#me literally two days ago having a breakdown in front of my laptop cause I couldn’t write vs me writing a little scene today

[ghostbeam]

I WROTE TODAY I WROTEEEEEEE

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

Chapter Four.

a/n: this was one of my fav chapters to write, so hope you all enjoy! I think you’re all gonna like this one hehe :’) pls reblog to share and leave feedback as it continues to motivate me <3

SERIES MASTERLIST | word count: 10.1k

come talk to me about WTSGD! i’d love to know your thoughts!

October 31, 2017 

A lot had happened in the last five months that felt like an eternity. 

After Luci’s very first performance for Miss Saigon and her unfortunate breakdown that was caused by one of the biggest critics of Broadway, practically insulting her, she performed almost every night after that. 

When one bad review on her performance was ratified by hundreds of tweets and reviews, saying that Luci’s performance was one of the best they’d ever seen, she’d say she did her damn job. The night of her breakdown, she received a text from Nina, who sent her a link to a few reviews on her Broadway debut. Those articles directly addressed how unprofessional and poorly written Adam West’s review was, and that he needed to open his eyes to observe and admire brilliant, wonderful, and beautifully performed talent. On top of the important names next to Adam West, theatre-Twitter seemed to agree with the positive articles that were written about her, tweeting that Luci was the next face of Broadway; and who cared if she started her career in commercials and Off-Broadway because getting the role in Miss Saigon had proved that she worked her way up and that she was good. 

After reading the articles and tweets, her mood had drastically shifted. She was so overwhelmed by the positive comments that defended her from a misogynistic man that she cried again, but it was tears of happiness this time around. She walked out of her apartment, headed to Harry’s door to show him the uplifting reviews, and he was happy to see that she was ecstatic—he was happy for her. 

They had definitely become closer since that day. 

Harry and Luci hung out a lot. Whenever they had the chance and they both weren’t busy, they would knock on each other’s doors or text one another, asking to hang out. For the most part, he opened up to her, showcasing his true personality and becoming more comfortable around Luci—enough to joke around and be himself. He loved the way he didn’t feel like he had to be someone he’s not; everything felt true and real. 

It was refreshing for Harry to have a real friend, a best friend, other than Jeff and Mitch. Although he developed a small crush on said friend, it was nice to just have a chat and walk around the neighborhood with her. He’d been talking himself up to ask her out, not knowing if she’ll say yes or if she even feels that way about him; but from what he could tell, he thinks that she’s sort of infatuated with him. Luci would flirt with him from time to time, and would tell him that he’s adorable and sweet, making Harry’s cheeks redden from the sweet talk. 

Luci’s situation with Daisy and Samuel never got better. Ever since she started to perform more and more—sometimes even more than Daisy—they would be nothing but rude to her. They weren’t used to someone taking their spotlight; it was like someone stepping right in front of them on center stage to steal the show—especially if it was someone they despised and was new to Broadway. The two tried to take it up with Tal, demanding and arguing about how they deserved to perform every single night, but Tal kept her word to Luci and the rest of the industry: that she would stand up for her cast and run the show herself. 

Throughout the months, Luci had been talking with Harry about something very, very important. It was a few weeks ago, during their walk to a bagel place in the morning, when she first brought it up. 

“Remember that lady who came up to me after the show?” She asked as they walked along the sidewalk. Harry nodded, letting out a ‘mhm.’ “So, she’s a talent agent…” Harry raised his brows, thinking she was an agent for Broadway. “In Hollywood.” Samantha Stone was one of Hollywood’s greatest and biggest agents; she mostly worked with actors who were first starting out in the industry before making them successful. Samantha was always on the hunt for new and fresh talent; she walked the streets with an eye like a hawk. 

In early September, Samantha was in New York for a small getaway, as well as to meet one of her side pieces in the city. She figured she could watch a show or two since she was already in the city, and it’d been ages since she'd seen a Broadway show. Deciding on Miss Saigon because she saw the tweets and reviews of Luciana, she decided to give it a shot and see what her hype was about. And it did not disappoint. She was so intrigued and invested in the story, and was absolutely blown away by Luciana’s performance. Naturally, even though she shouldn’t be working, she waited until the cast was coming out of the theatre to approach her. 

Luci was in complete shock because she’d never had anyone walk up to her, telling her to give her a call because she was a talent agent and hoped to work with her soon. When Luci got back home, she looked up Samantha Stone and her breath hitched as she found out who she had worked with and what she did for a living. 

“Holy shit!” Harry completely stopped walking, making Luci stop as well. They stood on the side of the sidewalk as people passed by them. Harry beamed excitedly, but soon his smile softened, noticing Luci’s didn’t match his. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you excited?” 

“I-I don’t know. I just get nervous thinking about it, like she wants to work with me.” Luci fiddled with her fingers. 

“Isn’t that great?” Harry asked softly; he didn’t see what was wrong with that, but he was being patient with Luci to try and understand what she was feeling and thinking about.

She nodded. “It is. I’m just nervous; I hate disappointing people. What if I call her and I do an audition or whatever, and she realizes that I’m not meant for the job? She’s the biggest agent in Hollywood, Harry. That would mean I’m not meant for any job,” she explained worriedly, anxiety bubbling up in her stomach as if it’d been simmering for hours on the stove.

Harry slightly frowned. He couldn’t imagine how it must feel to doubt one’s own talents, and he absolutely hated that Luci was doing it. 

“Luciana, listen to me.” Well, that definitely caught her attention. “You’re remarkably talented, end of. If you end up being dropped by that agent, then fuck her. She shouldn’t be a talent agent if she can’t see clear talent right in front of her. Literally everyone in the same room knows you are so incredibly gifted. Plus, wouldn’t you like to try it out? It doesn’t hurt to try because you have nothing to lose. You’ll still be on Broadway; and then you’ll try again later if right now is not your time.” 

Smiling, she appreciated his words. She nodded, knowing he was completely right. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” Her response seemed to satisfy Harry. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you.” She smiled. “Still gonna help me grade papers?” 

She chuckled as they started walking on the pavement again. “Yup. Believe it or not, it’s actually fun grading papers.” 

He turned to her shockingly. “Oh, really? Then maybe you could be my TA and I’ll have you grade all the papers.” Luci laughed, saying that she didn’t mind; she adored moments when they were playful. Their friendship was refreshing to the both of them. 

A week after her conversation with Harry, where he reassured and encouraged her, she called Samantha, who was delighted to hear from Luci. Samantha asked if she wanted to meet for lunch; Luci was hesitant, but she remembered Harry’s words, and it really didn’t hurt to try, so she agreed and they met in Midtown at a Thai restaurant. 

It was a casual luncheon where Samantha got to know Luci before she decided if she wanted to sign her or not. Luci completely rocked her socks; she was funny, kind, and very humble—traits that not a lot of stars had. So, Samantha immediately thought she was perfect and very likeable. After thirty minutes of eating and chatting, Samantha pulled out her business side, along with a contract, and discussed what this could mean for Luci. She went over her contract very quickly, and Luci knew she couldn’t keep up so she pretended to listen, nodding and letting out a ‘mhm’ to be interactive. 

Samantha had a pen ready for her to sign, but if Luci knew anything, it was to not sign contracts right then and there, and to go over the contract in further details on her own. So, Luci told her that she would look over the stack of papers once more before she got back to her potential agent. 

Luci wished she took a business class to understand such things about contracts and how to handle things herself, but she thinks that she might enroll in some classes some time soon. She attended Boston University and graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Performing Arts in Theatre Arts. On top of auditioning, solo acts, musical pieces, and countless shows for the four years she was there, she maintained a 3.5 GPA in her general education, and that’s something she’s incredibly proud of herself for. There were a few classes during her freshman year that she failed, making her consider dropping out, but she picked herself back up and promised herself to work harder, and she did. 

When she got back home, she tossed the contract on her coffee table as she sighed, grabbing a glass of water. She had felt stressed out about the situation, but then she remembered that Harry’s sister, Gemma, was a lawyer in London. So, she sent Harry a quick text, telling him about her situation, and asked if Gemma was able to help out. Harry was on his lunch when she texted, but he quickly asked Gemma and she was quick to comply, anything to help her brother’s friend.

The day after, Harry and Luci both sat down on his couch, FaceTiming Gemma on his laptop; it was the very first time his sister and Luci were meeting each other. Harry warned Luci that Gemma was a bit tough with his new friends, but once the two women chatted for a few minutes, Gemma was smittened with her; Harry was shocked at how quick they seemed to become friends, but he cherished it because he liked Luci…a lot. 

Luci had sent over a scanned version of the contract, so they went over it together with Harry sitting next to her for moral support; and from what Gemma said, the contract was clean. The most important thing that Gemma was looking for was that Luci had a say to back out of the contract, and it stated that clearly. Gemma told her that she could sign the contract if she wanted, and that eased Luci’s anxieties, making her thank Gemma almost a million times for her help. 

The next day, Luci met up with Samantha for brunch with the signed contract in her hand. Samantha was delighted to see that it was inked with her signature; she told Luci that this won’t be the only thing she was going to sign because so many people are going to want her autograph. That made Luci smile, giggling a tad bit at the thought of it. 

By the beginning of October, Samantha called Luci and informed her that she was booked for an audition for a supporting character in Ocean’s Eight that was to be released late next year. Luci was surprised at how quickly Samantha was able to get her an audition, but they didn’t call her the best for nothing. 

With only two weeks to prepare, Luci put her time and effort into rehearsing the few pages of the script Samantha had sent her. Luci didn’t have a talent coach whatsoever, so she tried her best to see every aspect of her acting, jotting down notes on the margins so she could further better herself. She was hiding her stress and nerves quite well as she tried not to freak out about how insane this opportunity was to even audition. 

When her audition was only two days away, she called Ren for the traditional pep-talk that inspired and motivated her to do better and to try her best because that was all that she could do. She wished that her family was physically next to her so she could feel the comfort and warmth that they provide because after all, they are home and always will be. 

Luckily, some producers were in New York holding auditions, so she didn’t have to fly to California for a day or two. She’d never felt more intimidated and nervous than the moment she stepped inside the medium-sized room that was painted in a light gray tone. A long foldable table was in the middle of the room with a small camcorder on a tripod next to it. Luci’s had many auditions, but this…this was real shit, the real deal. She was standing in front of Hollywood and big name producers who’d never heard of her name until the moment she walked in and they had a glimpse of her portfolio. 

She introduced herself, masking the nerves that were crawling up and down her body with a warm smile—not too bright, but enough to show her gorgeous grin. They asked her to read off of page twenty-three to twenty-five; taking a breath, she gave all that she could. And in her opinion, it’s the best acting she’d ever done, which is saying a lot because she thinks she did quite well after every show of Miss Saigon. 

The producers’ faces were unreadable as they simply looked at one another, writing a few notes on their yellow notepads. Luci wanted to lurk, to see what they were writing as she hoped they weren’t disappointed or had immediately crossed out her name from their list. 

They thanked her for coming in before dismissing her; she thanked them as well, waving as she walked out the door where she released the biggest sigh. It wasn’t from relief because she was still on edge of the result of her audition, but she felt like she had been holding her breath for the ten to fifteen minutes that she was in that room. Her heart was pounding quite sturdily; and if she was being honest, her mind had completely blanked out once they yelled ‘action,’ but that was usual for her. 

Now that it was ten days after her audition and Halloween, Harry practically begged Luci to get out of her apartment. She knew that she couldn’t stay cooped up in her room as she overthought the audition constantly. She began to get headaches from overthinking every single thing she did in that audition, and it drove her insane. 

So, when Harry suggested that she should go to the Halloween party that Daisy was throwing on the rooftop of her building, she dreaded it at first, but the thought of going out was calling her. She assumed Daisy wouldn’t want Luci to be at her party, but she invited the entire cast and a few more people that she knew personally, so it wasn’t like Daisy was going to speak to her. Since it was a party, everyone could bring a guest or a few friends, so that was when Luci begged Harry to attend with her. 

“Please, come with me.” She had her best pouty lip on, looking at him with doe eyes. Just by that look, he almost gave in, but he wasn’t sure if this type of party was for him. Harry was a mellow and chill guy; he didn’t need rooftop parties and unlimited amounts of booze. He was fine with a small gathering, a few movies and board games—now, that was his type of party. “The party would be so much more fun with you there.” 

Harry playfully scoffed. “Please. Luci, I’m the most boring guy there is.” 

Her brows furrowed in disagreement. “No, you’re not. I happen to think you’re quite fun.” He smiled softly at her in appreciation. “Please. We wouldn’t even have to stay that long.” 

He could tell that she wanted, no, needed him to be there with her. She wasn’t very close with her cast mates—despite all the months she’d been part of the production—besides Nina. But Nina knew everyone so Luci would be left awkwardly standing there, waiting for her friend to come back. 

