#she probably hoped the baggy clothes would make her look bigger - it didn't

[demi-pixellated]

Young Shepard

[jayzfort]

Remember that time? || Panville

A/N- this isn't my favorite work, nor have i proof-read this story, so if the plot divereges alot, I'm so sorry for that, but I did like writing this story, I hope you like it too :D

Remember when you hated my sweater?

The Longbottom household was filled with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neville Longbottom was known for his niceness, but when he got mad, he didn't yell or argue. Instead, he resorted to a stony silence, ignoring the person he was angry with.

"You're making that face again," August chimed in, their thirteen-year-old son said to Neville, who had his eyes narrowed and fixed on the long, black-haired woman in their kitchen.

"What face?" Neville asked, his gaze—a glare, really—fixed on the woman.

"The face that says you desperately want to ask the person about their plans for the day, but you can't because you're mad at them, so you stare at them thinking you'll figure it out," his fifteen-year-old daughter, Francesca, added as she joined them on the patio.

"She's going out with her friends tonight," Francesca said. Neville raised an eyebrow at her. "You know, Daphne, Astoria, Bulstrode, and those people," she continued, which furrowed Neville's eyebrows even more as he continued to stare at the woman, who was now applying a very red lipstick.

"She's going out, wearing that?" Neville said, pointing his head in the woman's direction, which earned him a scoff from his eighteen-year-old daughter, Alice.

"Honestly, Dad, let her wear what she wants. What's gotten you so worked up?" Alice asked.

"That's her revenge dress. The whole thing—the red lipstick, those heels, and the fact that she's going out with those women," Neville said, burying his head in his palms.

Alice, Francesca, and August exchanged glances before Francesca spoke up. "So it's a whole routine?"

Neville sighed deeply, lifting his head to look at his children. "Yes, she'll walk up over here, and mock me, mostly my clothing, she'll probably say 'nice shirt' or 'nice sweater you've got there,' and walk off."

August laughed at his father's state. "Try to say something then."

As if on cue, Pansy Parkinson, now Pansy Longbottom, walked onto the patio, her heels clicking against the floor. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, and her red lipstick was striking against her pale skin. She looked stunning, and Neville couldn't deny it, even in his frustration.

Pansy looked at her husband, who looked, well, miserable. Which made her smirk a little. "Nice sweater, Longbottom. Couldn't have gotten a bigger size?" she said with a sarcastic voice.

Some whispers were exchanged between the kids. Neville had his favorite sweater on, a red one that was baggy and looked very comfortable. In fact, Pansy loved it, but today it seemed like she hated it.

"Going somewhere?" Neville asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Pansy stopped and turned to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes, I'm going out with my friends. Do you have a problem with that?"

Neville took a deep breath.

"No, absolutely not," Neville said, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading inside the house.

"Did you really have to be that rude, Parks?" Francesca asked her mum.

"He's mad at you, and he's miserable. You're making him feel even worse," Alice said, shaking her head at her mother, who only grinned back.

"Would it kill either of you to take my side? Besides, he's adorable when he's ignoring me," Pansy said, winking at her daughters.

"Honestly, Mum, just apologize," August said as he got up and trailed after his dad.

"Longbottom men: always resort to ignoring when they're mad and then sulking," Pansy said with a dramatic sigh.

"You're being evil, but somehow I admire it," Francesca said, which earned her a playful hair ruffle from Pansy.

"Well, I'm off. Dinner's on the stove. Alice, do not touch my makeup. I'll know if you do," Pansy said, giving her daughter a knowing look.

"When will you be back? You will be back, right?" Francesca asked, her eyes wide with concern.

"Sweetheart, of course I'll be back. But don't wait up for me. I'll be late," Pansy said, kissing her cheek.

"Okay, Mum, have fun," Alice said, hugging Pansy. "Make sure Nev eats something, okay?" Pansy said softly, and then she Disapparated with a pop.

"I don't get it. Dad ignores Mum, Mum mocks Dad, and yet she tells us to make sure he eats," Francesca said, shaking her head.

"It's called being in love. They'll never hurt each other," Alice said, guiding her sister inside.

"So this whole 'revenge dress' thing isn't new?" August asked Neville as they snuggled up on the couch, with Alice and Francesca joining them.

"Oh no, she's done that countless times. Let me tell you about the first time Miss Parkinson pulled that stunt," Neville said, adjusting his glasses with a frown.

