#pwmov alex nilsen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phantomamour · 4 months ago

Text

𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫

alex nilsen x fem!reader

cw// angst, mentions of grief/loss of a parent, eldest brother trauma, anxiety, fluffy ending - thank you to the wonderful @milliesfishes for proofing this fic over the last few days you're amazing!!!

There was little you didn’t know about Alex after a year of dating. You were well aware of so many of his small quirks, and you knew how to soothe his anxiety, but even after having been together for quite a while, the one thing he never fully opened up about was his family. He was the oldest of his brothers, and his mother had died years ago; that was where your knowledge started and ended. Anytime he got a text in the tone you know he must have set for his family, he tensed greatly around you. You weren’t sure why he didn’t want you to know, but you also vowed never to push him on it. It was his burden, and you wouldn’t help him carry it unless he gave you permission to do so, even if you desperately wanted to.

Alex spent many nights in your tiny dorm room once you had finally upgraded to a single. The bed was still too small for his long legs, but he insisted that was “nothing that some cuddling couldn’t fix.” He proved that point now as he curled himself around you every morning, holding you with your back to his chest and his head tucked into the back of your shoulder. His legs tangled amongst yours and kept his feet from dangling off the end of the bed. Falling asleep was a challenge you two had found; trying to give him enough space not to touch while he fell asleep usually resulted in you squished against the wall until he reached for you in his sleep, and you finally fell asleep tucked into his chest.

The sun beamed down on the two of you from your cracked window, letting in the cool breeze of the warmer spring mornings that Chicago had been blessed with as May arrived. The spring quarter would be wrapping up at the end of the month, and you both planned to enjoy every morning possible together in the small space; it had begun to feel like your own sanctuary. A sanctuary that popped like a bubble around the both of you as Alex’s phone started to ring. The all-too-familiar ringtone woke Alex from his sleep. He startled up, and you moved to grab the phone for him as he sat up. You recognized the name as much as you recognized the ringtone. David, his youngest brother, was calling.

When he read the name, Alex gave you an apologetic look that you shrugged off as you kissed his forehead and moved to get out of bed. You heard his hushed voice as he answered, the anxiety laced through it overpowering any frustration he had about being woken up. Slipping into the kitchen, you prepared two coffees, and when you came back, Alex was already half-dressed, slipping his legs into his khakis.

“I have to go to Linfield,” he announced, already sounding tired in a way you knew wasn’t from a lack of sleep. The sound of his already-present exhaustion made you want to hold him close, and he took one mug from you with a half-hearted smile and a kiss to your hairline before taking a sip and setting it down. Your anxiety started to claw its way through your chest, taking up all the space in your lungs as you watched Alex close himself off from you again.

“I should be back tomorrow or the day after. I’ll take you out to dinner to make up for leaving so suddenly-”

“I’ll drive you.” You weren’t sure where your voice had come from, but you wouldn’t take the words back even if you could. You vowed not to push him, but you didn’t vow to let him drown when you could offer a hand to hold him above the surface. Alex froze where he was, dropping the shirt he had grabbed on the bed before facing you, chest bare and the morning sun illuminating him from behind.

“Baby, no. I’m not taking you with me,” he tried to argue, “I’m not dragging you into this shit with my family.” You stepped forward, watching Alex contemplate a step back, and took his hands in yours as you tried to plead, “You’re not dragging me. I’ve been waiting to dive headfirst into it if you’d let me. Let me help, Alex. Whatever it is.” There was only hesitance in his eyes, looking at you as if he was worried the baggage he carried would turn you away from him. You laced your fingers through his as you quietly added.

“Let me in. You’re not going to lose me. No matter what it is.” Three little words hung on the tip of your tongue, and no matter how badly you wanted to say them, you weren’t sure if they would help at that moment. You felt his hands tighten around yours as he thought over your words, every muscle in his body contracting and relaxing before he took a deeper breath and finally said, “Okay… but I’m driving. You know I wouldn’t be able to breathe the whole time if you drove.” You smiled as you brought a hand up to cup his jaw and guided his head down to kiss him softly.

