#obnoxious guy in the theatre laughing my ass off at moments where youre not supposed to.

[seaquestions]

i should say also, after rotb we also watched the first two gi joe movies (both hilariously bad, greatly enjoyed watching them) and now im watching the 80s sunbow cartoon and its like. so funny.

[godyouredull]

He Was Mine First, Don’t You Forget | All You Have To Do Is Fall In Love AU

Other Parts: 1 2 Author: Sarah - @godyouredull Pairing: Ben Hardy / OFC Rating: T Word Count: 3.6k POV: Sarah Warnings: series warnings, mentions of infidelity Summary: Sarah attends one of Ben’s stage performances and becomes easy friends with his roommate, Joe, who learns of a morning ritual he feels the need to be included in.

Masterlist found here! Series Summary: Best friends and college roommates Ben, Joe, and Gwil, find themselves tangled up with a group of girls who bring out the best (and worst) in them. Series Warnings: drinking, swearing Authors’ Note: Stories can stand alone, but it’s much better when read all together! Not everything is always in the same tense, or same point of view/perspective.

“Uh, hi I have a ticket reserved under Ben Hardy.” I say to the lady at the box office. Perks of dating the lead actor: free ticket! Plus the satisfaction of getting to fuck the lead actor.

“I have it right here. One moment, please.” She shuffles around the counter for a bit until she finds an envelope with my name on it and hands it to me. “There’s two tickets in here though. Just in case you weren’t aware.”

“Oh, okay! Thank you.” Ben didn’t tell me if I was meeting Joe at our seats or not, but I guess I know the answer now. I don’t have any way of letting Joe know that I have his ticket though so this could get awkward. I pull out my phone to text Ben before I hear my name.

“Sarah?” I look up and there he is, just as adorable as he was at the frat party.

“Joe, I hope.” Playing it off like Michaela and I haven’t been stalking his Facebook for the past two weeks.

“Yeah that’s me! Shall we?” He holds out his arm and I take it, feeling dapper as hell. I don’t know what Ben was so worried about. He seems perfectly charming. “So, the man, the myth, the legend. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s good to finally put a face to your name.”

“Oh god, you’ve heard a lot about me?”

“All good things, I promise. Some very graphic things too.”

“Whoa, what?” I’m gonna kill Ben.

“I’m kidding.” He says through giggles. “I did try though. Ben wouldn’t give it up.”

“Well honestly, if you want the graphic stuff, I’m the one to ask.” I say, not missing a beat. His eyes widen in a bit of shock.

“Alright, good to know. I’m gonna take you up on that though, seriously.”

“Hey, ask away.”

“What song does he want to fuck to?” Oh, damn. Good one.

“The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” I answer in the most serious tone possible. He bursts into laughter. It’s a good sound, not as good as Ben’s though.

“You are joking.”

“I am, yeah. But you can pretend I was serious when you bring this up to him later.”

I hand the usher our tickets and he leads us to our seats which are pretty close to the front, right on the edge of the isle. Joe motions for me to sit first and then takes his seat on the end.

“M’lady.”

“Thank you, sir.”

There’s still a few minutes before the show is supposed to start so I decide to take this time to get to know Joe a little better. Michaela and I worked out a few questions that I’m supposed to ask him but, fuck me, I’m forgetting them now. The only questions I can think of now are the weird ones like ‘do you wear socks to sleep,’ and ‘have you ever fucked in a public place.’

“Want a Reeses piece?” He asks as he pulls a bag out of his pocket.

“You brought candy?! That’s… genius, actually.” He puts a few in his hand and then gives them to me. “Are you allowed to do that though?”

“There’s not technically any rules against it.” He shrugs.

“Man, I only brought a flask. I should’ve brought candy.”

“Wait, you brought a what?”

“A flask.”

“With alcohol in it?”

“No, it’s empty. I brought an empty fuckin’ flask.” I say in the most sarcastic tone I can manage.

“Well…” he starts, “Pass it then.”

“Good man.” For a second I actually was worried he was gonna yell at me or something. “I’ll take it out once the show starts and lights go down.”

“I can’t believe you brought a flask. That’s hilarious!” He’s turned his body so that he’s fully facing me.

“Do you know what they charge for drinks at these things? It’s cruel.”

“No, I know that. But I–”

“Am not as smart as I am?” I finish for him.

“Apparently not.” He’s still kind of looking at me but in that way like he’s trying to decipher a tough code or something. It’s a bit unnerving but I stare back at him. “We’re gonna be friends.” He finally says.

“What’s your full name then?”

“Is that important?” He questions.

“Yes, it’s detrimental to me that I know all of my friends’ full names.”

“Joseph Francis Mazzello the Third.” He says, sighing dejectedly as he does. I can’t even help it; I stare at him with the most dumbfounded look on my face.

“Jesus. Are you royalty or something?”