***********************************************************************

It was late, even for a professor to be out on the grounds. The harsh Scottish winter bothered Pansy immensely, but she shrugged it off as she made her way down to the greenhouses.

She sighed with relief when she saw a light on in one of them. She opened the door, which creaked terribly. The only other occupant turned around, wand in hand.

When Neville saw it was Pansy, he went back to potting the plant, grabbing fistfuls of soil. Pansy grimaced at the amount of dirt getting under his nails.

She cleared her throat, but Neville ignored her. She called out his name, and he ignored that too.

"Professor Longbottom?" Pansy said in her most professional voice, which made Neville turn around, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"I need a Somniumfloris plant, hopefully in full bloom," she said.

"Why?" he asked simply, adjusting his glasses, smudging a bit of dirt on his nose. Pansy's fingers itched to brush it off.

"That's none of your business," she snapped, clicking her black heels as she walked closer to the Herbology professor.

"Then I'm sorry, Professor Parkinson, I'm afraid I can't help," he said, sighing as he returned to his plants.

"I need it to make the Somnium Potion for the seventh years to study," she said firmly.

"Ah, I see. It is quite a strong plant," Neville said, his eyes never leaving the clay pot he was tending to.

"Well? Do you have it?" Pansy asked, tapping her heels on the soot-covered cobalt floor.

"Does this look like a shop to you? Actually, don't answer that," Neville said, cringing after.

"I'm quite in need of it. I have the class tomorrow," Pansy said sternly.

"We don't have it," he said easily, as if he hadn't just wasted Pansy's time. Pansy was offended. "Why did you ask why I needed it, then?" she huffed, crossing her arms.

Neville just shrugged. "You could use it to drug someone into dreaming or believing their delusions."

"Are you accusing me of something like that?" she challenged. Neville looked back at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes and said, "Maybe. Who knows? After all, you are you."

"I know you do not respect me, Professor Longbottom, but I cannot and will not tolerate criticism based on my past entanglement with the Dark Lord," Pansy said angrily.

"Never mentioned Voldemort even once," he said, rolling his eyes at how easily the woman in front of him got worked up.

"Well then, what is this whole thing about?" Pansy asked, grabbing his arm and feeling his bicep flex under her touch.

"What thing?" Neville asked as he put on a coat, which Pansy eyed enviously.

"The whole ignoring scheme you've been putting up for the past week," Pansy muttered, debating whether to ask Neville for an extra jacket.

"Ah. Is it bothering you?" he asked, smirking down at her.

Pansy flipped her long hair back and huffed. "Yes, we're supposed to be colleagues, more or less friends," she said.

"We are not friends, and considering how you tell your dear Slytherin students how terrible Herbology is, I don't think we can ever be," Neville said.

"So that's what this is about. You seek validation from a bunch of teens dressed in green and silver robes," Pansy said, laughing egotistically at Neville.

"You're impossible, Parkinson," he said as he walked back to the castle.

"You're not even going to offer? Some knight in red and gold," Pansy yelled after him.

Up until the next Hogsmeade weekend, Pansy and Neville didn't speak, not even for work purposes. They either had their students communicate for them or simply didn't address tasks that required collaboration.

Neville was walking around Hogsmeade, feeling different as he strolled through the village as a professor. Now he didn't have to live under the constant fear of not being allowed to visit because he’d let a mass murderer in or simply lost the permission form.

He went inside The Three Broomsticks, drawn by the warmth and not by the lure of alcohol—he never touched the stuff.

"Hannah? What are you doing here?" Neville looked surprised as he saw his long-time friend and ex-girlfriend behind the counter.

"Madam Rosmerta retired. She called me up to ask whether I’d be open to a partnership. Besides, business is great here on weekends, and during the weekdays, I’m in London," Hannah explained as she poured butterbeer into another customer's mug.

"Wow, it's great to have a familiar face here. I guess I'll be making frequent visits," Neville said, winking at Hannah.

"If looks could kill, I'd be ashes right now, considering the glare Parkinson's throwing at me," Hannah whispered, leaning closer to Neville.

"She's here? Alone?" he asked. Hannah shook her head.

"With the rest of the snake princesses. I thought she'd ghosted all of them."

