#is telling the group to go work with her somewhere else? but it's next month?

[ennobaka]

damn dude what if i cant find a job and then i die 😂

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 14: "The one with the nightly calls" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: With Frankie in Boston, the small phone calls at night begin to carry more weight. Meanwhile, things get harder for him. But it doesn’t take long before he’s close to you again. WC: 16k

A/N: I have nothing to say… just thank u for reading and sooo much love to all of you!! Don't forget to let me know what you think, your feedback really matters <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! (also, If you've asked me before to tag you and your tag isn't on the list, please send me a message and let me know! Sometimes I miss comments!)

Wednesday, October 16th

Frankie called you after dinner. He’d been in Boston for almost two weeks now. He left on a Friday—the fourth Friday of the month.

The first night he called, it felt casual, like a passing thought. He told you about his day, the kinds of things he did and saw, because you hadn’t spoken at all that day. The next night, at almost the exact same hour, he called again. He didn’t seem to notice the pattern. But by the third night, you were already waiting for it, your phone close by, your chest pulling quietly toward the sound of his voice.

Tonight, you took a shower and got into bed with Mr. Darcy. You already knew your phone would ring, maybe not right away, but soon. And when it did, it would be him.

Sometimes the conversations meandered. He’d talk about Jamie, mostly—how they spent hours walking, sometimes talking, often in silence. Frankie didn’t say it outright, but you could tell he was trying to anchor Jamie to something steady, something outside of the hospital walls and the quiet fear threading its way through their days. Because Henry, his dad, was sick. Not just the kind of sick that passed with time, but the other kind—the one people didn’t like to name until they absolutely had to. They were still waiting on tests, on confirmation, but everyone knew. It hung there between them.

Luna seemed steadier with her family around. Frankie told you that most evenings they all sat together in the living room, watching movies with the lights low and the volume too high, like maybe sound could shield them from dread. Helena didn’t want to go back to Austin just yet. But Frankie wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay. Work was waiting, and so was everything else he’d pressed pause on. Still, every time he mentioned going back, Luna reminded him—gently, but firmly—that it was okay to leave when he needed to. That it didn’t make him a bad brother. That love could stretch across state lines and that being present didn’t always mean being in the same place.

With Jamie, Frankie seemed lighter somehow. He’d tell you stories every night��about the park they discovered not far from Luna’s house, where the trees were tall and gold-tipped, and how Jamie insisted on racing him from bench to bench, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. They rode bikes, Frankie jogging beside him when the hill felt too steep. He taught Jamie how to cast a fishing line, how to use his fingers to tie little knots that held. There was something grounding in it, he said, using your hands like that. Jamie clung to him with a kind of unspoken admiration that made something in Frankie’s voice catch when he talked about it. One night, Jamie asked him if he’d take him flying someday—really flying—and Frankie said he would. In Austin, he promised. When they came to visit.

Each night he’d give you pieces of his day, and you’d offer yours in return—your routines, the small details of your work hours. You told him that Santi had been trying, with the kind of stubborn optimism only he could sustain, to organize a group trip somewhere not too far, somewhere quiet, maybe on a weekend.

“When Fish gets back,” he had said, like it was obvious.

You’d seen Emma a few days ago too. She wasn't that subtle about this new thing going on with you. She never was. She tried, in her own way, to keep her thoughts to herself, but she had a certain look when she did—eyebrows tight, lips curved, like biting back smiles and words.

“I’m not going to say anything,” she told you one afternoon while you were pushing a cart through the grocery store. That night you were making pasta—she was on sauce duty, claiming it was the only white sauce worth making. “I know how you get. All bashful and avoidant every time I bring him up.”

“I know what you think,” you said, grabbing a bottle of olive oil and dropping it into the cart. “You think we’re rushing things. You don’t have to say it. I can see it in your face.”

“Rushing?” she said, eyebrows lifting. “He’s in another state. You talk once a day, maybe twice. I don’t think it’s too fast. I think you’re moving the way people move when something it's... you know.” She turned away from you, scanned the row of spices, distracted. “What I do think is that you haven’t realized that you’re probably already dating.”

You blinked. “We’re not dating.”

“Oh no?” she turned back, one brow still raised, like a challenge. “Then what exactly are you doing?”

“We’re… friends. More than friends. For now. I dunno. Don’t name it.”

Emma smiled, but not in a mocking way. It was softer than that.

“More than friends,” she echoed. “You should see the way you sound at night when you talk to him. You get this voice. All careful and… sweet. ‘When are you coming back?’ ‘How’s everything over there?’” she teased, doing a vague imitation of your voice that didn’t sound like you at all, but you let her have it.

You laughed, half-guilty, half-exposed. “I dunno. It just sounds too serious to say things like that.”

“To say what? That you miss him?”

You looked away, pretending to search the shelf behind her for something—anything—your fingers trailing along the edges of jars you didn’t need.

“I think he’d like to hear it,” she added, quieter this time.

And you didn’t say anything, but you wondered if maybe he would.

So the days passed quietly. The nights followed suit—predictable, comforting, marked now by something you hadn’t anticipated relying on. Each evening, almost without exception, his call came at the same time. Not by agreement, not because you’d asked him to. It just kept happening, like some new law of nature.

Tonight was no different. You were already in bed, the lights off, your room wrapped in the soft blue glow of the TV. Some show played faintly in the background, but you weren’t really watching it.

Your eyes were half-shut, your body sinking into the warmth of your comforter, your breathing deepening without your permission. It wasn’t even that late—barely past nine—but the day had pulled at you from every direction, and you felt the weight of it in your bones.

When your phone buzzed, you didn’t startle. You simply reached for it under the covers, your fingers brushing past Mr. Darcy, curled at your side. He flicked his tail in protest.

You didn’t need to check the screen. You already knew. But you did anyway, as you always did.

[Frankie🍾 ]

The contact photo was one you had taken right after the skydive. His hair had been wild from the wind, his cheeks flushed from adrenaline. He wasn’t looking straight at the camera—his smile was off to the side, crooked in that way you had started to recognize as entirely him. He was still wearing the black jumpsuit, the straps hanging loose around his shoulders like he hadn’t had the energy to take it off yet.

You pressed accept and stretched out, your voice sleep-rough as you spoke.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Were you asleep?”

“No. Almost. I’m in bed.”

“Long day?” he asked, and then you heard it—the brief crackle of static, the soft inhale. He was smoking.

“You?”

“Not really. I’m out in the yard. Bambi’s trying to lick my face.”

You laughed, quietly. “Leave him alone. Those are dog kisses. That means he loves you.”

“Well, I hope Mr. Darcy doesn’t hold it against me when I come back. Do you think he’ll know?”

“Oh, he’ll know,” you said, smiling into the dark. “He’ll smell the betrayal. You’ll have to earn his forgiveness.”

“Mmm. You know him best. What’s the strategy?”

“The obvious one,” you murmured. “Food. Kibble and wet tuna. He’s kind of basic like that.”

“Reliable,” Frankie said. “I like that in a man.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just listened to the soft night sounds on his end of the call—the wind, maybe, the distant creak of something wooden, the faint thump of paws on the grass. You imagined him out there, sitting outside like the previous nights, Bambi pressed against his side. You imagined the glow of the cigarette, how it lit up his features for brief seconds at a time.

“And what about you?” he asked.

You turned slightly, shifting beneath the covers. “What about me?”

“How am I supposed to deal with you?”

For a moment, you didn’t speak.

“I think I’m easier,” you said eventually. “Just seeing you would be enough.”

There was a beat, and then you heard him exhale through his nose, amused. The kind of quiet, private laugh he gave when he didn’t want to sound too affected.

“I’ll be back this weekend. Maybe sooner.”

You smiled into the dark, instinctively, and tried to temper your voice. “Really?”

“Yeah. Mai and I. Mom’s staying a bit longer. She wants to be around to help Luna and Henry with Jamie while they take care of everything else.”

“How are they doing?” 

“Better,” he said, and you could hear the thoughtfulness in it. “Or, I don’t know—better within the context of everything. Henry’s holding up. Luna too. They took Jamie out for a walk today, just the three of them. She said it helped. Like things made sense, even if only for an hour.”

“That sounds nice,” you said. “I bet Jamie loved that.”

“He did,” Frankie said, and there was a warmth in his tone. “Then when they got home, he asked me to take him to the movies. Invited two of his friends. He planned the whole thing himself—texted their moms and everything.”

You smiled. “He really likes having you around.”

“Yeah, he does,” Frankie said, and he was laughing now, low and incredulous. “I think he thinks I’m cooler than I actually am. We saw some video game movie. The boys were hyped. I was just… lost.”

You laughed. “You’re getting old.”

“Maybe. Do you have any idea how many words I didn’t recognize tonight?”

“How many?”

“Definitely more than three. Jamie tried to explain them all, but when I tried to use one in a sentence, he told me I was ‘cringe’ and should just stop.”

You laughed again. Mr. Darcy shifted beside you, unimpressed by the noise.

“You’re officially out of touch.” 

“I think I’ve made peace with it,” he said. “If it means I get to be the uncool adult who buys popcorn and lets them talk through the previews, I’ll take it.”

“Come on, tell me one of the words.”

There was a pause. Frankie made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

“Please don’t make me do this.”

“Okay, I’ll wait. You can tell me when you’re back, then.”

“I’m not making any promises,” he said, amusement spilling through the line. You heard the faint inhale of a cigarette, the soft exhale that followed. “My mom says hi, by the way. Actually, they all do. But she wanted me to tell you that her hello is the most enthusiastic. Like, she made a point of that.”

You grinned. “Tell her I say hi too. To everyone. But especially her.”

“I’ll pass it on. Bambi—hey, hey, off,” he muttered, the sound of shuffling fabric and a low thud in the background. “Goddamn, I swear. He’s trying to climb on top of me. Anyway—what did you do today?”

“Nothing thrilling,” you said. “Work was the same as usual. After that I stopped by Bill’s. It’s almost finished now. It’s looking really good. Just needs the shelves filled and maybe a few more touches.”

“That sounds nice,” he said, and you could hear him settling again, like he’d shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be a great space. After that Julie said she was craving burgers, so we got burgers. Then I came home. I had a headache so I took something for it and stood under the hot water for a while. That helped. And now I’m here. TV on, lights off. Mr. Darcy’s asleep at my side. Very thrilling night.”

He laughed softly. “That’s good, though. That you’re okay. God, you have no idea how much I miss my bed.”

“Are you not sleeping well?”

“Not really. Jamie wears me out in the best way—he’s got me running around after him like I’m twenty again. I forgot how much stamina kids have.” There was a pause, and a sound like he’d scratched his jaw. “But even when I’m tired, it’s hard to actually sleep. I sort of just lie there.”

You frowned a little, your voice gentler. “You should go to bed early tonight. Take a hot shower. I know I sound like one of those people who don't get it but, that helps me. Maybe it works for you too?”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. Although I need to know—how hot is this magical shower supposed to be? Because when you say hot, you mean skin-peeling, bone-melting hot.”

You laughed. “I don’t know, Francisco. Hot enough for you. Warm enough to trick your body into relaxing. And then don’t get stuck in front of the TV like you always do.”

“You’re watching TV now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have trouble sleeping,” you countered, tugging the blanket higher over your chest. “The moment we hang up, I’m out. Like a light. I’ll sleep better than a baby.”

“Are you mocking me?” he asked, half-playful, but with just enough mock offense to make you laugh again.

“I would never.”

“Oh, I have screenshots,” he said. You could hear the grin in his voice. “You think I don’t, but I do.”

“Fake screenshots. Fabricated evidence.”

“Sure, sure. Who does nothing fears nothing—or something like that.”

You didn’t speak for a few seconds. The warmth in your chest had started to climb, spreading outward.

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, “go try to sleep, okay? I miss you. Call me tomorrow.”

It came out faster than you intended, like the words had been waiting behind your teeth for too long.

There was a pause on the other end. Not long, but long enough to make your heart jump once, then again.

“What?” Frankie asked.

“Get some sleep,” you repeated, more carefully this time. “Call me tomorrow.”

“No.”

You blinked at the ceiling. “No? What do you mean no? You’re not going to call me?” you asked, voice light, teasing. “Or you’re not going to sleep?”

There was a pause before Frankie answered. On the other end of the line, you heard the soft rustle of wind or leaves, and then the familiar sound of him inhaling. A breath in. Then a quiet exhale of smoke.

He laughed softly. “Sure, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Ah, okay.”

“And I miss you too.”

You closed your eyes and felt the heat rush to your cheeks, your mouth curving helplessly. You were glad the lights were off, as if that could somehow protect you from how young and exposed you felt in that moment. There was something embarrassingly teenage about it—your heart beating a little too fast, your body betraying you.

You let out a soft laugh, not bothering to hide it. If he heard it, let him.

“Okay,” you murmured, “ now go to sleep.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You get really commanding sometimes,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll listen to you. Just this once, just tonight.”

“Mhm. Return to Ithaca, Odysseus.”

Frankie smiled, the corners of his mouth pulling up almost involuntarily. He could feel the heat rising in his face, and he didn’t bother to hide it. At his feet, Bambi was curled up, eyes lifted toward him, the whites gleaming like thin crescents in the low light.

“See you soon,” he said, voice low.

“See you soon, Francisco,” you said. Then the call ended—cut clean, final.

He stared down at the screen, thumb hovering over your name. Your contact photo was still the one he’d taken the day you went skydiving—your hair a mess, the sky swallowing the plane behind you, your smile too big for the frame. He remembered the way you had turned to him, half-nervous, half-thrilled. How he hadn’t been able to look away.

“If you keep grinning like that, it’s going to get stuck,” said a voice beside him.

Frankie startled. He hadn’t heard her come out. Luna.

She laughed, full and unbothered, and he stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray before tucking his phone into the front pocket of his hoodie.

Luna sat next to him, cross-legged, her shoulders brushing his lightly. She tipped her head back and looked up, at the sky.

“Jamie passed out like a log,” she murmured. “I’m guessing you’re wiped too.”

“A bit.”

She tilted her head to look at him properly, her expression gentle.

“You’ve got shadows under your eyes. I keep hearing you come down here after midnight.”

“Not me. Maybe the house is haunted.”

That made her laugh again. She let the silence settle for a moment before asking, “Did you tell her you’re flying back tomorrow?”

He exhaled, drawing a hand over his mouth. “No. I thought maybe—”

“Frankie.” Her voice was gentle. Not scolding, not pushy. “It’s okay. You need to go home. We’re okay here. All of us.”

He hesitated. “I told Jamie I’d take him to the museum.”

“You can take him next time.” She reached out, laid a hand on his forearm. “He’ll understand. He’s a tough kid. And honestly, he’s had the best time with you here. You’ve given him something special. I should thank you for that.”

He smiled, eyes fixed on the horizon like something might move out ther.

“It’s nothing. I .. I like it here,” he said, pausing. Then, quieter: “And sometimes I miss you. A little. You know that, right?”

Luna let out a soft laugh, folding her arms across her chest. “Do you? That’s news to me. You barely even call.”

Frankie turned his head, gave her a look that hovered somewhere between amused and exasperated. “The phone works both ways, Luna.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She nudged his knee with hers, a teasing gesture. “Speaking of phone calls... how’s your girl?”

“She’s okay,” he said, voice neutral, almost too casual.

“Did you tell her Mom says hi? You know she’ll ask me if you did.”

Frankie laughed under his breath. “Yeah. I passed it along.”

Luna leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her.

“Another reason you should head back. She’s waiting for you.” Her voice was light, but not unkind. She tapped him on the shoulder. “And you’re turning red, by the way. I can see it even in this light.”

“Jesus,” Frankie muttered, rubbing a hand across his face.

She ignored that. “Sofi wants to make a bet,” she said with a grin. “She says we should guess how long it’ll take before you pro—”

“Oh, my God.” He groaned, dragging both hands down his face. When he looked at her again, there was a faint plea in his eyes. “Please don’t.”

“Why not?” Luna laughed, unbothered. “We like her. That’s supposed to be a good thing, isn’t it? That we all like her?”

Frankie shook his head like he was trying to dislodge the whole conversation. There was something boyish in the way he looked down at the floor, something almost shy.

“Relax, I’m joking,” Luna said, her voice light, almost airy. “It just wouldn’t be as much fun teasing you if you didn’t turn that exact shade of red every single time.”

Frankie took a step back, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

She kept looking at him, her smile lingering. Then her gaze shifted—first to Bambi, who was lying at her feet with his tail starting to sweep rhythmically across the floor, then back to Frankie.

“How are things with her?” she asked. “Is she good to you?”

Frankie laughed quietly. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor.

He knew what she meant. Not just the words, but what lived underneath them. Is she different from Rachel? That was the real question. Of course Luna would never ask that outright—she was too tactful for that, too soft in her own way—but he could see it in the set of her mouth, in the steadiness of her stare.

“She is,” he said eventually. “She’s better than I probably deserve.”

Luna tilted her head, frowning slightly. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked away. “She’s… patient. With me. More than she needs to be. Sometimes I say things, or do things, and I know they don’t come out right. I confuse her. And still, she tries to understand me. Always.”

“And you don’t think you deserve that?”

“I think I can be difficult,” he admitted. “Hard to be around, sometimes.”

“Mm. That's not true.”

“I’ve been worse than usual lately,” he added. “But I can talk to her about it. She listens.”

He looked over at his sister, and she gave him this quiet, knowing smile. Frankie hesitated, the memory creeping up before he had a chance to decide whether or not to share it.

“You know,” he said, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling for a moment. “You know we didn’t get along at first. At all.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“There was this fight. Not just a little disagreement. A real argument. We were in the car. I was driving her home, and… I said things I shouldn’t have. I pushed too far. She cried. I could tell I was making it worse even while I was doing it, but I couldn’t stop. I think I felt—desperate, or something.”

He paused, shaking his head slowly, like he still couldn’t believe himself.

“We were talking about something, about her life, something that mattered to her, and I just bulldozed through it. She got out of the car and walked home in the dark. I left. I didn’t go after her. I went home and felt like absolute shit.”

Luna didn’t interrupt. She was still watching him.

He reached down, brushed his hand along Bambi’s back.

“A couple days later, I went to her place. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I had to show up. And she was upset too. Not just about the argument, but everything that came before it. She told me I’d hurt her. Not just that night—over the years. And she was right. But then she asked if I’d forgive her too. She said she wanted to start over.”

He looked at Luna then, his voice softer. “And I told her, ‘Okay. Fine. Let’s try.’ And we did. But I still don’t know what she sees in me. I don’t feel like I’ve earned it.”

He stared ahead, posture still, his breath leaving him in a quiet exhale through his nose. Not quite a sigh. Something smaller. More contained.

Luna parted her lips, about to speak, but Frankie beat her to it.

“And I don’t mean it like a rational thing,” he said. “Not like a clear thought I tell myself—‘you don’t deserve this’—it’s not that. It’s more like... even when everything’s good, when I’m with her and I actually feel happy—I... I..." He stopped abruptly, as if startled by what he had just said. “I mean... like, like there’s this feeling underneath it. Like I’m doing something wrong by being there. Like I’ve stolen someone else’s seat.” He glanced at her, but only briefly. “Like I don’t belong next to her. Like I don’t deserve her.”

Luna didn’t move for a second. Then she tilted her head, the corners of her mouth pulled down in something between sympathy and disbelief. Frankie looked away again, eyes flicking down to the dog lying at their feet.

“And so I leave,” he added, voice lower now. “I pull away. I don’t mean to. I just… I don’t know how to hold it all without feeling like I’ll break something. And she never blames me. Somehow, she gets it.”

Luna closed her eyes briefly, pressing her lips together. When she looked at him again, there was a wrinkle between her brows.

“Why wouldn’t you deserve someone who’s patient with you? Who actually listens to you?” Her hand moved to his arm, light pressure just enough to make him feel anchored. “None of what you’re telling yourself is true. You know that, right?”

Frankie wanted to nod. He wanted to meet her eyes and say yes, he knew. But instead, his head tilted a little, the motion uncertain, unfinished.

She didn’t wait. “Well, you have to start knowing. Because someone made you believe the opposite. Someone taught you not to expect anything good. They conditioned you to settle for the scraps they gave you and convinced you that was all you’d ever get. And it wasn’t just one conversation or one mistake. It was years of it. Of being made small.”

Her voice didn’t waver, even as her fingers gripped his sleeve tighter. “Of course it’s going to take time to undo that. Of course it’s hard to believe anything else. But you can. And you have to. Because this—” she gestured, vaguely—“this doesn’t get to be the end of the story.”

Frankie looked at her, his face unreadable but not closed off.

“And I know it’s not going to be easy,” Luna said. “But you have to try. Because if what you have in front of you is something good, something that makes you better, you don’t just get to let it slip through your hands.”

She paused, watching him closely, like she was trying to gauge whether the words were landing where they needed to.

“Yeah, she’s patient,” she went on. “She obviously cares about you. But people have limits. You keep handing someone your doubt over and over again, eventually they get tired of carrying it.”

She exhaled, slowly, as if remembering something. Or maybe trying to forget. “It’s awful. That feeling of being with someone but not knowing where you stand. Wondering if they love you, or if they’re just staying because it’s easier than leaving for good.” Her gaze lifted, her expression hardening just slightly. “I’ve lived it. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

She leaned in a little, her tone shifting—not cruel, but pointed. “So figure it out. Be brave about it. Don’t leave her sitting in the dark, trying to guess how you feel. If you do, you will lose her. Don't fuck it up.”

Something tightened in Frankie’s stomach. That peculiar mix of dread and longing. He wanted to explain—wanted to say, I’m not sure she’s even mine to lose. That whatever this was between you—this warm, electric, confusing thing—hadn’t been defined, hadn’t been claimed. It felt real, sure. It felt important. But you hadn’t named it. You hadn’t promised anything.

Still, he didn’t say any of that. Because the truth made the story more complicated, and right now, he needed it to stay simple. At least on the surface.

But she was right. He knew that in his bones.

“You’re flying out tomorrow,” Luna said, gently shifting the subject. “I’ll drive you to the airport. And after you’ve settled, you’ll call me. Let me know how you’re doing.”

Frankie gave a small nod, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I will,” he said. “But answer the damn phone.”

Luna let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I always answer the phone.”

Frankie smiled—briefly, instinctively—but the expression faded almost as soon as it had appeared. A sharp, jarring sound echoed from inside the house. A thud. Deep and unmistakable, like something solid hitting the floor. Then a low groan followed, wounded and human.

Luna was on her feet in an instant. Frankie had already moved, pushing the door open, moving into the hallway with purposeful strides.

Just beyond the entrance, at the base of the staircase, Henry was slumped on the floor. His posture was hunched, arms hanging limply at his sides, one hand weakly pressing against the side of his head. There was blood—on his forehead, smeared across his cheek—but it wasn’t immediately clear where it was coming from. His eyes were wide, unfocused.

Helena knelt beside him, her voice hushed but panicked, her fingers carefully brushing hair away from his brow as she inspected the injury. From the edge of the living room doorway, Mai stood frozen, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. She looked like she wanted to move forward but couldn’t. Her skin had gone pale. She hated the sight of blood. Always had.

“Oh my God.” Luna’s voice cracked as she rushed over to Henry, already crying. “Henry—baby—what happened? Are you okay? Your head—”

Henry blinked, his mouth moving, struggling to find words. Nothing came out at first. He looked like he didn’t know where he was.

Frankie crouched down beside him, steady hands reaching to guide Henry’s chin upward, tilting his face gently into the light. His touch was careful, instinctive.

“I was coming up the stairs,” Henry said at last, voice uneven, breath catching at the end of each word. “I—I don’t know what happened. I got dizzy. Then everything just… went.”

“Okay,” Frankie said, nodding, reassuring. “You’re alright. Doesn’t look like anything’s broken. Just stay there, alright? Keep still.” He turned briefly to Luna, who was already pulling her phone from her back pocket, hands shaking.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, her eyes full of panic and tears already streaking her cheeks.

Behind them, a small voice broke through the noise.

“Dad?”

Frankie turned. At the top of the staircase, Jamie stood barefoot in his pajamas, holding onto the railing. His face was pale and rigid with fear, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Jamie,” Frankie said, standing up, moving toward him with soft, cautious steps.

He reached the boy and tried to take his hands, but Jamie pulled back, sudden and stiff, his eyes still locked on his father’s crumpled form at the bottom of the stairs.

Frankie hesitated. He didn’t know what the right move was—whether to stop him or let him come down. Jamie moved first, stepping down without a word, and Frankie followed just behind, arms half-raised in case he needed to catch him.

When Jamie reached the landing, he froze. Then, without warning, he burst into tears. His small fists clenched and unclenched in front of him, twisting into each other like he was trying to hold something in—but it was too late. The fear and confusion had cracked through.

Frankie stood near him, his chest tightening, unsure if reaching out again would help or scare him more.

Then he reached out, his hand finding Jamie’s small shoulder. The boy flinched at first—just a reflex—but then turned and collapsed into him, his face pressing hard into the front of Frankie’s shirt. His small hands clutched at the fabric, fingers tightening as the sobs overtook him. He was trying not to cry, Frankie could tell, trying to swallow the sound down into himself, but it kept escaping in short, hiccuping gasps.

Frankie wrapped his arms around him without hesitation. There was nothing precise about the way he held him—just instinct and care, the way you’d hold something fragile that you didn’t want to break. He turned and lifted him off the floor, arms anchored beneath his knees and back, careful not to jostle him too much, carrying him upstairs like he was still the five-year-old who used to fall asleep in the backseat of the car.

Inside Jamie’s bedroom, the air felt smaller, quieter. Frankie set him down gently on the bed and shut the door behind them. For a second, neither of them spoke. The sound of Jamie’s sniffling was soft now, like he was trying to push the noise down deep inside himself.

Frankie crossed the room and knelt in front of him, his knees hitting the carpet with a muted thump. He reached up, cupping Jamie’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing the boy’s flushed cheeks.

“Jamie,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

He did. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes wet, mouth still trembling at the corners.

“It’s okay. Your dad’s okay.”

Jamie blinked at him, and Frankie could see the skepticism land instantly.

“That’s not true,” he whispered, voice shredded at the edges. “I know he’s sick.”

Frankie’s hands stilled. There were no words at the ready. No script. Only the sharp realization that lying wouldn't work. 

“I know.”

Jamie’s voice cracked in half. “Is he going to die?”

Frankie felt something pull tight in his chest. It was like his heart had been tied up in cloth and dipped in water—heavy, sodden, impossible to wring out. His eyes burned, and he blinked, fast and hard, willing it away.

“He...” He tried again, forcing steadiness into his tone. “He’s sick. But he’s getting help. The doctors are really good. Remember what your mom said? They're the best. She wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true.”

Jamie didn’t respond right away. He just kept crying, softer now, quieter, like his body was getting tired of holding it all up.

“But he got hurt,” he said, voice tight.

“I know. But that—” Frankie leaned in a little, pointing to his own forehead. “That was just a cut. Up here. It looked worse than it was. You remember when you fell off your bike? That scrape on your knee? All that blood? It looked huge, but it wasn’t. Just messy.”

He nodded, barely. His eyes didn’t leave Frankie’s.

“It was scary,” Frankie continued. “But it was only a scare.”

Jamie hesitated. “How do you know it’s just that?”

Frankie glanced down. The pads of his fingers were stained red. He curled them into fists and tucked his hands into his lap like they didn’t belong to him. Then he looked back up.

“Because I checked. With my own hands. It was bleeding, yeah, but it wasn’t deep. Just a surface cut.”

The boy searched his face, eyes darting between his mouth and his eyes, like trying to catch a lie midair.

There were two knocks at the door, and then it opened a beat later without waiting for an answer.

“Jamie,” Luna said softly as she stepped into the room. “Honey, are you okay?”

Jamie didn’t say anything right away. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist, his face still damp, expression uncertain. Then he gave a faint nod. Luna walked across the room and crouched beside the bed, brushing a hand through his hair.

“We’re going to the hospital, with daddy,” she said, watching his face closely, “but everything’s alright. Okay?”

Jamie looked up at her, then past her to Frankie, his mouth parting just slightly.

“Can I go?” he asked, barely above a whisper. The room fell quiet.

Luna didn’t answer right away. She glanced at Frankie—one of those looks that lasted less than a second but held a full conversation inside it—and then turned her eyes back to her son.

Frankie cleared his throat, adjusting where he knelt.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and tapping Jamie gently on the calf. “What if we finally watch that movie you asked about yesterday? The one with the animals. Remember?”

Jamie’s eyebrows knit together, uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice thin.

Frankie shifted a little, resting one arm on the mattress.

“You know the one I mean, right?” he said, feigning confusion. “The movie with the animals and the board game... How was it called again? Tumanji?”

Jamie blinked at him for a second—then his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile appearing.

“No,” he said, voice still a little hoarse but brighter. “Jumanji.”

Frankie snapped his fingers. “Ah. That’s it. I always mix it up with that other one. You know, the one where the guy gets stuck inside a board game and becomes a tomato.”

Jamie gave a short, surprised laugh, the kind that sneaks out before you remember you’re supposed to be upset. “That’s not a movie.”

“You sure? Sounds like Oscar material to me,” Frankie said, raising an eyebrow.

Luna gave him a look—half grateful, half exasperated—and smoothed her son’s hair again. Jamie’s body had relaxed by then, shoulders dropping just slightly, a flicker of lightness beginning to return to his face.

He turned to Frankie again. “Okay,” small but clear.

Thursday, October 17th

The morning passed quietly and the bookstore felt half-asleep. You spent most of it rearranging the same shelf three times, more for something to do than out of necessity.

Nancy stopped by before noon. She came every few weeks, always with lipstick on, her earrings matching her outfit. She was in her seventies—sharp as ever— with the kind of silver-white hair that looked like it had absorbed sunlight and kept it, somehow. You liked her. She had a warm, sturdy way of being that made you feel less alone in your skin. She always brought up Piero, her husband, who sounded like the kind of man who made tea before you asked and let you have the last cookie. They sunbathed on their patio every afternoon, she said, beneath a striped umbrella. She talked about it fondly, like sun and silence were sacred, like afternoons stretched longer when you spent them side by side with someone who knew where all your scars were and loved you anyway.

She told you she used to teach math but had always preferred stories. “Numbers are always perfect, but people are interesting,” she said once. She kept journals—dozens of them, she claimed—stacked in boxes in her attic. You told her you’d love to read one, just to see how someone like her had seen the world when they were younger.

Before she left, she narrowed her eyes at you playfully.

“How old are you, sweetheart?” she asked, leaning slightly over the counter.

“Twenty-nine,” you answered, your voice soft, the way it always was when someone surprised you with affection.

She smiled as if you’d given her the exact answer she was hoping for.

“I’ll bring you the one I wrote when I was your age. Maybe there’s something useful in it.”

Later, the stillness cracked open. A group of teenagers tumbled into the store like a wind you hadn't prepared for. They made a mess of the juvenile section, speaking too loudly, touching everything with the kind of reckless hands that had never had to shelve anything. You asked them more than once to be careful, using the voice you reserved for rules you wished didn’t need saying. One of them dropped a copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower like it meant nothing at all.

They didn’t buy anything. They left the shelves in chaos. Normally, you would have accepted it as part of the rhythm of the place—books always moved, never stayed where you put them. But today it stung. There was something careless about their presence. Putting the books back felt like an apology you weren’t sure who to give to.

Later, a man came in asking for a book. He couldn’t remember the title, just that it was about a man, something existential, maybe something to do with murder, or exile, or the sea. You suggested The Stranger by Camus.

“No, no, not that one,” he insisted, shaking his head like you’d misunderstood him completely. And then he described The Stranger to you, again, nearly word for word.