“Some have said I have king-like qualities, yes.” Both of us are laughing pretty obnoxiously at this point.

“Joseph Francis?”

“That’s me.”

“The Third.”

“Correct.” I put my head in my hands and continue laughing. I know I’m being kind of an ass but Joe doesn’t seem to mind at all. When I’ve composed myself enough to look at him again, he’s still laughing too.

“Hey, look.” He nudges his head towards the side of the stage and when I follow his gaze my eyes land on Ben, staring at me from behind the curtain. He smiles and waves at us and then blows a kiss to, I’m assuming, me. I blow him one back as Joe pretends to catch the one Ben just blew. Ben laughs and shakes his head, flipping Joe off as he walks backstage and out of view. “He was mine first, don’t you forget.” I laugh.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

We’re about 15 minutes into the show now and I think Joe is getting kind of restless. I was told he enjoys watching these performances but he’s so jittery it’s a bit hard to believe.

“Hey.” I whisper to him. He leans his head in close to mine. “Does Ben make you come to these or do you actually enjoy them?”

“A little of both, I guess.” I tap his leg with my hand in an effort to be understanding. Deciding now is a good time to bring out the almost forgotten flask, I take it out of my purse and hand it to him. He unscrews the cap and then lifts it a bit as if to say ‘cheers.’ He takes a small sip and then clears his throat. “Is this white wine?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrug. He smiles and then clasps his hand over his mouth. “What?! It’s the theatre. I wanted to be classy.”

“You brought a flask full of white wine.” He puts his face in his hands to attempt to stifle his laughter but it’s not exactly working. He’s laughing hard enough that a few people are looking at him wondering what the hell is happening.

“Joe, oh my god. Stop!” I say as hushed as I can through my own laughs. “Please don’t tell Ben about this.”

“I am absolutely telling Ben about this.”

“He’ll be so offended!”

“No, he won’t. I promise.” He’s still chuckling. Ben’s never gonna let us come to another one of his shows together. “You’re a riot, McDonald.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mazzello.” He nudges my side with his elbow and then takes a pretty big swig from the flask, making a sour face as he swallows the wine.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Well, give it back then!”

“Nope.” He says firmly, taking another swig.

Joe and I are the first to stand up and clap obnoxiously after Ben’s show has ended and he walks back on stage to give his final bow. We’re whooping and cheering like it’s our only child on stage and I can see the pink tint in Ben’s cheeks from where we’re sitting. He blows one more kiss to me before he disappears and I giggle like a lovestruck teenager. Joe looks down at me and smiles, obviously pleased to see his best friend so happy. He once again holds out the crook of his elbow for me to take and I slip my arm in, letting him lead me out of the crowded theatre.

“You guys are cute.” He finally says as we find a comfortable spot against a wall in the lobby.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. It’ll be tough to beat the two of you.”

“True.” He says, pretending to brush something off his shoulder. There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as we observe the commotion around us. Groups of proud parents and friends are congratulating several of the cast members. I think I spot Ben across the room but I know he’ll have to talk to quite a few people before he can join me and Joe. I think back to some of the questions Michaela and I had wondered about the chaotic ginger next to me. Oh, fuck it. We’ve already shared several ridiculous moments tonight.

“So, can I ask you a weird question?”

“I welcome weird questions.” He says, raising his eyebrows.

“Have you ever fucked in a public place?”

“Uh,” He looks at me in shock, obviously not expecting that question. “Sarah, look, you’re really pretty but… you’re Ben’s girl and I think th–”

“NO. No no no.” I cut him off. “Oh my god Joe. It wasn’t an invitation!”

“Okay, Jesus. Because I definitely–”

“You’d be so LUCKY but no I was just curious!” He laughs at this and I’m thankful we can treat the misunderstanding as a joke. That could’ve gotten awkward fast. “So, yes or no?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

“It’s protocol. I have to ask people intrusive questions to get to know them better.”

“So, full names and weird sex questions? Those are the first things you ask people?” He mocks.

“Usually, yeah.” I hadn’t given that question much thought but now that I think about it, I guess it’s true.

“I like you, McDonald.” He smiles at me.

“Good. Now answer the question.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales before he answers.

“Yes.” He says, avoiding my gaze.

“JOSEPH FRANCIS.”

“Oh, shut up. You asked!”

“Well, spill! Where? How was it?”

“I’m not sure I wanna tell you the whole story.”

“Oh, Joe. C’mon. Who am I gonna tell?” He exhales obnoxiously again before continuing.

“I was at work…”

“Oh no.” I say. Clasping my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.

“And this girl I was… seeing…”

“Fucking?”

“Stop interrupting me.”

“Sorry. It’s just too good.” I start giggling again.

“Anyway, she came to see me because she was mad about…” He stutters again. “Another girl that I was…”

“Fucking?” He gives me a sharp look and I put my hand over my mouth again, promising to be quiet.