“I’ll get dressed and be ready in five,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Take ten. I don��t want you to feel rushed.”

~~~

Alex’s hand rested on your thigh as he drove to Linfield, anxiety drumming through his chest as you traced soothing circles on the back of his hand. You wished you could take every ounce of his unease from him and wrap him in warmth as you could feel him nearly shivering in his seat. It wasn’t until the two of you stopped to fill up on gas that he turned to face you, not having pulled away from the gas pump yet.

“It’s my dad. That’s why David called me. He just… he never adjusted to my mom’s death,” he explained, eyes darting between your own and anywhere else in the car. “I stepped up when he couldn’t do it anymore.” Your heart sank as you took in the meaning of his words. Alex had to be a parent from an age when he should have only been a kid. His brothers counted on him in a way he never should have been asked to show up for them. Now, he was doing that again selflessly.

“They just need my help to get my dad back on his feet. I don’t know what I’m walking into, and I don’t want you to think less of me-”

“Alex Nilsen, I could never think less of you for something like this." You brushed his curls back from his forehead as your voice softened. “I only think higher of you for it, honestly.” He tried to hide how his cheeks flushed, but you caught it immediately. Your thumb brushed over his reddened cheeks as you cupped his face and directed his eyes to yours.

“Look at me. Whatever you’re walking into, I’m walking into it with you. Do you want me there- or maybe I could get your brothers out of the house? I could take them for dinner and a movie.” Alex sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders just slightly as he nodded and quietly responded, “That would be great. I think they could use it. I’ll pay you back for everything.” But you shook your head in response, “You absolutely will not. You’ll treat me to dinner when we get back to campus. That’s all I need.” You could see that light you loved in Alex’s eyes come back at your reassurance. He just needed someone who would go to bat for him in ways his family hadn’t before; you were more than willing to do that.

Even though you had managed to alleviate some of his stress at the gas station, you swore you could feel it come circling back around him the second the sign for Linfield came into view. His hand slowly tightened on your thigh until you pulled it off and laced your fingers through his, bringing his knuckles up to your lips with a whispered, “I’m here.” He waited for a red light to look over to you, and you could see that he wanted to say something, but instead, he gave you a half-hearted smile before fixing his eyes back on the road.

His fingers flexed around your own as he pulled into the driveway before reclaiming his hand to put the car in park. He stayed looking forward as he sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, letting out a long sigh before you unbuckled your seatbelt and moved in your seat to fix his hair.

“Do you want me to go in with you? Or wait out here for you to send your brothers out?” He let you continue to fuss over his hair, placing each curl back in place carefully for some sense of normalcy despite being back in the place he often dreaded returning. He waited another minute, relishing the feeling of your hands on him, before he turned his head to look at you.

“Wait out here? I just… I want to make it presentable, at least, maybe. I don’t know what it looks like in there.” You could tell he was in his head again, worrying this would be the straw that broke the camel’s back, the camel being your relationship. But you simply moved to press a kiss to his cheek, and he melted into your touch.

“Text me if you need me back earlier or you need us to stay out later, okay?” Those three little words came rushing back to the tip of your tongue, as they always did lately, but you swallowed them down to try not to add any more stress into his bones, especially if he wasn’t ready to say them back. He smiled as best he could as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before getting out of the car, and you hopped over the center console to sit in the driver’s seat.

~~~

Though you hadn’t met his brothers before, that was a small detail he often shared with pride about his life in Linfield. Bryce, Cameron, and David truly were something he held dear in his heart, and as you watched the teenage boys sit around you in a booth at a local diner, you understood why. They spent the whole dinner praising Alex and sharing details about the man you’d grown to love that you had only previously hoped to one day hear.