“How long would we stay?” 

Her eyes brightened with hope. “However long you want.” 

“An hour? Hour and a half, tops?” 

“Sounds perfectly fine to me.” 

“And what would we wear?”

Luci was a bit shocked by his question. “You wanna match?” 

“I mean, that would be fun, right?” She nodded, agreeing. “Since it is quite last minute, I say we dress up as the 70s or 80s era. Pretty easy, right?” 

She liked the sound of that. “Yes, let’s do 70s! I wanna raid your closet because I know you have some gems in there.” 

Harry laughed out loud—her favorite laugh that was music to her ears. He knew he had a great sense of fashion, and he’d always go to the thrift store to pick up something that he’d never worn before. It wasn’t like he was not going to wear it, he just needed to be more comfortable with himself to wear the clothes that he buys. So, for now, he settled with black skinny jeans and patterned-print button downs, which is the most ‘flashy’ he’d dress as…for now. 

“I knew I liked you for a reason because I was hoping you’d say 70s.” Luci felt her cheeks warm up before they went to Harry’s apartment. 

It took an hour and a half to find an outfit that Harry liked; it would’ve been shorter, but with Harry’s 70s playlist that was playing in the background, they took breaks to dance and sing. Harry had a beautiful voice, Luci thought; and she wondered if he was ever in a band before or wrote music because he does have an elaborate music taste, and that added to Luci’s liking for him. 

They proceeded to go to Luci’s apartment so Harry could help her find an outfit. He brought his wireless speaker so the music wouldn’t stop; and she continuously threw the articles of clothing onto her bed—where Harry was lying on his stomach—every time he shook his head no. 

With the same amount of time it took Harry to decide on an outfit, Luci settled on hers. She looked in her full-body mirror, twirling around to see if it looked okay and if she was satisfied with it. Harry remained on her bed, admiring how beautiful she looked as he thought that she was way out of his league. As Luci was dancing and prancing around her apartment, Harry was deep in his thoughts; he didn’t know if asking Luci out was the way to go. Not only would he lose her as a friend when or if she rejects him, but he couldn’t bear the ache he would feel in his heart. 

For his own sake, he needed to protect himself before the heartbreak; and if that meant refraining himself from making a move, then that was completely fine to him. 

“Ready?” Luci called out from the doorway. Harry got off the bed, looking her up and down. 

She was wearing peach colored pants that flare at the bottom, sitting high on her waist; a white silk blouse with orange accents, a long brown coat because it was quite chilly outside, and pink glasses that were transparent. He thought she looked absolutely beautiful, and her outfit was meant for her. The colors matched Harry’s outfit as he wore rust-orange pants that sat wide at the bottom, a flashy patterned long-sleeved blouse with the collar matching his pants. Luci gave him a similar pair of glasses as hers, so they weren’t wearing shaded lenses in the nighttime. 

“Yup. You, uh, look really good.” 

Luci smiled, shrugging one shoulder. “Thank you! You look good, too. This color looks amazing on you.” 

Harry looked down at his outfit, hiding the blush that formed on his cheeks. “Thank you. I like it a lot.” 

They headed out and towards Daisy’s apartment building where the rooftop was large enough for everyone to stand comfortably without feeling like they were shoulder-to-shoulder. There were plenty of lounge chairs, and a few tall bar tables next to tall heaters, considering it was just below fifty degrees. 

Some people were making their way towards Daisy's apartment since it was too cold outside, but Harry and Luci decided to stay, both agreeing that the heaters were keeping them warm as they sipped on their drinks. 

“Luci!” Nina walked over towards her, giving her a hug; Luci made sure not to mess up the placement of her fairy wings. 

“You look amazing!” Luci complimented as Nina put her hands on her cheeks, thanking her friend. Luci could tell that Nina was a bit drunk already as her eyes were drooping and she couldn’t stand straight on her own two feet. 

“Harry! I’m so glad you’re here.” He smiled saying hello to her. Nina and Harry met in July when he had gone to see another show. He was giving Luci another bouquet of flowers—the same bundle that he gave her the last time since she told him that she really liked them, and they looked amazing on her windowsill—and she dragged him to find Nina since she was performing the same show. Nina immediately gave Luci that certain look that said ‘he’s really cute,’ and Luci just nodded, giving her an apparent look as well. 

“Did you bring anyone?” Luci asked, knowing that she was talking to a few guys; her favorites, from what Nina told her, was Laurent and Alec—the two guys that are in her Soul Cycle class, one on Monday and the other on Friday. 

Nina shook her head. “No. I wanted to get fucked up today and didn’t want any of my mans see that shit. Oh! Can I take a picture of you two? You both look so cute!” 

Luci looked at Harry, silently asking and he nodded. She stood beside him, not knowing whether to put her arm around his waist. They’d never taken a picture together before, after all the months of knowing each other. Luci handed Nina her phone before she turned on the flash, taking a picture of the two. Harry hesitantly puts his arm around Luci’s shoulder, making her look at him, smiling. She then wrapped her arm around his waist as they both smiled at each other before looking back at the camera. Nina was squealing behind the phone because she just captured the cute and quiet interaction between them that made for a sweet candid. 

Nina handed Luci’s phone back to her before she told her that she was going to talk to some other people. The two women hugged, and Nina said goodbye to Harry. 

Harry leaned into Luci’s side, bending down slightly. “Send me those pictures, yeah?” 

A chill ran through her body at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. “Sure,” she croaked out, sending the pictures to him. 

After a few moments of light conversation and humming the beat of the music, Harry asked, “So, which one is Daisy?” 

Luci looked at him, quite shocked as to what sparked his interest in her, but she didn’t say anything. She looked around until she spotted her in a leather catwoman suit, hugging her body tightly that Luci thought it was cutting off her circulation. But she had to admit that it looked amazing on her. 

“That one.” She slyly pointed at Daisy who was talking to some of her friends. Luci was surprised to see that Samuel wasn’t here, considering that he was part of the cast. Daisy and Samuel seemed to be in their ‘off again’ stage of their relationship; and no one who was part of the cast or who was close to them could keep up with how many times they’d been through that stage, but they seemed to like each other too much to call it quits for good. 

“Hmm. She seems nice.” 

“Yeah, she does—to everyone except me.” They were both looking at Daisy, and it was like Daisy could sense a few eyes on her, so she looked around and made direct eye contact with Luci. She excused herself to her group of friends before making her way towards her and Harry. “Speak of the devil.” Luci sighed, making Harry chuckle. 

“Luci! I’m so glad you made it.” Daisy faked a smile as she greeted Luci with a hug, which surprised both Luci and Harry. Daisy pulled away, immediately locking eyes on this. “Oh, who’s your friend?” Instantly, Luci knew why Daisy was so nice to her; it was because she spotted Harry and didn’t want him to think she was such a bitch. 

With her brows furrowed, Luci shifted a little closer to Harry who was standing there and not saying anything. “This is Harry.” 

Daisy flashed him her stunning smile that wooed almost everyone. “Hi, I’m Daisy.” He shook her hand, introducing himself. “Your outfit looks really good.” She complimented him. 

“Thanks, Luci helped me pick it out.” He smiled at Luci, who was smirking. For a second, Daisy rolled her eyes before she returned to her big smile. 

“Would you like to get a drink with me? I see you’re almost empty.” Daisy’s eyes pointed at his cup, which only had a small sip lingering at the bottom of his clear plastic cup. 

“Uh-”

“C’mon, just one drink?” Her voice was innocent and sweet, nothing like the cruel and rude Daisy that Luci knew all too well. 

What Luci expected Harry to say was that he was okay and that he didn’t want a drink with her, but he responded quite the opposite. 

“Okay, sure.” Luci’s head averted towards Harry as she looked at him with shock and a face asking what the fuck he was doing. But he shrugged as Daisy clapped, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bar. Luci huffed, watching the two walk away and she was left by herself with a watered down drink and the cold air. 

She figured she’d wait for him to come back to where she was sitting, hoping he wouldn’t take too long. 

But twenty minutes had gone by, and Luci started getting annoyed.  

Thirty minutes, and Luci tells herself that she doesn’t care and mindlessly goes on her phone. 

An hour had gone by when Luci huffed, mentally saying that she does give a shit and goes to find Harry. 

How long could one drink take anyways? Definitely not an hour, Luci thought. She searched the rooftop for the two, only to hope that Harry was looking for her too. After ten minutes of looking around the rooftop, passing her cast mates who were asking her to take a shot with them—she took another one, adding more alcohol into her body—she couldn’t find Harry. She started to think the worst; he could’ve possibly taken Daisy home, or Daisy could have taken him up to her room—either way, she didn’t like any of those options. 

For a minute, she mentally debated if she should check Daisy’s apartment, which would be better since it was warmer indoors than it was out—she was convinced it got colder once Harry left her side—but the negative side of her mind, who was taunting her like the devil on her left shoulder, told her to check if Harry was inside because she wasn’t going to like what she was going to see. 

Either way, she needed to find Harry and she didn’t want to go home without him, so she went inside the building and took the elevator down to Daisy’s floor. There were people walking in and out of her place, so it wasn’t that difficult to find which one was hers. With the same amount of people inside her apartment as there was on the rooftop, Luci made her way through the nice and luxurious apartment. She was just on the edge of tipsy; the drinks with her coworkers had gotten her there. Heading up the stairs, she passed by people who were making out, cuddling on the steps, and talking. 

Once she got to the end of the hallway, she had almost given up on her search for Harry until the door at the end of the hall opened, revealing Harry who was leaving and quietly closing the door. 

Luci stood in the middle with an expressionless face. He hadn’t seen her yet, but the way she wasn’t giving any emotion didn’t mean that she didn’t care; the thoughts in her mind were invading every inch that there was just too much to focus on. 

Harry turned around, stopping in his tracks once he faced her. 

“Hey,” he greeted softly. 

“Hi.” 

“I’m sorry for leaving-”

“Were you…” Luci referred to what was happening inside the room as she couldn’t finish her sentence because the thought and the words simply disgusted her. 

“N-No.”

“Why do you seem unsure?” She was testing him; she heard the hesitancy in his voice, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell the truth. 

A new attitude rose him. “Why do you care?” His voice was a tad bit harsher, but he was a little confused on why she was questioning his actions. 

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, crossing her arms, avoiding his question. “I’m going home. Are you coming with or…?” Harry bit the inside of his cheek, remembering that she hadn’t answered his question, so he’ll ask again later. He nodded, and Luci turned around; he followed. 

The entire ride on the subway and walking towards their apartment building was quiet. They didn’t even sit next to each other like they always did; just across one another, avoiding eye contact.

It was when they were both in front and unlocking their doors was when Harry spoke up. 

“Luci.” She stopped her movements, turning around slowly as did he. This time, she looked at him so deeply in the eyes that it was physically difficult for her to take her eyes off him. “Why were you mad at me before we left?” 

On the ride back home, Harry thought about the events at the party. He’d never seen Luci so annoyed at him before, so it got him thinking a lot about what she felt for him. She was jealous, anyone could see that, and he wanted her to say it out loud why she was jealous because he could name a few reasons. 

“Did you have a good time with Daisy?” 

Harry breathed out a chuckle. “You’re jealous,” he stated immediately. 

“Answer my question-”

“Then answer mine.” 

The tension was so thick that with just one small poke of a needle, it would collapse and break. They’d never had this type of conversation before, where the tension was rising and the room felt warm; they were always playful and laughing with each other that neither of them thought they were capable of having this certain type of energy with one another. 

“I was mad because you left me alone at the party…with Daisy of all people,” she said honestly, leaving a few things out. 

“Is that all?” He raised his brows, crossing his arms. 

Luci shook her head. “That’s not how it works, Styles. I answer yours, you answer mine.” 

A smug grin landed on Harry’s face. “Did I have a good time with Daisy?” He repeated her question. “To be honest with you, no. She was pretty drunk, so I took her to her bedroom—that’s why I was in there, She was…nice.” Luci sensed a ‘but’ trailing. “She even asked me if I’d wanna go out some time.”

“What’d you say?” 

He tsked. “Not how it works, Suki.” Luci rolled her eyes, letting out a soft huff. “Hey, they’re your rules.” He chuckled. “Now, answer this: why were you jealous?” 

There was a surge of confidence that Harry’s never felt before; maybe it was because he knew things Luci didn’t know herself, but watching her unfold those realizations was definitely feeding his ego. 

Luci sighed deeply before she started. “Knowing that Daisy could possibly get anyone she wanted was a bit of an insecurity of mine when we were on our way to the party. That was because I knew she’d want you. I mean…look at you, you’re literally so gorgeous.” Harry blushed. “And I knew that it was inevitable that she would ask you to hang out; I was just surprised when you said yes.��� 

He nodded. “I rejected her when she asked if I wanted to go out.” A bit of weight lifted from Luci’s shoulders, but not completely as there was still something heavy she’s been wanting to say. “Why’d you hope I’d say no? Besides the obvious that she’s mean and rude to you.” 

