indiana can’t handle a little snow?” Billy sneers. It’s petty, he knows. It’s not fair. Because Steve is out here in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, dressed to be in a sweaty, crowded gymnasium. Billy at least grabbed his jacket before he came out here, knowing he was going to be a while, and he’s still clenching his jaw against the urge to let his teeth chatter.

The look that earns him is withering, though it’s undercut slightly by the awkward way Steve shuffles his arms around, trying to unroll his sleeves without exposing his fingers to the cold.

Billy rolls his eyes. “Forget it, pretty boy, Wheeler made her boytoy check all the doors before the dance started. Either wait ‘til someone notices you’re gone or break a window.”

“Great,” Steve mutters, and shudders again.

“Why do you still talk to her, anyways?” He tries for casual and misses by a mile. Steve’s eyebrows shoot upwards and Billy tries again. “Just making conversation. We could be out here a while.”

“And that was what you—whatever. She and I are friends. Why wouldn’t I talk to her.”

“C’mon,” Billy scoffs, “Plenty of reasons. You still hung up on her or something? Hangin’ around hoping for another shot?”

“Definitely not.”

It shouldn’t make Billy’s heart leap but it does. Just because he’s not still sniffing around after Wheeler’s granny panties anymore doesn’t mean he has any interest in Billy. “Really now.”

“Yes, really, Jesus Christ. Why do you care.”

“I don’t.” Billy lies, and looks away, affecting disinterest. He sniffs. “It’s just weird, is all. I sure as shit wouldn’t hang around someone after they cheated on me.”

Steve is staring. Billy can feel his gaze boring into the side of his head. He glances out of the corner of his eye, watches Steve furrow his brow and frown. “It wasn’t—It was more complicated than that. I wasn’t...good. We weren’t good together.” He stops himself, biting his lip, and shakes his head.

“Hm.” Billy chews his thumbnail. It almost feels like they’re getting somewhere, but it’s so fragile Billy’s afraid to open his mouth and ruin it. The silence stretches, filled only by Steve’s rustling shivers, and Billy’s own unsteady heartbeat. “My car keys are in my jacket pocket,” he ventures, after long enough that the silence has gotten awkward.

“What! How long were you going to keep that to yourse—”

“Do you want to take advantage of my heater, or not.”

“Jesus Christ, yes.”

“Alright.”

They don’t talk on the walk over. Snow crunches beneath Billy’s boots, and Steve slips a few times on patches of icy pavement.

And Billy feels somehow nervous. Like he’s invited Steve to his goddamn bedroom or something.

Or maybe he’s just worried this tentative peace will end with their conversation going where it always does, blowing up in his goddamn face. But they’ve never actually spent that much time alone, he has no idea how this is going to work.

Best case scenario it ends with Steve half-dressed in the backseat of his car, but he’s not stupid enough to hope for that.

Fantasize about it, sure, but…

Steve actually being in his car is a surreal experience. Filling the small cab with his clean laundry scent, sweet and subtle, faint enough to be a tease, and he has to restrain himself from taking big embarrassing sniffs to satisfy his sudden craving for more.

He wonders if the smell will linger. How long Steve will be a phantom presence in his space.

Waste of time to think about it now, while he’s actually here.

Billy distracts himself by keeping his hands busy. Fumbling with the keys in his stiff fingers. Poking the overhead button to flip on the interior light. Flicking the dials on his console. The heater’s fan drones almost as loudly as the engine. Somehow the white noise makes the silence less stressful.

Steve rubs his hands together in front of the nearest vent, hissing through his teeth. “Fuck, fuck, I can’t feel my goddamn fingers,” he mutters, the hair on his forehead flopping as he moves.

“You weren’t out there that long,” Billy chuckles. Steve’s clumsy flailing is stupid endearing, Billy is shamelessly turned in his seat to watch him, the doorhandle digging into his spine, his knee pulled up and leaning on the seat’s backrest.

“Oh come on, you grew up in California, how are you fine right now?” Steve groans, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. His gaze darts up and down Billy’s form before flicking away again.

It’s common knowledge where Billy is from. He doesn’t exactly hide it. There’s a goddamn Malibu postcard tacked up in his office, pictures of his old surfboard. But it still makes Billy a little giddy that Steve pays enough attention to know that.

“I run hot,” Billy says casually, and grins, tongue between his teeth. Truth be told, he wasn’t fine, he was fucking freezing, he’s just good at hiding physical discomfort.

Steve’s cheeks flush a little pinker, and his gaze gets suspiciously focused on the vent in front of him.

“So…” Steve licks his lips, pausing, “Uh. What was it like? California.”

Billy blinks at him. “Warmer than this shithole, for starters.”

He feels off balance suddenly. First-date-jittery. Which is ridiculous because he’s never gotten first date jitters. And this isn’t a date. Not even close. But still, when Steve laughs quietly it gets the butterflies in Billy’s stomach far too excited. Like he’s ten and discovering the wonders of holding a boy’s hand all over again.

“I uh. Can’t go back there.” Billy chews the inside of his cheek, watching Steve closely.

“Why, you a wanted criminal or something?”

Billy snorts. “Glad to know you think so highly of me. No, I meant...lotta shit happened there that I’d rather not remember.”

There were good things too. More good memories in California than after they moved, but that doesn’t stop the awful shit from tainting the whole goddamn state for him. Just makes it harder that it does.

Hard to want to go back to a place where you almost died, no matter how many times your mom took you to the beach there.

Steve meets his gaze, his eyes soft, and it punches the breath from Billy’s lungs for a second. “Yeah, I get that.” He hums, and tucks his hands between his thighs. The position makes him look oddly demure. “I, uh. Have some experience with avoiding bad memories, y’know. Doesn’t end well. Repressing that kinda shit.”

“Pff,” Billy leans his head back against the window. The cold seeps through his curls. “You sound like Kali.”

“...Who?”

“Biker boots. Side shave. ‘Bout yea tall.” Billy waves his hand around his shoulder. “You met her once. I brought her to that stupid Christmas party couple years back.”

“Oh.” Steve looks down at his lap. “Your girlfriend.”

Billy chokes on his own spit. “What?”

“...Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, no, uh. No. Not even a little bit, man,” Billy laughs a little hysterically.

“She was your date to that party though, right? Did it not work out, or…?”

“Jesus,” he mutters, and rubs the back of his neck. Steve’s staring, all wide-eyed and confused and fucking adorable. He weighs his options. Wonders how much he should divulge. The easiest way would be to just say no, and move on. The safest way. They’re stuck out here alone and he doesn’t know how well Steve would react to finding out he’s stuck alone with a queer.

It’s something Billy tends not to take risks on. If guys can’t figure him out on their own, he isn’t going to tell them. But in this case...he’s just annoyed that Steve hasn’t noticed yet.

And besides, Steve spends half his time hanging around Robin Buckley—who Billy has his suspicions about—so it’s not like there’s no chance Steve would be okay with Billy being gay…

He takes a breath. Exhales slow and stares at the roof of the car. There’s a burn mark next to the rearview mirror where he might’ve stubbed out a cigarette. He’s had this damn car so long he doesn’t remember doing it.

“She’s a friend, Steve. And I borrowed her from her girlfriend that night,” he says, testing the waters. Steve blinks a little, lips parting, but doesn’t react any more than that. Doesn’t seem angry, or judgemental, or disgusted. “I’m not really ready to be out at work. So.”

“Wait, Robin was right?” Steve blurts, sitting a little straighter, eyebrows shooting up.

“Of course she noticed,” Billy mutters, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. He doesn’t ask why Buckley was talking to Steve about him in the first place, let alone about his sexual preferences. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I mean, she kept going on about lesbian psychic sense, and I told her if anyone’s got a lesbian psychic sense, it’s El, not her, but—” he cuts himself off, flushing. “I, uh. Oh. Huh. Guess I shoulda listened to her when she told me my gaydar was busted.”

Well. That’s...something. Not the reaction he was expecting. Not that he did know what to expect, but still. “Yeah, you usually need to be queer to spot one,” he shrugs. Like he hasn’t been hoping Steve would pick up on his not-so-subtle hints this whole time, while dreading the possibility with equal fervour.

But Steve freezes then. Shoulders going stiff, his hands stilling. And Billy’s heart leaps.

“I...” Steve fidgets, his palms rubbing together as he shifts his thighs. “Um. Am. I am. I’m bi.”

“Huh...” Billy licks his lips. “Well, shit, Harrington.”

He wonders how well he pulled off cool and unbothered. It’s usually something he’s alright at, but he’s not usually reacting to the goddamn man of his dreams telling him he’s into guys. His whole chest feels like it’s gonna explode.

“Mhm…” Steve hums, staring at his own hands, his face frustratingly neutral.

“So.” Suddenly their childish rivalry annoys Billy. When Steve was just a straight boy he was pining after it felt good to punish him for being unattainable. Be up in his space without being too obvious about why. Get him all flushed and bothered in the only way he could. But now… “Why did it take us this long to get here?” Billy asks quietly. He knows his side of the story. Knows his own stubborn asshole nature played its part. But Steve…

His anger from earlier resurfaces. Steve treating him like he wasn’t worth his time, running on a loop in his head.

He draws his knee up, hugging it to his chest, but keeps the bitterness out of his expression. It’s too likely to end up looking like sadness on his face right now.

Steve shrugs. “Haven’t we already been through this?” He turns to stare out the window. Billy glares at the back of his head.

“No, Steve, we haven’t. You called me an asshole and then said you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“What else is there to say?”

“How ‘bout an explanation? What exactly did I do to you, pretty boy? And don’t give me that, you were a dick, bullshit, because you hated me from the jump. Way before I did anything to deserve it.”

And he did, eventually, deserve it. He knows that. Doesn’t make the immediate brush-off feel any better.

Steve’s back is stiff, and he’s crossed his arms. And he still won’t look at Billy.

Feels like they’re right back where they started, and Billy wants to crawl out of his own skin. He grits his teeth, and hisses, “Listen, I know you come from a family of fuckin’ bigshot lawyers or what-the-fuck-ever, but it doesn’t give you the right to treat people like dirt if they don’t—”

That, at least, gets Steve’s attention. He whips his head around, stares at Billy with his mouth open. “Is that what you think—Billy I haven’t had a real conversation with my parents in nearly ten years, I don’t give a shit about all that.”

“Then what—”

“You make me feel dumb! Alright? Happy?”

Billy blinks at him. “What?”

Steve groans, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You—you show up here all, all hot and—” he waves a hand, gesturing up and down Billy’s body, “like that, and it was annoying enough that you knew that, strutting around like you own the place, but then you go and open your mouth and—” Steve buries his face in his hands, sighing, rubbing his eyes. “The first time I heard you talk you were explaining some shit about—about—nemo devices or something—”

“Mnemonic.”

“That! That right there, that thing you always do. I get it. Okay? You’re smarter than me. I’m just a dumb art teacher who gets headaches when he tries to read.” Steve throws himself back against the headrest, all furrowed brow and expressive hands.

And Billy stares. Frozen in place. He is, for once, at a loss for words. His mouth works soundlessly as he searches for something to say. But what falls out of him is, “You think I’m hot?” and he mentally slaps himself.

“Really. That’s your takeaway?”

“No—no, well, I mean. Kind of. Yeah.” He wets his bottom lip. Tongues his cheek.

Steve groans, “Seriously?” He tugs at a stray lock of hair. “No one who wears pants that tight doesn't know they’re attractive, alright, why is this surprising. I have eyes.”

“Because it’s you.” Billy’s brain slams to a halt the second he says it, shock freezing him in place. Apparently his filter is just fucking broken today, Jesus Christ.

“...What. Y’know what, fuck you, I’m not that unobservant—”

Billy snorts a disbelieving laugh, “Are you sure about that.”

“Alright, fine, I didn’t realize you were gay, for like, a really long time, but you didn’t notice that I’m queer too, so there!” Steve looks at him, triumphant, like he’s won the argument—if that’s what this even is. And Billy scoffs, stupid, irrational competitiveness tightening like anger in his chest, and—

“It’s not the same, Harrington,” Billy says flatly, heart pounding.

“And why not?”

“Because you haven’t been after my dick this whole time! You didn’t care if I knew that you’re queer,” he’s almost shouting, frustrated and not even sure what he’s trying to prove, arms thrown wide to punctuate his dumb and nonexistent point, until exactly what he just let slip sinks in. He lowers his hands, clenches them into fists resting on his thighs. Steve hasn’t said a word, he’s just staring, jaw slack.

“Wait...so—”

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“Harrington,” Billy growls.

“Jesus Christ, Billy would you let me—”

“No.”

“I have been though!” Steve yells over him, and it stuns Billy enough that he falls silent. “Dumbass, I have been into you this whole goddamn time, are you kidding me?”

“...What.”

Steve runs restless fingers through his hair, making even more of a mess of it. “Listen, do you have any idea how irritating it was that you’re as hot as you are? I wanted to badly to hate you because you were so fucking annoying, but you were all—” he gestures to Billy, waving his hand around wildly, “like, a fucking...walking wet dream, so.”

“Gee, thanks,” Billy responds, utterly bemused.

“And then I find out you’re a great teacher, and really smart, and kind of funny when you aren’t being a douche, and suddenly I’m head-over-heels for a guy I’m pretty sure hates me, because I have no self-respect apparently, and—” He stops, chest heaving, eyebrows drawn, and curls in on himself, folding his arms.

“I never hated you.”

Steve scoffs, dipping his chin ‘til his face is shadowed by his bangs.

“Listen to me,” Billy scoots forward, wedging his knee over the cupholders between their seats. He hesitates, a hand hovering mid-air while he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. And then touches Steve’s elbow. He jolts, looks up at Billy from under the fall of brown hair hanging over his forehead, his eyes are wide and questioning. Billy presses his fingertips firmer to the warmth of Steve’s skin under his starched dress shirt. “You care about your friends a ridiculous amount, it’s mind-boggling. Honestly. I grew up around people who would’ve barely given a shit if I died, and here you are worrying about everyone in your life, like it’s your fuckin’ job. You’re a good goddamn person, and I wanted…” he pauses, and bites his lip. “I was pissed that I wasn’t one of the people you cared about, alright. Fuckin’ Wheeler gets to be, but I...” He trails off, gestures vaguely.

Steve’s fingers are cold, sneaking up from under his folded arm to touch the back of Billy’s hand. “You were. You are.” He ducks his head again, the ghost of a smile just barely visible before he disappears into shadow again. “I came out here to check on you, didn’t I?”

“I mean…I was supposed to be helping out inside—”

“Billy, there’s, like, eight volunteers in there, they can handle a bunch of middle-schoolers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve lets out a quiet breath. “I, uh. I’m sorry. I never thought you gave a damn about my opinion, to be honest. I didn’t—I was just…”

“Insecure?”

Steve grimaces. “Yeah.”

And that’s something Billy’s more familiar with than he’d like to be. He squeezes Steve’s forearm. “You’re not stupid, you know.”

“It’s fine, I know I am. Everybody in my life is some kinda damn genius, so. Someone had to draw the short straw.”

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.” That gets his attention, surprised eye-contact, and Billy tilts his head to maintain it. “I don’t give a shit that your goddamn friends can speak five languages, or understand organic chem, or any of that crap, they aren’t better than you, alright, they’re just nerds.” Steve snorts, and rolls his eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips and it makes Billy smile. “Look, you play guitar, right. And you taught that dweeby little friend of yours the chords to his weird song about physics. Wouldn’t have been able to pull that off without at least a couple brain cells floating around under all that hair.”

“I mean, that was just—”

“That was just something you’re good at. You don’t gotta be able to read Shakespeare to have smarts, you’re just smart about other shit.”

A blush colours Steve’s cheeks. “I—thanks,” he murmurs.

Billy doesn’t get a chance to respond.

In the front seat of his beat-up old Camaro, with snow starting to fall outside, gathering silently on the dimly illuminated windshield, Steve Harrington kisses him for the first time. He’s still holding Billy’s hand. One second he’s glancing down shyly, smiling small and crooked, the next…

His lips are soft. Gentle. He kisses like he’s asking permission, barely touching Billy at all.

Despite the light brush of a kiss, Billy feels it everywhere, lit up with a jolt of electricity right through his chest. He chases Steve when he pulls away, with a hasty press of his mouth, kisses him again.

And again.

His free hand comes up to cup Steve’s cheek, holding that warmth in the palm of his hand, trying to keep him close for as long as possible. Steve makes a quiet noise against his lips, and his heart clenches, his breath catching in his throat.

They part eventually, Billy still basking in the phantom sensation of Steve’s smile pressed to his, leaving him tingling and warm. Their foreheads touch, resting together, the point of contact is grounding, the only thing stopping him from feeling like he could float away at any moment.

“So,” Billy says after a moment, “Fair warning, I’m gonna have to start complimenting you more if that’s how you react to it.”

