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kpop-forwhaat · 6 years

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warm - hybrid! BTS au part 1

genre: hybrid! BTS, BTS AU, fluff, poly, (eventual) smut

Pairing: hybrid! BTS x hybrid! reader, poly

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of abuse, mentions of smut

Summary: you stumbled into the backyard of an entire house of humans and hybrids, what could go wrong?

Author’s Note: So this is literally the first hybrid fic I’ve ever written, so I’m sorry if the editing is bad!

part one part 2 part three part four part five

It had been a couple days since you had seen any roads. The only thing on your mind right now was finding food, and hopefully soon. You had managed to catch a couple of squirrels, but there’s only so much meat on one squirrel that can satisfy your malnourished hybrid body.

You ran from your last owner, he wanted nothing more than to show you off as a prize. One of the only lynx hybrids left, you were definitely a prize sought after. You don’t remember how many times you were forgotten, just shoved back into the damp basement after each house party. The only person who would remember to feed you was the other hybrid living there, Jennie. But she was the prized favorite of your master, she was his mistress. She didn’t mind, she had the hybrid bond with him. She loved him; and he used her. You couldn’t get it through her head that all she was is something he could use. She would just smile and say, “I promise he loves me.”

Then one day, she comes to the basement door. She says that the master has left, and he won’t be back for a few days, he’ll be gone on business. The babysitter will be over in the next 10 minutes. You looked at her in question, your eyes no longer having the spark they once had. But then you realized, she’s letting you go.

You didn’t think twice to ask her to come along, but she refused. She was going to tell him that the baby sitter left the door open, and you ran. It was a smart plan, as you didn’t want her to get hurt. So you thanked her, and you told her you’d never forget her. And you ran.

That was nearly 3 weeks ago.

You were hardly fed as it is while in your master’s house, but now, finding anything was hard to find. Eating acorns and berries weren’t the best, but they held you over. But then the bushes ran dry and the acorns were buried.

You’ve been walking with no specific direction, just trying to hunt for anything that moves. You had seen a deer a week ago, but your body couldn’t keep up for the chase.

Suddenly, you spot it. A tiny rabbit, nibbling on some grass. Your mouth waters at the sight; food.

You sneakily crouch down, eyeing the prey with new energy. Rabbits aren’t as fast as deer, you should be able to catch this one.

You get into stance, wiggle your butt a little bit in preparation for the pounce. Your eyes are dead set on the little fluff grazing innocently on the path. It turns to get to a new patch of fresh grass, leaving its back defenseless. Now’s your chance.

You leap. And miss.

The rabbit scurries away with panic clear in it’s eyes. But this little guy isn’t getting away. No, you haven’t eaten in days, you will get this kill. You follow it closely, every now and then waiting for it to stop and then pounce (every time successful as the first). You don’t even notice that you’ve in view of a backyard until you see a shed that the rabbit dashes into because of your latest attempt at a pounce.

You notice the mansion when you hear the sliding door open, and you dash behind the shed. You lay your body low on the ground and peer around the corner, hoping to not be seen.

You see two humans, bundled up in soft scarves and thick hats to fight off the cold autumn day. Now that you think of it, the first snow will be upon us soon.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t smell the hybrid until you hear the growling.

You turn around to see a wolf hybrid standing there, looking absolutely menacing. You wouldn’t be scared normally, you are a more ferocious predator than this wolf, but you both know that you can’t fight off an attack right now; your body won’t allow it.

He has on boots, jeans, a simple sweater, a red scarf, and glasses on. His tail is stick straight in anticipation and grey fluffy ears are taunt and alert. “Who are you and what are you doing on our property?”

You whimper at the tone, he is not happy that you are here.

“Namjoon, what is it?” You’re shaking so bad from fear, you don’t smell the other humans arriving.

“She’s a hybrid!”

“No shit. But look at her, she’s terrified.”

“Thank you. I didn’t notice that Yoongi.”

You sneak a peek through your lashes at the bodies standing in front of you. You see a tall man with dark ebony hair and wide shoulders kneeling in front of you. The cap on top of his head looks like it’s about to slide off, and you have to stop yourself from fixing it. Why do you want to fix it? He’s human, he’s going to hurt you.

You can’t stop the hiss from escaping when you see how close he is. His eyes go wide and he stumbles back, and the Namjoon wolf catches him.

“She’s a cat, lemme try.”

The other man kneels down, trying to make sense of this hybrid curled in a ball trying to look mean, but just failing miserably.

“Hi, my name is Yoongi. I’m a black panther hybrid. Can you tell us your name?” His eyes show warmth, and he has a small smile on his face. You feel you can trust him, you know hybrids. He’s a cat, he’s one of you.

You’re still tense, but you decide that he’s okay so you uncurl a little bit, and your tail starts to sway slowly. “Y/N.”

Yoongi nods, holding out his hand. “Do you want to come inside, it’s really cold out here.”

You look at the hand, and then back at the human standing next to Namjoon. “Will he be there?”

Yoongi looks a little shocked, but the human steps forward immediately. His arms are out to show that he means no harm, “I will but I will be on the other side of the house. Myself and Hoesok will be in another room away, okay?”

Namjoon still looks hesitant, but nods none the less. “I can make sure they stay there, so you can eat.”

You nod, finally accepting the waiting hand in front of your face.

When you fully stand to your height, you notice how much shorter you are compared to these giants. It makes you want to shrink back, but you know that’s not who you are. Not what your parents taught you.

Namjoon leads Jin away, briskly walking away from you and Yoongi. He looks at you and sees your appearance.

She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days, nor has she showered in months. He knows that she must be a stray, and she must be weak. Those lame attempts at pouncing alerted him to the fact that you are in your last few weeks.

He leads you up to the house wordlessly, and opens the sliding door that the other two people just entered through. You can feel the heat leaving the house, and you want to whimper. You haven’t felt warmth in so long, you can’t even remember.

You look at his eyes and see he’s patiently waiting, knowing that you’re hesitant. You lean forward a bit to scent the house; 2 humans and 5 hybrids. You look back to Yoongi, and he offers his hand to you again. You don’t think before you put your freezing palm onto his soft skin, and he pulls you into the warmth of the house.

The sliding door soft shuts behind you as you take in the house. It’s nicely decorated with clean wooden floors, the living room off to the side and you’re standing in the kitchen; which is huge and amazing. You’ve never really seen the kitchen before, but you knew it housed huge amounts of food that you could never get to. You were fed the normal hybrid pellets, they weren’t filling nor very nutritious as food would be, but it was cheaper than to feed another mouth with steak and potatoes every night.

Yoongi leads you to a stool seated at the counter, and lifts you up to seat you. His hands around your waist makes you blush, you’ve never been touched like that before. It was kind of, nice.

If he saw your pink cheeks, he didn’t comment on them. Instead he went straight to the straight to the stove and pulled out a pot. He poured chicken broth into the pot and started to heat it up, as well as adding in some pieces of cooked chicken and noodles. He got a glass of water for you, and set it in front of you.

You looked at the glass and then back at him. His eyebrows raised in question, “aren’t you thirsty?”

You bow your head, “you have to give me permission.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, he’s never encountered a situation like this before. He sees how pale and skinny you are, how you have a few faint scares on your arms. He sees your ripped and dirty clothes, and he feels his face heat up in anger. “Listen to me Y/N, we are not your masters. We are all equals, you can do whatever you want in this house. You can eat and drink whenever you want, you never have to ask for permission,” his hand gently grazes your chin to lift it up, “you are not an animal, you’re a hybrid. You have rights.”

His words brought about about a change in you. You don’t know exactly what it was, but something is happening in you. You can feel it.

Yoongi’s breath caught in his through when he saw you smile at him. When you lifted the glass to your lips, he had to turn away and go back to the broth. The way you licked your lips before drinking the water had a heat treading through his body, going straight towards his dick. What was he thinking? How can he feel this way towards a girl that he just met? She needs help, and not that kind of help.

You finish the glass of water quickly, and take a deep breath. You smell the hybrid behind the door leading out of the kitchen, and you stiffen. He’s just standing there, and you can hear him pacing back and forth. A low warning whine leaves your through, causing the form to stop. Yoongi looks back at you and sees your ears back in warning and your tail lightly brushing back and forth behind you. You’re warning someone, but who?

He gets his answer when 3 other hybrids fall simultaneously into the kitchen from behind the swinging door. He sighs, looking at them.

He looks at Taehyung, the German shepherd hybrid. He’s on top of Jimin, the calico cat hybrid, who is then on top of Jungkook, the bunny hybrid.

You look at them with your head cocked, your ears forward in curiosity. You’re not as cautious of them, as they all look absolutely ridiculous in the entrance to the kitchen.

“Yah! Why did you push?”

“I was trying to scent her! I wanted to know what hybrid she is!”

“You’re squishing my ears!”

The three goofs then stand and try to straighten out their clothes. When they all finally get a look at you, they all unknowingly think together, she’s tiny.

“Guys, don’t scare her. She’s still a little skittish about you guys, about me too.” Yoongi lazily says, but he shares a small wink with you, making your cheeks heat up again. You put your head down so your long hair goes in front of your face, giving them all a good view of your ears.

“They’re so fluffy, can I pet them?” The calico cat hesitantly steps forward when you don’t immediately answer him. You cock your head again to the other side, debating on whether or not to let him touch you. He is a cat after all, and the pets that Jennie had given you after lights out were always nice and calming.

He continues his way towards you, with all eyes are you two. When he reaches you, he looks in your eyes to silently ask one more time. When you blink, he knows that you won’t bite his hand off, but you’re still wary. He takes that as a sign to go slow, and when his hand grazes your ear, it flicks.

Jimin closes his eyes and leans forward to finally place his hand behind your ear and begins to scratch. He sees your eyes close, and you try to hold back from leaning into his touch. You were about to start purring when a bowl of the soup is set in front of you, and Jimin’s hand leaves your head.

“You should eat, and then we can get you into the bath.” You nod at Yoongi in thanks, your eyes already showing sparks of life. Yoongi has to tear his eyes away from your beautiful Y/E/C and looks at his donsaengs. “Let’s let her eat in peace guys.” Every nods to leave, but then your small voice makes them halt in their steps.

“Wait! Can you stay with me?” Your eyes don’t leave Yoongi’s, and you also shift to Jimin asking him to stay. You feel at ease with these two cats, and if you were to be left alone in this big kitchen by yourself, you don’t know what you would do.

They nod and pull up stools next to you while the other two sulk out of the kitchen. It’s not that you don’t like them, it’s that you don’t know them. You don’t know what kind of hybrids they were. Jennie was also a cat hybrid, a mountain lion. She was also a rare breed, but she was the first hybrid their master had gotten when he was a little boy.

Yoongi’s warm brown eyes bore into you as you take the first sip of the soup. It explodes over your taste buds, and you perk in delight. You’ve never tasted something so delicious. You briefly feel a small hand going back over your ears and you lean into it. You’ve never felt so warm before.

#hyrid bts #bts au #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts react #bts fluff #bts angst #bts #bts suga #bts v #bts jungkook #bts jhope #bts jimin #bts jin #bts rm #bts smut #polyamory

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decandantfics · 5 years

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When You Need Me - Part 6

I’ll Be There

The McPartlin residence was a flurry of activity Wednesday morning, takeaway menus being found and set out on the kitchen table, family room being spruced up, and the stashes of Dec's favorite tea and snacks being checked. Ant was nervous but eager to see his friend after so long apart – for them, if they weren't on separate holidays, over 2 weeks without seeing each other was ages – and he was determined to set him at ease and help him to open up about what was troubling him. Ant knew now that he'd messed up by not being there for Dec over the past few weeks, and he knew Dec wanted him to put himself first, but at the same time, Dec needed him. That much had been made crystal clear by Christine – and Ali had confirmed it upon close examination by Anne-Marie. So Ant had made it his goal to get to the bottom of Dec's bizarre behavior and clear the air between them. Ant had made a vow to always be there for his friend, and he felt he had failed at that with everything that had happened in the past few months. He was going to make it right.

Dec had agreed to arrive at around 9:30am, in time for a late-ish breakfast to start the day off right. It was now almost 9:45 and Dec hadn't arrived yet. Typical Declan, really. If he'd been on time, Ant would have been more worried. As it was, he knew Dec would probably drive in any minute now, with or without a good excuse for his tardiness. Ant was currently in the kitchen, cooking up Dec's favorite breakfast – poached eggs with crispy bacon – and brewing a pot of his special tea. He knew he'd probably get scolded for going to all this trouble – Dec was expecting just some cereal and yoghurt – but he didn't care. He was going to spoil his friend today, whether he liked it or not.

Ant had been getting a lot of texts from Dec over the past few days, ever since the tabloids revealed his new relationship, just checking up on him, making sure he was okay. And yes, Ant had been struggling a bit, but he just wanted to move on. He didn't want to dwell on the past anymore. Lisa hadn't taken it well, and was reacting very publicly via social media. He was trying to avoid it all as much as possible. He didn't like the fact that Lisa was hurting, but at the same time, they had separated months ago. She had just as much right to move on as he did; it's just that he'd moved on faster. And he knew it wasn't going down well with some members of the public, but it was his life at the end of the day, and Anne-Marie made him very happy. Dec was being very supportive – as ever – even though he still just seemed a bit off somehow.

Ahh, there was the doorbell....And of course Dec was barging right in, using his own key to Ant's house rather than waiting for Ant to come to the door. Chuckling to himself as he heard Dec entering the foyer, Ant checked the time. 9:50am. By Dec's standards, that was pretty good – Ant was impressed! Turning the stove plate down to low to keep Dec's eggs warm, Ant walked through to the family room, meeting Dec halfway. Pulling his friend into a gentle hug, Ant said a cheery "Morning!" before pressing a swift kiss to the top of Dec's head which was currently tucked under his chin. Dec's grip on Ant was tight, as if he was afraid to let go lest he lost him forever. But Ant just dismissed his clinginess as being a result of their long time apart recently.

Speaking softly, Ant finally disentangled himself from Dec's arms, holding him at arm's length, "I cooked ya your favorites, Dec. Come on." Ant gave Dec a gentle shove in the direction of the kitchen, keeping his hand in place on his friend's shoulder as they walked into the kitchen. Gesturing for Dec to take a seat at the kitchen island, Ant hustled over to the stove, filling Dec's plate up with (mostly) healthy goodness and pouring his tea. Placing the feast in front of him, Ant grinned at his flabbergasted friend.

"Ant, you really shouldn't have!" Dec began in a small voice, "Why're you doing all this for me?"

"Why, mate? Because you're me best pal! Does there have to be another reason?" Ant had been expecting a scolding, not this peculiar reaction. It almost seemed like Dec didn't think he was worthy of Ant's care.

Dec just stared at Ant for a moment, studying him, before imperceptibly shaking his head as if at himself. Deciding to ignore his friend's strange behavior for the moment, not wanting to ruin his appetite with what he suspected would be a tough conversation, Ant patted his friend's shoulder while making his way to the stove to fill his own plate with food. He pulled up a stool next to his friend and tucked into his breakfast, nudging Dec's elbow in an attempt to prompt him to do the same. Ant was ravenous, not typically eating breakfast this late in the morning unless he'd had a lie in after a show day, and Dec was never one to have trouble putting away food. But now he was sort of toying with his food, pushing his eggs around on his plate. He looked guilty, oddly enough.

"Go on, lad, eat up!" Ant commanded jokily, pausing in his rapid demolition of his food to give Dec a quick side hug, squeezing him against his side for a moment in reassurance. That seemed to shake Dec out of whatever he'd lost himself in, and he started eating, although still not with the usual Declan gusto.

"So how's Ali, then?" Ant tried to start a conversation to break the unusually uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. Normally, Ant could almost always tell what Dec was thinking, but other than that strange guilt he'd picked up on earlier, Dec was unreadable at the moment. It was quite unsettling.

"She's not great, if I'm honest. Just taking it easy, trying to rest as much as possible. She's getting better, though, the docs said. Just gotta manage it until the baby's due." Dec raised his gaze from his plate, and Ant could finally get a good look at him. There were deep lines of exhaustion etched into his face, puffy bags under his eyes, and his neck muscles were so taut they were clearly defined. Really, his whole body screamed of stress and extreme tiredness. Dec was slightly slumped on the island bar stool, his chin resting heavily on his left hand while he reached for his mug of tea with the other. Taking a long gulp, his eyes turned to Ant again, catching him studying him intently. "What?"

Smiling sadly at him, Ant sighed, "You really need to take better care of yourself, Deccy. You look done in."

"I can't, though, can I!" Dec exclaimed, before his voice faded again, "I'm working out, trying to eat healthy and all, but...." Voice trailing off abruptly, Dec seemed to stop himself before he could reveal something he clearly didn't want Ant to know. Ant suspected it was a comment about work, maybe something along the lines of "It's hard work doing everything all by yourself." He was on more comfortable ground now, Dec was readable again. It was reassuring to know he wasn't so out of tune with his best friend that he'd lost their somewhat telepathic link.

Dec had now finished his breakfast, having eaten everything on his plate – Ant had no idea what an important milestone that was – and was pensively nursing his cuppa, both hands wrapped around the mug as if soaking in the warmth it offered.