“Yeah, that. So anyway, she essentially barges in the door and confronts me, almost making a scene before I stopped her. And I mean making a scene, yelling, asking a ton of questions and trying to shove her hand down my pants. Whole thing. So, I took her into the back office to try and calm her down… and one thing led to another… “

“JOSEPH. You had angry sex with an insane woman at your work?” I ask. Making sure to emphasize all the important points.

“It wasn’t my proudest moment.” He admits.

“How was it though?” I ask and he puts his head in his hand. “The sex, I mean.”

“Yeah I know what you mean.” He mumbles between laughs. “It was… wild.”

“Worth potentially getting fired?”

“I don’t know if I would say that… I mean… she was insane.” I’m full-on laughing at him now. He joins me but I can tell he’s definitely flustered.

“Do you still talk to this girl?”

“God, no.” He states firmly. That’s good, at least he can recognize crazy when he sees it. “What about you? Ever fucked in a public place?”

“Oh yeah. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.” I state blatantly. He goes wide-eyed and I can tell he wants to ask about Ben, but he doesn’t.

“Well, spill!”

“Oh, no. I’m dating your best friend and he hasn’t heard these stories yet. Soon, though, Maz. I promise.”

“Maz?” He turns to me.

“As in Mazzello. Has no one called you that?” He shakes his head.

“It’s my brother’s nickname. No one really calls me that.”

“Well, I don’t know your brother. I know you.”

“How many names are you gonna give me?” He laughs and I shrug. I’m glad he doesn’t bring up my affinity for fooling around in public places again. I’ve definitely suggested it to Ben before but he has yet to experience the full extent. If Joe brought it up before I did… well, I’m not sure how I would approach that.

“So do you wear socks to sleep?” I start a new topic. He throws his hands up in slight exasperation.

“What is with these questions?” We both start hysterically laughing again.

“Well, I’m sorry! Would you prefer I ask your favorite color or some other lame bullshit?”

“Let me ask one.”

“See, now you’re avoiding the question. Is it because you sleep in socks?”

“Literally no one sleeps in socks, McDonald.”

“Except you.” He shakes his head and starts laughing again, swearing the only time he ever slept in socks was when he was living in Brooklyn and his heater was out. And yes, they were fuzzy socks. The mental image of Joe huddled on his couch in fuzzy socks while drinking a mug of hot tea brings a smile to my face and I think of all the times I’ve seen Mic in the exact same position.

“…but that’s it!”

“Alright, alright. I believe you.”

Joe and I are still waiting in the designated area Ben told us about. We continue our banter as we wait for Ben to finish talking to all of his adoring fans congratulating and complimenting him on such a fantastic show. They’re definitely right, he was phenomenal and I already have plans to treat him once we get back to his place.

“You are not a better beer pong player than me. I refuse to believe it.”

“Joe, I saw you playing at that party. You’re adequate but I’m just better.” We’ve been going at this for a little while. All I did was mention that I had seen him once before tonight and that somehow turned into an argument about who’s a better pong player.

“Well there’s really only one way to find out.” He raises his voice ever so slightly and I chuckle. Damn, he’s intense.

“I would agree but I don’t know if ruining our friendship this early would be good.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “What if we just team up instead? You can at least admit that I’m better than Ben.” He ponders this for a second.

“Alright, deal.” He holds his hand out and I shake it.

“Deal.”

“Uh-oh.” Ben approaches us right as we shake hands. “Do I want to know what just occurred here?”

“You’re out, mate. I’ve got a new beer pong partner now.” Joe nudges my side again.

“I see.” Ben eyes me suspiciously. “Well, I’m glad to see you two getting along.”

“The show was great, baby.” I move away from Joe to hug Ben and give him a quick peck on the lips. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you, love. I’m ecstatic you could come.” He puts his hand on the side of my face and strokes my cheek for a second before kissing me again. Ugh, will I ever get enough of him? “Although, I could’ve sworn I heard you two laughing for a bit at the beginning? Care to explain?”

“I told you you were loud!” I say, smacking Joe on the arm lightly.

“Oh, no babe. I heard you too.” Ben accuses me.

“Ha! It’s all her fault, Ben. You can’t blame me for her antics.”

“Wha–I–,” I start to defend myself but Joe cuts me off again.

“And I heard you like to fuck to The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

“I do NOT fuck to Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Ben defends just a little too loudly. I notice three different people turn around and give him a questioning look. “Dammit, Joe.”

“You brought a flask of white wine?” Ben has changed out of his costume and the three of us are walking out of the theatre to our cars.

“I was trying to be classy!”

“See? Now, can you really blame me for laughing?” Joe is still trying to blame me.

“Still better than Fireball.” Ben says, smiling down at me and squeezing my hand that is currently holding his. I roll my eyes and smile back at him.

“I’m never gonna live that down, huh?”