Steve laughs quietly. His eyes are still closed, so Billy starts counting his eyelashes.

“This some kinda fairy tale, Hargrove? I kiss you and you turn into a polite human being?”

“Hardly. But I’ll see what I can do about the happy ending part.”

“The Disney kind, or the massage parlor kind?”

Billy kisses Steve again, grinning. “Both, if I’m lucky.”

And he was.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #a raven's writing desk #harringroveweekoflove #hello yes im still doing these #i have one for each day of prompts and they're GETTING written im just slow lmao

63 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 4 years

Text

Hux Fluff Alphabet

As promised, here is the fluff alphabet for General Hux! I said I would work on this when things were less crazy for me, but that was a huge lie, lol. I had a great time finishing up the rest of these prompts, and I hope you guys have a great time reading them. Enjoy!

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Hux is a sucker for a nice smile. It’s one of the things he first noticed about you—he wasn’t used to seeing anyone smile around him. He catches himself staring at you from across the bridge, your lips quirking up at the corners whenever you notice, and it still makes his heart stop. Every. Single. Time.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Not actively. Neither of your lifestyles are very conducive to a child. He doesn’t mind children though, and sometimes—on the rare occasion that he lets his mind wander—he wonders what it would be like to raise a child of his own.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Hux rarely initiates physical contact with you—it’s just not something he’s really comfortable with. However, he will give non-verbal queues, little changes in his position or demeanor to let you know that he wants attention.

If you’re sitting together on the couch or laying next to each other in bed, he’ll shift slightly, open up space so that you can move in closer. His favorite position for cuddling is when you lay your head on his chest and he’ll wrap an arm around your waist. He likes to feel you so solidly against him—it helps remind him that you’re real, that you’re there, that you love him.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Hux doesn’t have much time for dates, so they’re few and far between. When he gets the chance, he likes to take you planet-side—for fine dining, shows, whatever you’d like. He just wants to spoil you, because you deserve it 🥰

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

For Hux, you are his serenity. Whenever you’re with him, all the worry, all the panic, it stops. Being with you is like the first breath of air after diving in deep and turbulent waters.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Any relationship with Hux moves slowly. He wouldn’t want to be too forward, and this is the first time he’s been with someone this way. It’s the little things that clue him in to how he really feels about you—like how, no matter how many times it’s happened, his heart still stutters every time you kiss him, how happy you are to see his rare smiles, how understanding you are of his needs.

The first time you tell him you love him, he’s gripped with anxiety. He’s only heard those words one, maybe two times in his life, and he’s never said them himself.

You seem to understand what he’s feeling, even in his silence, nuzzling your head closer to his chest and whispering the words, “it’s okay if you can’t say it yet—I don’t mind waiting,” and he wants to cry, can’t process how it feels to be known by you. He tells you he loves you, then and there. He thinks he always has.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

YES! Yes, yes, yes a million times yes, especially at the beginning of your relationship. Hux treats you like you’re made of glass, or smoke, like if he’s not careful you might disappear. His kisses are slow and sensual, his touches are feather-light. Later on, he’s a little less nervous about it. He just can’t stand the idea of hurting you, on accident or not.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Hux holds your hands with purpose. He’s almost always working, so when he takes time to appreciate that little bit of intimacy, it’s all he lets himself focus on. He’ll hold both of your hands in his, pulling them close to his chest to shrink the space between you so he can stare into your eyes, occasionally brushing gentle kisses along your knuckles.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

Hux appreciates hard work. The first time he truly noticed you, it was because he recognized your drive and determination, your hunger for success. Later he comes to appreciate all your other wonderful qualities, but it’s your loyalty that stays with him whenever he’s gripped with fear—the unwelcome thoughts that some times intrude, thoughts that you might leave him.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Short answer: yes. Longer answer: All. The. Time. He just has such a hard time believing that you like him. And he has to believe that everyone wants you—after all, why wouldn’t they?

He gets a little mopey when he thinks you might have feelings for someone else, a little standoffish, and he needs a lot of reassurance. Luckily, you’re more than happy to show him that he’s the only one for you 😘

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Hux’s kisses always start slow. He’ll cup his hand around your neck, hold you close, admiring you for a moment before he presses his lips to yours softly.

He always begins gently, but once he’s started, it’s hard for him to stop. Sometimes you’ll find yourself pulling away from him with no way to tell how much time has passed, his hair ruffed up and falling into his face and your uniform in disarray from his wandering hands.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

You, probably. Hux isn’t very good at expressing how he feels, and more likely than not, he thinks the risk is too great unless he’s absolutely certain that you feel the same.

Your palms are sweating when it happens, your hands clammy from being in such close proximity with him again. Just the two of you.

He’s babbling on about some plans or to-do list and your heart hurts, a physical, blinding pain because you’ve wanted him for so long and now you’re so close.

He stops mid-sentence when you place your hand over his, and the look you give him speaks volumes, speaks oceans but he still can’t help but feel surprised when you lean over and press a tentative kiss to the side of his mouth.

He’s silent in the moments after, a hard set to his brow and you’re on fire with embarrassment. You turn to go, ready to run as far as you can, knowing that there’s no place far enough away to escape your shame. You’re out of your chair before he takes you by the hand, pulls you gently to your seat and then whispers, “please, do that again.”

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

The first time you shared a bed together. He can’t remember ever sleeping so well as he did that first night.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Hux absolutely spoils, but he can be shy about it. You’ll find little gifts and trinkets waiting for you when you go to visit him in his quarters, and he’ll look away as you open them, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye to catch your soft smile. He’ll blush and stammer—talking about how he saw it and thought of you, how he can pick out something else if you don’t like it. He only goes silent once you press a soft kiss to his unsuspecting lips, whispering about how much you love your gift.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

I would say calming colors, like blues or greens or maybe even yellow on certain days. Anything that reminds him of living things, and life beyond the Finalizer.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

I think if he were really close to someone, he would use some pretty classic terms of endearment, like love, or darling. He prefers it when his SO calls him by name—he’s heard it so rarely in his life, and you say it with so much love that he can scarcely believe it, but I do think calling him general or sir in a playful tone is an easy way to get him going 😬

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Hux loves to steam and press his own uniforms. It’s calming for him, and allows him to start his day with a little bit of order. He’ll put them on while they’re still warm, enjoying the smell of soap and the lingering heat.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

He doesn’t spend that much time planet-side, but rainy days are very contemplative for Hux. They remind him a lot of his childhood, and he’ll find himself staring out the window, lost in thought. He appreciates it when you’re there for him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him away from those reminders of his past and back into the present with a soft hug and a cup of tea.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Hux doesn’t have a lot of time to feel sad, and he’s gotten really good at burying his emotions after everything that he’s been through.

Sometimes, though, those feelings bubble to the surface without warning. When he needs comfort, he’ll go and find Millie for a quick, soothing snuggle. If he can’t go all the way back to his quarters, he’ll replay memories of her as a kitten over in his mind.

If you’re feeling down, Hux will make sure that he’s there for you. He’s a problem-solver, he likes to fix things, but if you ask him to just listen, he’ll do it. He’ll let you rest your head on his shoulder as he sits silently and your tears will drip down into the fabric of his uniform and it just feels good to be with him. You feel lighter when you’re together.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Hux tends to think out loud—especially when he’s in a place where he feels safe. You first notice him mumbling under his breath early on in your relationship, when you’re working together late at night, whispers about tasks he has to finish or reminders for himself. As time goes on, he’ll speak of more personal things—his wants for the future, little things that happened to him during the day that he thinks you might find funny.

He’s a very good listener, though. If you need to vent on a bad day or if there’s something you’re really excited about, he’ll be with you, all of his attention focused on whatever it is you have to say. He doesn’t speak much during these conversations, but you cherish them. It’s one of the ways he shows you that he cares.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Anything that takes his mind off work. Hux likes tasks that he can do without much thought, like laundry or washing dishes. If he’s feeling really stressed, sometimes he’ll draw a bath and ask you to join him, the heat of the water seeping into his aching muscles, the gentle trace of your fingers reminding him that, even with all the opposition in his life, there’s someone on his side.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Hux likes to let his actions speak for himself. He’s spent so much time surrounded by people who have never believed in his abilities, and showing off feels pathetic in that frame of mind. That being said, he is proud of his intellect and his achievements. He’s worked very hard to earn the title he possesses, and he knows that he’s smarter than most of the people he’s surrounded by.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

This man loves to plan. He’s not about to ask such an important question just anywhere, and he’s certainly not going to do it on the Finalizer. He does his research—looks for a planet that’s beautiful, safe, and private.

He writes out the perfect words, recites them to himself over and over again in the weeks before (whether or not he remembers them in the moment is an entirely different story).

You say yes, of course. He could have asked you anywhere, at anytime, without any planning. You just want to be with him.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

I don’t think Hux listens to a lot of music—he finds it distracting when he’s trying to work, and he’s almost always trying to work. That being said, here are some songs that remind me of him:

Work Song by Hozier

Gun Song by The Lumineers

Shrike by Hozier

False God by Taylor Swift

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Before he met you, Hux was sure that he’d never get married. He’d tell Phasma that he didn’t have time for an SO, that a relationship would be a liability, that he was married to the Order, and a million other reasons he didn’t want it.

Once your together, though, he thinks about it all the time. You’ll be sitting at your station, or in his quarters sipping caff in the mornings, or you’ll reach for his hand late at night while you’re both working, and suddenly he’s overcome with the feeling that he wants to be like this forever. He needs you to be his in every way imaginable. And once he starts thinking about it, he doesn’t stop.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

I think Millicent is the only pet he needs!

#armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x you #general hux x reader #hcs #general hux hcs #armitage hux hcs #my writing #long post

189 notes · View notes

haymaker-mva · 4 years

Text

– The Pigtails are Off – (4)

Part 4: The three times Luka met Marinette

Now, you may be wondering: How did everyone get their carmines? All of the students found carmines and a note on their front steps the day Marinette reached the end of her rope. It can be assumed that Marinette used her connections to get a carmine to everyone. Except Marc because she wanted to give his carmine to him with Nathaniel at school/in person. Also about that, The Confrontation (As I'm calling it) happens at lunch. Marinette left and didn't come back for the rest of the day. Hope that cleared any confusions up! Sorry for the long notes section.

Also, I planned to post this after having another part done, but I feel guilty having a part ready while having no motivation to write lately. So, take this and prepare for a long wait.

Ao3 - First - Previous - Next

When Luka Couffine first met Marinette, it was years before he met her.

...

For good measure, Marinette slipped a carmine onto his wrist. Just in case.

When Luka Couffine first met Marinette, it was years before he met her.

Let me explain.

It was about two years ago, when he was fifteen. He was trying to get into the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie when he bumped into a girl.

She had long black hair that flowed down her back in waves. It shone with blue highlights that the sun cast, and she wore a jean jacket and a black pleated skirt with pink edges. Her boots were a dark brown, and she also had a pair of pink hoop earrings. Last was her tank top, which was white with a black Jagged Stone design.

Anyway, she was walking out of the bakery with something whitte folded in her arms. She seemed to be glaring at the item annoyedly when Luka opened the door and promptly walked into her.

She fell backwards, onto her butt, gripping the fabric of her item tightly. Luka fell backwards as well, and he just managed to save the guitar that had previously been on his back. Luka looked up at who he had crashed into, and the first thing he noticed was the tank top.

“Sorry… wait, you like Jagged Stone?” Luka said dumbly.

“Ugh.. yeah, I do. What’s it to you?” The girl replied, getting up off the ground. Her voice wasn’t annoyed, just apprehensive. Luka could hear her song stutter, as if she wasn’t used to people asking things like that to her.

“I love Jagged Stone! I wanted to ask where you got that shirt?” Luka asked, finally getting up and slinging his guitar back over his shoulder.

“...I made it. The design is official but It always was too small or the fabric was too rough in official merch.” The girl told him.

“Oh. I asked so I could get one of my own. I agree with what you said about official merch. Jagged really needs to get a better provider or something.” Luka agreed, moving off to the side inside the bakery with her.

“Well, I have a t-shirt that’s pretty much the same that I could give you,” The girl offered, holding out the item that Luka now knew was a shirt. “I originally made it for myself, but I misjudged the measurements and made it too big.”

“That’d be awesome!” Luka said, taking the surprisingly soft t-shirt and holding it up to himself. “How much do I owe you?”

“You want to pay me?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. “It’s a leftover, it’s fine.”

“No, you made it and now you’re just giving it to someone you’ve never met. I’m paying you.” Luka pulled twenty dollars out of his pocket and put it into the girl’s hand.

“It’s honestly fine,” She started, but a ring from her phone cut her off. She glanced at it, and her eyes went wide. “I have to go!” She turned and rushed out the door, not even remembering her resistance to getting paid for her work.

Luka watched her rush off with a small smile, and walked up to the counter to buy something for him and Juleka. Picture day was today, and she probably just got home. Best to stock up on treats.

The second time Luka met her was around a year ago, when he was seventeen and she was sixteen.

This time he had heard of her from Juleka before the second meet. He had been all ready and stocked up for a comfort session because it was picture day for Juleka. But when she got back, she was all smiles. Luka listened to her speak about a girl named Marinette like she was a god on earth. But Juleka also seemed nervous. Like she wasn’t sure if she was doing something wrong or not. But that was just Luka’s guess.

Anyway, Luka was just happy that Juleka finally had a good picture day. Luka was immensely grateful for this Marinette, he would have to make sure to thank her when he met her.

A few weeks later Marinette was walking dejectedly towards the room that she was told Luka would be in. As soon as she was out of sight of the others she straightened her slouched back and wiped the sadness off of her face.

She knew she should be a bit more careful, but it was annoying to act like her life revolved around a guy. It painted her as endearing and not a threat, so it was “worth” it. Some days she got tired of it though. In reality, Marinette only had a small crush on the boy. She liked his kind personality, but it wasn’t anything as extreme as she played it up to be.

Anyway, Marinette walked towards the doorway to what she assumed was Juleka and Luka’s room. She walked in to see a boy with deep black hair that was dyed teal at the edges. He wore a slightly worn Jagged Stone shirt that looked familiar to Marinette. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be meditating. She shook her head and looked at him calculatingly. This must be Luka. He looked like the calm type. He definitely liked music, she could see a guitar on his bed.

His eyes opened and she immediately scrambled to look like she just got there.

“H-hey! My name’s Ma-Ma-Marinette! It-uh, your Mom sent me down here, the grove, er, um, the group’s- waiting for you.” She stuttered “nervously.”

` -

Luka studied the girl who had just come in.

As soon as she walked in the door, Luka could feel confidence and poise radiating off of someone. His eyes had been closed, but the orchestra that was this girl’s song was unignorable. He opened his eyes after a moment of listening to the carefully crafted sound that flowed out of her. For a split second after opening his eyes he saw her face. She was looking at him with the expression of a scientist, detached and serious. She seemed to be evaluating him. But after that millisecond, she scrambled and started stuttering.

“H-hey! My name’s Ma-Ma-Marinette! It-uh, your Mom sent me down here, the grove, er, um, the group’s- waiting for you.”

He studied her for a moment. This personality was miles away from what he had just seen. Her music was the same, except for a small flute sound that represented her current behavior. This was off. The way Marinette was acting… it wasn’t real. He decided to play along for now though. If her previously seen personality was anything to go by, this girl was confident in herself. Usually there was something to back that type of raw confidence up. Also, he was thankful for what she had done for his sister.

“Hi, Ma-Ma-Marinette.” He said, chuckling behind his hand.

She looked away for a moment, and by the way she stood he would assume she was sad. But her music suggested otherwise. She was angry. Deafeningly angry.

“Sorry,” He backtracked, still trying to act like he didn’t know what she was doing. Not that he did, he had no clue why she was faking her personality. “I didn’t mean to offend. I tend to make more sense with this.”

Luka reached over to his guitar and pulled it into his lap. He readied himself and patted the bed, motioning for Marinette to sit down. She compiled, and sat down with an expression of curiosity on her features.

He started playing the melody he heard from her, although he couldn’t do it justice with just one instrument. He kept quiet, letting the music speak for himself. (He totally wasn’t afraid to say something wrong and anger the frightening girl. Not at all.)

As he played, he saw Marinette’s eyes close, and her hand came up to rest on her heart. She seemed to relax, letting a small smile creep onto her face. It was the first real reaction he had seen her give. (And purposefully let him see, that is.)

He smiled, and closed his eyes too, absorbing himself in the sound of the music.

After that meeting, Luka couldn’t keep Marinette off of his mind. What has she been hiding? Why was she wearing such a thick mask? His curiosity with Marinette started as just that, a curiosity. But over time and more encounters, he found himself falling for her. Not her fake stuttering and demeanor, but the snippets of her true self he saw shining through. His heart beat faster when she grew determined or confident.