You didn’t correct him. You just let him keep talking. Because some people need to arrive at the truth on their own. 

By the time the sign on the door read closed, your whole body ached with the kind of exhaustion that comes from quiet tasks performed for hours on end. You moved through the familiar routine almost without thinking—lights off, blinds drawn, register counted, the keys pressing cool and metallic into your palm as you locked up.

At home, you undressed slowly, letting your clothes fall where they wanted to, and stepped into the bath. The water climbed around you, and for a moment, everything felt still again. It was the kind of warmth that softened you, let the tension uncurl from your shoulders, made you forget how much your feet had hurt.

Afterward, wrapped in your robe and already feeling better, you padded into the kitchen with the light kind of optimism that sometimes appears when you're clean and your hair is damp and everything feels slightly reset. You opened the fridge, thinking about pasta or maybe something with melted cheese.

What you found was something closer to satire than sustenance: one pathetic lemon, the skin hardened like old leather, and a wedge of cheese in the kind of condition that made you feel vaguely judged by your own refrigerator. You laughed out loud—just once, flatly—then let the door close with a gentle thud.

You could’ve ordered in. Of course, that was always an option. But something about the quietness of the evening made you want to cook. Something comforting, something with cheese and butter or... bolognesa, but the really well done one, like the kind of meal Emma would send you videos of in the middle of the night with messages like we NEED to try this. So you got dressed, pulling on jeans and a nice shirt, trying to look like someone who might bump into someone they used to love at the grocery store, even though that wasn't true.

It was already six, the sky dipped in pale pinks and oranges, the air still a little bit thick. You moved quickly, maybe too quickly—partly because you were hungry, partly because the idea of dinner had already taken root in your mind and you wanted to see it through.

On the way back, your grocery bag hung from one shoulder, slightly digging into your skin. The sun was almost fully gone. You tilted your head back to look at the sky, letting the dark soft colors press into your mind.

You were still looking up when you reached your block. And then, without warning, your attention snapped downward. A figure. Familiar. Standing just outside your front door, hands tucked into his jean jacket pockets, head tilted slightly, like he’d been waiting a while.

You frowned, not quite alarmed but confused, and started walking faster, your footsteps picking up rhythm against the sidewalk.

He rang the doorbell just as you reached shouting distance. And then he turned.

“Frankie?”

His eyes found yours. He smiled, and something about it made you stop walking entirely, just a few feet away from him now. You adjusted the strap of the bag on your shoulder, your smile echoing his. For a second, neither of you said anything. You just looked at him. Like you were reading his face.

He looked different. That’s what struck you first. Not bad—just different. The tired kind of different. His eyes were glassy and faintly red around the rims, like he’d slept too little or thought too much. Maybe both.

You noticed it immediately.

He crossed the short distance between you and gently slid the bag from your shoulder without asking, his fingers brushing against your skin. You let him. You watched him in the soft dusk light—his profile, the quiet concentration on his face as he adjusted the weight of the bag—and something in your chest softened.

You stepped closer. Without overthinking it, your arms wrapped around his neck, your body leaning into his with a kind of quiet certainty. He held you the way he always did: arms snug around your waist, pulling you into him. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. You felt the heat of it long after his lips left your skin.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice low, your face turned slightly so you could get a clearer look at him. “I thought you weren’t coming back until the weekend.”

He smiled, barely. “Or sooner, I said.”

You opened the door and stepped aside so he could come in. The small suitcase in his hand bumped against the frame as he passed, and you watched him carry it up the narrow stairs, placing it just inside the apartment, next to the door. You realized then that he probably hadn’t even gone home. Most likely, he’d come straight from the airport.

You set the groceries on the kitchen counter, the plastic rustling against the marble. When you turned back around, he was standing beside the couch, looking at you as if he was trying to remember something important. Your smile hadn’t left yet.

“Well?” you said, stepping toward him. “How are you?”

That’s when it shifted.

His mouth twitched, a near-smile interrupted midway. His shoulders fell, not all at once, but in degrees, like gravity had started pulling harder. His eyebrows knit slowly, his whole expression beginning to slide. His eyes—always expressive, always easy to read if you knew how to look—began to shine. Not dramatically. Not enough that someone else might notice. But you did. Of course you did.

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching for him without hesitation, both hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing lightly across the skin beneath his eyes.

He didn’t answer.

He just looked at you. Close up now, you could see it more clearly—how tired he was. His eyes rimmed with red, the faint trace of tears that hadn’t yet fallen. The kind of exhaustion that lived deep in the bones, behind the eyes, beneath the skin. And something more.

Then you pulled him into your arms again, tighter this time. He dropped his face into the curve of your neck, and you felt his breath catch slightly as he exhaled. You pressed your hands into his hair, threading your fingers through the messy strands, and held him there.

At first, his breathing came in short, uneven bursts. You felt it in the way his chest rose and fell against yours, in the way his arms clung to you a little too tightly, as if you might disappear if he let go. But you didn’t move. You just held him, one hand in his hair, the other splayed across his back.

Eventually, his body began to ease. Not entirely, but enough. His breaths evened out, becoming quieter, steadier. He pulled back just slightly, enough that your faces were no longer touching, and you tilted your head to look at him properly. He did the same.

Your eyes scanned his face. The sharp line of his jaw, the subtle crease between his brows that seemed to have taken up permanent residence. You reached up and brushed your fingertips along his cheek, a gesture so gentle it barely registered.

He kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or hard, but there was urgency in it nonetheless—like he'd been waiting to do it, or needing to. His lips met yours and you responded instantly, your mouth moving with his as the space between you disappeared again. You tilted your head and the kiss deepened. But then he pulled back, leaving your lips warm and a little dazed.

You studied his face, your expression shifting into something you hadn’t planned. Tenderness, yes, but also a quiet ache for him.

You reached up and brushed your fingers through the side of his hair.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice soft, your thumb grazing the edge of his jaw.

He let out a breath through his nose.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but then paused. “I mean… I’m just tired.”

You didn’t believe him, not fully, but you didn’t push. You let your hand rest against his cheek, tracing light, absentminded shapes along his skin.

“We can talk about it later,” you said. “If you want.”

“I’d like that.”

You smiled, small and reassuring, and nodded. “Now tell me—are you hungry?”

He squinted slightly, the ghost of a smile creeping across his lips.

“Starving.”

“Good,” you said, patting his chest before stepping back. “Now I’ve got the perfect excuse to make something that’ll impress you.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you cross the room.

About thirty minutes later, you were standing at the stove, carefully pouring the chopped vegetables into the pot where the tomato sauce had already begun to simmer. You’d pulled up a recipe Emma had texted you weeks ago—something she’d raved about that night she sent five voice notes in a row. 

The ingredients were simple—onions, garlic, bell peppers, crushed tomatoes, some ground meat you’d picked out after asking the butcher three separate questions, and just enough red wine to make it taste richer than it actually was. Still, there was a method to getting it right. Things had to be done in order, in the right way, or it wouldn’t come together. You were focused on that now, adjusting the heat beneath the pot until the bubbles at the surface softened. You stirred gently, watching the sauce thicken, hoping the meat would turn tender enough to fall apart with a fork. The pasta would come later, once the sauce had earned it.

The smell was already blooming through the kitchen. You leaned in, eyes fluttering closed for a second, just to take it in.

Then, the sound of a door opening, then closing again. The quiet shuffle of feet along the hallway.

Frankie appeared a second later, leaning into the wall next to you, one shoulder pressed casually against it.

“That smells really good,” he said, eyes drifting toward the stove.

You looked at him and smiled. He was wearing those soft gray-and-black striped pajama pants you’d seen once, paired with a plain white T-shirt that clung just slightly to his chest. He’d pulled them from his suitcase before heading into the shower.

“Thanks,” you said, eyes drifting to the damp patches forming on his shoulders. “Your hair’s still dripping. You’re getting your shirt all wet.”

“I can shake it out, if you want,” he offered, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Before you could stop him, he tilted his head and gave it a little shake like a dog just out of the rain, droplets scattering into the air, some landing on your cheek.

“No!” you laughed, holding your hands up in protest as he moved a step closer.

He retreated, still grinning, and reached up to push his damp curls back from his forehead.

“I’ll dry off,” he said. “I just wanted to see what you were up to.”

“So impatient,” you teased, pressing a hand lightly to his stomach as he passed behind you. “How was the shower?”

“Hot,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, but don’t you feel renewed? Like your whole nervous system just reset?”

He tilted his face toward you, that crooked little smile still playing on his lips. “I’ll let you know after dinner.”

You rolled your eyes, even though he wasn’t looking. Earlier, you’d adjusted the water for his shower, turning the handle just right, testing the temperature with your wrist like you were preparing it for a toddler instead of a grown man.

“Not so hot,” he’d said, already pulling his T-shirt over his head. And then, as soon as the water hit his skin, he let out an exaggerated groan. Sure enough, seconds later came a low, satisfied sigh, like he'd just entered some kind of heaven.

You didn’t comment on it. But now, standing in front of him, you gave a soft shake of your head and said, “Come here,” brushing past him gently and catching his arm as you went.

He let himself be pulled, trailing behind you. You brought him into the bathroom and pointed to the closed toilet lid.

“Sit,” you instructed. He did.

Frankie looked at you with mock suspicion. “What are you going to do to me?”

His voice was cautious, playful, like he half-expected you to pull out a pair of scissors. You didn’t respond, just reached for a clean towel and began pressing the soft fabric into his damp hair, patting and squeezing gently, your movements steady but firm. His head dipped forward under your hands, shoulders relaxing a little as you worked.

“Look at you,” you murmured, a teasing edge in your voice, “like a child.”

He gave a snort in response, a quiet puff of breath.

“I hadn’t finished drying myself,” he said, his voice a bit muffled, like he was talking more to the floor than to you.

You didn’t answer. Just kept working. After a moment, you tossed the towel onto the edge of the sink and knelt to open the cabinet beneath it. Frankie stayed where he was, watching quietly now, as you pulled out a small hair dryer and plugged it into the socket by the mirror. You glanced back at him, holding it in your hand like a weapon.

“Bend your head a little,” you said, and he did, obedient.

The dryer clicked on with a soft hum, not too loud, and warm air began to rush over the back of his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair as you dried it, lifting and separating the strands, moving with a rhythm that felt almost instinctive. Your fingers grazed his scalp as you worked, massaging without thinking, just because it felt right to do.

After a few minutes, he exhaled slowly and said, “You’re going to put me to sleep.”

You smiled but didn’t stop. Instead, you nudged his chin up with the back of your fingers, tilting his head so you could reach the front. He opened his eyes, just barely, as if it took a real effort. You met his gaze briefly before moving your eyes again, concentrating on what you were doing.

He didn’t say anything else. He just looked at you. And you didn’t feel the need to break the silence.

After a while, you clicked off the dryer, the hum falling away like a thought slipping from your mind. The room felt quieter now, the only sound was the faint hum of the television playing in the living room. You wrapped the cord carefully around your fingers, looping it into a neat coil without rushing, then set it down on the cabinet.

You turned back to Frankie. He was still sitting, head slightly tilted, watching you in that unblinking way he had. You ran a hand through his hair.

“All done,” you said quietly, offering him a faint smile.

He stood with a soft grunt, lifting his arms above his head to stretch. The hem of his shirt shifted slightly, exposing a thin line of skin. You were just about to open the door when you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist. You turned, caught off guard, and he pulled you toward him in one fluid motion.

His hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek with a familiarity that made your breath catch. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, brief, tender, almost shy. Then, without waiting, he kissed you again, this time properly.

You smiled into it. That unconscious, reflexive smile that made your cheeks ache a little. He felt it and smiled too, the curve of his lips brushing against yours. You slid your hands up the front of his shirt, fingertips gliding over the fabric, settling on his shoulders. The cotton felt damp under your palms.

You pulled away, just enough to see his face clearly, to speak without your lips brushing.

“Your shirt’s still wet,” you murmured, your voice lighter now, teasing.

He gave a dramatic roll of his eyes but didn’t release you. His arms stayed around your waist, grounding you there. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

Apparently, you were a damn good cook. The kind that surprised even yourself. Because an hour later, Frankie was sitting across from you at the small kitchen table, setting his fork down with a soft clink against the plate. He reached for the wine glass with the same hand and took a sip, his eyes closing briefly like it really hit the spot.

The apartment was quiet, save for Al Green playing on the speaker in the living room—How Can You Mend a Broken Heart drifting across the place, soft and clear.

Dinner had been easy. No heavy conversations, nothing you had to tiptoe around. Frankie seemed lighter now, more himself, in a dry T-shirt this time. He told you stories from his days in Boston, sticking to the parts he liked, the positive ones, wich were a lot. He asked about Bill then, about how things were going at the coffee shop, and you gave him the short version. Not because you didn’t want to talk, but because there wasn’t much to say. And you didn't feel like talking about Bill.

Mr. Darcy took the dinner invitation too, hopping into the spare chair between you like he’d been formally seated. He spent half the meal squinting at the table’s edge, trying to sniff his way into a bite, before giving up and curling himself into a quiet loaf.

“This was amazing,” Frankie said finally, leaning back with a sigh, like his body needed to announce how satisfied it was.

And honestly, it had been amazing. The meat had turned out just the way you’d hoped. Tender, flavorful, melting on the tongue in a way that made you close your eyes for a second. The vegetables soaked up the wine and seasonings too. And Frankie had eaten like a really starving man, which maybe wasn’t far from the truth. You had no problem refilling his plate twice, then again when he scraped up the last of the sauce with a piece of bread.

You tilted your head and smiled. “I’ll accept that compliment. Graciously.”

He laughed, and then nudged your foot under the table with his, a quiet, almost instinctive gesture. You looked up just as a yawn slipped out of him, unfiltered.

“So, how’d you sleep last night?” you asked, raising your glass, swirling the last sip of red wine before bringing it to your lips.

Frankie paused. He didn’t answer right away.

“I didn’t,” he said eventually, with a small, apologetic smile.

You tilted your head again. “You didn’t?”

He shook his head, and his fingers began to move around the stem of the wine glass, drawing quiet circles. 

“Henry had an accident.”

You didn’t speak at first. You watched him carefully, expecting an explanation to follow, but it didn’t. He just sat there, eyes fixed somewhere near your hands.

So you shifted in your seat, and then you asked: “What happened to him?”

“He fell down the stairs,” he said. “He got dizzy.”

Your stomach turned. Frankie gave a faint nod, as if trying to convince himself more than you.

“It wasn’t terrible,” he added quickly, “just a few stitches. Nothing broken. But the fall was bad enough that they kept him at the hospital for observation. He hit his head.”

You winced, your mind catching on the small detail.

You remembered what Frankie had told you last week—about the tumor. A small mass, tucked inside Henry’s frontal lobe, as if that part of the brain had quietly betrayed him. It had started with the dizzy spells, sure, but then there was that evening—he’d gotten confused during dinner with some friends, blanked out while telling a story he’d told a dozen times before. Then the blurriness came, the sudden jolts in his chest, the racing heartbeat. Frankie had listed the symptoms without drama, just a steady recounting. The headaches had been going on for months, along with the exhaustion and his growing inability to concentrate. Tests followed, more than one. And more still to come. They hadn’t reached a decision about surgery yet. But they would soon. One way or another.

Frankie’s voice cut back in, quieter now. “Jamie saw him.”

Your gaze flicked to his face.

“On the floor,” Frankie continued, eyes fixed on the tablecloth, tracing the pattern with the edge of his finger like he needed something tactile to focus on. “Henry was just lying there, blood all over his face. And Jamie—he just cried. He asked me if his dad was going to die.”

You inhaled sharply, instinctively. “Frankie…”

You wanted to reach across the table and touch him. You almost did. But something held you in place.

He looked up at you then, and his eyes were watery but not spilling over.

“I didn’t know what to say, I felt like an idiot. Like some useless bystander in the middle of this thing that’s eating him from the inside out.”

You said nothing.

“I couldn’t lie to him,” he went on. “He’s just a kid, but he’s not stupid. And he deserves more than some empty reassurance. I couldn’t look at him and say, No, your dad’s not going to die, because how the hell would I know that? What if I said it and I was wrong?”

His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t fall apart. He just looked at you, like he was still waiting for someone to tell him the right thing to say.

“What did you tell him?”

“That Henry had good doctors looking after him. And it’s true.” He gestured vaguely, his hand moving in the air like the thought couldn’t quite land. “But the feeling—it was awful. Just awful.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You reached across the table, your fingers brushing over the back of his hand in a soft, steady motion. He turned his palm upward, and his thumb found your fingers like it was second nature.

“He’s so little,” Frankie murmured. “Just ten. Still thinks the moon actually follows him when he walks home at night. He’s not supposed to know what it means to be scared like that. Not really. Not yet. He’s not supposed to be worried about things like this. He’s supposed to be, I don't know, riding his bike or forgetting to do his homework. Not standing over his dad wondering if he’s going to die.”

Your fingers traced over the curve of his knuckles. “I’m sure you were good with him. And I'm sure it helped him a lot to have you there with him. I don’t think that kind of presence goes unnoticed. Even at that age, kids know when someone shows up for them.” Your voice was soft, as were your fingers stroking his hand. "There are things that no one can protect him from, but you can be there for him. And I think he'll always be grateful for that, to know that his family was there. Whatever the outcome of all this."

Frankie didn’t reply at first. You saw something pass across his face—tiredness, maybe, or something more complicated. Then a faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, barely there.

“We watched a movie after they left for the hospital. Luna and my mom went with Henry. So it was just the three of us. Jamie, Mai, and me. We put on Jumanji.”

“Oh yeah? Does he like Jumanji?”

“He loves it,” Frankie nodded. “Though he didn’t make it to the end. Fell asleep halfway through. Mai and I just looked at each other and decided to let him be. I stayed on the couch with him till they got home.”

He glanced down then, his eyes landing on Mr. Darcy, curled up beside the table with his head resting on one outstretched paw.

“I didn’t sleep at all,” he added quietly. “Not when they came back, not even after I got into bed. I just laid there with my eyes closed, trying to feel normal. It wasn’t until eleven in the morning that I even looked at the time.”

He sighed, not dramatically, but like something heavy was pushing out of his chest. Then his gaze returned to you.

“I needed to come back,” he added. “I wanted to stay longer too—mostly for Jamie. But Luna said she’d take care of it. She’s good like that. She drove me to the airport. And the whole time, I was just thinking... I had to see you.”

The words settled into your chest with more weight than you’d expected. You blinked once, then again.

And suddenly, guilt crept in. You thought about how much time you’d taken earlier, moving through the kitchen like you had nowhere to be. You’d cooked like it was a weekend, like this was just another evening. You’d focused on simmering and seasoning and letting the wine reduce just right, and he—he had been running on fumes. Barely holding himself up.

He’d crossed the country running on nerves and zero sleep, and you’d made him wait for dinner.

Your eyes dropped to your lap, and your voice softened. “Frankie, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted gently. “Being here feels... good. Normal. And that helps more than you think.”

“But you must be exhausted. I’m sorry.”

Frankie smiled. “No, I’m okay. Honestly. I think that shower of yours worked some kind of miracle.”

You shook your head lightly, resting your chin in your palm, elbow anchored to the table.

“Oh, so now you believe in the healing power of water,” you said, with a faint smirk.

He laughed. “Between that and three servings of your cooking, I’m practically a new man. Almost.”

“Almost?”

He shrugged, a little dramatically. “Well, I’m sort of counting on you to escort me to bed. In case that part wasn’t clear.”

The comment caught you off guard and made you laugh out loud.

“Wow. Bold of you.”

“Me?” he said, leaning forward like he had every right to be amused. “Come on, Shortcake. Don’t act innocent now. We both know you’ve been using me for my body.”

You burst into laughter again, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to suppress the grin that had already taken over your face.

“Alright,” you said, rising to your feet. “Get up, I’ll take you to bed.”

From his seat, he didn’t move, just looked at you with exaggerated offense. “So you’re not denying it?”

You turned to face him, hands finding his shoulders, your thumbs brushing over the fabric of his T-shirt. He was warm under your touch, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Something tells me that even if that were the case,” you said, voice low, “you’d be completely fine with it.”

He chuckled, head tilting toward your hand. “Ha. You're right,” he said. “Got me.”

“Such a slut,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though the smile hadn’t left your face. 

You turned toward the table, beginning to stack the plates absentmindedly. Behind you, Frankie stood up too, and without needing to say anything, he joined in, making quick work of the task. It took barely two minutes—your movements wordless but coordinated.

Then, before you could stop him, he was at the sink. You told him to leave it, that it could wait, but he shook his head, already reaching for the sponge.

“Bad manners,” he said over his shoulder. “Can’t just eat three plates of your food and leave you to clean up alone.”

So you didn’t argue again. Instead, you stayed beside him, leaning your hip against the counter, your arms crossed loosely over your chest. He told you about the day Jamie convinced him to climb a tree in the backyard, how he scraped his elbow and Jamie laughed so hard he nearly fell off the branch above him. Mr. Darcy circled your feet as he spoke, issuing small, dramatic meows, clearly under the impression that it was dinnertime for cats too.

Once the counters gleamed and the dishes were stacked neatly in the rack, the two of you drifted down the hallway in easy, familiar silence. Going to bed together didn’t feel like a decision, exactly—it felt like a continuation of the evening. Like the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask what to do or where to go. He just followed you.

In the bathroom, you watched his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, his hair soft under the light, a slight crease between his brows as he concentrated. You stood beside him and picked up your toothbrush. Washed your face. Moved around each other without bumping into one another.

Later, you opened the quilt on your bed, fluffing the pillows absently. Frankie stepped into the room carrying Darcy in his arms like a baby, muttering something about him being spoiled. He set him gently on the mattress, where the cat immediately made a low-pitched grunt of satisfaction and curled up without ceremony.

You began to undress, turning your back toward Frankie out of instinct. And it was only when you felt the cool air touch your skin that you realized your face had grown warm. You weren’t used to this part—the exposed version of yourself, no lights dimmed, no rushed urgency to distract from the fact that he was watching you.

But he didn’t say anything. He just lay back on the bed with his arms folded behind his head, his eyes resting quietly on you, steady but unintrusive. You felt them on your back like sunlight through a window. Not harsh. Just there. 

You pulled the T-shirt over your head, the fabric brushing lightly over your skin as it settled around your torso and hips in soft folds. Then the pajama shorts slid into place. The air in the room felt nice against your skin.

You climbed into bed, moving across the mattress on your hands and knees until you reached his side. Frankie was already lying down, one arm bent beneath his head, eyes watching you as if he’d been waiting for you to arrive. You asked him to switch off the lamp on the nightstand, and he reached over to do it without a word. The room shifted into semi-darkness, shadows cast against the walls.

Then he asked if you could put something on the TV—just for a while, he said—and you didn’t argue. You reached for the remote, flipping through the titles.

“See?” you said, bumping your hand gently against his stomach. “You always end up watching something before bed.”

He smiled, the corners of his mouth curving upward without effort, and didn’t deny it. You let your head rest on his chest, the weight of you melting into him like it had always belonged there, your ear tuned to the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart. You scrolled through the options until you passed You’ve Got Mail.

“That one,” he said.

You turned your head slightly, gave him a sideways look. “Tom Hanks again?”

He nodded like it was the most obvious choice in the world, and you remembered—of course—the time he confused You’ve Got Mail with When Harry Met Sally, and how he still owed you a viewing of that one. You pressed play anyway.

The remote ended up somewhere between you both, half-lost in the sheets. You adjusted your position slightly, shifting until your hand came to rest against his stomach, the warmth of his body seeping into your palm. You tilted your head to look at him, just to make sure he was okay. His smile had softened, his features quieter now, the tiredness more visible around his eyes.

You leaned up to kiss him—just a small kiss, one that lingered more in feeling than in time. Then another, closer to the corner of his mouth, which made him exhale softly. You felt his hand move across your back, not hurried. His fingers settled in the space between your ribs and your hip, that narrow, delicate stretch of skin that always seemed to hum a little under touch.

You lowered yourself back down, head on his chest again, eyes turned toward the screen. Meg Ryan was typing, oblivious to the irony of her anonymous confidant being the man she resented most in real life. The small bookstore, the way she poured herself into it, the quiet sense of being edged out by something bigger and more impersonal—you understood it. You smiled faintly at a comment made by the woman who worked with her, something dry and sweet and accurate.

After a while, you noticed Frankie’s breathing had changed. It had deepened, evened out. You felt the full rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You looked up and found him fully asleep, his face softened in that way people’s faces only do when they’re truly resting, the tension drained from his brow.

You reached for the remote again and switched off the television. Then you adjusted your position without really thinking, curling closer to him, your arm draped across his middle.

Within moments, your own body followed his into sleep.

Friday, October 18th

You rolled onto your back, the sheets shifting beneath you, and laughter spilled from your mouth as Frankie’s teeth grazed your neck. Your hands reached for him instinctively, fingers weaving into the softness of his hair. He laughed against your throat, and the sound sent something warm crawling down your spine.

The alarm had gone off ten minutes earlier—seven a.m.—but it had hardly mattered. He’d been awake an hour before that. When you’d asked him why he hadn’t woken you, he said, simply, that you looked like you needed more sleep. So he got up, used the bathroom, then came back to lie beside you. Awake. Still. Waiting until you woke up.

Now his hands trailed across your stomach, and at first you laughed again, your body twitching under the softness of his touch. But the laughter thinned quickly into silence, replaced by something else. Something heavier, slower-burning. His mouth traveled from your neck to your jaw, the sharp little bites replaced by warm, open kisses. 

He adjusted his weight over you, settling into the space you made for him without question, your legs curling around his hips. Like your body already knew how this was supposed to go. You pulled him closer without speaking.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t something you eased into. It was immediate, almost greedy—the way someone kisses after too much waiting, too much wanting. Your hands came together at the back of his neck, fingers tightening against the heat of his skin, and his tongue brushed yours, coaxing a response that felt like surrender. You kissed him back like you needed to prove something. He moaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, and the room was full of heat and breath and the wet, open sounds of two people lost in each other.

Then there was a soft thud beside you, something landing on the mattress with a little bounce. You pulled back instinctively, your lips parting from Frankie’s with a sound that felt too loud in the quiet. Both of you turned your heads at the same time.

Mr. Darcy had made himself comfortable on the bed, his front paws neatly folded like he owned the place.

You laughed under your breath, the sound caught somewhere between affection and exasperation. Frankie shifted back slightly, still close but no longer pressed against you.

“Close the door,” you murmured, your voice already taut with frustration and want.

Frankie let out a breath and peeled himself away from your body. You watched him move without meaning to, your gaze dragging to the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of his pants. He reached for the cat, pausing with his hands hovering in the air, expression torn between hesitation and amusement.

“He’s going to be mad at me,” he said, eyes flicking toward yours.

“What?”

“Darcy.”

You sat upright, your body still tingling with everything unfinished, and let out a quiet laugh. “He’s not going to be mad.”

“Cats get offended. You know that.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, the air around you cooler now without him so close. You bent to scoop Mr. Darcy into your arms, your fingers sinking into his thick, soft fur. He didn’t protest. He never really did with you.

“I know,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his little head, “but I don’t think he’s going to take this personally.”

You stepped out into the hallway and set him down gently, giving him a fond stroke between his ears before straightening. When you turned back, Frankie was already waiting. He closed the door behind you with a quiet click.

You hadn’t even finished turning when his hands were already on your hips—firm, certain, hungry—and he walked you backward without saying a word. The backs of your thighs met the edge of the mattress, your balance faltering just slightly.

And then there was only him again.

You landed on the mattress with a soft bounce, sitting first and then rolling back, your hair fanning out over the sheets. Frankie followed, his body settling over yours with ease, like gravity made the decision for him. His hands bracketed your waist, grounding you there as his mouth returned to your neck—small, scattered kisses pressed into your skin.

His hands shifted, thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs before gathering the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward. You arched your back to help him, lifting your arms above your head as the fabric slipped off and disappeared somewhere behind him. His fingers moved without hesitation, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts—no pause, no teasing—and he dragged them down in one swift motion, underwear and all, until the fabric was a memory at the end of the bed.

You laughed, the sound breathy and full of something that felt like disbelief. Your whole body buzzed, cheeks flushed and chest warm as your hands roamed over him—his arms, the curve of his shoulders, the warm plane of his stomach under his shirt. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his breath uneven and catching as he pressed his body to yours. The feel of his clothes against your bare skin made you restless, every second tightening something inside you.

You broke the kiss with a smirk. “So desperate.”

Frankie tilted his head slightly, a crooked smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and it hit you low in your stomach—how much you wanted him right then, how much you liked watching him like this.

One of his hands slid along your waist, then down the curve of your hip and thigh, fingers firm against the softest part of you. He squeezed gently, just enough to make you bite your lip. His eyes stayed on yours, that maddening smile still tugging at his lips as his hand moved higher. He touched you where you needed him, his fingers slipping between your folds—just enough pressure to make your breath catch, to make your teasing dissolve into something quieter and hungrier. Your legs parted instinctively, your body answering before your mind could catch up.

He laughed under his breath. “And I’m the desperate one?”

You were about to say something back—some clever response—but you didn’t get the chance. He dipped his head and kissed your collarbones, his mouth hot against your skin. The kisses trailed downward in a lazy, almost reverent pattern, until he reached your breasts. He opened his mouth over one nipple, drawing it in with soft pressure, his tongue moving in slow, careful circles that made your back lift from the mattress. A moan slipped out of you, unrestrained, and you closed your eyes, your hand tangling gently in his hair.

He released you with a quiet pop, breath warm against your chest, and didn’t pause before continuing down, mouth brushing over your stomach, your navel, lower still, until he was right there, in front of you.

And you didn’t dare breathe.

You leaned back onto your elbows, your arms trembling just slightly under your weight, trying to keep yourself upright so you could see him. Your eyelids fluttered halfway shut, lips parted as if you might say something, though the only thing leaving your mouth were uneven, stuttering breaths. You were already unraveling, and he hadn’t even really started.

And still—still—he wore that fucking smile. That smirk that tugged at one corner of his mouth like he knew exactly how this was going to end and how badly you were going to fall apart in front of him.

You shifted beneath him, restless with anticipation, your hips tilting up on their own. Frankie’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, grounding you.

“Hold still,” he murmured, the grin vanishing from his face like a curtain pulled shut, his voice edged with mock severity. Like he was scolding you. Like you were misbehaving.

You were opening your mouth to say something back—something witty or obscene or both—but then his lips met you. Right there. No warning. No space for speech. Just him.

His mouth closed over your clit, his tongue moving in steady, broad strokes, soft but focused, like he was tasting you and thinking about it, like he could memorize the shape of you with his mouth alone. The air left your lungs in jagged exhales. One of your hands found the back of his head, your fingers threading into his hair, not pulling yet, just holding. Needing to touch him, to anchor yourself to something solid while the rest of you dissolved.

He devoured you like he hadn’t eaten in days. There was nothing hesitant about it—just his tongue, his lips, the heat of his mouth, working you with a pace that sent electricity firing down your spine. He kissed you, licked into you, sucked at the most sensitive parts of you like he was possessed by the need to make you come apart. A low sound came from his throat, something close to a growl, and the vibration of it nearly undid you. You cried out and your hips bucked, but his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place, his grip unyielding but not rough.

And somehow—somehow—he still managed to be gentle. You were burning up. Every inch of your skin too hot, your thoughts too scattered to hold onto. You couldn’t take it anymore.

With a desperate sound—half-groan, half-command—you sat up and reached for him, grabbing his hair and tugging it back, not harshly, but with enough force that he lifted his head.