“Definitely not.” He removes his hand from mine and wraps his arm around my waist instead, kissing the top of my head as we continue to walk.

“So, are you ready for your first sleepover at our bachelor pad?” Joe interjects.

“Bachelor pad? Is that a nice way of saying ‘an apartment with no interior decorations except empty liquor bottles lined up in the kitchen’?”

“Did you tell her that?” Joe asks, looking at Ben.

“No, mate. You’re just that predictable.” He laughs.

“Yes, I’m ready though. I’m excited to see your lack of interior design anyway.”

“I am going to miss Michaela’s breakfast tomorrow morning.” Ben admits. Mic tends to be up a little earlier than the rest of us so she makes breakfast occasionally. To be honest, I think it’s the main reason Ben wants to spend his nights at my place.

“Who’s Michaela?”

“My roommate and one of my best friends.”

“And she makes breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Really good breakfast.” Ben clarifies.

“You fucker.” Joe hangs his head. “You’ve been holding out on me. You get a girlfriend whose roommates feed you and you leave the rest of us to starve.”

“You feel pretty strongly about breakfast then?” I ask.

“And afternoon tea.” Ben answers for him.

“Oh of course. His royal highness, Joseph Francis Mazzello III, can’t possibly go a day without his afternoon tea.”

“Oh mate.” Ben steps in again. “You shouldn’t have told her your full name.”

“Can it, Benjamin!” I jokingly scold. He uses his whole hand to point at me and exhale, as if to say ‘see?’

“Well I demand to be a part of these breakfast festivities.” Joe says with his hands on his hips, like real royalty.

“Okay, well come by my apartment one morning this week.”

“Or have Michaela come to our place tomorrow morning?” Ben suggests. “I’ll buy all the ingredients.”

“Yeah, do that!” Joe agrees with him. Hm… Michaela at Joe and Ben’s place? Seems like a good opportunity to put my matchmaker plan in motion.

“Okay, okay!” I put my hands up in surrender. “I’ll call her and ask. I can’t make any promises on her behalf though.”

“Do your best, McDonald. We’re all counting on you.”  Joe jokes. Some part of me thinks he’s just being dramatic but a bigger part of me knows he’s not. We’re all in the parking garage now, though we came in different cars. Which is good because it’ll give me a chance to talk Michaela into this alone, without Ben or Joe interceding. Joe says a quick goodbye and heads to his car, leaving me and Ben alone.

“So I’ll meet you there?” Ben asks, looking down at me.

“Yeah, I have your address.”

“Can’t wait.” He kisses me quickly but I pull him back in like I always do. He doesn’t complain, he never does. I enjoy feeling his body close to mine and deepening the kiss for a bit before pulling back.

“You were amazing tonight, seriously.” I compliment, stroking his cheek while he blushes. “It’s an honor to be fucking you daily.”

“Wow.” He laughs, throwing his head back in disbelief. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I can’t help it. You’re just so good lookin’.”

“I’m leaving now before we start something here that we can’t finish.” He steps back and starts walking away. “I’ll see you at home, love.”

“See you at home.”

As soon as I get in my car I dial Mic’s number. She picks up on the second ring. I haven’t quite decided how I’m going to spin this but we’ll see what happens.

“Hello?”

“Mic! Hey, okay so you know I’m spending the night at Ben’s tonight.”

“Yes, you’ve only mentioned it four or five times.”

“Right, well, Ben is complaining about not having breakfast made by you tomorrow morning so he wanted me to ask you if you’d be willing to come to his place tomorrow and make it.”

“Uh…” She lulls for a bit.

“He said he’d buy all the ingredients! You literally just have to show up and do what you do in our apartment most mornings. He was pretty insistent.” I leave Joe’s name out of this little tale, knowing it would add an unnecessary layer of panic to an already very weird request.

“Okay? I guess. This is kind of weird, though.”

“I know, I know but Ben’s kind of weird. Especially about breakfast. Your breakfast specifically.”

“So I’ve learned.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, sure. Send me the address and I’ll be there in the morning.”

“Sweet! You’re the best.” We say quick goodbyes and then she hangs up. The plan is officially in motion and no one has any idea. We call that showbiz, ladies and gents.

—————–tag list—————–

@a-night-at-the-0pera @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @lelifesaver@redspecialty @rrrogahtaylahhhh

[sending-the-message]

I Hate People Who Talk During Movies by thegeneralg

There is nothing that I hate more than people on their phones during a movie. Back in the day, people talking in a movie theatre was the big pain in the ass. I guess it hasn't really changed much. Now, instead of talking to each other directly, people use their phones. One thing's for sure though; it's still irritating as hell.

If you go to any relatively well attended movie, there are usually three types of obnoxious cinema goers; the phone user, the talker, and the laugher. That one person who whenever anything even remotely amusing occurs onscreen, they laugh literally every time. It is also usually the case that they have an incredibly obnoxious laugh, giving the viewer the feeling that The Joker is an audience member. It's shame too, because going to a movie is something special.

