#sits down on the sofa chair in his study and SIGHS HEAVILY . all leaned back with his head on the back of the couch

[bcneheaded]

artemis + inebriation spell from a disatisfied powerful entity that was unable to HARM artemis due to his Non Violence charm he has on his shop (safe point like in games jgjfgdf) but resorted to something just inconvenient and probably would sully his reputation ever so slightly.... petty karen entities be like anyway your muse coming to the shop ... wondering why its closed so early (... the word early is relative esp because his shop is almost ALWAYS open--) so they go in and end up essentially taking care of this millennia old demon under a drunken spell

[seriouslysnape]

HIii! I was wondering if you could write something Fred (6th/7th year) x Gryffindor Reader (i know u dont usually write him) maybe something where reader and fred are best friends and shes in love with him but she thinks he dosent like her that way with a fuffy ending? maybe some angst not too much tho thank youuu <3 if you dont want to write fred (😭) you can write it for lupin (6th/7th year)

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His Favorite Girl

Fred Weasley x Gryffindor! Reader

Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 3,430

“Woah. Guess I had more to drink than I thought.”

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The Gryffindor common room. An ever changing space for all Gryffindor students to unwind, study, or party, depending on the occasion. The common room was always crowded from wall to wall after a Quidditch match, especially when Gryffindor reigned victorious. The players all filed in, bursting with good energy and an itch to celebrate their win. Oliver Wood exploded inside first with an unmistakably beaming smile spreading across his face.

The Gryffindor students who hadn’t been able to make it to watch the match automatically knew that they had won based on Oliver’s visible jubilant mood. You were one of the unfortunate ones that hadn’t been able to make it, but you knew that the team would bring the party to you. The Weasley twins came bopping in next, George carrying a very happy Harry Potter on his shoulders. Harry leapt off of George’s shoulders before the tall twin could knock him into the top of the doorframe.

Your sights automatically set on the other Weasley twin. Fred was beaming with delight at their impressive win. Fred was damn proud to be a Gryffindor, and beating the brakes off of Slytherin was one of his favorite pastimes. He couldn’t be any happier at this moment. It warmed your heart to see him so joyful and full of glee.

You raked over his tall, slender yet muscular frame. His signature red hair was damp with sweat and parts of his face were caked with dirt.

Fred caught your stare, his smile never leaving his face as he gave you a friendly wink. You closed the Potions book in your lap, getting up from the sofa with a silent hope that your thumping heartbeat wasn’t obvious to anyone.

It was a hard thing to do. Keeping your ever growing crush and admiration for Fred Weasley under wraps was becoming more and more difficult as time went on. The seemingly simple solution (as all of your friends had told you) to do would be to “just tell him” how you felt. But it was MUCH easier said than done.

There were so many things that could possibly go wrong if you were to confess your feelings to Fred. You would be running the risk of ruining a beautiful friendship that had done nothing but blossom over the last seven years if he didn’t share that same admiration. You didn’t want to lose your best friend just because your heart felt differently than his.

At the same time, you wanted to tell him every scrap and ounce of how your soul felt lost without him. There had been a few times over the years where you had an opportunity to lay your heart out on the line for him. Each time you had this heavy feeling in your chest letting you know you needed to make a move.

You built up the courage each time, but were interrupted by George or another one of your friends before you could bite the bullet. You knew it wasn’t healthy to keep this holed away in yourself. Your love would only grow more. The more days that passed, the more you began to wonder how different your life would be if you never told him. Not to mention that graduation was only a few months away, and there was always the risk of losing contact with him when you went separate ways.

That is, IF you were to go separate ways.

On the other side of the coin, there was always a chance that Fred possibly did harbor the same admiration for you. That would totally change things in the long run. The idea of starting a romantic relationship, possibly getting married, and having a family was nothing short of perfect.

But you had to get to that point first.

Everyone rallied around Harry, shaking him excitedly and singing their praises to him for his incredible Snitch catch. Suddenly, blaring and thunderous chatter filled the common room as more exhilarated students piled in. Within the hour, a sea of Gryffindors occupied the room, complete with blasting music and an ungodly amount of alcohol.