He released you with a slick, obscene sound. His mouth was wet, his lips flushed, and his eyes met yours—dark, gleaming, the kind of look that made your knees weak even though you were already lying down. His breath caught in his throat. His cheeks were tinted pink, heat radiating from him like a second sun.

You reached for his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric with something that felt like insistence. He didn’t resist. As you tugged it upward, he shifted easily, dropping to his knees on the mattress so you could pull it over his head. The shirt landed somewhere behind him with no ceremony. Then he placed his hands on your waist and pushed—not harshly, but with just enough force to send you tipping back against the pillows.

He stood beside the bed and undressed in one fluid movement, pants and boxers sliding down together, left pooled on the floor. Your breath caught—just for a second—and heat bloomed in your chest, rising to your face. The sight of him made your stomach tighten.

Frankie climbed back onto the bed, one hand wrapped around himself, moving with quiet pressure as his eyes drank you in. The way you lay there—waiting, open, flushed—clearly affecting him. His breathing shifted. His pupils darkened. For a moment, he just hovered there, like he was taking a mental picture.

Then he leaned down and kissed you. Not with hunger, not yet. As if he wanted to be tender before losing control.

But then he pulled back.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your hand reaching instinctively for his arm.

He glanced toward the door.

“Wallet,” he said. “I’ve got a condom in there. Just a second.”

You didn’t let go. “I’m on the pill.”

He paused. Just for a beat. His expression changed—something unreadable passed through his eyes before he gave you a half-smile, crooked and curious.

“I know. But are you sure?”

You nodded, your fingers tightening slightly on his skin.

“Yes. Unless you’ve been with someone else in the last two weeks.”

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You think I have that much game?”

“So no?” You were smiling already, because you already knew the answer.

He grinned, then settled over you again, the heat of him returning like a tide.

“What do you think?” he said, voice close to your ear. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“There hasn’t been anyone else these past two weeks?”

“No. No one.”

“Good,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re dirty, you know that?”

You let your head fall back, a breathy laugh slipping from your lips. Frankie was still looking at you and his hands shifted on your thighs, guiding your legs open. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he settled between them, his body warm and solid and so unbearably close.

He lined himself up with you, the pressure unmistakable, and stayed like that for a second longer than necessary. His eyes didn’t move from yours. You felt the first inch of him press in, a careful tease of sensation, then retreat. Then again. Your breathing stuttered, lips parting as he rocked forward one more time, deeper this time—until he was all the way inside you.

The stretch of him made you gasp. Your arms went around his shoulders instinctively, anchoring yourself to the firm heat of his body. He buried his face in your neck, not kissing, not speaking, just breathing against your skin like he needed that closeness just as badly as you did.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You felt him in every part of you. Your legs curled around his waist, the tension in your muscles easing as you adjusted to him.

Then he started to move. Gentle thrusts at first—unhurried, almost reverent—but they built gradually, gathering heat with every motion. You felt your breathing pick up, a soft ache forming deep inside you, the kind that was only ever satisfied by more.

Frankie pulled back just enough to look down, eyes trailing over where your bodies met. Your own gaze followed his—tracing the sweat on his chest, the flex of his arms where they braced beside your head, the slight furrow in his brow, the pink flush creeping down his neck.

Your heart thudded hard against your ribcage, a wild, fast rhythm that echoed through your whole body. The sound of his hips meeting yours—the sharp, wet cadence of it—wrapped around you like heat, made your hands tighten on his back, your legs press harder into his sides.

“Harder,” you whispered, your voice shaky, breathless. “Faster.”

His eyes met yours again, and something lit behind them—something raw and dark and beautiful. He didn’t answer, just gave you what you asked for. His pace shifted. The thrusts turned deeper, rougher. The bed hit the wall behind you in time with every movement, and your body arched up to meet him without thinking.

Little cries spilled out of you, rising and falling with each motion. Your skin felt too tight for your body, your chest too small to contain the rush of feeling inside it. Every nerve ending sparked to life under his touch, under the way he pressed into you like he couldn’t get close enough.

You weren’t thinking anymore, not in words. You were all sensation and sound. The slap of skin, the creak of the bed, the heat of his breath on your neck as he sank his teeth into your skin—harder this time, almost too much.

“Don’t stop,” you said, not even sure if it came out as words or just sound. “Don’t stop, please.”

He didn’t. His rhythm didn’t falter. You felt the world tilt around you, narrowing to the shape of his body over yours, the pulse between your legs, the wild flutter of something huge and inevitable building inside your chest.

“Yes,” you breathed—maybe out loud, maybe not. It didn’t matter.

His skin was flushed and slick against yours. Your nails pressed into his back without thinking, dragging down the slope of his spine. He made a sound in response—something caught between a moan and a gasp—and then he lifted his chest from yours, just slightly, like the heat had become too much.

His hands framed your face, but his hips kept moving, pulling you with him. His eyes dragged down your body, like he needed to memorize every inch of you, and you reached for him, one hand curling around his arm, the other flattening against his stomach. The muscles jumped beneath your touch, taut and flexing with every movement.

Something was building low inside you, quiet at first. But then his hand slipped between you, his palm resting on your belly like he wanted to feel what you were feeling from the outside. And then—his fingers. His thumb circled your clit with an unsteady rhythm, the pressure sending a hot jolt through you so fast it knocked the air from your lungs.

A choked cry tore from your throat before you could hold it back. Your hands gripped his arms instinctively, like if you let go, you'd float away entirely.

Frankie thrust deeper, harder. Your body moved in sync with his, like there was no boundary anymore between where you ended and he began. The feeling in your abdomen swelled and then you were falling into it. Your mouth opened in a soundless gasp, your whole body locking around him as the orgasm ripped through you in pulses that felt too intense to contain.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and there was something raw in his voice, as if he couldn’t hold himself together either. “Where—oh, fuck—”

He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his hips still working, but messier now, rougher. His breath stuttered as he came, and you felt it—the warmth spilling into you, the throb of it, how every part of him seemed to stutter and collapse in the same breath.

You wrapped your arms around his back, your legs still spread beneath him, your chest rising and falling against his. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move for a long moment, except to breathe. You both did. And then, finally, gently, he pulled out of you.

You exhaled at the loss, an ache already beginning to take shape where he’d been. But then he kissed you. Softly, his lips brushing yours with a sweetness that made your heart clench.

Was it wrong—was it selfish—to feel this sense of quiet satisfaction? To think, even for a second, that you were glad he was back, alone, with you? That he was here, in your home, within reach, surrounded by your things. That you had him to yourself, even if just for now.

Frankie let himself fall beside you, his body heavy with leftover heat, the curve of his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. He hadn't caught his breath yet. Neither had you.

You turned toward him and propped yourself against the curve of his shoulder. Your hand found the line of his jaw, fingers skating gently across the stubble there.

“Well,” you said, “looks like you slept really well.”

A low sound caught in Frankie’s throat—half a laugh, half a hum—and he let his eyes close for a moment.

Thirty minutes later, you were both in the kitchen. You sat across from each other at the small breakfast bar, twin cups of coffee resting between your arms. Your hair was damp but not dripping, his too, curling faintly at the ends after the shower.

Darcy was chewing noisily near your feet, tail brushing across the floor every so often. Frankie was absorbed in something on his phone, his brow drawn together in focus. You sipped from your cup while scrolling the morning news, the headlines half-forgotten as soon as you read them.

Then your phone vibrated in your hand.

Santi.

You glanced up, your expression shifting. Frankie looked up too, a flicker of recognition passing across his face. You lifted a hand slightly to let him know it was fine, and picked up.

“Hey, Santi?”

The noise on the other end told you he was outside.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little rushed, “how are you? Are you at the bookstore already?”

You checked the time. Almost nine. “I’m good. Not there yet, though. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering.” A beat. “What’s going on?”

You leaned back slightly. “Not much. What’s up?”

“I talked to Frankie early yesterday. I think he got back.”

You flicked your eyes up to the man sitting across from you, who looked especially focused on not looking up just then.

“Yeah?” you said. “That right?”

“Sort of. I thought he was coming in today, but whatever.” You heard the soft thud of a door closing on his end. “We’re heading to Will’s cabin with Yov. He and Benny are going early. Since Fish is back already, I thought maybe we could head out this afternoon. Before dinner. It’s only about an hour away. What do you think?”

“Oh. Yeah? What time?” 

Across the table, Frankie raised his eyebrows in your direction and tilted his head slightly, a question embedded in the movement. You met his eyes for a second and bit down gently on the inside of your lip.

“Around six. Maybe a little after? Could be seven,” Santi said.

“Yeah, I—um—yeah.”

“If it doesn’t work for you, that’s fine. Maybe you’ve got plans or something.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then found your voice again. It came out lighter than you intended. Too eager, maybe. “No, it’s not that. I like the idea. Six works. That way I can get a few things packed and maybe close the bookstore a little early.”

“Perfect,” he said, the smile clear in his voice. “I’ll check with Frankie just to be sure.”

You hesitated. “It’s okay. I’ll be ready then.”

“Good. That’s good.” He paused, and the background noise on his end seemed to quiet for a second. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah. Bye. Take care. Love you.”

His reply came faintly, like he wasn’t quite near the phone anymore. “Love you, too.” And then, the call ended.

You set your phone down on the counter. The screen darkened. The room filled back up with the sound of Mr. Darcy still gnawing at his breakfast and the soft hum of the refrigerator. You looked across the counter at Frankie.

“What was that about?” he asked, eyes narrowed slightly with gentle curiosity.

You opened your mouth to answer, but his phone buzzed before you could speak. It vibrated sharply against the surface, and when you both looked down, Santi’s contact photo was lit up on the screen. Determined.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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[laceyhearts]

౨ৎ SO HIGH SCHOOL ; LUKE HUGHES !

➪ summary: going into sophomore year she had no expectations, but when luke hughes sits in front of her during trig, suddenly her sophomore year turns into a mission

➪ pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

➪ warnings: none ( i think ? ), not proofread per usual

➪ word count: 7.5k

➪ emma's notes: NOT BASED ON SO HIGH SCHOOL. i just listened to it a lot while writing it so that's what i named with. but it is a little based on what happened to me my sophomore year. i hope you guys enjoy this fic because honestly it took me way too long to write and yeah. for the sake of this fic, they're close to detroit - pls go with it for the plot thanks. UHHHH apologies if some of the scenes are short, they were important to the plot but i just didn't know what else to write. OKAY ENJOY :)

© laceyhearts ; do not copy, repost, translate, or put my work through ai generators. do not copy or remake my themes, graphics, or layouts.

She had no expectations for high school, let alone for her sophomore year. She never thought about meeting Prince Charming and having a cheesy homecoming proposal, never thought about late nights out with a guy that made her giggle at just the mere thought of him, never thought she’d have a press conference about a guy she liked with her favorite teachers. 

And she was right, for the most part. She’d be lying if she didn’t say she stayed in bed, minutes from sleep, eyes fluttering close before opening seconds later, thinking about the guy she had seen in the hallway for a brief second. But she didn’t expect any of those things to happen, and none of those things did happen. Well, except for the press conference.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She met Ms. Wilsher and Ms. McCroix bright and early on her first day of sophomore year. It was first period, all of her friends were in AP Human Geography or AP United States History, but not her. It was a new class, not many people were in it, and she felt like an outsider as a bunch of the students high-fived the two teachers like they’d known each other for years. 

“I’m Ms. Wilsher, and I’m assuming you’re y/n, right?”

She flushed, wiping her hand against her skirt before holding it out, nodding, “Yeah, hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And I’m Ms. McCroix, but you can just call me Croix. We’re not too formal around here.”

“Around here?” She questioned, head tilting in curiosity as she set her things down. 

“Uh yeah, a lot of the kids kind of hang out with us, our classes intertwine sometimes, so most of the time it’s the same kids. Us and Mr. Carlson across the hall. Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in.”

And she did. Sure, it took a few days, but she slowly allowed herself to feel comfortable, share things with the two teachers that she’d come to trust and rely on more than she could imagine. Soon, this classroom would become her safe space. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Trig was next, a subject she felt comfortable in, a class she could just be and do her work where no one would bother her, and she didn’t have to second-guess everything she did. And while she thought it was going to be peaceful, she was proven wrong. 

She took her seat in the back of the class, somewhere near the middle of the row, so she could still see the board easily, her go-to spot in any class. One by one, people she knew from middle school trickled in, some more people she didn’t, and one by one, they took their seats. 

She shifted anxiously as guys who were deemed popular two years ago when they were in the height of their middle school years, guys who talked to her during a group project but now couldn’t tell you what her name was, sat next to her. She took a deep breath; she could get through 10 months with them, maybe, hopefully. 

He was the last one to walk in, and at first, she didn’t know who he was. She hadn’t seen him around, she didn’t know his name like she knew the rest of the people around her, didn’t know what he could make her feel with just a small, awkward smile, not yet anyway.

She didn’t talk, didn’t introduce herself, she just gazed at him, shrinking in her seat, acting like her friend just texted her life-changing information as he sat in front of her, dapping his friends up like they didn’t just see each other a few weeks ago at the beach. 

And it was like that for a few weeks, staying quiet because she didn’t know anyone in the class, making a connection with her teacher, Mrs. Cooper, laughing softly at the random things the boys around her said. Nothing happened, sophomore year was starting out as expected, and if she was lucky, it would stay that way.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Her friends were assholes, it was confirmed. Somehow, someway, she started liking Luke Hughes. She didn’t mean to, didn’t plan to, but her friends were insistent, and professional gaslighters.

The moment they found out that Luke Hughes was sitting in front of her in trig, they knew they had to get her to like him. 

“You guys would be so cute together.” Chloe started, opening her lunchbox. 

“Yeah, you know who else would be cute together? Me and a cow.”

“Luke kind of looks like a cow, a cute one. Like one of those highland cows that stick their tongues out.” Her friend, Stephanie, offered, shrugging as she took a bite of her sandwich. 

Y/n stared at her, a blank expression on her face, before throwing her napkin at her, “Shut up.”

“Seriously, y/n/n. You guys would be cute, he’s nice and funny, and he likes hockey, which you do too. You should at least try. I know the last guy you liked didn’t end up well-”

“I asked him a question and he didn’t respond, he left me on heard. Only my mom does that.”

“Was she on her phone?”

“Yeah, what is with that? They can’t be mad at us for not being able to multitask, and then once they’re on their phone, they forget their ability to hear-”

“Hey! Focus, guys.”

Stephanie and y/n shut up, eyes snapping to Chloe, who gave them a look, “We’re sophomores-”

“Exactly, I have time to experience the high school romance life.”

“But how often are you going to have a class with Luke Hughes of all people?”

“Seriously, guys. I’m fine where I am, I don’t need to like anyone, I’m barely 16, stop acting like I’m 32, and if I don’t find someone now, I’m going to end up lonely forever.”

“Just trust me, you and Luke would break the school. You guys are adorable.”

“I haven’t even said a word to him.”

“You will, with our help. Now c’mon, let’s do this chem homework.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It took y/n until the week after homecoming to say something to him. It didn’t even happen on purpose; they were talking about hockey, and her mind was moving a million miles per hour as she tried to keep up in their conversation. And one off-handed comment later, she found herself snorting in amusement as she kept her eyes trained on her paper in front of her, filling out the unit circle in front of her. 

“What?”

She looked up, face dropping and cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “I- oh, nothing, sorry.”

Charlie, the one sitting directly next to her, raised an eyebrow. “Well, obviously something we said got you to laugh, so I want to know what it was.”

She wasn’t good at this, talking to people she barely knew. She was an introvert, the kind of girl who went through high school quietly, the kind of girl no one noticed until they were paired up with her for a group project. 

“Seriously, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about something-”

“It’s okay, really. Just say it.” She could feel herself relax at the tone of his voice. He’d always been loud with his friends, stealing their phones and laughing like he had heard the funniest joke in the world. She didn’t know why it changed when he talked to her.

“I just- you guys were talking about the Calder, right? I don’t think Dahlin is going to get it, if I’m honest.”

Some of the boys looked at her like she had grown two heads, not expecting her to know what they were talking about, some of them looked at her like she had no idea what she was saying, but Luke? Luke gave her a curious look, a small spark in his eyes as he stared at her, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“And who do you think will be?”

“Petterson. Plays for-”

“Vancouver, yeah. My brother just got drafted there.”

Her eyes narrowed before recognition lit them, “Right. Quinn. I watched the draft, congrats.”

“Thanks… Um, you are?”

“Y/n.”

“Luke.”

“Uh, yeah, I know.”

He grinned, holding his hand out to which she took carefully, their hands lingering for a moment before they pulled away.

Luke turned around, his friends laughing at the slight blush on his cheeks that she didn’t dare to believe was real. She made eye contact with Mrs. Cooper, a knowing smile on her lips that caused y/n to roll her eyes. 

It was nothing, just a fleeting moment that happened because she couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself, and that’s all it would be.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

November came quicker than she anticipated. She hadn’t talked to Luke since that day, and if she did, it was brisk, one-word answers that left both of them wanting more. 

She’d been studying until 2 in the morning when it happened; she could feel herself grow exhausted quicker than usual, her nose started to run, and her cheeks flushed even if it was only 60 degrees in her room and the fan was on. 

It got worse in the morning when she woke up, the pounding headache, the twist in her stomach, every symptom of sickness hitting her like a freight train. She tried to get up, tried to take a shower and get ready for the day, but as soon as she lifted herself off the bed, she fell right back down. 

And that was the start of a long week of no school. She completed her homework in bed, binge-watched whatever new show was out, listened to music until she got bored, texted her friends who caught her up on all the random drama she missed, and before she knew it was back at school, sitting through first period with Ms. Wilsher and Ms. McCroix.

“Yeah, I don’t know, it was long, tiring. Probably just a bad flu or something.” She explained off-handedly, focusing on her work they had given out.

“You know, if you’re not ready to be back, you can go home.”

Y/n looked up at Ms. Reed, her social worker, who had stopped in to ask her how she was doing. She shook her head, “I’m going to get anxious if I miss anymore, it was already a struggle to get through today.”

“Well, you know where to find me if you need to talk. Now… how about that boy?”

“What boy?” Ms. McCroix walked over, a smile growing on her face.

Y/n flushed, “No one! There is no boy.”

“Really? Because I went to sub for Cooper the other day, and I overheard a certain someone asking about where you were.”

“As if.”

The three of them gave her a look, one that made her shrink in her seat because she knew she was going to have to talk about it, whether that was now or never.

“Fine, maybe there is, but it’s nothing. They were talking about hockey and I stated my opinion, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Uh huh. Do you like him?”

“No!”

“Do you think he’s cute?”

“Maybe…”

“Do you-”

The bell rang, effectively cutting off Wilsher from asking another question, y/n grinning at the interruption, “See you later.”

“Have fun in trig!” They sang, watching her rush out of the classroom.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She took a deep breath as she entered her trig classroom. There was no one there yet, no one besides her teacher. 

“Hi, Mrs. Cooper.”

“Y/n, welcome back. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, better than last week, felt like I was constantly getting hit by a bus.” She explained, taking the small stack of papers Mrs. Cooper had given to her.

“Don’t worry about getting caught up right away, alright? You can take the test you missed whenever, just make sure to do it before next Friday.”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

She took her seat without a second thought, riffling through the papers as more and more people filed in. The boys sat down first, none of them batting an eye at her as they talked about their game the other night, all of them going on their phones to play a game. 

Luke came in with a few seconds to spare, halfway to his desk when the bell rang, and plopped his backpack down as the announcements started. 

His eyes fell on the girl in the seat behind him, eyes lightning up once he saw her figure, “Y/n.”

She jumped, slightly startled, looking up at him, “Hi?”

“You’re back!” He exclaimed, sitting down and turning to face her, coughing to lower his voice, “I uh- I mean you’re back. You sick or something?”

“Uh, yeah, the flu.”

“He was really worried about you, you know?” Charlie piped in, leaning over the side of his desk to ruffle Luke’s curls. “Kept asking us if we thought you were okay.”

“I did not, shut up.” Luke huffed, batting Charlie’s hand away and fixing his hair.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to agree with Luke on this one.” Her voice was soft, tentative, a stark difference from the usually snarky tone she had when she talked to them. 

“Why’s that, y/l/n?”

Her eyes narrowed at the use of her last name, casting a sideways glance towards the red-headed boy before letting it settle on Luke again, “Him? Worried? Yeah, sure.”

Luke felt her words low in his stomach, like she was implying that he was incapable of worrying about her. And, to some extent, he couldn’t blame her. The two hadn’t talked before the first day of school this year, hadn’t even made eye contact in the hallway before sitting next to each other. 

But somehow, that didn’t matter to him. Something about her captivated him: the way she talked about hockey, the way she smiled at her phone when she was texting her friends, the way she completed her work with speed and precision, the way she offered help to the girl who sat next to her when she asked. 

So yeah, he did care that she was out of school for a week without prior knowledge - not like it was his place to know in the first place. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It was later in the day when she saw him again, waiting for her friend in the stairwell as she came down from her eighth-period class. She hadn’t even noticed, not until Stephanie approached her, wrapping her in a hug because she hadn’t seen her in a week. 

“Hi.”

Luke’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice, picking it out from the hundreds of other voices, eyes immediately finding hers, stopping in the middle of the staircase. He stumbled as people bumped into him, almost tumbling into the two girls but missing them by a few inches, “Dude, you good?”

Y/n and Stephanie had already started to make their way down the stairs by the team. Luke answered his friend’s question, both of them talking animatedly about their after-school plans, “I uh- yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure, bro? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“It’s nothing.”

And if Luke wasn’t about to combust at that moment, the distant sound of y/n squeaking his name out was enough to do it.

“Luke! No way.”

“He totally does, y/n/n. He could’ve been listening to any other conversation up there, but as soon as he heard your ‘hi’, he stopped in his tracks.”

“It’s just a coincidence.”

“Puh-lease. He’s into you, like head over heels into you.”

“We’ve talked like twice,” Y/n replied, pushing open the doors into the November air that was growing colder by the second.

“Doesn’t matter, his heart eyes are so obvious, it’s actually sickening.”

“Why don’t you date him then if you’re so intune with his eyes?” She teased, heading towards her mom’s car.  

“Shut up, I'm not. I’m just making sure he’s good for you, duh.” Stephanie started walking the other direction to find her sister.

“Whatever, later loser.”

“Bye, dweep!”

Y/n climbed into her mom’s car, throwing her backpack in the back seat as she buckled her seatbelt, “Hi.”

“What was that about? Was that about that boy?” 

“Mom.”

“What? Isn’t that him?” She pointed to the entrance of the school, where a group of boys were piling out as they hit each other.

“Mom! Put your finger down.”

“He’s cute.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” She dragged her hands down her face, slumping in her seat to avoid any stares.

“He’s looking at you!”

“He is not, would everyone stop with that?” 

But curiosity got the better of her, and she sat up slightly, peering through her fingers to see Luke, their gazes meeting for the third time that day. 

“Drive, please.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

The following week, everything seemed to slow. Luke talked to her more, his fleeting glances behind him, turning in his seat to “face his friend” when in reality all he wanted to do was talk to the girl who seemed to know hockey like the back of her hand.

Maybe he was growing feelings for her, maybe he liked it whenever she would try to hide her laugh whenever he or one of his friends said something ridiculously stupid, so what if he did? It’s not like anything was going to happen; she barely paid attention to him, acted as if he were just another one of the annoying guys who didn’t care about his academics. 

But he was determined to change that. 

He walked into second period with a plan formulating in his head, nodding to his friends as he took his seat, already taking his pencil case out. He glanced behind him a few times, failing at covering it up, unable to keep the smile off his face as he saw her focused on their homework that was due by the end of class.

“Y/n.”

He watched as her head popped up, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at him, “Luke.”

“What’d you get for number 10?”

“Uhhhh, 43.”

He nodded, turning back to his work, waving his friends off when they made snide comments in his direction. He scribbled down work that he wasn’t sure was correct, but made sense in his head, which at least counted for something. 

His pencil tapped restlessly as Mrs. Cooper started teaching, something about the law of sines, spacing out with every word said. 

It wasn’t until halfway through class that he started focusing again, noticing the stack of two papers that were placed in front of him, sheepishly turning around to hand one to the girl behind him, who was already giving him a tired expression, “Sorry.”

Y/n didn’t say anything, just nodded and grabbed the paper, knocking her pencil off in the process. She sighed inwardly, eyes darting to the writing utensil on the ground, trying not to direct Luke’s attention to it. 

Her cheeks flushed as her foot reached for it, accidentally hitting his foot just as she was about to kick it closer. She buried her head in her hands, avoiding his gaze, unbeknownst to the wide grin on his face. She felt a tap on her desk, peeking through her hands to see him holding out her pencil, “Here, gorgeous.”

His voice was soft, low enough that only she could hear his exact words. She was sure she couldn’t get any redder. 

She took the pencil from him, their hands brushing as she did so. It was innocent, nothing more than a guy being nice to her, but still, she had butterflies erupt in her stomach, a shy smile on her face as she thanked him, watching as he turned back to the board. 

It was only a few minutes later when Luke spoke again. Mrs. Cooper had walked out of the room to talk with another student, leaving the class to their own devices, in some cases literally. He turned just slightly, facing Charlie and Brandon and a few other guys that he was teammates with, “So game tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, bro. Let’s hope we don’t get our asses whooped like last time.”

Luke shot him a look, as if he was trying to hide how badly they had been crushed in the previous game from y/n. She didn’t even bat an eye at the conversation, her face back to its normal color, pulling out her phone to check something or to do anything but her work. 

He sighed, “Y/n.”

“What?’ This time, she didn’t even look at him, keeping her stare on her phone. She wasn’t sure where Luke’s sudden insistence to talk to her came from, and she wasn’t sure how she should feel about it. Giddy? Put off? Annoyed?

“You should come to the game tonight.” His voice was smooth, cool, and collected, like whatever her answer was going to be, he’d be indifferent about it, but the way his eyes moved around her face, searching for any hint as to what she was about to say, betrayed his attempt to hide his nerves.

“Yeah sure.” She snickered, finally tearing her gaze from her phone. “Let me get right on that, Hughesy.”

He frowned, his hand stilling from where he was spinning his phone around, “Why not?”

Charlie shot him a look, but once he caught whiff of his friend’s intention, he played along, “No, really, y/n. You should come. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, 1. Since when do you talk to me, Charles?” Charlie blinked, caught off guard by her sudden tone change, “And 2. Need I ask again, why do you want me to come to this hockey game of yours? I have a million other things to do tonight.”

Luke shrugged again, “Just think about it.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She ended up skipping third period, who needed to go to chemistry anyway?

She wasn’t sure what she should do, go to the game or not? Think something of Luke being worried about her and her absence, or don’t? Keep thinking about the way Luke called her gorgeous, like he was sure of it, or block it out of her mind forever?

Wilsher and McCroix were hanging around in their classroom when she entered, the room void of students, and Ms. Reed sat in the back. She spent more time in here than in her office, which only concerned y/n the tiniest amount. 

“I need your guys’ help.”

The first thing the two teachers noticed was the soft blush to her cheeks, the way she seemed out of breath even though her trig classroom was a few doors down. The first thing Ms. Reed noticed was the smile that tugged on her lips, acting like she wasn’t in a full-on mental crisis. 

“What happened?”

“Luke. Happened.” She breathed, sitting in one of the chairs, the other three gathering around the front of the table. 

“Spill.”

She stared at them for a second, trying to gather her thoughts, “Why does it feel like I’m at a press conference right now and I just had a great game?”

“Y/n.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Her cheeks heated, overcome with embarrassment, she reached for her water bottle to have something to fidget with. “We brushed hands.”

“Stop, you did not.”

“That’s lame, this isn’t middle school or a high school romance something, give us something good.” Wilsher interrupted, looking at her expectantly.

“He wants me to go to his game tonight? And he might’ve, sort’ve, maybe called me gorgeous.”

She shrank in her seat as the three adults gasped and squealed, “Can we not make this a big deal?”

“Oh no, we are absolutely making this a big deal, what do you mean?”

“You have to go to the game, right? Please tell me you’re going.”

“I don’t know, it’s a Thursday, I got homework-”

“We all know that’s bull. You have no homework, I didn’t give you homework, you always finish your trig homework, you have a test in two of your other classes, and in the other classes, you never get homework.” Wilsher gave her a blank stare, almost daring her to say no to the invitation.

“Guys-”

“You’re going.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Can we move on from the game? Let’s talk about how he called her gorgeous.” Reed sighed, conveying how much his words meant more than the game.

Y/n flushed again, her cheeks in a permanent state of red. 

“She’s blushing.”

“You like him.” McCroix teased, patting her shoulder.

“So what, maybe I do!”

“Knew it.” “Called it.”

Y/n just rolled her eyes, picking her bag up, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Go to the game!”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She ended up going to the game. Chloe and Stephanie went with her, well, more like they dragged her out of the house into the back of Stephanie’s sister’s car. 

What was even the point of going to this game? She’d make sure they would sit far enough back, out of sight from Luke and the rest of his team, so no one would know she was there. She’d follow the puck lazily, not really caring who scored or who won, but deep down, she knew she’d want to see Luke hit it into the net, celebrating with his teammates. She’d spend time outs and intermissions on her phone, acting like it was a chore even to be there at all. 

Chloe and Stephanie looped their arms through hers, the three of them making their way into the arena. She shivered slightly at the temperature change, pulling her sleeves down to cover her hands as they walked to their seats, y/n narrowing her eyes when she saw where they were leading her.

“We’re not sitting behind the bench.”

“Y/n-”

“No, I’m not. Be lucky I agreed to come anyway.”

“She’s got a point.”

Chloe just huffed, allowing the two to redirect their path, heading towards seats that were higher up and out of the line of sight of anyone sitting on the bench. 

As much as she tried not to, the whole game her eyes were focused on him; wherever he went on the ice, wherever he sat on the bench, wherever he came out after intermission, that’s where her eyes would be. She didn’t admit it, not even to herself, but her friends knew, smirking every time she would lean forward when he got close to scoring. 

“You know, you make it too obvious,” Stephanie murmured, wrapping her arm around y/n’s shoulder, walking out of the arena a little after the game ended. 

“Make what too obvious?”

“You like him. Please stop trying to convince us, and yourself, that you don’t.”

Y/n only sighed, fidgeting with her fingers, “A little.”

“A little?” Chloe scoffed.

“This is a conversation I need to have when I have some food in me. Can we please stop to get food?” She begged, slightly pouting.

“Fine. But you’re not getting out of this conversation this time.”

They waited a while before Stephanie's sister arrived, and right when they were about to climb into the car, she heard a voice behind her, one that she only heard within the walls of her Trig classroom, “Is that y/l/n?”

Her eyes widened, Stephanie and Chloe grinned and turned to face the voice, but not before they were pulled into the car, y/n already pressuring Sam to drive. 

“You guys are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope.” “Not one bit.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She woke up groggy that morning, moving through her morning routine with the speed of a sloth, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, bleary-eyed, walking through the hallways. It was moments like these where she was thankful to have such a chill first period, a place where she could relax, and her teachers wouldn’t yell at her if she fell asleep 5 minutes in. 

Wilsher looked at her with an amused look, handing her a water bottle from the small fridge she had in the corner of the room, “Have fun last night?”

“I’m never letting you talk me into going to a game on a school night. That was brutal.” She plopped down in her seat, the condensation from the water bottle already seeping into the wood of her desk. 

“Did you see him?” McCroix walked in next, that stupid grin she got whenever something interesting was about to happen in one of her students' lives. 

“Yes.”

“Did you talk to him?” She looked up as Ms. Reed passed through the door like she’d been waiting for her moment to enter. 

“No. Who do you guys think I am? It took me weeks to even tell you guys my favorite food is pizza.”