You're in the dark movie theatre. It's quiet, calm, and your enjoying a good movie on a nice night out of the house. No responsibilities, no schedule, just you and the movie, the way a movie is supposed to be enjoyed. Not many people consider this anymore, but that is the whole point of a movie theatre. To immerse yourself in the motion picture. The highest compliment one can give a piece of entertainment, particularly a movie, is that the viewer forgets they are watching a performance. The ambiance of a movie theatre goes a long way in that regard.

Of course, there is always at least one asshole who is just too important for this. Is it just me, or is it always someone who is in right the middle section where everyone can see them?

It last happened to me about four months ago. There I was, sitting in my local movie theatre, minding my own business. Just before the previews begin, this giant fat guy waddles in, plops down in the middle of the theatre, and immediately proceeds to begin mess with his phone for the entire time the previews were playing. Of course, the whole "Please silence and put away your phones out of courtesy to fellow patrons," message fell on deaf ears. As the opening credits were rolling, I couldn't take it anymore. So I got up to find the manager. He was out manning the concession stand.

"Hey, some guy in the middle of row five won't get off his phone." I said to him. According to his nametag, the dude's name was Tyler.

"No problem, I'll tell him to either cut it out or he has to leave." Tyler replied without hesitation. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

"It's not your fault and thanks man." He walked ahead of me into the theatre and I saw as he made his way to Row 5. I chuckled to myself as I saw he was still on his phone even when the manager was walking towards him. Some people just don't give care. I saw them briefly interact and a moment or two later, the manager walked out. I was surprised when the guy left right after the manager. But hey, as long as he wasn't interrupting my movie, I could care less what he does.

I sat back and enjoyed the movie. I am a huge scary movie buff and I was really looking forward to Annabelle: Creation. Leaning back in my cushy chair, I shook my box of Sour Gummy Worms and a few tumbled out into my hand. Feeling myself adapting to the darkness, my surroundings slowly faded away. All that was left was the story unfolding before me. The movie was good; effective scares and solid acting. Walking out of the theatre, I couldn't wait to see the next part in the franchise. I believe this time the Nun would get it's own separate movie.

It was a pleasantly balmy September evening. Since all I had was the Sour Gummy Worms, I had a bit of an appetite as I was driving home. I live about 10 minutes from a Subway, so I made a stop there on the way.

"Foot long turkey to go," I ordered when it was my turn in line. It looked like I picked just the right time, as the place was pretty quiet.

"What kind of bread?" The tall guy behind the counter asked.

"Italian herb and cheese," he nodded as he sliced open a loaf with a knife.

"Toppings?"

"Green peppers, lettuce, tomato, onion, pepper jack cheese and Chipotle Sauce," my order was ready shortly and I was home in no time at all. I climbed to the third floor of my building and within fifteen minutes, I was chowing down on my sandwich while re-watching season one of Stranger Things.

I had long since forgotten about what happened at the movies for the next few months. I was pretty busy with work, but I still managed to pay attention to what was going on in town. About a month after I went to the theatre, I was watching the news late one night. At a house about thirty minutes out of town, they found that someone had brutally killed a couple in their twenties. The guy in particular was a real mess. While horrible, it wasn't anything I hadn't heard about before, so I didn't really think about it that much.

A few weeks after that, they found another charming discovery in a barn on an abandoned farm just outside city limits. Another couple, but this time the girl got the worst of it. Heating about this one really sent a shiver through town. Neighborhood watch and stuff was all formed, but that didn't stop folks from looking over their shoulders. But as is the case, life went on. As with all things, time marches on and even if it doesn't disappear entirely, people's fear tends to dim.

The other night I was hitting up a bar with my friends. We were celebrating how Charlie had gotten a promotion when from the corner of my eye, I saw that one of the TV's hanging over the bar was showing breaking news. Since it was a bit quieter that night, I could faintly hear what it was.

Based on a few witnesses who had been in the area at the time of one of the murders, they managed to put a sketch together of the guy they thought did it. When it came up on screen, it looked vaguely familiar in the way that you faintly recognize someone in a movie or TV show. You think you've seen them before, but aren't sure where. In the drawing, the guy was wearing sunglasses so that made recognizing him a bit harder. Some hotline flashed across the screen so that anyone with a tip could call.

Seeing as I had nothing, I went back to my drink. Did he look familiar? Vague eyewitness sketches of police suspects are sort of like diagnosing yourself with a medical condition via the internet; if you weren't careful, anything could seem possible.

I didn't hear anything else about the matter until this morning. I was sitting at my desk on my lunch break when one of my coworkers came by.

"Hey, did you hear?" Jonathan asked.

"About what?" I looked up from my salad.

"They caught the guy who killed those kids,"

"Where is it?"