Oliver had gathered a crowd of first years in one corner of the common room as he retold every solitary second of the match from his point of view, starting from the very beginning. The wide eyed first year wizards and witches were on the edge of their seats as they listened to his story, some of them beginning to wonder if they had what it took to be great Quidditch players.

On the other side of the room, you were settled once again on the sofa with Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, who were seated in the arm chairs across from you. They were exhausted from playing all day, but that didn’t stop them from engaging in some girl talk.

Alicia and Katie were your dearest friends, and they were the only ones who knew about your crush on Fred. A crush that had quite honestly evolved into something much more. They were always keeping an ear out to see if Fred said anything remotely leading them to believe that he might like you back. As surprising as it was, Fred never really outwardly spoke about his romantic side.

Speaking of, Fred and George were in another corner of the room with Harry and Ron, doing God only knows what. Fred was considerably tipsy, but nothing even close to plastered. You had seen Fred drunk before, and needless to say, it was a hysterical sight.

“So, [Y/N],” Alicia spoke up, her dark skin looking extra glowy from the fire roaring in the fireplace; “Fred was awfully excited to come back to tell you that we won.”

Katie perked up, her head lifting from where it had been leaning on the back of the chair.

“Yeah! The first thing that he told George was that he couldn’t wait to tell you the news. Although, I guess Oliver kind of told everyone before Fred had the chance.”

“Really? He said that?” You asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Alicia nodded vigorously, gripping Katie’s forearm with elation. Alicia and Katie had never tried to set the two of you up, mainly because you had begged them not to. That didn’t stop them from trying to be the ultimate wingwomen. They believed that you and Fred would be a stellar couple. They were convinced you were made for one another.

They both feared that you’d never make an attempt to make it happen.

“He sure did. I heard him myself.” Katie replied.

Alicia glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening before leaning forward closer to you. Her voice was quiet, loud enough so only you and Katie could hear as she spoke.

“Graduation is coming up quickly. You’ve got to tell him.” She advised.

You sighed heavily. If you had a galleon for every time one of them had told you that, you’d be a wealthy woman. They just didn’t seem to get that it just isn’t that easy. You wouldn’t deny that proclaiming your deepest secret to someone didn’t scare you. It was terrifying to offer your heart and soul to someone, even when you knew that they might get broken as a result. You didn’t want to live with a broken heart.

But you didn’t want to live always asking yourself “what if”.

Before you could respond, a figure plopped themself next to you, his familiar scent sending flutters all through you. Fred basically snuggled up next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. Despite the fact that you weren’t dating, Fred was comfortable enough with you to get extremely close, which didn’t help your situation at all.

Alicia and Katie held down their snickers and giggles at how you were clearly flustered. You tried not to wriggle too much under Fred’s hold, and draw any attention to yourself. He was your best friend, and you knew how to play it cool when he was around.

“Hi, [Y/N].” Fred slurred loudly over the noise.

You laughed softly at the smell of Firewhiskey that was radiating off of him. You weren’t much of a drinker, but you’d have a drink with Fred from time to time.

“Hey, Fred. Congratulations on the match.” You complimented.

Fred grinned proudly, looking down at your slumped body. His eyes were beginning to glaze over from the alcohol, but he looked as sober as ever. He had a certain look in his eyes that you couldn’t identify.

“Thanks. Those bloody Slytherins got what they deserved.” He stated.

“Oliver seems over the moon with how it went.” You remarked, smiling as you looked behind you to see Oliver now standing on a table as he continued telling his thrilling tale.

When you turned back to Fred, you couldn’t help but notice how Fred hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. The butterflies in your belly were going totally bananas now. His gaze did eventually shift to the Potions book that was placed next to your feet, and he let out a guttural sound. He reached for it, noting that it had obviously been put to good use in the last several hours.

“Have you been studying?” He questioned, holding the book in his hand.