"Me too. Also, may I have a coffee?" he asked sheepishly. Hannah nodded, stealing glances at the table where Pansy was seated. "She's not wearing a coat. How is the woman not freezing?"

"Probably snake skin," Neville said, chuckling as he turned on his barstool to look at Pansy.

There she was, wearing a sleeveless black flare dress that stopped right above her knees. She'd ditched her regular bun and let her long black hair cascade down her back, the slight curls at the end looking nothing short of perfect. Her six-inch black heels matched her perfectly manicured black nails, and she'd completed the outfit with diamond stud earrings and a very, very red lipstick.

Neville's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Pansy Parkinson looked stunning, not that she didn't always, but this time she looked powerful.

She caught Neville's eye and suddenly got up, earning stares from the rest of the table. She muttered some apologies and came up to Hannah, politely smiled, and paid for her drinks.

She checked out Neville from head to toe, smirked a little, and said, "Nice jumper, Longbottom. Totally doesn't wash you out," and left.

"She is so into you," Hannah whisper-yelled, urging him to follow Pansy.

"I thought you ghosted them," Neville said simply as he walked beside Pansy.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had to inform you of the status of my friendships," Pansy said coldly.

"You look nice," Neville said, his face going red as he burrowed himself into the scarf he was wearing.

"I know. You and Abbott looked quite comfortable there. Do I hear wedding bells soon?" Pansy asked, without once looking at Neville.

"What? No, we're just friends. She's seeing Dean Thomas now," Neville explained.

"So you're willing to be friends with your ex-girlfriend, but not your colleague?" Pansy said coldly, as a carriage arrived. She entered without letting Neville in.

"You can take the next one. It'll only take ten minutes," Pansy said as she cast a warming charm on Neville.

Neville was confused. Wasn't he the one mad at, and ignoring, Pansy? How'd the tables turn? She had said he sought the validation of a bunch of senior Slytherins who made fun of him and claimed his subject was useless. If only they knew that more than half the ingredients used by their dear Potions professor came from his greenhouses.

Was she offended that he didn’t call her his friend?

"Pansy Parkinson wants to be my friend? That is something I didn’t see coming," Neville muttered to himself while grading a few essays.

Meanwhile, in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Pansy was grading potion assignments, her thoughts lingering on Neville. "Is he still really that daft? Even after killing Nagini and surviving the war?" She huffed as she got up.

She flooed herself to a very unexpected place: Ginny Weasley's office—now Ginny Potter. Ginny had her wand pointed at Pansy.

"Honestly, all you Gryffindors, thinking someone’s going to attack you. Where’s all your bravery gone?" she scoffed as Ginny lowered her wand.

"Well, if it’s you coming in here, one would have their wands ready. No offense, Parks," Ginny said, pointing to a seat for Pansy. "Also, you look hot—too hot for a Hogwarts professor," Ginny said, eyeing Pansy up and down.

"Actually, I’m here to ask you a favor," Pansy said as she adjusted her dress while sitting down.

"I thought I’d never live to see the day the Lady Pureblood would ask me for help," Ginny said dramatically.

"It’s about your best friend, Longbottom," Pansy said, emphasizing the last part.

"I think I’d know my best friend’s name. What about him? Haven’t spoken to him in ages," Ginny said as she sat on the table.

"You spoke to him last week when your not-so-little group gathered at The Three Broomsticks," Pansy said, slightly kicking Ginny’s shin.

"You sound like a stalker, living up to the Slytherin name, Princess," Ginny winked.

"Your best friend—Is he always like that?" Pansy asked, quirking her eyebrow at the redhead.

"Nerdy? Shy? Nice? Or what the Prophet has to say: confident, matured, and hot?" Ginny teased, making a face at the last part.

"More like rude, stubborn, sulky, and ignorant," Pansy retorted, earning a snort from Ginny.

"Parks, I think that’s not the Neville Longbottom we all know, unless you’ve managed to break him with all that," Ginny said, pointing to Pansy’s outfit.

"Actually, Weasley, I do not dress for the male gaze. I dress for myself," Pansy huffed. "Besides, what do I do to make a truce with Neville—or, well, to be somewhat friends?"

"Nothing. If he likes you, he likes you. But Parks, why do you want to be his friend so badly, considering you tormented him for seven years?" Ginny pondered. Pansy let out a heavy sigh.