"Any local news," Jonathan replied as he walked away. I immediately pulled up some of our local newspapers. Right on the front page there it was.

"Suspect in Local Murders Arrested and Booked," blared my screen. "Police have arrested a suspect in connection with the murders of two local couples. According to police, the suspect will be arraigned tomorrow morning. A spokesman for the Hatton County Prosecutor's Office said based on the evidence obtained, they have every confidence justice will prevail."

When I saw the name and photo of the suspect, my jaw almost hit my desk.

It was the guy who made my Subway sandwich.

[cathcacen]

Happy days and sad days. Four mini drabbles for the price of one.

The elevator doors open to a throng of residents and their respective interns outside her patient’s room. She frowns. None of them are supposed to be up here.

They glance towards her as she makes her way over. “Don’t you all have patients of your own to see to?”

“Keller and Lewis are in there with Lieutenant Sagen,” Hayes says. He’s tall. Blond. Perfect for the specialty he’s chosen. “And I’m on Plastics this month, so your boyfriend’s all mine today, Naveau. Pity daddy’s not here to pull strings, eh?”

She ignores him and peers into the room through the sliding doors. Inside, she can see both Ortho and Plastics attendings in conversation with the Lieutenant, no doubt explaining the procedure they’ve scheduled for the day.

Tissue expansion. They’d set the new skin-growing in motion some months back, when he had still been a patient abroad. Lewis, a seasoned Plastics specialist, is set to take over the procedure, and his delicate hands are expected to restore the Lieutenant’s god-given good looks.

She wonders if his fanclub will grow, after.

“You’ll be pleased to have your boyfriend back, eh, Naveau?” Dr. Fischer, a short, pretty Peds hopeful nudges her side. She looks almost envious. “His before picture, goodness. That’s a fine piece of-”

“Right, if you’ll all excuse me.” She pushes past the crowd and strides into the room. Sagen smirks at her. She ignores him. “Doctors. The OR is booked and ready. I’d like to scrub in, if that’s possible.”

She can hear Strahan’s voice in her head. You’re a Naveau. Use your damn connections. Your peers will hate you for it either way.

Keller frowns. He’s hogged the patient for much of the past month and a half, but she’s grown used to muscling her way in. It’s obnoxious, somewhat, but she’s learnt to enjoy his reactions. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Naveau. You’ve learnt a lot since joining my service, but this surgery falls mostly under the jurisdiction of Plastics.”

She glances up at Lewis. He’s everything one would expect of a Plastics specialist, with a headful of thick dark hair, perfect teeth, and dreamy eyes. She smiles sweetly before handing him Sagen’s chart. “Dr. Lewis, I’ve studied your work on reconstructive surgery extensively - your technique is impeccable. I know Lieutenant Sagen’s chart by heart, and I’ve been his physician since our days together out in the field. I scrubbed in on his ulnar nerve transposition, and took care of him post-up. And, I know how much it would mean to him to have me by his side, seeing as he’s specially requested me as his resident throughout his stay here.”

Lewis takes the chart, smiling broadly. “Of course, Naveau. You’re always welcome in my OR. Keller, you can take Hayes for the day. He’s due for some Ortho hours, anyway.”

Keller grunts in irritation. Outside the room, Hayes flips her the bird. She turns her head a little and meets his eyes, then channels her best Sagen smirk. It feels good.

“Starting to warm up to me, eh?” Sagen quirks his brow at her when the attendings have filed out. “I didn’t know you loved being on my case this much.”

“Well, after you decided to hobble around the hospital with the back of your gown untied, I realised that hot piece of ass was too great to pass on to anyone else.” She leans forward onto his overbed table, folding her arms on the surface and grinning down at him.

“How dare you sexually harass me in that impertinent manner,” He tells her, feigning indignation. “I could have you reported.“

She slants a knowing smile at him. It’s times like these that remind her of life back at their base. Easy banter. Playful teasing. The occasional burst of actual anger, almost immediately diffused by moments of genuine affection. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed those days. “I’m not the one spreading all sorts of rumours in this place. And anyway, you know you’re proud of your cute butt.”

He pauses, clearly remembering their first encounter. Emboldened, she winks, and he lets out a laugh. “I’m starting to think I’ve rubbed off on you.”

“Maybe,” She tells him. “My colleagues have been calling me asshole a lot recently.”

“At least we make pretty cute assholes, right?”

“I’d withhold judgment until your surgery’s done.” She leans closer then, her smile softening a bit. “And Sagen?”

He tilts his head at her. “Hm?”

“Try not to die on my watch.”

The streets are crowded with revellers, foghorns and helium balloons and flowers and champagne bottles at every corner. She’s standing on the curb of the main road, back pressed against the front wall of an office building, bundled up against the chilly midwinter breeze and munching on a stray cereal bar fished out from the bottom of her purse. It’s loud; people are singing, laughing, and waiting for the clock tower to begin its annual countdown to yet another year.