Luka knew that he was falling hard and fast, and for a girl that kept her guard up constantly. He managed to get more moments of her real personality whenever she got immersed in his music. So, he wrote more music for her. Juleka noticed, obviously, and Luka noticed her nervousness at his new crush (it totally wasn’t growing bigger then that...right?), but didn’t know what to make of it. What he didn’t notice was Juleka’s fear.

And now the third and last, yet somehow the first time Luka Couffine met Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Juleka handed Luka the piece of paper.

“What’s this? Is this what Sabrina was here so early for?” He asked, taking the folded paper.

“N-no… Well, yes, b-but it’s from Marinette.” With that, Juleka left the room to meet with Rose, who was standing on the dock to the boat.

Luka looked at the paper in his hand. Juleka’s music had been sporadic, messy. But he could feel relief seeping in. He wondered what was up.

Anyway, he unfolded the note, and read the contents.

“Meet at the Trocadéro at 4 pm. Will explain later.”

Luka’s eyebrows arched. What was this? Was something happening? Was she…? No. Luka couldn’t get his hopes up. He folded the note and slipped it in his pocket.

Looks like he was going to the Trocadéro later that day.

Hours later, Luka sat atop a bench on the bridge in the Trocadéro. He absentmindedly strummed his guitar, letting the music echo around him as he waited.

After around five minutes of waiting, Luka heard the impressive orchestra of Marinette’s song. He turned to see her, and was shocked by her new look. He blinked, getting over his initial surprise, and smiled, patting the spot on the bench beside him.

Marinette obliged, sitting down with an unreadable expression on her face. She closed her eyes and listened to Luka playing her song. After a minute or two, she knew it was time to explain.

“I’m willing to bet you already knew I was faking.”

“Yep, you can’t hide your true self when I can see what displays who you truly are.” Luka realized what he said, and expected to be hit with a, “...what?”, but instead was met with silence. He blinked in surprise at the lack of reaction, and looked to his right to see Marinette staring at the water with a thoughtful expression painted across her face.

“You mean because of my ‘song?’” She asked.

Her question took him off guard, but Luka quickly tried to recover. “Y-yeah, pretty much. I’m not good with words, like I said when we first met.”

She let a small laugh fall from her lips. After that though, Luka desperately tried to stop thinking about her, uhm, lips. He blinked, and she was talking again. “I’m sorry- no, I’m not really sorry. I did what I did to try and experience a bit of normal. Maybe reform myself.” She sighed, a frustrated expression on her face. “But it was hard to keep that demeanor up. Especially once Lila started feeding everyone lies about my ‘actions’ and ‘bullying.’”

“I think you should just be who you are, corny as that sounds.” Luka replied, nudging her with his shoulder. “Or if you really do want to get better, do it little by little. Don’t just jump headfirst into a new personality.”

“Yeah, I kinda get that now,” She snarked dryly.

“But I wouldn’t blame you for being petty right about now. I know a bit about Lila from the rest of Kitty Section, and she seems like a bitch.”

Marinette surprised him by laughing. “You hit the nail right on it’s head, she is such a snake. No wait, that would be an offence to snakes.” She smirked knowingly.

Luka and Marinette talked until it was dark and they had to go home. For good measure, Marinette slipped a carmine onto his wrist. Just in case.

Ao3 - First - Previous - Next

Tag list:

@graduatedmelon

@crazyunlikeyou

@athena452

@zalladane

@valeks-princess

@saluteswifties

@queen-in-a-flower-crown

@ladybug-182

@anonymously-odd

@g-arya

@pawsitivelymiraculous

@fidget-eep

@ur-average-reader

@duckies16

@luleck

@pale-lady-dreamer

@jemyie

@alaynnah

@miraculousandmore

@heaven428

@bluerosette23

@clumsy-owl-4178

@just-a-fangirl-named-h

@crazylittlemunchkin

@zebrabaker

@justafanwarrior

@moonystars14

@paradoxal-occurance

@artemisfandomthings

@sassakitty

@zalladane

@namelesssky

@zotinha456

@adhd-coyote

@dawn-the-rithmatist

@mikachu-28

@daydream-wannabewriter

@wannajointhecrabcult

@marvel--unsolved

@colorfulsiren

@pirats-pizzacanninibles

@sage-the-mage

@saays-bitch

@anapatty26

@unaffiliatedmagpie

@violetfandomaddict

@starlightshield

@mythogaychic

@username8746489

@heyitsbugette

@nanakeid

@shippernaturalsanderspjoandscifi

#miraculous au #miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #fanfiction #fanfic #ml fanfic #ml salt #salt #miraculous ladybug fanfic #HBIC marinette #HBIC marinette au #TPaO #the pigtails are off #luka couffaine #little bit of #lukanette #my soul belongs to lukanette #i couldn't resist

159 notes · View notes

homerjacksons · 3 years

Text

Sonny Carisi Week Day 4: "What is this between us?” Word Count: 1934 Pairing: Cargan Summary: Sonny and Trevor are supposed to be casual, but Trevor finds himself wanting more. AO3

It wasn’t like this between them, not really. They’d been sleeping together on and off, whenever they faced each other in court, for over a year, but that’s all it was. That’s all it had ever been. Which was why Trevor couldn’t quite understand the warmth blossoming behind his ribs at the sight of Sonny standing at his stove wearing a pair of Trevor’s sweat pants that were far too big for him, flipping pancakes like he did it all the time, like he belonged there.

Sonny turned suddenly, and Trevor felt caught out, as though he shouldn’t be looking, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact, to smile, to pretend he wasn’t just slightly panicking about Sonny looking soft and sweet and domestic in his kitchen.

“Morning,” he said, voice raspy with sleep, and God, Trevor hated how much that instantly made him want him.

“Morning,” he responded quietly, almost cooly, as he made his way over to Sonny.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Sonny said with a small shrug, looking shy in a way that made Trevor’s stomach flutter. “As a thanks and an apology combined, I guess.”

“What for?” He asked, leaning back against the counter, arms folded across his chest.

“For, uh—“ Sonny hesitated, ears turning red. “I know we don’t usually spend the night and I feel bad for passing out on you. Literally on you. I just—“

“It’s fine,” Trevor said with a small laugh, shaking his head. The truth was, he’d found it endearing beyond belief and that should have been his first clue he was in trouble. “I would have said something if it wasn’t.”

“Still…” Sonny shrugged, turning back to the pan, cursing under his breath as he turned the slightly charred pancake onto a plate.

“I set clothes and a towel out for you. That should be invitation enough.”

“It was,” Sonny said with a sheepish smile, nudging a plate of pancakes towards Trevor as he gathered everything he’d prepared to take to the table. “But I didn’t give you much of a choice.”

“Trust me,” Trevor said quietly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Sonny’s mouth as he took a plate of bacon and a bowl of sliced banana from his hands. “If you weren’t welcome here, you’d know about it.”

Sonny hummed quietly, offering a softer smile, and Trevor was so sure it was, once again, both a thanks and an apology and had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“You really didn’t have to do this.”

Sonny shrugged as they sat down. “I wanted to. Cooking for people, it’s—“

“Your love language?” Trevor intercepted with a smirk, enjoying the way Sonny flushed instantly, right from the tips of his ears down to his bare chest.

“I’m Italian,” he muttered, focussing intently on cutting up his pancakes. “It’s how we communicate everything.”

“I thought that was hand gestures.”

Sonny shot him a look halfway between annoyed and amused, and Trevor laughed, deep and genuine and earnest in a way he wasn’t sure he had in years. It hit him, suddenly, that he’d been missing this his whole life and he hadn’t even known. That Sonny filled a gap he hadn’t noticed until it had begun to be filled in.

The realisation was followed by a kind of ache he couldn’t explain that made the laughter die on his tongue and his smile slip away as he watched Sonny eat.

“What?” Sonny asked with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Trevor said quickly, sliding his usual, easy smile back in place. It felt suddenly foreign and bitter and false on his lips, but he ignored the feeling and continued smiling, because what else could he do? “Just thinking how lucky you’ll make someone someday.”

Sonny laughed self-deprecatingly and ducked his head, and the ache in Trevor’s chest deepend.

This was supposed to be casual, a way to blow off steam after a long day, a way to release pent-up frustration with an attractive man made only more attractive by his incredible court presence. It was supposed to be meaningless, yet here Trevor was, realising he was falling in love and wondering desperately how he could ask for more.

—

Langan Grab a coffee with me?

Carisi I’ve got court in 10. What’s up?

Langan We can’t have coffee without an ulterior motive?

Carisi Course we can. But not today. Raincheck?

Langan You have my number.

Trevor groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes. He knew it wasn’t an outright rejection, but he couldn’t help but take it as one. He felt inexplicably stupid until his phone pinged again.

Carisi How about drinks tonight instead?

The grin that took over Trevor’s face almost hurt.

Langan Give me a time and a place and I’ll be there.

—

Trevor was early, unexpected nerves bubbling in his stomach. Realistically, he knew this was no different to any other time they had drinks. They’d drink enough to get buzzed but not get drunk, they’d take a cab back to Trevor’s place, they’d have incredible sex—some of the best he’s ever had—and then Sonny would leave with a sly, “til next time,” on his way out.

But it felt different this time. The nerves, the way that Sonny had been on his mind all week, the warmth in his chest every time he remembered Sonny in his kitchen making breakfast looking completely relaxed and at home, meant that everything had changed for him, even if the change was entire one-sided.

“Hey,” a familiar voice breathed out behind him, and when Trevor turned and met those tired blue eyes, caught sight of the lock of hair that had fallen loose from its gel already, Trevor wanted to kiss him then and there.

“Hey,” he said quietly, shoving his hands into his coat pockets to prevent himself from doing something reckless.

“You look different,” Sonny commented with a tilt of his head as he pushed the door open, holding it for Trevor to enter.

“How so?”

Sonny shrugged, leaning in to make sure Trevor would hear him over the noise inside, and Trevor felt a shiver run down his spine. “You look lighter somehow.”

Trevor gave him a look that plainly told him he thought he was ridiculous, but his heart was hammering against his ribs and he felt seen, exposed, torn open and laid bare for all to see. It made the back of his neck itch.

They drank, and they talked, and every time Trevor made Sonny laugh, that fluttering inside his ribs intensified, as though something was trying to break free from inside of him. Sonny reached for him in the cab, fingers twisting in his hair uncertainly before he kissed him, and that was new, but everything else was routine right up until the moment Sonny, still breathless, moved to slide off the bed.

Trevor grabbed him by the wrist before he could stop himself, heart hammering against his ribs harder than it had been even just a moment ago.

“Stay,” he uttered, voice barely above a whisper, yet the way it rang around the room, bouncing around the silence between them, suggested he’d shouted it at the top of his lungs with all the urgency he felt.

Sonny seemed to hesitate for hours, Trevor’s chest constricting further with every moment that passed, before he finally nodded, face relaxing, expression softening as he slid back alongside Trevor, hand resting across his chest.

“Can’t make you pancakes in the morning, though,” Sonny teased, playing with the hairs on Trevor’s chest as he curled around him.

Trevor laughed as he wound his arm around Sonny, tucking him firmly into his side as he pressed a kiss into his hair. “That’s not why I asked.”

“Good, ‘cause otherwise I might think you’re just using me.”

Trevor laughed again in that deep, genuine, earnest way that only Sonny seemed to be able to elicit, and that familiar warmth spread through him again, even though he knew when morning came, the illusion would be shattered.

Only it wasn’t. Sonny disappeared just as the sun was rising, leaving a kiss on Trevor’s forehead and a lingering warmth that felt like a promise of more in his wake.

He texted Trevor first, this time, about nothing in particular, and he came by the office later in the week with coffee and bagels. And it became a thing for them to talk and see each other regularly, casually, without court and without sex, just as friends, as something potentially more. It felt so easy, so natural, so right, that Trevor was wary of examining it too hard. He was scared that if he looked too closely, everything they’d built between them would shatter and he’d be left with the stark reality of a friends with benefits situation and nothing more.

—

Langan Le Bernardin, 7:30pm Friday night.

Carisi You didn’t.

Langan I did. I can cancel if you don’t wanna go.

Carisi I can’t afford that.

Langan My shout.

Carisi Trevor…

Langan A dirty client just paid us a lot of money. Let me treat you to make myself feel better.

Carisi 🙄 I’m sure you feel real bad about taking money from scumbags.

Langan Okay fine, I’ll cancel.

Carisi No! I’ll be there, jeez.

Trevor almost, almost sent a kiss emoji before he came to his senses and locked his phone with a sigh, hands trembling slightly.

He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face all day.

—

Sonny laughed, breathless and light as they exited the restaurant, and the sound buoyed Trevor, made him feel bold enough to link his fingers with Sonny as their hands brushed, and for a moment, he felt light as a feather and completely indestructible.

Then Sonny pulled his hand away, shoving both hands in his pockets, and Trevor was sure he felt his heart crack open, his breath catching in his throat.

“Trevor—“

“It’s fine,” he lied, and badly if the look on Sonny’s face was anything to go by. “Forget it. I’ll get you a cab.”

“No, Trevor, I just—“

“It’s fine.”

“I wanna know what this is between us,” Sonny said firmly, stopping Trevor from walking away by placing both hands on his arms. “I wanna know what this actually is before I go holding your hand on the street because...because if this doesn’t actually mean anything, then I can’t—“

“This means everything,” he blurted out, wincing at the tremble in his own voice. “These past few months with you have been everything I didn’t know I wanted.”

Sonny smiled, hesitantly, letting his hands slip down to Trevor’s. “Good,” he whispered, giving Trevor’s hands a squeeze before linking their fingers again. “Me too.”

“You doubted—“

“Of course I doubted,” Sonny said through a laugh, tugging on Trevor’s arm as he started walking. “You were the one who said this was just casual sex.”

“I was an idiot.”

Sonny hummed in agreement, bumping their shoulders together as they walked. “When did you work that out?”

“The morning I woke up to you making pancakes in my kitchen wearing my clothes and smelling like my shampoo.” He ducked his head at the admission, feeling suddenly far too vulnerable, a far cry from the man Sonny saw in the courtroom, the man he’d initially been attracted to.

“Hey,” Sonny whispered, stopping to pull Trevor aside. He reached up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, hand resting on his cheek. “I’m glad.”

Trevor huffed, smile stretching his face as that warmth blossomed behind his ribs again, stronger than ever before. “Me too.”

#dailysvu #carisi week #svu #cargan #sonny carisi #trevor langan #law and order svu #svu fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction

10 notes · View notes

asterekmess · 4 years

Text

(I was gonna save this for tomorrow, but FUCK IT) Eyyy, still being salty over here. Pls block the tag ‘rant’ if you don’t wanna see anymore of these. Or maybe ‘anti-scott mccall’ though, tbh, I’m not sure how much fun it would be to follow me if you aren’t anti-scott mccall. I’m pretty vocal abt disliking him.

ANYWAY.

I wanna talk about the concept of Derek being a ‘creeper’ because of all his wandering around the lacrosse field, at lydia’s party, etc. And by talk about, I mean ramble about incoherently. By which I mean, please know that I’m not trying to insult or fight anybody who makes this joke or uses this concept in fic or whatever. I’m just ranting bc I love this boy and his trauma makes me sad.

ANYWAY. (This is insanely long, so I’m adding a “Read More”)

I just have a lot of feelings about people seeing Derek as a stalker/creeper because he keeps showing up at lacrosse practice and in Scott & Stiles’ rooms, etc. It gets mentioned in loads of fics (I see a lot of “Creeperwolf” which I think is supposed to be an endearment?) (And there’s lots of fics that talk about how ‘you used to be/are really creepy, following us around’ Again, not judging) (Dude it’s even a whole tag on AO3 ‘Creeper Derek Hale’) and it’s joked about a lot in fandom (the vine with the ‘every step you take’ song and the swans on the building comes to mind). I see it a lot, and dude, it hurts me.