"Come on, love, let's go somewhere more cozy," Ant suggested, noting the tiny smile that quirked Dec's lips at his use of that fond endearment. Clearing away their dirty dishes and placing them in the sink for later, Ant gestured for Dec to go ahead of him to the family room. Dec seemed dizzy when he got up, swaying slightly and desperately clutching at the island counter for a moment, before catching himself and managing to slowly make his way into the next room. That brief moment of unsteadiness was greatly worrying to Ant – he had no clue Dec hadn't slept in over 36 hours at this point – and he was further surprised when Dec chose to sit by himself in a plush armchair rather than settling down next to Ant in the loveseat like he normally would. Tucking his legs underneath him, Dec effectively curled up into a ball, still tightly grasping his mug of tea like a lifeline. Freeing a hand to tug at something caught in the fabric of the chair, an odd look crossed his face as he pulled out a long strand of Anne-Marie's hair.

"How's she taking it? Is she okay? It's not been...you know...." Dec hesitantly stuttered out, clearly unwilling to directly reference the media feeding frenzy that was taking place right now. He sounded genuinely concerned, though. He'd known Anne-Marie just as long as Ant had, and although he didn't really know her all that well, he knew she was a kind-hearted soul who didn't deserve the s***storm of paparazzi and tabloid lies her life had become. And because she had become such an important part of Ant's life, she now fell into the small group of people over which Dec felt fiercely protective...Despite his previously close friendship with Lisa which had now broken down beyond repair. And his jealousy over her taking his place in Ant's life.

Ant knew all this – except for the bit about Dec being jealous of his girlfriend – and he appreciated it greatly. He'd been rather nervous when he'd first broached the subject of having started a new relationship to Dec, but despite his initial surprise, Dec had been happy for him. He'd said he'd seen it coming a mile off, that Anne-Marie was a lovely – and very lucky – lady, and finished off by laughingly stating that Ant was a randy devil. And that was that.

So now, despite the odd feeling Ant had that something was definitely off with Dec, he felt deeply grateful for Dec's concern. "She's angry more than anything," he began, rage seeping into his own voice as he continued, "The stuff that's being said is just so unfair on her. I don't care what they say about me, it's her I wish they'd leave alone. She says there's been paps outside her house every day this week." Ant now sounded defeated, shoulders slumping as his girlfriend's angrily tearful voice came to mind again, telling him how she'd been ambushed outside her own home that very morning.

"It'll get better, Ant," Dec's voice was now gentle, comforting. "This is going to take a while to blow over, but people will get bored of it eventually. Neither of you have done anything wrong – it's your lives, and if you make each other happy, that's all that matters." He gave Ant an encouraging smile, eyes burning with concern for his friend. "Are you okay, Ant? Please be honest." Dec's voice was choked with worry. He desperately needed to know that this whole mess wasn't damaging his friend's recovering psyche. Even if Anne-Marie had taken his place as the most important person in Ant's life, he still loved Ant deeply and wanted – no, needed – his friend to confirm that the media storm wasn't putting a spanner in the works of his recovery. Ant had come so far already in just three months; Dec couldn't bear the thought of him losing ground again.

It definitely stung a bit that Dec had felt the need to ask Ant to be honest. Ant knew he had pushed Dec to – and far beyond – his limit with his repeated lies and avoidances of tough questions over the past couple of years. But he had been trying to make it right, to be entirely truthful with Dec. He was turning over a new leaf, and one of the new rules he was living by was to always be honest. "Yeah, I'm okay. Could be better, but I'm just basically trying to ignore it all, you know? It hurts, what Lisa's doing, but I don't blame her for being angry. I just wish she weren't making it all so public. It's very personal."

It was pretty obvious Ant was smarting from the overwhelming outrage at his having moved on so soon after the breakdown of his marriage, but Dec thought it seemed he was coping fairly well. Probably because Anne-Marie was his "rock." Unlike himself, who was clearly "just a friend."

Ant was studying Dec intently. He looked a bit like a petulant child at the moment – clearly lost in thought, but his lips were pursed in a pout...and was that resigned jealousy in his eyes? So it was true? Or was it? Surely Dec should know Anne-Marie hadn't replaced him? How could he possibly even think that?!

"Declan." Ant patted the seat next to him, demanding with a firm gesture of his head that Dec join him. When Dec stubbornly refused to move, Ant got up with a huff and bodily pulled a stunned Dec from his comfortable perch in Ant's armchair, dragging him over to the loveseat and plonking him down next to him.

"What the hell was that?!" Dec squeaked, his voice high-pitched with indignation.

"You're going to tell me what's going on inside that silly head of yours, Dec. You know no one can ever take your place in my heart, right??" Ant spoke quietly, calmly, knowing that he could easily put Dec on the defensive if he took the wrong tone with him. He knew he'd hit it straight on the money when Dec's eyes widened for a split second before his tough façade quickly started to crumble.

Dec didn't have it in him to fight. He was exhausted, worn down. He knew he'd been caught out, there was no use denying it. But he couldn't quite get the words out to answer, his voice stuck in his throat. "I...I..." He looked helplessly at Ant, eyes filling with tears as all his insecurities came rushing to the fore, the tabloids' crowing words like burning daggers in his heart.

Wordlessly, Ant scooted over and took Dec in his arms, holding him tight and rocking them from side to side. "I love you, Dec, you're me best friend. I know I've not been around lately – it was tough knowing you're doing BGT and I was feeling guilty about leaving you in the lurch like that. But I was selfish to ignore you the past couple of weeks," Ant's voice was loving, tender, guilt-ridden, his strong arms holding Dec gently, as if he was a fragile bird. "Anne-Marie hasn't replaced you, if that's what you're thinking; she never will. It's no different than me and Lisa. Anne respects our relationship – she knows how much you mean to me, and she's not about to interfere with that. All I care about is your happiness, pet, nothing's changed."

Safe inside Ant's arms, Dec wanted to cry – his throat was raw and his eyes were glistening with tears – but he couldn't. He was so emotionally exhausted he couldn't squeeze a single tear out. He just curled up with his head on Ant's chest, listening to his reassuring heartbeat.

"You don't always have to be strong, Declan," Ant whispered, pressing a kiss to Dec's head and cuddling him like a teddy bear. "You don't have to pretend in front of me, it's okay to let it all out if that's what you need. I'm not judging."

Even with Ant's tender encouragements, Dec just couldn't cry, even though he desperately wanted – and needed – to. "So...nothing's changed? We're still us?" Dec sounded slightly disbelieving. He was starting to really worry Ant now, he knew it, but he just couldn't help himself. He'd not been deaf and blind to all the whispers, both in the industry and amid members of the press and public, that he and Ant were no longer on good terms, that they'd gone their separate ways.

So when Ant had spent more and more of his time with Anne-Marie, even cutting down on the time he and Dec spent together because he "had plans" with his girlfriend, the rumors started taking hold in Dec's mind. Perhaps Ant hated him for going solo, maybe he no longer needed him because Anne-Marie was better to him, understood him better. And that's when the jealousy started – he freely admitted he'd never been good at sharing Ant, but now with how much he was missing him on a daily basis, he'd gotten even worse at it.

"Yes, Declan, we're still us," Ant dropped another kiss into Dec's fluffy hair. "Now stop being silly and answer me this: are you up for a Netflix marathon?"

Dec grinned despite the massive lump in his throat and tears standing in his eyes. "Are you asking me to Netflix and chill with you?"

"Woah, steady on, Declan!" Ant laughed, "We'll just see where things lead us, all right?" He winked cheekily at his friend, glad to have been able to bring a smile to his pinched face.

It faded quickly, though, Dec suddenly remembering something that had been bothering him ever since his conversation with Georgia four days ago. "Ant?"

"Yeah?" Ant was still holding him close, pressing him to his chest, and now tilted his head downwards to catch sight of Dec's face.

"Georgia said something the other day...Something about you getting angry about something the tabloids were going to print," his voice was reverberating with trepidation, and Ant was now tense – 'Dammit, Georgia, can't you ever keep a secret?!' Ant cursed silently, at the same time wondering how Dec was going to take this. He couldn't lie to him, he wasn't going there again. There'd been too many of those in recent history. Dec's insecure voice broke through Ant's thoughts again, "I got the feeling it was something about me. She said I should talk to you about it, that I'd be upset...?"

'Seriously, Georgia?! Full marks for originality in keeping secrets class' – Ant was furious, he couldn't believe Georgia had managed to bungle this so badly. How on earth had she made it this far as a talent manager when she couldn't even stop herself from mentioning something one of her clients – friends – had specifically asked her not to?!

Knowing Dec was still waiting for a response, peering up at him worriedly through his short eyelashes, Ant pushed down his anger. Then, "Wow, it must be bad," came an amused, although still clearly agitated voice, from his chest, "The vein's popped up in the middle of your forehead!"

That effectively broke Ant from his spell, and he snorted as Dec giggled nervously. "I told Georgia not to say anything about this to you," Ant began, deciding the whole truth would be better than a partial one, "And yeah, I told her that 'cause I didn't want you upset...." He trailed off again, unwilling to voice what the tabloids had been about to publish.

"Soooo??" Dec drew out the word, apparently trying for humor in an attempt to put Ant – and himself – more at ease.

This was horrific. He couldn't believe he'd been put in this situation. He couldn't give full voice to this, it was too horrid for that. With resentful, whispered words, Ant finally gave in. "The Sun's s*** sources claimed you'd deserted me when I needed you most, that we were no longer close," Ant was getting louder and angrier with each further word that left his mouth, "They were going to say I'd chosen Anne-Marie over you, Dec! That I hated you!"

'Goodness me, it's like they hired my insecurities as a source!' was Dec's idle inward observation, as he tried to process the fact that basically everything he'd been thinking had been that close to being printed in all the tabloids. He wouldn't have survived that, he knew that right now. But still there was that teeny tiny bit of doubt in his mind. What if Ant was pretending, like his brain had been telling him for weeks now?

He didn't actually mean to say it; it slipped out quite unconsciously, perhaps his subconscious mind working to provide him with a solid answer once and for all...."But isn't it true?"

Stunned silence.

Dec's mind was shouting "S***!" at the rate of once every half second. He couldn't believe he'd just said that out loud. If Ant hadn't fully hated him before, he surely would now. Why the hell did he agree to this?! If he'd said no to today's rendezvous, all would be fine. Their friendship wouldn't have been officially broken, he could have kept pretending all was well, even though he'd still have to watch Ant slowly replace him from every part of his life with Anne-Marie. At least it wouldn't have been over.

Sitting next to him, Ant was basically paralyzed. Dec's trembling words, spoken with utter conviction, had confounded him. Had he really been that terrible a friend to Declan over the past months? Had he ignored him so frequently, taken him for granted on such a regular basis that his friend believed he hated him? Forcing his sluggish mind to think back over the past couple of months, Ant started to see a pattern. Dec being there for him, Dec answering his phone at all hours of the night whenever it all got too much for Ant, Dec texting him, sending him little encouragements even when he didn't reply....The list went on and on. And what had he done for Dec? Very, very little.

Whenever they met up, they talked about Ant's recovery, his new life with Anne-Marie and her kids, his plans for moving, renovating the new house, etc., etc. Basically the only thing they talked about regarding Dec on a regular basis was the baby he and Ali were expecting. True, he would ask Dec how he was doing, but Dec always just sort of shrugged it off and said he was "fine." Not once did he complain – about going solo, doing everything himself....of being without his best friend. Not once. Yet Ant had seen the exhaustion, the defeated, lonely look in Dec's eyes. And he'd not done a thing, driven into silence by fear of having revealed to him what his actions had caused. Instead, he'd gushed about Anne-Marie and how amazing and supportive she was while Dec just looked happy for him and told him how pleased he was for the two of them, that he was glad Ant had found such a strong, supportive woman. Was it any wonder he believed he'd been replaced?!

Guilt overwhelmed Ant, leaving him speechless. He knew he had to say something, but he couldn't.

Bizarrely, Dec was still in Ant's arms, which had now gone rigid and were quite uncomfortable in their tight hold. Neither man could look at the other, both completely frozen by their emotions. Silent tears were running down Dec's cheeks, while Ant's countenance was stricken with grief at the pain his actions – or lack thereof – had caused. The only sound in the room was the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, counting out the seconds, minutes of a 29-year friendship being smothered.

Dec's pain was real. Very real. Every further second of silence was like someone viciously stabbing him with a million knives. Each second was a confirmation of everything his cruel insecurities had been preaching at him for weeks. But still, still, there was the teensiest bit of hope that maybe, maybe Ant would say it wasn't true. His continued silence was damning, though, Dec's mind running wild, his insecurities screaming from the rooftops, 'We were right, we were right!' And Dec couldn't take much more of this, but he certainly was not going to be the one to break the hush that had fallen over the room. Ant had to break the silence – whether confirming it was all true or rubbishing it. Otherwise, what would be the point of having started this conversation in the first place?

"I could never hate you."

Five little words. Spoken so softly it almost seemed they were in Dec's imagination.

"I'm so sorry, Dec. I never realized."

Okay, definitely not his imagination. His heart leaping, Dec raised his tear-stained face to gaze at Ant.

Feeling movement on his chest, Ant's mind stirred. His mam's words came to mind again: "Anthony David McPartlin, you. will. be. sorry. if you don't do something soon to save your friendship. He's at the end of his tether." He couldn't lose his best friend.

Jumping into action, Ant shifted Dec in his arms, basically lifting the smaller man into his lap and turning him to face him. His heart clenched as he took in the man before him. And he could see recognition in Dec's eyes as he began to speak.

"Dec, I'm so, so sorry, mate. I was afraid of facing up to everything I've put you through, I didn't think I could live with the guilt of what I've done to you. I haven't been there for you. I've taken you for granted, forgotten to show you how much you mean to me. I wouldn't have gotten through without your support. I can't live without you, pet. Please believe me."

Dec stared into his eyes throughout his impassioned plea, watching every emotion passing through his irises as if transfixed. Ant was telling the truth.

Launching himself at Ant, Dec buried his head in his friend's neck as he wept. With Joy? Relief? Pent-up stress and emotions? It was impossible to tell exactly. But as soon as Dec started to cry, Ant knew he'd believed him. That he'd saved their friendship from destruction. That not all was lost. That Dec forgave him. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thanked the heavens – and his mam – for having pushed him to have this conversation. He couldn't bear the thought of his Declan thinking he hated him, that he found his undying support worthless. That he could ever replace him with someone else.

The house was still. The only sounds that of the clock and the shuddering breaths of two friends reunited. They cried in each other's arms for a good few minutes before they were both spent, no more tears left.

Dec pulled away first, face red and blotchy, eyes swollen from the torrential flood of tears that had burst forth. He took in Ant's sad face.

"I love you."

That was really all that was needed. It's a strange oddity of life how it is sometimes the smallest things that mean the most. In this case, those three tiny words said more than anything else Dec could have uttered. He could have come up with the most eloquent, gushing speech, but it never could have adequately relayed the message those three words offered up to Ant.

One last tear dropped from his eye at Dec's words, and Dec, in a moment of soppy sentimentality, kissed it from his cheek. They were far more intimate and affectionate in private than the public ever saw, especially when they were as emotional as they were now. That single kiss broke the spell, and they were Ant and Dec again, two best friends who'd been on the most amazing journey through life together. The indomitable twosome who had never stopped loving each other, even when they had lost each other due to the savagery of life.

"So are we gonna watch something or what?" Dec was beyond exhausted after all of that – not to mention his long bout of insomnia – but his voice now had a ring to it that hadn't been heard in months. There was a spark back in his eyes. A burning love back in his heart, shoving out the brutal soundbites his subconscious had repeated at him, beating back the vulnerability that had eaten away at his very heart and soul. Ant still needed him – he hadn't been replaced.

Eventually deciding on a series to binge watch, both men settled down, Dec curled up next to Ant, who had his arm draped over Dec's shoulders. They watched the first few minutes in comfortable silence, finding the opening scenes of the series to be quite spell-binding. They'd chosen a whodunit mystery thriller, and Dec was already starting to try to guess who the murderer was.

Ant relaxed into the soft cushions, tugging Dec closer to him with a small smile on his face. He loved it when Dec got like this, his childlike enthusiasm overruling his 40-odd years of life and taking Ant back to the earliest days of their relationship when they would watch telly together whilst stuffing themselves silly with crisps and pop. Ah, so many wonderful memories. Ant could feel himself starting to get misty-eyed as the years whizzed past his mind's eye – everything they'd done together, all they'd accomplished. But through it all, the only thing that really mattered was the person sat right next to him. Who had stopped wittering on about the case and was now staring at Ant worriedly. Oops.

Wiping his eyes, Ant explained, "Just sitting here with you, it took me back through the years, Deccy. Remember how we'd have sleepovers on Friday nights and then sit around the next morning, watching Saturday morning telly in our pajamas? Those were the days."

Dec could feel the lump re-forming in his own throat as the past swept him off his feet. "Yeah," was his simple reply, snuggling closer to Ant and tilting his head upwards to place a little kiss on the edge of Ant's chin. Ant chuckled, "Remember the time you did that on Takeaway? I quite liked it then, still like it now," he teased, grinning at his friend whose cheeks were now slightly rosy. "We're missing the show," Dec grumbled good-naturedly, sheepishly smiling as Ant cuddled him closer as way of apologizing for making him blush.

The rest of the morning flew by with the reunited friends amiably bickering over who the killer was, not unlike an old married couple. Early afternoon came and went before they reached the end of the 3-part series – neither one had guessed the murderer in the end – and both boys were rather hungry. It had now gone past 2:00pm, and Ant was starving.