“He used to make us peanut butter sandwiches for lunch all the time. It was easy to do when he had to try to wrangle us all up to go to school.” You smiled at how David talked about him, a love for his brother in his eyes that you understood too well.

“He makes me peanut butter sandwiches when I’m sick,” you added before sipping your drink. You understood why Alex was fond of this place, even if it sometimes brought back chilling memories. It felt homey; you could understand why people settled down here. Bryce laughed as he set down his food to speak, but you were distracted by the buzzing of your phone–a text from Alex.

Whenever you want to bring them home, I’m just cleaning. You picked up bits and pieces of what the boys were discussing as you typed back.

How are you doing? How’s your dad? Three bubbles popped up in response before disappearing promptly. Even through the phone, you swore you could feel Alex’s hesitance; you wished you had some way to reassure him without a shadow of doubt that he can’t scare you away.

It’s going to be okay. We can leave tonight, I think. You couldn’t hide your frown at his insistence to “protect” you from something that he didn’t need to. David nudged your side to get you to look back up at the boys all concerned around you.

“Is he okay?” Cameron asked, all three of them knowing who you were texting.

“He’s okay. I think he just feels bad about leaving you guys. He loves you all so much. He’s got a different ring and text tone for you three,” you tried to explain, hoping to alleviate their stress, but Bryce simply frowned as he spoke. “We try not to bug him. We told him to go to Chicago when he got the offer. Normally, we can handle Dad still, or David can jump in as his favorite.” David tried to interject a protest, but Bryce kept talking, “I feel like we’re still taking advantage of him. It felt like we did as kids, at least.” You reached a hand across the table to squeeze Bryce’s hand reassuringly.

“He loves you. He hasn’t told me much about his childhood, but he has told me about you guys. He talks about you with so much pride that I swear I feel it when he does.” The three boys all managed the same half-hearted smiles you were used to from Alex in this state. “Let’s finish up here and get you guys home to him, yeah? He’ll be happy to see you all.” You tried to cheer them up, but you could feel the melancholy the whole drive home until they walked in the door and made a beeline for Alex. You took the chance of Alex being distracted by his brothers’ loving rough housing to take in the sight of everything in front of you. Clothes were strewn about the living room, and takeout containers covered the kitchen's counters while tupperware filled the sink. On any other occasion, you’d scoff about the mess of boys, but you knew it was more than that here. This was a family that never fully learned how to heal from their loss.

“You gonna stay the night? You could kick our ass at horse in the morning instead of going on a run.” Bryce asked as Alex looked to you.

“We’ll be here in the morning. I look forward to watching these supposed basketball skills of his. We’ll be here as long as we can help,” you answered for Alex. He couldn’t ask you to stay, but you could tell him you would over and over again. Alex visibly relaxed at your words as he nudged his brothers away from him and told them to head to bed. You smiled at the collective groans as the boys went down the hall and yelled out goodnights to you, while Alex came up to wrap his arms around you, taking a deep breath from his spot nestled in your hair.