Let’s look at Derek’s current mental state and what he’s been dealing with, going all the way back to Paige. (Or, tbh, his birth) Derek is a werewolf. He was born a werewolf, to a family of werewolves. He grew up within the supernatural world, in a whole different culture to humans (honestly, my fury at the lack of werewolf culture/history/worldbuilding is worthy of its own post. Let me know if by some ungodly chance, you actually wanna hear my thoughts on it.) and presumably the number one rule in all of werewolfdom is “Keep the Secret.” Now, Derek’s fuckin’ 14/15 (I put his birthday on Christmas, like most of fandom, and if his house burned down when he was 16, in the spring, and he was dating Kate for a while before, he would’ve dated her when he was 15, and we don’t know how long there was between paige and kate, but let’s give him a summer of mourning. So. 14ish with paige) and he starts dating this human. He’s kinda shit at keeping the secret, implying that either he’s only dated werewolves before, or she’s his first girlfriend ever (also implying that maybe some of the people on his basketball team are werewolves, bc they don’t seem to notice his weird way of talking [pack members maybe? fuck, my heart]) and he’s maybe not as careful as he should be. (More implications arise, and we begin to build our own history. If Derek was never taught not to say dumb shit like ‘i caught a scent’ then was he even in public school before freshman year? Were the Hales all homeschooled before high school to help keep the secret? How soon do wolfy abilites arise? Do they hit with puberty? Fuck, I digress.) He says some dumb shit, and Paige gets suspicious. Of course, he doesn’t know that, and he has some kind of meltdown about her eventually finding out his secret. We hear from Peter (who’s villainized, so we’re not supposed to necessarily believe what he says, but what we see in the flashback doesn’t make a huge amount of sense either so *shrug*) that he enlists Ennis to bite Paige, believing that if she is bitten she won’t spill the secret and she’ll be more inclined to accept that Derek is a werewolf. Now, she fucking dies. Paige dies in Derek’s arms because of this, and he finds out at the last second that she already knew the secret. He feels guilty enough abt getting her killed but now he’s got a whole new batch of guilt from finding out that apparently he’s so bad at keeping the secret of his ENTIRE SPECIES that she found out he was a werewolf. She could’ve exposed them all at any time. He had to be terrified. Next, he’s 15/16 and he meets a gorgeous older woman who presumably showers him in affection, and all the horrors that go with that whole situation (I don’t wanna go into detail, because obviously). But again, whether Derek tells her himself or she just knew or she finds out, whatever it is, Kate knows Derek and his family are werewolves. AND SHE KILLS THEM ALL. Derek has no clue what the fuck is going on. All he knows is he is the only link between Kate and his family, which must mean that it’s his fault she knows about them. Once again, he’s revealed the Big Secret and people Died. He and Laura bolt to NY for six years, where presumably they live in hiding thinking the Argents are coming after them to finish off the Hales. Then Laura gets sent a funky letter and goes back to Beacon Hills. Now, we have a lil more confusion (i’ve got a whole buttload of issues with the timeline, but let’s not get into that now) because he says he came looking for Laura, but later he mentions that he knew she was in Beacon Hills and was searching for...whoever burnt down their house...that whole plotline confuses the shit out of me (derek knew kate did it. he blamed All the argents, but he knew kate was involved. So why was Laura looking for the pendant. and if he didn’t tell her then why was he looking for the pendant?? And what did the pendant have to do with the deer and the spiral?? Halp.) but whatever. He shows up and finds his sister dead, the hunters arrive in town the next day, and suddenly there’s an angry alpha Attacking Humans.

We’re finally in the present. Derek has lost what little family he had left, except for a catatonic uncle. He already has two instances in his past where the worry of keeping werewolves a secret has caused deaths. And now there’s this teenager. No, actually, two teenagers. One who was bitten, and one who shouts out “You’re a werewolf!” in the middle of the preserve, instantly figuring out a centuries-old supernatural secret. Derek is fucking terrified, and things are only getting worse. This kid who got bitten? Derek follows him to see if he’s really a wolf, to find out if he knows what’s happening to him, if he believes the other teen. He finds the kid JUMPING OVER PEOPLE’S HEADS in broad daylight in front of everyone. Derek might’ve had a couple verbal giveaways but this is just ridiculous. Then, even better, the kid goes on a date on the FULL MOON with THE YOUNGEST ARGENT. There’s about a billion reasons to follow Scott to the party. It’s a FULL MOON, for one. HE’S WITH AN ARGENT for another. And of course he can’t just walk into the party. He’s fucking 22 for fuck’s sake. This is a high school party. He’d get arrested. And of course he doesn’t introduce himself to Scott beforehand. He has no way of knowing if this kid is on the Alpha’s side. He’s the Alpha’s Beta, it would make perfect sense for him to be obeying the Alpha. OR since he’s with the Argent, maybe he’s working with them. Maybe he’s a plant of some kind. a hunter pet. Laura was used as bait to catch Derek, why not Scott too? But he sees quickly that Allison has no clue what’s going on, at least with Scott, and he takes her home and steals her jacket to lure Scott into the Preserve where he can’t hurt anyone. Then, when he sees Scott get chased by the hunters, with no Alpha coming running to protect him, he decides “Alright, guess this kid’s my ally. Gotta protect him.” Yeah. He says some weird shit. But the evidence points to Derek not knowing much about bitten wolves. He tells Scott that he doesn’t know how to train a bitten wolf, but he does know how to help Scott recover memories (the memory loss appears to only happen in the early days of shifting, which lends more credibility to the possibility that born wolves don’t start shifting properly until later in life [puberty being the most likely milestone] and he therefore has experience with that, but not with the kind of control Scott needs, that he’s known his whole life). Born a werewolf, he’s never considered the bite anything other than a gift. He also just lost his entire family, so sue him for trying to find some kind of connection between them. (It honestly makes total sense for him to use the term ‘brothers’ bc he KNOWs Scott won’t understand the concept of ‘pack’ yet) So, now that’s decided to help Scott, to protect him, he goes back to the school. SURELY now that Scott knows what he is and how dangerous he is when stressed, he’ll reign himself in during lacrosse, or even just back out of it altogether. There are lives at stake here, be them human, or if Scott exposes the secret, werewolves. SURELY this kid wouldn’t put everyone in danger over a fucking game. But no. Not only does he keep flaunting his abilities, but he SHIFTS ON THE FIELD. If Stiles hadn’t Dragged Scott out of there, the entire supernatural world would be EXPOSED by this ONE KID. Derek passed Terrified about a hundred miles back. He’s gotta be fucking out of his mind with fear. I don’t blame him even a little for threatening Scott. If Scott’s not gonna do the right thing on his own, then threatening him is worth it if people don’t DIE. Then, bc Scott’s a pissy baby and goes to shout at him and be a fuckwad, and Stiles is nosey and neither of them have boundaries (I love Stiles, but fucking seriously, digging up a grave?) Derek gets ARRESTED. He pleads with this lanky teen who is brave enough to climb into the cruiser with a WEREWOLF. Who’s FRiends with a Werewolf. Who figured it out so quickly. He pleads with him to understand how dangerous this is, to stop his friend. And Stiles looks like he’s gonna, but Scott bolts bc of the wolfsbane (Which...listen if I’m being really salty, a deep bitter part of me genuinely wonders if he was that freaked out, or if he overheard Derek beg Stiles not to let Scott play, and Scott ran away from Stiles so he wouldn’t get told no, bc he wanted to play.) and by the time Stiles finds him he’s already dressed for the game. And DEREK WAS RIGHT. Scott DID lose control. He DID shift on the field. At LEAST one human saw him shift, and the coach for the other team knew something was up too. He DID expose them, and he did it further bc Jackson is suspicious now. Now, I’ve reblogged a gifset of it before, the moment when Derek shows up at the lacrosse field and finds Jackson standing in it after Scott’s run off, staring at a glove with a claw hole in it. He is watching his worst nightmare come true. Scott has exposed them and Jackson is going to figure out werewolves, just like Stiles did. He knows right that instant that people are going to die. I’ll reiterate what I said in the tags on that gifset. It’s extremely likely that Derek bit Jackson out of self-preservation. Jackson had been threatening to tell the hunters and the entire world if he didn’t get what he wanted. The safest thing to do was give Jackson the bite so that at least he would be putting himself in danger too if he exposed werewolves. He forced Jackson to have to keep the secret for himself because he knew Jackson wouldn’t do it for anyone else. (And he knew Jackson had some self-preservation, compared to Scott, and wouldn’t want to expose himself.)

Listen, I just. I just get so sad watching Derek sneaking into people’s rooms and standing on the edge of the field and showing up in the locker rooms. He’s trying to help. He’s trying to protect. He wants to be there in case Scott does something stupid (which he does, again and Again) to protect him, even after Scott REFUSED to help him stop a SERIAL KILLER because there wasn’t anything in it for him. Even after Scott fucking blackmails him by leaving him hanging on a grate with wires plugged into his side and his abuser on their way back to hurt him, he still helps him protect Allison (who watched him be tortured and did nothing. [He still has the capacity to acknowledge that it’s not her fault. That she couldn’t save him. He doesn’t blame her for it and he certainly doesn’t want her to die.]) He wants to keep his Betas safe. He stands in the parking lot waiting for them to test Lydia because he doesn’t want them to have to go through with killing her alone (and he only tries to kill her because she DOESN’T pass the test [although I admit it’s a dumb test] and because the kanima is KILLING people. More people have died and I don’t know how the fuck Derek manages to keep standing, let alone having such capacity for empathy and optimism and sarcasm after everything he’s dealt with. He’s constantly being hunted by hunters or humans, or fuck even Scott himself, since every time Scott gets upset he blames Derek for everything (I’m still fucking disgusted that he turned up at Derek’s place and accused him of murdering his own sister.) And STILL he shows up. No matter how many times he’s shoved away and ignored and yelled at. He shows up and he stands on the fringes and he waits for the chance to help.

And what’s creepy about that?

#personal #rant #Fuck i love Derek and I'm so fucking sad #i have a lot of feelings okay?#like I said #i'm not judging people who use the concept in fics or who make the jokes or whatever #i'm just talking about my own feelings #anti-scott mccall #Meta Ramblings

142 notes · View notes

3mmafr0st · 3 years

Text

Hard to Hate Chapter 14

Fred Weasley x Reader Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: the usual, if you’ve seen the rest of the series you’ll know!

Taglist: @intpeach, @aria-dne, @allthebestmenarefictional, @i-should-be-writing-my-own-fic, @weasleytwinswheezes, @a-disappointing-teen-author, @amorist-3, @222moonss, @carmiml0v3, @lilypad-55449, @losers-club6, @hpbitch, @ohwelliguess, More in the Reblog. Ask me if you want to be added to the tag list!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 15,

Read the Russian translation Here

The next few weeks were tough on me, with the already intense stress of trying to remember all of the work we had been doing before the break, and the drama of what had happened.

Draco was mad at me, upset for leaving, as well as whatever Pansy had been whispering in his ear throughout the month. He hadn’t talked to me since christmas and I hate to say it but I missed him. Even though he was quite brainwashed and could be a little shit, I loved him, he was like a little brother to me.

On top of that, Pansy and her gaggle of bitches were harrassing me whenever they could. Ever since they found my room, the fear that I struck in most of the Slytherin house had all but dwindled. At least before they moved out of my way, but now they just look down on me and I hated it. It felt worse than being feared.

Finally there was Fred. Funny, endearing, and absolutely beautiful Fred. Ever since he and the other Weasley’s returned to the school, he has been cold, distant. It was as if the last few months had never happened, that we had never become friends in the first place. George was still talking to me though. That was my only saving grace.

George and I had decided on the library to hang out that day. Melody didn’t want to study that day, instead opting to hang out with Lee by the lake on a date of sorts.

“I honestly have no clue what’s going on with Fred, but I’m worried.” George told me, his voice nervous.

“Has he been the same with you, he won’t even speak to me.”

“He won’t talk to me about anything, but he’s definitely upset about something. This is the first time that he’s never not told me about what’s going on in his head and I don’t like it.”

“Do you think that he’s really upset with me, I don’t know what I could have done.” I was upset to say the least. I missed Fred so much and yet he wouldn’t even give me the time of day. It was agonizing. I liked him so much, maybe even loved, and yet he pushed me away.

George and I stayed and studied for a while, until the time came where we were to go to our next class, Potions, which we all had together. This was going to be difficult to say the least.

When George and I walked into the classroom, Fred was already there, sitting with Angelina Johnson. George was irritated to say the least, and since I knew Melody would be sitting with Lee, I offered him a seat next to me. I glanced at Fred, and he seemed to be even more grumpy than when we had first walked in. Snape began his lecture, his droaning and nasally voice going on and on. I should be paying attention to the work that we were supposed to be doing, on the lecture at hand. Instead, I was glancing at Fred out of the corner of my eye.

Angelina and Fred were sitting together, laughing and whispering together. I felt something, simmering in the pit of my stomach. I had no idea what the feeling was, but it made me want to tear Angelina apart. I didn’t even know why, I like Angelina! She’s nice and witty and good at quidditch, and well, basically everything I was but better. She was the perfect version of me, one with no baggage, no psychotic family members or racist family history. Who wouldn’t pick her? The burning feeling soon turned to sadness, this lump in my throat that only got worse and worse. George looked at me, and saw as tears began to well in my eyes, fighting to keep them from falling, I couldnt let the other students see me like this, it would push me even farther down the chain of respect and I couldnt have that. George raised his hand, and was called on.

“Professor, Y/N’s not feeling good, do you think I could walk her back to her common room.”

Snape thought for a moment, clearly trying to weigh his biases in his head, before allowing it. As quickly as he could, George walked me out of the classroom, trying to get me a good enough distance from the classroom before my legs gave out under me against the wall, tears falling down my face.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Tell me.”

“I don’t know, just, Angelina, the two of them, ugh, I feel so pathetic.” I laughed at myself through my tears. “I mean, who would even think I have a chance next to her.” George looked me straight in the eyes, both of us on the floor now, putting his hand on my shoulder to try and reassure me.

“Y/N, if he can’t see that you’re the absolute perfect girl for him, then he’s either blind, or just plain stupid, knowing my brother, its probably a bit of both.” His joke made me laugh, and he handed me a tissue from his pocket.

“Thanks, I just feel so hopeless, yknow? Like, the two of you, and Mel are the only good things right now, and even that's been ruined.”

“Believe me Y/N, I get it more than you know.” His eyes looked far away, kind of wistful and longing.

“So who’s the girl?”

“If I say, it's only going to make it worse.” I thought through all of the different clues, before coming to the most logical explanation.

“Its Angelina, isnt it?” I folded my hands in front of my chest giving him a knowing look.

“Yeah,” He said. “Now I know that you think I’m just saying that because I want her all for myself, don’t you?” I silently nodded, tears starting to prick at my eyes again.

“Well, that’s not true, I’m being serious. If he’s not going to man up, then he must be an idiot.” I didn’t believe him in the slightest, but I pretended to. “Come on, let's head to lunch early, I dont think you want the others seeing you like this when they leave.”

The two of us headed to the cafeteria, simply working on homework at our respective tables, until the rest of the students began pouring into the large hall. I saw Melody walk in, sitting down next to me.

“You feeling better?”

“Honestly, Mels, it's not that kinda sick. It’s just, Fred, yknow?” She silently nodded. She knew all of the events that had happened, or lackthereof. Although she knew about it, she wasnt as involved as George, I mean, she had her own things to do and I understood.

George was sitting close to me, in a way, our backs to eachother, so Mel and Lee could continue their conversation from Potions. I heard heavy, angry footsteps behind me, and I took a peek as to who it was. Fred was angry, but for what reason I couldnt understand. I could hear the conversation from behind me.

“George, can we talk outside for a moment.” His voice was trying to mask his rage.

“Fine” George responded, and Fred walked the two of them outside of the cafeteria.

I tried to stay out of it, I tried to sit there, and eat and talk to Lee and Mel as if nothing had happened, but after 5 minutes, the curiosity got the better of me. What if Fred was finally saying something as to why he was so distant, ignoring me for so long. It was a miserable experience and I just had to know why.

I told Melody that I was going to the bathroom, and then ran off, looking for the two boys.

I walked down the hall, searching around for them, when I heard yelling, two voices that I knew so well. I looked around for a moment, before finding a door that I had never seen in this hallway before. I put my ear up to the door. The voices were muffled, but I could sort of make out what the boys were saying.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Fred, am I not allowed to have friends?”

“You and I both know that it's not just friends.”

“I’m not lying, it’s not my fault that you’ve been being an asshole and pushing us away!” The yells were immediately silenced, replaced with the sounds of skin coming in contact with skin, yelps of pain and growls of anger.

“Alohamora” The lock quickly undid, and I pushed the door open as fast as I could. Fred had wrestled George on the ground, punching him into the floor, as George was trying as hard as possible to gain the upper hand. I quickly wracked my brain for something to separate the two without putting myself at risk before finding the perfect incantation “Relashio!”

The two looked at me, then looked at each other, trying to go at it again, but I quickly cast the Colloshoo hex, sticking both boys’ feet firmly on the ground.

“You too are unbelievable, you know that? You are brothers for Merlin’s sake, what the hell has gotten into you?” George began to speak but I cut him off, I was too angry to listen. “Fred, you need to check yourself this instant, your behavior in the last month has not been that of a friend. Friends are supposed to be kind to each other, supposed to support each other, talk to each other at the very least! Once you’re ready to explain yourself, I'll be in the astronomy tower. George, if he tries anything like that again, you sure as hell better tell me.”

“Can you at least let us go?” George asked, as I opened the door of the mystery room.