Alright, time to fess up, Luci. 

Luci inhaled deeply, hoping her confession wouldn’t have him running for the hills. “Because why would you go out with her when you could go out with me? Like, on a date…” Her anxiety was up to her chin as she locked her hands behind her back, preventing them from shaking any more than they already were. 

That one simple question had answered all of the other questions swirling in his mind; not the ones that were asked in the rapid fire round of questioning and answering under the thick cloud of tension over them, but the ones he asked himself a few months ago when he was doubting that she’d ever felt something for him because all this time, she had felt something, and she just asked him out. 

His heart flipped. “You wanna go on a date with me?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask, but I didn’t know if you were interested in me or not,” she said shyly. Luci hadn’t asked someone out before—someone she was really interested in. She’d either wait until they asked her and if they didn’t, she’d move on and pretend that her feelings for them never existed. But Harry was different; seeing him with Daisy tonight had made her realize just how much she felt for him. He made her laugh, smile, and he was such a kind person. 

“I’d love to.” He suddenly answered, taking her back a little. 

She looked at him with wide eyes. “R-Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you too, because I’m very much interested in you, but I didn’t know you were interested, well, until tonight.” Luci giggled. 

“I made it pretty obvious that I was jealous, huh?” 

“A tad bit, but it’s sweet; and I wasn’t gonna go on a date with Daisy. She’s no Luciana Ivy Suki.” He teased, making her face heat up at the sound of her full name coming from his lips. She wanted to kiss him right then and then, wanted to taste the sweet taste that he was storing in his mouth; but she refrained from doing so, figuring that they’d wait until after their date—whenever that was—to wait to kiss him because it would very much be worth the wait. 

“Okay, I’ll, uh, plan the date then.” Her lips turned up, feeling a certain ache on her cheeks already from smiling too much. 

“Can I plan it too?” He genuinely asked. 

“I did ask you, Harry.” She raised her brows teasingly. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll plan the next date then.” He blushed. 

Luci tilted her head, smiling sweetly at his words. “The next date, huh? We haven’t even been on the first date; what makes you think there’ll be a second one.” 

“Oh, love, I think there will be.” Harry stepped closer to her, heart pounding in his chest; Luci gulped at the closeness. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her by the way he was looking at her intently. And for a moment, she was gonna give in and say ‘fuck waiting,’ and kiss his pink lips until he leaned forward and kissed her soft cheek for a brief moment. “Can’t wait for our date. Let me know what the plans are.” 

“O-Okay.” The touch of his lips on her skin had stunned her, and she wanted them back on her instantly. 

Harry opened his door, giving Luci a small smile before walking in. She started to slowly back into her open apartment, holding onto the door handle tightly. Before they closed their doors, they stared at one another, admiring each other before they said: 

“Sweet dreams, Luciana.” 

“Sweet dreams, Harry.” 

November 8, 2017 

Harry strongly knocked three times on the door right across from his own door with a bag full of takeout, another bag full of snacks, and a small brown bag that had a white box inside. 

The door swung open; Luci smiled at the person behind it. 

“Happy Birthday, love!” Harry greeted.

“Aww, Harry, thank you so much.” She was surprised that he remembered, let alone bring a celebration to her as she eyed the bags in his hands. Luci turned twenty-six today; her day was full of greetings from her cast mates, her family, and FaceTime calls from her brother and parents. She was going to make a trip back home for a day or two since she had to perform on Friday, but she was going to see her parents during Thanksgiving, so FaceTime calls had to suffice till then. 

Stepping to the side, she invited him in. He hugged her tightly, kissing the side of her head as her face heated up. They walked to the kitchen, and Harry set the bags on the countertop, unraveling the tie of the takeout. 

“First, I’m sorry for just showing up unannounced and invading your place.” He added a breathy laugh. 

“No, it’s okay! You’re welcomed any time,” she genuinely said; Harry made a mental note of that. 

“Second, this is not a date. I know you didn’t want today to be our first date, but I couldn’t just sit in my apartment and not do anything on your special day! So, here I am.” 

“Here you are.” Luci couldn’t help the warmth that rushed to her face and neck. 

“Third, I brought Chinese since it’s your favorite food. And I just so happen to know a lovely place that has the best Chinese in Brooklyn, which is my favorite place that I’ll take you to soon, but know that you’re so incredibly special because I never take anyone there.” He took the takeaway boxes out of the bag, opening them up as steam released from the boxes. 

Luci leaned against the countertop. “And what makes me so special?” Teasingly fluttering her eyes. 

Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at her intently. “You’re so sweet, funny, and incredibly kind. But most importantly, you’re grounded and humble; and you’re special to me.” His dimpled poked through his skin as he smiled, meaning every word. 

Heart flipping, stomach in knots, and tears washing over her eyes, Luci walked around the counter to hug him, head resting against his chest as she whispered a ‘thank you’ in his ear. 

For the rest of their night, they ate the authentic Chinese food while Harry told her about the restaurant he got it from, including the workers who owned the place. They also talked about work, teased, flirted, and bantered about whether fruit belonged in salads—they do not. 

Harry gave her the brown paper bag that held her gift, and she opened it with shock. He gifted her a gold circle pin that was customized with her initials engraved in the middle, and the saying ‘Shine bright, Dream even bigger,’ separated at the top and bottom. He’d noticed that she had pins on her travel backpack, and would occasionally wear one on the side of her baseball cap. It was the most thoughtful and attentive gift she’d ever received, and that earned Harry a tight hug and many thank you’s. 

After the night was coming close to eleven-thirty, Harry called it a night as he still had to wake up early tomorrow for work. Their goodbye at her door was a long one that was filled with tight and long hugs as they swayed for a moment, enjoying the warmth of each other. They promised each other that they would find a day that was open in their schedule so they could finally have their date; they even pinky swore on it—Harry kissed her pinky, vowing. 

Luci watched Harry open his door before walking inside his apartment; she blew him a kiss as he caught it, placing his palm on his cheek, making her smile. 

As they closed their doors, Luci couldn’t help but think that she just had the best birthday ever. 

November 17, 2017 

Luci’s leg nervously shook as she waited for her digital clock to hit 2:30 p.m. 

Today was Luci and Harry’s first date, and will hopefully be written down in history. She’d been anticipating this day for a while now, and she couldn’t believe the day was finally here. The few days after she asked him out, they tried settling on a date, but the two weeks after Halloween were booked for them. 

Luci was performing most days out of the week and Harry needed to figure out his teaching plans since it was close to Thanksgiving break and winter break. But when Harry found out that he had a random Friday off, he immediately told her, and to their luck, Luci wasn’t performing that day. So, they were settled on a day, and Luci couldn’t wait to take him out. 

She told him that he was going to need to dress warm since they were going to be outside for most of the day, so he opted for light blue jeans that were a bit baggy, a white t-shirt, a black coat that had faux fur on the thick collar and cuffs; since he, assumingly, was going to be walking around a lot, he wore black old school vans. Harry looked in the mirror, ruffling his hair in his hands to get it to stick the way he wanted it to. His hands slightly shook as he was fixing his hair, and he realized he hadn’t felt this nervous in a while; it had been a while since he’d gone on a date with someone he truly liked. 

When it hit two-thirty, Harry opened his door and locked it before taking a step forward. He took a breath, shaking his nerves off; as he was just about to knock, he heard Luci shuffling around inside her apartment as her keys jingled in her hands and her boots thudded against the wood. He put his hand down, thinking it would be nice for her to just see him right when she opened the door. After a few moments, Luci felt like she had everything she needed, so she swung her door open to only find Harry standing right in front of it, hiding behind a familiar bouquet of flowers—her favorite ones from him. 

“Hello.” He smiled, dimples clearly present. Luci felt like she could cry on the spot from just being so overwhelmed with her nerves and the anticipation leading up to this day, this moment. “These are for you. Hope you never get tired of them.” Harry handed her the bouquet, and she hugged them to her chest. 

“Harry, thank you. Believe me, I would never.” The start of her cheek aches had begun, and it had been about thirty seconds into their date. But cheek aches with Harry were her favorite type of aches, so she didn’t really mind it. 

She went back inside her apartment as Harry followed her in; she put the flowers in a vase before fixing them a little, making sure none of them were drooping down on the edge of the glass vase. Placing them on her windowsill, where she usually puts the flowers Harry gifted her, she smiled gratefully at them before turning her head and smiling at Harry, extra grateful. 

“Shall we go?” He asked, and she nodded. 

Harry followed Luci down to the subway station as she got on the M train. In eleven minutes, there were four stops; the subway was quite packed with no available seats, so the two stood, holding onto the silver bar in between them with their bodies close in proximity as they stood. Harry took the chance to look down at her, simply admiring her beauty as she mindlessly looked around, not noticing his eyes lingering on her. 

When their stop was on Essex Street, they got off, transferring onto the F train towards Coney Island; and Harry suddenly knew exactly where they were going. He didn’t say anything but smile. The entirety of the ride took forty-two minutes with twenty-two stops; they were able to sit down next to each other after the first stop. 

Their bodies were close—thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. Luci took out her wired earphones—figuring they were going to be there for a while, why not listen to some music—handing Harry the left one as she put the right one in. She played Fleetwood Mac, Tame Impala, ABBA, Lorde, and Hozier—a few artists they’d bonded over—as they both swayed in their seats, making up some dance routine with their arms and shoulders. They laughed and ignored the weird looks of bystanders, who were trying to have a peaceful train ride to their destination, but Luci and Harry were too focused on each other to care. 

Once it was their stop, Luci put her headphones and phone in her purse before they got off and walked side by side one another. Harry had the urge to pull her close to his side, to hold her soft hand, but he was too shy to make a move. When they walked up the stairs to exit the station, their fingers brushed together—practically bumping into one another. Luci confidently made the move and linked their fingers together; Harry looked down and back up at her as he blushed, squeezing her hand lightly. 

“Is this okay?” She asked, looking up at him. 

“It’s perfect.” He meant it; the way her small hands fit so perfectly into his, as if he was protecting them. Holding her hand was comforting, and it surprised him at how comfortable he was to be making physical contact with her; but ever since he met Luci, he’s surprised himself quite a few times already. 

They finally reached their first date hotspot, and Harry assumed right as to where she was taking him. 

Three wide entryways painted in navy blue and orange had ‘Luna Park’ painted in orange at the top. Above the entryways were large flower-like and crescent moons that lit up during the nighttime, giving the boardwalk the most illuminating glow. The large Ferris wheel could not be missed as the carts swung and rattled back and forth. On top of the excitement of the amusement park, there were screams from people who were on the roller coasters, and the smell of fair food that they couldn’t wait to devour. 

Luci paid for their entrance admission, and Harry frowned, wanting to pay, but they both agreed that they could go half on the food, and games and rides. 

They felt like little kids who were at Disneyland, minus the famous castle and Main Street music, as they walked around the park to check it out as the wood beneath them creaked with every step while they hadn’t let go of each other’s hands. 

“Everything looks really fun,” Harry exclaimed.

“Right! Do you wanna play some games first or ride on some rides?” 

“How about we get the rides out of the way? You look very excited to go on them, and I have a feeling there’s no way you’re not going on them without me.” Harry assumed, quite accurately. 

Luci put her hand on her heart teasingly. “You know me too well.” Harry chuckled. “Okay, let’s go on some rides!” She dragged him to the admissions booth, and Harry paid for both of their passes for rides. 

They waited in line for the ‘Cyclone,’ which was the biggest rollercoaster besides the Wonder Wheel. Luci sensed Harry’s nerves as he kept looking up at the ride, and he couldn’t keep still. 

She squeezed his hand tightly. “Harry, you don’t have to go on the ride with me.” She was starting to feel concerned for him because his hands were becoming damp, which she didn’t care for, and he kept bouncing his leg everytime the line stopped moving. 

He raised his brows, and brushed away his nerves to the side but not very far. “No, no. It’s okay—I’ll be okay.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, he nodded. “I’m sure. We’re here to have some fun, not be nervous, right?” 

“Yeah. But I’ll admit, I was nervous before we left,” she said, hoping to change the subject to distract him from the fast ride above them. 

“Why’s that?” He curled his lips into his mouth. 

“This is our first date, I want it to go well,” she said honestly. It had been a while since she’d been on a real date—the last one being in college—but to be nervous for a date was a feeling she wasn’t familiar with. 