"I do not see him as a friend. It would be nice to just be on good terms. Well, I don’t see that happening as he’s still hung up over the war."

"I think you’re the one hung up over the war. Besides, you mocked his subject in front of Slytherins. Any professor would take offense to that," Ginny said as she got off the table to pace around the room.

"And, I think you’re besotted with him," Ginny called out.

Pansy gasped in horror. "I am not! How could you possibly come to that conclusion?"

"I am leaving. You, Ginny Weasley, have been wrecked in the head," Pansy huffed as she got up to go back to her dungeons.

"Do not let whatever Weasley says get to your head," Pansy said as she stormed into Neville's office. He just looked up at her for a moment before going back to grading essays.

"You’ve got to be specific. There are quite a few Weasleys," Neville muttered.

"Ginny," Pansy said as she settled into the seat opposite Neville's.

"I do not want to be your friend," Pansy started.

"I figured," Neville said, looking at her.

"I want to be on good terms, as colleagues, and enough of this ignoring stuff," Pansy said.

"The whole 'ignoring thing' wouldn’t have started if you didn’t talk shit about Herbology to the judgy teens," Neville muttered.

Pansy sighed heavily. "Well, I apologize for that. It will never happen again, at least from my side."

"You apologized?" Neville said, looking dumbfounded. Pansy hesitantly nodded as she got up to leave. She turned and said, "I liked your jumper that day. It's a nice color."

That left Neville speechless for a few seconds. He got up and walked near the Potions professor. "Do you want it?"

Pansy paused, her breath catching as she looked into Neville's eyes. "I'll hold you to that offer," she whispered, stepping closer. Her lips brushed his cheek, leaving a faint red mark.

"You've got lipstick on your cheek," Pansy said, her hand trembling slightly as she raised it to wipe it off.

Neville caught her hand, holding it gently. "No, leave it there, Professor Parkinson," he said softly, his eyes locking onto hers.

Pansy’s heart raced as she felt the warmth of his hand, the tension between them electric. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe we can start over, for the second time?"

Neville leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "I'd like that," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you know."

***********************************************************************

The kids had gone to bed, and his daughters had made sure Neville ate—a little too much, in fact. He wouldn't be lying if he said he was worried that his wife wouldn't come home that night.

To take his mind off it, he started cleaning the whole house. Just as he completed arranging the books on the bookshelves, he heard the front door open. Pansy was home. He debated whether to go say something or remain where he was.

"I know you're arranging the bookshelf in the way that I do not like it," Pansy called out as she entered the study. She looked the same as when she left, just much more tired.

"You're not to wear heels into the study," Neville whispered as he watched her movements. She came to a halt in front of him.

"Helps me kiss you better, Longbottom," she said.

"Oh," he replied, blushing red.

Pansy stepped closer, her expression softening. "Baby, you don’t know how much it pains me that you always resort to ignoring me and not telling me things to my face."

"But that’s mean and not nice," Neville said.

"Well, sometimes everyone needs to hear the truth. That's how a relationship works," Pansy said.

"We haven’t been doing that, and our relationship’s been working fine for the past twenty years," Neville countered.

"Truly? But do you like all this?" She pointed to her getup, indicating the heels, the dress, the makeup.

Neville sighed. "Well, when it’s for me, yes. But not when you go out drinking with those women."

"Oh no, I went drinking with Ginny," she said.

"My best friend, Ginny?" he asked, surprised.

"She's not only your friend, you know that, right?" Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

Neville chuckled, and Pansy stepped closer, kissing him deeply. "Oh look, I've gotten lipstick all over you again," she murmured.

He smiled, touching his cheek where her lipstick had smudged. "Do you really hate my sweater?" he asked, looking down at it.

"Oh no, baby, I love it. I love it so much, in fact, that I want to get it off you," she said as she kissed him again, more passionately this time.

Neville’s hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer. Pansy pressed herself against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened. She felt the heat of his body through his sweater, her heart racing.

He lifted her slightly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, their kiss growing more fervent. Neville walked them backwards until her back was against the bookshelf, his lips trailing down her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her.

"You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this," Neville whispered against her skin, his breath hot and ragged.

"Then don’t stop," Pansy replied, her voice breathless and needy.

Their lips met again in a heated, desperate kiss, hands exploring, bodies pressing closer. The world outside their little study ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the fire igniting between them.