Stretching his arms out above his head with a big yawn, Ant looked down at Dec, still scrunched up next to him. Ant frowned. Dec was surreptitiously pressing a fist to his upper abdomen, a slightly pained expression on his face. "Dec?" Ant began carefully, apparently startling Dec who hastily snatched his hand away from his stomach, "You all right? Something hurting?" Dec refused to meet his eyes, instead finding a loose thread on his partially open button down shirt intensely interesting, worrying at it nervously with his restless fingers.

Knowing Dec wasn't going to give anything away for free, Ant's mind started whirring. Dec had always suffered from a hyperacidic stomach over the years, mainly resulting in heartburn and indigestion, and he was never far away from a box of Rennies. In fact, he'd once suffered the indignity of having to admit to his stomach issues in an interview during their SM:TV Live days, when a packet of Rennies was discovered in his bag. He'd moaned about that particular invasion of his privacy for days, despite the fact he could have pulled the antacid tablets out of his bag beforehand. But Ant had never seen Dec react this way to heartburn or indigestion before, and he'd seen – and heard about – the symptoms enough over the past 29 years to know the signs as soon as Dec had a problem. Ant even carried a package of Rennies in his bag and had a stash in his medicine cabinet, just in case Dec ran out. No, this was something different, and Ant was concerned.

"Just need to eat," Dec finally mumbled, still avoiding Ant's gaze. Standing up hurriedly and attempting to make a break for the kitchen to escape Ant's questions, Dec was stopped short by a hand grabbing his wrist, yanking him straight back down onto the loveseat.

"Tell me," Ant growled, reaching out a hand to gently turn Dec's head to face him. He was determined to get an answer, and he knew Dec could never lie while looking him straight in the eyes. He was an honest man, was Dec. Gaze defiant, Dec muttered something unintelligible, trying to wiggle out of Ant's grasp. Ant was having none of it, though. "You can't eat until you tell me what's going on," he insisted, tightening his grip on Dec as he continued to wriggle away uncomfortably. Pouting at him, Dec fired back, "Not fair!" sounding like a little kid who wasn't getting his way.

"Declan!" Ant raised his voice slightly, eyes boring holes into Dec's skull. Finally giving in, Dec mumbled – just loud enough to be heard – "Have an ulcer." Right. That was new. Raising an eyebrow in a silent request for more information, Ant released his grip on Dec's wrist, knowing he wouldn't try to escape now the secret was out. "I've had it for a while, apparently, just never really had obvious symptoms," Dec grudgingly explained. Gaze fixed on the floor, his words now came out in a rush, perhaps hoping Ant wouldn't be able to understand him, "Guess-the-stress-made-it-worse." Ant placed a sympathetic hand on Dec's knee, squeezing gently before standing and offering his friend a helping hand.

"Come on, you, let's get something into that stomach of yours," Ant murmured, fingers curling around his friend's shoulder as he guided him into the kitchen and pushed him down onto a chair at the kitchen table. "What'll it be, then, darling? Cold cuts good?" Ant queried, peering into his fridge. Hearing a muffled laugh behind him, Ant turned to see Dec with a little grin on his face. "A sandwich sounds lovely, dear," Dec replied, eyes sparkling with amusement at how much they sounded like a married couple. Having built their sandwiches – competing to see who could do it quicker (Ant won; Dec pouted) – the men grabbed a bag of cheese-and-onion crisps, as well as some Minstrels, to share and decided to move back into the family room to start another series which had piqued their interest.

Scarfing down their food in comfortable silence, a rapidly emptying crisps bag between them – Dec finding he actually had an appetite that wasn't prompted by stress for once – Ant and Dec became engrossed in a documentary series. Truthfully, it was more Ant's scene than Dec's, dealing a lot with historic events, but Dec didn't care. He'd needed a day like today for longer than he cared to remember – just hanging out with Ant, doing all the things they used to do before everything fell apart. He felt really silly now for thinking Ant had replaced him with Anne-Marie, but he knew Ant understood why he'd thought that way. Placing his crumby plate on the coffee table in front of them and wiping his hands on a napkin, Dec moved the now-empty crisps bag out of the way and leaned into Ant again, resting his head against his shoulder with a contented sigh.

"Happy, Deccy?" Ant teased, glancing down at his friend who'd made himself comfortable, basically resting his entire upper body against Ant. His eyes were drooping slightly, the tension in his features easing slowly as he relaxed, stress and worry slipping away from him as he began to doze off. Guilt ate away at Ant's soul again as he took in his little friend, noting all of the lines on his face that didn't used to be there, and feeling the overtight muscles of Dec's neck and shoulders as he freed his arm from underneath Dec's torso and ran a palm soothingly over his upper back. "I'm sorry, Dec," he whispered sorrowfully, tears coming to his eyes as shame at how he'd wronged his friend overwhelmed him. A salty tear landed on Dec's restful features, rolling down his cheek. He seemed totally out now, bless him. Even asleep, however, the strain of the past few months was still visible. Normally, Dec looked impossibly young when he slept – Ant would jokingly call him his "little cherub" in reference to his youthful features – but now he looked older, weary, the pressures of life having left an indelible mark on him.

Another tear fell from above, landing on one of Dec's eyelids. Hand coming up to rub at his eye in a childlike gesture, Dec stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again. Only to open again, squinting tiredly at Ant. Ant was so lost in his own misery he didn't notice Dec was awake until he felt a warm palm cupping his cheek and wiping his tears away. A tiny growl sounded from the area of his chest, "Stop it, Ant, I don't blame you! You'd do the same for me if it was the other way 'round. No more guilt, please." Ant wasn't quite sure how Dec had read his mind, but he had, and his words hit home with blinding clarity. Dec straightened up, enveloping his silently weeping friend in a secure hug, whispering quiet reassurances in his ear. Ant's tears eventually slowed, and Dec pulled away, tenderly kissing Ant's temple before resuming his former position, drowsily resting against Ant's shoulder. "Seriously, Anth, you've been my rock for 29 years – it's about time I had the chance to repay you."

Still too choked up to speak, Ant just wrapped his arms around his loyal friend in silent thanks. Dec's head began to get heavier once again, slowly slipping down from Ant's shoulder to his chest, and from there down onto his lap as he gradually slumped over. Heart bursting with affection for the worn out man pinning him to the sofa, Ant ran a soothing hand through Dec's hair, gently massaging his scalp. He knew Dec inside out, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Dec was occasionally rubbing his temples throughout the day – a telltale sign of a headache. A sleepy, purr-like murmur drifted up to him from his lap, "Mmmm....'m sorry, Ant, I'm just...so...tired...."

"Just sleep, Declan, I'm not going anywhere," Ant reassured him, finally finding his voice. Turning the volume down on the television, Ant shifted slightly to get more comfortable, stretching his legs out on the coffee table and reclining back a bit more, quiet snores filling the room as his shattered friend finally found peace in the oblivion of sleep.

Roughly 4 hours later, signs of movement became visible on that luxurious loveseat in Ant's family room. Both Ant and Dec had been asleep for 3 hours, Ant following Dec into the land of dreams about an hour after Dec had drifted off. Now Ant was stirring, confused at first as to the identity of the heavy weight on his lap: Hurley was with Lisa this week....Ohhhh. Feeling around on his lap, unwilling to open his eyes quite yet, he felt a slightly stubbly chin under his hand, and everything came flooding back. That was Dec snuggled up to him. Glancing down, Ant's eyes shone with love to see the smaller man's head pillowed on his abdomen, hand lightly clutching Ant's shirt. He looked a bit younger than he had earlier now he'd gotten some proper rest – bags under his eyes slightly less puffy, and his features not quite so deeply bone-weary.

Grabbing his phone off the coffee table, Ant peered at the time. It was just after 7pm. Wow. Dec was meant to be home a couple of hours from now, yet he was still fast asleep. They hadn't even had dinner yet! Slowly extricating himself from underneath Dec, Ant quickly trotted up the stairs to the guest bedroom, closing the door behind him. After hitting speed dial for a very familiar number, Ant stood at the window, gazing out at the evening sky.

"Hello?" came a drowsy voice. Oops. It seemed all members of the Donnelly household were napping this evening.

"Al, hope I didn't wake you. Declan's been asleep for over 4 hours – completely spark out – and I really don't think he should be driving home in the dark tonight. Can you manage without him for the night? I promise to send him back in the morning!"

"Goodness, he's been asleep that long?! That's amazing, Ant! Did he eat anything for you?" Ali sounded beyond relieved to hear her husband was getting some much-needed rest, but slightly shocked. Had he been having that much trouble sleeping, Ant wondered?

"Yeah, full eggs and bacon breakfast, and a sandwich and crisps for lunch," Ant responded, voice still a bit gravelly from sleep.

"Oh, Ant, thank you so much, you've been amazing!" Ali was full-on gushing now, "You've no idea what it's been like trying to get him to take care of himself. The only thing he's done consistently is go to the gym, and that's more of a stress reliever than anything else....Of course I can manage, Ant. Just make sure he eats something...Erm..." Ali trailed off suddenly, clearly unsure as to whether she could safely mention Dec's gastric troubles or not.

"Yeah, I know, Ali, he told me. Right, well, if you need anything, call us. Our phones'll be on," Ant thought he could hear a voice downstairs, so figured he should end the call before Dec found him.

"Goodnight, Ant, and thank you."

"Night, pet!"

Ending the call, Ant bounded down the stairs to find Dec sitting up, staring blearily at his phone. At the sound of Ant's footsteps, he looked up. "I've got to get going soon, Ant, I didn't realize it was so late. I promised Al I'd be home by 9:00."

Grabbing the takeaway menus off the kitchen table and swooping back into the family room, Ant gleefully told him, "Nope, you're not going anywhere, Declan. I've talked to Ali all ready, and she agreed you should crash here tonight. You're too tired to be driving at night."

"But..." Dec began, ready to protest he couldn't leave Ali home alone all night.

"No buts about it, Declan. You'll be no good to Ali or the baby if you're laid up in hospital because you fell asleep driving home. We're going to order in a takeaway, and then you're going to get some more sleep." Ant left no room for discussion, his tone of voice quickly convincing Dec it would be fruitless to protest any further. At the same moment, he received a text from Ali ordering him to stay over at Ant's. Shaking his head in exasperation – but secretly rather relieved to not have to drive home – Dec gave in, taking the menus being proffered to him by his best friend.

"Don't think I'm up for a curry, but I could go for some Chinese. What do you fancy?" Dec yawned widely, leaning tiredly against Ant as they put together their food order.

A couple of hours later, a fully satiated Ant and Dec were settled comfortably in the family room yet again, this time on the large settee on the right side of the room. Dec's slight frame was fully stretched out lengthwise next to Ant, using his friend's abdomen as a pillow once again; Ant was seated in the settee's built-in recliner, and had kicked back to relax after finishing their meal. Neither man had the energy to move, fatigue rendering them both into boneless lumps. Dec especially was out of it again, rapidly losing his battle with consciousness, while Ant watched him through heavy-lidded eyes. Realizing neither of them would be moving to a proper bed that night, Ant tugged his warm, fuzzy Newcastle United throw blanket off the back of the couch, draping it lovingly over Dec. Dec always ran colder than he did, so was bound to get chilly during the night.

"Ant?" Dec murmured sleepily, burrowing gratefully into the blanket and nestling his head deeper into the folds of Ant's shirt, "Thank you for today. I needed this..."

"You don't need to thank me, Dec. When you need me, I'll always be there for you. I promise, no more shutting you out," Ant was merely whispering, but his voice was strong with conviction.

"I know, Ant. And I'll always look out for you, too, you're never in this life alone."

Although he was slightly choked up, Ant managed a tender, "Love ya, Deccy Doolittle. Now get some sleep, you're so worn out you're making me tired."

A little chuckle escaped Dec: "You'll be just as tired soon, dear – you'll be back before you know it."

Touched by Dec's utter confidence in him, Ant reached out a hand and grasped Dec's smaller one in his own, squeezing gently.

And so it was, that, having remade the vows that had first bound them together 25 years ago, Ant and Dec drifted off together, wrapped up in their cocoon of unconditional love, dreaming of the not-so-distant days when all would be well again. And in their sleep they smiled. When you need me, I'll be there.

#ant and dec #ant mcpartlin #declan donnelly #fiction #decandantfics

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catalinda04 · 6 years

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Carried Away Chapter 44: School Daze

Masterlist

Henry consulted the recipe on his tablet. The search he had done for a simple Bolognese recipe had turned up literally thousands of recipes. He had chosen one that seemed simple enough. He didn’t know how wrong he was until he was already too far in to turn back.

“What in bloody hell does chiffonade mean?” He asked to the empty kitchen. He found himself looking for videos on YouTube to reference what the recipe meant with each new culinary term. This was the first time, since the disastrous salt incident, that he had attempted cooking anything more difficult than a baked pork chop and a vegetable. He was determined to show Lucy, and himself, that he could, in fact, make a meal without messing something up. He also wanted to treat Lucy. She had been working so hard with the play, we wanted to see that she was taken care of, since taking care of herself was not her priority.

Lucy arrived home and took in the wonderful aroma filling the kitchen. She walked to the stovetop, and lifted the lid on the sauce simmering away. She picked up the spoon laying next to the pot, and dipped it in the sauce for a taste. She let out an involuntary groan when the sauce touched her taste buds.

“I take it you approve?” Henry asked from the doorway. Lucy spun around, the spoon still in her mouth, a startled expression in her eyes.

“Henry, this is delicious! Did you make this?” she asked, emphasizing the word make.

“I did.” He confirmed.

“From scratch?” She asked disbelieving.

“Well, the tomatoes came from a tin, but yes, everything else is from scratch.” He replied proudly. Lucy walked to him, and gave him a celebratory kiss.

“Cariño, this is amazing. But you really don’t need to go to all this trouble. I don’t think I’ve ever made spaghetti sauce from scratch. My recipe, is open jar, pour into pot with browned hamburger. Ta-da!”

“It was something I wanted to attempt, after the Great Salt Disaster of 2015, I wanted to prove that I was capable of making edible food. And I want to pamper you a bit, since you won’t take care of yourself, I’m making it my job to take care of you.” Henry explained walking her back to the stove. He took a wine glass from the counter and filled it from an open bottle sitting next to it. “Here, take this, and go change into your ‘comfies’, as you call them. This will take another 20 minutes, according to the recipe.”

Lucy did as she was told, and took her glass of wine into the bedroom. She quickly traded her professional casual attire, for black leggings, with an oversized long-sleeved t-shirt over the top. She went to the bathroom to wash the grime of the day off her face, and throw her hair in a messy bun. She went back to the kitchen “Can I help with anything?” Lucy asked, watching Henry chop ingredients for a salad.

“No, I have everything well in hand, you go to the living room, and don’t come until you’re called.” He said, kissing her cheek, before turning her back toward the living room and swatting her bottom to send her on her way.

Lucy ambled to the living room, sipping her wine. She sat in her favorite arm chair, with a view of the kitchen, so she could watch Henry work. And idea struck her and she pulled out her phone, and snapped a picture of Henry chopping what, she couldn’t tell. She sent it to the Cavill wives group text. “Came home from work, and was told I’m not allowed to help. Sitting here with my wine, enjoying the view.” It didn’t take long before she got a response. It was from Heather, Charlie’s wife.

“He’s making dinner? Are you going to eat it? Brave girl.”

Lucy laughed before responding, “I’ve been teaching him how to cook, he claims he made Bolognese from scratch, and I believe him, he wouldn’t try that one twice.”

“You’ll have to let us know how it is.” Heather wrote back.

The next reply came from Simon’s wife Eva. “You’ve domesticated him. Never thought we’d see the day. Enjoy sweetie!”

“Gracias!” Was Lucy’s response to Eva.

Finally Lucy was allowed in the kitchen. Henry had plated the pasta and sauce and set the table. He poured them each another glass of wine. “Two glasses of wine on a school night, I’ll be asleep by 7!” she laughed.

“I shall try to keep you from falling asleep in your pasta.” Henry joked.

Lucy lowered her face, close to her plate and inhaled deeply. “This smells amazing.” She inserted her fork and twirled a few strands of the pasta. She brought the bite to her lips; Henry’s eyes followed her every movement, waiting with baited breath. Lucy groaned when the flavors hit her tongue. “This is delicious!” Lucy confirmed, at Henry’s questioning look. A smile spread across his handsome face, and he started on his own plate.

“Why do I feel like I’m being buttered up for something?” Lucy said, after they’d both enjoyed their first few bites.

“I just want to make sure that you’re taken care of.” Henry defended. “Though, now that you mention it. I received a call today, they’ve scheduled re-shoots for The Man from U.N.C.L.E. I have to leave the 6th.”

“The 6th as in this Friday?” Lucy yelled.

“No, sorry, the 6th of March. It will hopefully not be more than 10 days. I’ll need to fly back to London on the 6th, so I can be ready for shooting on Monday.” Henry explained.

“So, not for another month. Ok. Well Kal will be happy to see you, and you can sleep at home at least, which will be nice I’m sure.”

“Yes, I will be happy to see Kal, but it means leaving you.” Henry insisted.

“Admit it, you’ll be happy to have some personal space again.” Lucy quipped.

“I’ll be happy to not have you kicking me all night.” Henry laughed.