The new shoes bite at her feet, but she thinks it’s not so bad – the stockings are warm and help to cushion the sting. She’s hungry and impatient, and there’s a nervous ticking inside her that corresponds with the feeling of being blown off. The last time it had happened, she’d been fourteen, and it hadn’t ended well.

She hopes she doesn’t have to spend the night alone in this foreign city. Damn it, Sagen.

Two college jocks run past her, celebratory streamers clipped to the backs of their shoulders. They’re laughing, clearly drunk and on break from school. One of them stops and hands her a lit-up headband with heart-shaped antennae. Not wanting to spoil the mood, she puts it on, and even consents to let the other boy dress her wrists with disco-coloured neon bracelets.

Then they’re gone, swallowed up by the ever-burgeoning crowd. She hears them bellowing an opera number at the top of their lungs, and they’re so off-key and carefree in waving goodbye that that she has to laugh and wave back. It isn’t until she turns around that she realises Sagen is watching her, evidently amused.

“You’re late!” She’s still laughing as she crosses the distance to him, and he grins, flicking at the drooping glowing heart currently bouncing off her forehead. “The theatres are all closed. I’m pretty sure all the restaurants are, too, so unless you—” She steadies herself, pressing her hands to his chest. “What’re you grinning at?”

“You look ridiculous,” He nudges at her bracelets.

“Hey, you dressed me.” She twirls for him, even though she’s aware he can hardly see the dress beneath her coat. “And you don’t get to talk – I thought you weren’t going to come.”

He opens his mouth, clearly about to respond, but the crowd roars and he’s cut off. The clock tower lets off its first chime of the night, and suddenly, it doesn’t matter that he’s late, or that she’s starving, or that her feet are aching. He produces two single-serve champagne bottles from his coat pocket, uncaps them, and hands her one.

She clinks her bottle against his before taking a long drink. The clock strikes twelve. Amidst the deafening roar of the crowd, she drops her empty bottle, and when she straightens, she’s standing face to face with him. She looks into his eyes. The prosthetic is a soft, subtle grey today, like her dress. So close, she can smell him – spice and clean soap.

He kisses her, and it feels like forever before she comes up for air. She’s clinging off him, gripping the front of his shirt, breathless and shaking. He presses his forehead to hers, still grinning, and she lets out a half-embarrassed chuckle.

“Happy new year, Naveau.” He kisses her forehead this time.

It’s a tender sort of gesture. She shivers again, and he wraps his arms tighter about her shoulders.

“Happy new year, Sagen.” She looks up, beaming. “What’re we going to do for food?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know a guy.”

Their room overlooks the ocean, tucked away in a secluded corner of the South of France. It’s bright white and beautiful, and from where she lays, her head nestled in the crook between his shoulder and chest, she can just see the glittering waves as they break upon the sand.

She’s drawing idle circles over his abdomen, fingertips feather light as they trace his skin. His hand smoothes and strokes her hair, lazily twirling the curls around his digits. They’ve been awake for a good hour now, watching the sun’s slow climb over the horizon.

It’s been a couple of years, but she remembers that new years’ night as if it were yesterday. Then, the sun had risen over a sleepy city still soaking in the final vestiges of celebration, but there’s no tolling bell to signal the start of a brand new something today, no thrill nor excitement. Instead, she feels perfectly at home, skin on skin, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

His scent is familiar to her, and yet, she thinks, she still knows next to nothing about this man. His tics and habits, perhaps, the way he likes his tea and his small eccentricities.

They don’t share the important details. And for what they have, there’s no need.

A small voice inside begs to remain, to lay here until their bones grow old and tired, but she knows he’ll rouse soon.

So she cuts to the chase, as always. “When do you leave?” Her voice comes out slightly hoarse. She wonders how many neighbours they’d kept awake the night before. Oops.

“Two hours,” He tells her.

She lets out a sigh, turning her face inwards to press tender kisses along his collarbone. Then she lifts her head, gazing into his eye. “Can’t you stay just a little bit longer?”

She’s never asked this of him before, and judging by the way the singular eye widens a bit, he’s as surprised as she is at her boldness. He recovers magnificently, however, and her chest tightens a little as the cocky little smile surfaces. “You know that’s not possible, Naveau. Besides, two hours is plenty.”

After, when they’ve exhausted themselves thoroughly, she retakes her position on his chest, breathing deeply. Her heart is pounding, and she struggles to catch her breath, planting tender kisses upon his jawline. When it steadies, she goes still, nuzzling against his neck.

“Tell me a secret,” He says. He’s doodling into the small of her back, squares and circles and alphabets she’s too tired to decipher.

She takes a moment to think. She’s certain he knows most things about her by now, so it takes a while. Eventually, she says the best thing that comes to mind. “Sometimes, I miss you.”