“Besides the point. You’re never going to date him if you just stare at him longingly.”

“I do not stare at him longingly!”

“I walked in there one time to hand Cooper some papers, and you were drilling holes in the back of his head with your eyes.”

“I was spacing out,” she defended weakly, chin resting in her hand. 

“Mhm, whatever you want to tell yourself. Now… we talked to Cooper, and we came up with an idea so Luke can find out you were there.”

“You guys are way too invested in this.”

The three of them stared at her, blankly, blinking slowly before laughing, “Of course we are.”

“Get a life.” She grumbled but couldn’t hide the smile that was growing on her face. 

They continued to talk for the rest of the period, about the plan and about whatever homework they had last night, barely noticing the time passing after the bell rang.

“Shit-”

“Shoot!”

“Right, shoot. I gotta go, bell’s about to ring in a minute and I am not going to be late.”

“To see Luke!” They all teased, before looking back at their computers when y/n gave them a look. 

She gathered her things, heading out the door and down the hallway towards Mrs. Cooper’s room, stepping inside seconds before the bell sounded. She maneuvered her way through the desks, walking down the aisle to her own, passing by Luke before sitting.

“Oh- I was worried about you.” She furrowed her eyebrows at his statement, cocking her head more or less to herself as she pulled out her notebook. 

“Why…?”

“I don’t know, you were going to be late. You’re always like the first person here.”

Charlie leaned over, tugging at her sleeve, “Yeah, he was really worried. You know, so worried that I think he likes you.”

Y/n paused midway through grabbing a pencil from her bag, peering up through her lashes to see Luke’s already red face, turning to face his phone in front of him. A light pink dusted her cheeks too, continuing her actions like the thought of her crush liking her wasn’t admitted out loud by his closest friend. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Brandon called, eyes looking between the three of them, but no less amused than his two friends. 

Charlie shrugged, already moving onto a new task, no doubt texting someone as his thumbs moved across the keyboard on his phone. 

It was silent for a few seconds, everyone around them doing their work and chatting with their friends, but the back left corner of the classroom, sprinkling into the center, was quiet, unusually quiet. Y/n fiddled with her pencil, eventually reaching for her own phone to type a message, the three-person group chat with her, Chloe, and Stephanie, somewhat messy, filled with typos and grammatical errors the other two weren’t used to seeing.

“We ned ti alk assap at lunch!”

She could feel her phone vibrating in her pocket, but she paid no mind to it, eyes completely focused on the task at hand - do not do anything embarrassing. 

“Y/n, come here.”

She got up, walking carefully through the backpack-littered aisle, trying not to stumble as she stepped over them. Luke watched her from behind, worry in his eyes like he was about to watch her get in trouble or be talked down to because of a test score, but all he could hear was her bright laugh, one that made his stomach flutter like a schoolgirl's giggle. 

As she was walking back to her seat, she heard Mrs. Cooper’s voice, not loud but not trying to be quiet either, “How was the game last night?”

She only froze for a beat before continuing, calling out over her shoulder, “It was good. They won 5-2.”

She could hear three phones clatter as the numbers fell from her lips, looking back at the group of boys. Luke, Charlie, and Brandon stared at her, the few other guys in their friend group exchanging looks with each other, slowing their hands as they worked.

“See any cute boys?”

“Are we really talking about this in front of people?” Y/n flushed, more so than when Charlie’s stupid “You know, so worried I think he likes you” repeated through her head. 

Mrs. Cooper just smirked as she went back to grading. 

She only got halfway through a problem when she heard a cough, looking up to see Luke staring at her. “Hi?”

“So, you went to the game last night?”

She nodded, acting as if it was a casual thing to go to a random hockey game in the middle of the week, “Yep. My friends and I were bored, had nothing else to do.”

“Oh. So, did you see any cute guys?”

Y/n raised her eyebrow, “Maybe. What’s it to you, Hughes?”

He held his hands up in surrender, but jealousy swam in his eyes, “Nothing, nothing. Go back to your trig. I’ll stop bothering you.”

She smiled once he faced away from her, knowing that the stupid plan of her friends and teachers did work. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She did not want to be wearing this, okay, maybe that’s a stretch. When the idea of dressing cute today was brought up on the table, she was reluctant; she’d rather throw on a pair of sweats and her favorite hockey hoodie and go to school like she didn’t care what people thought about her. But then she put it on, and she felt cute. 

Her jeans sat comfortably on her legs, the gray crewneck with “Canucks” written in blue lettering across her chest sat atop a white undershirt that peaked out along the color, and her hair tied up in a half-up half-down hairstyle with a blue ribbon Chloe had given her however long ago. 

She knew this was a stupid, even useless, plan, but she went along with it. She couldn’t really be mad at how it turned out; she’d always favored being comfortable over cute when she went to school, maybe this was a nice change.

She walked the hallways of the school, her black Converse hitting the ground with each step as she made her way to Wilsher’s classroom, where they were already sitting, Chloe and Stephanie too. 

She blushed heavily when she came in, eyes widening when they saw her outfit, “Look at you.”

“Okay, okay. You’re the ones who wanted this.”

“Do a spin! Do a spin!”

She did as she was told, dropping her bag so she could turn around. Chloe stood up, walking over to inspect her hair. “Is that the ribbon I gave you like two months ago?”

“Yeah, not my fault you never asked for it back.”

The other girl shrugged, twisting the fabric in her hand before letting go, taking a step back to look at her again. “He’s going to go insane when he sees you in this.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious!”

“Fine… I guess I look cute.”

“You guess? Girl, I’ve never seen you look hotter.”

“You guys are so annoying.”

First period flew by faster than she wanted it to, constantly fiddling with her crew neck as the nerves consumed her. She lingered in the classroom for a few minutes, waiting until the time between class starting and her arrival would be as short as possible.

She kept her head down as she entered the room, her eyes trained on her hands as she adjusted her rings before sitting down, unaware of Luke’s (and his friends’) gazes on her. 

Charlie poked her side once she settled, hand extended over the side of his desk, “Y/l/n.”

“Yes?”

“You get dressed up for something special?”

She shook her head, not looking up from where she was tracing random shapes on the wood. They could see the small tint of pink littering her cheeks, causing them to urge Luke into saying something, anything. They were tired of him whining like a puppy every time y/n wouldn’t talk to him in class.

Luke didn’t know what to do. She looked beautiful, not that he didn’t think he was beautiful before this moment, but the way she seemed to have a softness about her today, like she knew she looked gorgeous but didn’t want to admit it. 

He couldn’t deny that it flustered him; everything about her made him freeze up. She could brush her hair behind her ear, complete a problem in 30 seconds, or walk down the hallway, and he’d be in awe. He wasn’t sure if that should embarrass him or not, but at this point, he’d wear that like a badge of honor.

“Y/n/n.”

That caused her to raise her head, eyes widening at the nickname. Since when did he address me by a nickname?

She cleared her throat, nodding, “Yes?”

“You busy this weekend?”

“Uh, I don’t know-” she stuttered, eyes blinking fast as he watched her every movement, studying her as if he would have a quiz on her next period.

“We should hang out.”

Brandon coughed from next to him, giving him a look. There was no way this was how he was going to ask her out, not if he had a say in it. 

“Right. Do you want to go on a date?” 

If y/n was holding anything in her hands, the whole school could hear it clatter against the surface beneath her. She wasn’t sure what to say, if she should say anything, or nod her head. Luke saw the panic flash in her eyes, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to! I just thought-”

“No! I um- I would like that.” The two smiled at each other, stilling.

“About time.” Charlie rolled his eyes, typing away on his phone. 

Luke hit him in the arm, y/n giggled softly, causing him to smile once again.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It was too cold to be standing out on the porch waiting for Luke to show up, but it beat having to sit with her parents awkwardly in the living room while they asked her questions about him. So here she was, in almost 50-degree weather, a light frost covering the ground as the leaves fell. 

She hugged herself tightly, her jacket only providing her with a small amount of warmth. A similar pair of jeans adorned her legs, paired with a black long-sleeved shirt that did little to shield her from the growing cold weather.

She barely registered Luke’s car pulling into the driveway, too focused on shifting her weight from foot to foot, preventing herself from going frigid. It wasn’t until the door closed that she looked up, noticing his figure standing outside, a beanie on his head hiding his curls.

“Hi.” 

“Hey.” 

They stood there for a few minutes, neither of them moving, just watching the other’s movements, studying their faces.

She snapped out of the trance first, walking down the few steps that led to her front door to where he stood, unable to keep the smile off her face, “Hi.”

“Hey.” He repeated, chuckling softly. “You ready to go?”

She nodded, allowing him to lead her to the other side of the car, opening the passenger-side door for her. He climbed in seconds later, turning the heat on full blast to calm y/n’s shakiness, pulling out of her driveway to head to wherever they were going.

“You going to tell me where we’re going?”

He shook his head, grinning, “Nope. Top secret.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Not enough to deter you from going on a date with me.”

“Touché.” She huffed, crossing her arms.

“How long were you standing outside for?” He stopped at the stoplight, eyes flicking over to her form, frowning when he noticed her hands still shaking. 

“Uh, like ten minutes maybe? It beat waiting inside with my parents.”

He reached for her hand like it was second nature, as if they’d done it a million times before this moment, letting the warmth of his hand encompass the coldness of hers. He heard her sigh gratefully, continuing to drive as if nothing had just happened. 

It was silent the rest of the way, y/n completely oblivious as to where they were going but paid no mind to it, watching as the trees passed, the lights changed from red to green or green to yellow, and the traffic decreased and increased. 

“One question.”

“Shoot.”

“Does this involve physical labor because I’m not dressed enough for that, and I will not look cute once we’re done?”

“You might have to climb some stairs, but that’s it. And I beg to differ, I’m sure you’d look cute no matter what, gorgeous.”

She smiled as she rolled her eyes, going back to her window-watching and listening to the music that played softly in the car. She didn’t notice the fond expression he had, barely noticed the way his hand tightened around hers because he was scared that this, she, wasn’t real.

It didn’t take long for her to realize where they were once the building came into view, the lettering across it, and the red and white clothing the thousands of people standing outside in line were wearing. Her eyes widened, looking over at him, “Really?”

“Figured you’d like it,” Luke smirked, all too cocky, but neither of them cared. 

“I wish you had told me! I would’ve worn my jersey.”

“Yeah, but then that would’ve given it away.”

The two walked hand in hand into Little Caesars Arena, y/n practically vibrating with excitement. 

“You’re excited about this, huh?”

“Shut up, let me enjoy my hockey.”

He held his hands up in surrender, leading them towards the line, y/n curling into him as they waited in the cold. 

It was the perfect first date. Nothing would ever compare. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It happened later that night, they were out at a small dinner after the game, sitting next to each other in a booth like a cliché high school movie. She didn’t mind; her head rested comfortably on his shoulder, and his hand was on her thigh. They’d finished their food ages ago, paid ages ago, but none of them had the energy to move even if they wanted to. 

“Y/n/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m sleepy.” She murmured in response, curling into him more. 

He laughed softly, resting his chin on her head, “Does that change your answer then?”

“Nope. I’d still say yes, but if I weren’t tired, I’d be a mess right now.”

“You still are one.”

“Say it again, and I'll take back my answer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked up at him, sleep evident in her eyes, but neither of them let it stop their lips from touching, Luke’s arm slipping around her waist to bring her closer. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She wasn’t sure when this tradition was established, all of them meeting in the morning in Wilsher’s room, her, Chloe, and Stephanie. And that wasn’t changing, not even when Luke’s hand was in hers as they walked down the hallway. 

“Okay, so they might be a little overbearing-”

“I’ll be fine, I’m extremely charming.”

Y/n gave him a look, “Mhm.”

“I am too!” He gasped, offended, “That’s how I won you over.”

“I’m still regretting that decision.”

“No, you’re not.”

She grinned, looking up at him, “Fine, I’m not.”

He kissed her temple, the two of them coming to a stop right outside Wilsher’s classroom. She went in first, noticing how her two best friends were already sitting at a table, on their phones, and how her two teachers and her social worker were talking about something, most likely another student in their class.

“Hey.” 

She watched as they did a double-take, looking at her and then noticing the figure behind her, the one who stood a few inches taller than she did. 

“Okay, let’s not-”

“So this is the boy we’ve been hearing about.”

“Guys, seriously-” 

“We’ve heard everything about you, Luke. Smart boy, mostly A’s.”

Y/n buried her head in Luke’s chest like she’d been doing it for years before this moment, like it was second nature. He laughed softly, his hands threading through her hair, keeping her head close to him. The five others smiled at them, exchanging looks. 

“Treat her right.”

“Wasn’t planning on treating her wrong.” He admitted, looking down at her with a certain fondness.

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A Lovely Night

Summary: Terry and Patrice prepare for prom and a new level of their relationship.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: None

At the tender age of 13, with braces still on her top row of teeth and dreams of marrying a pop star who didn't yet know her name, Patrice came to three conclusions: she was leaving St. Pius after 8th grade, she definitely did want to be a teacher someday, and she was going to have a prom date before she graduated high school. 

The third conclusion came as she sat by herself at the 8th-grade formal, watching throngs of white children dance to censored hip-hop music in pairs and large groups while she was but a beautiful wallflower without the pleasure of being asked to attend. If not for her mother preemptively purchasing a dress before Patrice could confirm a dance partner for the evening, she would've stayed home and wallowed in her room. Better to cry in private than to suffer the embarrassment of visible loneliness in public. But, while she fought incoming misty tears threatening to smudge the mascara her mother had so graciously allowed her to use, Patrice swore that things would be different by her senior year. Her luck would turn. Shit, she might even be prom queen. 

Years later, when dreams began to catch up to reality, Patrice's 8th-grade formal debacle seemed primed for a remix. One month until prom and still no prospect for a prom date was social status killer number one. She'd worked hard in her senior year to reinvent herself, shed the reputation she'd inadvertently received as Terry's cute but strange shadow friend, and step into a new image as the senior hottie she was destined to be. Becoming Homecoming Queen was step one in the plan. Step two was senior class president. Step three, the hardest of them all, was having a small army of young men vying for a chance to take her to the ball. So far, only the weird junior from AP Calc had stepped up. Everyone else had slowly split into pairs, preparing matching ensembles, limo rentals, and after-party plans, leaving Patrice as a lone wolf destined to repeat past failures. 

"Is Napheesa really going to prom with Nate? Like for real?" 

Wednesday evenings were set aside for family spaghetti night and Calc homework with Terry via ooVoo video chat. She'd completed her first task of sharing something sweet and sour from her day around the dinner table. After lying her way into something sour that didn't include her prom woes, math with Terry was a welcomed distraction.

Patrice wiped away wayward red sauce from her mouth with her hoodie sleeve before refocusing on Terry's face taking up her laptop screen. "Yeah. He asked her Sunday when they were hanging out. It was kinda cute, really. I think he sang a song or something." 

Terry snickered. "Nigga swear he Trey Songz." He mocked Nate and the R&B hearthob's singing voice in one go, sending him and Patrice into laughter. When they finally calmed down, Terry settled into a more serious temperament. "Corey's going with Jasmine. I think they're wearing red."

"I heard. He showed me his tux. You know he's planning to wear red shoes? I told him he was gonna look like a Mississippi pimp, but he don't listen. Is the answer to number six 375?" As quickly as she'd delivered more news, Patrice was already on to the next thing. 

Terry smiled at how her face scrunched in confusion. "No. I think you miscalculated somewhere." 

"Shit," she whispered. "Don't tell me. Let me figure it out." Terry watched in rapt silence, enamored by Patrice's prominent features, which were made more striking by a neat ponytail showcasing her face as the main attraction. 

He waited silently as she typed the expression into her calculator again, battling whether now or in person was a good time to ask his question. If he waited again, he risked chickening out like he did before they parted ways in the senior parking lot to beat the morning tardy bell. He decided to strike while she wasn't looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes. 

"So…uh…you going to prom with anyone?" 

She scoffed without looking up. "No. At least not yet. Usher still hasn't responded to my emails. I sent Chris Brown one, too, so maybe he'll come through." 

"Good luck with that," he chuckled. Nerves tried to caution him on moving forward. A rational, fully formed frontal lobe would've told him to quit while he was ahead. Teenage folly made him open his mouth to say, "Wanna go with me?" 

Patrice paused her work to look up and smile. "You sure? We don't have to. I wouldn't be mad if you asked someone else." 

"I'm asking who I want to go with. Unless you givin' me the run around like Phee did Cam." 

"No," Patrice cut in, rolling her eyes. "I was just saying!" 

Terry smiled. "So we're going to prom together? Me and you? In Carolina blue? You see how I made that happen? Creative writing really might be worth it."

A genuine, hearty laugh came from Patrice's mouth as she threw her head back in reaction to Terry's terrible attempt at an off-the-cuff poem. Or so Terry thought. Really, she'd released years of pent-up fear and expected disappointment. Finally, in the 11th hour, Patrice had a prom date. Sure, it was her best friend she'd been falling more in love with day by day with no indication they'd ever be together, but it was something. Dream realized. Victory. 

"Yeah, we're going to prom together," she confirmed after her giggle attack had ended. They stared at each other momentarily, basking in the implications of a night under makeshift stars in the swanky event space across town. Patrice fought to look back at her calculator and announce what had to be the correct answer this time. "It's 215. I multiplied by 23 instead of multiplying 2 and 3. Movin' too fast, I guess." 

Terry nodded proudly. "Yeah. You got it. Good job." 

As Patrice moved on to a new exam prep question and rolled through the math aloud, the bitter taste of dissatisfaction coated his tongue. The spark he expected from asking the girl he'd been falling deeper into what he knew of love with was nothing more than a quick flicker of excitement – fun but empty. He could do better. Especially if he wanted his true intentions of turning a friendship into something more substantial to stand a chance. 

Two mornings later, with a day separating Terry's promposal and the opportunity to back out before their paring was set in stone, Patrice bounced into Francis from a doctor's appointment with a new lease on life and big news to share with Napheesa. 

She opened her locker as usual before fourth-period English, looking for her orange class notebook and the assigned textbook. She found them both without issue and nearly pranced off to class with nothing but gossip on her mind until she noticed the index card taped to her locker mirror. 

Can you meet me in the library after school? 398.2. I'm sure you know what that means. 

The handwriting looked more feminine than Patrice was accustomed to, not matching what she'd seen from Napheesa's notes back and forth in class or from Corey, who'd mastered the forgery dark arts. Still, she tucked the instructions into her everything binder's inside pouch and kept it close until the final bell rang. 

Like a spy on a top-secret mission, Patrice dodged conversations from her classmates, threaded her body between students walking to and fro in the main hallway, and quietly ducked into the library on the hunt for the mysterious being requesting her presence. 

398.2. It took Patrice an entire class period to decipher what the collection of numbers meant. Too short for a phone number, obviously, she thought to herself. It wasn't a locker number or any other location in the school. Area codes didn't come with decimals. She thought long and hard, willing the answer into existence. Realization smacked her in the head with the full force of Mike Tyson on her way to Terry's locker to grab her sociology notebook. The Dewey Decimal System. More specifically, the section of the library dedicated to folk and fairytales. 

Led by an ironclad knowledge of the library's layout and excitement nearly pouring from her pores, Patrice speed-walked past the librarian's station at the front, waved hello to Ms. Wanamaker re-stocking returned library books from seniors trying to clear their outstanding balances before fines set in, and turned the corner onto her intended row. 

Snow White piqued her curiosity first. The book appeared to jut out from the rest, so she glanced around for any lookie-loos straggling nearby and pulled it off the shelf. Nothing. Patrice shrugged and put the book back before focusing on other possible answers. Fairy Tales from The Brothers Grimm turned up nothing. Some weird book of Greek myths briefly felt like cracking the code but ultimately fell flat. Patrice had been duped. Led astray. Lied to. She was sure someone was watching through shelves and laughing at how she'd been fooled in a scavenger hunt. 

Some hopeful part of her brain directed Patrice's annoyed attention to the book spine conspicuously sticking out amongst its neighbor. She thought about what she might do if she were to flip through another dud and settled on knocking everything down as she yanked the worn edition of Cinderella from its spot. Luckily, a quick flip to its front cover ended her search. 

I don't know if I'm your Prince Charming, but I want you to feel like a Cinderella for a night. Will you go with me to the ball? I'll have you home before the clock strikes 12.

She recognized this handwriting, slanted and slender, on another index card. Patrice ran her index finger over the words and gave them another full read, not noticing the tall young man slowly revealing himself at the end of the aisle with a smile on his face and the gleam of mischief in his eyes. 

"I should've done this the right way the first time," he spoke, startling Patrice. He lifted his hands in surrender and disarmed her with a smile. "My bad." 

Patrice smiled back. "Since when did you learn the decimal system?" 

"If I tell you, I can't take you to prom. So, you either gotta answer the question on the card or get the answer to yours. Which one is it?" 

"Give me your answer." 

Horrified confusion and feigned annoyance flashed across Terry's young, handsome face as he watched Patrice double over in stifled laughter. He chuckled and kissed his teeth as he stepped closer. "Patrice, be serious. Will you go to prom with me? I'm really asking." 

Terry's sincerity, both in his voice inflection and in how his brows knitted in anticipation of a response, made Patrice stand up to her full height and smile back at her best friend. 

"Of course, TJ. I will absolutely go to prom with you." 

A fist pump and smile in the back corner of the school library was as good as any contract signed in black ink with a felt-tipped pen and the appropriate amount of witnesses. It was official official. Terry and Patrice were going to prom together. 

News of the expected pairing spread through the halls like wildfire, the truth morphing into something of a fairytale itself as it passed from person to person. Terry had asked Patrice in the library on one knee or in the parking lot, and they kissed, or between classes, and Patrice cried. Actually, Patrice asked Terry! In one version of events, Terry had abruptly reneged on his promposal to Junior cheerleader Cierra and asked Patrice at the last minute. A messy affair in a messy love triangle between the messiest best-friend duo the school had ever known, according to some twisted version of events. 

Neither Patrice nor Terry cared to clear up rumors or refute gossip. They were too busy prepping for the best night of their young lives. 

Pin cushions and yards of organza covered Patrice's living room floor by Sunday afternoon, turning recently the replaced grey carpet into a sea of light blue as her Aunt Sybil eyeballed measurements and cut the fabric into careful shapes to match the pattern Patrice and Imani had agreed was perfect for a Cinderella-inspired gown. Glitter. She needed glitter tucked into every inch to turn an ordinary dress into one that sparkled in the right light. Rosalyn requested sleeves for modesty, and Patrice agreed, not because she wanted to, but because she knew compromise was her best friend. They settled on sparkling flower appliqué details on the bodice to bring in the event's garden theme, a dainty off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline with draped sleeves to satisfy her beaming mother, and a soft corset to create a ball gown illusion for the flowing, floor-length-skirt. A masterpiece in Patrice's eyes. Especially the hidden thigh-high split she and Imani schemed, plotted, and cried to have included when Rosalyn wasn't listening. 

Hair, makeup, nails, and fragrance were all Patrice thought about for days. She sat with Napheesa on Google for hours, looking for the perfect photos to show their beauty service providers when the time came. Every detail, down to the number of tendrils springing from her bun to add a little Princess Tiana into her Disney fantasy, was carefully crafted to fit the vision she'd had of herself since the 8th grade. 

Terry hadn't dived head-first off the prom prep cliff, but he was close. Marvin couldn't understand why his son was suddenly so hell-bent on switching to the younger barber and his creative cuts until Diedra pulled him aside for a quick update in the Richmond Girl saga. He couldn't have any old fade. He needed something to stop Patrice in her tracks and garner enough praise to fuel him until he was 21. He'd work every weekend until boot camp to pay off that extra $50 plus tip if it meant his haircut was precise. 

A trip to the tailor turned a baggy, hand-me-down wedding tux into something tailored for his brand new, 6'3" frame. Diedra watched with pride in her shining eyes as Terry stood tall and allowed the much smaller shop owner to stand on a step ladder and adjust the jacket's shoulders to Terry's proportions. Take in the waist here, lengthen that hem, get the fit of that cummerbund just right, not too shiny on the shoes or too dark on that blue – he's got a date with the prettiest girl in the world, and he can't get caught lacking. Another $150 withdrawn from his parent's bank account, another step closer to the best night of his short life. 

The final puzzle piece was the paramount matter of transportation. Terry's Explorer had been out of commission since October, both from punishment and mechanical issues. He'd improved his behavior, but the starter was still shot, and any indicator that his dad would fix it went away when Terry chose to sign his life away to the United States.

Terry knew the perfect set of wheels to act as a chariot for his princess. The creamy, off-white Cadillac with less than 40,000 miles and a sick interior parked in their garage would take him from best friend to boyfriend in 15 minutes flat. He just needed the permission. 

Slinking out of his room, Terry coached himself through a pre-planned script as he jogged down the front porch steps to the tall, greying, light-skinned man diligently trimming healthy green hedges per his wife's instructions. 

"Hey, Pop. You need some help?" 

Marvin looked up at his son, confusion sheening his blue-green eyes, and shrugged. "If you wanna, I won't stop you." A man of few words and enough brains in his head to know when his boy was about to ask for something.

Taking his father's half-hearted invitation, Terry slid on a pair of working gloves nearby, grabbed the garden hedge sheers lying in a pile of other tools, and began carefully chopping at his mama's award-winning bushes. 

They worked silently for several long minutes, two tall, slender Richmond men toiling away in the mid-April breeze until Terry mustered up enough courage to make his request known. "Dad, could I…maybe, um…drive your car for prom? Just that one night?" 

"The truck?" Marvin knew the answer but wanted to teach his only son a lesson in the type of directness that made boys into men. 

"No. The Cadillac. Our friends are doing the limo thing, but I want to – I'm just not trying to spend the whole night with them. It's easier if I can put the money for the limo towards dinner and really enjoy myself. With Patrice. Together for probably the last time." 

Marvin listened to his son's appeal without looking away from his task, mulling over the answer he already had in his head. He'd been in young love before and knew all of the fear and excitement from exploring matters of the heart. 

Terry watched his father continue to prune errant branches and leaves from the collection of perfectly green hedges, feeling the pieces of his plan for a magical night blow away in the wind. He'd already begun working through how to get $50 to Corey by the end of the night when Marvin set his shears down and started rifling through his coverall pockets. 

He pulled out a crisp $100 bill, allowed his neutral expression to brighten into a small smile, and extended his hand toward Terrence. "Hold that for dinner." Then he reached into another pocket to pull out a ring of keys to toss in Terry's direction. "And hold these for this evenin'. I gotta see you drive her before I let you off by yourself. You fuck up my Caddy, and you won't make it to Parris Island, Tybee Island, or Island Seafood down the street without a cane because I'm gon' need at least three toes for my car."

"I got it, Dad," Terry laughed. "I promise. I'll have it back a little after 12. Treece got a curfew.” 

"Mhmm. She got your little nose wide open, too. When y'all gon' stop all that playing and do the real thing?" 

Terry hoped he could return to his father triumphant by next Saturday night to proudly proclaim he and Patrice had finally decided to do "the real thing." He spent the whole week counting down the seconds until he could ask for her hand at the dinner table, confess his feelings, earn a big kiss, and walk into the event center as Francis Edwards High School's newest couple. 

Patrice considered the possibility of going from best friend to girlfriend all week but kept her fantasies locked inside her mind for fear of interrupting Napheesa's now 15-minute-long, one-sided conversation. 

The school week's events had long faded into vapors to make way for the dizzying sights and sounds of salon visits, light lunches to keep bellies flat, and gossip-filled chatter of prom preparation. Patrice and Napheesa sat side by side in massage chairs that made their bodies shake and jerk from an overzealous contraption while their feet soaked in bowls of bubbling lukewarm water. Their mothers had dropped them off for coordinated early morning nail appointments they both hoped would fit into 90 minutes. Napheesa had to be on time for her beautician or else she'd spend an extra hour at the hair salon. Patrice didn't have a fancy chair to sit in for her appointment. Still, Ms. Brenda's daughter liked to get off track in her kitchen studio, and she didn't have the time or patience for anyone to ruin her plans. 

Napheesa flipped through color swatches while she multitasked providing updates to her best friend and picking which shade of baby pink would match her dress best. "Corey said his after-party is invite-only, but you know how he gets when he get a crowd. Everybody and they mama gone be over there. You and Terry sure y'all don't wanna ride in the limo with us so you don't have to worry about finding a place to park in his neighborhood? I don't think he'll care about the money at this point." 

"Nope. Terry says he wants it to be just us, and I think he already got his dad to let him use the car." Patrice answered, smiling at the thought of being alone with him in a fancy whip. 

"Okay, then! You didn't tell me about the Cadillac, now! I'm jealous." Napheesa teased. She noticed her friend's bashful smirk and reached over to playfully push her shoulder. "How you feeling about tonight? You nervous? Excited? What?" 

All of that and then some, Patrice thought to herself before answering. "I don't know! I think I'm just ready to see him," she confessed. "We've never been, like, alone alone. What if I say something silly or trip and fall or something? Now the night is ruined, and I gotta come home by 8 o'clock." Patrice sighed and mentally settled on a classic French tip for her nails and feet. "I think it'll be fun. I'm just ready to skip to then."

"The way Terry acts like you're the second coming of Kevin Hart, I'm sure there's nothing silly you could do or say to make him end the night early. He might even fall down with you so you don't feel alone." The young ladies dissolved into laughter at the image of Terry's long, lanky body lowering to the ground just to make Patrice feel better about her blunder. "Just have fun, P. High school is almost over, and if you not with that boy by May, we not talking about his ass when we get on campus." 

Patrice feigned offense. "We'll still be friends! I can't talk about him at all?" 

"Not a peep. We only talking about fine college niggas after graduation. So, lock it down or get ready for orientatioooon." Napheesa's exaggerated body roll turned Patrice's giggling into a full-on cackle loud enough to eclipse the nearby whirring of an electric file. 

Patrice would've laughed herself into a stomach ache if not for the loud ringtone trilling in her purse. Napheesa didn't need to see who was awaiting an answer to their call. The slight smile on her friend's face and starry eyes were answer enough. 

"Hey, TJ," Patrice chirped as two nail techs rolled up to start their service. 

In his bedroom across town, Terry eyed his face in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide which parts of his facial hair to tell his barber to keep. "What's up, Treece. Wait, are you out already?" 

"Yeah. I didn't want to end up late, so me and Phee decided to get our nails done early." Patrice passed greetings between her two best friends before continuing. "What's up with you?"

"I'm on the way to the barbershop in a little bit. I just wanted to tell you I'll be by to pick you up at 5:30 so we can get to dinner on time. The food's gonna suck tonight and I don't want you to be hungry. Think you'll be ready by then?" 

Patrice smiled and softened her voice. "Yeah. I'll be ready." 

"Um…" Terry cut himself short, smiled at the fleeting thought of seeing his Cinderella float toward him in something spectacular, and then picked up his thought again. "I'm excited to see your dress tonight and hang out. I think it's gonna be a good night." 

"Me too. I get to see you in a tie for the first time." 

Terry chuckled. "And this stupid waist thing my mama's making me wear. They're gonna follow me to your place, by the way, so be ready to take pictures for forever." 

"That's okay. You just make sure you don't come over there looking better than me," Patrice joked. A clean-cut, suited and booted Terry could rival Hollywood's finest leading man. She'd put money on that. 

"I could never. You win that battle every time." His compliment settled on Patrice's ears and heart like light snow coating freezing cold lawns in those Hallmark Christmas movies her mom loved so much. Terry smiled at her silence before noting his father's second honk in as many minutes. "See you later, Treece. I gotta get out of here. Love you." 

Patrice looked to Napheesa pretending not to listen to every word of their conversation then tried to lower her voice. "Love you, too. See you later." 