“I’ll be happy to not have a space heater in bed with me. You’re so hot in bed.”

“That’s not something you’ve ever complained about before.” Henry said suggestively. Lucy laughed.

Lucy met Emma for coffee after school later that week. Once they’d both gotten their drinks and treats they retreated to a table to have some girl time.

“Do you have to rush home?” Emma asked.

“No, Henry has curling tonight, so I won’t see him until he gets home.”

“I still can’t believe that Ryan convinced him to be on his curling team.”

“I’m glad. He doesn’t have any friends here, so for him to get to do a guy’s night once a week is good for him. Plus it gets him out of the house once a week.”

“Doesn’t he get out of the house otherwise?”

“Well he goes to a trainer in Duluth 4 days a week, but that’s during the day. Otherwise, he’s just ALWAYS there. I love him, and I want him with me, but I’ve never lived with anyone before. This is totally new territory for me! Sometimes I just need a little bit of alone time. Like a couple weeks ago. I had a horrible day, my 9th graders were being extra 9th grade-y, and every driver I encountered on my way home was driving like an idiot, I was just done dealing with people by the time I got home. And I told Henry that. I said, “I need 10 minutes where I don’t have to deal with anyone right now. I’ll be in the bedroom.” And he followed me to see if he could do anything, I mean it was really sweet, but I snapped at him, then I felt horrible, and I had to apologize for being in a bad mood.”

Throughout Lucy’s tirade, Emma, just smirked. “Welcome to being in a relationship.” she said and laughed. “So other than the constant togetherness, which I understand, it can be overwhelming, how is everything going?”

“Other than that? It’s been great. I mean, we’ve had our little squabbles about wet towels and dirty laundry on the bedroom floor. He’s way neater than I am; my house has never been so tidy. But other than the little stuff, it’s amazing. I taught him how to cook, he gave my number to a strange man, who happened to be Tom Hiddleston. Did I tell you that? Tom Hiddleston has my phone number, I have HIS! We’re learning so much about each other. We definitely needed this time.”

“Well, I’m happy for you. I’ve never seen you so happy.”

“I am happy. I’m not looking forward to next month though. He has to go back to London for re-shoots, so he’ll be gone for almost 2 weeks. You should come over some night while he’s gone and we’ll have a girls night in; pedicures, movies, carbs, it’ll be great!”

“I’d like that. I feel like I haven’t seen you much since he came.”

“It was January, you never see me in January. Between the play and the end of the semester, I don’t have time for anything not school related.”

“I know. I’m glad the play is done, and I’d love to have a girl’s night.”

“Yay!” Lucy clapped her hands in front of her face. “Now, what’s new with you?”

One week after the Bolognese dinner, Lucy came home to an empty house. There was a note from Henry on the counter telling her he’d gone to the grocery store, well actually he said market, but Lucy said grocery store, and that he would be bringing dinner home. Lucy sighed in relief, and went to change her clothes.

Once she was in her favorite leggings and Henry’s flannel shirt, she sat in her favorite chair to catch something on TV. When Henry arrived 30 minutes later that’s exactly where he found her. In her chair, with the TV on, sleeping.

He smiled at the sight of her in his flannel. After he set down his shopping bags and put the food he’d purchased away, he walked over to Lucy. She looked so serene sleeping, he hated to wake her, but he knew if he didn’t she wouldn’t sleep that night. He smiled as a thought came to him, and he lowered himself to kiss her awake, like Sleeping Beauty. Unlike Sleeping Beauty, Lucy startled awake, screamed, and punched him in the collar bone.

Henry jumped back, rubbing his chest where she’d hit him. Lucy’s hands covered her mouth in horror. “Oh, my god, Henry! I’m so sorry. You startled me! I must have really been out!”

Henry rubbed at the spot, not altogether convinced he wouldn't have a bruise, “It’s ok darling. I wasn’t thinking. That’s quite an arm you’ve got on you.” He laughed.

“Well, I used to take martial arts lessons in high school, they must have stuck around,” she said standing. “What time is it?”

“About 5:15. So you can’t have been out long.”

“Long enough.” Lucy yawned. What did you get for dinner?” she asked, sniffing.

“Just a pizza. Nothing we have to cook.” Henry replied.

“Good, I’m too tired for anything complicated.” She said, wrapping her arms around Henry to give him a quick kiss before wandering into the kitchen to get plates and silverware.

Once they were seated and eating, Henry asked, “Darling, can I ask you something, it might sound offensive, but I can’t figure a way to word it, that doesn’t come off offensive.”

Lucy gave him a skeptical look. “Ok…How about you ask, and I’ll try not to be offended. But no promises.”

“I don’t understand how you’re so tired every evening. It’s not as though your job is physically demanding.” Henry said, stumbling over his words.

Lucy stared at him for several long seconds, her brows drawn together.

“Is that a terribly offensive thing to say to a teacher?” Henry asked.

Lucy opened and closed her mouth several times before answering. “I’m going to go with ignorantly offensive. I know you weren’t trying to belittle me, or my career, but when you say something like that, that’s how it comes across. What is it that you think I do all day?”

“Lecture, provide lessons, lead discussions. Nothing really physical.”

“I suppose you’re right, it’s not a physical job, except the whole standing for 6 hours thing. I mean it’s not doing a fight scene over and over and over again, but it’s more mentally exhausting than physically exhausting. Those things you mentioned, that’s about ¼ of my job.”

“What else is entailed? I’m asking because I’m genuinely curious.”

“Well, while I’m presenting lessons, the kids don’t just sit there passively, so there’s classroom management, lesson planning, grading. Then there’s my duties as class advisor that give me migraines just thinking about them.” She said, and after a short pause she smiled. “Why don’t you come observe my class for a day? See what really goes on in a classroom. I saw how you work, it’s only fair you see how I work.”

“I think I’d like that.” he smiled.

“I’ll get the paperwork going tomorrow, and you should be able to come sometime next week.” Lucy grinned.

“I can’t wait.” Henry replied.

The following day, Lucy got approval from her principal to have Henry in the school for a day, then on the way back to her room she was struck by a bolt of inspiration, and made a detour to the elementary wing of the school. She knocked on a door to see a pretty, blonde woman, about 2 years older than herself, sorting papers into mailbox cubbies.

“Hola Señorita! What can I do for you this morning?”

“Hey Lindie. I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

“Why don’t you ask me, then I’ll tell you.” The woman responded smiling.

“So my boyfriend, he doesn’t understand why I’m so tired everyday when I get home, so I’m going to bring him in to shadow me for a day. I have first hour prep, could I possibly bring him in here for the first hour of the day?”

“You want him to see Kindergarteners at the beginning of the day?”

“Yeah. And if you could do like an art project involving glitter or something that would be great. He doesn’t understand, and I want him to have the whole spectrum of experiences.”

“Definitely not the glitter, but I can for sure take him on for first hour.” Lindie said smiling evilly.

“Great! I’ll bring him down just after the bell rings, and come get him just before the end of first hour. He’ll be here for about 50 minutes. I’m thinking it will be next Thursday. Does that work?”

“I’m writing it in my calendar right now.”

The day arrived for Henry to shadow Lucy. They had to do some gymnastics to get them both ready to leave at the same time, but it happened. It was Lucy’s day to drive the carpool. Both Ryan and Mindy were surprised to find the new occupant in the the carpool. Ryan and Henry obviously had a relationship, but Mindy had yet to meet him. It took less than 5 minutes for Mindy to be completely enchanted by Henry.

“Henry, with that voice, you should do audiobooks.” Mindy commented.

“I’ve never been asked to do one, but I think it would be fun. I enjoy reading. I’ll have my manager look into it.”

The four chatted amiably during the drive to the school. When they arrived, Lucy got Henry signed-in and procured him a visitor’s badge, and introduced him to Erik, the principal, before bringing him to her classroom. She kept her door locked, so as to keep Henry’s presence a secret for as long as possible.

When the bell rang signalling the start of first hour, Lucy stood from her desk, “Well, we should be going.” She announced to Henry.

“Go where?” He asked.

“I have prep first hour. I didn’t think you’d want to watch me make copies and correct papers, so I arranged for you to spend first hour with my friend Lindie.” She brought him to a door decorated with brightly colored paper. She knocked twice and entered.

Henry first saw a blonde woman sitting on a small chair. He next noticed the 20 small children sitting in a circle in front of her. The woman’s face split into a large smile, “Señorita! Friends, this is Miss Claussen. She’s the Spanish teacher. Señorita, how do we say good morning in Spanish.”

“Buenos dias.” Lucy pronounced slowly for the group.

“Friends, can we all say buenos dias to Miss Claussen, and her friend?”

The group of children greeted them enthusiastically.

“Chicos and chicas, this is my friend Mr. Henry. Mr. Henry is from England. He’s here to visit today.” All of the children waved, and Lucy turned her attention to the teacher. “I’ll be back at about 9:25.” She turned to Henry, “Have fun.” And with those final words, she left.

Henry stood tentatively by the door, surveying the crowd of small children.

“Mr. Henry, why don’t you come and sit down and tell us about England.” The woman brought out a globe so Henry could show the kids where England was located in relation to MInnesota. Everything was going great, Henry thought, until he asked the question he regretted. “Does anyone have any questions?” Every child’s hand shot into the air. The questions ranged from, What do you do, to are there unicorns in England, to have you met the queen. Henry’s head spun trying to keep track of all the questions.

Lindie was impressed with his calm demeanor. He answered most of the students’ questions calmly, but with a bit of humor. Before he knew it, there was a knock on the door, and Lucy appeared. “I’m sorry chicos and chicas, but I have to take Mr. Henry now. Say adios.” All of the children made a sad groan as Henry stood. They all waved goodbye to him as he and Lucy exited the class.

Once they were in the hallway, Henry sighed. Lucy laughed. “Did you have fun?”

“Did you know a small child can ask approximately 100,000 questions per minute?”

“I did.” She laughed.

“She does that everyday?”

“All day. And this is her 13th year of teaching.” She informed him. He shivered in response. “That is why I teach high school.”

They made their way back to Lucy’s room and Lucy assigned Henry a spot for the day. When the bell rang, Lucy’s entire demeanor changed, his Lucy was replaced by Miss Claussen. This was not the silly woman he had grown to love over the last seven months. This was a professional.

The first few students who entered the room didn’t notice Henry, it wasn’t until one of the drama students entered, that Henry was acknowledged. Once he was noticed, he became the center of attention. Once the bell rang to start class, Lucy raised her voice to be heard above the din of the students. “You have 5 seconds to find your seat or you will be marked tardy. Cinco...cuatro...tres...dos...uno.” The students quickly found their seats and were all quiet by the time she reached uno. “That’s better. Now, who are we missing today?” Lucy asked, consulting her computer screen.

Henry wasn’t able to understand the words Lucy was speaking, but he understood the message by watching what the students did. They all pulled out their folders and took out papers. Lucy began speaking to the students, when a girl in the middle of the class raised her hand.

“Margarita, si?” Lucy asked, calling on the girl.

“Ummm, is that Henry Cavill sitting in the back?”

“Yes it is. Chicos and chicas, this is Mr. Cavill. Mr. Cavill is here to shadow me for the day. Just pretend he isn’t there.”

“Um, Ms. C? Have you seen him? He’s impossible to ignore.” Another girl commented, causing a laugh to ripple through the class.

“Well, Anita, you’ll just have to try.” she said smiling.

Henry watched Lucy’s next three classes. She was in her element. It was obvious to him that her students liked and respected her, and she somehow was funny and professional at the same time. During the second class he was watching, when she gave the students time to work, he stood to run to the loo. Lucy stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Just running to the loo darling.” He answered quietly.

“Nope, you don’t get to go, unless I get to go. So not for another 20 minutes.” She smiled and patted his cheek.

After Lucy’s third class in a row, it was finally time for lunch. Henry hadn’t done anything, but the constant contact with the students for the morning had left him exhausted.

“Is it time for a break yet?” Henry asked.

“Ordinarily, yes, but today it’s a prom planning meeting. So we’ll go get lunch, and then bring it back here.” Lucy led him to the teacher’s lounge, where she took a bag out of the refrigerator before turning him back around to return to her room.

After several minutes a group of 8 girls filed into the room carrying trays filled with some sort of food Henry couldn’t identify.

“Ok, ladies, let’s try not to make this meeting last all lunch period. Venue committee, what’s the news on linens?”

“Linens are included in the cost of renting the ballroom, which they’re giving us for free. But if we want chair covers, those would be $150. They look really nice, and I think we should get them.” A blonde girl commented.

Lucy closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. “I don’t think you need chair covers. This is a prom, not a wedding.”

“But they really make the room look nice, the girl argued.

Lucy sighed again, and rubbed her temples. “Ok, this isn’t my prom, I’m just here to sign paperwork and crush dreams. You guys have a budget. Now, if the committee wants to spend $150 on chair covers, I can’t stop you, but I’m telling you, I think it’s an unnecessary expense.”

The girls talked it over amongst themselves for several minutes, before Henry interjected.

“Ladies, if I may, I have been to several black tie events, where the men are all in tuxedos, and the ladies are wearing designer gowns, I don’t recall ever seeing a chair cover at any of these events.”

In the end the chair covers were voted down, and the rest of the committee chairs submitted their reports without much fuss, leaving Lucy and Henry alone in her room for the remaining 10 minutes of the lunch period.

Lucy kissed him hard. “Thank you! That one has been driving me to drink all year. She’s essentially a bridezilla, except for prom.”

Henry asked, and Lucy explained what a prom was, a formal dance with a dinner, and explained that as class advisor she had to oversee the planning and chaperone the event.

“It’s not so bad. It’s fun to get dressed up every now and again. I don’t mind it that much.

“Will I be chaperoning as well?” Henry asked conversationally.

“It’s May 2nd, so if you’re here, then yes, I will expect you to chaperone as well. But I wouldn’t expect you to fly back just for prom. Henry pondered her statement.

The last two classes of the day passed similarly to the morning classes. By the time the final bell rang, Henry was exhausted, and his bladder was about to burst. When he returned from the bathroom he asked Lucy, “Is this what you do everyday?”

“All day, everyday. Though the prom meetings are only once every two weeks, until closer to the event, then they’ll be weekly.” She explained, packing her bag to go home.

“I can see now why you’re so tired. The kids are exhausting. But you’re great with them.”

“I love teaching. I love most of my students. I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’t teaching.” Lucy commented absently, as she surveyed the contents of her bag.

Henry’s head swam as he thought about why Lucy might not be teaching. Could he really pull her out of this world that she loved, and move her across the ocean?

Chapter 43 Chapter 45

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fanfic #Henry Cavill fan fic #Henry Cavill fanfiction #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Carried Away

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wokeuptired · 7 years

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night 4 of natasha’s 8 nights of chanukah | read the other nights here

how the light gets in

Noah used to be the kind of person who had a plan for everything, and now she’s the kind of person who can never remember if the laundry in her basket is clean or dirty. She blames her husband for that—he is the one who went and died on her, after all.

Noah wakes up the morning after with a crick in her neck and a burning in the back of her throat, a remnant of last night's tears. There's a cold pot of tea on the stove, leftover from yesterday morning, when she’d woken up and brewed it out of habit, not knowing it would be the last one she wouldn’t drink alone. She carries it over to the sink in her stocking feet and pours it down the drain slowly, mesmerized by the wash of light brown over the white of the basin. Then she fills the kettle with fresh water and puts it on the burner to boil.

When Noah was a child, her mother boiled a pot of water every morning, even in the deepest, hottest days of August, when the air was so muggy and sticky that traveling on the underground became a means of suffocation. For Noah's mother, tea was a habit, a ritual, something that, without which, the day would feel incomplete.

For Noah, tea is something to do with her hands.

Just a week ago, there was always too much for her hands to do. There was washing to be done and bed linens to be folded and dinner to be made (vegetables to be chopped and stew to be stirred and eggs to be scrambled, sometimes even for dinner) and, most of all, there was Jam's hand to be held.

But now Jem is gone, and there's nothing but tea.

And the cat.

There's always the damn cat.

James “Jem” Robert Carsters

16 February 1993 - 23 January 2017

James “Jem” Robert Carsters passed away last weekend after a near decade-long battle with leukemia. His parents, Marie and Joseph Carsters, were by his side, along with his wife of six months, Noah Monroe. Despite being ill since childhood, Jem was dedicated throughout his life to the pursuit of others’ happiness. He will be remembered as a kind, generous, warm-hearted man who always put others first. He is survived by his parents, his wife, various aunts, uncles, and grandparents, and his cat, Bertie.

"Bertie, come on."

"Bertie, come on. Don't be like this. "

Not for the first time in the last hour, Noah wishes that she and Jem had gone with the dog they'd been eyeing at the shelter instead of this mangy, grey monstrosity of a feline. They both knew at the time that neither of them had the attention or presence of mind to care for a dog, but at least it wouldn't be trapped on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen right now, meowing furiously.

"Bertie, I really don't know what to do with you anymore," Noah says, also not for the first time in the last hour. She hasn't known what to do with Bertie since Jem died, but that hurts to say out loud, and not because it sucks not being the cat's favorite.

Bertie hisses at her, but it's less menacing and more petulant, like a toddler refusing to eat the beans on the end of his careening fork. The sound affects Noah nonetheless; she throws her hands up and spins around in a huff. Across the kitchen, she puts the kettle on before she sits down at the kitchen table and reaches for her laptop. Vita's new episode went live a few hours ago, and Noah knows she'll get an earful if she doesn't listen to it tonight.