Pansy pulled back for a moment, her eyes dark with desire. "Let’s take this upstairs," she suggested, her voice husky.

Neville nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Lead the way," he said, his voice thick with lust.

They made their way to the bedroom, where the night promised more heated kisses and whispered confessions.

[in-superbloom]

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.

[witness-protection-official]

Warning! Lots more cussing this time, mention of doing drugs, and god tier acting from both parties

Also very long this time I spent a sold three hours writing this

Witness Protection - An Eyeless Jack x Female Reader Fanfiction

Chapter 3

You felt as though you were going insane. The man hadn't said a single word to you since the weird field area. Only lord knew if the ancient vehicle you sat in had a working radio. Asking was out of the question, you still had tape over your mouth. Couldn't check, you had tape gloves that went all the way up your arms, rendering them useless. With half lidded eyes, you stare at your disheveled figure in the side mirror. Dear god, you looked like shit. The blood on the side of your face had caked into a gross brown and was beginning to flake off, leaving you looking like you were a burn victim. You wince internally. You had mangled hair, with strands sticking every which way. Bags under the eyes displayed your lack of sleep and slowly depleting sanity. With a nearly inaudible groan, you tap your head against the glass. 'Can't he just kill me and get this over with? I don't know how much sitting in dead silence I'm going to be able to handle.' You slouch heavily, slowly sinking to the floor of the truck.

"You'll hurt your back sitting like that," his monotone voice stated off handedly. You huff and remain there. He sighs and grabs the back of your shirt, tugging you up to sit properly. You groan. Apparently sitting weirdly isn't even an option. He remains facing foward, not even glancing in your direction. Unable to spit insults at him, you level a heated glare at instead. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Maybe a good mix of both. It wasn't easy to tell how long you sat there, giving a dirty look to a man that probably couldn't even see you past the hood he had been wearing this entire time, but you assumed it had been about ten minutes or so. The truck suddenly stopped. You break out of your hate filled trance and look around. Why did he park in an actual parking lot? Was he going to let you go? The thought filled your heart with hope. He popped open the center console and pulled out a large bottle of what sounded like pills. Christ, was he about do just pop a few pills to deal with your bullshit? He pulled his mask off, placing it in the back seat. The cap popped off and he dumped a few out, throwing them into his mouth and closing the bottle. He pulled the hood down, giving you a clear view of the side of his head. You voice your distress at his appearance in muffled screams. He sighs heavily, leaning his head back against his seat, not seeming bothered. The screaming grew louder as his features shifted.

He opened his eyes and glanced at you, letting you get a clear view of his eyes. The screaming ceased in shock. How had you not seen them under his mask? With how bright the blue of his iris was, one would think they would glow in the dark. He pulled the visor down to examine his face in the small mirror embedded inside. He licked his teeth, turned his face from side to side. It finally clicked why he sounded familiar. He was the weird guy that had been staring at you when you changed out shifts with a coworker. You sigh internally. No point in thinking about it now, you guessed. He had murdered someone and kidnapped you, you had bigger things to worry about. His buckle clicked and you snapped out of your thoughts.

"I'll be back," he said simply, clicking something on the side of the door and closing it. Did- did that fucker just turn the child lock on?! Where the fuck were you gonna go in blood soaked clothes and taped up arms?! You send a hateful glare at his retreating form. He went into a store. A very large store. The fuck was he doing?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He bit the inside of his cheek as he entered the store. Did she really have to scream like that? Probably, not everyday you see a man with grey skin. And it's also not everyday you see him suddenly become a shape shifter after popping some pills. Either way, it really wasn't a boost of confidence for his already weak self esteem. Whatever. He had a reputation to uphold, and that meant keeping his cool, constantly. He'd already almost lost it on her while she was being annoying the night before. No point in risking it now. Jack sighed and rubbed his eyes. He began his journey towards the clothes section of the store before he paused. He forgot to ask what her sizes were. He facepalmed. And she had been wearing heels too. He grumbled, figuring it'd be easier to deal with that later. Right now he had to focus on getting her clothes that weren't stained with blood. He debated on heading to the woman's section, guess her size. No, bad idea. Someone is bound to try to talk to him. He was a tall man, he had no reason to be in the woman's section, and people were bound to wonder. Both his pride and crippling social anxiety told him to not risk it. Avoid talking with people was a priority. With a deep breath, he swiveled on his heel, headed towards the mens. He'd just grab some smaller sized jeans or something. There was a time where baggy jeans were popular right? He furrowed his brows as he thought, as he did a lot. His mind continued to wander until he reached the clothes. He eyed the jeans and opted to grab a pair of skinny jeans, in a random size that looked like they would fit her. He wasn't exactly staring at her legs, so he hoped that brief mental image he had in his mind was enough. He turned to the shirts. Any of them would work, they just couldn't be too big. He really wasn't in the mood to listen to her bitch and whine about him being a 'pervert' because it dipped too low and showed her bra.