“It’ll wear off in an hour, you two need to talk through some things.” I shut the door behind me. I was angry, confused, and upset, all of those emotions culminating in the only way that my body could understand, once again tears began to run down my face. Luckily classes had ended early today, because if not, I would have had to go to a History of Magic looking like this mess. The only thing that I could do was go to the astronomy tower, and hope that Fred had gotten over himself enough to come and talk to me, explain why all of a sudden he was acting like this.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley imagine #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley smut #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter fic #Harry Potter Smut #Hard to hate series

22 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.8 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Turns out that Stretch has a lunch date coming his way, who would've thought? He only had to be a hero and a victim, all in two minutes.

~~*~~

Read CH 8:‘ 3.14159 Day’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

When Stretch left the theater it was with a new collection of question to add to his mental drop box. He told Doris he’d see her tomorrow, promising her updates to the mystery if he managed to Velma his way to any clues. On his way out, he tossed their popcorn cups into the trash, his empty and hers full, and gave Igor a little wave as he went through the outer door.

Igor didn’t smile, but he did wave back and hey, there was another positive mark to his list, looked like Igor was advancing to the rank of ‘acquaintance’. That was good, he could use a few more friends in his shiny new collection.

The bright sunlight beaming down from overhead made him squint and Stretch headed back towards the store, his mind on starting the book Edge gave him. He was already mentally groaning at digging through some kind of dry history book, but if that’s where the answers were, welp, he better start shoveling.

Loud shouts and a clanking sound jarred him from his thoughts. Coming up the sidewalk was a small dog running flat out and Stretch could only stare in disbelief at what looked like a bunch of tin cans tied to the poor thing’s tail, like it just ran out of one of the old timey movies he’d been watching lately.

Behind it two boys were running after and jeering, clearly terrifying the animal more. Its tongue was lolling out, its mouth foamy with saliva, and its eyes showing whites around dark brown centers.

Yeah, this was getting handled, right fucking now.

A touch of blue magic would’ve made this easier to deal with and it was a damn shame Stretch couldn’t use it. Didn’t mean he couldn’t make do with what he had, and he didn’t even think. He flattened himself against the window of the ‘Secret Seconds Thrift Shop’ to let the dog run past and before the boys could follow, he stuck out his foot. One boy ran right into it and it sent his forward dash into a Nascar spinout right into his friend, sending both of them headfirst into the trash cans set at the corner with a loud crash and spilling out the remnants of a dozen or so greasy lunches from ‘Mama’s’.

Both of them struggled to their feet, slipping in mounds of garbage and their clothes stained in old coffee grounds and a revolting mixture of rotten food gone almost liquid in the summer heat. Even from a distance the stench made Stretch’s nonexistence stomach roll over with an unpleasant lurch.

The taller one swung around towards Stretch, his face twisting in fury, and his shorter friend didn’t look much happier. He didn’t recognize either of them from the store and that was when Stretch realized these guys were a helluva lot bigger and older than he’d previously thought; no kiddos here, they were either adults or close to it, and here they were, out tormenting little dogs on a hot summer day like this was a damned serial killer training day.

Stretch met that furious gaze head on and asked flatly, “what the fuck is wrong with you two?”

That glare only hardened and the guy sneered, showing teeth that were already graying with rot, yeesh, he’d gone out for a old timey movie and a mystery and instead he’d found a walking cliché from an 80’s high school flick, proof positive when he snarled, “You’re dead, city boy.”

“seriously? that’s a little over dramatic don’t you think?” Stretch took a healthy step back, hands held out defensively. Both of these guys looked like they meant it, coming towards him like a couple trash zombies with fists at the ready.

A quick glance around didn’t bring any allies into view. Even this early it was hot enough out that the sidewalks were empty, the actual town kiddos nowhere in sight. He could dodge into the thrift shop, but the proprietor, Magdalen May, was old enough that she probably used to babysit for Granny Collemore on the weekends. No way in hell he was dragging her into it, even if the old lady was pretty swift with a broom when the squirrels came out to investigate her sidewalk displays.

Nah, he was on his own for this, but even if it wasn’t two on one, if these guys were ready to throw down, Stretch wasn’t in any condition to pick it up. Not without his magic.

Stretch was still pretty light on his feet, though, and he took another step back, tensed in preparation to run his ass back down to the store, yowling like a fire engine all the way. Pride wasn’t much good when you were getting swept into a dustpan.

Turned out, he didn’t have to. The garbage pail twins weren’t even close when a voice came from behind.

“That’s enough.” Softly said and Stretch knew that voice, all roughly chopped dark chocolate and never had it sounded so delicious. He spared a second to look away from the approaching menaces to see Edge standing in the doorway to the library. He was leaning against the jamb, both arms crossed over his chest and a dark frown marring his handsome face.

Tall Trash Boy came to a halt, his scowl deepening. “Didn’t know you were in town, Edge.”

“And now you do.” Cold words that even the heat of the day couldn’t melt. Edge hooked a thumb down the sidewalk. “Both of you, get lost. Preferably downwind.”

The expected argument or threats didn’t come. They did as they were told and didn’t that bring up a few more question about Edge, hell yes, it did, the town troublemakers wary of the local library skeleton? The taller guy glared at Stretch as he walked past in a wall of stench, his fingers flexing as if they were itching to test a hypothesis on whether choking a skeleton was possible.

Great, now he had a nemesis, just the gift he’d never wanted. He’d have to add another section to his mental relationship spreadsheet.

It was probably a good thing it was Edge playing the shining knight to Stretch’s impromptu fairy tale act, his reputation had already taken a hit yesterday with the locals, what with the corny rescue. He didn’t know if he could take being saved by anyone else; at least Edge was already unimpressed by him.

Edge watched them go, never looking away until they were around the corner. Only then did he turn back to Stretch, “Are you all right?”

Stretch didn’t bother to answer, not yet. He was already giving those assholes a pass, heading over to where the little dog was cowering in the alley by the thrift shop. Big brown eyes looked up at him fearfully. “hey, boy,” he said softly. He held out a hand and waited patiently for the pup to hesitantly sniff his boney fingers, hopefully without sampling the merchandise. A whip-thin tail started to wag, stirring up dust and sending a jangle through the cans tied to it as a warm, wet tongue laved ticklishly over his hand. Stretch let out a soft laugh, gently scratching behind the floppy ears. “yeah, you’re okay. c’mere, let me help.”

The dog lay patiently while Stretch worked on the rope around its tail, only whining occasionally as Stretch struggled with the knots. They were painfully tight and it took a minute for Stretch to pick them loose, freeing the pup from its tin-can torment.

“There you go, buddy.” The second it was free, the dog scrambled to his feet, shaking vigorously and that furious tail wagging trebled. The pup licked Stretch’s face with sloppy appreciation, but he didn’t hang around. With a last messy lick, he turned and trotted off in the opposite direction as the trash boys, disappearing around a corner and out of Stretch’s life.

“that’s gratitude for you,” Stretch said aloud. He stood up and dusted off his shorts, then carried the string of cans over to the remaining trash cans that were still upright and tossed them in with a rattling clang. Edge watched him the whole time, sockets narrowed, and his expression was one that was coming up blanks in Stretch’s mental filter.

He winced internally. Getting into fights with the locals probably wasn’t gonna endear him to anyone in town.

“sorry about all that, didn’t mean to stir up trouble,” Stretch let out an unsteady laugh, shoes scuffing uncomfortably on the sidewalk. “they’re probably okay guys, right, boys will be boys, all that shit.”

But Edge shook his head. “No,” Edge said curtly, “Joey is a bully and he needs discipline. I’ll be speaking with his father. I’ve seen your HP, that was hardly an idle threat.”

Um, okay, there was a revealing tidbit that Stretch wasn’t the only one with his snooping shoes on. Someone was doing Checks from the sidelines. “then i guess my thank you for the save is canceled out by you being a nosy nancy.”

“I prefer snooping Sarah,” Edge said. He wandered over to toe at the trash cans with an expression of exquisite distaste and left them where they were. Seemed like his heroic tendencies didn’t extend to the municipal sanitation workers. Not that Stretch was volunteering to help with the cleanup either, no thanks, he was much more interested in watching the shift of Edge’s hips as he walked. Here they were with the temperatures climbing high into the red and this guy was walking around in a pair of nut hugger jeans that showcased the sleek line of his bones, a flash of his iliac crests peeking out slyly from under the hem of his black t-shirt.

Stretch didn’t do small talk so much as long, rambling soliloquies of random nonsense, but he could try when the need arose and right now, that need was climbing mountains because the fact of the matter was, he didn’t want Edge to leave yet. He wanted Edge to stay, wanted to hear him talking a little longer about anything, everything, so with all the eloquence Stretch could muster, he fumbled out, “so, uh, what are you doing in town today?”

Aw, yeah, he was Mister Swingle, all right. Next he’d be asking Edge to come over this weekend to play D & D in his mom’s basement.

Good thing that Edge didn’t seem too bothered by the lead up. He only shoved his hands into his pockets, and seriously, finding room for them in those jeans had to defy several laws of physics. “My roommate had a sudden urge for pie and insisted that only Mama’s would do,” Edge said sourly.

Interesting, another mention of the elusive roommate/local scarecrow animator. “okay,” Stretch said slowly, “if they wanted the pie, why didn’t they come with?” Would’ve saved Stretch from trying to narrow down their location for a visit.

“They can only come out at night.” Said without even a trace of irony.

Um, what? Stretch tried not to gape at him, with minimum success. “are you serious?”

“No,” Edge smirked, “But my brother mentioned your predilection for vampires.”

Oh, hil-arious, looked like both bothers had jokes. “woah, i’m not licking anything, prada or otherwise. can’t blame me for hedging my bets around here in the land of the cannibal corn.”

“I can assure you, there are no vampires in town.” He couldn’t help but notice Edge didn’t throw up any kind of defense for the corn’s innocence.

“in town,” Stretch repeated, doubtfully, “yeah, that’s real comforting, thanks.”

Edge only held out a hand. “Come on, you look like you’re about to melt in the heat and it’s Wednesday, Mama’s has a lunch special today.”

His surprise at what was very obviously a lunch invitation was tempered by pure shock that it was Edge offering it.

"really?” Stretch said, warily. He still took Edge’s hand, he wasn’t completely stupid, thanks. Edge was wearing gloves but there wasn’t time to mourn the lack of bone on bone action as his fingers curled around Stretch’s. “you eat at mama’s? red said you don't stay for the dinners you make because of your special diet."

Edge had started towards the diner and he paused, one brow bone arched, "Did he."

"i mean, not judging here,” Stretch added hastily, damn, what was with the self-sabotage, here, sure it was his MO, but at some point, you’d think he’d learn. If Blue were here, he’d be trying for a new world record in eye rolling. “the stuff you bring over is great. you vegan or something?”

"Or something. I’m sure what my brother is charmingly referring to is my preference not to layer cheese and mustard over every meal.” Edge tugged on his hand again and Stretch stumbled after, following him to the diner’s front door. “I find simpler recipes more satisfying so I can actually taste the food, but I believe a piece of pie is within my range. Particularly a slice of mama’s apple.”

Fair enough and Stretch was all about taking chances. May as well take this one.

Wednesdays at Mama’s was always special menu, something to help get a fella over the hump day according to the handwritten whiteboard at the entrance. Today was pie day and there were all sorts on order, from delectably savory to sugary sweet and a few in-between.

This was the first time Stretch actually sat down in the diner to eat. Usually he got takeout and pointedly ignored the fact that the short order cook was smoking a cigarette right at the grill, hey, the ash was dropping away from the fryer, it was fine. He’d get his burger and fries handed over in a grease-spotted paper bag, take it back to eat at the wobbly table in his room. That meal combo was great, crisp lettuce and tomatoes layered over a thick beef patty and the fries were greasy, salty perfection.

Turned out the pie was pretty damned good, too, brought over to their booth by Mama herself and someday he was gonna ask about the colorful mermaid tattoos that scrolled up both her burly forearms. Not today, he’d already gotten his fill of risk-my-life jollies, for now Stretch was sticking with pie.

But next time he got into trouble he was running in here to hide. Mama could probably kick both those guy’s asses without batting an eyelash while she was lighting the Marlboro clenched between her teeth.

Stretch got a piece of chicken biscuit pie, slathered in country gravy and Edge the aforementioned apple, a slice of crumbly cheddar cheese melting over the flaky crust.

Delicious as it was, he was having a hard time giving his pie a fair slice of his attention. They both had long legs and Stretch’s gangly knees kept bumping into Edge’s as they struggled to find a place to be. He tried a few times to move out of the way but even if his magic had been in top form, his ability to bend space/time had been limited to shortcuts, not leg room.

Another painful bump and Stretch squeaked aloud when Edge caught one of his feet firmly between both his own, the leather of his boots smooth and cool against his trapped ankle.

“Hold still,” he commanded and Stretch damn near snapped him a salute. Hold still, yessir, and Edge’s foothold eased…but it didn’t move. He sat there with Stretch’s foot held in gentle captivity between his own and all the holy little angels, if this was a reward from above for the dog rescue, Stretch would take it.

It was also a helluva distraction, making it hard for him to come up with some vaguely entertaining lunchtime chatter. Stretch’s normal attempts at flirtation were about as smooth as a cheese grater. Frankly, it was a wonder he’d ever persuaded anyone to go out with him, but he had a feeling his previous knock knock technique wasn’t gonna work here.

Edge didn’t wait for him to come up with a gambit. He only swallowed his latest bite of pie and said, “That was very brave of you.”

Stretch paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “what was?”

His thoughts on what might be wrong with the pie, (which certainly tasted delicious, ugh, please don’t let it be a soylent green kind of situation) vaporized when Edge said, “Helping that dog.”

Oh, that. Stretch only shrugged and dug back into the tasty, not-human pie. “anyone who isn’t a sociopath would’ve helped that dog.”

“I’m not so sure. Plenty of locals are wary of Joey and his sidekick. They might have gone to the Sheriff, but that wouldn’t have helped the dog in time.”

“locals, right. so lemme ask you something,” Stretch licked the tines of his fork, savoring the rich, buttery flavor, good thing he didn’t have any veins to clog. “you and red both talk like you’ve been here forever, but we’ve only been in the surface a few years. how long have you been in backwater, anyway?”

Edge took a sip of his coffee, because of course he ordered a hot beverage, geez, if this guy took a vacation to hell, he’d ask Satan to borrow a sweater. “We came almost the moment we arrived on the surface.”

Okay, yeah, he’d figured that out on his own, but it didn’t really clear much up. Stretch had questions, okay, he had a list, and he was looking for some answers. May as well try while Edge was being chatty. “where did you live in the underground? ‘cause my bro and i lived in snowdin, but i got around and i don’t remember even hearing about you two, much less added you to my gyftmas card list.”

He waited as Edge finished up his slice of pie. He ate with disturbing neatness, cutting precise little forkfuls of pie and eating each one, and took the time to wipe his mouth with a napkin before he said, “I’m afraid that’s complicated.”

“complicated,” Stretch repeated, slowly, disbelieving. Everything just had to be an ordeal, didn’t it. “complicated how? locations are not complicated, not like there was a lot of places to hide under the mountain. what, were you living in caves behind the waterfalls? down in the lava pits in hotland?”

“Something like that,” Edge said evasively. “We came to the surface with the Human who fell.”

And that tidbit made literally no sense at all. “wait, what? with chara?” Stretch didn’t really want to get thinking about the kid. He’d been something of a fun uncle for quite a while now and he missed getting to play that part. But there was no way that Edge was there when everything went down with the barrier breaking, that was purely impossible. “look, that was a real confusing time, i’ll admit, but i was there when we popped out of the mountain, with the Queen and everything. pretty sure i’d’ve remembered you hanging out in the backstage crew.” At the very least, he’d remember those hips.

To be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard a Monster claiming to be there when it happened; everyone wanted their split-second of fame, hell, Napstaton did an hour special on it, complete with a dance number, he really did rock those heels. But Edge didn’t seem the type to go after a little fake glory.

“I’m sure you would have,” Edge agreed, and that was it, infuriatingly vague, and that made even less sense. If he was glory-hunting, he would’ve at least tried to come up with a backstory. Instead, he pushed his empty plate aside. “It doesn’t matter. The point is we decided not to stay in Ebott. I believe our journey resembles yours in that regard, only in our version, I was driving when we came to Backwater.”

“can’t you give a straight answer about anything?” Stretch asked, exasperated. Seriously, was it asking too much for something to not need pie charts and graphs and ghostly intervention to figure it out? Mama briefly interrupted by plunking a fresh plate down in front of Stretch, this time loaded with a little dessert in the form of blueberry pie, a melting scoop of vanilla ice cream oozing atop. She tore off the bill from her notepad and slapped it down, vanishing before Stretch could even thank her.