It takes her a minute to pull up the webpage and another few seconds for the audio stream to buffer, and then Vita's voice fills the small kitchen.

"Knock knock? Who's there? It's Vita! Vita who? Vita of Veritas with Vita! This is series 2, episode 3, and I'm your host, Vita Carver," Vita says in her posh accent. "First up tonight is a new track from a good friend of mine who happens to be here with me today, Louisa Taylor. It's called 'Rhododendron,' and it's available for download on her website, the address of which I'll be giving you shortly. But first, let's have a listen."

Louisa's voice is melancholic and coppery, rhythmic like an ocean's waves, and it soothes Noah into a moment of forgetfulness. There's no one sitting across from her, slipping his foot up the ankle of her pajamas, because of course there isn't, because she lives alone and that's the way it should be and this is normal, this is a normal Friday night and there's nothing to cry about—

Eeeeeee!

The kettle whistles on the stove, yanking Noah out of her moment of solitude. She stands abruptly from her chair, sending it squeaking across the linoleum so violently that Bertie lets out a yelp and leaps down from his cupboard perch. He lands beside the sink, ever so graceful on his cat feet, and when Noah reaches for him, his fur stands on end and his back arches. She pulls her hand back and lets him dart away. The song comes to an end as she chooses a tea bag and drops it in the pot.

"That was 'Rhododendron' by Louisa Taylor," Vita says, her sharp voice cutting through Noah's kitchen. "I've been absolutely ensnared by that track since I first heard it, Louisa. It's absolutely an honor to have you here today."

"It's a pleasure to be here," Louisa says. "I love your show, Vita. It's great that you're so dedicated to the truth."

Vita laughs. It's her fake laugh, Noah can tell, and she doesn't seem as enamored with Louisa Taylor as she's pretending to be.Truth, my arse, Noah thinks. She pours herself a mug of tea and dumps exactly three sugar cubes in, plonk plonk plonk, watching them dissolve as she listens to Louisa and Vita talk.

Vita's podcast is only an hour, and Louisa drones on for most of it, talking about her dream of having a legacy like that of Paul McCartney (Impossible, Noah scoffs) and her cat, a Scottish Fold with a penchant for lying about in sinks. The cat, Louisa claims, is her most prized possession.

Noah wonders what her most prized possession is. It's certainly not, no one would be surprised to find out, Bertie. Nor is it the baby blanket her gran knitted for her when she was but a bit of wishful thinking. And it certainly isn't the collection of dusty Christmas cards, all addressed to James and Noah Carsters, that have remained on the mantel since December, growing dusty because Noah can't bear to throw them away.

Prized possessions, Noah decides firmly, are a waste. Everything withers away eventually.

"So that's it for this week, and don't forget to hit up this space again next Thursday for this month's edition of Vita Makes Her Mates Uncomfortable!"

The mate in question is Noah, who’s uncomfortable enough as it is, uncomfortable just in her sheer existence, and agreed to participate only so that Vita would leave her alone. Noah suspects Vita has other motives: she wants to get Noah up off her arse, out of her head, and back into the world. But Noah thinks it's going to take more than an hour’s worth of conversation to accomplish that. She likes her solitude.

When she’s not alone, people look at her funny. They look at her like she’s lost something huge that she’ll never get back, or, worse, they look at her like she’s pathetic for not putting her life back together by now. Sometimes even she thinks she’s pathetic.

She’s living as a ghost in her own life. She realized this several months ago, when she was halfway through her morning routine, scooping brown sugar into her porridge. She spilled a bit of the brown sugar on the floor and, in a moment of uncharacteristic agility, Bertie had hopped onto the floor and began to lick it up.

“Oh, Bertie, no!” Noah had cried, and then she’d realized that there wasn’t really any reason that Bertie shouldn’t have the brown sugar. So she poured a bit into a dish and put it on the floor for him.

Of course, he hadn’t touched it, just sat there on the floor looking up at her as if asking, “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

Noah hadn’t had an answer.

But two months later, very little has changed. She wakes up in the morning, feeds Bertie, feeds herself, leaves the house. She goes to work, sits in her cubicle, answers her emails, works on her projects, leaves at precisely 5 PM. Goes home, feeds Bertie, feeds herself, does nothing of consequence until bedtime.

At Noah’s mum’s insistence, she met with a therapist three times. They’d made a deal—three times (“minimum, Noah!” her mum had decried) and her mum would stop calling every night to report on the status of the ficus in the front yard, which Noah’s dad insisted was growing a centimeter every day. The therapist was utterly useless, but the sessions did help Noah realize that she was grieving wrong.

“There’s no wrong way to grieve,” the therapist had said when Noah voiced this concern, but everything she said afterward belied this statement.

“It’s alright if you feel guilty,” the therapist had said, but Noah did not feel guilty. Noah does not feel guilty that Jem is gone and she is here, sitting at an empty kitchen table by herself on a Thursday night, having a staring contest with the cat.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Darling

Noah, remember when you were 7 and the neighbor’s cat, Mr. Whiskers, died? You loved Mr. Whiskers, said you loved him more than anything on earth. You were absolutely shattered. And I told you that your heart had an infinite capacity for love, and even though Mr. Whiskers was gone, you would still love him, and you’d love other cats someday too.

Your heart has an infinite capacity for love, my Noah. Don’t keep that love from the world.

Love,

Mum

Niall is sure that he made a terrible mistake when he decided to become a vet. As he sticks his fingertips up a dog’s butt (the third this morning), he considers exactly when the mistake was made. Was it when he decided to take an extra science course instead of an art elective in his last year of college? Was it at uni, when he dropped his poetry lecture because he kept falling asleep? Or maybe it was even earlier, year three, perhaps, when he copied Billy Marx’s photosynthesis homework and was declared by the teacher to be “a true science prodigy.”

“Easy does it,” he tells the dog, who’s begun to squirm in the tech’s grasp. “We’re almost done.”

“Shh, shh,” the tech, a vet student at the uni up the road, tells the dog. “Dr. Horan’s getting you all fixed up.”

Doctor Horan. Oh right, that’s when it all got fucked up. It was when Niall was in fifth year and the teacher asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. She listed some options, the usual -- teacher, doctor, lawyer—and when Niall thought them over, “Doctor Horan” sounded the best to him.

He really has no one to blame for this but himself. And his huge, stupid ego.

“Okay, okay, there we go,” Niall says, releasing his grip on the dog’s backside. He takes off his glove and pets the dog’s head, scratching between its ears. “Penny, would you take him out front? I’ll be up with the prescriptions in a second.”

“Sure,” Penny says, cooing to the dog as she lifts him onto the floor. As they leave the room, Niall heads for the sink.

As he’s washing his hands, he thinks about all of the things that he has to do on the way home from work tonight. First, he has to remember to set the alarm when he locks the door, because the last time he worked until closing and forgot to alarm the building, Dr. Friedman nearly killed him. Then he has to stop by the dry cleaners to pick up the shirt he needs for dinner, and he ought to go to an ATM, too, so he has enough cash on hand in case he has to pay a valet.

Niall hates valets. He also hates fancy restaurants, especially ones where the menu has two pages of wines but only six types of beer. But tonight is the night that his sister is announcing her engagement to their parents, so he really can’t miss it.

A cat and two dogs later and he’s on his way out. He nods to the girls on his front desk as he leaves, lifting a hand in response to their calls of “have a good evening, Dr. Horan!” It’s raining outside, and he curses himself for not grabbing an umbrella from the basket on the counter in the clinic. Now he’s going to have wet hair at dinner, and there’s no way his mum won’t comment on that.

The restaurant is crowded, and Niall has to push through half a dozen overdressed couples in order to get to the hostess stand. The hostess looks up at him, annoyance clear on her face, and Niall looks over her shoulder into the depths of the dimly lit dining room.

“Niall! Over here!”

“That’s my party,” Niall tells the hostess. He doesn’t wait for her reply before he heads for the sound of his sister’s voice.

This restaurant is much too trendy for Niall’s parents, he thinks as he makes his way past a bar overflowing with uni students dressed in head-to-toe black. He tries not to grow annoyed at their raucous laughter, but it’s hard. Ever since his flatmate moved out last year, he’s become a curmudgeon of the worst sort. He’s even grown to dislike himself a bit for it.

“God, Niall, finally!”

Niall comes to a stop at his family’s table, all of them rising to greet him, aside from his dad. There’s Emmy, wearing a dress so white it seems to be glowing, and her fiance, whose name might be Bobby or Brooks or… Shit.

And then there’s Niall’s mum, who nearly trips over the leg of her chair in her hurry to get to him. She smells like her going out perfume, the one she’s worn since he was a kid, and as her arms come around him, he finds himself relaxing for a bit. His mum has always been overly affectionate,

“Oh, Niall, your hair’s damp,” his mum says, ruffling his hair as he pulls out of the hug. “Don’t you have an umbrella?”

“Forgot it at work.” Niall extends his hand to the fiance for a shake. “How’s it going, Brent?”

A grimace crosses his face for a second before he manages to relax it into a smile. “It’s Blake.”

Shit again. Niall offers Emmy an apologetic smile over Blake’s shoulder. “God, sorry mate. I’ve got the worst memory for names.”

“That’s right, he does!” Niall’s mum says unhelpfully. “When he was in school he used to get all of his teachers mixed up, call them by each other’s names, you know. Drove them absolutely bonkers.”

Great, Mum, thanks, Niall says in his head. In his adult life he’s gotten better about keeping his sarcastic remarks in his mind, no small thanks to the rubber band around his right wrist. His therapist (thanks, Mum) had suggested it nearly a year ago, that he wear a rubber band on his wrist and snap it against his skin whenever he got the urge to say something snarky. He can control himself just fine without the rubber band now, but he still wears it anyway. It’s a great reminder of why he much prefers the company of animals to humans.

“How’ve you been, Blake?” Niall asks, sitting down in the chair at his mother’s left elbow. Across from him sits Blake, beside him Emmy, with Niall’s father, who, Niall suspects, is trying not to laugh, at the head of the table.

“Oh, good,” Blake says. “Emmy and I have been considering—”

The waitress interrupts him, popping up at the end of the table and reciting the specials in such a bored tone that Niall wonders if she’s a robot. When she disappears, Emmy starts up, detailing the proposal in such vivid detail that Niall practically feels like he’s there, and then almost immediately wants to throw up. Blake had proposed on the top of the London Eye.

“It was so beautiful,” Emmy says, her hands crossed on the table so that her ring is prominently displayed. Niall doesn’t know very much about engagement rings, but from the size of the diamond, he can tell it’s expensive. He can’t for the life of him remember what Blake’s job is, though, so he can’t verify the cost based on his assumed income. “I wish you’d been there, Mum. Well, obviously I don’t wish you’d actually been there, but, you know—”

“Yes, I know, dear,” Niall’s mum says, saving Emmy from finishing that sentence. Niall eyes her half-empty wine glass and wonders if he’d arrived later to dinner than he thought. “It really is a beautiful ring. Gram would be so excited.”

Here we go, Niall thinks. His mum’s already tearing up.

“Oh, Mum,” Emmy says, reaching across the table to grasp her mother’s hand. “I feel her with me sometimes, you know? Remember those white chocolate chip brownies she made? I tested the recipe the other night, but they just weren’t the same.”

Niall shifts in his seat. He knows exactly the white chocolate chip brownies Emmy is talking about. As a kid he rarely ate them, always insisting that white chocolate was only posing as chocolate. And now he’ll never get the chance.

“Emmy,” Niall’s mum manages to say just before she squeezes her eyes shut, tears leaking out at the corners.

Niall looks away, accidentally meeting Blake’s eyes across the table. Blake lifts the edges of his mouth in a women, what can you do? smile that isn’t comforting. Instead it makes him think about how the things that are supposed to bring people closer together often end up driving them apart instead.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Niall says, pushing his chair back so suddenly it screeches against the floor.

“Niall—” his mother starts, but he doesn’t answer her.

In the restroom, he stares at the ceiling until his eyes stop watering. He’s not crying; Niall doesn’t cry. His eyes just water sometimes, like when he thinks about his grandmum’s white chocolate chip brownies and how her skin stretched thin over her cheekbones during her last days.

Fuck, he thinks.

Niall doesn’t cry, but he can admit, at least to himself when he’s alone in a bathroom, that this is harder than he thought it would be. When Gram first got sick, he never imagined that nearly a year later, he still wouldn’t be able to speak about her without feeling like this.

When he gets back to the table, the conversation has been interrupted by the waiter, who’s arrived to take their orders. He looks to be younger than Niall, probably a uni student, and he can’t stop staring at Emmy. Niall watches as Blake’s fist grows tighter on the table and is grateful for the distraction.

After a few minutes, the waiter leaves and Emmy turns on Niall.

“Did you call that girl?” Emmy asks, giving him the eye, a look she mastered around age 5 as soon as her parents brought Niall home from the hospital. “Mary Jane’s sister?”

“No,” Niall says flatly. “I don’t want to be set up.”

“She’s very nice,” Emmy says. “I mean, she did just get out of a long term relationship, and you know that’s never a good deal, being the rebound and all, but—”

“Emmy,” Niall says a bit too sharply. “No thank you.”

Emmy’s fiance shifts uncomfortably in his seat as Emmy rolls her eyes at Niall. “It’s like you want to be alone forever,” she says, unphased by his oafishness.

“Not forever,” Niall says, jabbing a ravioli with his fork a bit more violently than necessary. “But for right now. I’ve got time.”

Now Emmy’s fiance looks even more uncomfortable, and Niall recalls that he’s two years younger than Emmy. Maybe Emmy’s forced him into this somehow, guilted him into it because she’s coming up on 30 and he’s still a few years away.

“Still—” Emmy starts, but Niall’s mum cuts her off.

“We just want you to be happy,” she says, turning a meaningful eye on Niall. “You’ve been so lonely ever since—”

“I’m not lonely,” Niall insists, not caring that he’s probably protesting too much. He doesn’t want to talk about Liam or Sharon or how colossally he’d misjudged them. “Emmy, I’m happy for you, but have you ever considered that maybe I don’t want to get married? Maybe I don’t want to settle down. Maybe that kind of thing isn’t for me.”

“That kind of thing?” Emmy is not to be deterred. “Niall, companionship is not a thing. It’s a necessity. It’s the point of being human. I think if you just call Mary Jane’s sister you’ll see that—”

“Emmy,” Niall says again. His sister pauses at the growl in his voice and sits back a bit in her chair. “Fuck off.”

His mother sighs beside him so deeply that Niall glances over to make sure she hasn’t deflated. Nope, she’s still sitting there, spoon poised above her bowl of soup, looking at Niall with such disappointment that he considers leaving the table here and now.

But that would probably make things worse. If he leaves now, without apologizing to Emmy and the fiance for his rudeness, his mum will probably put coal in his stocking at Christmas.

So he goes back to eating and nodding at everything Emmy says and not remarking on how rude it is that Emmy never lets her betrothed speak, and he learns that the wedding will be in four months and it will be held outdoors (his mum isn’t pleased to hear that—February is basically still winter so there’s no predicting what the weather will be). Niall will serve as a groomsmen and he will wear whatever color boutonniere the wedding planner selects for him, even if it has teeny tiny succulents in it.

Dear God, he thinks when Emmy voices that idea.

It’s not that Niall doesn’t like weddings, it’s just that he, well, doesn’t like weddings. There’s something so trite about fabricating perfection, about planning a day down to the most minute detail so that everything goes just so in hopes that the rest of your life together will follow suit.

But he congratulates Emmy and Blake anyway when he says goodbye, and as he hugs his sister, he whispers an apology in her ear and fully expects her to send him Mary Jane’s sister’s contact information before the night is up.

Emmy’s not known for taking “no” for an answer. Niall expects Blake is well familiar with that by now.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Dinner

Attachment: rubyjones.contact

Thanks for not being a complete arse at dinner. Just a small arse. I’m grateful, really. But do please try to remember Blake’s name next time. As I’m going to marry the bloke, it’s the least you can do.

And you should be grateful, too. Here is Mary Jane’s sister’s number. Her name is Ruby and she lives in Lewisham. Call her. Also, fuck off too.

Noah shifts on the couch, pulling her legs up underneath her. The last time she recorded a podcast with Vita, they sat at the kitchen table and their voices bounced around the room wildly and echoed into the microphone. Jem was alive then; he and Noah had just moved into the house and there were still boxes on the kitchen counters waiting to be unpacked and they didn’t have a couch for the living room yet. Jem leaned against the counter while Noah and Vita talked, and if you listen closely enough to the recording, you can just about hear Jem laughing.

If Noah were dumber she might think that the bad acoustics in the kitchen are why they’re in the living room this time, but she knows better. Vita is not only Noah’s best mate, she’s also her confidant, and she has reason to suspect that this conversation isn’t going to be easy for Noah. It's an illusion, the idea that the couch will somehow make this easier than the hard-backed kitchen chairs, but Noah doesn't plan to argue.

Vita sets a steaming mug of hot cocoa on the coffee table in front of Noah and adjusts the fluffy covering on the microphone. “You ready?”

“Mmhm,” Noah says, though she’s not sure that she is. She’s never spoken about Jem’s death in this way before. She’s never spoken about it with the knowledge that so many people might someday hear what she says. And when they hear what she says, they’re going to judge her.