“Think it’s going quite well, don’t you think?” He gave her a toothless grin, brows raised. Luci nodded, happy that he was always reassuring her and making her feel comfortable. “Plus, I was nervous too—still am, if I’m being honest.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nodded his head as if his nerves were the most obvious thing. “Oh, yeah. I want this to go well too. But by the way we’ve been friends for months before this happened, I think we’ll be okay, Ci.” Her eyes slightly widened at the new nickname that she’d never heard; Harry instantly noticed her shock. “I-Is it okay if I call you that?” To be honest, he’s always wanted to call her some unique nickname that would only be for him. ‘Luci’ seemed to be the name everyone called her, ‘Ana’ was her brother’s name for her, so the last syllable in her name seemed to be free. 

“No one’s ever called me that.” And she thinks that’s extra special. “But yes, please call me that.” She approved, and he smiled. 

It was their turn to get onto the Cyclone, and Harry suddenly didn’t feel so nervous anymore as they were being safely strapped into their rollercoaster cart. The ride was quite high, looking over the blue water and Coney Island Beach; the view was quite gorgeous, even in the middle of a cold November day in New York. 

They screamed as the ride dropped; Luci held up one of her arms as the other held tightly on Harry’s hand as he grasped the metal bar, afraid to bravely put his arm up like his beautiful date. 

When the ride was finished, they had a rush of exhilaration, wanting to go on the other rides. So, they did; they laughed, screamed, and were the most carefree people they’d ever been in their entire lives because they brought it out of each other. 

After they filled their rollercoaster crave, they ate and talked. Individually, they were both worried about this part of the date where they had to talk because they’d been hanging out for so many months and getting to know each other that they thought coming up with conversation topics were going to be difficult. But it was natural for them; they didn’t put any pressure on themselves to speak every single minute of the date. Instead, they relished in the comfortable silence they seemed to form, not minding it one bit. 

The sky had turned into a cotton candy pink from a bright blue quite quickly. Luci wanted to watch the sunset, but was a bit sad that they hadn’t played the majority of the games; but Harry told her it was okay, and they would come back another time when the park reopened again during the Spring. 

Hand in hand, they walked to the beach that was just across the street from Luna Park. The bright lights from the park were becoming distant as they continued to walk further away from it. Since it was mid November, there weren’t that many people out because of the cold temperature—just the few people who were passing by along with others who decided to watch the sunset as well. 

“Tell me about your last relationship?” Luci suddenly asked; Harry looked at her amusingly. 

“Like now? In the middle of our date?” He teased, making her laugh. 

“I mean, if you want to. I was just curious.” 

Harry thought for a moment. “Hmm. My last serious relationship was over a year ago. We broke up right before I started teaching at the middle school.” 

“What happened?” She asked softly, not wanting to pry, but she was also curious. 

“We weren’t good for each other anymore. I guess life happened, and we turned into people we weren’t proud of. We grew apart; she was more in love with her career than she was in love with me. Couldn’t say I was the best boyfriend either,” he explained, not getting into too much detail. But he’d neglected her without even realizing it, causing his ex to occupy herself with work. “So, we broke up. And it felt like it was a sign from the universe that was holding me back from venturing out because I immediately got a job at the school when I had been putting off finding a proper teaching job.” He breathed out a chuckle, remembering the memory.

He’ll admit, his last relationship had hurt him quite a lot. He’d never felt such pain before, and it had made him quiet and reserved. But how it ended made him not seek out to find a relationship. For a while, he didn’t like the idea of love because it had only hurt you. But then he met Luci, and at first, he was hesitant to even be her friend because just at first glance, he was ruined, and he didn’t want to go through that process again; but here they are now. And maybe, he’ll tell her this, but for now, he doesn’t want to scare her off. 

“Do you still talk to her?” 

“Nope. Last I heard of her, she was engaged to this woman she met a few weeks after our breakup, but I have no clue if they’re still together.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What about you?” 

“My last relationship?” Harry nodded. “To be honest, I’ve never been in a serious one…like ever.” 

He raised his brows in shock. “Really?” 

“Yeah. The furthest I’ve gone that was close to a relationship was a friends-with-benefits towards the end of college, which didn’t end well.” Harry sensed her mood change a bit, so he didn’t pry on asking what happened in the past. The bad memories had filled her mind, making her frown, but she pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to think about them at the moment because the timing is unbelievable. “That’s that; I don't have any exciting or tea-spilling relationship stories.” 

For a moment, she didn’t want to jinx her luck, but she imagined what it would be like to be in a relationship with Harry—despite it only being their first date. Her mind took her to a fantasy that was so special and sweet because that was how she pictured what it would be like to be with him. 

They sat in silence as the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls above them took over their hearing. It was nice and refreshing to sit side by side, taking in the beautiful scenery that the world provided. Sunsets had always made Luci feel a vast amount of gratitude towards the world and the people around her; the opportunities, the things that she got to see—they all wouldn’t have happened if the sun didn't go down, promising a new tomorrow. 

Suddenly, Harry stood up, brushing the sand that had gotten on his jeans. He reached out to Luci, who was still sitting down and looking up at him. 

“C’mon. Let’s walk,” he suggested. She grabbed his hand as he helped her up, and she patted away the soft sand that had stuck to her black jeans. 

They held hands as they walked the shore of Coney Island Beach, walking towards where the sun was departing from the world. Once the sky had turned into a purple and orange blended masterpiece, Harry stopped walking, facing Luci as he took a deep breath. 

“I’m trying…really hard to hold back.” He held her cold hands in his, lightly pushing and pulling her towards him. He’d been thinking about it for the entirety of their date, and he just wanted to pull her in and kiss her whenever.

Luci shook her head softly as she stopped swaying; her eyes flickered towards his mouth, glad she wasn’t the only one thinking the same thing. She dreamed of this—had been wanting to press her lips against his for quite some time 

“Don’t hold back. Please, don’t hold back.” Her tone and eyes were pleading for him to not refrain himself from the most magical feeling. Luci let go of his hands, wrapping them around his waist as if she was giving him permission to kiss her. 

He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing down to her elbows before he trailed them back up and to the sides of her neck and jaw. Placing a soft kiss to her forehead before placing his on Luci’s, he inhaled deeply, taking in the saltiness of the ocean next to them and the sweetness of her skin. 

Luci fluttered her eyes closed, and Harry took that opportunity to connect his lips with hers. They molded their lips together as if it were one, tasting one another for the first time. The feeling of their passionate kiss felt like the ocean had synchronized together, forming the most beautiful and largest wave for the most dedicated surfer; and when it crashed, it was powerful, breathtaking, and strong—like no other wave could top this one, no one could top this one of a kind kiss. 

Harry smiled into the kiss, making Luci smile and giggle as well. Her stomach fluttered, hugging him tighter to her as his thumbs gently caressed her soft skin. Nothing could top this feeling. 

Pulling back, Harry breathed out a giddy chuckle before placing a few more pecks on her lips as if he was dreaming the first time. Luci opened her eyes as did he; she looked into his and found an immense amount of adoration within him. 

“I like you…a lot.” 

She leaned her forehead against his chest, cheekily smiling and restricting herself from squealing before she looked back up at him. “I like you too, Harry.” 

Harry flashed her his smile, something that he couldn’t wipe off his face, not like he tried. Nowadays, he was smiling a lot more, and he was one hundred percent sure Luci was the cause of it. 

Kissing her forehead, Harry hugged her to his chest as they watched the sun go down. With her face pressed against his chest, she heard the erratic heartbeat that was pounded heavily; and in that moment, she knew exactly how that felt—to feel so much for one person that your heart could fall out—and she only hoped he could feel hers because it was pounding just the same. 

As they held each other tightly, they both knew that this was going to be something special. 

And they were all in for the ride.

an exciting chapter! come talk to me about your thoughts, feelings, favorite moments and scenes! thank you for reading <3 next chapter will be up next saturday!

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//missing pieces. miya atsumu//

Warnings: mild swearing.  Feelings of hopelessness. infidelity

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: imnotcryingimnotcryingimnotcrying.

{Read Part II - "Broken Pieces" HERE}

You heard them before they even entered the door.  The loud shouts and the howls of laughter.  If you sat up enough on the couch, the MSBY training jackets were visible through the front window.  Hinata’s orange hair bounced wildly as he jumped excitedly with his older Jackals.  It was the fifth time this week that the boys had come over after practice.

It was the fifth time this week that the boys had disrupted your much needed study time.  A senior in college, a list of midterms too long to comprehend, and more mental breakdowns than you cared to account for, the hours that your boyfriend was at practice and you could relax and study in the comfort of your shared home was pure bliss.  

The door swung open, giving you a full account of just how loud they were being.  Atsumu was doubled over in fits of giggles, tugging his sneakers off, Hinata and Bokuto shouting bits and pieces of the same story only a few steps behind.  

“Y/N? You here?” Atsumu calls out as he is finally able to calm himself down enough to speak normally again.

“Living room, ‘mu!”

In a matter of seconds, he’s bounding into the room, leaning over your shoulder.  “I’m home.”  You don’t even have to look at him to know that he has the widest grin on his face, just like he always does when he gets back from practice.  No matter how long or how grueling his day, Atsumu never fails to greet you with the biggest smile.

“I see that.  How was practice?”

“Good! My hands are kinda sore though,” he whines, opening and closing his hands in front of you as if to show you the pain he was enduring.  

“Well, you’re new to this pro stuff still, Atsumu.  Your body will get used to it soon.”

“Yeah, I know.”  He sighs a little, resting his chin on the top of your head.  “The guys are here.”

“Trust me, I, and the entire neighborhood, know.  Let me just finish this question real quick and I’ll let you guys have the living room.” 

“Aw, come on!  You don’t want to hang out with us?”

“I need to study or else I would love to.”

He hums in affirmation.  “You’re going to do so well.  I’ll make sure we keep it down so you can focus, okay?” There’s a soft kiss placed on your head as you pack up your laptop and notes so you can go study in the bedroom.

“Thank you, ‘mu,” you say, standing on your toes to give his lips a short peck as you pass.  

But that was then.

And this was now. 

“Are you serious?! You can’t lock me out of my room, Y/N!”

“Our room, Atsumu, and too bad.  I did!”

His fist pounds on the door, the intensity of each knock sending vibrations throughout the room.  “Y/N, this is ridiculous! Open the door!”

“I’m trying to work.  This report has to be done for tomorrow. Please, ‘mu.”

“Don’t ‘mu’ me when you’re literally locking me out the bedroom!”

You roll your eyes, leaning over to twist the lock and tug the door open.  Your boyfriend tumbles into the room as his support is swung away from him.  He doesn’t even look at you.  He just goes straight to the closet, throwing clothes onto the bed.  “Where are you going?” You ask, looking up from your laptop briefly as he throws a pair of jeans a little too far, hitting you in the leg.

“Does it matter?”  He starts peeling off the lounge clothes that he had been wearing most of the day, opting for a slightly more put together outfit for his night out.

You just shrugged.  “I guess not.” Yes.

“Then don’t worry about it.”  Atsumu tugs his jeans up and takes a look at himself in the mirror.  He ruffles his hand through his hair in a poor attempt to give it some extra volume. You watch him make a few dumb facial expressions at himself.  Satisfied, he pulls his hat over his head.  With wallet and phone in hand, he finally turns to look at you.  “Okay.  I’ll see you later,” he states plainly, walking past you and out the bedroom door.

“Do you have your keys?”  The only answer you receive is an annoyed jingle of his keyring from the other room.  

The thud of front door closing is the sole sign that he had left.  There were no final shouts of “Bye, princess! I love you!” “I love you more, ‘mu!” “I love you most!” Those days have long since past.  They had been replaced with eerie silences and quick exits from both parties.  Life in the current household was far from what it had been a year ago.  There were no soft shared kisses just because.  No gentle teases as the evening news played in the background.  No long cuddle sessions on the couch because both of you were too lazy to get up to go to bed. There was no smacking his hands out of the mixing bowl while you tried to make dinner.

Atsumu wasn’t home long enough for those things anymore.  He’d come running in from practice, quickly shower and change out of his sweaty clothes.  And as fast as he came, he would be gone, maybe shouting “I’m going out with the guys!” but usually, he would just leave, the slam of the door echoing through the house.  

You kept telling yourself that this would pass.  He was just excited to finally be achieving his dreams.  Of course he would want to hang out with his new teammates and friends.  There was a level of trust there that he needed to build with them as their setter and if crowding around Hinata’s television, playing video games was how they bonded, then so be it.  Who were you to tell his team how they should and shouldn’t spend their time?  But this had been going on for months.  

Months of no hellos and no good mornings.  Months of Atsumu coming home late, the faint smell of alcohol on his breath as he tucked into bed an arm’s length away from you.  He returned affection with the minimum amount of effort, maybe a short apology as he broke away from a kiss, explaining that the guys were waiting for him.  It felt like a wedge had been shoved between the two of you, the rest of the Black Jackals jamming you further and further away from him.  