“I have the guest bedroom all set up. You don’t have to help me finish all this,” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss behind your ear, but you shook your head. “I want to help. Where are the trash bags? I’ll deal with the kitchen while you get this into the laundry.” You motioned to the pile of clothes on the couch as you stepped away from him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before walking into the kitchen.

~~~

Moonlight seeped through the kitchen window when you heard a sniffle behind you. Your head snapped over to the living room where Alex was working to wipe down all the furniture, and you could see the glimmer of tears brimming his eyes. Taking quiet steps up to him, you took the rag from his hand and set it on the coffee table before guiding him to sit on the now clean couch. He just looked at you with what you swore may have been the saddest eyes, holding back his tears and his hands trembling in your hold.

“‘s okay. I’m here. Just let it out,” you tried encouraging him as you brushed his hair back. One moment passed, then another, and then the dam broke. His tears fell, clearly against his will, and you brought a hand behind his head to let him bury his head into your chest. Shaking hands gripped your shirt below where he hid his face as if he was terrified you’d disappear; you were still sure that was a real fear of his. You rubbed his back as sobs racked his body, forcing him to melt into you and find comfort in that moment.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he choked out after a few minutes, voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt. “They told me to go, and I listened, but they need me still.” Your heart broke at the sound of his every worry. He didn’t want to leave them, but you knew he wanted to live simultaneously. You let him drag himself down to rest his head on your thighs, holding onto you still, a silent plea not to leave him.

“They told you to go,” you shushed his hiccuped sobs. “They wouldn’t have encouraged you to do it if they truly needed you all the time. When was the last time they asked you to come back?” He didn’t look up at you as he replied, “This is the first. But I just… Baby, they shouldn’t have to do this.” You ran your hand through his hair soothingly as you tried to think through how to word your thoughts about it all.

“And neither should you, Alex. You’ve been gone nearly two years already. They’ve got it. They just got overwhelmed this time. The whole time we were at dinner, they all just talked about how wonderful you are. They hate thinking they’re taking advantage of you after everything you’ve already done for them.” You wiped his tears as they started to slow, one hand staying in his ear as his grip lessened, growing more sure you would stay. It took him a moment to force himself to sit back up, wanting to look you in the eyes when he quietly confessed.

“I love you. Maybe this isn’t the place to say that for the first time, cleaning up my family’s mess, but I… I don’t want you to think otherwise. I love you.” You wipe his last tear as a nearly painfully wide smile graced your features.

“I love you, Alex. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He smiled back, no more half-hearted smile, but the big beautiful smile you were used to from him. “This isn’t a mess. If you want to see a mess, you’ve got to come to my parent’s house when my mom decorates for Christmas. It becomes a wreck then. This is nothing,” you joked, and it got a small chuckle out of him as he moved to cup your cheek, pulling your lips to his own. You both smelled of Windex and dust, but you swore you’d never had a better kiss than this. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him pull you closer, smiling against his lips as you started to lose the air in your lungs, though you didn’t need it if you gave it to him.

“Can we finish cleaning in the morning? I just want to go to bed with you. Bryce took over my room, so we’ll have to take the guest bed,” he asked breathlessly. He rested his forehead against yours, pressing a small kiss to your nose when you nodded. His hands ran through your hair as you pulled back to look at him.

“I love you,” you whispered again, having wanted to say it for so long and finally getting the chance. He smiled brighter as he whispered it back, picking you up in his arms to carry you to bed, trying not to laugh too loud when you squealed, shushing you so you wouldn’t wake up his brothers. He had grabbed some old clothes of his for you two to change into before pulling you under the covers with him. He had a partner to go to bat for him now. You wouldn’t let him feel alone in dealing with this kind of thing ever again. He squished himself close behind you, his chest flush to your back, and even though it was a full-sized bed in the guest room, he still cuddled up to you as if it were the tiny bed in your dorm.