“Remember, I can always cut things out, okay?” Vita waits for Noah’s nod and then hits some keys on her laptop before flipping a switch that turns the microphone on. “Welcome back to Veritas with Vita!” she chirps. “I’m Vita Carver, and I’m happy you’ll be joining us today. On this edition of Vita Makes Her Mates Uncomfortable, I’ve got here with me my mate Natalie, and we’re going to be talking about grief. Hello, Natalie.”

“Hi Vita,” Noah says. They decided on the pseudonym when Noah agreed to this shenanigan. It wouldn't be too hard for a listener to stalk Vita’s social media and find out that Natalie is really Noah (they are best mates, after all, and Noah’s been on the podcast before, though not recently), but Noah hopes no one will try. Even though she's about to share some of her most intimate thoughts with God knows how many anonymous souls via the internet, she'd still like to keep her anonymity mostly intact. “Thanks for having me on today.”

“Thank you for being here,” Vita says, putting a reassuring hand on Noah’s arm. Before they began, she told Noah that they could stop recording at any time, and if it turned out that Noah couldn’t talk about it, that was okay too. There's nothing riding on this, she'd said. “Can you give us a bit of background, tell us your story?”

Noah fumbles with the piece of paper on the table in front of her. Vita helped her make some notes earlier, though there isn't anything in them that she doesn't already know. She will never be able to forget what it felt like the first time she kissed Jem, or what it felt like the last time she kissed him. What she's more worried about is not being able to manage the words to describe those memories when it comes time to share them.

“Sure,” she says, trying to match the easy confidence in Vita’s voice. “Jem and I, Jem’s my husband, we were sweethearts at uni, got married just after we finished. He studied science, was hoping to be a doctor, and I studied architecture. He'd been sick as a teenager, leukemia, but it’d been in remission. And then just before our wedding—” Noah’s voice catches in her throat as she remembers the day, the white dress her mum hemmed for her and the sprig of lavender on Jem’s lapel, and she feels Vita’s reassuring hand on her arm.

“It's alright,” Vita says. “Take your time.”

Noah swallows and glances down at the paper in front of her. These are just facts, nothing to get emotional about. “I'm fine,” she says. “Jem was having trouble walking long distances, becoming breathless quickly. He was always tired. I think he knew even before we went to the doctor that the cancer was back, but he kept it to himself.”

“That must've been quite a shock, then, finding out he was sick again,” Vita says. “Just before your wedding.”

Vita knows this is the case, because she was there at Noah’s side the whole time, taking her out for coffee or manicures whenever Noah could spare an hour. You deserve some time away, Vita always said. Meanwhile, Noah was fearing the future, the eventuality that she might have nothing but time away, time to herself. Time to herself was the last thing she wanted.

“It was, I suppose,” Noah says, closing her eyes as she remembers. Jem had the sweetest face—that was one of the things she first noticed about him, his babyface. It was so hard to accept his illness when she first found out about it. It was so hard to imagine that someone so young, no visible smile lines beside his mouth, could be so sick. “We were already engaged, but Jem tried to break up with me. He asked me to leave him, but I couldn't. I loved him too much. He wanted me to have a chance at lifelong love, something he knew he couldn't give me, but—”

“So you knew he was terminal?” Vita interrupts, and it’s good timing, because Noah feels her throat tightening. “ That chemo wasn't going to work?”

Noah swallows. She remembers the conversation they had, in the kitchen just on the other side of the wall, mugs of tea growing cold in front of them. Get your affairs in order, the doctors had said. A few months left. They argued about it for hours, but the night ended with a decision: move the wedding up, so they could do it before Jem became too weak to leave the hospital.

“Yes, we knew,” Noah says. “ That's why he wanted to cancel the wedding, to allow me to live life without him. But I didn't want that.”

“Why not?”

Noah didn't need to practice this answer. “Because I love, loved him. I wanted to spend every day with him that I could.”

Vita hesitates, and Noah knows before she speaks what she's going to press on. “Loved, Natalie, or love?”

“I don't know,” Noah says. For a couple months after Jem passed, Noah went to group therapy and listened to the same conversations over and over again as her peers progressed through the five stages of grief. And as she, too, progressed. It was when she felt like she wasn't moving forward anymore that she stopped attending the meetings. “Both, maybe. I love Jem and I'll love him forever. He was my family.”

Vita nods. “I get that. The ones we love, they become family over time, and that doesn't change easily, even when they’re taken from us.”

“Mmhm.” Noah winds a piece of hair around her finger. Jem always liked her hair short, so—or maybe that's not true. She had her hair cut above her shoulders when she met him, and since he liked it, she never considered growing it out much further. But now that there's no one around to compliment her hair and compel her to get a trim, she's let it grow, the ends now brushing her shoulder blades.

The conversation turns, Vita prompting Noah to speak more about what life was like before Jem passed, about what they were like together, Noah and Jem, Jem and Noah. After a while, they take a break, Vita insisting that they need more tea. Vita stays in the kitchen for a few minutes, giving Noah time to catch her breath. When she comes back in, she sets a newly full mug on the table in front of Noah.

“Thank you for doing this,” Vita says, sitting down beside Noah. “I know it’s tough for you. And I think you’re really brave for doing it.”

Noah tries to smile. “I think it’s helping me, talking about it. To somebody who isn’t my therapist, you know? Sometimes talking to my therapist feels like I’m just circling through all of my own thoughts over and over again, and they’re never becoming clearer.”

Vita nods. Noah can tell she’s trying to understand. As her best mate, Vita has seen Noah climb mountains and trip over molehills. She’s seen Noah’s recovery process, and she’s seen how hard it’s been.

But in all the time that they've been mates, throughout all of the hours Vita spent with Noah while Jem was sick and afterward, Noah has never cried in front of her. Never broken down sobbing, breath turning to hiccups, chest shaking. Noah suspects that Vita has been waiting for that to happen for months now.

Noah takes a sip of her refreshed cocoa and adjusts herself on the cushions. “I’m ready to go again.”

“You sure?”

When Noah nods, Vita turns on the microphone again and leans forward. “So now, Natalie, I was wondering if you could talk a bit about what the grieving process has been like for you, continuing to live your life after Jem’s passing and how that’s been for you.”

“Well,” Noah says. Vita had given her this question a few weeks ago, and Noah had spent some time pondering it, but when she sat down to write out her notes, she didn’t know what she wanted to say. She’s still not sure that she knows. “It's been nine months, but sometimes it's like he's still here, still living alongside of me. We lived here before we got married, before he relapsed, so all the good memories are here, alongside the bad ones.”

“Do you ever think about moving?”

Noah doesn't have an answer to that one. She looks across the room, where a poster from the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production Macbeth hangs above the television. She and Jem saw it back when they were in uni on one of their first dates. “No… maybe. I don't know. Maybe someday I'll want to start over, but I don't think that's real life. You can't start over. You just… move forward.”

You move forward. Sometimes, Noah’s discovered, that’s all you can do. You cut your bereavement leave short and go back to work before everyone else thinks you’re ready. You’re not sure you’re ready, either. You wake up every day and tell yourself that you are okay on your own. You feed the damn cat even though it hates you, and you always chase away the thought of finding it a new mum, because it’s the only bit of him you have left. When somebody asks you how you’re doing, you look up at the sky and think that it hasn’t fallen down on you yet, so you must be doing okay. You’re managing, and sometimes that’s the best anyone could ask for.

“So how are you doing with that?” Vita asks. “Moving forward?”

Initially Noah’s instinct is to lie. She should lie and say she’s doing okay, doing better everyday, because that’s what she tells everyone. That’s what she tells Merrell at the firm and that’s what she tells her mum whenever she calls and that’s what she tells herself.

But the truth of it is, things don’t get better every day. Grief is a roller coaster. Some days you’re going up and you think you’ll never drop. You think you’re finally free of the pain. But then you turn a corner, and you drop so suddenly you think you’re going to die.

“Not so great,” Noah finally says, something that's half laugh and half cry forming in her throat. “It's… it's hard. Some days are harder than others But no matter what, I get up everyday and I go to work, and sometimes I can go a few minutes without thinking about him. It’s not that I don’t want to think about him. He was part of my life for so long, you know? He’s part of who I was and who I am still.”

Vita nods but doesn’t say anything, and Noah knows she wants her to continue. These are thoughts that Noah only ever voices to her therapist and in her journal, and now she’s sharing them with God only knows who. But she shakes that terrifying thought away and reminds her that the only person she’s really talking to right now is Vita.

“I guess…” Noah says, trying to explain further. “I guess I believe that everyone we meet affects us in some way, and Jem affected me in a big way. So letting go of him, that isn’t something that’s easy to do, and I’m not sure it’s something I could do even if I wanted to.”

Vita doesn’t say anything, just looks at Noah with that probing look of hers. When they first met years ago, that look made Noah uncomfortable. She thought Vita was nosy, a gossip, maybe, but it didn’t take her long to discover that neither of those things were true. Vita was, and still is, one of the most astute observers of people that Noah has ever met. And sometimes that can be a good thing.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say?” Vita asks. Noah glances over at the laptop screen, where the recording is now over an hour long. She hadn’t realized she’d been talking for that long. “Before we end?”

“Sure,” Noah says, but she isn’t sure what to say.

So Vita prompts her. “Anything else you’d like someone in a similar situation to hear? To know?”

Now Noah nods, thinking of what she would’ve wanted someone to say to her nine months ago.

“I think I just want anyone who’s going through a loss to know that grief can feel like an island sometimes, but it doesn’t have to be one. Let people help you. I… I have trouble doing that sometimes, as Vita can attest.” Noah meets Vita’s eye and smiles softly. “Keep your friends close anyway, though, because they’ll be there for you when you’re ready.”

Niall decides not to call Ruby, but that doesn’t matter much because Ruby calls him anyway.

He’s leaving work on a Friday evening when he gets the call. He’s just spent three hours trying to save a litter of premature puppies, and he was in a decent enough mood until he lost one. Now he feels like utter shit, just like what he stepped in right after lunch today on his way into exam room 3. All he wants to do is go home, take a long, hot shower, and drink a beer on the couch.

But then his mobile rings.

He fishes it out of his coat pocket and doesn’t bother looking at the screen before he raises it to his ear and gives a gruff, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Niall?” the voice says.

“Yes,” he says, flustered for a second because no one aside from his mother and sister ever call him. “Who’s this?”

“This is Ruby Jones.”

“Oh, hi,” he says like he knows who Ruby Jones is. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone named Ruby Jones, but if the girl knows his name, then it’s probably not a case of a wrong number. “How are you?”

“I’m quite well,” she says. “And yourself?”

“Just fine,” he says. She doesn’t reply right away, and he wonders what he ought to say next. Just when he’s about to ask her what he can do for her, as if this is a business call, she pipes up.

“I was wondering if you’d like to meet for drinks.”

“What?” Niall says, then tries to backtrack. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to meet for drinks,” she repeats. “I got your number from Emmy, and she said you like beer.”

“I like beer,” he echoes. He doesn’t like Emmy. He’s also exhausted and smells like dog urine and doesn’t much enjoy the company of other humans even when he’s showered. But, he supposes, there’s no reason to put on any airs. It’s not likely that anyone Emmy sets him up with will turn out to be the love of his life. “When? Now?”

“Now?” That’s clearly not what she was expecting him to say. “I suppose now is good.”

“Well, not now now,” he clarifies. “Maybe half an hour from now?”

“Sure,” she says. Then she names a pub in Lewisham, says she’s wearing a purple jumper, and hangs up.

Can’t believe I’m doing this, Niall thinks to himself as he looks both ways before crossing the road. Niall has always wanted to be one of those people who doesn’t look both ways before crossing the road—one of those people who just leaps out into traffic because wherever they’ve got to be is more important than their ability to walk on two legs and remember what they ate for breakfast this morning.

But as it is, Niall’s not that kind of person. He’s the kind of person who separates his whites and his colors when he does the washing even though it takes twice as long and is worse for the environment than just washing on cold.

He’s not spontaneous. He’s not adventurous. And he’s certainly not the type to make plans for a date when he’s already on his way.

But, he hears his sister’s voice in his head, you’re already halfway there, so there really isn’t any reason to turn back now, is there?

When Niall arrives at the pub, he hesitates on the pavement for a second. The pub looks just like every other pub he’s ever been to, a wooden sign above the door announcing its name (The Sheep’s Head, not very original as far as pub names go), and there are a few smokers hanging around looking moody. So it’s not the look of the place that makes Niall pause.

No, it’s what comes to mind when he thinks of pubs. Niall can’t remember the last time he went to a pub without one of his rugby mates. After their Saturday afternoon practices, they usually head to their regular spot for dinner and beers, and Niall usually comes home a bit more unstable on his feet than he’d like. Pubs are for raucous behavior and watching a match on telly, not for dates.

But, Niall reasons with himself, Ruby wouldn’t have suggested this place if she wanted to spend an evening listening to him drone on about the intricacies of feline diabetes over a candlelit table. She’s probably had an equally exhausting week at work and just wants to grab a pint.

As Niall expected, the room is full to bursting. He squints into the darkness, wondering how he’s going to find Ruby in all of this mess. What’d she say she’s wearing? A blue jumper? A red one? Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe he should just back out of the pub now, before anyone notices him, and then he’ll text her in an hour or so and tell her he had an emergency—

“Niall?”

Shit. Too late to leave now.

Niall turns around and plasters on what he hopes is a friendly smile. Ruby (or so he assumes) is standing behind him in the doorway, looking like she’s just walked through a hurricane. Her curly hair looks slightly damp and is blown in all different directions. As she takes a step toward him, several pieces fall over her face.

“Are you alright?” she asks, frowning at him slightly. “You look a bit peeved. We can go somewhere else if you want.”

Niall shakes his head. Emmy’s told him before that his forced smile is easily confused for a grimace, but he’s never believed her before. “No, this is great. Let’s go sit down.”

“Sure.” Ruby nods and Niall lets her past him so he can follow her through the pub.

Five minutes later, they’re back outside on the pavement. Niall takes a deep breath, glad to be outside. The pub was so crowded that they couldn’t find a table. They couldn’t even locate a free bit of bar to lean against.

“Well, that was a bust,” Ruby says, crossing her arms over her chest. She has a nice chest, Niall observes, but now that they’re standing under a street lamp, he can tell that her hair isn’t damp, it’s coated in gel.

“Should we head somewhere else?” Niall asks, hoping that Ruby will say no. While he doesn’t see anything wrong with her per say, besides the sticky-looking locks, he has absolutely no desire to spend anymore time in her presence.

That’s what Emmy doesn’t seem to understand. Niall’s favorite companion is himself, and everybody else pales in comparison. He enjoyed spending time with Sharon because it was almost like spending time alone, but slightly more exciting. And nearly impossible to replicate, because no one he’s met since has seemed anywhere near as appealing as the prospect of a night spent in his flat, cooking himself dinner and then eating it while reading or watching something on telly.

Ruby pushes up her left sleeve and looks at her watch, then shakes her head, her curls barely moving. “It’s getting a bit late, and I’ve had a long week. Rain check?”

“Sure,” Niall says, already turning away.

“Sorry this didn’t work out,” Ruby says, pursing her lips as if she’s sad about it. Niall musters up a polite smile, waves a hand, and goes home to shower.

The day after Noah records the podcast is Sunday. She sleeps in and then takes a long bath, leaning back in the tub and trying to erase everything from her mind. On his bad days, Jem would meditate, and sometimes even on his good days, too. He said it helped him see the world more clearly. And that it made him feel like less of a victim.

That was something Jem always spoke about, the desire to not be seen as a victim. He didn’t want to be someone who other people would pity, someone who they’d look away from when he entered a room just because his presence, the knit cap on his head and the cane in his hand, made them sad. Made them feel guilty about being healthy, about having a future. Jem’s tenacity, his vivaciousness—those were only two of the things Noah loved about him.

So when Vita asked her to talk about Jem on the podcast, she was reluctant. She knew that speaking about Jem would open up a monsoon of pity upon her. Even Vita was pitying her during the recording, putting her hand on Noah’s arm to comfort her and to make herself feel better. Noah knows that that’s part of what pity is—it’s what somebody does when they’re made uncomfortable by your sadness or your anger or your tragedy. They want you to feel better so they don’t have to deal with your feelings anymore.

But sometimes you don’t want to feel better. Sometimes you want to sit in the dark and cry it out without anyone there to tell you that things will be okay and someday it won’t hurt this much. That’s hard to hear, because every day it hurts less, and every day Noah wonders if she’s forgetting Jem. If her love for him is lessening.

There was a moment, when she was 19 or 20, just after she found out about Jem’s history of cancer, when her mum insisted that she was making a mistake. This is only going to end in heartache, her mum had said.

And it did. It ended in heartache, but there was plenty of good before that.

On Sunday, Noah considers sitting in the dark and crying it out. She considers letting the feelings swarm around her like flies in the stickiest depths of summer, considers taking a step backward, considers forgetting about progress. Progress, she sometimes thinks, is an illusion. Progress depends on having an end in sight, or at least an end in mind. But with a task this monumental, there’s no end.

After her bath, Noah braids her hair over her shoulder and goes for a walk. Four blocks away from her flat, there’s an animal shelter. Like she has a few times over the past month, she stops in and walks the aisles, looking in at the dogs. There are big ones and lots of little ones, ones smaller than Bertie, even. Noah thinks again that these walks she’s started taking would be so much more enjoyable with a dog by her side.