Part of you kept hoping that you would wake up, secured in his arms, a gruff “Good morning” whispered in your ear only followed by a soft whine as you tried to get out of his grasp, causing him to just pull you tighter into his chest.  You kept hoping that whatever switch flipped in his head to cause this would flip back and the Atsumu that you fell in love with would come back to you, but it never happened.  He just kept straying away, not even bothering to look back at how far he had drifted.

You had hoped today would be different.  It wasn’t every day that the two of you accomplished four years of putting up with each other’s bullshit.  But, when his alarm sounded and he just got up like nothing was different, that slight bubble of hope that was buried in your chest popped.  Maybe- maybe he just wanted to focus before practice.  Yeah, that’s all this was.  Surely, he hadn’t forgotten, right?  Atsumu could be a jerk, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole.  He wouldn’t have forgotten your anniversary. 

“What’s this for?” he had asked as he took the neatly wrapped package from you as he sat down at the table, his bowl of cereal nearly empty.

So, he did forget.

“I’ll open it later.  I’m going to try to get a run in before practice.”  You didn’t even have the chance to wish him a happy anniversary before he got up to put his bowl in the sink, headed out of the room to slip on his sneakers for his jog.

So, now, as you sat in your shared bed, it felt like the unopened package was staring intently into your soul, mocking you for your failing relationship.  Four years of laughter, excitement, and love seemed to mean nothing to him and you couldn’t figure out what you did to make him choose volleyball.  It was his dream and you understood that.  You would never keep him from being the man he always dreamed of being.  

It tore you apart inside, this feeling of absolute failure.  It had been bugging you for a while now, but this- that stupid box sitting on his side of the bed, was your breaking point.  You didn’t understand what you did.  Why was he pushing you away?  Did you not support him enough?  Did he think that you didn’t care for him? As the questions weighed heavily on your mind, you felt that all-too-familiar sting of salty tears forming in your eyes.  

You shook your head, silently begging for the tears to just go away.  I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry.  I am not going to cry.  He wasn’t upset, so you shouldn’t be either, right?  But, you were.  You were devastated that no matter how hard you tried to put everything back together, the pieces just kept slipping out from between your fingertips and just as soon as everything felt like it was all coming back together, Atsumu would be holding the final pieces to puzzle, refusing to snap them into their place.  In his hands, he held the most important pieces.  Those gorgeous center parts that brought the entire picture into focus, showing off the breath-taking beauty of it.  But, as of now, it was just the background, the few random bits and bobs, scattered around the scene, each beautiful in their own way, but meaning nothing without the center point of the image.  

The worst part?  You didn’t know when the pieces of your relationship went scattering all over the place, leaving you to scramble, picking everything up on your own while Atsumu was at practice or hanging out with the guys.  You just know that it’s felt like ages since everything was put together in perfect harmony.

You wanted to scream.  You wanted to cry.  You wanted to pull your hair from your head so you could feel something, anything, other than this complete and utter worthlessness and despair that had been swelling within your chest, waiting to be let out.

The hot tears rushed down your face in torrents, but apart from your gentle sniffs, there was silence.  There were no sounds of pitiful weeping.  It was an art that you had learned to perfect after many nights where these feelings washed over you, not wanting to wake Atsumu, not wanting him to stare at you with blank eyes and tell you to, “Stop crying and go to bed.”

But, right now- right now, you didn’t care.  You wanted to hear his voice in your ear, shushing you, reassuring you that everything was fine, just like it used to.  The line rings, rings, rings -

“You’ve reached Miya Atsumu.  Sorry that I missed your call, but if you leave me a message, I’ll get back to you!”

The beep that signals you to leave your message is what urges you to just hang up.  You toss your phone to the side, hoping that, just maybe, he’ll notice your missed call and give you a call back or even just a text message would be good enough for you.

But, there never was.  There was no soft ting at the sound of an incoming message.  You never heard the ringtone that had been set to Atsumu’s contact, signifying that he had called you.  You waited hours, your eyes being dry for a long while at this point, leaving just the shell of a broken person in your place.  Your gaze never left that stupid box.  You were entranced, staring at the black and gold paper, watching it sheen as it would catch the light slipping in from the window.  

Not even the sound of the swinging open could pull you out of your emotionless gaze.  Miya Atsumu just stared into your face, eyes red and puffy, streaks in your make-up where the tears removed your foundation. Somewhere deep within his chest, there was a soft pang of sadness.  There was nothing that he hated more than seeing you so distraught that you completely shut down. Yet, he said nothing.  He simply pulled a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his drawer, pulling his clothes off his body to change into something that he could sleep in.  His shirt came off and your gaze became fixated on his toned chest.

But, even your empty eyes knew the bright red lines of scratches and the harsh purple bruises of a hickey when you saw them.

“‘Mu?”

[welllpthisishappening]

Heart to Heart and Hand in Hand

She was cold. She was tired. She did not want to be ice skating. She wasn’t really ice skating. She was just...kind of standing there – while getting yelled at by security guards and stared at by her boyfriend and they were being pushed off the ice. 

Not literally. 

And Emma knew she was being a Grinch or, maybe, just Max the Dog because she wasn’t in control enough to be a Grinch, but Killian wanted to go ice skating and well...fake it ‘til you make it festivity, right?

Rating: Mature’ish. I can’t write people who don’t swear and make out. Word Count: 7K of just...fluff and snark AN: Hello, hi, hey there - I have no excuse for this except two weeks ago my husband and I went to the city and someone got engaged at Rockefeller Center and I was like...why are people taking pictures of this? So here's several thousand words about that. This was also not a prompt, but this idea took hold and, again, here's several thousand words about that.  Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll and there’s a whole slew of other Tumblr prompts over here. 

“This was an awful idea.” “That’s a rather pointed opinion, love.” Emma scowled, scrunching her nose and they’d stopped moving at some point, staring at each other like they were staging some kind of vaguely festive face off and she was freezing cold.

It was freezing cold.

“It’s freezing cold,” she said, giving voice to the frustration seemingly growing with every single moment and every single bit of laughter and she understood why he’d done what he did.

It was, in theory, almost sweet.

No, that was a lie. It was, in actuality, very sweet.

Because she was in some kind of actual funk and it probably, maybe, definitely had to do with the pink slip that had landed on her desk a week before and who knew there were still pink slips until Battery Bail, Inc. decided to use them and announce a new owner and a new reign, or so said the vaguely placating email after the pink slips, and Emma was out of an office and out of a job and….

“Excuse me,” a voice interjected and Emma nearly fell over. On the ice. They were standing in the middle of the ice rink at Rockefeller Center.

Because Killian was, actually, very sweet and doing his best to be festive a week before Christmas and a week before Storybrooke and family and she was just...not cooperating. At all.  

Emma kind of just wanted to...sit on the ice or something. That probably wouldn’t help how freezing cold she absolutely was.

Killian widened his eyes when her skates slipped underneath her, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her against him and maybe that was a little bit more than sweet. God, she was the worst.

She was so tired. She’d looked at so many job listings.

Emma was almost surprised she hadn’t gone partially cross-eyed at some point in the last week. And it was so cold. It was windier on the rink, she was positive.

“We’re moving, we’re moving,” Killian promised, waving his free hand towards the disgruntled security guard and no wonder he was frustrated, they were causing some kind of on-ice traffic jam. She hoped they were close to their time limit.

She was the worst.

The security guard scoffed or groaned or sighed as dramatically as humanly possible because Emma was fairly certain every single human in the history of the entire world was crammed onto the rink at Rockefeller Center and there was music blaring from speakers that were probably hidden inside those light-up angel things and someone was trying to do triple-axels in the middle of the ice.

There was always one person like that.

And really Emma’s experience with ice rinks began and ended with the makeshift one that was really more a frozen and slightly dangerous pond in Storybrooke, but even then, there always seemed to be that one person who was positive they were Olympic-bound as soon as they laced up their skates.

She needed coffee or something.

No, she was already bitter enough.

God damn.

“That’s right,” the security guard said, nodding once like he’d properly exercised his power. He skated away.

It was absurd.

They still hadn’t actually moved. People were starting to skate around them.

“What do you think the qualifications of being a Rockefeller Center skating rink security guard are?” Emma asked, twisting against Killian’s hold until her own hands were pinned in between them. She nearly fell over again trying to sling her arms over his shoulders.

“Swan, you’re going to kill yourself,” Killian muttered and there was a hint of amusement in his voice that probably didn’t belong in the situation.

They were Grinch’ing. Or Scrooge’ing. Or whatever. And it was definitely just her. Emma wasn’t going to worry about the specifics. She was just going to be angry at the world.

Even when the actual angels were harking and heralding and singing.

“Ah, but then we’d be able to get off the ice, so maybe that was my great, big master plan to begin with,” she countered.

Killian deflated slightly, shoulders sagging just a bit under her arms and Emma absolutely felt like the complete jerk she was. God damn. Again. She was so cold. “I think we’re almost out of time actually,” he said softly, staring a hole into the minimal amount of space between them.

“Why do you think there’s a time limit?” “Supply and demand,” he answered easily, shrugging again and her arms shifted and they were definitely going to get kicked out of Rockefeller Center. “Plus, it’s way more expensive than Bryant Park, so they get you in and get you out and then they rake in their millions.” “God bless us, everyone.”

He flashed her a smile and for half a moment Emma forgot about the job, or, rather, the distinct lack of a job and let herself take a deep breath and she couldn't even really smell the stereotypical New York garbage smell, might have even smelled the goddamn tree a few feet away from them instead.

It smelled good.

And she didn’t mind the snow.

It was definitely snowing.

“I’m trying to reign in on the romantic tendencies,” Killian muttered, ducking his head and letting his lips trail across her jaw.

“The fact that you have any romantic tendencies at all anymore is astounding.” He pulled back like he’d been shocked or snow had fallen down his jacket and that second one was impossible because they were both so bundled up against the cold, it was a wonder Emma could even feel anything at this point.

She bit her lip, squeezing one eye shot and all she could feel was the hollow weight of disappointment sitting in the pit of her stomach. “If you want me to get that security guard over here again, he can probably kick me out for just, you know, being a jerk at this point,” she mumbled, drawing a laugh out of Killian and that was a step in the right direction.

They still hadn’t taken any steps.

Or skated. They probably weren’t supposed to take steps on the ice. That’s how people fell.

“I’m not trying to kick you out of anything, Swan,” Killian said and it sounded much bigger than just, kind of, joking about security guards at tourists attractions. “The opposite in fact.”

She felt her eyebrows jump, sniffling slightly when a snowflake actually landed on her nose and something was going on.

She just didn’t know what.

She’d been up until some ungodly hour the night before, feet draped across the back of the couch with her laptop propped up against her legs and maybe that’s why she hadn’t actually gotten any e-mails back. The people in charge knew she was applying to jobs in an unprofessional manner.

And Emma probably would have stayed there for the majority of the night, clicking on jobs she wasn’t even interested in by the time it hit four o’clock, if Killian hadn’t padded around the corner of the living room with his hair sticking up in several different directions and told her come back to bed, love with his hand held out in front of him.

She did.

After she applied to three more jobs she absolutely didn’t want.

“Yeah?” Emma asked, tilting her head and Killian was nodding before she’d even finished the question.

“Unequivocally,” he said. “Indefinitely. A whole slew of other adverbs.”

He was going to kiss her again. She was positive.

Until he didn’t.

And maybe she was a little sleep deprived because she wasn’t really sure what was going on when Killian didn’t move an inch and he always woke up before she did, but she wasn’t positive he actually fell back asleep once they did go to bed and... something was going on.

“What’s your deal?” Emma asked unceremoniously, pulling one hand down to tug lightly on the scarf around his neck. “Honestly.” “My deal,” Killian repeated, as if he’d never heard the words before. “I don’t have a deal. I have no deals at all.”

The music seemed to get softer and Emma wondered if she was just losing her mind or staging some kind of complete mental breakdown in the middle of Rockefeller Center and if they didn’t take a picture in front of the tree, Mary Margaret was probably going to riot.

“Yeah, you’re really selling it,” she laughed.

Killian paled visibly, eyes darting over her head and Emma waved a very confused hand through the air. “There’s nothing to sell, Swan. There was just a day off and a weather forecast that blatantly lied and...well you like Christmas.” She was, easily, the worst Grinch in the history of Grinches. Was there more than one Grinch? How did the Grinch come into being? Did the Grinch have parents?

How did he feed Max the dog?

And, usually, Killian would be absolutely right.

Emma Swan loved few things more than Christmas in New York City, the opposite of everything she'd thought Christmas was when she was a kid and there weren't presents or people or family, but then the Blanchards changed all that and when she and Mary Margaret first moved, what now felt like several lifetimes ago, she’d made sure to take, at least, three days off in December so she could see every single thing.