Another velvety smooth goodbye left a young girl with dreams of locking more than arms with her occasionally brooding, often sweet prince swooning in a building full of strangers and her amused best friend. 

"Cute shit, mom and dad." The parents joke had gained traction in the school hallways and grown legs to follow Patrice into the world via a sniggering Naphessa. Patrice looked over at her friend with a sour look and received gut-busting laughter in return. "Damn, y'all sound like my parents." 

"Shut up!" 

-----

Staring at her daughter in the small vanity mirror tucked in the room's back corner, Rosalyn had never seen a more beautiful girl in all her life. The baby she'd spent hours of grueling labor to usher into the world, her first of three pregnancies and two births, had grown into a young woman preparing to enter the world as a free bird spreading its wings for the time. 

Tears gathered in the inner corners of her eyes, threatening to garner a groan and quiet complaints for it was the third time in an hour she'd felt like crying. Leon joked with her the first two times, remarking that Patrice's eventual wedding might send her to the upper room if this was how Rosalyn would act for prom. 

Rosalyn twirled a perfectly spiraled tendril from Patrice's bun around her finger after removing the perm rod giving it shape and smiled. "You're such a pretty girl, P. Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't. Alright?" 

"Yes ma'am," Patrice answered as she looked back at her mother through the mirror. She took careful stock of her appearance, trying to see what in her reflection her mother saw to say such a thing. 

Brown skin, smooth as luxury chocolate and covered in just enough makeup to highlight ancestral high cheekbones and youthful features, complemented shining eyes and mouth full of pearly whites her parents had paid a fortune for in middle school. She was pretty. Beautiful. A stunning amalgamation of her mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother long before she was a twinkle in the universe. 

A larger roller removed from the right side of her forehead unfurled a bouncing bang. Rosalyn kept it in place with a careful mist of spritz. "The next time I get to see you like this, you'll be getting a new last name." Patrice looked away bashfully, trying not to imagine wedding bells and a church full of family watching her walk down the aisle to the one she…loved? Loves. She did love him, she thought. She was sure of that much.

Rosalyn slowly slid the other large roller off Patrice's left side, giving it equal attention to the first. "Have fun tonight, alright. I know you'll be okay with Terry, but I'll tell you anyway: be safe. You know you can call whenever you need us. We'll come get you, no questions asked." 

"I know. I don't think I'll have to call. Terry knows to have me back by midnight, and we don't get into trouble." Partially true. They didn't get into much trouble. Nothing significant or life-changing. Not yet, anyway. 

"I'm not worried about it," Rosalyn said, fixing a small sparkling tiara to the base of Patrice's bun. "So…do you like him? From my vantage point, it seems like you like him, but I could be wrong. What's the scoop?" 

Patrice groaned. "Mamaaa!" An immediate desire to cover up the truth made her body hot with embarrassment. But something in her mother's knowing smile compelled her to come clean. "Yeah. I do. I like him a lot." 

"Ain't no crime in that. It's okay to like a boy. You know your daddy was a boy I liked at one point. We don't expect you not to like anyone. We just want you to be smart. Don't have no babies yet." 

"Maaa!" 

Rosalyn chuckled at Patrice's teenaged disgust and prepared to pour more on for fun's sake when two knocks rapped against the bedroom door before Leon poked his head inside. He took a sweeping look over his only daughter and smiled. "Look at my little girl. They should be putting you in the children's books, huh?" Patrice said thanks with a small, timid smile before Leon dropped off pressing news. "The Richmond boy and his folks are comin' in. Lookin' like it's time to make your entrance." 

"Thank you, Daddy. Can you tell him I'll be out in a little while?" 

Leon accepted his marching orders with a nod and smile, then disappeared to entertain the growing swell of voices filling the living room. 

Smiling, Rosalyn slid the cape shielding Patrice's glittering dress from debris off her daughter's chest and draped it over her arm. "Alright, pretty girl, it's your show now." She leaned down to press her cheek to Patrice's in a warm display of affection. "Knock his socks off, you hear? He's here to see you. Give him a show." 

Give him a show. While Patrice mentally unraveled what that meant, Terry stood in the living room rocking back and forth on his heels and checking his wristwatch for the time. Zorah and Zanah talked on the couch while Junior snuck glances at the two identically beautiful girls and tried to keep the camcorder upright to ensure he didn't get a slap on the back of the head from his mother. Diedra chattered a mile a minute to her husband and good friend, saying something about pictures and keepsakes that Terry didn't care to hear. 

He wanted to see Patrice. Weeks of waiting and dreaming every chance he got to let his mind wander came down to the soft tick, tick, tick of his silver link watch as the minute hand turned 5:29 pm into 5:30 pm—showtime. 

Terry heard a door close down the hall and listened for the footsteps moving in his direction before looking up to see Mrs. Rosalyn appear in the hallway's threshold. She smiled at him first then addressed the room. "She'll be out in a few. Just grabbing a few last things." 

"Oh my Gooood! I can't wait to see her. I know she'll be beautiful!" Diedra clasped her fingers at her chest as if it were her daughter preparing for a grand reveal. "Girls, come over here. I want you to see!" 

Zorah and Zanah moaned and groaned about their conversation being cut short but followed directions anyway to avoid what existed on the other side of disobedience. Junior tracked both girls with his eyes until a nervously rocking Terry cut off his sightline. He looked up at the young man confused. 

"Why you shakin' like that, Terry," he asked, genuinely unable to fathom why the boy might be nervous. "You seen Patrice a million times." 

But not like this. He'd seen her in sweats and a T-shirt or dressed up for school, but not like this. That fact became abundantly clear as her high heels tapped across the hardwood floor, stepping closer to reveal a modern marvel amongst mere pretenders. Whatever he'd dreamed up in the back of classrooms or while tucked in his bedroom at night paled compared to what stood before him. 

Shock. Awe. Amazement. Diedra squealed as if the Queen had walked into the room. His twin sisters whistled and gave praise like only pre-teen girls could. Even Junior had to nod in approval to give credit where credit was due. 

Terry could only see Patrice in all the noise. The way her dress shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the glass storm door at the front of the house. How her makeup made her look like a movie star in her greatest role to date. Heels helped her legs stand out from the hint of split peeking back at him. Her hair was beautiful, her nails were beautiful, her lips, shoulders, and eyes were beautiful – Patrice was beautiful.

Terry's hand was out beckoning for her hand before he knew what he was doing. "Wow," he breathed out as he gently pulled her closer. He had to will away the urge to know if the gloss coating her lipstick-covered pout had a flavor to say something coherent. "You look…wow." 

"You look like Cinderella! It's so cool!" Zanah said the most consecutive words she had spoken in ages at that moment, stunning Marvin. 

"Shoot, you really are something! You even got the mean one to talk!" 

All in the room laughed, leaving Terry and Patrice to admire each other openly. Patrice straightened the lapel of Terry's tux jacket, then moved on to his bowtie just to have a reason for stepping close enough to smell his cologne. 

He looked down at her, peering through thick lashes, and watched her go to work with a smile. Seeing her nervousness comforted him. They could figure things out together.

Patrice smoothed her hands over his shoulders and finally looked up to smile at Terry. "You look really handsome, TJ. Mean it." 

"You too." Terry immediately recognized his tongue-tied mistake and rushed to correct course. "I meant you look pretty. Beautiful! I'm sorry. You ready to get out of here?" 

They were more than ready. As they stood in front of the Ellis residence, pinning boutonnieres, sliding corsages on dainty wrists, and posing for more photos than they could count, all Patrice and Terry could think about was sliding into the front seat of their chariot for the evening and rolling off toward the sunset. They got their chance 40-odd grueling minutes later once their parents had done all their doting and laid down the rules. 

The first stop was dinner. Somehow, good fortune pushed Terry to pick the one Italian restaurant no other prom attendee in the city thought to cram into with their large parties clad in fluffy gowns and starched suits. That foresight got them a free dinner from a lovely Black couple enjoying a Saturday date night. 

His foresight also saved them from the disaster of a dinner at the venue once they'd wrapped up their make-believe date night and joined their friends for the last formal night of their high school lives. Luckily, the thrill of dancing and taking Facebook photos on a handheld digital camera removed the need to eat anything life-sustaining.

Together, they sang in each other's faces like maniacs, moved about the dance floor until their feet hurt, and forgot all the cares and problems of tomorrow. The only break came when the Prom King and Queen were announced after dinner service began. 

Terry and Patrice watched Corey accept his title like proud parents, recording him on their cell phones while hollering their support from across the room with the rest of the crew. All the work they'd collectively put into his campaign made his triumph feel like a win for the table, not counting Corey's angry date. She stormed off into the hallway moments after an innocent dance between the royal couple went from an innocent sway to Corey reveling in the attention of a young lady with at least six inches of height over him. 

The DJ for the night quickly cut "Slow Jam" by Usher and Monica off at a faculty advisor's request once Corey got a little overzealous and transitioned into Chris Brown's "Winner" to invite all who were willing to sway in each other's arms to the dancefloor. 

Patrice sat in her chair, watching couples slowly float to the dancefloor. She smiled at nothing in particular and bopped her head to the familiar song. Terry watched her like a hawk, suspended between being mesmerized and the pressure of knowing his time was quickly running out. 

Nerves at dinner convinced him to stay mum about his feelings and enjoy Patrice's fun facts about focaccia instead. When he rested his hand on her fingers in the car, and she didn't pull away, he thought about pulling over for his rehearsed speech, but they were already behind schedule. Part of him wanted to whisper how much he loved her into her ear as she pressed her back to his front for official photos. He let the feeling pass, though. 

Now, with the center of the dancefloor free for the taking and the time left before his princess needed to be returned to her home dwindling, he took a deep breath and scooched closer to her. 

Baby, you're a winner

Didn't even take you twelve rounds to do it

You got the title now

I'mma tell the whole world 

To give it up for my girl

"You wanna dance?" Terry meant for the question to sound more confident and less like a creep whispering into his date's ear. So, he scooched even closer, slid his hand around her waist, and tried again. "I'd really love to dance with you. Please." 

Patrice turned in her seat to look back at Terry's eyes pleading for the chance to take her out on the floor and felt goosebumps spring up on her forearms. How could she say no to such a perfectly handsome face? She wouldn't if given the chance. "I'm following your lead." 

Hand in hand, Terry and Patrice sauntered out into the center of an empty dancefloor, receiving applause and encouragement from people and friends who had caught wind of something special unfolding before them. They ignored the ruckus as best they could while arranging limbs around necks and waists. 

If he were being honest with his mind and body, Terry wanted Patrice closer than what school officials would deem appropriate for a sanctioned event. Having his fingers gently grip her sides while they swayed too slow for the music felt like torture, but he persisted for the sake of the moment. He'd have his chances one day soon. 

Patrice hoped Terry couldn't feel the wild thump of her pulse against her wrist as they draped near the nape of his neck. Being so close to him, smelling the residual mint of his gum mixed with whatever heavenly fragrance he'd borrowed from his father was enough to send her body into overdrive. So this was what attraction felt like? This was what all the Ebony and Cosmo articles meant when they discussed the scientific responses of women to men and vice versa. This was infatuation, unshakeable physical longing, and…love? Separately, they were manageable symptoms curable by time away and deep breaths. Together, in the confines of the small square they'd created with sync movements, they were too much and threatening to spill over into utterances she wasn't sure she was ready to release. 

Terry dragging his thumbs up and down along Patrice's waist snapped her out of a deluge of competing thoughts, forcing her to look up at him. He smiled. "What you thinkin' about?" 

"How bad a dancer I am," she joked, allowing self-deprecation to be her scapegoat for the nerves bubbling inside. 

"It's not you," he chuckled. "I wasn't really listening to how fast this song is. I just wanted to get you away from everybody else so we could talk." 

Patrice tilted her head in curiosity. "About what?" 

A quick scan of the immediate area to confirm there were no eavesdroppers or class gossipers helped Terry gather his thoughts. He had plans for something grand, something unforgettable for the rest of their lives. But when he looked back down at her brown eyes, waiting for his next move, he could only confess, "Patrice, I love you." 

"I love you, too, Terrence." 

For a split second, through the strobing neon lights creating shadows on their faces and hiding actual reactions, Terry thought he could see a flash of connection in Patrice's eyes – a hint of unspoken confirmation that what he'd shared was received in full without explanation. 

Patrice hoped he understood the added "I" or the addition of his entire first name to mean what she was too afraid to vocalize beyond a few simple words. 

They had more to say and share to ease the weight on their heavy hearts and minds. Things too sacred for the dancefloor, back at the table with their friends, or in the parking lot as everyone loosened their ties, switched out their shoes, and planned to reconvene for the party of the century. So, they left their I Love You's with Chris Brown and darted into the night for sweet treats separate from the group. 

Underneath real stars in a dark blue sky, they rambled on, recapping highlights over two cups of fresh churned Oreo ice cream, trying hard not to leave the evidence behind on his father's interior. 

"Corey lucky he around all them people, or Jasmine would've kicked his ass," Patrice laughed. "Oh, and did you see Chris and Diamond leave together. I knew they had something going on!" 

Terry chewed through a chunk of Oreo and shrugged. "People could say the same about us. Shit, people do say the same about us." 

"Yeah, but…this is different. We're friends. Right?" 

"We are right now, but…I don't know if I want to stay that way." Growing serious, Terry placed his half-empty cup of ice cream in the cup holder and turned in the driver's seat to face Patrice. He reached for her hand, and, for the second time that night, she didn't pull away. He took it as his sign to proceed. "I meant what I said back there. I love you. As more than my friend." 

Patrice nodded, understanding, and tried to wish away the tears pricking her eyes as she smiled. "I know. I did, too. I…I love you." 

That spark, the small burst of magic that had fought for centerstage all day, was back and bursting into fireworks above them, daring someone to make a move. Terry took the bait and brought Patrice's knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. She watched him close his eyes to savor the feeling of her skin on his mouth, thinking of all the ways she'd explain this to Napheesa when they had a moment to debrief. 

"I want to be your boyfriend. You know, if… that's cool with you." He chickened out in the end, but the sentiment remained the same. He wanted more than one-armed hugs and childish giggles with Patrice. He wanted a real relationship. As real as it could get for two people at the precipice of adulthood. 

Patrice sucked in a deep breath, unsure of how to force an answer through a throat tightening by the second. All she could mutter was a quiet "TJ…" 

"It's okay," he smiled. Breaching the center console between them, he leaned to kiss her cheek. Patrice's eyes fluttered closed and reopened in enough time to catch Terry returning to the driver's side, preparing to start the engine. "Just think about it, okay?"

Patrice thought about dating and a wedding, Terry's fingers threaded between hers, his thumb softly caressing her knuckles, the butterflies in her belly, and what it meant to be in love as he drove them through familiar streets. It was all she could think about. It was all she wanted to think about. 

Thoughts of finally letting go battled with the fear of what the end may look like and stuck with Patrice as they walked into Corey's "quiet" house party. Neither of them would ever understand how he could convince his parents to allow teenagers around the county to dance, scream, and be merry in their two-story home, but they didn't complain. 

Corey was the first to point out their joint arrival and holdholding, only to be shooed away to spread the news amongst the others. 

"Phee is in one of the rooms changing, I think. Or fucking with Nate. I don't know what's going on, bro, I'm not gon' lie to you." 

Terry shook his head at his friend's antics, then turned to Patrice. "You want a drink or something? Water?" 

"Water would be nice," she answered through a broad smile that Terry mirrored. "Can you grab a straw, too? I don't want to mess up my lip gloss." 

"Cool. I'll find you." 

Only God could pry their hands apart and send Terry on a mission for cold water and straw in a house where he could barely move without bumping into someone. Patrice watched him disappear around a corner before dashing down a hallway for sound counsel. 

She opened doors to coat closets, bathrooms, and bedrooms, which were occasionally filled with people sneaking sips of alcohol, but they came up empty. Panic settled into her bones as she frantically asked for Napheesa until some generous partygoer pointed her toward the family sunroom. 

There, she found Napheesa sipping something in a red cup and massaging her aching feet like a mother who'd had a long day at work. When she saw Patrice barrel through the threshold, her face brightened. "P! I was -" 

"Terry told me he loved me!" 

Napheesa choked on air as her eyes bugged out of her head. "What! Wait, wait, wait. Start from the top!" 

"We were dancing, and he said he loved me; I said it back because, like, I do love him, right! We say that all the time! You hear it! But then he said it again while we were eating ice cream and asked me to be his girlfriend! Well, really, he asked to be my boyfriend, which is like, somehow more romantic than the other way around, and Napheesa, I don't know what to do! What do I do?" 

Patrice spoke a mile a minute, not stopping for breaths or input until she'd unloaded her full stream of consciousness, like word vomit, all over the floor. Napheesa stared blankly and answered matter-of-factly. 

"Just say it back." Plain and without flowery language, she offered sage advice. "Say it back. You just said you love him. So, say it back to him. Why are you making this hard? Do you love him?" 

"Of course I do!" 

Napheesa laughed in confusion. "So say it back, crazy girl! Go ahead. Do it." 

"Okay. Alright," Patrice started. "I love Terry. I love him. I love Terrence Richmond. There. I said it." She listened to the words return to her and tried them out again. "I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry!" 

"See how easy that was? You really need to see somebody about all that worrying, girl. Want me to ask my mama who she goes to?" 

Patrice sighed and chuckled away her nerves. "No. I just-" 

When Napheesa's eyes flickered up to the sunroom entrance and stayed, Patrice turned around to find Terry caught like a deer in headlights with two cups and a straw in his hand. 

"They didn't have bottles, so I just put some ice water in these cups," he announced. "Am I interrupting girl talk? I can come back." 

"Nope. I was actually on my way to find Nate and get some water." Napheese looked back at Patrice, winked her encouragement, and then stood to brush past Terry and back into the action. She pulled one cup out of his hand on her way out. "Thanks for the water. See y'all later?" 

One cup down and thoroughly annoyed, Terry stepped into the sunroom and took Napheesa's previous spot opposite Patrice. He extended the cup and straw in her direction. "Here. This one's for you. Don't tell Corey I went through his mama's kitchen drawers." 

"Your secret's safe with me." 

Terry smiled as Patrice mimed a lock motion over her lips. She never dropped her smile or sipped from her cup, striking him as odd. "You okay?" he laughed. "Why you smiling so hard? Did Napheesa say something about me?" 

She shook her head no but answered, "Yes!" 

"Yes, what?" Terry questioned, confusion knitting his brows together. 

Patrice placed her cup on the ground and grabbed both his hands, threading their fingers together like he did in the car. He gripped them tighter, looking into her eyes like they held all the answers. 

"Yes, you can be my boyfriend. Because…I really, really want to be your girlfriend. You know…if that's cool with you." 

Shock kept Terry glued to his seat, disconnecting his body from a mind turning somersaults in triumph. Patrice watched in amusement as his eyes darted across her face before he shot up and pulled her along for the ride. 

They'd hugged each other plenty of times – to say goodbye and hello, for comfort when the other was feeling down, to be close for no reason at all – but they'd never embraced as more than friends. Patrice had never experienced how good it felt to be fully wrapped in his arm and pressed into a heart beating with love for her. Terry didn't know how having Patrice wrap herself around him would trigger a desire to shower her in never-ending affection. 

Terry tried the feeling on for size, pulling away to kiss her cheek and then her forehead. "I love you." If given the chance, he could say it a million more times. 

"I love you, too." Easy enough. Practice would make perfect, and Patrice was ready to put in the work. 

An unseen force, the same magnetism from their shared Christmas joy in Patrice's bedroom months ago, pulled them closer for another go at a kiss they'd been putting off for far too long. 

Eyes blinked closed. Tongues ran across lips to moisten them for an eventual meeting. Hands tried to wander south and close the gap between their hips. All their pining and preparation had come down to one mo- 

"Hell yeah, P! Kiss your man!" 

"Terry! Terry! Terry!" 

"I knew it! They almost kissed on the dancefloor, too!"

Thwarted again. A small crowd of familiar faces had gathered at the threshold, excited to see their favorite pair finally go the distance. Embarrassed, Patrice hid her face inside Terry's suit jacket, and he wrapped his arms around her as an act of protection. 

Laughing, he tried to shoo the onlookers away. "Man, get out of here! Y'all ain't ever heard of privacy?" 

"Nigga, this my house! Ain't no privacy," Corey laughed. "Go ahead and kiss. This everybody moment! We been waiting forever!" 

The small group agreed, but Patrice wasn't interested in the spectacle. She pulled away from Terry, slid her hand in his, and began leading them out of the room. "And you'll wait some more. This ain't a damn zoo! I thought we were here to have fun!" 

They were. And they did. Disappointment quickly faded, making room for more singing, dancing, and aching feet into the late hours of the night. 

Patrice had long ditched her heels for flats, extending the life of her party animal personal until a quick glance at a perfectly positioned wall clock indicated a quarter til midnight. She roughly pried Terry's drifting hands, trying to pull her backside closer to his front from her waist, and hurried him back to the car in hopes he could make up the distance with some expert driving. 

Both of them prayed all patrol units were busy elsewhere as Terry guided them down empty streets and quiet neighborhood rows to return Rosalyn and Leon's precious cargo by midnight. Terry pulled into Patrice's driveway, cutting time dangerously close, opened the passenger door in a flash, and hurried her to the front door like the Secret Service escorting the president. 

He watched Patrice shuffle through her purse for the housekey, wondering if now was a good time to return to that kiss. "Patrice, can I -" 

"Found it! I really need to put this on a ring." She looked up at Terry and smiled. "I'm sorry, what were you gonna say?" 

Terry shook his head free of previous plans and settled for a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Treece. I'll text you when I'm home." 

"Good night, TJ." Patrice looked at the light turn on in the living room through the glass panels on the front door, then back at Terry. "I love you." 

"I love you, too. Go ahead. Don't get in trouble." 

A blown kiss and one more wave sent Patrice back into her humble abode and Terry to his horse and carriage for the night. As he backed out of the driveway, looking both ways for traffic that would never come, he noticed the heel of forgotten shoes in his back seat. 

Terry smiled to himself, recalling the story of the dazzling beauty and her lost slipper. Luckily, he didn't have to scour the city looking for the beautiful belle of the ball that stole his heart. He knew where to his Cinderella.

------

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[heartz-for-de]

sunshine!reader and grumpy katsuki throughout the academy... i need headcanons or a oneshot pls

Love this sm! I feel like there’s so many different variants of y/n and I love experimenting with them all:))) just a quick little ramble abt these two!!

Requests: open!

Sunshine!reader X grumpy! Katsuki

•Contrary to popular belief, katsuki was not always nice to you. It took months for him to even crack a HALF smile at one of your compliments. I feel like at the beginning he’d find you annoying, like why tf this bitch always smiling… but I think that eventually that annoyance would turn into endearment.

—“hey bakugo!!” You greeted him with a sweet smile. Sickeningly sweet, he thought.

“What do you want?” He grumbled, giving You a quick scoff to truly convey his dismay that he held .

“Well, me and Mina are going out for ice cream with Kiri, and I was wondering if you’d like to join? It’s totally okay if not though!” You reassured. He stared at you with a hard glare. Why were you so nice to him when he treated you with nothing but harsh words. He felt a weird tenseness in his chest as he grumbled out a short ‘fuck off’.

•once the two of you become friends, every body who has eyes can see the difference in the way he treats you compared to his regular friends.

- “Oh my gosh, yall took so many notes while I was gone! I think aizawa has it out for me.” You pouted slightly when the group had described you the work for the day.

“Tch, jus’ borrow my notes and copy ‘em.” Katsuki had mumbled out without a second thought.

“The fuck?!— last time I asked you for notes you blew up my journal.” Sero let out a salty huff, watching as you thanked Katsuki for his kind offer.

•I think he was in denial for awhile, like all he gaf about for the longest time was being the best and bettering himself. So when he gets to know you, and suddenly you’re infiltrating all of his thoughts 24/7? Oh he’s so pissed.

•Kirishima lowk crashed out on him a couple time just because he wanted him to confess so bad.

-“Maybe just tell her how you feel? That would simplify this a shit ton, bro.” Kirishima sighed.

“Simplify? The fuck it would— you give terrible advice, shitty hair.” katsuki responded shorty.

“I’m about to tweak out, what the hell else would you do? Hope she’ll telepathically understand your half asses ‘affection’?”

•you weren’t oblivious to his behavior either, you had the teeniest inkling that he felt a certain type of way about you, but you were too scared to take the leap of faith and ask.

•once he finally does get the balls to admit he is smitten, he’s like a big mean guard dog. Which you thought was hilarious because it’s not like you couldn’t handle yourself, you were training to be a hero aswell. But nonetheless you welcomed his behavior.

•Grumpy! Katsuki was a toucher. His hands always found there way somewhere on you, whether the two of you were alone or not. In a lecture? Hand on you thigh. In the common room? You’re sitting in his lap. Literally fucking anywhere? His hands resting on your waist and lower back. It was comforting for him, sort of like a reminder that you were safe and next to him.

•He doesn’t understand how you never seem to get angry, even when someone had done you wrong. You sat with a smile and reassured them, telling whatever asshole it was that it would all be okay. That pretty smile he loved sitting on your face like someone hadn’t just been a dick in your face. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

•as we know, grumpy!Katsuki has a nasty mouth. Every sentence was littered with a few harsh words here and there. I think it would be hilarious if one time he was cussing out somebody—over something minimal obvi— and you just sit there your eyebrows furrowed while you tell him to please not yell so loud. AND HE LISTENED. the room was stunned.

“Shut the FUCK up, stupid bitch.”

“Katsuki, please don’t yell, that was right in my ear!” You whined slightly.

He looked down at you.

“M’sorry, was jus’ tryna tell this fucker off.” He side eyed denki.

•you praise him all the time and he cannot take it, like wdym you’re fawning over him for doing the bare minimum??? And why does he live for your little compliemnts???

-“Thank you so much for the flowers kats!” You thanked the blonde boy with a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t gotta thank me, jus’ felt like getting you some.”

“You’re like the best boyfriend ever, Katsuki. I might just burst from how sweet you are, baby!”

You didn’t miss the way the tips of his ears heated up at the praise…

•He doesn’t like change but you entering his life changed a lot, and he doesn’t seem to complain much about that.

———

Hope these were okay!!!! Again sorry for grammatical errors I am so ass at proof reading;)

[grapejuice32]

Fight For Us : Part 2

Fight for us series here reader x undecided

warnings: brief mention of a toxic family

In which you and Rafe have been together for years until one day you catch him cheating on you. He begs you not to leave him and so you tell him that he needs to fight for you and your relationship. Upon leaving him you have nowhere to stay but with The Pogues, their lifestyle shows you what your life can be and it leads you realise that maybe you don't love Rafe the way you used to anymore, prompting you to wonder if he's even worth forgiving.

The solitude of your hotel room was meant to do you good, was meant to give you time to think and process what had happened between you and Rafe, to help you come to terms with what he had done with you. You had expected to feel some sort of clarity or to have some peace of mind, but all you felt was lost. The love of your life, had been cheating on you for four months, with another woman, a beautiful one at that. He could breathe with her, that's what he said, that you were too stressful, that the relation ship was a lot of work. But what if that wasn't his only reason, what if he had grown bored of you, what if he didn't find you as attractive as he used to? But he still wanted you, he told you he still loved you, that he didn't want to lose you. But what if he was trying to spare your feelings? What if you weren't good enough for him anymore?

The few days alone had pushed you into a further state of distress than you had originally been in, and usually you'd go to Rafe to find solace in him, but you knew that would only throw you into a deeper sense of duress. Most of your friends were Rafe's friends, Topper always had your back, but it didn't feel like you could go to him for this, not when he was probably busy trying to reel Rafe in and get him somewhat back on track. You hadn't expected to feel so isolated, you weren't sure where to go, you couldn't really even go home, your relationship with your family was an odd one and was admittedly rather toxic, it wasn't an environment you wanted to voluntarily throw throw yourself back into. It left you with only one group on your mind, you had friends in The Pogues, or in Sarah and Pope, at least. The others were too busy judging you for your choices in a boyfriend, not that you could blame them, especially not now.

That was how you found yourself walking up the drive to their surf shop upon returning from the mainland, your small bag thrown over your shoulder, carrying only the that you'd picked up. You tentatively entered the shop, pleased to find Sarah stood at the counter, her face lighting up but carrying an equally confused look upon seeing you approach, your eyes slightly swollen from the years you'd shed over the past few days. "Hi," your voice was soft, and smaller than Sarah thought she'd ever heard it, she gave you a kind and sympathetic smile, news travelled fast in the Outer Banks, "do you um, do you maybe have somewhere for me to stay?"

"Oh my god, yeah of course," she instantly nodded, "I'll have to go and talk to the others about it and check, but I'll make it work. Just, just wait here, okay?"

She was quick to leave the surf shop, leaving you leaning on against the counter as you took in the contents of the shop, you weren't sure how long you were waiting there before Sarah came back, but when she did, it was with a smile on her face, "Yeah, you're welcome to stay. You'll have to take the couch though, we haven't got anything else."

Despite any negative feelings that The Pogues may or may not have held towards you, they welcomed you with open arms. The next few of days introduced to a new way of living, it was so laid back and yet everyday felt full and well spent, whether you'd been surfing at the beach, manning the surf or bait shop, or just relaxing while smoking and drinking beers, you'd never felt more fulfilled. But you couldn't deny that you missed Rafe, it was a week after you'd started staying at 'Poguelandia' as the house had been named, that you were all sat around a bonfire and the topic of what happened between you and Rafe got brought up. You had only sighed and stared into the fire, "I still love him, I know it's stupid, but I do. And it's not over between us, just, we're just taking time apart, to work things out, you know?"

From the corner of you eye you could see the looks they all sent to each other at your words, it was Kie who spoke up first, "Has he even tried to contact you since you left?" You bit your lip and remained silent for a moment, because honestly, yes he had, well for the first day and a half anyway, the messages had all consisted of things like, 'baby, please, I'm sorry' or 'come back and we can work this out'. But after a couple of days he just...gave up, well the was until an hour or so ago when he messaged you again, it had read, 'Seriously, you're a Pogue now? You're being childish, come see me so we can work this out like adults.' The news about where you were staying had obviously spread, so in response to Kie, you just shook your head, "Not really."

For a while after that, it was just the sound of the burning wood crackling before you began speaking, sill not lifting your head to meet any of their eyes, "I knew something was up, but I just, I thought it was stress or that he just wanted some space, we had only been living together for a few months before he started acting weird. I just thought maybe he wanted more time to hand out with other people, I didn't think that-" you cut yourself off with a sigh, "but then the way he was acting started to affect everything, even down to, you know. That's when I started catching on, that maybe there was someone else, but I di-I didn't think he'd be having an affair." You paused again to take a sip from your beer, "But now, now I can't help but wonder if there were others, before her."

"Maybe you should talk to him, or like, one of his friends?" Sarah, suggested and you nodded, glancing up at her and taking in the pitiful look in her eyes. So you pulled out your phone and messaged Topper, he was quick to respond, as he always was.

You : who is she?

T : her name's Sofia, she works at the bar at the club.

You : did you know about them?

T : no, I'd have told you if I did.

You : have there been others?

T : I don't know, you'll have to ask him.

You : thanks, T.

So you took his advice and messaged Rafe, asking him to meet you for lunch tomorrow, to which he agreed quickly, telling you to meet him at the club at 12. It wasn't long after that, that you all started clearing off to bed, Sarah and John B the first to go, their hands all over each other. You were the last to go, following shortly after JJ. It took you a while to sleep, tossing and turning on the couch as your stomach clenched with nerves for seeing Rafe the following day. After an hour of sleeplessness you groaned and walked into the kitchen to get a drink, huffing when you looked at the time on your phone, it read 2:24am. "Can't sleep?" came JJ's voice all of a sudden, taking you completely off guard and causing you to nearly drop your glass.