But I’m not stable enough for a dog, she reminds herself. Not yet.

Maybe that’s the end goal. Maybe that’s what she’s working toward: being stable enough, mentally stable and physically stable and independently stable, that she can get a dog and feel confident that she can take care of it like she hopes it will take care of her.

And then, a block later, she passes a vet’s office. She can’t remember the last time Bertie saw a vet. The guilt nearly knocks her over. Bertie hates her, but that doesn’t mean she should neglect him.

The dog will have to wait.

On a Thursday morning, Niall is depositing a file on Rufus the Great Dane at the front desk when he overhears something that nearly makes his heart stop.

It’s a voice, and it’s playing out of Lucy’s computer. Niall leans closer, driven by the tiny part of his brain that insists on describing the voice as having “dulcet tones,” a phrase he’s never said aloud in his life and hopes he never will.

“Turn that up, would you?” Niall asks, planting his arms on the counter. Lucy shrugs and hits the volume key on the computer a few times.

“Love isn’t a choice,” the speaker is saying. “It’s not as if I sat down beside Jem in a lecture hall when we were 18 and looked at him and thought, this is the man I’m going to marry. I choose him, for better or for worse, and it’ll be worse. It was worse than I ever could’ve imagined. But it was where I had to be.”

“What’s she talking about?” Niall asks, prompting Lucy to let out a small sigh and pause the stream.

“It’s a podcast, Veritas with Vita. She’s talking to her friend about grief. Her husband died from leukemia when they were newlyweds.”

“Hmm,” Niall says. Lucy stares at him, waiting for him to say something else, and when he doesn't, she hits play again.

The girl continues speaking, but Niall doesn’t catch any of the words. All he hears is the girl’s voice. She sounds so familiar, but he can’t place her.

“Dr. Horan? You alright?”

Niall snaps to attention, straightening up. Lucy is looking at him, one eyebrow raised.

“You zoned out there for a minute,” she says. “Marcy just took the Weaver’s cat to the back.”

“Right.” Niall nods, blinks a few times to clear his head, and follows the sound of frantic meowing.

The blinking doesn’t do any good, though, because he can hear the girl’s voice in his head for the rest of the day. By the time he gets home that evening, he’s convinced that she’s the voice on the GPS his father bought him for Christmas last year. He pulls the thing out of the hall cupboard and extracts it from its box. It’s not until he goes to put batteries in it that he realizes he’s being ridiculous. He’s never even used the thing, so there’s no way Podcast Girl (as he’s come to think of her) is the “Sexy British Woman Narration,” as the box proclaims.

As he reheats leftover Thai food, he decides that really, there’s no harm in finding the podcast online and listening to it in full, if only so he can imagine the girl’s voice saying all kinds of things to him later, such as “turn left ahead” and “keep right at the fork.”

Niall only has to google “Veritas with Vita” and the podcast pops up. The newest episode, “Of grief and gumption,” is the first link. Niall clicks on it and hits play before leaning back in his chair, his mug in his hands.

“So today we’re going to talk about grief,” Vita says. She has a nice voice, but it’s nothing like the other voice that Niall heard playing in the clinic today. Vita sounds posh, clean, like her voice has been put through a synthesizer to make it sound as pleasing to the human ear as possible.

This other voice is different. Niall only has to listen for a few seconds and then he hears it, saying, “Thanks for having me.”

Just like this afternoon, her voice barrels him over. He’s standing on the shore, wading into the water, and all of a sudden a wave comes and knocks him on his arse. That’s what her voice does to him. Which is bullshit and he knows it, because the only thing that’s barreled him over lately is the memory of his grandmother’s funeral.

Ten minutes later, he’s completely engrossed. These two women, Vita and Natalie, are best mates; he can tell from the way Vita asks questions like she already knows the answers. He imagines them in his head, no faces, of course, but two women, best friends, side by side over the course of months as one of them loses her husband. So close they’re practically sisters.

“I notice you don’t have any pictures of the two of you up,” Vita says.

Niall imagines Natalie’s flat, imagines stark, white walls, a brown sofa like the one in his own flat, a black leather recliner— No, Natalie doesn’t seem the type to go for neutrals. She probably has pops of color, bright green or coral throw pillows, accent vases, the kind that don’t serve any purpose beyond decoration.

“We don’t have many,” Natalie says. “From uni, from the wedding. But we didn’t go on a honeymoon, so—”

“You didn't have a honeymoon?” Vita asks, not sounding as surprised as Niall expects she means to. Vita clearly already knows this fact, but listeners don’t. Emmy would be horrified.

“Jem was too sick at that point,” Natalie explains. “We took a weekend and stayed in, just the two of us, but no exotic tropical trips or anything.”

“Did you—do you regret not being able to do that?”

It takes Natalie a minute to answer, and in that pause, Niall tries to predict what she’s going to say. Does she regret marrying this bloke who up and died before they could really start a life together? She sounds younger than Niall, 22, 23, maybe. To feel so much pain at such a young age—

Niall shakes his head, forcing the thoughts away. He doesn’t know this girl; there’s no reason to spend time empathizing with her. There’s no reason to picture her sitting room or make assumptions about the kind of girl she is. It’s that kind of thinking that gets people into trouble.

And it’s that kind of thinking that brings other comparisons to mind, thoughts about his own grief and how he’s not dealing with it. This girl, this Natalie, has friends that she talks to—heck, she probably even sees a shrink. And here he is, hiding out in his flat

“No. I don't regret anything about my life with Jem. And I don't want pity because of it. We didn't have a regular honeymoon, and most of the time we spent married we were going to doctors or spending nights in the hospital or feeling too tired to go anywhere. But it wasn't—it was a good life. It was sad, but we were happy anyway.”

“Even when things were terrible? You were happy?”

“Of course we were sad sometimes. Of course it felt like all of the terrible things in the world were happening to us simultaneously. But we loved each other. There was never any other choice.”

“Loving him, was that a choice?”

“No,” Natalie says, sounding completely convinced.

“Love isn't a choice,” she continues. “It's not as if I sat down beside Jem in a lecture hall when we were 18 and looked at him and thought, this is the man I'm going to marry. I choose him, for better or for worse, and it'll be worse. It was worse than I ever could've imagined. But it was where I had to be.”

“You mean fate? Destiny? Soul mates?”

Bullshit, Niall thinks. Romantic bullshit. He knows better. He knows that there’s sex and dopamine, and when it stops feeling good, when the dopamine wears off, people leave. Happiness ends. It always ends, and all that it leaves behind is an ache.

He listens to Natalie’s answer. “I don't know anything about fate or soul mates. All I know is that sometimes life happens to us, and all we can do is hold on until the wave recedes.”

“I suppose that’s what grief is like,” Vita says. “A wave. You said before that moving forward is hard, but I know you, and I know that some days are easier than others. Some days are harder.”

“Yeah,” Natalie agrees. “I guess it’s like a wave then. It’s a bit unpredictable. Sometimes all I’m doing is walking down the road and I see something that reminds me of him, and I’m sad all over again.”

“You said sometimes all you can do is hold on until the wave of life recedes. Are you in control of your life now?”

“You sound like my therapist,” Natalie says, making Niall snicker. He knew she had a therapist. “I don't know. I don't think control is the most important thing. I don't need to feel in control. Sometimes too much control means you're not really living.”

Niall looks around is perfectly ordered kitchen, looks at his alphabetized cookbooks on the bookshelf, looks at his shoes lined up neatly by the door, and thinks that she’s absolutely incorrect. Control is absolutely necessary, because the opposite of control is feeling, and when you let the feelings in, they knock you over. Before you know it, you’re showering in the middle of the day just to get a cry in, slamming your fist against the tile wall and wondering if it hurts this bad for anyone else.

From what Natalie says on the podcast, he decides that it does. Grief hurts this badly for other people, too. But the difference between other people and Niall is that other people find their way out. They find the light at the end of the tunnel and fight their way toward it.

Niall, on the other hand, sits in the dark.

When the recording finishes, he hits replay and listens to it all the way through a second time.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

re: This is your mother.

Attachements: img_149324,jpg, img_149325,jpg, img_149326.jpg

Noah, I’m emailing you here as maybe there’s a chance of you actually answering me. I’m attaching some pictures from our trip to Fiji a few weeks ago. We went snorkeling and it was beautiful! I had so much fun.

Your father and I really missed having you there. I know you said you couldn’t get off work, but I also know you didn’t ask. Please consider coming on holiday with us this summer, love.

And please give your dear old mum a call soon. She misses you.

#8nights #this is a long one #this is maybe 2/3 of what i've written #and most of it is staying if i do ever go back and work on this again #dagny beta'd this for me a while back you're awesome dagny

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laurabelle2930 · 8 years

Text

Every Life has a Moment ~Olicity Fic 2/5

So this has become a five chapter piece that sort of reminds me of the movie “One Day” because it’s being told from that sort of perspective. Thank you for all the encouraging words I greatly appreciated it! @supersillyanddorky06 this was only possible because you told me to simply go for it! Thank you!

Warning: Some explicit (for me) content so you’ve been warned.

Read it here or on AO3: Part 1; Part 2

Chapter 2

1 year later...

Felicity gazed out her third story bedroom window and watched as the snow began to slowly fill the sidewalks of the streets below. She curled her legs into her chest and brushed her fingers over her old, favorite sweatpants. Her half empty cup of coffee was still steaming beside her on the couch side table, her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her glasses were resting over the bridge of her nose. She sighed to the empty the room, “I miss him...” and smirked when the howling wind made the walls of her aging building creak.

She could almost hear them chanting, “Call him, call him, call him,” as she stared wordlessly out the slightly fogged over glass. Her phone laid at her side innocently as her nimble fingers traced slowly over the small keyboard keys. Her thumb was over the call button when it buzzed beneath her startled touch. Her eyes shot downward swiftly as her lips curled into a giddy smile. She pressed the speaker button and laughed happily once his voice was bouncing off her empty walls.

“So....quick question,” he started like she was about to make a deal with the devil.

Felicity’s patented eye roll came before her practiced line, “Okay hotshot how long is this home invasion for?”

She heard him chewing at his cheek as he muttered lowly, “Ummmm a week?”

“You and Laurel bickering again I take it?” she asked almost out of habit.

He too gave a patented reply, “Yes and before you say it no I’m going to make this break up stick.”

She nodded wordlessly then breathed, “I assume you’re outside my door?”

She heard the cylinder of her locks moving before he’d managed to mumble out a simple response. Felicity ended the call and glanced eagerly over her left shoulder. There he stood with small, melting flakes of snow littered over his dark brown leather coat. Felicity cocked her head when he began brushing the droplets of water onto her dark, hardwood floors. “Ummm dear what are you doing?” she asked with a bit of a screech to her voice.

Oliver winked slyly as he pulled a small suitcase in behind him, “Dear is a new one honey...”

Felicity immediately scowled, “I thought we banned those particular nicknames after that night in my dorm room?”

She watched him move around her small kitchen with controlled ease. He quickly undid his coat and threw it over the chair near the back wall of the semi-usable kitchen nook. He then pushed his suitcase into the side closet before using his right heel to push her door closed. She marveled a bit at the way he moved around her space with ease and comfort. “You’d think you lived here,” she commented easily while Oliver continued moving with ease through her small home. He laughed richly which made her heart swell. “I missed you too Felicity,” he remarked as her eyes fell to the floor. She ignored her feelings of warmth by pushing her phone towards the other side of the couch and uncurling her aching legs. Oliver continued to move about the few inches of space between her two burner stove and the row of cabinets she’d installed upon first moving in. “Are you avoiding my question?” she asked simply to distract her wandering mind as she pressed her toes along the cold fabric of her area rug.

He opened the pantry door and pulled out two bags of Earl Grey tea before mumbling, “We banned a few things after that night in your dorm room...”

Felicity shot him a dirty look but remained frozen in place. “I thought we both agreed on not discussing that particular lost moment?”

“No you agreed I simply nodded like a kicked puppy,” he responded as he flicked the kitchen faucet on.

She heard the cold water clicking along the inside of the tea kettle as he filled the chrome colored pot. “I did offer to talk about it...” she protested all be it weakly.

He scoffed, “Yeah about a week later baby...”

“Seriously? baby? Come on Oliver you know we can’t keep acting like those nicknames are normal for two people in a friendship only relationship!” she squeaked a bit too lowly for it to make any lasting impact.

He placed the kettle over the smaller of the two burners before his slanted gaze met her widened one. “Anyways...” he interjected to diffuse the tension that always seemed to grow when they were alone, “since we both know this will end in a fight did I disrupt any weekend plans?”

She pushed her fingers toward the ceiling and stretched upwards until her toes felt numb. “I had a date but I’m going to cancel because of the snow,” she yawned before she began stumbling toward her seat at the two person table.

“You’re still seeing that Cooper character then?” Oliver asked as the kettle began to scream with billowing steam.

“Yeah but he’s just a way to pass the time,” she admitted before her body fell eagerly onto yet another flat surface. Oliver’s timid eyes fell over her slumped shoulders as his dexterous fingers placed the two teabags into two cups of boiling water.

“Are you sure you aren’t cancelling because I showed up at your doorstep?”

Felicity rolled her neck until each side cracked. She heard Oliver’s tongue click along his bottom teeth in disgust. She wrinkled her nose in humor as she giggled, “No and you still hate it when I do that don’t you?”

He placed the red cup before her ready hands; she took the offered beverage in greed as her trembling lips ached for the warmth of the soothing liquid. Oliver sat opposite her with his very own green mug. She smiled over the edge with her bright eyes and murmured, “So why are you really here?”

He teased her with a sideways glance; she in turn pushed her toes along his calf. He choked on his now cooling tea then muttered a strangled, “Now how is that not crossing boundaries?”

She shrugged with her cup at her smiling lips. He rolled those endless blue orbs and babbled, “Yes I hate it when you crack your neck; I’m really here because I want to talk and third I think you do to.”

“I never want to talk,” she mumbled coarsely.

Oliver’s smile made her heart flutter rapidly, “Well I do,” he said with no pretense.

Felicity took a slow sip, “Does it have to do with our argument six months ago?” she whispered once the tea was flowing through her warmed belly.

Oliver’s guarded eyes flickered honestly when he said, “Yes because it was true then and it’s still true now…”

Felicity felt the air around her shift. The disagreement six months ago had been about the now very torrid subject of their mutual feelings. She didn’t want to move forward and he as usual did. They shared few kisses before she once again put up another cement wall. Oliver went back to Laurel and she returned to the unwanted advances from Cooper. She cocked her head and glanced through her blonde tresses, “Okay...but first I have a simple question and yes it’s very important...” she teased casually to delay the fight she knew was brewing.

Oliver nearly choked on his tea but as she expected he didn’t miss a single beat. “I like the blonde hair Felicity but I also liked your natural color as well,” he rambled as her eyes fluttered happily.

“I like that you can read my mind,” she mentioned gently knowing that he’d make a stomach churning reply.

“Not always,” he noted with sadness in his beautiful voice.

He leaned forward as he placed his cup on the small, aging table. She in turn inched closer and mirrored his previous actions. His head bowed as her’s did, he licked his lips as she pursued her own together, they each were about to make a statement but each was at a loss of where to begin. Felicity wanted to discuss the change in their ebb and flow and, Oliver wanted to push the issue of them becoming more. They each wanted something but, neither was willing to approach the growing wall between them.

“You wanna start,” he whispered as they each traded timid stares.

She chewed at her bottom lip; his eyes darted to his cooling cup as she hiccupped, “We’ll just make a mess of it like we did the last time...”

His low growl of annoyance made her cringe, “Felicity are you still in love with me yes or no?”

She inwardly screamed. He of course went straight for the kill shot leaving her to resume her part of their now well rehearsed play. Her eyes flickered forward momentarily before dropping back to her knotted fingers; “Of course I am,” she sighed as always.

“Then why the hell are we still having this argument?” he pleaded almost helplessly while his heart bled before her eyes.

Her eyes watered and her lungs burned as her body began its own internal war. “It’s not about that...” she started weakly.

“It is for me because I’m still in love with you,” he interrupted quickly.

She slumped further on the kitchen stool. Oliver traced his index finger around the rim of his mug, she groaned, “Why can’t you just accept that what we have is beyond a simple kind of love? Why can’t that be enough for you?”

The warmth in his eyes faded into an icy glare, “The fact that you can say that tells me how far the wall between us has grown,” he nearly glowered with his shredded heart.

Felicity’s heart froze as her blood began to boil through her pain filled veins. She felt the ice in her heart blocking the heat of her blood as her booming voice came cascading through her trembling lips. “THE WALL WENT UP BECAUSE I’M AFRAID TO LOVE YOU!”

Oliver’s mouth fell as she panted out her concluding thoughts through her strangled voice. “I’m afraid of being in love okay; I’m afraid of letting someone into my life only to then have them taken away like my parents.” She faltered when she added, “I barely survived their loss but if I lost you I’d be utterly destroyed...”

Oliver’s fingers fell to the table as she slid hers down to her lap. His calm stare wrecked her rattled nerves, his even voice made her body shake with repressed rage. “Felicity running from me is going to destroy you as well.”

She nearly broke her fingers when she lowly screamed, “No running is the only way to make sure you never leave...”