There were trees to critique and festive food to test and, one year, she and Mary Margaret had actually drawn a map of all the storefronts they wanted to see.

It was still hanging in Mary Margaret’s apartment.

They never went ice skating.

Emma loved Christmas and loved New York and loved both of them together and when Mary Margaret met David – during some kind of assembly at the elementary school she taught at downtown and he was wearing dress blues and talking about safety and the police and, well, it was like love at first sight or something – it only made sense that the Christmas extravaganza became a three-person party.

Until David brought someone else.

Emma was furious.

She’d shouted and stomped her foot and none of it was very mature, but their Christmas thing was a thing and they didn’t need new people   until David pointed out that he was, at one point, a new person and she had to give in.

So they met recent NYPD-hire Killian Jones, fresh to the 24th precinct from Boston, at Serendipity 3 and he mumbled something under his breath about the crowds and waiting and Emma decided to hate him – unequivocally.

It went that way for weeks and months and forced group outings that were somewhere close to tortuous – or so Emma told Mary Margaret at some point in July – and they bickered and teased and sassed and Killian Jones was very easy to hate.

Until he was...not.

She was never sure what changed, what conversation did it or what look seemed to linger just a bit longer than it was supposed to, but things started to shift somewhere around Thanksgiving his first year on the force and Mary Margaret and David were so busy being in lovethat Emma found herself standing in the corner of some NYPD holiday party with Killian and wine and smiles and they talked.

For hours.

With more wine. And more smiles.

He didn’t kiss her that night. And she didn’t kiss him. Not until Christmas Eve and it was, easily, the most cliche thing she’d ever done in her entire life, but he showed up at Mary Margaret and David’s apartment for some other tradition and there was snow in his hair and he’d actually baked something and Emma just pressed up on her toes and kissed him.

Hard.

He kissed her back.

And it just went from there – holidays and NYPD parties and dress blues and they moved into the apartment uptown a year and a half ago.

There was a Christmas tree in it now. It was, in Emma’s not so humble opinion, the best decorated tree on the entire island of Manhattan.

Emma loved Killian and Killian loved Emma and it was good and great and it would have been decidedly festive if she hadn’t gotten fired a week before.

God, he’d taken her ice skating. She was the worst.

“Did you say something about the weather?” Emma asked, realizing belatedly that the forecast had been part of his explanation. “And that it lied to you?” Killian rolled his eyes skyward, something that felt a lot like nerves rolling off him in almost visible waves. “It was supposed to, at least, be sunny. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything about the cold, but I figured if there was some sun it might almost even out and…” She didn’t let him finish.

And she nearly fell over. Again.

He was impossibly good at kissing – lips moving in a practiced rhythm and his hand heavy on her back, pulling her flush against him and if she weren’t wearing the hat he’d told her she had to put on so your ears don’t get frostbit he probably would have carded his fingers through her hair.

So maybe they were just impossibly good at kissing each other.

That was a little less Grinch-like.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Killian accused, but there was a smile on his face and the amusement was obvious in his voice.

Emma shrugged. “Yeah, well, if you get to be all romantic with ice skating plans then I figured it was time for a little quid pro quo or something.” “And here I thought it was an absolutely terrible idea.” “That’s not what I said,” Emma argued lightly and the music had definitely gotten softer at some point. Maybe so the security guard could yell at them easier. “I never once used the word absolutely. Just generically terrible.” “Ah, my mistake, Swan. It’s definitely different if it’s only generically terrible.” “It’s because I’m so cold.”

He pulled back slightly, smile still on his face and something in his gaze that like...set her whole body on fire. Emma tried not to blink. “I told you I couldn’t control the weather, love.” “Just everything else?” “I’m, at least, trying to.” “Seems like a pretty lofty goal,” Emma muttered, fingers finding the front of his coat and she couldn’t really move with the gloves she had on, but he kept smiling at her and her stomach kept doing that flipping-flopping thing.

Killian hummed, moving his hand up her back and Emma swore she could feel it through her coat and, possibly, into the center of her soul or something absolutely absurd, but it had been an exceptionally long week and she’d gotten, like, forty-five minutes of sleep.

“Even so,” he said. “An attempt is being made. We’re going to be festive. And romantic. A decided combination of both before we leave on Thursday.” “You know, you sound like you have a plan, Officer.” He beamed at her – brighter than the tree a few feet away from them. “It’s possible,” Killian admitted. “You’ve never been ice skating, after all. Seemed like it should be memorable.” “Color me intrigued.” “That’s the point, love.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, desperate to figure out what the hell was going on and that seemed like the opposite of the festive theme they were going for, but the angels, had officially, stopped harking and they were being ushered off the ice.

Killian groaned, mumbling a string of curses under his breath when a different security guard tried to actually push him forward. “What’s going on?” he asked, keeping one hand on Emma’s waist when he twisted to glare over his shoulder.

“Just the usual,” the second guard answered and Emma had no idea what that could possibly mean. “Christmas in New York. At least it’s snowing. Makes it a little...more don’t you think?”

Killian hummed, but there was an air of frustration to it and he’d definitely gotten paler at some point. They should really get coffee. And hand warmers. And, possibly, an industrial size heater.

“Doesn’t it though?” Killian asked. The security guard made another noise, neither an agreement nor a disagreement and Emma wondered when the Earth had spun off its axis and into this parallel universe where she resented Christmas and Killian snarked at people on ice skates.

“Seriously, what is going on?” Emma demanded, but it was difficult to stomp her foot when she was still trying to balance on skates and they had to keep moving or they’d get run over by the crowd behind them. “And seriously where did all these people come from? Were all these people on the ice?”

“Nothing, love,” Killian said, rushing over the words so quickly the lie practically reached out and slapped her. She wouldn’t have been able to keep her balance. He mumbled something else, a string of words and general frustrations and she was momentarily worried he was actually going to tug his hair out of his head when she got distracted by whatever was happening on the ice.

Emma strained her neck, trying to see over the small ocean of humanity that had exploded between her and the rink and Killian’s hand hadn’t left her waist yet. “Are there people still out there?” she asked.

“Yup.”

She turned at the absolute disappointment in his voice, lowering her eyebrows and he didn’t notice. He was too busy glaring at the Rockefeller Center ice rink.

“Have they offended you?” Emma continued warily and if she tugged on Killian’s scarf any more she was going to unravel it. Killian made a noise, eerily similar to that security guard and this wasn’t a parallel universe, it was a different timeline entirely, where absolutely nothing made sense. “And...so you’re just going to stare them to death?” “Or until they get run over by a zamboni.” She laughed. Loudly. And drew the attention of several different strangers nearby, one of which actually had the gall to shush her like she was interrupting something.

She was.

The people on the ice weren’t just people, they were a couple and one of them was a man – who was absolutely going to mess up his jeans when he knelt on the ice.

“Oh my God,” Emma sighed and she didn’t think she imagined Killian’s hand tighten slightly. “Is this for real?” “Seems like it, love.”

“Did we get cheated out of minutes on the ice for this?” “It’s supposed to be romantic.” “They’re messing up everyone else’s ice times.” Killian laughed, but there was a hint of something else Emma couldn’t name just on the edge of it and she didn’t understand any of the emotions shooting through her veins or arteries or wherever emotions went.

She was annoyed and cold and she wanted to kiss her boyfriend some more and maybe get some hot chocolate and she was...something else she absolutely would not give heed to because nothing in the history of the world could ever be more cliche than getting engaged on the ice at Rockefeller Center.

“Does he have a microphone?” Emma asked, doing her best to keep her voice and her critiques as quiet as possible. It was obvious it didn’t work when she got shushed. Again. “Why does he need that? We don’t need to hear this play by play. Who do you think gave him that?” “Probably the guy who was going for gold in the middle of the rink.” “Oh God, yeah, he was the worst, wasn’t he? You think he was part of the plan from the start? Stash the microphone in his...leotard? Is that the technical term?”

Emma glanced around, trying to find their future medalist and he was several yards away in an outfit that he must have custom ordered and...his phone out.

She made some kind of absurd noise and Killian followed her gaze, arm shifting to move around her shoulders and people were recording this. They were taking pictures of it.

They were documenting some other person’s life moment.

“That’s weird, right?” Emma asked, glancing up to find Killian a bit more wide-eyed than she expected. “The phone thing I mean. I guess the proposal is relatively normal.” He twisted his eyebrows, one side of his mouth tugging up in a decidedly familiar move and Emma tried to will her stomach to stop doing whatever it was doing. And she needed that voice in the back corner of her mind to shut up because this was cliche and she’d just gotten fired and she didn’t have time to wallow over something else.

They just needed to get through Christmas.

Bah humbug.

“Relatively normal,” Killian echoed, like he was taking particular note of that part of the conversation. The voice in the back corner of her mind was never going to shut up. “And I don’t know about weird, Swan. It’s...we’re in public. Par for the course or something.”

She shook her head, the voice finally quieting when her mind turned its attention to angry and frustrated. “No, no,” she argued. “That’s weird. Those people are strangers. They have no idea about this couple’s stories. They could be mass murderers.” “You think mass murderers are getting engaged at Rockefeller Center?” “Who else would be able to put up with these kinds of crowds?”

Killian scoffed, pressing a kiss to her temple, but most of it got lost in that absurd hat. Her ears really were warm – that was about the only part of her that was the correct temperature, though, and the rest of Emma was decidedly frosty and just a bit petulant.

“Ah, well, of course, who could argue with such a well thought out point, Swan,” Killian grinned, moving her hair so he could brush his thumb across the back of her neck. “Naturally those people pledging their lives to each other are only doing it for the murder chances.” “Does it count to pledge your lives now?” Emma asked, only dimly aware of what she was saying and this conversation had lost its footing on the ice, slid across the entire rink and, probably, broken its metaphorical bones.

“When else would you be doing it?” Emma shrugged. “During the actual wedding. Now just seems like...an IOU or something.” “I’m not sure that’s exactly how it works. I think it’s a slightly bigger deal than owing someone five bucks for coffee.” “That was oddly specific.” “You were going into mass-murdering detail about Allie and...Brodie.”

She nearly fell over again and that lady who kept shushing her was positively scandalized because Emma was close to cackling, head thrown back and worries about...anything except how much she absolutely loved Killian Jones forgotten as soon as he came up with names.

“Brodie?” she asked and Killian tilted his head, shrugging slightly and kissing her and the shushing lady was probably going to get a third security guard to yell at them soon. “How did you land on Brodie?” “Some kid got brought in the other day for some kind of sneaker theft ring and his name was Brodie. I didn’t mention that? I definitely wanted to tell you about Brodie.” “You never mentioned a single thing about Brodie,” Emma promised. “I definitely would have remembered Brodie. And you think Brodie would just go from stealing sneakers to murder? Seems like a pretty big job.” “You’re the one harping on the murder thing, love,” Killian pointed out. “And I really don’t think Allie and Brodie are killing anyone. Look, they’re far too busy up’ing the rating.”

She was half a second away from asking what the hell he meant, when Killian tugged her off her skates, pulling her up his side and ignoring her soft yelp and, well, she understood after that. Allie and Brodie were...what appeared to be two seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off right there in the middle of Rockefeller Center.

The future Olympic gold medalist put his phone away.

“Oh my God,” Emma breathed, shaking slightly when Killian laughed against her. He buried his face in her shoulder, grip not quite as strong when he couldn’t seem to catch his breath and it was some kind of romance miracle that Allie and Brodie hadn’t fallen flat on their faces.

That probably would have helped their current endeavors though.

“He’s definitely a Brodie,” Killian mumbled. Emma wasn’t sure her jaw would ever close again.

“Shouldn’t you arrest them or something? Public indecency.” “I’m not doing that.”

“Do you think Brodie paid to get us off the ice early? He must have told someone right? You can’t just ask life-altering questions at tourist attractions without giving the powers that be a heads up. That’s just bad planning otherwise.” Killian hummed or choked on the air – Emma wasn’t quite sure which – and he seemed very preoccupied by anything that wasn’t her face. Again.

“I suppose it probably would have been a good idea to let someone know what your plan was before actually executing the plan. Things would have gone smoother then.”

Emma had, at least, eight-hundred questions, but Allie and Brodie were still going at it in the middle of the rink and Killian looked slightly closer to terrified than she’d ever seen him before and there were, somehow, still people taking photos.

New York was the strangest place in the world.

The security guards didn’t seem to know what to do – huddled together along the side of the rink with walkie-talkies out and vaguely overwhelmed looks on their faces and Emma couldn’t look away.

Allie and Brodie must have done breathing exercises to build up that kind of stamina.

“You know you might get your wish,” Emma said, twisting slightly and Killian made a face when she tried to shimmy against his chest. “About the zamboni. They've been out there forever.”