He grabbed a basic black tee, looking to be maybe a size smaller than he got his own shirts. That'll do. He got a second pair of pants and a second shirt, just for good measure. He bit his tongue. He knew a little bit about the hygenic needs of a woman, but he hadn't smelled any blood or hormonal spike on her, so he figured she'd be fine for now. As he made his way to a different part of the store, he passed a shelf of hoodies. He backed up. Should he get her a hoodie? That would be awfully nice of him. She had done nothing to deserve any form of kindness from Jack. Letting her live was the extent of his mercy for her. 'But if she isn't cold that's less things she'll have to bitch about…' he mulled it over in his head before deciding. He'd get another hoodie for himself and let her wear it passively. 'What a fucking genius you are, Jack, absolute genius' he congratulated himself, grabbing a dark colored hoodie that was in his size. He nodded, satisfied and went to get a few more items.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You had been pretty confident he up and died in that store, he took so long. But alas, he had to return. You watched his form make it's way to your side of the truck and reflexively shifted away. He swung it open, placing the bags he held ontot he ground while he stood onto the step to reach your seatbelt clip. He tore off the tape, unclipping the restraint. The tape on your mouth went next.

"Spit an insult at me and I'll cut off your tongue," he quipped. You closed your mouth. "Good girl," he himself seemed to cringe at what he just said, judging by the sigh he released. You scrutinized his face as he worked on the tape on your arms with intense concentration. He had tiny freckles all over his face. They were so small it was impossible to see them from a distance, but they were everywhere. His nose, his cheeks, even the top of his neck and between his eyes. You would've found him attractive if you didnt know it wasn't what he actually looked like. Tanned skin and soft looking auburn hair helped him sell the whole 'fucking gorgeous' thing.

"What's with the whole 'pretty boy' get up?" you murmur. He pauses and looks up at you, confused. "why did you choose this look to be normal?" He searched her face for any underlying intentions. When he found none, he shrugged.

"Didn't get a choice," He finally managed to get the tape off of your hands and arms.

"You got damn lucky with it then, you coulda been ugly," you shrugged. He took a deep breath and didn't respond, instead reaching into the bag and pulling out a package of what appeared to be baby wipes. "I'm not a baby,"

"I noticed," he opened the package and pulled out a wipe. He gripped your jaw and turned your head to the side.

"I can do this myself,"

"Don't trust you," as usual, his response was simple. He wiped the dried blood off of your face rather harshly.

"Hey, hey! Be gentler! I'm not dead yet!" He growled lowly and held your face tighter in his hand, wiping the rest of the blood off of any currently visible skin. He took another wipe and used it to wipe off any tape or dirt residue off of you. "What gives with the mini bath?"

"You'll see," He pushed your head down, bending you so that your chest was pressed tightly against your thighs. He threw what you assumed to be the wipes into the back before letting you sit up again. He picked up the bag from off of the pavement and handed it to you. "Change," he closed the truck door. He must've gotten you clothes so you wouldnt be covered in blood constantly. You pull out a pair of jeans and a shirt, followed by an extremely oversized hoodie. You quirk a brow but peek out the window. The man was scrolling on his phone, back pressed against the car door. You deemed it safe to change and stripped down, pulling the new, clean clothes on. You rummaged through the bag some more and came across a hair brush, dry shampoo, and deodorant. Questionable items, but you put them to use. You felt like a human again. A soft knock on the window startled you. There he was. You blink dumbly at him. He points down. You look down. You had locked the door. With a sigh, you unlocked the door and he opened it.

"You didn't stare at me while I was changing, did you?" you narrow your eyes in suspicion.

"I've got no reason to," he took the hoodie out of the bag and threw it at you. "Wear it if you want," he threw the bag in the backseat. You huff and pull the sweater over your head. He closed the door and moved to the drivers side. He strapped in and started the truck.