#alex nilsen x reader #alex nilsen fanfiction #alex nilsen fanfic #alex nilsen x you #alex nilsen imagine #alex nilsen #alex #alex nilsen pwmov #pwmov #pwmov fanfic #pwmov fanfiction #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth fanfiction #thyme!reader

55 notes · View notes

lucygxybaird · 6 months ago

Text

12 Days of Christmas - Day 7

You really should have seen this coming.

Your balance has never been good, as proven multiple times over the course of your childhood.

You still have a small scar on your left knee from an accident suffered when you were learning to walk (why your parents let you toddle around on your gravel driveway, you still don’t understand). It took you nearly four months to learn to ride a bike, because you kept falling over every time your dad let go. After your mother enrolled you in a gymnastics class, as a result of you begging for months, she had to take you out again after you first lesson because the balance beam represented such a risk to your safety — and the safety of the other children — that she feared a lawsuit.

Even as an adult, you can’t wear those fluffy slipper socks on stairs for fear of serious injury.

So you really don’t know why you decided to volunteer to hang up the green-and-red streamers over the gymnasium door. Point of fact, you don’t know why you agreed to help decorate at all. You mean well, but you’re not crafty. Every stamp on the Christmas cards you sent out this year were crooked, for God’s sake.

Your only excuse is that you really, really want to fit in at this school. You’ve always wanted to be a teacher, and the high school in East Linfield seems like a good one.

It certainly didn’t help your worries that you started so late in the year, because the previous teacher had moved with his husband to Palm Springs. The kids hadn’t even finished reading A Tale of Two Cities, and here you were trying to fuse your own lesson plan with the one they’d been working on. You were excited and frazzled and anxious all at once, a potent cocktail that meant you had your guard down.

So when another woman in the English department asked if you were free tonight, because they really needed an extra hand decorating the gym for the Winter Snowball, you found yourself smiling and saying, “Sure! I’d love to help out.”

Which is how you find yourself balancing on your tiptoes, on the very top of a stepladder, and you’re so, so close to getting the tinsel where you need it to be. If you could just get it a little bit — you push yourself a smidge higher on your toes, your fingers brush the nail where you’re meant to drape it, and —

There’s a very concerning creak, and you feel rather than see the stepladder slip out from under your feet as it collapses like a house of cards in a wind tunnel. You clutch uselessly, desperately, at the yard of tinsel in your hand as you fall backward, your arms windmilling like that’s going to help you in any way whatsoever.

Bang!

You wish that was the sound of the stepladder hitting the ground, but that flimsy thing couldn’t make so much noise if it was bounced around in a car trunk by a very tiny, very angry gorilla. No, in actuality, it’s the sound of your head smacking against the gym floor hard enough for you to see stars. Which is something you thought was a cliche, but it’s true. Points of light explode behind your eyes, one after the other, like silent fireworks.

When you open your eyes — not that you remember closing them — you see a face hovering over yours, and you realize you aren’t actually on the floor anymore. You’re being cradled in someone’s arms, propped up in their lap. It takes you a few moments to realize that the arms and the face bent over you, concern etched all over it, belong to the same person.

Moments after this realization comes another one.

You know this guy.

“Alex,” you say fuzzily, and his anxious expression melts — momentarily — into a smile.

“That’s right,” he says. “Yeah, I’m Alex. We met last week, remember?”

You do, if only because you’d thought then — as you do now — that he’s very, very cute. “I remember,” you assure him.

He smiles at you again. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna try to get you up now, alright? You ready?”

You nod.

“Okay,” he repeats. “Alright—!”

And then he scoops you up into his arms, standing up with a little grunt of effort, and you clutch at him like you’re holding onto a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. Both your stomach and your vision stage separate revolts, like they’re eighteenth century American colonists and French citizens, respectively. You clutch at Alex’s shoulders for a moment while he looks at you with increasing alarm.

“Are you okay?” he says. “We should get you to the emergency room.”

Your stomach flips all over again at the thought of doctors, not to mention the astronomical bills you’ll have to pay. “No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him. “You can put me down now.”

“Oh—” It seems like he’s forgotten you’re even in his arms. “Oh, yeah, right, of course, sure.”