She saw his fingers tapping along the center of the table; his body was taut like a panther while her’s was coiled like a rattlesnake. They both knew how the other felt but, sadly they both also wanted to win the final round in their never ending feud. He sighed miserably, “You aren’t like the others baby, you’re my one...” when she refused to touch his tapping fingers.

She choked back a smug, “Yeah like Laurel was?’

Sadly he heard it and fired back just as cruelly, “At least I admitted how I felt all you’re willing to do is run until you convince me to stop chasing you.”

She untied her fingers and slowly dragged them down her thighs, “Then stop chasing me and start chasing a woman who will give you a future.”

“Or you could stop running and accept that you’re afraid because you know the only future that matters is one with you...”

His interruption made her heart stutter. “I don’t know that,” she muttered lowly.

He chuckled coldly, “You’ve known that since the night of your college graduation...”

Her eyes grew colder than winter when she heaved in anger, “You swore you didn’t hear that!”

He flipped his hand until the backs of his knuckles were lying over the grains of her kitchen table. She stared at his open palm menacingly, “I’m not in the mood to hold hands Oliver...”

His eyes fell, his lips parted, and his rich tenor weaved through her confused heart with purpose as he said, “I felt your head leave my shoulder...” She flushed remembering how careful she’d been when trying to escape his hold. Her cheeks warmed when he continued with warmth radiating through his soft tone, “I kept my body still and my eyes shut because I knew the second I so much as twitched you’d be down the hall and to the street.”

She mumbled as he paused to breathe, “I traced along the lines of your palm until I found your lifeline.”

Oliver’s smile made her constricted muscles ease, “I felt the lines of your fingerprints burning along my aching flesh as you carefully whispered your feelings to the silent room,” he smiled with peace radiating through his heart.

“I’m afraid of loving you,” she whispered as she had that night. “I’m afraid of being another nameless body that serves to fill you with bravado, but I’m most afraid of what comes when I realize I’m not...”

He picked up the rest of her hidden feelings by recalling her last soul crushing line, “I’m afraid because I know you’re the one...I know that once I let you fill me I’ll forever lose my own identity.”

Hearing him say the words she herself had said nearly a year ago was like experiencing a punch to her sore stomach. Knowing that he’d heard her fears made her feel unfocused and even more confused. She stared at his outstretched hand and longed to simply melt into his touch; she resisted and pushed her palms down to her knees then breathed, “So much of who I am is wrapped up in my feelings for you...”

He curled his fingers inward. She felt her body shudder with fear when his eyes fell, “You’re feelings for me don’t own you baby, you are so much more than that,” he sighed before lifting his eyes and adding, “I wouldn’t be this crazy about you if that’s all you were.”

“Then why do I only feel whole when you’re with me?” she asked aloud. “Why do I feel complete when you walk into the damn room if I’m so much more?” she implored urgently out of fear.

He gulped vulnerably when he finally realized why her walls never fully fell, “You’re afraid of what happens when you give up the last pieces of your soul aren’t you?”

She nodded confidently as a chunk of her armor finally fell swiftly to the ground. “The wall between us went up because I never expected you to feel the same Oliver; I never thought you’d see past the five year girl you used to know.”

Oliver’s small smile made her fingers tap along the upper edge of her knees, his curved lips made her spine tingle with an odd sort of elation when he gave her a few encouraging words. “Felicity I told you that night I didn’t kiss you out of pity, I’ve never pretended with you nor will I.”

She nodded hesitantly, “Still our bond goes beyond that of a conventional couple Oliver, we are better because of what we share not despite it.”

“I agree but how will us moving forward together destroy us if we have an unbreakable bond?”

She was about to answer his question when the space around them suddenly went dark. Her eyes flew to the clock on the microwave; her eyes glared when there was no neon numbers on the small rectangular screen. Her voice sounded annoyed when she grunted, “I think the storms taken a turn for the worst...” She glanced quickly over her shoulder and felt a wave of slight terror when the once peaceful scenery now appeared to be a horrible winter storm.

“How long do your outages usually last again?” he asked as he quickly stood.

“Based on the amount of snow I’m guessing this will be an all night event,” she surmised nervously as she pondered a night alone with Oliver in her now cold, dark loft. She finally stood and moved to fully glance out over the white covered streets. She pouted a bit when she no longer was able to detect the impressions of the once passing cars. “I can’t see anything but white Oliver. The power is definitely down for the night,” she croaked nervously as she listened to him move around her small kitchen with no lights for aid.

She used the slight light from the snow to stare at him appreciatively. His strong back was bent; his narrow but strong hips held his chiseled from erect while his nimble fingers pushed through the various pots and pans of her lower row of cabinets. She heard him snarl when his finger got jammed in a hinge, “Ow…” he yelped as she snickered quietly.

“Don’t you have a phone?” she suggested as he brought his bruised skin to his wincing face.

“You’re just full of good ideas aren’t you?” he mused as he used his affected hand to reach for the phone in his back pocket. Felicity had to squint when he managed to turn the flashlight on. He used the light to illuminate her small home. She leaned against her window frame as he slowly began to brighten the darkened corners of the small room. He was passing her knees when he finally exclaimed, “Seriously honey don’t you have even one candle for emergencies?”

Felicity chuckled oddly as her cheeks flushed, “Oh I have them....” she nervously giggled, “but I’m they’re not in the kitchen or the pantry…”

He decided to point the light at her ruby, red face before a knowing smile graced his chiseled features, “They’re framing your bathtub aren’t they?”

She grimaced but replied shortly, “Yes.”

Oliver kept the light on her wrecked face. She glared lowly when he slowly took the few strides needed to cross her small living space. “I really hate that you know me this well…” she sighed as her hands flew to her hips. Oliver nodded in agreement and kept advancing until he no longer needed the light from his phone to illuminate her face. Felicity stood with her small back pressed into the ice cold glass. He slowly began to invade her personal space as she timidly tilted her chin upward.

“How well does this building hold heat?” he queried gently.

Felicity gulped and attempted to remain painfully still. Oliver placed his phone on the chest of drawers by the window as Felicity tried to answer his last query. “Well the last time this happened I awoke to a chilled nose and a thermostat that read 55 so…”

“So perhaps we should consider trying something new to say warm?” he poked before her lips had the chance to fall quiet.

She daringly ran her chilled fingers up his exposed forearms, “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting...” she lightly panted as her heart raced beneath her skin.

He carefully trailed his fingers down her pink cheek and leaned closer. She could feel his lips brushing over her temple when he whispered, “I want to be with you Felicity, I want us to try.”

She softly closed her eyes and slowly ran her skin along his toned flesh as his lips continued to brush along her brow. “Oliver sex won’t fix things it will just complicate matters,” she muttered before the idea of warmth made her add, “But I’ll admit the idea of waking up next to your warm and very naked body does sound rather appealing…”

“Felicity did you agree to have sex with me?” he asked almost bemused.

She swatted his arm sharply but still used her nose to nuzzle at his jaw, “Well you suggested it might keep us warm and I hate being cold so…”

He kissed her brow tenderly, “Don’t do it for the wrong reasons honey because, I won’t let you slip through my fingers twice…” he whispered lowly as her body shook with desire.

Her fingers were at his shoulders when he began moving his own down her throat. Her pulse raced beneath his touch, her skin dampened as the heat between their aching bodies grew. “We both know once morning comes I’ll force you to let me run,” she noted with confidence.

His whiskers scratched along her brow when his agreed, “Maybe but either way we’re sharing a bed, and you did admit that I’d be naked...”

She groaned realizing he was right, “It’s a one-time deal baby, and it’s a means of survival...” she mouthed lightly as his lips trailed down her cheeks.

“I’m guessing our impulses would have won out anyways...” he suggested a bit too happily.

She wanted to huff angrily but her body was too busy tingling to feel anything other than prolonged agony as her fingers began to slowly lace at the nape of his neck. “I really hate that I’m so drawn to you,” she admitted while he slowly trailed his lips to her own. She gasped when his teeth nipped at her bottom lip. She growled when he finally took her mouth greedily with more longing then she knew a single human soul could contain. She shuddered when his tongue pushed past her slighted parted lips. She moaned a bit against his touch before she sought to deepen the already soul scorching kiss. Sensing her fear Oliver started to seduce her slowly by keeping his palms at her cheeks; he then pushed his knee between her thighs making her scream as his touch edged along her aroused clit. She could taste the lingering tea on his tongue when her screams echoed through his shuddering lungs.

She felt his low moan of desire racing through her heated blood as his fingers slowly blazed a trail down her shaking shoulders. He muttered against her mouth, “Felicity we honestly don’t have to do this...”

She shook with humor as they briefly parted. She gazed deeply into his endless blue depths and declared confidently with no sign of hesitation, “I want you inside me Oliver the power outage simply gave me the excuse to let it happen...”

Oliver’s eyes widened, “What about romance and taking our time?” he asked in complete shock.

Felicity pressed her clit over his bent knee. Oliver gulped but, Felicity simply snickered, “I think I’ve denied myself for long enough don’t you?”

His gaping mouth made her chuckle as she slowly began to rub her aroused bundle of nerves back and forth over his jean covered thigh. Oliver’s head tilted forward as she slowly began to gain speed. His lips first found the curve of her jaw before he began sucking his way down her pale throat. She felt her head bump along the framing of her window when she finally titled her neck. His lips heated her chilled body as she began to rapidly rub herself along his strong body. Her fingers blanched as they tightened around his corded neck once she’d found her stride, her body then shuddered when he roughly grabbed her hips. She let out an elated scream when his strong palms pushed her aching clit roughly over the edge of his knee. The friction made her throat burn and her body snap as she finally let herself feel free. Her cheek was anchored at his temple while he helped push her body into its first small but still enjoyable orgasm. She nearly wept with unbridled passion while his lips were anchored to her throbbing pulse point.

She gulped as she began to level out from her newly experienced high, “Do it here...”

Oliver moaned, “Unbuckle my pants...”

Her fingers flew down to his hips as he pushed his fingers underneath the waist band of her sweats. The zipper felt clunky as her inexperienced fingers pulled at the small silver tab. He panted as the skin of her hips met the cold, frigid air, “Reach past the small opening of my boxers and rub your fingers along my tip...”

She gulped, “Someone eager?” once she managed to undo the blasted button.

She felt her pants pooling around her ankles when he rasped, “Just touch me...”

Felicity complied as Oliver’s fingers parted her nether lips. She bit at her lower lip when she felt the roughness of his calloused finger s moving along her needy inner walls. She attempted to scream his name but was thwarted by his crushing lips. Her screams were consumed by the fire in her lover’s belly as she slowly began rubbing her thumb over his wet tip. She moaned into his feverish kiss, “I’m so in love with you...”

He moaned, “Good because I intend to thoroughly fuck you...”

Felicity nipped at his upper lip as they briefly parted, “Fuck me?” she questioned seductively as his erection grew.

He grinned along her teasing lips as his fingers pressed along the sweet spot within her core, “What would you prefer a prettier term?”

She released his growing member and grabbed his wrist. She then kissed him softly as she pushed his fingers along her throbbing inner walls. She then murmured as her tongue traced along his lower lip, “ No I’d prefer it if you’d fuck me properly...”

She kissed him roughly as his fingers slid down to the inner skin of her thighs. He then deepened another searing kiss with his talented tongue as he pushed her parted legs up along his hips, he murmured darkly, “I can’t wait to feel you,” as she anchored her knees to his hips.

She exhaled, “Then get this show on the road,” just as he filled her with one forceful thrust.

Felicity’s hips bucked along his strong, pelvic bone as he drilled into her dark depths. She cried out, “HOLY FUCK!” as her tender back was repeatedly rammed into the damaged siding of her window’s frame.

She twisted her fingers into the fabric of his shirt as he filled her emptiness with every word and feeling he’d never dared to even breathe. Each long, hard thrust made her body shatter, each time he filled her she nearly came as the wall at her back became her anchor to the world that still surrounded them.

She whispered at his ear when a small line of sweat began to trickle down her sore back, “Are you this good in an actual bed?”

He snickered through another abusing thrust, “Wanna find out?”

She bit at his earlobe then screamed darkly, “FUCK YESSSSS!!!!!” right as her body finally shattered around him. He slowed as her screams filled the room, her eyes slid shut while her hips bucked along his hardened cock. She swore she’d drawn blood when her nails ran down the buttons of his shirt.

He didn’t whisper until her forehead fell along his own, “Take of your sweatshirt...”

She huffed in exhaustion as she leaned back and reached for the shirts hem, “Can you seriously walk while still inside me?”

She had the shirt over her head and to the ground when he mumbled darkly, “Yes....”

Felicity gulped as he pulled her closer; her core throbbed as her abused muscles slid over his fully erect member, her eyes blazed as another orgasm was sparked from her lower belly. She whimpered, “Tell me you love me...”

Oliver kissed her gently as he slowly padded through her darkened loft. “I love you, he murmured over her abused lips. “I’m helplessly and completely in love with you...” he whispered as her back hit the soft sheets of her aged mattress. He pulled out briefly to remove his clothes. She rubbed her fingers along her pert nipples as he gently kissed the tops of her bent knees.

“You’re beautiful,” he mouthed as he began to undo his few remaining shirt buttons. She smiled and mouthed back, “You’re a God…”

He chuckled while he shrugged off his shirt. Felicity in exchange used her feet to push his jeans down the lines of his legs. He kicked them off once she had them pooled around his knees.

She whimpered as he positioned his tip at her greedy entrance, “I don’t want tomorrow to come...”

Oliver kissed her gently as he pushed in slowly, “Nor do I,” he cried as their bodies once again slowly became one.

Felicity watched the snow fall as Oliver rubbed his nose along her naked sternum. Her chest fell when she breathed, “We totally just had sex without using condoms didn’t we?”

His forehead fell over her tender chest, “Well if I knock you up my parent’s might just throw a damn parade,” he teased even though she knew he was right.

“Either way,” she shrugged, “I’d say our relationship has been forever altered.”

He chuckled as his lips brushed over her tender left nipple, “Are you sorry it happened?”

She brushed her fingers gently through his close cropped hair, “No, never but...”

“But what? Felicity we’re in love and we did what most people do when they’re in love,” he interrupted swiftly.

She lightly scratched her nails along his shoulder blade, “That wasn’t the reason for the but baby,” she teased softly.

His chin fell over her chest when he asked, “Willing to tell me?”

“What if we made a deal?” she proposed with her heart in her throat.

She saw his blue eyes fade into a stormy grey, “Felicity I won’t agree to sharing you so don’t even go there…”

Her lips curved instantly, “Yeah trust me after what you just did to me no man could ever compare,” she grunted in pure amusement.

Oliver’s gaze softened, “What do you wanna try the whole friend’s with benefits thing?”

“Well…” she mused. “It’s a way to test the waters…”

He kissed her breast once more then mumbled along the aroused skin, “Or we could just try being a couple…”

Felicity pinched at the skin along his back, “Work with me here! I’m afraid of us trying so if we ease into being a couple there’s a good chance I won’t run,” she argued as he affectionately nuzzled her skin.

“Fine but you’re not sleeping with that Cooper guy,” he demanded before he took her nipple between his teeth.

“Agreed, but if you so much as sneeze Laurel’s name I’ll end our relationship friendship and all,” she moaned as she slid her palms down to his hips.

“I love you…” he moaned as she hooked her calves around his hips.

She cried, “Not as much as I love you…” when he bit at her nipple’s pert tip. The storm outside lasted for two days. The wall they’d built a year ago began to crumble but something far stronger was growing in the rubbles place. For now Oliver had won this round. He’d made Felicity acknowledge they were meant to be…

1 Year Later…

“You’re not asking me to marry you?” she squeaked from the floor of their shared home.

Oliver fell to his knees and wept openly, “Yeah baby I am…”

She gazed at him with tear filled eyes, “You wouldn’t be if I wasn’t pregnant…”

Oliver shook his head ruefully then placed the ring box on the ground between them, “When will you believe you mean everything to me?”

She sputtered as her palm flew to her stomach, “When I believe that you only loved me…”

Tagging: @emmaamelia95 @pleasantfanandstudent @coal000 @memcjo @lesanchea @mrsbubblelee @olicitylovemaking @miriam1779 @love2luvyyou @almondblossomme @diggo26 @rivaroma @cjjingram @vaelisamaza @befitandchase @pimsiepim @andjustforthismoment @anonymiss118 @thelockpickingvictorian @yet-i-remain-quiet @lexi9515 @kathrynelizabeth89 @marniforolicity @marytagus @myuntetheredsoul @myhauntedblacksoul @blondiegrl00 @independent-fics @felicity-said--yes @relativelyobsessedfangirl @i-m-a-fan-world @mel-loves-all @somewhatinvisible @danski15 @stygian-omada-fan @malafle @emilyp05 @oliverfel4 @alemap74 @vicky-vale @charlinert @hope-for-olicity @missafairy @arrows-4ever @jaspertown @sweetzcupcake @captainolicitysbedroom @nalla-madness @smoakingarrow19 @bwangangelic @ccdimples88 @lalawo1 @yespleasehawkeye @ireland1733 @quiveringbunny @scu11y22 @detbensonsvu1 @tdgal1 @cinfos @xxliveyourlife @onceuponarrow

#arrow #arrow fic #olicity #olicity fic #au #oliver and felicity #best friends #soulmates #destiny #angst #fluff and angst #smutty times

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