"Why'd you make me freshen up and stuff?"

"You need food. I don't know what you want," He made the short drive to a gas station that was only about five minutes up the road. He unstrapped and went to your side, opening the door. "Out," You unstrapped and slipped out of the truck, a little wobbly from not standing for so long. The heels didn't help.

"You're coming in with me?"

"I'm the one with money,"

"There's another reason, isn't there,"

"That one is obvious. Now listen. You go in there, grab anything you need, and if anyone asks, I'm your boyfriend," he briefed.

"Why do I have to say you're my boyfriend?"

"You won't have to if you don't act suspicious, now lets go, I've spoken to much,"

"You got a word limit or something?"

"Mentally," he ushered you inside.

"You gonna act all boyfriendy?"

"Boyfriendy?"

"Are you gonna act like my boyfriend?"

"Yes, and you'll have to deal,"

"Ew, but why,"

"There won't be any kissing," he rolled his eyes.

"What if you need to?"

"I won't" he guided you to the hot foods area. "Now get your food," He stayed close as you grabbed two slices of pizza and a hot dog, putting them in mini bags. "Its a long drive, go get yourself some snacks," you nod and sort of hand him your hot food, which he holds with no complaint. His eyes hold a glimmer of warning, telling you not to do anything stupid.

You're examining the chips on the different shelves when some girl about your age comes up to you.

"Did you hear?" She leans in close.

"Hear what?" you tilt your head.

"About the murder at that hotel. Apparently the murderer took a hostage with them, one of the staff," you pretend to be shocked and that the hostage was 100% not you.

"Really?" top tier lying this was. You just hoped it was believable. She nodded.

"By the way that guy has kind of been staring you down this entire time," she whispered. "Hey, creep! Why don't you go bother some other chick-!"

"Wait! It's ok," you subtly gulp and turn to your kidnapper, acting as natural as possible. "Babe, are you gonna keep standing there like a stalker?" He shook his head.

"S-sorry," he chuckled awkwardly, moving to stand next to you. He somehow managed to look bashful, blush and all. His posture was slouched to look more weak and not as standoffish. He probably took an acting class at some point.

"Oh, you're dating," she seemed relieved. You nod. "Can I have proof?"

"Why- why do you need proof that we're dating?"

"With the whole hostage thing I just wanna make sure he isn't the murderer, or you aren't, you never know,"

"It does make a bit of sense," your abductor agreed, somehow flying through this whole interaction look weak and pathetic, and making it look like he was completely off the list of possible suspects. She raised her eyebrows, waiting. He looks down at you and you look up at him, seeming to have the same idea. He lean down and you meet him halfway in a short kiss. The taste of iron and blood you expected never showed up. When you two pulled away from each other, the woman visibly relaxed.

"Alright, sorry for being weird. Have a nice day!" she waved. You waved along with the man. He grabs your hand.

"She made a scene, we gotta keep up the appearance," he whispered as he leaned down, followed by a kiss on the cheek to cover it up. You notice some people were definitely staring.

"Got it," you whisper back. Pulling your hand away from his you grab a bag of chips. "Do we wanna get chips or something else for the trip?"

"You'll be eating them more than me,"

"Yeah but I don't want you to think I'm greedy for eating them all,"

"I won't think you're greedy,"

"Yes you will," you put the chips back.

"You can get the chips, babe," You whine.

"But-!"

"You're fine," he took the chips off of the shelf and placed them in your hands. He mouthed something to you. 'Jack'. You assumed that was his name.

"You sure, Jackie? You're 100% sure?"

"Yes," You shrug and grab the collar of his hoodie and yank him down, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you," you coo. He hums and pecks your lips. The line is fairly short as you two go to pay. Jack pays and before you leave the guy manning the register bids you farewell.

"Be safe, you two lovebirds,"

"We will, have a nice day!" The moment you're both in the car you place the bag down and go to fetch the wet wipes to wipe your mouth off. They wer to far back and you sighed. "You're a really good actor," you comment. "Your affection felt real," he hums.

"Likewise," he seemed greatly uncomfortable, and it made you wonder what he meant by metal word limit. Either that or he just really did not like pretending to be dating his hostage. You shrug. Best to ask once you've eaten. You unwrap your hotdog and take a bite.