“It seems unlikely,” Edge admitted. “As to why we ended up here…” He trailed off, fingers drumming on the tabletop as Stretch took a syrup-soaked bite of pie. “Backwater is…” he hesitated again, so much weight resting on those words, “I believe that towns have a soul.”

Okay, not quite what Stretch was expecting; pie and heresy made for an interesting meal. “souls are for living things.”

“And towns are alive,” Edge countered. “They have a life given to them by the people who live there. Towns have their own dreams to fulfill, they change, they grow. And this town, on top of everything else, it seems to attract broken things.” He lowered his voice, so softly, “And you are broken, aren’t you.”

Stretch went still, his fingers clenching around his fork. Yeah, okay, getting a little personal there, and anyway, he wasn’t the mystery at hand, thanks, he’d like to keep it that way.

“broken? nah,” Stretch made a careless little scoff, “little bent, maybe—”

“Bent and battered,” Edge agreed, “but unbowed.”

“whatever,” Stretch grumbled. He took a large bite of pie, mumbling out through a mouthful of crust and berries, “i’ve been dedicating the past few weeks to repressing those memories, so can we not discuss?”

Only to nearly choke as Edge asked, “How long has your soul been damaged?”

His throat tried to clench around the mash of pie between his teeth, his magic grudgingly incorporating it as Stretch struggled to swallow it down. It was still fizzling at the back of his mouth as he rasped out, “what?”

Edge leaned in closer and sniffed deliberately, drawing in a hard breath through his nasal cavity. “You have soul damage. I can smell it and I know my brother could.” His sockets sank half-closed, hooding the crimson of his eye lights as he sniffed again, “It’s unmistakable, like scorched sugar layered over ammonia.”

What in the name of fuck…? How…? He’d never even heard of such a thing, so how…?

“i…i don’t…” The words clung to his tongue, refusing to be spoken. Stretch looked down, away from that intense gaze and focused on his pie. He squished a blueberry under the tines of his fork and watched dark juice bleed across the white plate, waiting for the panicked static in his mind to clear. A long, shaky breath of his own helped a little, inhaling the lingering heaviness of grease from the grill. Around them, other people were eating their pie, laughing and talking, and not paying a damn bit of attention to the way Stretch was trying not to break down, not here, not here, damn it. “awhile,” Stretch managed to mutter out, “that what you want to hear? anything else you want to know or maybe you can just kick me in the shins? or stab me in the eye socket, see, that’d work for me.”

Edge tilted his head and maybe he didn’t like what he saw, because he reached out and took Stretch’s hand in his own. That singular touch was stabilizing and Stretch latched onto it gratefully, let it steady him. “I know it’s painful,” Edge said, low, his thumb moving over Stretch’s knuckles in a gentle circle, “but I’m not trying to hurt you by discussing this. This place can be good for the soul. My brother knows that better than anyone. When we first arrived here, he was the one hurting and not just physically, his pains ran soul deep, the same as yours.”

Stretch managed a harsh chuckle. It came out raw, like a wound. “like recognizes like, i guess.” In his chest, his soul gave a pained little throb, like it knew they were discussing it. He resisted the urge to rub at his sternum; he already knew it wouldn’t help, the ache wasn’t in the bone, it was deeper, untouchable, and that was just the way he wanted his soul to be. Anyway, it wasn’t as bad as it’d been before, it was healing, just like the doc said it would. He only needed time and due to certain events, he had plenty of that now, in hearts and spades.

“That's why you're here, Stretch,” Edge told him, “It isn't about a breakup, that's incidental. It's about needing to heal. This place can be good for the soul, if you let it,” He offered a faint smile. “I still recommend leaving when you’re sufficiently healed.” Then abruptly, “Have you started on the book yet?”

Stretch latched onto the new topic gratefully, more than ready to stuff the soul crap into the back of his mind for about the next ten years, please and thank you. Better to wallow in a little sheepish guilt as he admitted, “uh, not yet, was kinda tired yesterday.”

He expected a dressing down, and not in the sexy way, but Edge only nodded. “I’m not surprised. Don’t put it off too long.” He let go of Stretch’s hand, barely giving him time to mourn as he stood and plucked the check from the table. “I need to get going, lunch is on me.” He nodded at Stretch’s plate. “Finish your pie.”

“thanks,” Stretch grumbled, but he took a bite. Even half-mangled it was delicious, tartly sweet, and he focused on finishing his pie and nothing else. Even watching Edge leave wasn’t doing it for him right now and maybe he’d regret not taking in the view later, but for right now, he didn’t want to think about anything at all.

He was scraping up the last berry-stained crumbs when a sudden shout made the entire diner jerk, everyone turning towards the door.

“You there!” Stretch blinked at the tall, stocky Human tromping towards him, pointing an accusing finger his way. He was in a uniform, his eyes concealed behind mirrored sunglasses, and there was a star pinned to his chest, shiny gold and emblazoned with the word, ‘Sheriff’. Not to mention the gun belt strapped around his broad middle. He came to a stop right next to Stretch’s table, fists propped up on his hips as he demanded, “You causin’ trouble here in my town?”

Stretch could only look up at him wide-socketed, with the taste of berries still sharp on his suddenly dry tongue.

Well, shit. Where was the rescue when he really needed one?

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

32 notes · View notes

thompsborn · 4 years

Note

I'm ~indecisive~ so either parkner, parksborn, or ot3 (Peter/harley/harry), OR just something Harley centric pleeaassee love you hope you're doing well 😊💗💗

wasteland, baby by hozier

be still, my indelible friend

you are unbreaking

though quaking

though crazy

that's just wasteland, baby

[send me a character/ship/dynamic/etc. and i’ll put my music on shuffle and write a drabble/one shot based on the first song that plays!]

i have literally no clue what happened with this, literally i saw the song and was like wow yes hozier song for a harley centric ot3 one shot? perfect! and then it just. devolved? evolved? developed. somehow. into this gay panic lonely tennessee boy meeting two dumb fucked up and traumatized boys on a road trip before they start college and ??? i have no fucking clue tbh

tw: internalized homophobia, classic southern rose hill homophobia, a much thicker version of southern accent typing than i usually do, vague mentions/hints of toxic/abusive home life via one mr harry osborn, basically just canon based trauma but only talked about in passing

Harley feels life like a pressure pushing down on his chest.

It isn’t heavy, per se, but it isn’t light, either - rather a constant weight, comfortable at times, overwhelming at others. He will carry it down the street like a backpack strapped around his shoulders and pressed into the dimples at the base of his spine and he may wince and he may want to whine, but he’ll just smile with the warmth of sunshine radiating from his skin like he is the sun itself, and he will nod his head in greeting at any lonesome soul he passes.

Lonesome as him, at least. Lonesome as lonesome could ever really get.

He’s got his Mama, is the thing—and he loves his Mama with all he’s got, feels it seize up in his chest sometimes, his heart palpitating rapidly as it tries to process just how much love he holds in his chest like a secret he can’t quite share. Got his Mama and his sister, Annabelle, and her missing teeth that she loves to show off with every dimple cheeked grin that she flashes them, a nine year old girl who loves to have her hair braided back and resting between her shoulder blades like a signature, something that is solely hers. Harley can’t see braids without thinking of Belle and her crinkly nose and the laugh lines around her eyes when she can’t stop the chortles that rise from her chest. Belle and their Mama are all that he’s really got, and he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

But he wonders if there’s anyone out there who would really understand what he means when he says, “Life just feels a bit heavy today.” His Mama tries to, but she doesn’t get it, feels the pressures and the struggles of life differently than he does, because he knows she feels the aches and pains just as much as him, if not more so, but she has an energy that he doesn’t seem to have access to, an ability to chime a laugh without feeling like it’s too heavy in her poor lungs to make much of a sound. Belle doesn’t show any of the signs that Harley did when he was her age of any sort of weight pushing down her shoulders, because he felt it early, early, early—far too early than any child ever deserves, but he saw his father walk out that door with a half-assed smile and an unconvincing promise to return and that weight appeared like a lump in his throat and a stinging of tears behind his eyes and it’s only grown and shifted and intensified since then, really, but Belle doesn’t seem to have that weight, or any weight at all, and Harley hopes to the heavens above (that scare him shitless on a good day, really) that she never has to feel like him.

Because he is horribly, terrifyingly alone, sometimes. Sitting on the sofa with his Mama sitting to his right, his sister curled up in between them, letting out endearing little snorts when something funny happens in whatever show they’re watching, and his Mama could be brushing back his hair like she did when he was a kid, Belle could be snuggled in his lap and laughing into his chest, he could be surrounded by the two most important people in his life, the only two people in his life, and he could still stare at that television screen and feel a gaping wound in his chest that nothing can fill. There’s weight, pressure, heaviness--and an emptiness, in the center of it all. A vacancy that may never be filled. Like the eye of a hurricane that never seems to rest.

Then a far too fancy looking car rolls up in Rose Hill, parks itself in the dirt lot of the only motel in town, and everything seems to shift.

“I’m Harry,” one of the oddities tells him, when Harley stops by Rita’s Diner because his Mama is taking Belle to a doctor’s appointment in the next town over but wanted him to pick up her paycheck for her. The guy looks nothing like anyone in Rose Hill ever has, a sleek black blazer over a white shirt with a slogan that Harley can’t read from where he’s standing, dark blue skinny jeans and a fancy kind of tennis shoes that don’t have a smudge of dirt on them, his hand extended towards Harley, head tilted to the side, eyes green and piercing as they scan over Harley in some kind of intrigue.

Harley’s been born and raised to be polite, so he shakes the guys hand and says, “Harley Keener. Nice t’meet you, Harry...?”

The ends of Harry’s lips curve, twist. “Lyman,” he fills in, brow quirking. There’s a quiet snort that fills in the gap of silence that follows, and then Harry is turning, hand still clutching Harley’s in an almost hand shake, looking at the guy sitting beside him and reading the menu with amusement on his features. “What?”

“Nothing,” the guy says, glancing towards Harry before immediately looking away and having to smother a laugh in his palm. Harley takes a moment to examine this guy, too - sticking out just as much as Harry is with his beige skinny jeans (kind of like khaki’s, but nothing like them, at the same time) and a dark grey hoodie, looking far too thick for the sunny day outside. His hair is swooped across his forehead in wisps of curls, brown eyes glimmering. “Nothing,” he says again, more insistent, though it doesn’t sound convincing as he giggles more.

Harry rolls his eyes, turning back to Harley with a grimace, though his eyes shine in a way that makes it obvious that he isn’t actually annoyed. “Don’t mind him,” he says, gaze flickering down to where Harley is still clasping his hand. Harley pulls back as soon as he notices, yanks his hand away a little too fast. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, for a second, and then smooth. “That’s Peter.”

Giggles waves a hand vaguely in Harley’s direction, then looks away. Harley isn’t sure what to make of that. “What’s he laughing at?”

“Nothing important,” Harry assures with a shrug. “You’re from here, I’m guessing?” Then, with his newly freed hand, he gestures towards Harley’s clothes, the smudge of dirt on his cheek, the slight sunburn on the bridge of his nose and the freckles dotting his skin. “I don’t mean to assume, you just look a lot like a local.”

“Well, I’d bet I do, since you definitely don’t,” Harley muses, brow quirking, resting a hip on the edge of the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t mean to assume either, but neither of you are from ‘round here, huh?”

Harry’s smile widens while Peter flips a fork round and round between his nimble looking fingers. If Harley looks closer, he thinks he can see those fingers shaking, yet it doesn’t seem to hinder Peter’s ability to spin the fork with a flawless sort of ease. It makes him intrigued. Confused, too. A bit unsure. He doesn’t get the chance to voice any of it, though.

Julianna, the manager that’s working today, brings Harley his mama’s paycheck, wrapped up in a neat white envelope with Keener scrawled across the front in scratchy script. Harley tips his head in parting when he leaves, and he catches a glimpse of Peter leaning towards Harry with something forming through a whisper of his lips, so close that he brushes against Harry’s ear as he speaks.

He thinks of them the rest of the day. He isn’t quite sure why, but he does.

(Maybe it was the hand in his, or the way Peter couldn’t stop giggling under his breath like there was a joke that no one else knew but him. Maybe the curiosity that Harley felt bubbling in his chest had, for even just a fraction of a moment, filled that cavern the slightest bit.)

“You seem distracted, honeybun,” Margaret Keener says over dinner that night, swooping blonde bangs out of her eyes as she glances towards her eldest child, her eighteen year old son with his shoulders hunched down on himself as he uses his fork to push his food around his plate. Maggie keeps her eyes on Harley, but turns her head to address Belle as she says, “Doesn’t he look distracted, Tinker Bell? Looks a little lost in his head, don’t he?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annabelle responds, nodding her head politely before shoveling a bite of broccoli salad into her mouth. She speaks around her food, using her own fork to gesture towards her brother, and tells their mama, “Candy Jones was tellin’ me that her daddy saw Harley talkin’ to those city boys stayin’ at the inn.”

Harley shoots his sister a sharp glare while a flicker of understanding sparks in their mama’s eyes. “I see,” she drawls, setting her fork down to prop her chin in her hand, resting in the curve of her palm as she smiles at her son.

“It’s nothin’, Mama,” he grumbles, shrinking in his seat under her knowing stare.

Sounding amused, Maggie says, “Doesn’t sound like nothin’, honeybun. If Annabelle can tell me about her crushes, then you can tell me about yours.”

Instantly, Harley is looking at his sister in bewilderment. “You got crushes?”

Annabelle shovels more food in her mouth. “Maybe,” she says around it all, brows raising in a way that challenges him to say something about it.

“But you’re a baby,” Harley says.

“I’m almost ten,” Belle corrects. “Mama said it was okay, Harls. Right, Mama?”

Maggie nods. “Yes I did,” she says, though her eyes are glued to her son. “’Cause there ain’t nothin’ wrong with having crushes. It’s a natural part of life. So, Harley, why don’t you tell me about these city boys?”

“There’s nothin’ to tell,” Harley insists, looking at his mama with wide eyes. “Honest, Mama. I talked to ‘em for a few minutes while I was waitin’ for Julianna to bring me your check, but nothin’ happened. We just talked. I don’t even know how y’all know that they’re from a city.”

Belle lets out a huff. “Word spreads fast in this town, Harley,” she tells him. “You’d know that if you had any friends that you could talk to.”

“Annabelle Ray Keener, you watch yourself,” Maggie scolds, turning her eyes to her daughter with lowered brows. Belle ducks her head, looks away with red creeping up the back of her neck. “You say sorry to your brother. That was uncalled for, little miss. We don’t talk to each other that way, you hear me?”

Belle sighs. “Sorry, Harls,” she murmurs.

Harley’s head is bowed, ends of his lips tugged down in a frown. “S’alright,” he mutters in response, glancing up at Maggie through his lashes and sounding like nothing but a boy rather than the fresh adult that he is. “I ain’t got nothin’ else to say, Mama. We just talked for a few minutes. They seemed weird, but nice.”

“If you say so, baby,” Maggie softly replies, smile gentle and kind.

He doesn’t say much else for the rest of dinner.

Only a few days later, as Harley is strolling down the streets leading from his house to the mechanic shop that he works at part time during the summers, he sees them again. It’s a particularly hot day, and the weight of life is particularly heavy, and he sees them in the only park resting near the center of Rose Hill, small and meek but all that the town really needs. Peter is siting on one of the swings on the old rickety swing set that Harley has personally had to fix dozens of times since learning how to at the age of eleven, and Harry is pushing him, the two of them looking bright and happy under the sunlight. Laughter chimes in the air when Peter says something that has Harry doubling over, and the smug sort of grin that grows on Peter’s face says that he was hoping for that reaction.

Harley stands there for a few short moments, just watches in silent curiosity, and then he walks over without a second thought. Takes his time, doesn’t want to interrupt but can’t stop himself as he approaches, until they spot him, no more than ten feet away, and they quiet quickly, watching as he slows to a stop just a short distance from them. “You’re from the city,” he says - first thing that comes to mind, and the silence makes him itch, so he throws caution to the wind. Adds, as an afterthought, “My sister heard people in town talkin’ ‘bout it. Is that true?”

There’s a short pause, where Peter looks over his shoulder and Harry meets his eyes briefly, and then they’re looking back and Peter is saying, “Yeah, it’s true.”

“Which one?” Harley questions, curious. He makes a point of raking his eyes over their outfits, which still stand out just as much as the ones that they were wearing last time did. “Doesn’t look like anywhere in Tennessee, I assume?”

“Good assumption, cowboy,” Harry grins. “We’re New York, born and raised.”

Harley tilts his head, brows raising. “Cowboy?”

Peter clicks his tongue, tilts back on the swing until he’s practically hanging upside down, hair brushing against the wood chips of the playground, and then he kicks out his legs and uses an odd sort of momentum to swing back up until he’s sitting, grin wide and toothy as he meets Harley’s eyes. “Southern people use nicknames,” he says with a light laugh. “We thought cowboy suited you.”