His hand goes still, and she thinks she’s pushed him to that place again, the place he doesn’t want to go. And for a terrifying moment, she wonders if this is the last time she’ll see him, if he’ll disappear because he’s realised she’s in love with him.

For your own good, don’t, he’d said that time. Don’t bother with me.

“Tell me a secret.” She whispers the words, half wondering if he’ll even hear them at all.

He doesn’t say a thing. Instead, he squeezes her gently. That’s classified information, dearie. In her head, the words don’t sound nearly as triumphant.

She’s right. He does disappear.

She hasn’t seen him in close to five months. Beyond their borders, the war rages on. More and more soldiers return wounded with each mission. Some don’t return at all.

Sometimes, when her mind isn’t occupied with patients and medical stocks and cutting-edge methods for keeping infection rates low, it wanders to him. Is he dead?

She doesn’t know. She's not sure she wants to find out.

Her direct superior has taken to joining missions on a regular basis. He leaves her in charge of the infirmary. She runs triage. She assesses. She tries to save lives. It’s when she throws herself into work that she forgets, and forgetting is exactly what she wants to do.

It’s messy work, but when the men survive, she’s happy to soldier on.

The day her superior comes back in a body bag is the day she stops questioning her place in the army. There’s no time for doubt. It’s war and you’ve got to get up and go, Naveau. His words keep her moving throughout the never-ending night, and by the time the sun rises, she’s too exhausted to even cry.

The same airstrike that had taken out her superior had also taken out twenty seven others. Among the nineteen survivors, eight had needed immediate surgery, and with only one other Captain and six first Lieutenants on base, they’d been severely shorthanded.

Three of the eight had died. One’s a new father.

She’s sitting outside the infirmary with a bottle of water when one of her Lieutenants come running out. “Captain, someone’s asking for you.”

“Who is it?” She crushes the empty plastic bottle and tosses it into the nearby bin.

The Lieutenant shrugs. “I’m just passing the message. Apparently, they have an appointment.”

Her breath hitches. Sagen.

It’s not him, and of course it isn’t. Instead, waiting for her on the bed at the edge of the hall is a woman officer. She’s young. Her face might be sweet, if it weren’t so hardened with obvious anxiety.

She recognises the face and name from a patient chart on her superior’s desk. “Private Kelly. Sorry, I got a bit caught up.”

Kelly manages a wry sort of smile. “It’s okay. It’s been a tough day.” She looks up with pale blue eyes. “I’m sorry about Major Wells. You holding up okay?”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve had time to process it.” She studies the young woman. “Now, how can I help you, Private?”

“I’m pregnant.” Kelly bites her lip, fidgeting a bit. “I made an appointment with the Major a week ago, and he was supposed to clear me for maternal leave.”

“Oh,” She says. “Of course.”

She has one of the Lieutenants fetch the ultrasound. While she sets up the machine, Kelly lays down and pulls up her shirt. The three-month bump is only just visible.

“I know it’s a little selfish, starting a family when we’re at war.” The Private’s smile is a soft, warm one. “But I want to believe it’s possible, y’know? And if we don’t do it now, we may never get the chance.”

“No, I understand entirely.” She tries for a smile as she straightens. There’s an ache deep inside of her that she recognises as loneliness. Something else sears itself into her psyche.

It’s envy. And with the envy comes the stark realisation that she does want it after all. A life of peace and simplicity with the man she loves. The consciousness scoffs. He doesn’t want that, Naveau.

She doesn’t trust herself to say any more, so she focuses on the task ahead. Gel. Machine. Find a heartbeat. Congratulate the mother. Then you can hide, cry, and sleep.

“We’re planning to retire to the country when this is all over and done with.” Kelly stretches her arms out over her head, letting out a sigh. “How’s the little one cooking in there?”

Her breath hitches again. She glances up, and dares to meet the pale blue eyes. The words don’t come, however. She doesn’t know how to say them..

There isn’t a heartbeat.

Kelly blinks, evidently confused by the extended silence. “Captain?”

“I’m sorry,” She whispers.

After, she’s summoned to the Lieutenant General’s office. He’s seated at his desk, and there are stacks of papers before him. The recent weeks have not been kind, and there are dark rings beneath his eyes, and bandages around his right forearm from an incident involving an assassination attempt and straying shrapnel.

She wonders if he’s as numb to it all as she is by now.

“I’m recommending to the higher ups that you be promoted, Naveau.” He tells her without looking up. “You’ll take over Major Wells’ role effective immediately while we wait on official confirmation. I expect you’ll be needed in the field soon, so make sure your guys know how to handle the infirmary on their own.”

The body bag flashes across her mind, and she has to shut her eyes to push back the imagery. You’ve got to get up and go, Naveau. Screw your hopes and dreams. There are more important things to worry over right now.

She lets out a breath. “Yes, sir.”