"No, you?" You turned to face him, taking in his appearance, tousled hair and only in boxers. "Nah," he shook his head, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed against his chest, "thought you'd be asleep by now though, you looked tired earlier. Something on your mind?"

"Um," you cleared your throat, copying his movements and crossing your arms over your own chest, conscious of the fact that you were wearing no bra under your shirt, "I'm meeting Rafe for lunch, and I just, I'm just anxious about it is all."

You watched him nod, the moon shining through the window highlighting his jawline, "Yeah, well he's an asshole so, if it goes south give a call, aight? One of us will come and get you."

His gaze on you was gentle, and you smiled, "Thanks, it means a lot." But he shook his head in dismissal, "Don't mention it," he pushed off of the counter and started to leave the kitchen to head back upstairs, "try and get some sleep."

You finished your water, leaving the glass beside the sink as you heard his steps retreat, silently you made your way back to the couch and rubbed your hands over your face, able to fall asleep now with nothing but the kindness of the group who'd welcomed you with open arms on your mind.

part 3

Taglist: @maybankslover @pillowprincess4him @syraxnyra @sereneera @ietss

[loveharlow]

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ BURN (NOTHING BREAKS LIKE A HEART)

JJ Maybank x Fem!Carrera!Reader [ more jj content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC‧₊˚ [2.9k] Six months after the wedding that broke your heart, the one thing you needed to never happen...happened, and you don't know whether you should feel guilty or grateful.

WARNING(S) & A/N ‧₊˚ part 2 to satisfied, based on first burn (not burn, but it still works) from the hamilton musical but i'd recommend listening to nothing breaks like heart by miley or reflections by the nbhd, swearing, emotional infidelity, deception, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, sibling discourse

THE MAYBANK HOME WAS WARM, a stark contrast to the biting February wind howling outside. You and your friends were gathered in the living room of Kiara and JJ's somewhat newlywed house, a rare night of relative peace. John B was strumming a guitar on the loveseat as Pope and Cleo made more hot chocolate in the kitchen while Sarah attempted to teach JJ a card game at the kitchen island. 

“I’m so glad you could make it.” Kiara smiled at you from her place on the couch, next to you. The group of you were wearing matching pajamas, embracing the approaching winter spirit. “I was so upset when mom told me you were moving to the Mainland. I knew you'd been thinking about it but...I don't know, I thought I’d never see you again.” She pouted, a mug of marshmallow-flooded hot chocolate clasped between both of her hands.

You scoffed, shaking your head and unwrapping a piece of chocolate. “Oh, please. I’ll always come to visit.” You assured, shrugging and tossing the sweet candy into your mouth, pushing it against the inside of your cheek so you could speak. “I just…I don’t know, I think I just need to be somewhere else for a bit. You know? Change in scenery...” You said, peering at your sister through your eyelashes. 

The truth wasn’t that you needed to be away necessarily, you just couldn’t stay here. Staying in Kildare, driving by Kiara and JJ’s house everyday on your way to work or catching them at the local grocery store was starting to wear on your heart. It was starting to become too much. 

Every day you wondered if your decisions and the predicament they landed you in made you a better or worse person. An amazing or terrible sister. Or maybe it was something in between, you didn’t know.

“No, I get it. I mean, I get it now.” She corrected, sipping her beverage. “I was just hoping you’d live down the street from me forever. When JJ and I have kids, I wanted to be able to drive five minutes down the road and drop them off to you without warning.” She joked with a bright smile and a light laugh, one which you struggled to match. Her words were like a shot to your gut. They physically hurt. Hearing them, picturing them…

It’d been almost six months since you stood up in front of a crowd and lied to their faces. Six months since you lost complete control of yourself outside of that reception tent, finally telling the truth to JJ when it was all too late.

Swallowing your pride, you spoke. “How’s that going by the way? You and JJ? Enjoying the married life?” You hated yourself for asking.

“Umm..” Kiara stalled, tucking her curls behind her ear and staring down at her lap. “It’s different.” She said, cringing to herself. “I’m happy, I am.” She assured, eyes going wide at the thought of you potentially taking her hesitation the wrong way as she glanced at the blonde across the living room. “But..he just always seems like he’s somewhere else. Like he’s here, but I don’t feel like he’s here with me, you know?” She said, voice dropping almost to a whisper. “I asked mom about it and she said to give it time but…Y/N, it’s been six months and nothing’s changed. He’s the best. He takes care of me and tells me everything I want to hear but...something is just off. I can feel it.”

You just nodded at your sister’s words, briefly glancing at the blonde as he spoke enthusiastically with Sarah. There was nothing you could tell her, that wouldn’t be a lie anyway, to ease her worries. Just as slowly as your resolve was crumbling, you wondered if JJ’s was doing the same.

“...But, that’s marriage, I guess.” Kiara gained your attention once again, her lips drawn into a thin line as she took a long sip from her decorative mug. “I’ll just keep trying to get through to him.”

“I mean, it is JJ you’re married to.” You said softly, setting a hand on her knee. “He usually needs more time than most people do for most things.” You smiled pitifully. 

“You have a point.” Kiara agreed, dismissing the argument as her eyes found the christmas cards on the living room table. “Oh! We have to sign the Christmas cards for mom and dad.” She remembered, standing from the sofa and setting her mug down. “She hasn’t let us live down forgetting last year.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes and nodding in agreement. “I think there’s some pens in JJ’s office. He always asks me not to touch anything in there but he’ll live.” She rolled her brown eyes, pursuing her lips. “I’ll be right back.” She excused herself, skipping down the hall of their home to enter her husband’s office. 

You made idle conversation with John B, who was seated on the loveseat across from you as you waited for Kiara to return. As time passed and still no sign of her, you got up and approached the four people in the kitchen, walking into the middle of Cleo and Pope bickering.

“No one likes peppermint hot chocolate, man!” Cleo protested, a look of disgust on her features. “That’s crazy.”

Pope smiled at her repulsion, dropping a candy cane into his mug. “What’s crazy is the amount of whipped cream on top of yours.” He pointed, sipping his beverage. “Would you like some hot chocolate with that-ouch!”

“Shut up.” Cleo mumbled, lightly swatting Pope’s arm. You laughed at their antics, turning at the sound of Sarah calling your name.

“Hm?” You answered, raising your eyebrows, trying to ignore JJ’s burning gaze from his place next to Sarah.

“Where’d your sister go? She was begging us to start Secret Santa and now she’s nowhere to be found.” She sassed playfully.

“Hey, don’t blame me for her attention span.” You threw a hand up in mock surrender. “She’s getting some pens from the office for us to sign our parent’s cards-”

“What?” JJ interrupted, you looking to him just in time to see his shoulders go square, face flushing red.

“...She went into your office to-” You started more slowly, not understanding his sudden terror before he was moving like a man gone mad — pushing his barstool out from underneath the counter so fast it screeched, almost tipping over as he rounded the island.

“Hey! What is wrong with you?” Sarah protested, half of the cards from the game they were playing being knocked on the floor just as Kie emerged from down the hall, stopping JJ in his tracks — the blonde looking disheveled as they stood in front of one another.

Kiara stood silent. In her hands were what looked to be a handful of envelopes, suffocated in her fist as she looked at JJ like he was the devil himself. JJ’s eyes fleeted between Kiara’s face and the papers in her hands, suddenly coming to a realization. The rest of you went silent, wondering what was happening.

“...Guys?” Pope spoke up, breaking the tense silence that entered the room out of nowhere as John B entered the kitchen from where he was secluded in the living room. “What’s goin’ on?”

Kiara’s solemn gaze slowly scanned the room until her sad, brown eyes landed on you in the middle of the kitchen, holding up the papers in her hand.

“Did you know about this?” She hissed, eyes squinting in your direction.

Your eyebrows pinched in on themselves slightly, eyes darting around to all of the other people in the room before speaking, suddenly feeling anxious and confused as you hugged yourself. “Did I know about what?”

“These letters.” She snapped, feet carrying her swiftly to you as your friends crowded in between the two of you, sound of protests from them not knowing exactly what was happening still. “The letters in my fucking hand-!”

“She didn’t know, Kie.” JJ spoke from where he hadn’t moved an inch, a hand in his hair and the most forlorn look on his face you’d ever seen. 

“Bullshit.” Kiara spat, turning around to face him and unballing the papers in her hand. “They’re written to her-”

“I never sent any of them.” He asserted, his annoyance growing with no one but himself. The rest of you stood watching, wanting to know what Kiara was seething about but not wanting to get in the middle of whatever this was. “Okay? She didn’t know….” JJ trailed off, his blue eyes drifting over everyone else in the room to look at you. His eyes were glossed over, sending you a pleading gaze. He looked sorry. But for what?

The kitchen suddenly felt suffocating. The warmth of the house, once comforting, now felt overwhelming. The lightheartedly, familial setting of the evening had evaporated. 

“Kie,” Sarah started, approaching her friend and putting a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Kiara asked as if the question burned her, stepping away from Sarah’s touch. “What’s wrong is I just found a stack of love letters-”

“Kiara...” JJ tried, dragging his hands down his face.

“Written from JJ to my fucking sister.” She ignored him.

You were fairly certain your heart dropped at her words. This was the first you’d heard of these letters. How could letters be written to you that you'd never received? More importantly, why did Kiara of all people have to be the one to find them?

Clutched in her grasp were letters that detailed JJ’s love for a woman other than herself. Letters that outlined his love, a love so profound, for not only another woman, but a woman she’d grown up with. A woman she shared a life, a home, a family with — her own sister. He’d wrote of your laugh, your smile, your spirit, the life he’d dreamed of with you. The same life Kiara had dreamed of with him. He wrote of his feelings for you, feelings that, to him, were inevitable and irrefutable. Eternal. Unwavering. She didn’t even know he knew half of the words scribbled on the pages she’d read.

But the most damning revelation was the reason for their marriage, outlined in a letter written only a month after their marriage. In a particularly heart-wrenching passage, JJ confessed that he'd married Kiara only because you, in your ‘selfless desire’ to protect your sister. JJ, trapped between his love for you and his loyalty to your wishes, had made a choice. A choice that now lay exposed in Kiara's trembling hands.

"They were hidden in a drawer in his office." Kiara said, her voice trembling as tears fell.

An even more suffocating silence filled the room. The air crackled with awkwardness and anxiousness but Kiara noticed the lack of…disbelief. The lack of shock. She reeled back at the lack of reaction and anger that matched her own, looking at everyone single person in the room. “Why do none of you looked surprised?” She snapped, throwing her hands out as you all glanced at each other, lowering your heads and letting out sighs. Your reactions almost as if… 

“You knew.” Kiara scoffed, letting her shoulders fall.

“Kie…” You tried, taking one step forward, but she ignored you, turning away and talking to the wall. 

“You all fucking knew.” She hissed, turning back around and serving the group of you the meanest glare she’d ever given anyone — especially you. “You,” She started, pointing at you and approaching you, stopping less than a foot in front of you as you held back tears. “You’re my sister. And you-” She stopped herself, huffing as tears continued to fall from her eyes. 

You clenched your jaw, fighting your own tears as she whipped around to storm in JJ’s direction, throwing the collection of papers at his chest. “You told me you loved me and you lied.” She seethed, getting in JJ’s face. “You married me because she didn’t tell you not to. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

JJ flinched, the truth hitting him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to speak, to deny, to explain, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn't lie. Not anymore.

"I thought... I thought I could make it work," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought if I was with you, if I built a life with you, it would be enough. But it wasn't. It's not..." He looked at you for a moment, a moment too long for Kiara.

“Do not look at her.” She snapped, lightly pushing his shoulder back. “Look at me.” She cried. “You’ve looked at me and lied for almost six years now. So, look at me now and tell the truth.”

JJ’s eyes filled with a desperate sorrow. "...I never meant to hurt you, Kie. You have to believe me. I never wanted this-"

“Well that much is clear.” She gritted out, eyes never leaving his own unless it was to look at you, still standing, feet planted to the floor in the kitchen. 

Kiara's anger reached a fever pitch. The hurt, the betrayal, the years of feeling like something was missing, all coalesced into a burning rage. She snatched the letters from where they'd fallen on the floor as the rest of you watched with slack jaws and teary, guilt-filled eyes, her hands trembling as she held them. You were all at fault in some aspect.

“I should’ve known...” She mumbled angrily to herself, pushing past all of you to enter the living room, approaching the fireplace. “I should’ve known that night at that stupid party all those years ago.” She threw the first letter in, then the second. “I should’ve known when you kept looking at her during our goddamn wedding.” She threw the letters into the flames, one by one, watching as the fire consumed the words of love and longing that were never meant for her. The room was filled with the acrid smell of burning paper, a symbolic destruction of the life she thought she had. “I should’ve known when you disappeared during our reception and I found the two of you outside. God, I am so stupid-”

“Kie, please...” You attempted to ground your sister, a hand on her arm. Her skin was scorching, burning with unadulterated anger as she roughly pushed you off.

“Do not touch me!” She screamed at you, whipping around to look at you – your noses almost touching. “I bet you think you’re some kind of hero, don’t you?” She taunted, her tone darker than you’d ever heard it. “Always trying to be the better sister. The good sister.” She scoffed, looking you up and down. “You’re not.” She took a step closer to you, her eyes blazing as you remained silent, letting her get her frustrations out. 

As the last letter turned to ash, Kiara to both you and JJ, her face a mask of pain and pure anger. "Whatever you two have going on, consider me no longer a part of it." She said, her voice low and dangerous. "Pretending might be your thing,” She threw at JJ. “But it’s not mine. So, I'm done. I'm not pretending we're one big happy family when you've both been lying to me for years." She cried, her anger only growing as all you stood before, silent and ridden with guilt.

“...Get out.” She snarled, crossing her arms — meeting each of your eyes one by one. 

“Just…hold on a second…” John B intervened, taking one step forward.

“Yeah, Kie, let’s just think about this, okay?” Sarah tried as well.

“No. I’m not thinking about anything, I’m not talking about anything with any of you. Get out-”

“There’s a lot happenin' right now...” Cleo finally gathered the courage to try and calm down the girl.

“Cleo’s right. We have to-”

“Kiara, I-” You had finally overcome the lump in your throat to speak just as Kiara broke.

“I said get out!” She bellowed — cheeks flushed crimson red, tearful eyes strained as her hands swung at her sides, balled into tight, painful fists.

Ignoring her wishes, you stepped into her space. “...I thought I was doing the right thing.” Kiara simply shook her head at your words, face twisting with hurt.

“And at what point did you realize you weren’t?” She countered, voice watery. You grew silent at her question, Kiara nodding resentfully at your silence. “Right.”

Kiara didn't continue to wait around for a response. She turned, snatched her car keys from the table by the door and walked out of the house, slamming the door open behind her with a force that rattled the windows. You and your friends stood in stunned silence for a moment, the warmth of the evening replaced by a chilling emptiness.

You didn’t hesitate in attempting to follow after her when you were halted by a hand on your arm, turning around to find JJ — tearful and silent, but something similar to relief was floating in his eyes. Out of instinct, you snatched yourself away from him as the tears in your own eyes finally spilled over.

Your friends all worried around you — cursing, groaning, and sighing. You simply stood before JJ, jaw clenched and fingernails digging into the palms of your hands, eyes blazing with a village of emotions your couldn’t quite place. The blonde never looked away from you as you stared him down, not knowing what you wanted to do when you broke — lip quivering as a sob broke past your lips and your forehead fell against his chest as you hugged yourself.

JJ wound his arms around you, pulling you against himself as he laid his head a top yours. He felt guilty, for more reasons than one — but mostly because, as you sobbed against his chest at the very real possibility of never talking to your sister again, he only found himself solemnly grateful that he could finally hold you.

JJ Maybank Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[hausofwoo]

when in berlin | jung wooyoung

pairing: jung wooyoung x afab reader

word count: 5.1K

summary: you move to the big city, yearning for a big change in your life, only find yourself feeling stuck all over again. that is, until you meet wooyoung, a perfect stranger who leads you on an unforgettable night of adventure and self discovery.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, non-idol au, strangers to lovers, alcohol consumption (but nothing crazy), unprotected piv (wrap it up!), use of a petname (baby), feat. work bestie!giselle.

author's note: i wanted to make a cute lil fluffy fic (with smut ofc) for my ult and this is what happened :-O i wanted to go a lil harder for him but i decided to save that for my next fic of him hehehe ALSO for reference, i imagined the club remix of umbrella to sound similar to this song, hope it captures the vibe. thank u to @hausofmingi and T for proofreading as always ♡

being new to the city was taking a toll on you.

you left your small town on a whim, eager to go out in the world: to experience something new, to get a bit of culture, to really find yourself. but all that you’ve found so far was a shitty low-paying job and a (suspiciously) low rent apartment on the east side. no one could blame you, you had just arrived and were still finding your footing.

you needed to get out; all you’ve really done in the past month of living here was work, eat and sleep. you desperately needed to socialize. so when your coworker invites you to go to a nightclub with her, you remind yourself that you’re here to try new things, and agree to go.

the line for the club is long. you expected this, it is a saturday night after all. you just weren’t really prepared to stand in line for half an hour. you’re dressed for the occasion, for in the club at least. it’s just outside the club that’s the issue, with cold air biting at your thighs in your all-too-tight dress. you check the time on your phone.

“giselle, it’s already 11:30,” you groan. “should we just go somewhere else?”

“but we’re so close to the front!” she quips. “just a little longer?”

giselle had been telling you all about this place, berlin. it was a club hidden in a basement in the heart of the city. apparently it plays all the hits, the actual good ones. and then at midnight, they always play some club remix of “umbrella” and bubbles descend from the ceiling. it sounded fun when she told you about it, but in this chilly air that’s only getting colder, you start to wonder if it’s worth it.

“fine,” you say, rubbing your arms to try to produce some sort of heat. “but if we miss umbrella then you owe me.”

giselle examines the long line ahead of you. “maybe we can get in with someone near the front?”

“giselle, no-” but before you can finish, she’s walking towards the front of the line.

you stay in your spot, feeling frozen in place. you watch her approach a group of men that seem to be around your age. you can see her nodding and smiling. since you met her, she’s definitely had a way with words. then, she looks back at you and points. suddenly feeling eyes on you, your face flushes in embarrassment, bringing heat back to your cheeks. you can’t really see the men, it’s dark and they’re a bit too far to see the details of their faces. giselle motions you over, and you’re hesitant, but you force yourself to be brave and cut the line.

as you make your way over, you can see the men getting their IDs checked and stamps pressed to their hands. you catch up to giselle, who’s fishing through her purse for her wallet.

“that was easy,” she giggles. “meet our new friends.”

you both turn to see the men being ushered in, not even getting a moment to introduce each other.

“oh. maybe we’ll catch up with them later,” giselle mumbles, swiping her ID from her wallet.

you shrug to her with a chuckle, ready to hold your hand out for a stamp.

following giselle down the stairs, the dark caverns of the stairwell were dimly lit with red lights. you can hear the music bumping distantly, and you wonder how much longer this set of stairs is. as soon as you reach the bottom, you realize it’s just a floor for the bathrooms and you have a whole new set waiting for you. the music grows louder and louder, and you start to feel the bass in your chest, or maybe your pulse is just beginning to rise in excitement for what’s to come.

a man that seems to be a bouncer guards the door leading to the actual club. as you both approach, he nods and pulls it open, unleashing the blasting sound and the heat of dancing bodies. you and giselle look at each other, smile, and rush right in.

you try and navigate your way through, opting to get drinks before anything else. you finally squeeze through the sweaty bodies to reach the bar, and giselle requests two tequila shots.

“tequila?” you repeat to her, struggling to yell over the music. “so it’s that kind of night?”

“oh yeah,” giselle says, grabbing the shots from the bar and paying her tab. “it’s that kind of night.”

you look at each other, doing a quick cheers and laughing almost out of giddiness. here’s to new experiences, you think to yourself.

slamming her empty glass down, giselle grabs your arm and starts leading you to the crowded dance floor. “now let’s fucking dance!”

swiveling through the crowd, you eventually land in the perfect spot right in the middle of the dance floor. the speakers are thumping some charli xcx song you know every word to, and the lights are flashing around you as well as the glistening bodies surrounding you. the crowd is jumping, singing to the song, dancing like no one is watching. you realize that you’ve been so tense all night, so you finally allow yourself to let loose.

you sing along with giselle, screaming the lyrics to each other and dancing to an unknown rhythm. but you don’t care how stupid you may look, you’re having way too much fun to think about the strangers around you. the alcohol slowly seeps through your veins, your head feeling lighter and your body more relaxed. with each song, you somehow don’t grow tired, only more exhilarated.

“i’m so glad we did this!” you attempt to yell to giselle.

“huh?!” she replies, not hearing you.

you brush it off with a laugh, continuing to jump along with her. the music switches to a song with a heavy bass, and you begin to feel the beats in the pit of your stomach. you melt into the music, letting every beat dictate your movements. the energy in the room changes, as if the pulsing sound awakened something in the crowd. you glance around, as if you’re trying to locate the source of the energy, before realizing you felt a pair of eyes on you.

there, across the flashing lights and moving bodies, you lock eyes with a stranger. despite the chaos around you, the stranger is standing still, maintaining eye contact with you. you feel a magnetic pull towards him, curiosity overcoming you. but before you can do anything about it, giselle pulls you deeper into the crowd. you can’t help but look back, searching for the eyes of that mysterious stranger.

“i think i’m gonna grab another drink,” you lean into giselle to say. “do you want anything?”

“i’m good for now!” she replies, continuing to dance.

you nod and try to part through the crowd, getting bumped and pushed a little too much for your liking. you escape the crowd only to another bustling one waiting around the bar. you sigh and run your fingers through your hair. this is gonna take a minute.

“you want a drink?” a man next to you says.

you prepare yourself to reject the man, having no interest in flirting with some random guy at a club. but when you look over, you notice it’s the man who was gazing at you across the dance floor. up close, he’s even more captivating. his dark hair is perfectly tousled and long strands of his tresses hang a bit over his face. his eyes contain a glint of curiosity, enhancing his mysterious demeanor. you catch yourself staring, and resort to nodding to him.

“what do you want?” he leans into your shoulder to murmur in your ear.

“uh, i think i just want a water,” you say, feeling yourself getting dizzy. you only had one shot and it’s wearing off quickly, and you realize the source is from a sudden wave of nerves.

you watch as he’s able to make his way to the edge of the bar top, not even needing to push and prod around the shifting bodies. in no time, he’s turning around with 2 waters, handing one to you. you take a big sip through the straw, trying so hard to maintain eye contact as he does the same. but his sharp brown eyes start to make you feel like jelly. how does he have this effect on you?

“i’m wooyoung,” he smiles, playing with his straw.

“hi wooyoung,” you say with a smile, telling him your name as well.

before you can continue, the song switches to the one you’ve been anticipating all night. umbrella. the crowd erupts in energy as the line around the bar immediately retreats to the dance floor. everyone knew what was about to happen. you look back at wooyoung with a smile on your face.

“let’s dance?” he says, grabbing your hand and steering you straight onto the dance floor.

you let out a giggle, seeing him holding your hand and looking back at you as pulls you in deeper. he pulls you into a spot big enough for the both of you, albeit very close. your faces are only inches apart, and you both gaze into each other’s eyes with growing interest. he then unleashes a sly grin, pointing to the ceiling above you. you look up to see a black metal box hanging from the ceiling.

“what is it?” you ask.

“wait for the chorus,” he lets out, slowly wrapping his arm around your waist.

you melt into his touch as the music pulses through your ears. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and let yourself sway to the rhythm. the lights are flashing blues and greens above you, glimmers reaching onto wooyoung’s face. you’re completely taken over by his trance, your eye contact persisting. his eyes break away to look up, watching the bubbles descend from the ceiling. you’re in awe from the whimsy around you, watching the bubbles fall onto the crowd.

it’s so silly in hindsight, the little light show and bubble machine. but with the way you feel the bass lines run through your whole body and the bubbles falling softly into your hair, you start to feel euphoric. wooyoung’s body melds into yours, grinding against you as he holds the small of your back. the bridge lifts the music to the height of the song, causing the bubbles to unleash tenfold.

“it’s so pretty!” you yell to him, attempting to catch them. you look to him smiling at you in admiration.

“oh my god,” you yelp, coming to a sudden realization. “giselle!”

you look around the crowd, searching for your friend. your eyes finally lock with hers, all while she’s dancing against a tall man.

“you okay?” you mouth to her.

she just nods eagerly, pointing behind to the man grinding against her. “I’M GOOD,” she mouths back with an OK hand signal.

you sigh in relief and turn back to wooyoung. a new song begins playing, but your focus is on him.

“wanna get out of here?” he says in your ear, before pulling back to see your expression.

you nod and allow him to pull you out of the crowd, weaving through the mass of people. he continues holding your hand all the way up the red stairwell, opening the door for you at the top of the stairs. as soon as you exit the building, you let out a big sigh.

“that was so fun,” you let out, smiling ear to ear. “now what?”

“i’m starving,” wooyoung says. “food?”

after getting something to eat at a food truck open a couple streets over, you and wooyoung arrive at a nearby park you found to sit in the grass. in the middle is a huge pond, with the moon reflecting along the soft ripples. you have a perfect view of the city, buildings looking massive and lights shining bright in the evening sky.

“it’s so beautiful,” you say under your breath, gazing at the sight before you.

wooyoung looks over at you. “yeah, it is.”

“you know, i just realized,” you start. “i’ve been in this city for a whole month and i haven’t even explored any of it yet.”

“why’s that?” wooyoung asks.

“i want to make the excuse of working too much, but it feels like a cop out,” you admit. “i’m just… completely new to this kind of lifestyle. this place has definitely been a culture shock.”

“so why’d you move here?” wooyoung shifts to face you more.

“i got tired of the monotony,” you say. “i wasn’t going anywhere back home. i felt so… stuck.” you run your fingers through your hair, and let out a dry laugh. “i thought maybe if i throw myself in an environment i know absolutely nothing about, i’d learn something about myself. that i’d figure out what the fuck i want to do with my life. but living here so far has only made me realize how scared i am.”

“what are you scared of?” he asks.

“that i’m way in over my head,” you sigh, half-joking. “do you ever feel that way?”

“all the time,” he says. “but i try to ignore it. we have to take risks, embrace the unknown. that’s the only way we can actually find ourselves.” you nod, and he puts his hand in yours. “it might feel scary right now, but you’ve just made the first step.”

“you’re right,” you saying, turning to look at him. “it’s funny, this is probably the biggest risk i’ve taken so far here.”

“ditching the club to go to a park?” wooyoung asks. “"we definitely need to get you on some more adventures." he stands up, extending his hand out to you.

“what, right now?” you ask, grabbing his hand to lift yourself up.

“the night is still young,” he smirks at you. “i know the perfect place to start.”

the park you were at was big, but you didn’t realize how big. wooyoung guides you through the expanse of it, finally reaching to one end with a large unlit building. you can’t make out what it is at first, until reaching close enough to realize what it is.

“a carousel?” you ask. wooyoung is ahead of you, leading the way. “but it’s closed!”

“does that matter?” he says mischievously, running to the side of the structure.

you linger behind, nervously scanning the area to ensure no one is around. if you get caught, you could be in a huge trouble. you’re not sure what kind of trouble, but you didn’t really want to find out. but before you can continue spiraling, the lights of the ride blink on and starts slowly spinning.

“how the hell…” you say to yourself.

you slowly approach the ride, feeling the anxiety slowly dissipate from your mind as you watch the lights illuminate before you and faint carnival music plays. as the carousel turns, you see wooyoung already on board, seated on an ornately decorated white horse.

“are you getting on or not?” he waves his hand, beckoning you over.

you clench your fists, taking a deep breath. before you even realize it, you find yourself hopping onto the ride, claiming the horse next to his.

as the carousel begins to pick up speed, you felt a surging sense of exhilaration running through your body. you watch the blurred city lights spinning around you in streaks of color, wind brushing through your hair. it’s dizzying, but somehow felt good. wooyoung’s laughter is contagious, and you catch yourself laughing too, the sound weaving into the faint carnival music. you look back at him, still smiling along with you.

“this is amazing!” you shout over the music, holding the pole tighter as the horse moves up and down.

“i knew you’d like it!” he says, voice filled with warmth.

wooyoung leans closer, your eyes locking onto each other. your breath hitches, the music and lights fading into the background. a gentle smile plays on his lips as he reaches his hand out to hold your cheek, starting to close the distance between you. just as your lips were about to touch, the machine starts to shut down, and a flash of light hits your face. you bring your hand up to shield your eyes.

“hey!” a man’s voice yells out. “you can’t be on there!”

shit. you’ve been caught. you look over to wooyoung, who promptly grabs your hand and starts running. the last bit of momentum of the ride boosts you off and you trip over yourself.

“hey! get back here!” you see that it’s park security yelling, and they’re starting to run towards you.

wooyoung lifts you up from the ground, and as soon as you regain your composure, you start bolting. you both run hand in hand, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. wooyoung looks back, the security guard still on your tail. you reach the edge of the park, not sure which way to turn. wooyoung steps in the street, waving his hand out for a car. you look back to see the guard nearly caught up to you.

“wooyoung, we gotta go!” you yell.

he lets out a loud whistle, prompting an almost-passing taxi to halt a few feet in front of you. you both hop in, wooyoung telling the taxi to just start driving. the driver follows, continuing down the street.

you’re both out of breath, heaving from the sudden running. you look at each other and laugh.

“well…” you say. “what next?”

“oooh, i like it,” wooyoung teases. “you almost get caught and you’re already ready for more?”

“shut up,” you say, shoving his shoulder.

“mind telling me where to go?” the driver says.

“oh, sorry,” wooyoung chuckles, pulling out his phone. “can you take us here?” he shows an address to him. the man inputs the directions and reroutes.

“where are we going?” you ask.

“just a little party,” he says.

you arrive to the address, staring at the building as wooyoung pays the taxi. it’s a high-rise apartment building, and it looks nice—like, your entire salary worth for one month nice.

“um, wooyoung,” you say hesitantly. “who’s party is this?”

he wraps his arm around you. “it’s some famous DJ.”

“do you know this famous DJ?” you ask, almost not wanting to know the answer.

“nope,” he replies, walking you both through the tall glass doors.

“then how the fuck do we plan on getting in?” you whisper-yell to him. “this is an apartment building!”

wooyoung takes his arm off of you and points to the front desk. “well for starters, there’s no doorman.”

“that’s only half the problem!” you say as you step into the elevator.

he puts his hand under your chin teasingly, forcing you to make direct eye contact. “just trust me.”

the elevator doors open to a huge hallway, white walls covered with lavish paintings and the floors a shiny marble. near the end of the hallway, you can see a couple people loitering around the entrance of an apartment. there’s a man guarding the door, most likely security. wooyoung starts walking confidently towards the door, you following behind wondering how the hell he’s gonna pull this off. he approaches the guard and nearly grabs the doorknob.

“name?” the man says flatly, holding his arm out.

“oh yeah, i’m—” wooyoung starts, then stop when the door swings open to let a few people out. he takes a glimpse inside, then suddenly seeming like he sees someone he recognizes. “oh, hey chris!”

a man inside waves back, although looking a bit confused. the security guard sees the exchange, momentarily taken off guard.