“I can’t remember what I was talking about. Swan, you can’t move that way, you’re going to to dig your hands into my pockets.” “My fingers are going to fall off!”

He pressed his lips together, eyes wide and blue and distracting and she was still missing something, but he’d taken her ice skating and he kept promising how fine everything would be, even without a job, and he was going to come to Storybrooke with her.

“Your fingers aren’t going to fall off, love,” Killian said, tugging both of her hands up as soon as she was back on her own feet and Emma nearly melted when he brushed his lips over her knuckles.

“That’s cheating,” she mumbled. He did something absolutely stupid with his eyebrows. “Is there a reason you don’t want my fingers in your pockets?” “Aside from how awkward that’d probably be?” “Yeah, exactly that.” Killian shook his head, lower lip jutted out slightly and Emma knew a brush off when she saw one. “Nothing, love.

“Yuh huh.” “Nothing,” he repeated. “Ah, look they’ve finally come up for air. That’s good. I thought that one security guard was going to try and teleport out of here.” “That would have been impressive,” Emma said, doing her best to find her bearings in a day that didn’t make sense and a conversation that was, decidedly, on the wrong side of confusing. Killian grinned at her, kissing her quickly and letting his hand fall back towards her hip and they were both still wearing ice skates. “Hey,” she muttered, resting her palm flat on his chest. “Thank you for doing this.” He blinked. “What?”

“Thank you. For...well, I know I’ve been some kind of actual Grinch and I’ve been so anti-Christmas and it’s just...you took me ice skating.” She was never very good at big, important declarations and her feet were starting to cramp because she wasn’t sure she’d actually gotten the right sized ice skates, but Killian kept staring at her like she was the most important thing on any holiday and, maybe, that was enough.

More than enough.

They’d be fine.

And they needed to take a photo in front of the tree.

“I’ve wanted to forever,” Killian said and it felt much bigger than an afternoon and a day off and one of them probably moved or maybe they just settled back in the correct timeline and Emma exhaled against him as soon as his lips hit hers.

The crowd around them dispersed and ran into them and neither Emma nor Killian moved. “I love you,” she whispered, barely moving away from his mouth to let the words settle and she could feel his lips turn and his hand tighten and she wasn’t nearly as cold as she was before.

“I love you too, Swan. What do you say we test out a different tourist trap?” Emma grinned, nodding as soon as he finished the question and they only paused long enough to take their obligatory tree photo before skating at Bryant Park until her whole body ached and the muscles in her face protested from overuse and it was festive and perfect and she didn’t even object when he put How the Grinch Stole Christmas on later that night.

They fell asleep on the couch together.

And she applied to more jobs and waited for another few days and she wasn’t quite as anti-Christmas by the time they got to Storybrooke later that week, sitting in the back seat of the car David rented like they were sixteen and going on their first date.

And the entire town looked like some kind of postcard, covered in snow and actual icicles forming on the sides of houses and the tree that was, always, inexplicably in the middle of Main Street was decorated with multi-color lights and ornaments that the kids in the elementary school made every year.

They stayed with Mary Margaret’s dad, a house that had defined Emma’s childhood when the foster home in Portland closed and Mr. Blanchard offered up the extra room on the second floor and she took a deep breath as soon as they walked through the front door.

It always smelled like cinnamon.

The room didn’t look too different, except instead of the small twin-size bed Emma spent her teenage years on, she and Killian were camped out on an ancient air mattress that she could only imagine spent most of the year in the basement if the lingering scent was anything to go by. It was the best she’d slept in days, wrapped up in brand-new pajamas covered in a pattern that was only appropriate from December 1st to 25th and Killian’s arm around her waist and she smiled when she woke up the next morning to find him still asleep.

She traced her fingers across his arm, brushing over his wrist and the back of his hand and she knew the moment he woke up, one side of his mouth quirking up and eyelashes fluttering slightly.

“Merry Christmas,” Emma whispered, propping her head up on one hand and grinning when he cracked up one eye.

“Is this a Christmas miracle, Swan? When’s the last time you were awake before me?” She shrugged. “I honestly can’t remember. Never? Never seems right. You’re just lucky I’m still here and not going through all the presents.”

“You wouldn’t do that, love, it’d spoil all the surprise.” “I hate surprises,” she grumbled, dropping back dramatically on the worse-for-wear pillows they’d found in one of the hallway closets.

“Ah, but you do enjoy Christmas.”

“That is true. And I think you enjoy teasing me.” “Do you think I’m teasing you right now?” Emma made a noise, shaking her head as much as she could while still laying down and she, suddenly, felt like she was losing some kind of competition she hadn’t been aware she was playing. Killian’s eyes were distractingly blue – and staring straight at her.

“I think you’ve been thinking about something since Rockefeller Center and you’ve been doing a very bad job of trying to distract me.”

He laughed, brushing his lips across hers quickly and...well confidently wasn’t quite the right word, but he was definitely winning whatever competition they were staging and he knew it. “That’s an awful large accusation to make, love. On Christmas morning no less.”

“Just callin’ ‘em as I seem ‘em.” Killian smiled, something flashing across his face that looked like certainty and then something even bigger and Emma had been thirteen when she’d landed on the Blanchard’s doorstep and her whole life changed and she always got a little sentimental when she was back in that room.

And Killian totally knew.

“Speaking of seeing ‘em, there’s something we need to do before we go downstairs,” Killian said, rolling his eyes when Emma’s went decidedly wide. “God, Swan. It’s Christmas.” “I don’t think that makes much of a difference.” “No.” “Tough crowd.” He groaned, rolling his head in between his shoulders and the certainty transformed into something a bit closer to nerves and Emma was far too curious for her own good. “This is not going the way I imagined it would at all,” Killian muttered, reaching up to tug on the hair that curled just behind his ear.

Definitely nervous.

“What isn’t?”  Emma asked cautiously. She sat back up when he moved, twisting towards their suitcases, stuffed haphazardly in the corner the night before when there were traditions to uphold and eggnog to drink and she was actually surprised they hadn’t tripped over them on their way back to the air mattress.

There had been a lot of eggnog.

And a lot of kissing.

Merry Christmas.

“This whole thing,” Killian admitted, laughing softly when he pushed a box towards her. “I’m blaming Allie and Brodie, honestly. I wasn’t expecting competition.” Emma lowered her eyebrows, confusion settling on her shoulders as heavily as several boulders and she couldn’t take a deep breath when the metaphorical boulders shifted slightly and landed squarely in the center of her chest.

Her hand started to shake.

“What?” she whispered, the word barely more than a breath. “I...God, Brodie is the worst name ever. Did he get charged yet?” Killian nodded, the smile shifting back towards encouraging and something she’d always kind of thought of as hers when she decided she didn’t hate him anymore and wanted to kiss the daylights out of him at all times.

“I don’t really want to talk about Brodie now, Swan,” he said, resting his hand on top of hers and tapping his thumb against her finger.

A very specific finger.

Emma wasn’t sure she was in control of any of her own muscles or emotions and she’d been jealous of Allie and Brodie and Killian kept staring at her hand like he was already imagining some very specific things.

“Yeah, no, that makes sense,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about Brodie either. The real or fictional one.” “Swan.” “Yeah.” “You’ve got to open the box, love.”

She hadn’t been holding her breath, so the rush of air that came out of her didn’t make any sense at all, but she was admittedly distracted by the several thousand thoughts racing through her head and…

“You didn’t want me to put my hands in your pockets,” Emma exclaimed, the sentence coming out like the accusation it might have been.

Killian furrowed his eyebrows, trying to get her back on track, but she shook her head. She was the most stubborn person on the planet. “Swan,” he pleaded. “The box, love. Please.”

“When you said this whole thing and not anticipating competition...were you...were you going to ask at Rockefeller Center? On the ice? At Christmas?”

Killian winced and Emma wondered if it was possible for a human being’s heart to actually to grow three sizes in one day. It felt like hers was giving it a pretty good go. “See, you say it like that and it sounds…”

He didn’t finish.

She really needed to stop doing that.

Killian made some kind of strangled sound when she all but launched herself at him, knocking him back hard enough that he had to throw his hand behind him to make sure they didn’t actually roll off the air mattress. Emma tried to shift, to get leverage or just get her hands underneath his pajamas shirt or, possibly, his pants and she grinned when he made another noise as soon as her hips shifted.

“Swan,” Killian muttered, fingers in her hair and feet planted on the ground and she probably should have let him keep talking. She was far too interested in trying to kiss down his neck and the shirt was really just getting in her way at that point.

He made a sound somewhere in the realm of a growl, kissing her again and his teeth did something absurdly unfair on her lower lip and they were going to draw a crowd if they kept making so much noise.

“Emma,” he said, open-mouthed against her jaw and, if asked, Emma would have sworn she could feel him everywhere. The box was sitting a few inches away from them. She couldn’t remember the last time he called her Emma. “Swan...you’ve...there was a plan here, love.” “More than one.” “Swan.”

Killian widened his eyes imploringly, brushing her hair away from her face when it threatened to fall in her eyes and Emma tried to remember ever being happier.

She couldn’t.

She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes closed, determined to push that moment into every single corner of her brain.

“Yes,” she said, an answer to a question they hadn’t actually gotten around to yet.

“What?” “Yes,” Emma repeated. “No matter what the plan. At any point, you know, just for the record.” He kissed her that time.

And they let themselves get distracted for a few more moments, twisting and touching and kissing, God, he was good at kissing her and it probably would have gone on for the rest of the morning if Emma didn’t move.

She nearly rolled onto the box.

She wasn’t sure who made what noise or jumped quicker, trying to make sure things didn’t fall even more off the rails than they already had and the wrapping paper had gotten ripped at some point.

There was a bow.

He’d tied a bow on the box.

“I love you,” Emma mumbled, more out of instinct than anything and Killian laced his fingers back through hers. She was never going to get over this knuckle-kissing thing. “And just...yes.” “You have to let me actually ask, Swan, there are rules.” “Yeah? What are the rules?” “Apparently you’re supposed to mention to the powers that be at Rockefeller Center that planning on asking important questions or they’ll just assume you’re some tourist plebe and give some other guy a microphone and you’ll realize your girlfriend is personally offended by strangers taking photos of major life events.”

Emma gaped, lingering somewhere between hysterically laughing and hysterically crying. She’d lost control of her entire body. And emotions.

They were wearing Christmas pajamas.

“For the record, as it were,” Killian continued, shifting slightly until he was kneeling in front of her and she couldn’t breathe. “I wasn’t planning on any sort of microphone, vaguely X-rated event. I had a whole idea. The snow helped and I’d just whisper the question in your ear and there’d maybe be some kissing, hopefully some kissing if it went the way I kind of figured it would. And the one Christmas thing you’ve never done in the city seemed fairly perfect, but then the job happened and a set of rules I wasn’t aware of happened and…” “The answer would still be yes,” Emma interrupted. “No matter what.”

He stared at her like he couldn’t believe she was there and they kept getting distracted by kissing and answers that were slightly ahead of schedule.

“The question, Swan,” Killian reprimanded softly. “You’ve got to let me ask the question.” “So ask it.”

Killian nodded once, squeezing her hand and his shoulders moved when he took a deep breath. He shifted onto one knee. “Emma, I love you and I’ve loved you since you since the start. Even before you liked me, I think. And I’m not worried about anything if you’re here and with me and I am all in on this, love. From every angle and every depth and that doesn’t even make sense, but I’ve been carrying a box around with me for the better part of the last week, trying to decide if I could just ask you after dinner because I’ve wanted to forever.”

Exactly what he’d told her in Rockefeller Center.

She was going to swoon, right there in her teenage bedroom.

He didn’t let go of her hand when he asked.

“Emma,” he whispered, leaning forward until his forehead rested on hers and she could feel the words in the very center of her being. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said and she might have shouted the words, but she was too busy trying to kiss Killian at the same time she was speaking and there were footsteps in the hallway.

She got the box open eventually, fingers still shaking just a bit until it became some kind of team-effort with bits of wrapping paper all over the air mattress. Emma’s eyes widened when Killian snapped open the top of the box and there was a ring and she knew there was a ring, but it still took her by surprise when he slid it on her finger.

He kissed her hand again.

And they made it downstairs eventually, smiles just a bit too wide to be anything except suspicious and Mary Margaret let out some kind of otherworldly screech when the lights of the Christmas tree reflected off Emma’s ring.

They took pictures and Emma held her hand out to everyone who asked for the rest of the day, an arm around her waist and Killian next to her and there was probably something metaphorical about all of it, but she was far too happy to be even remotely worried.

The air mattress was still, somehow, comfortable even two nights later, their last in Storybrooke, and Emma’s phone dinged with her first interview offer and it all seemed to settle the way things could only settle on Christmas.

Or, rather, two days after Christmas.