He sets you down, his hand still on the small of your back. By now, other people are starting to rush over, all of them looking concerned, although you think at least one of them — the woman who asked you to help, for one — might be more worried about how litigious you are than the state of your skull.

“I’m okay,” you tell all of them, a statement which immediately collapses as soon as you try to take a step forward.

The moment that you do, your knees buckle as a wave of dizziness washes over you. Multiple pairs of hands reach for you, but when you’re actually able to focus again, it’s Alex’s face that you see.

“I don’t think you’re okay,” he says, his tone so deadpan that you have to bite on your lower lip to keep from laughing. Maybe he mistakes this for a grimace of pain, because his eyebrows beetle down lower over his eyes as he frowns anxiously. “Really, I think you need to go to the hospital.”

Maybe it’s because you’re too dizzy — and increasingly nauseous — to think straight, or maybe it’s because Alex looks so endearingly concerned, as if you’re more than some coworker he only met a few days ago. As if he really cares.

You cave.

“Okay,” you say. “Yeah, okay.”

Alex lets out a breath as you agree, not so much a sigh of relief as of resignation, as if now he’s gotten one item on his checklist done and he has to move on to another. “Come on,” he says, and he anchors an arm around your waist, supporting you as he leads you toward the gym doors.

From the corner of your eye, you see everyone else just standing there, looking bemused if not helpless. A few of them start drifting back to whatever tasks they were working on before you so elegantly displayed how graceful you are. They all seem perfectly happy to let Alex take care of you, but you can’t fault them for that.

You’re perfectly happy with it, too.

As Alex nudges the doors open with his shoulder, you say, “You’ll stay with me, right?”

The doors swing open to admit the two of you into the hall, and as they bang shut behind you, Alex pauses to look you right in the eye. “Yes,” he says. “Unless somebody with a stethoscope and a degree way beyond my capabilities tells me I can’t.”

You can’t help but smile, and when you do, his face softens again. While he’s looking at you like this, you really have no choice but to revisit the he’s very, very cute idea again. And very tall. Which you suppose isn’t saying much, since you stopped growing when you were around fourteen.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He gives a little bow of his head, a movement that’s oddly formal but nonetheless absolutely adorable. “Of course.”

Alex helps you to his car, tucking you into the passenger seat. “Hold on,” he says, and lopes around to the trunk, which he unlocks — you wonder how old his car is — and then rummages around in.

He returns a few moments later with a first aid kit, which he balances on the dashboard in front of you before popping it open. After a few moments of semi-frantic rummaging, he pulls out a cold compress and gently cups the back of your head, laying the cold compress against the rising knot poking up near your left ear.

“What are you doing?” you mutter, as he takes your hand and puts it against the other end of the compress, before moving his own.

Alex jogs around the hood of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine before he answers you. “It’s for the pain,” he says. “And to bring the swelling down.”

“Oh.”

He navigates out of the school parking lot and you tip your head back, pinning the cold compress between your throbbing skull and the headrest.

You reach the center of town without incident, but then —

“Oh my God,” Alex says, and you can’t help a snort-laugh (although you wish you could, because it makes your headache worse).

It’s as close to bumper-to-bumper traffic as a relatively small town is capable of exhibiting. Looking at the sea of cars stretching beyond the windshield, you let out a faint moan. Alex shoots you a worried look from the corner of his eye that you aren’t meant to see, but you do, so you bite your lip.

“Are you okay?” he says. “I mean, do you feel — I don’t know — queasy or anything? Or like you’re going to pass out?”

You consider this. “No,” you say. “My head just hurts. I’ve never had my had squeezed by the Hulk but I’m guessing it would feel pretty similar to this.”

Alex huffs out a laugh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “I don’t think I’m going to throw up in your car.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he says. “I’m worried about you.”

You smile, looking over at him. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t absolutely freak out if I threw up in your car right now?”

The line of cars ahead of you moves forward a few precious feet, and Alex manages to weave his car ahead of a few others. He’s concentrating so much on this maneuver that he doesn’t respond to you at first, but then he admits, “Well…I’d try to keep my freaking out to myself as much as I could.”