“mind if i go join my friend?” wooyoung says, trying to continue his ruse. “he’s been waiting for us all night.”

the guard remains skeptical, causing wooyoung to lean in closer to him. “look, he invited us personally. if we don’t get in, it’s on him. you know how these things go.”

not wanting to cause a scene, the guard hesitantly nods and lets you both through. as you walk into the lavish space, you can’t even wonder how the hell that worked. all that matters is that it did, and now you’re here, in this huge place swarming with undoubtedly rich party-goers and music blaring in your ears. you follow wooyoung as he makes his way to the kitchen island, grabbing drinks for both of you.

“what should we cheers to?” wooyoung grins, handing it to you.

“maybe our new friend chris?” you say, giggling.

“to chris!” he says, clinking his glass to yours. you both take a sip.

“you’re crazy,” you say to him. “i can’t believe that actually worked.”

“confidence is key,” he winks, taking another sip. “should we explore?”

you nod, turning to trail him as you head towards a hallway of doors. unsure which one to pick, you look at wooyoung.

“one of these doors has GOT to lead to something cool,” he says, already walking up to one of them. he opens the door and promptly closes it with a surprised look on his face.

“what was it?” you ask, curious as ever.

“let’s just say some guy is getting very lucky tonight,” he says, holding back a laugh. “maybe i should’ve knocked.”

you put your hand over your mouth in an attempt to hold back a laugh, but seeing wooyoung’s shocked face sends you over the edge. you let out a muffled cackle, causing wooyoung to crack up too.

“shhhh!” he says, still laughing with you. he walks up to the next door. “let’s try this one.”

he opens the door to a dark room. you can’t really tell what it is, until walking in and letting your eyes adjust.

“they have a fucking movie theater?” you say, looking at the plush red couches around you and huge screen before you. “how famous is this DJ?”

“i don’t know, but i’m gonna need chris to introduce us,” wooyoung says, plopping down into a seat. he pats the spot next to him, prompting you to join.

“how did you find out about this party anyway?” you ask, getting comfortable on the couch.

“a friend of a friend saw a story and blah blah blah… does it matter?” wooyoung says, chuckling.

“you must go on a lot of adventures,” you say.

“i guess so,” he says, shrugging. “you know, i was kinda like you when i first moved here. it felt like i was just living like a zombie… wake up, go to work, come home exhausted, fall asleep, and the cycle starts all over again. i didn’t even realize i was avoiding what i was meant to do when i moved here.”

“and what’s that?” you ask.

“same as you,” he says, leaning his shoulder against yours. “same as everyone who moves here, to find myself.”

“and?” you ask.

“and did i find myself?” he says. “no clue. but at least i’m having fun.” he breaks into a smile, eyes meeting yours. you can’t help but to smile back.

“i guess having fun is a good start,” you reply. “maybe that’s exactly what i need.”

“i can help with that,” wooyoung whispers with a smile, leaning in towards you. your eyes flick from his eyes down to his lips, feeling the magnetism between you pulling you closer.

the theater door swings open behind you with two men charging in.

“yeah man, i don’t fucking know this guy!” your used-to-be friend chris says to the security guard approaching you.

“alright, you two,” the guard huffs. “party’s over.”

wooyoung and you immediately jump up, running to the opposite side of the theater to loop around and push past “chris” to escape out the theater door. you run together, attempting to open each door in the hallway to find some sort of place to hide. when one of them leads to a bathroom, you both rush in and slam the door behind you to lock it. wooyoung presses you against the door, his hand resting just above your head.

your breath trembles as you look up at wooyoung. he places his hand on your cheek, examining your face before closing the distance between you in a hungry kiss. he presses you close against his body, moving his other hand to hold your waist. the kiss was all-consuming, finally allowing all the built up tension to finally release between your bodies. your lips meld into his as you card your fingers through his long hair, not wanting to let go.

a knock shakes the door against your back as a man yells for you two to get out. but the threatening voice is just another sound in the background, your mind is only on wooyoung. you separate for moment, foreheads leaning against each other.

“let’s go somewhere more private,” wooyoung whispers. you smile and allow him to lead the way.

as you arrive at wooyoung’s place, you cling to him, allowing his lips to meet yours in a passionate embrace. you stumble over each other as he moves you backwards toward the bedroom, giggles escaping both of you. your clothes fall to the ground in the process, nearly ripping them off each other. you fall back onto the bed and wooyoung hovers over you, continuing to kiss you ravenously. his hands roam up and down your body, almost as if he wants to feel every inch of you—as if he wants to worship you. he slots between your legs, grinding against your core as he begins kissing your neck.

your body is aching for him, it’s been aching for him all night. the moment you saw him, the energy between you felt electric. and even now, with his body pressed against yours, the undeniable chemistry flows among you. your moans are inescapable, with the desire building in your stomach. wooyoung lifts himself slightly to move a wandering hand down to your heat, pushing your underwear to the side to feel your dripping core.

“so wet,” his muffled voice against your skin, before moving to meet your lips again.

he gathers your wetness upwards, beginning to rub circles around your clit. you moan into his mouth, relishing in the agonizing stimulation. he dips his fingers back down to your hole, entering his two middle fingers slowly. as he inches in, you clench around him, eager to take them. he thrusts his fingers in and out, progressively reaching deeper inside you. when he starts curling his digits to reach your g spot, you break away from his kiss to let out a wanton moan.

“wooyoung, i need to feel you,” you murmur, urging him to take off his underwear with you following suit.

he guides his cock to your entrance, dragging upwards to stimulate your clit. he drags back down and pushes his cockhead against your fluttering hole. your legs tangle around his waist, squeezing as if to tell him please, please fuck me. he pushes into you, causing you to release a sharp gasp at the size. he holds the side of your face, caressing gently as he gradually begins thrusting.

the sounds of your strangled breaths fill the room as he continues his movements into you. waves of pleasure ripple throughout your body, making you dig your nails into his shoulder blades. his body moves in perfect harmony with yours, emitting a raw, unspoken passion. your legs wrap around him even tighter, your heated bodies melding into each other even deeper. the connection between you feels magnetic, and it only grows stronger with each thrust. his gaze meets yours, eyes filled with lust.

“you feel so fucking good,” he says between breaths, and places tender kisses along your jawline.

“please, don’t stop,” you manage to reply, pleasure taking over.

he lifts his body up to piston into you, hips snapping against you. his moans are unrelenting, the grip on your thighs tightening as the heat in your stomach begins to grow. he feels the way your core contracts around him, causing him to release one hand from your thigh to now focus on toying with your clit. this increases the clenching, nearly taking his breath away in pleasure. his thumb’s pace quickens, bringing the tension in your core to an unbearable peak.

“wooyoung, i’m gonna cum,” you moan, feeling the cord in you ready to snap.

“cum with me, baby,” he replies, his pace persisting. you can feel his grip start to tighten as he angles himself just right in you, causing you to completely come undone.

the room around you fades away as pure ecstasy overcomes you, not even holding back the straight up pornographic moans each of you are letting out. the tightening of your core around him makes his hips stutter, filling you completely with his release. the rolls of his hips begin to slow, fucking the last bit of his cum into you. he lets out a satisfied groan, falling on top of you while still inside.

your chest rises and falls in staggered breaths, finally coming down from your high. your run your fingers through wooyoung’s hair as he nestles in your neck. he hums against you softly, sending vibrations against your skin.

you wonder if this will be a one time thing—if he was just the perfect stranger you needed to meet in order to discover yourself. that he was just a stepping stone to urge you forward on your path, soon to be left behind but never forgotten. your heart sinks at the thought of it. you didn’t want that to be the case, because what you felt with him felt too real. that there’s this undeniable intense pull that made you crave more, and you ache at the thought of letting this go.

wooyoung gently holds the side of your neck, soft breathing tickling at you as his thumb slowly caresses you.

“sooo,” he starts. “what are you doing tomorrow?”

a smile spreads across your face as you realize that this perfect stranger won’t remain a stranger for long.

a/n: yeah so this was very self-indulgent but i have no regrets. i'm defo gonna make tonssss more woo fics, especially sub!woo, so stay tuned for that. 3rd fic ever so plz leave feedback and reblog to support me! thank uuuuuu ✧*

✰taglist✰ @skz1-4-3 @oddracha @luvbit3z

[flowery-mess]

thinking about liability in relation to reader x noah, especially the line: we slow dance in the living room, but all that a stranger would see is one girl swaying alone, stroking her cheek

Let me quote your words from earlier “To combat todays sad girl hours” and then you choose the saddest song ever? Not fair…

You’ve been hurt by people. By lovers, friends, family, hell even by strangers. It’s hard to trust someone after all of the disappointments you’ve been through. So you decided to give up on everyone, trust only yourself and become an independent person that doesn’t need others to be happy.

You healed from the past and promised to yourself that you’re not going to let anyone else hurt you again.

You learned to read people, if someone wanted to be friends with you, you analysed them in your head and usually you kept them at arm's length, not letting them close to you, so they wouldn't hurt you.

Relationships? You gave up on them. Your heart has been broken many times and your tears were wasted for those who were not worth it.

You stopped believing in love.

Until you met Noah.

You met through mutual friend at a small get-together in summer. You noticed him the second you walked in, because he stood out from the group of people. Your friend introduced you and you felt something shift inside you when you shook each other's hand.

"You just think he’s hot." you told yourself.

But through the day you two kept stealing glances, he asked you questions when he had the opportunity in the group conversation and his mind was working on a plan on how to steal you for himself somewhere away from the loud group.

When dinner was finished and people divided into smaller groups, he saw his chance. He asked if you’d like to see something cool and even though everything inside you was telling not to go, you went.

He took you on the roof of the house, telling you about this secret place that he discovered when your friend moved here. You drank beer, watched the sunset and talked for hours.

He asked for your number and kissed your cheek before he left.

He texted you the next day and you replied. You told yourself that the conversation will fade in a few days, that it was just for fun.

It was fun, until he asked you out on a date. You had to sit down with yourself and analyse the situation.

“He’s nice, we have a lot to talk about, he’s funny and smart. He’s also attractive. And he didn’t get bored of me after texting for a month. It will be just one date, what can go wrong?” you talked to yourself before you told him yes.

He asked you out again, you did your inner monologue again and came to a conclusion that you learned how to read people and you felt good about Noah. You thought that maybe, finally you found someone who’s worth being vulnerable again. That he’s someone who’s going to change your mind and show you how worthy it is to take a risk.

So you went on a second date. Then third, fourth and then he was asking you if you want things between you to be serious.

You thought “I know him now, I can trust him.”

So you said yes.

Things between you were perfect for the first few months. He never stopped taking you on dates, he said “I love you.”, he bought you flowers every week.

He worshipped your body, he always took his time with you and prioritized your pleasure over his. He learned how to touch you so quickly, he made you feel wanted and desired. He always fucked you like it was for the last time, gently and slowly. His hands were tracing your skin with caution like you were made from glass. He was always whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear when you came and kissed you hard when his high followed not so long after.

Then he always held you until you fell asleep. You felt safe in his arms.

After all the time you finally felt happy. Someone else made you happy. You thought that maybe you had to go through all the pain to earn someone like Noah.

So why are you now staring at your phone with tears in yours, reading his message over and over “Hi, I’m sorry to do this over a message, but I’m so ashamed I couldn’t look you in the eye when I tell you this. We’re leaving for tour in two weeks and we’ll be gone for two months. I realised that I’m not ready for that, to have a relationship with this lifestyle. I should have thought about it sooner, I’m sorry if I hurt you, it was never my intention. Noah.”

And just like that you’re where you started. You hate yourself for letting him in, for letting him hurt you, for letting someone once again make you feel like a liability.

[bellesdreamyprofile]

The Pilot's Motorcycle - Major Gale Cleven

request: this was so good I can't wait to read what you have planned next. I have a great idea for one. it's a cross between Masters of the air and the bikeriders. buck and bucky have just come back home from the war and are trying to acclamate to life post war. one day they come upon a group of bikers interested in motorcycles and the brotherhood these men have they all befriend each other. can you imagine buck and bucky on motorcycles? and the bikers trying to fly a B-17.

A/N: thank you for the request — I changed it a little bit in which Buck Cleven meets Y/N who is part of the Bikeriders (-ish) - 2k words

The war was finally over. No more missions. No more wondering whether Buck and his crew would come back home in one piece. It was over.

A handshake was offered to Buck, alongside the words he had been hearing ever since he started "Good work, son.", "Thank you for protecting our nation.", words he didn't believe in, because he couldn't feel that pride people were telling him all about.

His expectations of the war ending were much different to what was actually unfolding before his eyes. Bucky fought through the pain, keeping up with his jokes and cheery mood — the whiskey he consumed certainly helping him — Buck on the other hand let himself wallow in a pitiful, sad hole he had orchestrated for himself. How couldn't he? Marge sent him a letter with the ring he had proposed her with, shaky handwriting and little blurred letters.

"You were gone for too long, Gale. There was no news from you or your team for years. Waiting for you to come back to me alive would've been a bad bet."

The letter scrunched in Gale's fist, the engagement ring in between his thumb and index finger. The months of sacrifices just to be able to afford a nice ring. His lone eyes slowly found the burning, red flames in the fireplace and without even a thought, he threw both things in there. Those were the last things he had of Marge, everything else was shipped out to his mother — she burnt all of her letters per her son's request.

Months after Marge broke his heart, he still felt as fragile as when he first left the POW camp. That wasn't his ex fiancé's fault, he knew that very well. The war had taken a toll on him, he couldn't find his peace even when he closed his eyes. Plane crashes, blood, open wounds, gunshots. It was slowly killing him.

"C'mon man.", Bucky wrapped an arm around his shoulder, a sigh fell from the Major's lips. "Cheer up and look around.", he motioned to the bar they were in. Gale seemed to have a permanent frown on his face, but his eyes followed John's hands nonetheless. Just another bar, nothing more, nothing less.

"Look over there— A pool table, girls and drinks. Ain't this the dream of all dreams, huh?", a smirk found the brunette's eyes as he raised his eyebrows. "Two single dudes and all of this is for us, Buck."

Gale shook his head in disagreement. "None of this is for us. Not for me, at least."

"Can you please stop actin' like that.", Bucky groaned, slapping the Major's arm. "It's over man, all of that is behind us now. Forget about the war, forget about Marge, forget about everything.", he spat out and harshly grabbed his whiskey from the counter.

Buck narrowed his eyes at him. "Forget? How can I forget that we were in a camp for a year? Or that I wanted to marry Marge?", he shook his head, eyes flickering on the counter. "People's lives, Bucky... We killed, we fought...", but the blonde's words led nowhere, his mind taking him somewhere else again.

John sighed, his shoulders curling forward. "I'm sorry, Buck.", he muttered lowly, hands still tightly gripping his glass. "Some of us get through that in a different way."

He knew his friend had a weakness for alcohol, always longing for it no matter his state of mind. But Buck didn't operate in that way.

Gale's stool screeched as he stepped off. "I'm gonna go out for some fresh air. Be back in ten.", Bucky simply nodded and watched his friend wander off the bar.

He wished he was like John — when nothing worked out in his favor he could just light up a cigarette and gulp down a few drinks until he forgot what he was so preoccupied with. Gale couldn't do that, he simply wasn't that kind of man. So when things were tough, he'd find a quiet spot for himself and close his eyes, finding temporary stillness.

Even outside the bar the music and people's chatter were very much alive. Heels were clicking against the ground and glasses clinked on the other. Laughter echoed even in the hallways and Buck finally gave up on finding a lonesome corner. He sat on a bench and sighed, breathing in the cool air of the night.

His moment of stillness was cut short by a low rumble. It was nothing compared to the sound of his B-17, but when Gale opened his eyes, he noticed it was a motorcycle. He couldn't remember the last time he saw one. The bike parked not too far away from him, a good five meters to his left. His blue eyes quietly followed the figure stepping off and his breath immediately hitched in his throat.

That was a woman.

Unless those curves and long hair, peeking from the helmet belonged to a man, that was clearly a woman. And a beautiful one too.

Her heeled boots clicked against the ground as she secured her helmet to the motorcycle. Long legs clad in dark pants and her torso hidden by a thick jacket, similar to the one he wore during the war. Her red lips muttered something Buck couldn't quite understand and then her eyes flickered on him. Buck panicked at the eye contact and swiftly snapped his head forward. Oh, f—

"Hi!", a bright smile was directed at him, leaving Buck confused for a moment. He turned her way again and noticed that she was very suddenly approaching him. His palms started feeling clammier than usual.

The woman was standing by his bench, the friendly smile still painted on her lips. "Do you happen to know where Club Handy is? My friends are waiting there for me and I just kept getting lost.", she let out a breathy laugh at her revelation.

Buck blinked, unsure of what to say. "Uh, it's one block away from here.", he mumbled, still hypnotized by the beauty before him. Her presence made him want to tell her everything, all the things he lived through and every thought that crossed his brain.

She smiled again, her eyes darting on the dark alleys and then shifted back on him. "Ugh, it's so dark out there.", her hands rubbed her arms, searching for warmth. "Would you mind... Walking me over there?", her tone was a little hesitant as his eyes found hers again, confusion briefly flickering over his features. The woman who just stepped off a bike was asking him to walk her through the alley. 

Who was he to refuse?

"Sure.", he quickly agreed and stood up, immediately taking notice that their height difference wasn't extreme. Another smile was shot his way and then they started walking in silence.

"I'm Y/N.", she said, making Gale glance her way.

He nodded, a small smile on his lips. "I'm Maj— I'm Gale, but everyone calls me Buck.", the way he would introduce himself at Thorpe Abbots stuck with him. He didn't need to tell her.

A laugh fell from her lips. "Buck? That's a great nickname.", she gave him a confident nod, but Gale laughed in disagreement.

"I don't know about that. My buddy John, who goes by Bucky, gave me that nickname. Creative isn't it?", his eyes fell on her, and god was he mesmerized. The way her hair delicately framed her face, strands moving with the wind. Her eyes were bright and he wasn't even sure what color they were, but they were lit up with intoxicating happiness. She was magnetic.

"Buck and Bucky. The dream team.", she teased. Buck nodded, her words cutting a little deeper than they were intended to.

"So... What's a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this?", he stumbled on his words a little, but by the way her cheeks seem to change color, his tone worked.

Y/N shook her head, her smile a little dimmer. "Change of scenery. I used to live elsewhere... With my husband.", she cleared her throat, avoiding his gaze. 

"Oh.", fell from his lips. He was unable to contain his curiosity, but he didn't want to come across as disrespectful and intrusive.

"The war took away a lot from everybody...", she nodded, almost like she was thinking out loud. "And it took my husband away from me.", Buck felt a knot in his stomach, memories he desperately shoved away were suddenly awaken.

"I'm sorry.", he said and then hesitated for a moment. "I, uh, I was a pilot. My friend Bucky was one too...", then he realized that it sounded like he was bragging he made it alive. "Sorry.", he stumbled on the words like a fool, his heart beating a little faster.

Then he glanced her way and saw unexpected tears in her eyes. Y/N stopped walking, her eyes slowly rising to meet his. Her lips parted as a lone tear rolled down her cheek.

"Thank you. For everything you've done for us, for the people, for the children.", she nodded, pressing her lips together. "For putting everyone else's life before your own... It's a very brave thing to do.", the way her tone dripped with honesty made him tear up. Gale had received compliments from high-ranking colonels, but none of them compared to the true, heartfelt words she spoke.

"Thank you for believing in us and in our capabilities.", the words rolled off his tongue easily. His mind was torn, looking at the beauty before him. Her bright smile wasn't so bright years ago — it faded a little at the news that her husband hadn't made it back to her. Those eyes that were shining so bright, used to cry, feeling the grief and desperation. But she still believed in life and love despite everything. Gale felt something shift inside of him.

Y/N didn't say anything else and slowly curled her hand around his arm, the distance between their bodies slowly disappearing under the streetlights. Buck felt his heartbeat pick up at the simple gesture — it felt right. Like she was what was missing all along.

"You seem like a good man, Buck. Really kind, sensible man.", she glanced up, her feather-like voice tickling his heart. She would never find out how meaningful those words were to him.

"Thank you.", his tone wasn't tinged with embarrassment like it was before, his cheeks didn't heat up at her gentle touch, for being with her just felt so right. He couldn't describe it. 

"I know it's a bit premature but... Would you teach me how to pilot a plane?"

A playful glint shone in her eyes, making Buck raise his eyebrow. "I used to fly B-17s.", he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You really wanna learn about it?"

"Mhm.", Y/N nodded with a smile.

"If you can teach me how to ride your bike, then you have a deal."

A/N: that was the request, I hope you enjoyed 💋 next we have the single dad series, starting with Elvis ⚡️ see ya then

MASTERLIST buck cleven masterlist

austin 2025 digital calendar 🎀 austin phone case💋

[rumbelleshowdown]

⭐️⭐️

Author: Curiosity Shop

Group A: Belladonna, lost in the woods, and music box

⭐️⭐️

The Healing Poison

Three months into her eternal stay at the Dark Castle and finally, Belle thinks that she may be settling into her new life here. She has exchanged her beautiful golden-yellow gown for a far more practical dress. She no longer gets turned around trying to navigate the seemingly endless corridors. She is becoming familiar with some of the Dark One’s odd routines and mercurial moods. She has even learned to cook several decent meals, nothing too fancy or fine but still; her food is filling and hearty.

Just as she finishes restocking straw for the spinning wheel in The Great Hall, she finds herself engulfed in a puff of purple colored smoke. She appears an instant later outside in a clearing of what she assumes is a forest. She is wrapped in a beautiful green damask cloak that she has never seen before and her hands are covered in a pair of thick leather work gloves.

This, she thinks, is the one thing she will never get used to: being one place one moment and in the blink of an eye she is somewhere else. It's dizzying and she nearly stumbles in her disorientation.

The Dark One’s twittering laugh fills her ears, “Careful Dearies, or you’re likely to trip.”

“Why did you bring me here?” She asks as she finds her footing and looks around.

“Why else? because I have a job for you.” He gestures to a small basket sitting on the ground not far from her feet. Belle picks it up as he conjures a smaller puff of the same smoke, a clear sign of his magic. When it clears, a dark black berry appears in his hand. It's shiny and smooth and looks a bit like a cherry or a small tomato. “Tell me, are you familiar with this plant?”

She shakes her head because while it looks familiar, she can not name it.

“Where I’m from,” he explains, “they were called belladonna, but the locals here call them sorcerer’s berries.”

“Beautiful woman,” she translates, “why was it called that?”

“Because long ago, vain women used parts of the plant to try to make themselves more attractive. Tell me Belle, are you a vain woman?”

There is some deeper meaning in his question that she does not understand. Something raw and jagged, something more like an accusation than a question.

“I don’t think so, not usually no.” Belle thought of the men she had known that had called her beautiful in the past, it had felt like most of them were more interested in looking at her than listening to her and that had been frustrating you more than flattering.

“Well good.” He barked. If that had been a test, she had no idea if she had passed or not. “Because if you try to steal so much as a berry or a leaf and use it for yourself, that could prove very dangerous and I will know.” He dropped the berry into her palm. “Now, don’t come back until you have filled the basket. I will be in my study.”

“Wait,” she says before he can vanish, “I don’t even know where here is, how will I find my way back?”

He laughs again; apparently there is something amusing about her confusion, “You are deep in the woods around the Dark Castle. Wander all you like, all paths will always lead you back to the castle eventually. Why do you think I let you roam around so freely outside? If you should ever try to leave without my express permission or be so foolish as to try to run away, you will be lost in these woods running in the same circles forever.”

“I am not going to run away.” She says dropping the berry into her basket. As long as she stays, everyone she loves is safe. She has never had any intention of attempting to back out of their deal.

“We shall see.” Is all she hears before he disappears.

The next night, Belle finds herself in the library, pouring over books on herbology. Like a burr in her stocking or a pebble in her shoe, there is something about the belladonna that she cannot ignore. She expected to feel pleased at his gleeful smile when she handed him the full basket, but instead she felt unsettled. It’s hardly the first time he has asked her to fetch ingredients for his spells or plants from the garden but something about this time is different and she must learn why. At last she locates an entry and her breath catches as she reads.

“Belladonna, or as it is more frequently called, deadly nightshade, is a highly

poisonous plant. While all parts of the plant from leaf to roots to flower are

considered active, the berries pose the greatest threat as their sweet taste and cherry-like appearance make them especially enticing.”

She drops the book on the table in shock. What has she done? Belle had gathered and handed over the tools to poison someone to the most feared sorcerer in several realms and she had done it without question. Someone somewhere could at this moment be writhing in agony and dying and it would be all her fault!

“I’m a monster.” she says to herself as the cold truth settles over her. She buries her head in her hands and tries not to cry.

“What’s this I hear about a monster?” Comes the almost cheery voice of Rumpelstiltskin as he enters the room. “You’re not talking about me are you?”

“I’m a monster.” Belle repeats with her head still in her hands.

“Oh I highly doubt that.” For the first time since she had known him, he sounds genuinely concerned. “I’ve met a few monsters in my time and none of them looked a thing like you.”

“I knew something wasn’t right about the belladonna. I knew it, but I didn’t ask why you needed it or anything about what it would be used for and now I’ve given you the means to poison someone, to poison so many people. Their blood is on my hands. What do you call someone like that?”

“I see.” he says quietly before enveloping them both in a plume of smoke.

Belle looks up to see herself in a humble room. A man and a woman sit anxiously in a pair of rough handmade chairs beside a bed where a small shape is covered in blankets.

“Dark One, you’ve returned!” the man said in shock as they both rise to their feet.

“Is anything wrong?” the woman asks. Belle can see clearly that days of worry have worn away at the pair of them.

“No, nothing at all. We’re just here to check on the patient.”

Belle gasps, “Why would you bring me here?” she turns to Rumpelstiltskin

“I thought you ought to see for yourself what your efforts have wrought.” So he means for her to watch her victim die? Cruel, but it was no less than she deserved.

“She started to turn a corner last night.” said the woman gesturing for them to approach the bed “After you brought back that salve. We rubbed it on her spots thrice a day, just as you said, and last night for the first time in weeks, she started to breathe a little easier.”

Belle looks at the bed where a small child lays. She can not be any older than seven. Her hair sticks to her head with fevered sweat. Her skin is sickly pale and covered in small red spots. Scarlet fever then, highly contagious and very often fatal. Was the poison meant to ease her passing? But it sounded like she was getting better?

“The little girl is their only surviving child. Though, yesterday, it did not look like she would survive much longer." Rumpelstiltskin explains, “Belladonna is highly poisonous, that is common enough knowledge. What isn’t commonly known is that if used correctly, it can also create highly effective medicines. As you can now see.”

The child slowly begins to open her eyes. Instead of the glassy eyes of fever, hers are clear to her parents obvious relief and great delight.

“Well then Belle, as the child is clearly recovering, I think it high time you claimed your prize.”

“My prize?”

“Her blood is on your hands as you claimed.” Rumpelstiltskin locks eyes with Belle but waves a sweeping hand across and above the child’s body, “and as she is clearly healing, well, a deal is a deal.”

“What exactly was the deal for?” Belle asked wary. She felt lighter than she had before knowing now what the belladonna had been used for.

“A music box,” Rumpelstiltskin giggled.

“Choose any box in the shop!” the father tells her as he happily hugs his daughter close.

She can not imagine why Rumpelstiltskin would have wanted the music box, but she will treasure it. When the music plays, it will remind her of the poison that brought forth a cure and the man condemned as a monster who saved her people. Perhaps, she thinks, dark things are not always evil.

[out-there-tmblr]

Young Zaundads wip (50)

***

Vander recognises the familiar signs of Silco with a new project. Whenever they have spare time, Silco has his notebook out, carefully writing out lists of ideas. He goes to the harbour in the morning, starts spreading word that they'll be looking for building materials soon and negotiating prices.

It feels a little too soon for Vander. They don't know if the ventilation will work yet, but Silco's promising funds and making commitments.

"It's a risk," Silco agrees, "but we don't want to miss this opportunity because we weren't prepared. We need to be ready."

Part of that involves talking to Babette and explaining Silco's grand plan. Babette listens to Silco's entire spiel, only moving to occasionally ash her cigarette and blowing out faint blue smoke rings.

"There are three things you need to make a place a town," she says, her furry ears flicking. "Somewhere to fuck, somewhere to drink, and somewhere to pray. I can supply one of those."

"We'll build the bar," Silco promises, as if they've actually discussed that, "but I'm not building a temple. Gods don't listen to our prayers."

Silco rolls out a map of their land and they start talking prices and location. Babette wants to be closer to riverside, on the pathway for easy customers. Silco agrees to pay for half of the building costs in return for a quarter of Babette's takings. Babette argues for a set weekly rent instead, thirty bronze a week. They bicker back and forth, but eventually settle on fifty bronze a week and they'll only contribute a quarter of the building costs.

It eases Vander's worries when Babette finally agrees and actually hands over coin so they can start buying materials straight away. Silco volunteers Connol's time to plan the building and Babette promises that her workers will help with the labour during the day.

Babette also suggests that her workers can spread the idea. The miners that have enough funds to pay for their company might have the coin to build.

Vander asks Connol, Benzo and Felicia to start mentioning it too. To spread the word that they're waiting for the vents to be built and once they're tested, they'll start allocating plots to any interested miners.

They only open the market every fourth day, but each evening there's another miner or two asking about the land, the cost and how it will work. Vander recognises their expressions, the pre-emptive look of defeat when you ask for something out of reach.

Silco has worked out estimates, a list of prices for materials. How much it will cost to build a shack the size of their room and how long it takes two adults to build. The cheapest option is still over two hundred bronze, and that's out of reach for a lot of miners.

It's Vander that suggests working groups. "Talk to your friends," he tells them, "see if anyone else is interested. If you worked together, you could build a place and then save up, once you don't have to pay for a bunk every night. It'll be tight quarters for a little while but if you work together, in a month you could afford a second place."

There's something amazing about seeing that spark of hope take hold. He sees men and women start to cautiously believe their lives could be better. Start to hope.

***

While the Pilties keep working underground, Vander and Silco have to work out how they're going to organise this. Some miners already have coin and want to secure a plot now, which is a problem when they're still waiting on materials to be delivered.

"They'll get impatient if we don't work out something," Vander says, getting undressed.

On the other side of the room, Silco carefully hangs up his jacket, and then pulls his shirt off over his head. "We can't sell them something we don't have."

"So when do they arrive?"

"Next week." Silco folds his shirt carefully and places it on the desk. "More the week after."

"So we'll make it at month end. Give everyone a chance to withdraw some money, and then allocate lots."

"How?"

Vander frowns, pulling down his pants and hooking them on the wall. "I don't know. Lottery?"

"Maybe," Silco says, shrugging. "We could draw out numbers to assign a plot."

In the end, they decide to assign everyone a number and then draw a lottery. First called out can choose their plot. It seems as fair a system as any.

Vander's main concern is timing. They get closer and closer to the end of the month and the Pilties are still working.

"We'll have to go ahead with it," Vander says, as they walk up to riverside at the end of another long day. The first delivery of wood is due today; Vander's not exactly looking forward to moving it all away from the docks tonight. "There are too many people coming to try to call it off."

"We'll assign the land," Silco agrees, "but we'll have to make it clear that they can give up their claim if the ventilation shafts don't work. This isn't a sham."

"Of course it's not. We're not charging them."

From the suspicious look Silco shoots him, he sees right through Vander's empty reassurance. It's a risk and they both know that. Doing something like this, standing above the crowd and trying to lead them somewhere new makes them a target. If things go wrong and people are disappointed, it won't take much for the crowd to turn against them. People always love having someone to blame.

"This would be a lot easier if they'd hurry up and test it," Silco mutters and Vander has to agree. Any sign of progress would be reassuring.

Silco pays the captain and orders more wood. He gives the harbour master a few coins in thanks, and the harbour master lets them borrow a two-wheeled cart for the night. The path is too uneven and steep to simply pull and push the cart to the market, but it gets them halfway there and then they have to lift the planks between them, and carefully walk down.