“It does?” Harley asks, even more confused. “Y’all were talkin’ about me?”

“Y’all,” Harry repeats, an overjoyed and amused sort of look on his face.

Peter cocks his head slightly to the side, brows quirking, just a bit. “Of course we were talking about you,” he says. “Not everyday you meet a cute cowboy, right?”

That makes Harley freeze, heart stuttering over a beat in his chest, and it feels like what he always thought a stupid high school crush should feel like, his lungs weak and his face warm as he looks away, brings up a hand to run his fingers nervously through his hair. “Oh.”

Harry yanks Peter’s ear lobe lightly and snarkily asks, “What happened to subtlety, Parker?”

“What happened to transparency, Osborn?”

Instantly, Harry is shoving Peter’s shoulder, not too harsh but not exactly kindly, either. Peter exaggerates the push and falls out of the swing dramatically, tumbling into the wood chips with a bright laugh. Harry murmurs, “You’re such a dick,” even as he rounds the swing to help pull Peter to his feet, brushing off the dirt from Peter’s shirt and shaking his head with a sigh.

“You chose me,” Peter counters, grinning.

Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile pulls at his lips, like he can’t quite fight it. “Dumbest decision I’ve ever made,” he says, pulling Peter closer to him, until they’re chest to chest. “And I let you talk me into this trip, so that says a lot, Pete.”

Peter huffs. “Play the part of the Negative Nancy,” he says, leaning in until their noses brush. “Act like I don’t know any better. As if I don’t know you better than you know yourself.”

“Cocky,” Harry grins. “Y’know, we could put some of that confidence to work if you—”

And then Peter kisses him.

Harley feels like he’s intruding on a moment that was never meant for him, standing a few feet away, feeling frozen and unsure. Part of him knows that the proper thing to do would be to walk away, to leave the situation before it can get too awkward, but there’s a pull, something in his gut that tugs and insists he stay exactly where he is. Not that he could resist that insistence even if he wanted to, because his feet are rooted to the ground like a tree that’s been growing in place for centuries, an unwavering and unmovable object.

Warmth climbs up his neck, blossoms across his cheeks as he simply watches, unable to do much else, while Harry brings up a hand to cup Peter’s jaw, as Peter rests his hands on Harry’s waist and they mould together, like they’re filling in the spaces of one another. It looks as natural as breathing, the way they lean together, the way they pull away in sync, how everything seems to be perfectly timed with one another. Harley feels it clog in his throat, that suffocating lonesome feeling he carries around so much—has to clear his throat in order to breathe around it, but the noise just draws two pairs of eyes to him.

There isn’t any surprise or embarrassment, like they had forgotten he was there—rather, there’s an equal sense of content, as if they were happy to see he hadn’t fled. He clears his throat again, looks over Harry’s shoulder to stare unseeingly at the trees behind the swingset. “I didn’t know...” he trails off, tongue tied.

“We don’t usually flaunt it,” Harry offers, hand sliding from Peter’s jaw to his shoulder, keeps it there even as they step apart. One of Peter’s hands continues to clutch the fabric of Harry’s jacket, like he simply refuses to let him go.

Harley swallows roughly. “Usually?”

A smile tugs at Peter’s lips. “Usually.”

“Huh.” Harley looks away, over his shoulder, rubs at the back of his neck. They’re intriguing, is the thing—something about them is pulling him in, making it impossible to walk away. He can’t place his finger on it. “Um, I... I heard—you said trip? That’s why y’all are here? On a trip?”

“A getaway,” Harry offers, tilting his head back and forth, nose crinkled. “Of sorts. I’m emancipated and told Pete that I was thinking about spending a few weeks away from the city, just to take a break before we start our first year at college. He thought of a road trip, and we just... we just started driving. No destination in mind, you know? Just enough shit to last a couple weeks and enough money to keep the tank full, and then we ended up here.”

Harley looks back at them suddenly, because that... he has always wanted to do that. To leave, if just for a little bit, and take a break from how empty and lonely he feels in Rose Hill. He’s always wanted to drive to the nearest city, drive out of the state, explore. But it costs so much, it takes so much time, and his mama... his sister... leaving them, even temporarily—

That’s why he stays. For them. Always.

It takes a moment for him to string together a response, struggling to remember the conversation, what he wanted to say. Eventually, he manages to ask, “Why here?”

Peter rakes his eyes over Harley, the farthest thing from subtle. “Seems interesting,” he says.

“Why not?” Harry asks, his grin wide, toothy.

Harley smiles back—slow, careful, but he does.

There’s an old backpack thrown over his shoulders, dusty and dingy from sitting in the hall closet for so long, but it’s stocked up with snacks, jams and jellies and crackers and a couple jars of his mama’s homemade lemonade, lids screwed up tight.

He tells himself he grabbed so much food because he knows he’s gonna spend the whole day at the pond near the edge of Mr. Samson’s property, the one that Harley helps maintain during the winter months that he’s been given permission to go swimming in whenever he wants. He tells himself that he goes to town first to grab a loaf of bread because he has the feeling he’ll be craving jam sandwiches later, too. Tells himself all these lies until he finally comes across them, sitting besides the road with ice cream cones in hand, chatting to themselves under the warm sun.

As soon as Harley sees them, he freezes, doubt creeping into his mind. None of this was for him, he knows—he packed so much and came up with excuses to wander around town in the hopes of seeing them, of inviting them, but now that they’re in front of his eyes, nerves start to crawl up his throat and lock his jaw shut. He tightens his fingers around one of the backpack straps, knuckles turning white.

Harry happens to see him while glancing around, and then he grins, featuring lighting up as if he was hoping to see Harley just as much as Harley was hoping to run into them. As soon as Harry’s posture changes, Peter spins around, scans their surroundings until he finds Harley, too, and then it isn’t a matter of Harley approaching them—rather, the two of them scramble to their feet and make their way towards him, instead. The hands that aren’t holding their ice cream cones are twisted together between them, swinging lightly.

“There’s—” Harley falters, scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and looks around anxiously. “I just... there are a lotta not-so-friendly people here. People that... frown on—on gay people, y’know? I dunno—I just... if you care, I, um—”

The sun bounces off of Harry’s emerald eyes on a way that might have been menacing, if it weren’t paired with the small smile gracing his lips. “People can think what they want,” he says with the wave of his hand. “We don’t care.”

Harley shifts his weight from one foot to the other, keeps glancing around nervously. “I don’t think you understand. They’ll get violent, if they see—if they see y’all holding hands. They’re ruthless. You could get really hurt.”

There’s something sharp and understanding in Peter’s features. “Have they hurt you?”

“I’m not—” Harley stops, bites back the instinctive denial that tries to claw it’s way out from the back of his throat. It’s been years since he told his mama and his sister, since he spit bloody globs of saliva onto the contrete and cried because the bullies weren’t just ruthless, they were right, they knew, somehow, what he refused to admit for so long. It’s why he hides it now, from everyone other than Mama and Belle. He never knows if they’ll hurt him or not. But there’s a genuine knowing reflected in both Harry and Peter’s eyes, like they could see his pain, like they’ve felt it. He doesn’t feel the need to lie to them.

That fact terrifies him endlessly.

He clenches his jaw, juts his chin up in a choppy sort of nod. “They used to,” he says. “Before I learned how’ta fight back. Still spout shit ‘bout me all god damn day, but words don’t matter. I know better ‘en to listen to ‘em. But y’all... you’re city boys, right? The guys in town, they’ll think you’re weak. They’ll start shit, and they always finish whatever shit they start.”

“I can take ‘em,” Peter assures.

Harley pauses. “Um...”

“He looks scrawny,” Harry says, “but he’s right. If anyone bugs us, he’ll win.”

Harley wants to protest that, mostly because Peter is at least three inches shorter than him and looks like he’d struggle to do a push up underneath the sweatshirts he keeps on wearing, but there’s so much confidence in both if their voices that Harley feels like it’d be stupid to disagree. Instead, he adjusts his backpack and wets his lower lip, battling internally for a moment before blurting out, “Do y’all wanna go swimming with me?”

There’s a short pause, before Harry shares a smile with Peter. “Come again, cowboy?”

Harley flushes, just a bit, and stares down at the toes of his shoes with narrowed eyes. “There’s a pond,” he says, tone almost defensive, already expecting this to go wrong somehow. “It’s a little bit out of town, but it’s nice, kept clean and looked after, y’know? And it’s never busy like the lake out past the school. I was gonna go, and it was brought to my attention that I don’t have any friends and I don’t wanna go alone, and I—I thought—”

“We’ll go,” Peter says. “Right now?”

Harley shifts the weight of his backpack again, glances up in surprise, but knows better than to question a miracle. “If y’all aren’t busy.”

Peter looks at Harry. “Are we busy?”

“Not at all,” Harry answers with a grin.

It takes a quick stop at the motel for them to change into something they can swim in and multiple stammered out reassurances that there’s plenty of food and drinks in his bag for them to share, but they eventually amble over to the pond on foot, Peter and Harry scanning over the place in appreciation while Harley sets down his backpack and starts to unload it all.

“Christ,” Harry says with a laugh when he sees just how much there is. “Were you planning on having a party or something? That’s a lot.”

Harley shakes his head, feels his face burn, just the slightest bit. “Nah, jus’ wanted to make sure there was plenty to last all day.” Then, holding out the loaf of bread, Harley asks, “Sandwich? I got blackberry jam, and raspberry, and—and some apple butter, and there’s—peanut butter and almond butter, so if either of y’all’re allergic to peanuts, I—”

Peter reaches over, settles nimble fingers around Harley’s wrist and smiles. “You packed all this food for us, didn’t you?”

“I...” Harley has to swallow the lump that forms suddenly in his throat. “I just wanted to make sure that there were plenty of options.”

“You’re so sweet,” Peter coos, bringing Harley’s hand down to rest against his chest, palm settled over his beating heart. Harley feels his own heart start to march over the contact, features burning with a bright blush that must look even more sharp under the summer sun.

Harley settles in that for a long moment, breathes in slowly, glances through his lashes to see the way Harry is watching them with intrigue and interest in his eyes. Not knowing what else to do, Harley just clears his throat and croaks out, “Y’all wanna go swimmin’ now?”

With a playful grin and something sharp shining in his eyes, Harry says, “Sure, cowboy,” and reaches down to pull his shirt off.

Harley should have thought this through.

He should have—Christ, does he feel dumber than all hell right now, looking like those idiot pre-teens that burn scarlet at the pool parties in all those stupid movies, the blush reaching the tips of his ears in seconds as he immediately turns his eyes upward to stare at the clouds, almost holding his breath until he realizes that’ll just make his face even redder than it already is. How had the fact that swimming would likely entail a lot of bare skin not crossed his mind? He could have thought of anything else, like going to a movie, or—or roller skating, at the rink a couple towns over, or—

Anything other than this, because it’s a lot harder to act like he isn’t a (mostly) closeted gay dumbass when the most attractive boys he has ever seen are standing five feet away from him, shirtless and grinning like sharks, powerful and hungry and knowing the power they hold.

At least, that’s what it feels like when one of Harry’s hands wraps ‘round Peter’s wrist while Peter’s other hand taps a knuckle lightly against Harley’s chin, a gentle gesture that encourages Harley to lower his gaze—which he does, after a few moments, having to remind himself to breathe normally as he brings his eyes down to glance between swirling chocolate’s and dazzling green’s.

“You can look,” Peter tells him, head tilted, corners of his eyes crinkled with a lovable, boyish sort of grin. “We don’t mind.”

Harley’s mouth feels dry.

Before Harley can try to string together an attempt at a response, Harry cuts in, sounds matter of fact and damn near professional when he informs Harley, “And you can like what you see. It’s okay. We like what we see, too.”

“That’s...” Harley trails off, looks away and looks back because there’s a gravitational pull that he just can’t seem to fight. “That’s... allowed?”

With his nose crinkling up, Harry laughs. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Harley wets his lower lip. “‘Cause y’all’re... you’re together, yeah? And on a trip, gonna be leavin’ soon, I bet, and I’m—I’m the idiot from the close minded Southern town. And you don’t... y’all don’t know me. I don’t know you, either, really, jus’ that I—I, um—uh—”

It’s Peter that steps forward, head tilting to the side, just slightly. Almost puppy like, if it weren’t for the sharpness in his eyes. The ends of his lips pull back, until he’s sporting a soft and gentle sort of smile, but something about it feels damaged, too, in a way that Harley can’t quite put a finger on. “Give yourself some credit, cowboy,” he says. “Harry thinks you’re hot and I can’t get enough of your accent, and that’s just what we thought after three minutes of talking at that diner, alright? Sure, we don’t know you, and, fuck, you definitely don’t know shit about us, but there’s something, right?”

The thing is, Harley isn’t an articulate guy. His brain is capable of endless things, he’s smarter than anyone will ever be able to give him credit for, sure, but when he’s nervous, in a situation that’s unfamiliar and hard to maneuver, his instinct is to duck his head and change the subject. Which is why he freezes completely, even though he knows this is an opening, even though Peter and Harry just fully and openly admitted to being attracted to him, at least on a surface level, and Harley—he’s never had anyone interested in him before. None of the girls at school ever swooned over him, none of the boys tried to woo him with flowers and cheesy dates. He was just the Keener boy, with the blond waves that sometimes dry in ringlets that hang in his eyes when it rains, the sloped nose that’s just a bit crooked from breaking it a few too many times over the years (clumsy, at times; unlucky run ins with bullies, for the most part), the jean jacket that almost always has on, pulled over plain t-shirts in the summer, thick flannels in the winter, dark blue jeans that are old and ripped at the knees, but he can’t bother to replace them. He’s a graduate barely two months out of high school and his future’s already set, laid out and chosen for him.

Stay in Rose Hill. Die in Rose Hill. Maybe grow old, somewhere in between. Hopefully content, at peace, but he ain’t bettin’ money on that. Probably work at the mechanic shop full time once it becomes clear that he’ll never afford to go to college and he won’t get anywhere without a degree. Besides, Mama says that Rose Hill is home, and he says that home is wherever Mama and Belle are, so there’s no real harm in just going with the flow of things.

But it feels like being offered a taste of forbidden fruit (and, Christ, would his Catholic grandma turn over in her grave if she heard him using such a phrase, daring to reference the holy text in his sin) when gentle fingers brush across his cheek, bringing him back to reality as he sucks in a sharp breath and finds green eyes looking into his, brown ones scanning over his features just as closely, as intently.

Harry smiles, all lopsided. “Wanna swim?”

It’s an offer, an ability to ease the nervous (excited?) churning in his stomach. Harley swallows roughly, waits until his tongue no longer feels tangled up and knotted in his mouth, before saying, “Y-Yeah. Okay.”

(They’re swimming ‘round the pond like little kids until sunset, and Harley walks them back to the motel, ‘cause it’s the nice thing to do, and by the time he gets home, his hair still hanging in his eyes in damp ringlets that Harry had called cute while Peter brushed gentle fingers through them with a grin, there’s a swelling feeling of contentment in his chest.

For a moment, it makes the pressure, weight, heaviness, and that chasm of emptiness in the center of it all that so often overwhelms him, pains him so much, seem like nothing.)

They go to the movies the next day, and rollerskating a couple days after that, just because Harley keeps wandering around town while his Mama is at work and Belle is with her friends, going to the lake and having sleepovers because it’s summer and she’s nine and, in a place like Rose Hill, kids start to wander off on their own around the place as soon as they hit first grade. Harley’s got the occasional part time shift at the mechanics, sure, but it’s only ‘bout fifteen hours a week if he’s lucky—five hour shifts, up to three days a week, and with his Mama working so much and Belle having the kind of social life that Harley has never been capable of grasping himself, it’s safe to say there isn’t much else to do to fill up his summer days. Usually, this leaves him terribly lonely, even more so than usual, spending most of his summers in the garage with things to tinker with and a haze over his every thought.

This year, though.

It’s that gravitational pull that Harley thought of before, an otherworldly source guiding him towards these city boys like it’s where he’s supposed to be. He’s always been in the belief that there isn’t a place for him, that he’s just a floater drifting his way among those who really belong, and these two... Harry and Peter are dating—have been for over two years, now, told Harley that they started dating when they were sixteen—and with them is, logically, the last place Harley should feel the most welcome. But, it’s like there’s a space with them, somewhere for him to nestle in, and it feels like it’s purely his own. It feels like his.

Peter is the first to kiss him.

It’s after a day where he wakes up feeling heavier than usual, brain hazed just a bit, chest caving in on that void of emptiness at the center of it all. Mama has a graveyard shift tonight so she passes him in the hall when he shuffles towards the bathroom, presses a kiss to his forehead like he’s a little kid and then makes her way to her room to sleep until it’s time for her to get ready for work, which means that Belle—and her plans to go a few towns over, to go to the sorry excuse for a mall that’s over there, with a couple of her friends—becomes his responsibility to drive around. Which is something he agreed to over dinner last night, but maybe he would have fibbed a bit and said he had his own shift at work if he knew he would wake up feeling like this.