“I appreciate that.”

It takes nearly half an hour for the hospital to come into view, and even then, it takes another fifteen to finagle a way into the parking lot. By the time Alex has actually found a spot and parked, you do in fact feel a little queasy.

The whole time, though, Alex keeps asking you questions, probably just trying to keep you awake (although you’re pretty sure you read somewhere the whole “concussed people shouldn’t be allowed to sleepthing” is a myth or something, but still).

Where are you from?

You told him, and he says that he’s been there on a vacation with his best friend. You asked him what he liked best. He said the food, which made you laugh. “Did you go to this place called Justine’s? They have the best friend chicken in the world.”

No, he’d said, and you told him that the two of you would have to go back someday and you’d take him. The words had slipped out before you could stop yourself — this was the first full conversation you’d really had with him, and here you were offering to whisk him away — but Alex had only smiled at you. “That sounds nice,” he’d told you.

He asked you when you realized you wanted to teach — in the sixth grade, when you met an English teacher who encouraged you to write, and you never forgot that — and why you moved to Linfield. You said that it was far enough from home for you to have independence, but not so far that traveling back home would cost an arm and a leg.

You’re pretty sure he’d said, I’m glad you chose this place, but at that point you’d hit a speed bump and an invisible railroad spike had been driven into your skull. By the time Alex had finished apologizing, the moment had passed.

“Okay, here we are,” Alex says, pulling into a space. “Wait for me.”

He hops out and is about to slam his door before he takes a look at your face. Closing the door so carefully it could be made of porcelain, he hustles around the front of the car and opens your door for you, scooping his arm around your waist and helping you to your feet.

“Almost there,” he says encouragingly, his tone suggesting you’re lagging in the final leg of a marathon.

He propels you through a pair of automatic doors and into the waiting room, which is — of course — packed, but fortunately not too packed that you can’t find two chairs together. Alex deposits you in one of them while he hurries to the front desk.

He returns a few moments later with a clipboard loaded with insurance forms, which he looks apologetic about. “I know this seems like a lot,” he says, waving the clipboard around, “but I’ll help you. I’ll write stuff down if you want.”

“Please,” you say.

So he sits next to you, his shoulder bracing yours, and writes down your answers in his careful printing. You smile. “You have really nice handwriting,” you say. “It looks like typography.”

Alex chuckles. “Thank you.”

When all the forms are finally done, you realize your head is on his shoulder. It feels very, very heavy, but you do your best. “Sorry,” you say.

To your surprise, Alex reaches over and puts his hand on your cheek, pushing your head back down. “It’s okay,” he says. “Leave it, if you’re comfortable.”

You are. His shoulder is broad and warm, and with your head nestled there, you catch the faint but distinctive scent of pine. “Okay,” you sigh.

Alex pats your knee gently. “Okay,” he agrees.

The two of you sit in (relative) silence, before you say, “Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you being so nice to me? We barely know each other. You could have just as easily have dropped me off and gone back to your day.”

From the corner of your eye, you see him shake your head. “No,” he says simply. “I couldn’t have. It’s not how I am.”

It’s not the most verbose explanation, but you don’t need one. His words strike you cleanly and easily as true, as if someone has told you the sky is blue or water is wet. You don’t have to look out a window or dunk your head in a lake to know that. Alex just isn’t the sort of person who can turn his back on someone who needs him.

“Thank you, anyway,” you say. “I’m glad we’re getting to know each other, even if I might have lost a few brain cells in the process.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think that’s how that works,” he says. “But me too.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “It was probably just some math brain cells. I was never very god at that, anyway.”

“Two plus two is?”

“Mmm — 22?”

“So close.”

Later, you try to blame it on the fact that your brains have been scrambled around in your skull like the little white flakes in a snow globe; a little while later still, you think it just felt right. It takes you a while to realize you’ve even done it, but eventually, you look down to discover that you’re holing Alex’s hand.

And not lightly, either, but with your palm nestled into his, your fingers laced together. You frown down at this, puzzled. “When did this happen?”