"We need to talk to Connol about this," Silco says, adjusting his grip as he steps carefully on the loose gravel. "There's got to be a better way to do this."

"You want your own personal elevator?"

"Ideally," Silco replies drily and Vander snorts. "Although I doubt even Connol and Benzo could figure that one out."

"You should say that to Benzo's face. He might do it just to spite you."

Silco sneers, breathing heavily as the path gets steeper. "How long will it take him to forgive me for stealing his best friend? A decade? Two?"

"I'd give it three to be safe." Silco shakes his head but he doesn't seem bothered by it. If it was Vander, he'd take it personally. "It really doesn't get to you?"

"It's comforting, I think. I know you'll have his sympathy if you throw me over for someone new." It means something, Vander thinks, that Silco says it like the idea is silly instead of inevitable. Silco gives a tiny shrug, shifting the weight in his hands. "Let's be honest. Connol and Felicia would be torn between us. It's good you'd still have one friend who'd still like you."

***

[lilwenney]

single will has me feeling a type of ~ way ~ so pls write something of a first date to help me get through this

lemme cook here.

this, but it's a blind date.

his producer abygail brought it up, mostly as a joke, late one night while they were all stuck in the office. mikey had cracked some joke about how they could make a video of will's (less than successful) dates that was quickly shot down, but abygail was more serious when she said "i should set you up with my friend, she's cute, i think you would like her."

and will, who had been out on two dates in the past month that were less than ideal, kept it in mind. he needed to get out more, go somewhere else that wasn't the studio, office, or his empty flat. so before he packed up to go home, he stopped by abygail's desk and asked if she had her friend's number. she did, she gave her friends a heads up via text, and then gave will the number.

you had woke up the next morning to a few social media notifications, and two missed texts. one text from your friend abygail, and one from an unknown number. you checked the text from abygail first.

trying to set you up with someone again. giving will your number.

all you could do was roll your eyes and laugh. abygail, along with the rest of your friend group from university, had a tendency to try and set you up with any single guy they met. you were the last one of the group without a boyfriend, and it wasn't because they didn't have a say in it.

you shot abygail a quick text back before opening the other text from an unknown number. the text was introducing himself, telling her that abygail had tossed out the idea to him and he decided to go for it, asking if you wanted to go out for a drink with him.

you had only heard about will from abygail - from when she landed the job as his producer and then from any general funny stories she had from working at the office or while traveling. but you didn't know anything else about him - what he looked like, where he was from. you barely had a general idea of what he done for a living.

"just tell me you didn't get me up with an absolute loser," you begged abygail as you swiped on a layer of lipgloss in your mirror in preparation to leave to meet will.

"he's not a loser, i promise," she said through a laugh. "he's funny and can be really sweet, and he's cute, so that's a plus too."

you double checked your purse before looking up at her and nodding. "let's just hope you didn't change your standards since the last time i checked." and she just laughed and shoved you out the door of the flat.

you met will in stratford. as you approached him standing outside, waiting for you to arrive, you cursed abygail for not introducing the two of you sooner. fuck, he's cute was the only thing running through your head. abygail's standards didn't drop after all.

so you tried to play it cool all night. you two greeted each other with formalities and a hug before heading inside, taking the elevator floors up to the restaurant bar, and you wound up outside on the terrace with drinks downed between you both.

will was cute, but he was also funny, he had an accent that you adored, and you were able to flow through conversation with him like it was nothing. and will had to admit that he thought you were so attractive that it almost made him nervous, like he was swinging way out of his league, but when he had you giggling, he relaxed.

abygail had done good for the both of you.

standing on the edge of the terrace, leaned against the railing as the wind nipped at skin that wasn't covered by will's jacket. he lent the jacket to you when he noticed you shiver at the night wind, and you caught the scent of his cologne on the material.

"i wish she had something sooner, would've saved me a lot of absolutely horrendous dates." you told will after he said he wanted to text abygail and thank her for the idea.

"you too? fuck," will chuckled as he turned to you. "thank you for coming with me, when you didn't have to."

you could see the sincerity in his eyes as he looked at you and you calmed your racing heart with a nod.

"i'm glad i came," you told him. "i just, uh, i hope i didn't run you off with all the stories i've spilled tonight."

he shook his head and leaned off the railing, taking a small step towards you. your eyes followed him, head tilted back as he hovered over you.

"don't think you can run me off, especially not after you didn't say anything when i told you i have a tattoo of a bloody f1 car." he said with a grin and you laughed.

"i thought it was cute, you and your little race car..."

"oh yeah?" he teased, a hand reaching up to touch your face.

"yeah," your laugh continued as you tilted your chin forward, a signal that he caught onto with ease, and will leaned down, meeting you in the middle with you on your tippy-toes for a kiss that sealed the fate for the rest of the night. and even a little longer, too.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: I'm motivated at last! Hopefully I'm back on track after these weeks -Danny Words: 2,779 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Sirens' –by Oliver Daldry

XLVII: Caligula Wants Me, Commodus Fears Me, Nero Is Just There

Ara bites her thumb absently as they drive to Piper's home. Lester pokes her shoulder with a finger, leaning forward from the backseat. "You know what's the deal with the McLeans, don't you? You've been scowling at the horizon since we started driving."

"I have a vague idea," she admits. "I've seen how Caligula works when he wants people out of his way, but it's not just that. Jason and Piper... they're over."

"By that you mean...?"

"Their relationship," she continues. "I don't think I should be discussing it, but let's just say that I've known for a while that they would have difficulties at some point."

"Oh my gods," Lester leans forward, excited to have some gossip. "Their soul lights don't match!"

"I never said that!"

"Oh, but it's obviously that! You're a matchmaker, it's gotta be that!"

"Lester, shut up," she uses charmspeak.

As they step out of the car, Ara hears Leo in her head, 'Gone home to Malibu, have you, Queen Barbie?'—And she has to clench her fist to ignore the way her stomach tightens with longing.

She squints at the man wandering around the house's entrance. "Is that Piper's dad?"

"What's wrong with him?" Lester asks.

"He looks okay," Meg says, looking at them weirdly.

"No. He looks... average."

"He looks worse than average," Ara makes a face. "He looks old."

"Let's go say hi," Grover says, giving them a look. "And keep those comments in your inner voice, Ara."

Piper's dad stops when he sees her, a hint of recognition in his gaze. "I know you... You a friend of my daughter's, aren't you?"

"Yeah, they're also friends," the girl gestures at the group behind her, "we came to, uh... check on her."

He makes a face, half guilt, half anger. "Go inside, I think she's..." his eyes follow a large statue being carried out of the house. "Go ahead. Doesn't matter."

As they enter the house, Ara feels more and more uncomfortable. "No wonder Piper hates it here—feels like living in an IKEA..."

They enter the living area where Piper is sitting down in front of a fireplace, reviewing a bunch of papers that look familiar, though she can't tell from where. Ara smiles despite the heaviness surrounding them and clears her throat.

"You want me to get up again?" Piper asks without looking. "Pretty sure the fireplace is staying here."

"Well, it would be nice to see your face," she replies.

"Ara!" Her friend stands and tackles her in a hug, burying her face on her shoulder, trembling a bit. "What are you doing here?" Ara squeezes, absorbing some of her stress. Piper moves her away firmly. "None of that!" She gives her a severe look, then glances at the group. "I know you—From photos. You're Grover! Ara, what's happening? Why are you here?"

Ara is looking at the papers intently. "To handle that, actually."

"N.H. Financials," Meg's expression darkens.

"What? Who told you? Coach?" Piper looks uncomfortable. "I said I was fine—"

"We know who sent you that," Ara says. "This is Meg, daughter of Demeter, and this is Les—er, Apollo."

"Apollo?" Piper blinks.

"I'm afraid so," he bows stiffly. "Apollo, god of poetry, music, archery and many other important things, at your service, though my learner's permit reads Lester Papadopoulos."

Piper looks at Ara again, a look of disbelief in her eyes. "You said this would happen."

The girl shrugs. "I'm not happy I was right. Like I said, we know who sent those papers—we've been fighting them off for months now."

"Them?" Piper frowns. "Birdy, you're going to have to rewind."

"Ah, yes," Ara clasps her hands and steeples them under her chin. "So... Leo's back."

"LEO?" Piper hugs her again, then scoffs. "Where is he? Why isn't he with you?"

Ara makes a face. "He wanted to, but we have our hands full, so he's helping us somewhere else—and I'm trying to put some distance... Parce que je suis un peu immortel?"

"Tu est quoi?" Piper switches involuntarily. 

"Hey," Meg huffs. "No French."

"What the hell does that mean, you're immortal?" Piper frowns. "What do you mean you're distancing yourself from Leo? You've been trying to get him back for months!"

"Let's sit down, I'll explain everything," Ara says, feeling her face burn. 

"I knew it," Piper grumbles. "I knew Jason wasn't telling me..."

"Something happened between you two," Ara blurts out. "I had a vision... it didn't look nice."

A bunch of movers walk in, and Piper makes a face. "Let's talk on the terrace. We can exchange bad news." Ara hops on the railing, and Piper does the same. "If I still had my cornucopia, I'd shoot those guys with glazed hams."

Ara hums, glancing down. "What is happening here, Piper?"

The girl shakes her head. "I knew someone was behind our problems—the maze, the fires, this... When we were closing the Doors of Death, we fought a lot of villains who'd come back from the Underworld. Makes sense an evil Roman emperor would be behind Triumvirate Holdings."

"They have been around for longer than that," Ara says, "they were Luke Castellan's help during the first war, too."

"We knew there was a burning maze," Piper continues, "Gleeson and Mellie told us about that. They said the satyrs and dryads... Well, it's no secret you guys have been having a bad time with the drought and fires. Then I had some dreams. Have you had any?"

"Not demigod dreams, no," Ara sighs. "On rare occasions, I drift from consciousness and I visit people's dreams."

Piper sighs, too tired to be confused over Ara's situation. "I thought we could find the heart of this maze. I figured whoever was responsible for making our lives miserable would be there, and we could send him or her back to the Underworld."

"That was foolish," Ara says. "If it was something strong enough to mess with a bunch of different stuff simultaneously, you should've known better than to try and tackle it on your own."

"Ara, it's been a tough year," Piper says. "I suppose you know we broke up? You're a matchmaker, after all. Were our soul lights different?" She asks, and it sounds like she's been wanting to ask this.

"That's not all that matters when you're dating—"

"Ah, so they were," Piper gives her a small, ironic smile. "Should've known... Last time I saw you, you had this look in your eyes, like you didn't want to leave us alone. I thought you were anxious about Leo, but you knew we were seconds from crashing."

"I didn't know," she says defensively. "Your soul lights were only slightly different in tone, but that doesn't translate to not compatible, you know? It means trouble, disagreements, but it's not the end of things."

"Ara, it's fine," Piper says. "Hera kind of messed with our heads, made us think we shared a past we didn't share. It wasn't like you and Leo or Percy and Annabeth. We got put together and were told to make it work. We fought the war against Gaia. We spent months searching for Leo. We tried to settle into school, and the moment I actually had some time to breathe..."

A myriad of emotions surges from Piper, and Ara has a lot of trouble figuring them out. "I know you cared about each other. I'm sorry it wasn't enough."

"Things change," the girl insists. "I mean, look at you. You're immortal? That's just... crazy," Piper says, at a loss for words. "But he's fine. I'm fine. At least... I was, until this started."

Ara frowns. "You broke up before this? Then what's the problem now?" 

"You really haven't seen any of the gossip columns? The magazine covers?"

Ara gives her a plain look. "I've been eating through my human carcass, Lester is being hunted for sport, and Meg is twelve, not exactly going to scroll through social media on our free time."

Piper shows another tiny smile. "Right. Sorry. Well, Jane, my dad's former personal assistant—she was in on it. Also his financial manager. His accountant. His film agent. This company Triumvirate Holdings... They must have spent years and tens of millions of dollars to destroy everything my dad built—his credit, his assets, his reputation with the studios. All gone. 

When we hired Mellie... well, she was great. She was the first person to spot the trouble. She tried to help, but it was much too late. Now my dad is worse than broke. He's deeply in debt. He owes millions in taxes he didn't even know about. Best we can hope for is that he avoids jail time."

"I can fix it," Ara offers. "You'd get everything back, just need to ask me to help you, and it's done."

"I don't care about the stuff, Birdy. But the nice former park ranger who was our pilot is going to be out of a job. And Mellie and Gleeson had to leave. So did the house staff. Most of all... I'm worried about my dad."

Ara nods in understanding, but still has trouble getting it. "I could fix him, too."

"Well, that's just the thing," Piper says. "I don't know how much fixing his mind can take after what happened with Enceladus."

"I'm surprised your father's mind is still in one piece," Lester agrees unhelpfully.

"What will you do now?" Grover asks to distract her from the boy's sour comment.

"Our family still has property outside Tahlequah, Oklahoma—the original Cherokee allotment. End of the week, we're using our last flight in the aeroplane to go back home. This is one battle I guess your evil emperors won."

"But I can help," Ara says, slightly frustrated. "Let me help."

Piper's eyes glisten with affection. "I think it's better for my dad if we leave this place," she places a hand on Ara's shoulder, letting her feel her relief. "This industry was much too consuming for him. And me, too."

"Still, we can't let Caligula win," Lester frowns. "You're not the only demigod he's targeted." He briefly explains what happened years ago with Meg's father.

Piper slides off the railing and hugs Meg, kissing her head in a sisterly manner. "I'm so sorry."

Meg hugs her back, and it triggers a dusty and abandoned gear in Ara's brain. Heart, she says to herself. She's so used to working in a single track that she forgot people sometimes just need a hug and a few words of comfort—Gods, it's all fuzzy in her head.

When Meg steps back, red-eyed and runny nose, she mumbles. "Thanks." Then, she goes to Ara. There, she pats the younger girl's head in soft circles while Piper continues.

"How long has Caligula been messing with demigods' lives?"

"Several thousand years. He and the other two emperors did not go back through the Doors of Death. They never really left the world of the living. They are basically minor gods. They've had millennia to build their secret empire, Triumvirate Holdings."

"So why us? Why now?"

"In your case, I can only guess Caligula wants you out of the way. If you are distracted by your father's problems, you are no threat, especially if you're in Oklahoma, far from Caligula's territory. As for Meg and her dad... I don't know. He was involved in some sort of work Caligula found threatening."

"Something that would've helped the dryads," Grover says. "It had to be, based on where he was working, those greenhouses. Caligula ruined a man of nature."

"And you?" Piper looks at Ara. "The fact that you've put distance between you and Leo... they're after you, aren't they?"

Ara wrinkles her nose. "They're trying to take Apollo's place, and since I hold all the power he has not, we think they might be trying to, uh... comment dit-on... consume my essence." 

"And they've imprisoned the Oracle of Erythraea," Lester nods. "As a trap. For the both of us."

"And we find ourselves forced to walk into it. We need the prophecy in order to move forward," Ara adds.

"Ah," Piper goes straight to business. "That's why you're here. Let me get my weapons, we'll go for a ride."

"Don't judge," Piper mutters as she walks out of her old room.

Ara whistles approvingly. "Where did you get those?"

"A blowpipe!" Lester exclaims happily. "I love blowpipes!"

"Are blowpipes Greeky?" Meg asks.

"No, they're not Greeky. But they are Cherokee-y. My Grandpa Tom made this one for me a long time ago. He was always trying to get me to practise."

"Blowpipes are really difficult to use. My Uncle Ferdinand had one. How good are you?" Grover questions.

"Not the best. Nowhere near as good as my cousin in Tahlequah; she's a tribal champion. But I've been practising. Last time Jason and I were in the maze these came in handy. You'll see."

Ara hums, eyeing the artefact. "Well, if you already used it once and it worked, then you will be better now."

Piper laughs, which Ara finds a bit confusing since she wasn't joking. "I'd missed you, Birdy."

"The dagger," Grover looks at it reluctantly. "Is that really—?"

"Katoptris. Belonged to Ara's original self, if my memory serves right?" Piper winks playfully. Ara scrunches her nose.

"You have Helen of Troy's dagger? Where did you find it?" Lester's mouth falls open.

"In a shed at camp."

"And you're cool with that?" The boy looks at Ara demandingly.

"The dagger isn't mine," she frowns. "I'm not Helen of Troy—haven't been for centuries." She senses his frustration and outrage, and she rolls her eyes. "It's just a dagger. Better to use it and give it a new life than to cower before it."

"Does the blade still show visions?" Lester asks, skillfully ignoring another of Ara's wise moments.

"You know about that, huh?" Piper makes a face. "The visions stopped last summer. That wouldn't have anything to do with you getting kicked out of Olympus, would it, Mr God of Prophecy?"

"Most things are his fault." Meg nods.

"Hey!"

"Er, moving right along, Piper, where exactly are you taking us? If all your cars have been repossessed, I'm afraid we're stuck with Coach Hedge's Pinto."

Piper and Ara share a silent conversation, the younger girl shrugs and Piper smiles. "I think we can do better than that. Follow me."

As they walk out of the home, they run into Piper's dad one more time. "Going out?" He asks.

"Just for a while—I'll be back tonight. Don't let them take the sleeping bags, okay? You and I can camp out on the terrace. It'll be fun."

"All right." He touches her shoulder, eyes wandering to Ara as if a distant part of him can still remember her. "Good luck... studying?"

"Yep. Studying." Piper gestures at the group to keep walking.

As they move, she sighs and speaks to Ara under her breath. "I think he recognizes you. When he sees you in pictures, or just now... you had mom's spirit, remember?"

Ara examines her hand, thinking that in her current state, she looks more like her mother than ever. "Do you think I still look like myself?"

Ara is slightly taller than Piper now, and her friend makes a frame with her fingers. "To me, you look like Ara Jackson has always looked. But ever since I met you, you've been in constant change. I'm really not the person to ask anyway, Birdy, I'm going through my own identity crisis."

"Maybe I'm asking you because I'm too afraid to ask my old friendships," Ara admits.

Her sister drapes an arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple. "Have you asked Leo?"

Ara rolls her eyes. "Please."

Piper smirks. "So why worry?"

"Unconditional affection is cool and everything, but what happens after I become something else? Are you loving me because you're used to it, or is there something in me still worth loving?"

"There is always something to love," the girl eases her, but she doesn't sound entirely convinced. Then she spots her target. "Come, you're going to love this. Mr Bedrossian!"

The old man gives a start and looks at the teen anxiously. "P-Piper. What do you—?"

"I would love to borrow the Escalade, thank you!"

"Uh, actually, this isn't—"

"This isn't a problem? And you'd be delighted to lend it to me for the day? Fantastic!"

The man tenses but speaks through his distress. "Yes. Of course."

"Keys, please?" Piper stretches out her hand, and the man hands over the keychain, then runs back into his house.

Ara laughs and pats her on the back. "That was good! Isn't it fun to watch them squirm?"

"Very," Piper admits.

"Do you borrow Mr Bedrossian's car a lot?" Lester asks sort of disapprovingly.

"He's been an awful neighbour. He also has a dozen other cars. Believe me, we're not causing him any hardship. Besides, I usually bring back what I borrow. Usually. Shall we go? Apollo, you can drive."

"I figured he was a creep," Ara hums, already walking towards the car. "Piper is a better person than I ever was; she actually thinks before using Charmspeak."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes @chxosunbound

[myown-worstenemy-2003]

Play It Again, Play It Again, Play It Again

A/N: Part two of the mini-series! As always I hope you enjoy it as much I did writing it! I love seeing feedback! And feel free to request something! Let me know any feedback that you have! If you feel up to it send me a request and I will do my best to give it justice!

Summary: You're invited to a party by one of your new friends. Let's see how the night ends.

Word Count: 1963

It had been a couple of months since you had broke things off with Billy. Since that you've kind of tried to keep to yourself but everyone needs someone to talk to, especially to make it around here.

What made it better was that you met a couple of mothers when you would pick up Rhiannon from daycare, and started your own friend group. All of them were around your age and their kids were already playing with Rhiannon during daycare anyway. Nancy had a brown-eyed shaggy-haired boy named Theodore. Piper had a little curly-head girl named Rosemary. And then there is Robin, she doesn't have any children but she comes and picks up Theo or Rosie every now and then, even both sometimes.

It was nice that you and Rhiannon had some friends in town finally. Especially Rhiannon, you didn't want her to be lonely.

But at this particular moment you weren't sure if you were happy that you had friends anymore.

"Come on (Y/N)! You never leave the house unless it's work or taking Rhiannon somewhere! You need to have fun sometimes!" Robin tried to convince you.

"Yeah, I'm sure I can tell you what you do everyday. Get up, get Rhi and you ready, take her to daycare, go to work, pick up Rhi, have dinner and then go to bed," Nancy said watching the kids play on the playground.

You sigh, because she was right. You don't do anything fun that doesn't surround Rhiannon.

"Who's gonna watch Rhi though? I can't really afford a babysitter right now. I can barely afford daycare as it is."

"Piper's mom is going to watch the kids, I'm sure she won't mind watching Rhiannon," Nancy suggested and Piper nodded.

"I don't know guys," you hesitated, parties have never been your thing. The last time you were at a party that's when Rhiannon was conceived and here you are.

"(Y/N), you are 24. We are never gonna be this young ever again. Just this once and if you don't like it, you can leave and we'll never ask again," Piper chimes in, sitting on the bench next to you with a book on her lap that she hasn't touch since she got here, "We all need to let loose every once and a while."

The girls nodded, you groaned, "Fine. I'll go but only for two hours. That's it."

"That'll work! You'll have fun, I promise!" Robin said excitedly.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You were on your way to the party. Riding with a friend from work. Dressed in something more warm and comfortable than it was cute since #1 it was October and it was cold during the nights; #2 you weren't really looking for anything right now since your thing since Billy. You were just there to hang out with friends and maybe meet some new people.

As you approached you noticed that there were a lot of trucks and some haybales, and everyone else was parked on the other side of the road. You didn't even think about bringing your own chair. You figured that there was going to be enough going on that you might not need it. But past you was too ambitions compared to present you so was full of nervous at the moment.

How the hell did you do this when you were in college?

Jessica put the car into park and got out and you followed suit.

"Hey I'll see you around? Around 1?" Jessica said with a smile. You nodded and smiled back.

You stood outside of the car for a second to catch your breath.

"It's all good. Everything will be okay. Just three hours. Yeah, only three hours and then you can go home," you hyped yourself up. You brushed yourself off (like you had dirt on you) and headed toward the crowd of people gathering around the bonfire.

"There she is! I wasn't sure you were going to show!" Robin said as she walked up to you and hugged you, "Here's the rest of the gang for you to meet!"

"Everyone this is (Y/N)! Be on your best behavior!" she said, jokingly, you heard some laughing and a, 'Booooo'.

"This here is Vickie, she's my girl," Robin introduced you to a ginger with freckles. You shook her hand, "Nice to meet ya."

"You know Nancy," Robin said and you hugged her as she came up. There was a nervous looking man behind her with brown hair, Robin said, "This is her husband, Jonathan. Theo looks like him."

"I can see it," you smiled and shook his hand too. Piper came up next, "I'm so glad that you made it! We want you to have fun too."

"Thanks, it's good so far," you smiled.

"Oh yeah!" she said, she turned to look behind her, "This is my husband, Eddie. It's where Rosie gets the curly hair from."

"Hey there, I'm Eddie, like she said, nice to meet you," Eddie said, he had long wild curly hair with a denim vest over his leather jacket.

"I like your pins. Iron Maiden is the best," you said as you looked at his pins.

Eddie literally beamed, "Thank you! I collect them from music stores. These are my favorites."

"Really cool!"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Dude, have you met (Y/N)? She's awesome!" Eddie said to Steve.

"Is this another fantasy person that I'm supposed to learn?" Steve asked. Eddie looked at him with a weird face, "No, she's real man. She's friends with Piper and the others. She over there."

Eddie pointed to where a girl was sitting by herself on the tailgate of Piper's truck. Her legs swinging as she watched the fire crackle.

"She's got to have a boyfriend here. No way that she doesn't," Steve said, looking around for someone that was looking for her, "Is she Joe's girlfriend?"

"No man, Piper said that she's single. Not really looking for anything at the moment, just new friends," Eddie explained, "Buuuuut...you should try and make more than friends."

"I can make friends with her," Steve nodded and walked toward you.

"Good job babe," Piper said as she came up next to Eddie and fist bumped him and watched what was about to happen.

Steve walked up, "Hey, this seat taken?"

You looked over to the new voice.

Not going to lie, he's pretty cute.

You smiled, "Not at all," you slid over to make sure that he has enough room to sit.

"My name's Steve," he said as he sat down, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Nice to meet you, I'm (Y/N)," you said smiling.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

God how am I already falling in love with this woman already?

"Honestly, I love new wave music! The Cure is probably my favorite from the bunch as of right now, but that changes from month to month," you said, talking to Steve.

You've been talking to Steve for what felt ten minutes but it's actually been hour. You could do this all night.

"You know, I think that-" Steve started but then a familiar song came on the speakers and you're eyes lit up, and you jumped off the tailgate, cutting him off.

"This is my song! I've been listenin' to the radio all night long, hopin' that it would come on and here it is!"

You hold out your hand, "C'mon, come dance with me."

Before Steve could say anything, you grabbed his hand and dragged him up. He tried keeping up with you but he was too distracted by you to keep up. You had a carefree smile on your face and your body was moving in ways that was very bad for his groin area in public.

As the song came to an end, you kissed him on the cheek, "Thank you for dancin' with me."

"Play it again!" Steve yelled to see if someone could rewind the tape and start it over again so he could gain the courage to ask you out.

You smiled and yelled, "Play it again! Play it again!"

You both laughed and then heard the next song play, looking at each other almost in a trance.

"I-" Steve started to say but you looked down at your watch, "I had a lot of fun tonight Steve but I'm afraid that I have to go."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked, not really wanting you to leave just yet but understanding.

"Yeah, I gotta check on my-" you hesitated, "my pet. She's not used to being alone this late."

"I understand. Let me walk you to your car?" Steve offered.

"I actually rode here with one of my coworkers. So I guess I need to find her."

"I'll help you, who is it?"

"Jessica Cooley," you answered starting to look around for her.

"Jessica? She left already. Left with Matt Hargrave about an hour ago."

"What? You're kiddin'. I guess I'll ask someone else for a ride," you said a little upset.

"I can take you home," Steve offered, really hoping that you would take him up on the offer.

"Are you sure? I don't want to burden you. I can just have Piper or someone take me home," you said hesitant because you didn't know him, but you had a feeling that you could trust him.

"I'm sure. Come on, let's get you home."

You smiled, "Okay thank you."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You were looking out the window, thinking about something to start a conversation but you couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be considered small talk or just bad in general.

That was when Steve turned on the radio and you started singing along to (I've Had) The Time Of My Life.

It didn't take too long to get to your house, maybe three songs if you remember correctly, but for some reason it felt like it was taking a little longer than usual. And you weren't upset by it at all. It had been five songs already and you sang along to every song that had came on the radio.

But it was only when you getting ready to pull on your street was when Steve started to scan the radio, almost frantically.

"This is me," you said and Steve pulled into the driveway and put the car in park.

"Thank you for the ride home, I really appreciate it. I don't have cash on me right now, but I can run in and get some for gas?"

"It's no trouble at all. I don't want money. But if you really want to pay me back, let me take you out on a date?" Steve asked wearing a charming but hopeful smile on his face.

You smiled, "I would like that."

He smiled, "Sounds great, how Friday? Dinner and a movie?"

You nodded your head, "I would love that."

"Cool, let me walk you to the do-," Steve said and just as he said that, your song came on the radio.

"No way! There is no way that this song would play twice in one night!" you exclaimed excitedly.

"Come dance with," you said as you got out of the car. He followed you and started dancing in the headlights.

It was like straight out of a movie. Everything was perfect, the lights, the song, the weather, and you.

As the song started to fade out, you got caught up in the passion of dancing and the feeling of it, you kissed Steve.

It was just like everything else, the kiss was perfect.

When you broke the kiss he looked at you and said, "I'm gonna call the DJ right now and get that song played again right now."

You threw your head back laughing, "Goodnight Steve, thank you for the perfect night."

He smiled, "You took the words right out of my mouth."

[swaps55]

I lost my friend to cancer yesterday.

I’d really like to tell you about her.

We meet people throughout our lives who change it, in big ways and small ways, and ways we will never forget. Sara/ @dearophelia was one of those people for me.

I met her here, on tumblr, about 10 years ago. I wish I could remember what piece of writing I stumbled onto first, but she was such a gifted writer that I immediately wanted to see more. I somehow wound up following her live blog of a road trip, which was full of uproariously snarky jokes about Ohio. I had the courage to reach out and tell her how funny I thought she was, and how great her username was to this fellow Mass Effect fan who lived right down the road in Kentucky and got all the Ohio jokes.

We talked. We chatted. I introduced her to a group of people I played Mass Effect 3’s multiplayer with. She grew from a level one first-timer to a total badass who could carry a team and taught other people how to do the same thing.

And then my life fell apart.

Everything fell apart for me. Turning to my family wound up being a catastrophe, and I didn’t have local “real world” friends I could turn to.

So I texted Sara. Told her I needed somewhere to go, and asked if I could stay with her that weekend.

She texted back, “Yes.” Sent me her address, and said to ping me when I got there. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t ask why. She just gave me shelter. So I showed up on her doorstep, and she listened while I told her everything. She didn’t judge me. She didn’t think I was insane. She had every right to think both things. Instead, she gave me safe harbor at a time when I had no control over my life and didn’t know what was going to happen to me.

For the next several months, I made frequent trips up I-75 to Ohio. She kept an air mattress out for me. We played multiplayer. We talked about Mass Effect. We talked about life. We bitched about all the people who hated on one of our favorite characters. She introduced me to Babylon 5. I have so many memories of sitting on the couch in her apartment, with her cat Odo crawling around behind my head. When I eventually pieced myself together enough to leave Kentucky and start the work of starting over, it meant leaving behind that sanctuary with her in her apartment, and it was something I had to grieve along with everything else.

And now I am grieving it again, and so much more. I am so lucky I was able to fly back to Ohio a few weeks ago while I had the chance. Hugging someone goodbye, knowing it’s the last hug you’re going to get….well, it sucks.

But I got that hug.

Sara was so many things. She was a gifted storyteller with entire worlds in her head. One of the weekends I stayed with her, she had recreated the Mass Effect galaxy map on her wall with notecards and string to help her tell a story. She could create a character and make you fall in love with them in a matter of sentences. Because of her stories, I binge watched all ten seasons of Stargate SG-1.

She was also not afraid to unapologetically be herself. I had a lot of things to learn and unlearn about the world, feminism, gender, and sexuality, especially in those days. Listening to her fight for her space in the world and refuse to be told she was anything less than who she wanted to be helped me learn some of the things I needed to learn, and embrace the things I discovered about myself.   

She loved music. She made the best fucking playlists. She taped inspirational notes around her condo. She sent me a set of coasters that say, “Fuck It,” and “Nah,” and I use them every single day. Her smile was gorgeous. She lit up a room.  

And now she’s gone. I won’t see her in my tumblr notes anymore. I won’t see her on my dash. I won’t get pinged with new Odo photos. She won’t get to hear the new music I listen to that shows up in our Spotify blend. I won’t get to talk about the next Mass Effect game with her. I won’t get any more Ao3 updates in my inbox.

I wanted you to know about her – this pocket friend of mine who impacted my life in ways that I won’t ever forget.

I hope you will read her stories. Listen to her playlists. She was a brilliant human being. She should still be here. She isn’t.

And I miss her.