But he takes them, Belle and her two best friends, and spends hours walking ‘round the mall, making sure they’re safe and don’t get lost, holding their bags and offering to pay for all their food when they get hungry at about lunch time, just ‘cause that’s how he was raised to be. By the time he finally parks in the driveway again, all of them having been dropped off at one of the the other girls’ house for a sleepover, his arms are tired, his limbs feel like lead, everything is unclear and slow in his grogginess. He sits behind the wheel for a long time, just trying to breathe like a normal human being, before making his way inside, being greeted bu lights off and silence—Mama already left for work, then. He’s alone.

He’s lonely.

This isn’t anything new—he’s been lonely his whole life, felt it carved into the cavity of his chest like a brand—but it really resonates as he stands there in the entryway, the only light in the room being the slowly setting sun as it shines through the window, illuminates the room with a golden sort of glow. His turns his head so that it’s angled down, curls falling in front of his eyes like a curtain, but even when blocking his vision he can feel it, can hear the distinct lack of sound like a gun shot, save for the distant sound of the washer spinning a load of Mama’s comfy clothes that echoes within his school like an eerie reminder of the fact that no one else is there, and it shouldn’t matter, he’s felt this before and been just fine, but he’s been getting all these little tastes and hints of feeling like he actually belongs somewhere when he’s with Harry and Peter, and knowing what a fraction of companionship feels like...

Harley doesn’t have a cell phone, ‘cause there ain’t no signal in Rose Hill unless you’re on the main road, but that main road is where the diner is, where the bars are, and, of course, the motel. And he happens to have the numbers of two city boys staying at that motel scribbled on a napkin from the rollerskating rink that’s sitting on his nightstand, only just upstairs.

There’s barely a minute of thought before he starts moving towards the staircase, grabbing the house phone along the way, and, a mere fifteen minutes later, he isn’t alone anymore.

He gives them a quick tour of the house after letting them in, mostly because he didn’t actually think of something to do, had only been aching with the need to have someone there, and now he’s basking in the warmth of their presence while trying to figure out something to do in order to not give himself away, but Harry seems a bit more softspoken, Peter keeps brushing fingers against Harley’s shoulder’s, the small of his back, and—

(“I just...” Harley had said over the phone, completely unaware of the empty tone to his words, unable to see the way that the couple had looked at one another, concern and worry and troubled fondness in their eyes. “I’m not busy,” is what Harley had settled on saying, not a lie, but certaintly not the truth. “Are you?”

Peter had been sporting pinched brows and a slight frown. Harry had said, “Never too busy for you, cowboy. What’s the plan?”)

And they end up outside, because Harley takes them out on the backporch for a quick view of the yard and the garden that the Keener’s split responsibility to tend to, and Peter had seen the little campfire set up and insisted they get the stuff for s’mores and have a bonfire. There’s such a simplistic sort of innocent excitement that lights up his features, and it makes Harley wonder— “Have y’all had a campfire b’fore?”

Harry shakes his head. “Always wanted to,” he says. “Pete’s Uncle was actually gonna take us both camping for Pete’s fifteenth birthday, but... um—it didn’t work out, I guess.”

“He passed away,” Peter supplies, when Harley’s brows quirk just slightly, curious but unsure if he should ask. Even Harry looks mildly surprised by the admission, giving Peter a wide eyed look, to which Peter just shrugs and says, “What? I can tell when not to trust someone.” Then, back to Harley, he explains, “My parents died when I was four, so I was raised by my Aunt May and Uncle Ben, but Ben got shot when I was fourteen. I tried to slow the bleeding enough to keep him alive until the ambulance got there, but—yeah. Wasn’t able to, I guess.”

Everything else from before—the heaviness, the loneliness, the ache—it all goes away in an instant, morphing into a shocked sense of dread as he looks into the eyes of the guy he literally called giggles in his head when they met. His tongue is tangled. He has to untangle it slowly before he can ask, “You were there?”

Peter shrugs again, but he looks away.

“Christ, Darlin’,” Harley chokes out, shaking his head. “Yeah, we can have s’mores. We can—so many s’mores, as many as ya’want. Jesus.”

“Shit cards,” Peter says. “They happen.” Then, perking up like they weren’t just talking about him witnessing his uncle’s murder, he looks back to Harley and asks, “Do you maybe have some of those jumbo marshmellows?”

Harry rolls his eyes and groans, and, just like that, it’s like the heavy topic never came up. Not in a let’s just ignore that and let it fester uncomfortably below the surface sort of way, but in a that’s all that needs to be said for now so let’s just move on kind of way instead. It feels natural and comforting rather than cold and dismissive, and it makes that chasm within Harley’s chest feel a little less empty.

It’s after the sun has set, when there’s a fire that’s glowing across them and softening their features in the gentle, flickering light. Harley is sat in the middle because they always seem to want him there, the corner of his mouth sticky from melted marshmellow and the taste of chocolate on his tongue, feeling warm and full. Harry’s leaning into Harley, just a bit, but Peter is sitting a couple inches away, features a bit pinched with a thoughtful sort of expression.

Before Harley can voice his curiosity, Peter glances over at them, practically melts at the sight of Harry settling his head to rest on Harley’s shoulder, and slowly says, “Har...?”

“Mm?” Harry responds, eyes fluttering shut.

“I think—I mean, I wanna—do you think—?”

Harry huffs, one eyes squinting over to look at Peter. “Just do it, Parker. Don’t be a pussy.”

Harley barely has time to murmur a confused little, “Um,” before Peter’s brushing gentle fingertips beneath his chin and turning his head and Harley sees beautiful brown eyes getting closer and closer and—a few freckles, dotting along the bridge of Peter’s nose.

And then they’re kissing.

It’s a basic kind of kiss—lips pressed to lips in what often is only a meaningless point of skin on skin, but Harley’s heart races in his chest as soon as he realizes what’s happening, a tingle running down his spine and—warmth, so much warmth that envelopes him in somethiny soft and cozy and his, it’s his in a way that nothing ever has been, and he pushes in, presses into Peter with a hitch in his breath and kisses back like his life fucking counts on it, ‘cause it does.

Christ Almighty, it does.

(Harry kisses him next, while Harley is still dazed and blinking away the stars in his eyes, but Harry is half asleep and doesn’t do much more than hum against his lips before slumping back down, head on Harley’s shoulder, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, and it’s so much different yet entirely just the same.)

He didn’t invite them to stay the night.

He also didn’t tell them to leave.

When Harley blinks awake, rising with the sun like he was raised to do, there’s hair ticking his nose and a weight pressed up against his side. It takes a moment for him to clear his eyes of grogginess and make them really focus, but when he does, he finds Harry’s head resting on his chest, curled up against him, snoring softly.

Peter is separate from them, curled up on himself on the far corner of Harley’s bed, wide awake and shivering lightly. Harley feels choked up with the moment and everything that it is, everything that it can be, but the worry clouds over that when he hears Peter’s teeth chatter.

“Cold, Darlin’?”

Instantly, Peter’s head snaps up, wide eyed and sheepish. “Um—I, uh—I’m good, I’m—”

Harley lifts the arm that Harry doesn’t have pinned beneath him, shifts the blanket that they must have fallen asleep on top of and somehow manages to maneuver it from underneath them to over them without moving too much, then keeps a corner held up as he looks to Peter. “C’mon,” he coaxes. “I’ve heard I’m like a heater. C’mere, s’alright.”

Peter hesitates, but then he’s moving, crawling under the blankets and curling into Harley with a shaky sort of sigh. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Dunno how you’re so cold,” Harley mutters back, because you’re welcome feels a bit too obvious. “Summertime in Rose Hill can be brutal. Surprised we’re not all dyin’ of heat.”

“M’not actually cold,” Peter tells him. “Just had a nightmare. Almost drowned, once, and I always feel cold after I dream about it.”

Christ, Harley thinks—remembers so suddenly that he doesn’t really know these guys, feels it shock him like a taser. He doesn’t particularly understand why Peter is telling him this, or why he told Harley about his parents and his uncle last night—remembers the shock on even Harry’s face when he had—but it doesn’y feel scary or overwhelming. Just a bit hard to process, feally. Peter doesn’t really act the way Harley suspects someone would after that.

But Harry also doesn’t act like he’s all that traumatized, either, yet Harley can feel the exact moment he goes tense in the shoulders and his breathing takes a hitch. Peter lets out a hum, all too knowing and sad, and reaches out a hand to comb through Harry’s hair. “There he goes,” Peter practically whispers. “Almost had a full night’s rest, too. That would’ve been a god damn miracle, but he needs it, eventually.”

“What happened to you two?” Harley founds himself asking—not maliciously, not demanding, but curious and... upset, maybe, but not at them, of course, rather at the fact that he’s only know these two for a handful of weeks—a month, almost, which is just an odd thought to linger on—and if anyone deserves to never face a bad day in their life, it’s them.

Peter puffs out a sigh as Harry really starts to struggle, brows furrowed, features pinched. “I think we’ll tell you,” he says softly. “One day.”

Harry lets out a pitiful sort of cry in his sleep, and then that’s all that matters, Peter coaxing his partner awake while Harley tries to offer a soothing presence and coo calming words.

Even now, it doesn’t feel like Harley’s an intruder. It feels like he was always supposed to be right here with them, good mornings or bad.

Mama comes home from work with grizzy hair that’s sticking up at random spots and finds three eighteen year old boys curled up together on the sofa with a morning children’s cartoon playing on the screen. Despite the shock and the exhaustion etched deep into her features, she only blink once in surprise before smiling wide at them. “These’re the city boys, I’m guessin’?” she asks, plopping her purse down on the coffee table as she looks them over.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter says before Harley can do much more than nod. “I’m Peter Parker. This is Harry Os—um. Harry Lyman. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Keener. You have a lovely home.”

“Honey, you can just call me Maggie,” his Mama assures. She flickers her eyes over to Harry, who is so obviously trying to offer a smile and focus on the conversation but is still so rumpled from his rude awakening, borrowed sweatpants and Peter’s shirt askew, eyes a bit glazed over and features a little sad. Still, his Mama gives Harry a smile. “Both of you.”

Harry looks a bit unsure and grateful by that, while Peter offers a quiet, “Okay, Miss Maggie.”

Mama chuckles, looks to Harley with a soft amusement in her eyes. “Honeybun, I think you must’ve found the only polite city boys around,” she says. “You boys have any breakfast yet?”

Harley feels scolded even before he gives an answer, looks down at his lap sheepishly before telling her, “No, Mama, we haven’t eaten yet.”

“Harley James Keener,” Maggie says—not just Mama, not with that tone of voice, sharp and sure but also exasperated and loving. “I know I raised you knowin’ how we treat our guests. C’mon, up you get, we’re cookin’ up some food before anyone starves into an early grave.”

It looks like Peter is about to protest, but he looks at Harry and bites his tongue, instead offering a grateful smile when Harley squeezes his hand lightly before getting up with a simple little, “Yes, ma’am,” and heading to the kitchen.

He’s flipping over the first of the pancakes when his Mama lets out a soft sort of sigh, glancing up from where she’s mixing together the egg wash for the french toast. Harley knows better than to voicea question just yet, waits patient and proper until she’s ready to speak up, though the last thing he expects her to say is a resigned, “You’re gonna be leavin’, huh?”

The spaltula damn near slips from his fingers in his haste to look at he. “Wh—Mama, what?”

“You were never a Rose Hill kinda boy,” she says, smile soft and sad as she looks back down at the bowl she’s mixing. “I knew it when you were just a kid, Harls. Born and raised don’t mean that it’s home, honeybun, and a small town was never gonna be your place. Too much smart in that brain of yours to stay here.”

“Mama...” Harley trails off, only looks away in order to avoid burning the pancake. “I’d never leave you and Belle here. You gotta know that.”

Maggie clicks her tongue and shakes her head, action sharp as her tone. “Harley Keener, there ain’t no way in hell that I’d let you waste your potential just to stay here with us. Rose Hill’s where I wanna be, where I fit—but it isn’t that for you and you shouldn’t make it be. Hard to tell with Tinker Bell, she could go either way, but you? Honey, the world ain’t ready for you, and you’ve been hidin’ yourself here and not usin’ up all that potential you’ve got for too long. You’re gonna leave, honeybun. Stayin’ here was never supposed to be your future.”

Harley wants to fight tooth and nail against this, but the more she speaks, the more her words start to settle over him like a blanket. He’s always wanted to leave, and he’s always felt awfully selfish for wanting it, but the way she says it... there’s not argument. He doesn’t belong here. Up until recently, he just assumed he wouldn’t belong anywhere at all.

“Besides,” Maggie adds, glancing at her son with a curl to her lips. “You’ve got two city boys sittin’ in the other room waitin’ for you.”

“I—I don’t know ‘em all that well,” Harley says.

Maggie shakes her head. “I didn’t know your Daddy all that well when I fell in love with ‘im. Of course, your Daddy changed—wasn’t the man I loved by the time he left us, but that’s not the point. Love ain’t knowin’ someone all the way, honeybun. It’s learnin’ as you go and lovin’ all those bits and pieces that you learn.”

Harley’s face is burning. “I don’t love ‘em, Ma.”

“Not yet,” Maggie says. “But you will.”

Two and a half weeks later, as June turns to July, Harley finds himself packing his things.

“I’ve got an apartment,” Harry says, looking far too put together to be the same guy who was damn near silent in the aftershocks of his nightmare (and the three other nightmare’s Harley has seen since). “If you think you wanna move to the city, you can just stay with me until you either find your footing or decide to come back here. Pete basically lives there, too, with how much he’s stayed over since I got emancipated and moved into their at sixteen.”

Harley looks up from the shirt he’s folding, a single brow arching. “Sixteen?” he questions. “Same year y’all started datin’, you mean?”

The ends up Harry’s lips pull up, amused beyond belief. Peter’s snorin’ on Harley’s bed, tired (couldn’t sleep super well the night befors, Harley was told) and completely unaware of the way that Harry’s eyes glimmer. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Probably got away with shit we shouldn’t have in there, but May was working and doing school to get promoted at the hospital, so there weren’t any adults giving us the you’re too young talk, you know?”

“Your dad...” Harley doesn’t keep talking, mostly because he’s only gotten a slight scratch against the surface with that topic, so he doesn’t want to push. Still, Harry nods.

“He wouldn’t have done much talking,” is all that Harry offers. “That’s why I was emancipated. I’ll tell you about it, probably, when Pete is up to sharing that shit.”

Harley glances at Peter, sleeping soundly still. “Peter had problems with your dad, too?”

Harry winces. “To put it lightly, yeah.”

“Any chance I can find this guy and beat his ass?” Harley questions—mostly for the way that Harry chuckles fondly, but it’s a semi-legitimate question, as well. He doesn’t take well to assholes who treat kids like shit, even more so when it’s his—when—when it’s Harry and Pete.

“He’s not in our lives anymore,” Harry says, stalks forward and brushes a kiss to the corner of Harley’s mouth. “No worries, cowboy. ‘Sides, Pete got a good few hits in, towards the end.”

Christ. “A sight to see, I’m guessin’?”

“Don’t know. I wasn’t there for it.”

Harley shakes his head. “So many stories.”

“So much time to tell them,” Harry counters, a wide grin growing across his face.

From the bed, Peter groans. “Stop bein’ sappy,” he grumbles, words slightly slurred from sleep as he turns his face into the only one of Harley’s pillows that hasn’t been packed yet. “M’sleepin’. Can’t sleep if you’re bein’ all—all fuckin’ gay.”

A light laugh rumbles out from the center of Harley’s chest, while Harry just rolls his eyes and walks over to the bed, plopping down next to Peter with a drawn out sigh. “Dramatic asshole,” Harry grouches, even as he pulls Peter into his side and curls an arm around him, features going soft when Peter doesn’t hesitate to lean against him with a happy hum. “We’re driving back to New York in, like, five hours, Pete. You can’t just wait and sleep in the car?”

Peter cracks an eye open, looking absolutwly scandalized. “And miss out on showing our favorite cowboy all our car games?”

“I already know car games,” Harley says.

“Not ours,” Peter says. “Not yet.”

Not yet. Like his Mama said.

Harley smiles. He likes the silent, unspoken yet powerful promise that comes with not yet.

He likes it a whole lot.

#shadedrose01 #parkner #parksborn #ph2 #peter harley harry #harry harley peter #harry peter harley #harley peter harry #harley harry peter #peter harry harley #parksborner #my writing #HOW did this get so long omg #harley keener x harry osborn

29 notes · View notes