Alex glances down at your linked hands. “I don’t know,” he says, and gives a little shrug, the motion small enough not to jostle your head. “It’s okay.”

And then he squeezes your hand, running his thumb lightly over your knuckles in a way that indicates maybe it’s more than okay.

A voice calls your name, and you reluctantly pick your head up from Alex’s shoulder. “We’re ready for you,” a nurse is saying, and Alex helps you to your feet.

You hop up on the little table-bed thing with its crackly wax paper spread over the top, your feet swinging idly. You catch Alex muffling a smile into his collar, and you smile back at him just as a nurse steps into the room.

By the time you walk out of the doctor’s office, clutching a prescription for pain medication, Alex looks marginally more relaxed. “At least we know you’re okay,” he says, letting out a long breath. “Do you have anyone to check on you?”

“Check on me?”

Alex nods. “You’re supposed to check on someone with a concussion to make sure they’re breathing normally,” he says.

You blanch. “Is that unlikely? That I’d be breathing normally?”

At once, consternation washes over Alex’s face. “No, no, no,” he says quickly. “No. It’s just…I mean, they say it’s okay to check on someone with a concussion, to make sure — you know — but — I mean, I guess…I’m — I feel like it’s better safe than sorry, and I don’t want…”

You smile, mostly to reassure him but also because it’s adorable, the way he’s babbling, trying to comfort you. “Alex, if you’re trying to invite yourself over, you can always just ask.”

He smiles back at you. “Can I come over?”

“Sure.”

You direct him to your apartment, and he insists on helping you up the stairs, like you’re a feeble little grandma whose hip will shatter if she lifts her foot at the wrong angle. When you let the two of you into your apartment, Alex asks where your linen closet is.

“I’m not a middle-aged woman with a collection of needlepoint throw pillows,” you say. “I don’t have a linen closet.”

“Okay, so where you do you keep your extra blankets?”

You tell him you keep them in a storage ottoman at the foot of your bed, and he says, “Oh, a linen closet is too old for you, but a storage ottoman is the peak of youth culture?”

“Did you ask just to make fun of me?”

“No.” He nudges you toward your own couch. “Sit.”

So you do, and you turn on the TV, flipping through your streaming services until you just pick something and try to find a show or movie that you both might like. Which is difficult because you have no idea the sort of thing Alex likes to watch, so you settle on a docuseries about the Love Has Won cult. Doesn’t everybody find that fascinating? At least in the “can’t look away from a car wreck” kind of way?

You look up to find Alex carrying a couple of blankets and a pillow, all of which he tucks around you until you’re shaped rather like the Michelin man. He settles down beside you and raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t this the Mother God woman?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” He wriggles his shoulders until he’s more comfortable beside you. “Interesting. Good pick.”

You find yourself smiling way bigger over that little sliver of approbation than you probably should.

When the show is over, the streaming service offers up similar choices, and you let Alex pick. It’s another multi-episode show, which takes you four hours further on, and then he lets you pick the next.

By the time that one is over, it’s pitch black outside, and you hesitate. “Don’t you have to get home?”

You don’t want him to leave.

“No,” he says. “My cat has an automatic feeder. She’ll be okay without me until morning. Actually, she’ll probably appreciate the solitude.”

“What’s her name?”

“Flannery O’Connor.”

You hum softly. After a moment of hesitation, you put your head back on his shoulder. “Well, she was wrong,” you say.

“Who?”

“Flannery. A good man isn’t hard to find.”

You think there’s a smile in his voice. “No?”

“No,” you say. “I found one right here.”

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a moment, watching a former cult member detail how she had to change her name to Aurora and give up all her credit cards. After a few moments, Alex’s hand finds yours again.

“Do you have plans for New Year’s?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you say.

“Would you like some?”

You smile. “Yes.”

A pause, and then he says: “With me?”

You laugh. “Yes, Alex.”

His fingers tighten briefly around yours. “Good,” he says.

You wonder if he’s thinking about the possibility of a New Year’s kiss. You certainly are. When you flit a glance up to Alex’s face, he’s already looking at you.

Judging by the look in his eyes, you don’t have to wonder if he’s thinking about kissing you at midnight on the last day of the year.

He definitely is.

#alex nilsen fanfiction #alex nilsen x reader #alex nilsen #pwmov #tom blyth #12 days of christmas #12doc day seven

39 notes · View notes