“Are you happy, Swan?” Killian asked softly, mumbling the words into her hair and she smiled where she was curled up against his chest.

“Yeah. This was a good idea.”

[92prince]

Concert Tickets

concert au based off an old gruvia prompt i wrote MANY MANY YEARS AGO LMAO, the erwin part partly based off of TheHeroineIsMe’s ff Honey and Stone. read it here! anyways, enjoy lolol

The fact that Petra Ral had started as a loyal fangirl didn’t mean being swept away in the bustling crowd of obnoxious other fangirls didn’t make the band leader notice her through the mass of people circling around them. When the handsome blonde man with piercing, diamond tinted eyes and perfectly broad shoulders glanced over her way, she’d screamed. Ever so hardly that she could pass out. And when he’d call her by the strawberry blonde shade of her hair accompanied by a charming smile, she’d died. “Honey coloured hair, get on the stage!” Was all it took for her to pace back and forth from her reality and have the fangirls around her glare into her bones, envy taking over them.

She had struggled pushing herself through the radius, but the pride in her never ceased. She was bound to be up o stage with the band she’d grown obsessed with, having her favourite member of the band call her out. Petra could die any second by then. Amber coloured eyes sparkled as she bit her lips in, restraining the urge to scream and collapse. It just had to be one of those happiest days of her life, and when Erwin Smith snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close, it became the happiest. Screams and cheers had been delivered from the crowd, mixed with cries of jealousy and just plain cheers. Really, some of these people just cheer at every single damn thing a band member does whilst they’re up on stage. Petra lifted a hand lowly before her shoulder and slightly waved when she’d spotted Erd, proudly smiling at her along with Gunter; and just a tad grumbled Auruo. It was either because of the displeasing sight (to him, of course) of Petra and the blonde band leader, or he had just bitten his tongue again. Maybe even both.

But Petra drew her attention away from the three of her friends as she realised where she was, again; on the holy stage with the godly band she’d been addicted to, with her favourite member’s hand hooked around her waist on a blessed Saturday night. And not in her dimmed, soft blue painted room, in front of her three years old Macbook Air and fangirling like an idiot. Those people she’d squeal to every night from behind the screen of her laptop were there with her, on the stage. “So, who brought you here tonight, honey?” Petra had internally squealed, but a wave of disappointment had slapped against her heart when she’d realised it was for the specific colour of her hair, and not the lovey-dovey nickname lovers would exchange. There was this thing about the remarkable colour of her hair that stands out so, so often in ways people couldn’t think possible - resulting amazing effects or just brutally opposing ones. And in this case, it’s the latter. She wouldn’t - couldn’t ever take the nickname ‘honey’ seriously anymore after the realisation.

“M-My friends. Erd, Auruo and Gunter.” She responded. The little compliments by the other members became inaudible muffled noises to her when Erwin began speaking into his microphone again. “What are you doing next Saturday?” He smiled. She died, for the millionth time that night.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

"Classes.” Was all she’d said. No lies hid behind the statement, but she’d score her way out of the damned paperworks if there were to be another concert held again in the little town.

The members on the stage laughed, Hanji’s being the loudest and the most obnoxious one yet; followed by the sea of people depraved by the stage. Boy, was Petra embarrassed. The veins on her neck grew red to the roots of her face, until she felt it bursting into fifty different directions that no one would be laughing anymore. What she hadn’t noticed was the bassist, on the other hand, a thin brow raised at the strawberry blondie. Unlike everyone else, he was amused; on how most girls that had the chance on going up on stage would literally squeal and tackle the members that they’d cry for the bodyguards, but this chick right here was completely calm, trailing and claiming that she’ll be in about campus next Saturday. Interesting.

“Well, skip it, honey - cause’ you’ve just won yourself a ticket to Wings of Freedom this Saturday!” Erwin spoke, cheers hung in the air again, louder and louder to the point Petra couldn’t register it into her earlobes anymore.

It’s all thanks to Erd that they’ve had gotten backstage passes, at the very last minute even. The strawberry blonde was still squealing no matter how many hours it had passed, and the only thing that had succeeded in shutting her up was when the call to the backstage had approved. She’d shrink in nervousness but gallop in excitement at the same time. Then there she was, finally seeing Erwin with her own pair of eyes, admiring him as if he was the only thing by then. He’d charmingly smile in return, towering over her and complimenting how sweet she was. It wasn’t until Erwin had asked, “What’s your name, honey?”

Petra slowly gaped her mouth open to utter the stone defined, Greece originated name of hers - until the deafening beeping of her phone interrupted those words that hadn’t even made it’s way out yet. In the speed of a heartbeat she’d fish her phone out, convincing Erwin it’ll be ‘just a second, yeah’ and ended up entirely shocked. She’d forget real life too much for the past hours of her day, that she hadn’t even realised it was twelve. That’s when nervousness took over her anatomy, she couldn’t move at all.

“Goddamn, Nifa, let me go to this one; please?” Petra begged the mistress of their house, little jumps by her feet as she inflicted impatience herself.

“I’m telling you, dear.” Nifa started. “I’m content with it, but it is not my position to let you leave the manor without your father’s approval.”

Petra rubbed her temples, frustrated. She knew she should’ve pleaded this sooner. “My father would never let me wander off to concerts, and you know that well. I’m only asking you to shush about it, for the literal sake of Pete!”

The middle aged woman huffed a sigh before leaning her waist against the counter of the newly wiped counter. “..I won’t be going against differ now, since you won’t even listen. But if you’re too willing.. Just get back here before 12. Or at least that’s the approximate time your father would come home on Fridays.”

“You’re seriously the best person ever. God bless you.” She’d smile uncontrollably whilst hugging the older woman for a split second before dashing out the door and running like a bitch on her last day on Earth.

Petra snapped. Without even realising, she’d half-screamed, making each pair of eyes dart towards her. “Fuck! It’s 12!”

She’d sprinted her way out of the backstage, a part of her guilty of leaving the place. Why did she need to be rushed on the day she’d been waiting for for so long? Moreover the day she didn’t even know would exist in this petty life of hers? Despite the sudden hurry, disappointment filled her lungs till’ she could hear the sound of her heart breaking. Not literally enough, but still. Tears filled by her eyes. She didn’t want to leave. And she didn’t even have the chance to claim the free ticket she’d been offered earlier on stage. Now, there’ll be no way in hell would she have the chance to see them again.

Knowing her father and how pissed out he’d be, in spiting the fact that she’d gone to a concert without his permission, slightly trespassing the A.M when even her curfew was at ten, she’ll be experiencing hell.

Petra felt a presence running after her, slowly catching up. But the chick wasn’t the high school’s top runner for nothing. She’d sprint down the pavement that the presence had lost sight of her as she fades away into the dark, foggy night. She’d spotted Gunter’s black Toyota parked by the side of the road and how the three dorks had fallen asleep when she’d reclaim backstage. Mercilessly, Petra pulled open the door of the passenger seat and slammed it close, startling the three of them awake as she yelled, “DRIVE!”

The presence stood there, heaving a pant. “..Where the hell?” He hadn’t even had the chance to ask for her name. Suddenly, he felt a hand lowered on his shoulder.

He turned around and met none other than his band mate, Levi - also known as the bassist. The shorter man raised a brow. “Is this Cinderella on purpose? Because I’ve..”

The next day had been depressing. At least she hadn’t gone through the inferno she’d been expecting throughout the pass-the-speed-limit drive from downtown back to her house. Turns out it was a Saturday where her father wouldn’t be home until 2, dumbass Nifa had mistaken the calendar again. But, that still didn’t change the fact that she won’t ever get the chance to show up next Saturday again, not ever. She couldn’t face Nifa in the eye anymore on that very Sunday morning, having mixed feelings about the maid over a silly little accident. If it wasn’t for her convincing, though, Petra wouldn’t have showed up feeling safe at the concert; heck, she doesn’t even know wether she’d show up if Nifa didn’t tell her to at least be back by 12. But the maid still messed up her destiny. Or not.

Pissed off, she’d left earlier than usual to her part-time shift in Coffee Beans somewhere not far from town. She’d driven her father’s old white Ford with Arctic Monkeys blasting through the radio, definitely not in the mood for Wings of Freedom tracks that would only remind her of the day before, making her go through a mental breakdown of tears disposal once again.

Shift had gone pretty well; bells chiming as customers exchange their ways in and out, muffled conversations that Petra just couldn’t give two shits about, clinking forks and laughs ringing her ears. The only thing that had kept her interested and awake by then was the amazing aroma of coffee beans and cinnamon buns hung in the air. That was, until, a short figure made it’s way into the café.

It approached the cashier and only then Petra could scan who it was. And instead of the regulars she’d expect showing up strangely and greet later on.. It was none other than the Levi Ackerman of Wings of Freedom.

She’d had her own world to fangirl by then, since none in the café had realised the appearance of this hot bassist, as they busy themselves into their stupid little conversations and totally miss the artist’s show up. Unplanned, winter grey eyes locked with Petra’s amber coloured orbs for a second that felt like a year - and Petra could witness Levi’s eyes widen for a split second before completely calming back to his own dull-but-somehow-still-sexy-as-hell eyes. She hadn’t even gotten ready to expect it coming out of his mouth. “Oh, it’s honey from last night’s concert. What a coincidence.”

Petra eyed Levi from top to bottom; he’d dressed casually, a plain black hoodie and tight grey jeans donning his legs, a pair of washed out sneakers and a torn bag hanging by his shoulders. No one in the streets could tell it was him unless they’d scan his face for a minute. Pretty impressive. “..!” Petra had internally freaked out and mentally fell off of the high stool she’d been sitting on as she realised how Levi had remembered her.

“Jeez, calm down.” Levi rolled his eyes, nearing the counter and Petra felt herself blushing all over again. Though the somewhat rude sight of Levi didn’t surprise her, the fandom knew well enough of his behaviours. He’d glanced over her name tag stuck onto her emerald coloured apron before looking her right in the eye, the corners of his lips smirking. “Guess the question’s answered now, huh, Petra,”

She internally screamed again. He had been listening to hers and Erwin’s conversation from last night. Truth be told, Levi Ackerman had never drift his gaze away from the strawberry blonde since the second she’d set foot onto the stage.

The smirk faded off. “You weren’t mute yesterday for all I’d know. Get me an iced coffee.” Levi scoffed, fishing his wallet out and flicking dollars from it. He passed the cash over to Petra (who was still sitting there looking high as fuck and questioning her own existence), whom had only noticed a concert ticket was stiff - handed together by Levi, along with the dollars he’d shallowed. Petra wanted to scream physically. ..Did he seriously save this for me? Hadn’t even been two complete minutes since Levi had walked into the café, and Petra was already on the verge of her seat.

“..You saved this?” Petra had finally uttered the word that had longed to be out. Slowly, she’d even forgotten he was one of the stars in her addictive fandom-ed band. Last night’s nervousness and excitement was still all over her, but somehow she’d feel a little calmer by that very second just being in front of the bassist of the band. Okay, maybe a lot calmer.

He didn’t respond for one second and immediately darted his eyes away. “..Tch, Thought I’d keep this for my stupid neighbour who’s a fan. Honestly didn’t expect to see exist in my life t’day. But yeah, you would’ve gotten one if you didn’t run off yesterday.”

She felt embarrassed over and over again. Slightly shaking her head, also thanking and insisting him to lend the ticket to his neighbour although she didn’t really mean handing it back, just a common gratitude. And when she knew it, it’s her turn to explain.

“I’ve.. kinda.. trespassed my curfew. My father would go ape shit every time I do it. I haven’t been more disappointed in my life, though, just skipping the backstage hour..”

Levi let out a low chuckle. “Eh, I see. Guess you’d still have your chance to show up next week, but don’t pull off a Cinderella and sprint down the pavement again.”

Petra softly laughed, and for an unverified reason, the nervousness in her lungs shrunk away to god knows where. Just talking to someone - Levi Ackerman the bassist, specifically - and having a casual conversation felt so great. “Yikes. I won’t do it again,” She continued laughing.

“I’ve still been wondering, though.” Levi suddenly spoke.

Petra stopped laughing and stared at him, an eyebrow raised. This time, curiosity ran through her guts. If it’s my name you’ve been wondering about, I’m pretty damn sure you’ve said it about a minute ago. “Mhm?”

Levi pulled a plastic from his backpack, the strawberry blonde cashier growing more and more curious as he zip the backpack again. And when Petra traced over the outline of the object wrapped in the white plastic bag, her face flushed deep red as she remembered something she’d thought she’d forgotten.

The raven haired man started. “Just who the hell wears glass slippers to a concert?”

[gayyogurt-blog]

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[dragons-in-bowties-blog]

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[fuckyeahslightlyamusing-blog]

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[typhoonprecious-blog]

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[cowgirluli-blog]

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.

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What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.