You sheepishly nodded, aimlessly reaching for the textbook. An offended look crossed Fred’s face as he held the book far out of your reach. Damn his long arms.

“I have a test on Monday. Advanced Potions is kicking my ass this year and I’ve just barely been getting by so I have to study extra time.” You expressed, laughing at your fruitless attempt to get the book back.

His sharp jaw fell open a tad and he stretched back even further to ensure you didn’t get the book back for now.

“You’re kidding me. I missed my favorite girl at the match because she was stuck in the common room studying for a TEST?” He acquired, not even aware of the weight behind his choice of words.

You felt your smile fade into more of a bashful expression. Your body slinked back into the cushions, forgetting all about the book. His words rang in your word.

Favorite girl.

Fred Weasley’s favorite girl.

Alicia and Katie were both wide eyed and jaw dropped at what he had just said. They were looking back and forth between the two of you like they were at an intense tennis match.

Fred was so aloof and oblivious to the fact that he had literally just melted your heart with a single sentence. You spent so much time with Fred that you just didn’t understand how he couldn’t see it.

Fred knew you backwards and forwards. He could see straight through you when you were lying or when you were sad, but claiming you were fine. He always remembered your favorite treats from Honeydukes and how you liked hot Butterbeer on cold winter nights. It made him happy to hear you talk about your favorite Muggle novels or tell him about something funny that happened in McGonagall’s class. He knew you better than anyone.

But why couldn’t he see the way you were yearning for him?

“You missed me?” You asked, shrinking even further into the cushions.

Fred looked at you as if that were the dumbest question he had ever been graced with. He lowered his arm at your sudden demeanor change, gently putting the book in your hand. Alicia and Katie leaned in carefully, eager to see where this conversation was going. Much to their disappointment, Fred didn’t get a chance to answer due to another member joining you on the couch.

George landed less gracefully than Fred had, basically landing on top of you and smothering you. Your shrieks were muffled in George’s Quidditch robes, Fred wrestling his brother off of you.

“Hey! George, get off of her.” He grunted, heaving his brother’s very limp body off of you.

Alicia threw her hands up in defeat at the interruption, Katie falling back into her chair. So close, yet so far. You gasped for air as George fell on the open seat next to Fred. George was way further gone than Fred. He was barely even able to keep his eyes open, let alone get any real, complete thought across.

“Nice timing, George.” Katie said sarcastically.

You gave her a menacing look, not wanting her to bring it up. George snorted, and his sentence came out more as one incoherent word.

“Did I interrupt something important?” He heavily slurred between hiccups.

You rolled your eyes. Leave it to George to ruin this for you. You were discouraged that your chance had been shot down once again, but it wasn’t George’s fault. You were just glad to see your friends in such high spirits. Soon enough, the rest of the party goers had crowded towards the center of the room where you were. The party raged on well into the night, a complete celebration with dancing, singing, and more drinking.

As easily as the party could’ve carried on and on, eventually the famed players’ exhaustion caught up with them and they all slowly dwindled down and sauntered off to their respective dorm rooms. You hugged Alicia and Katie goodnight, knowing they’d be passed out in their beds by the time you got up to your dorm room.

You spoke to Harry and Ron for a bit, giving Harry a friendly kiss on the top of his head for his winning catch. His pasty white cheeks went red as he and Ron retreated to their room in a fit of blushy giggles. That left just you and the twins in the common room that was now completely trashed. Empty cups and half spilled bottles of alcohol were scattered about, people even leaving behind some of their school stuff to be recollected in the morning.

George was a mumbling, intoxicated mess. He was close to falling asleep, and Fred wanted to get him to bed before he was completely unable to stand up. You’d be up for a while cleaning up the common room. You always hated leaving a room knowing it was messy, so you didn’t mind picking up after everyone. Fred knew you’d stay behind to clean up, but he didn’t want you to have to do it alone. He draped his babbling twin over his shoulders, grimacing at how George was usually heavier when he was drunk.

“I’m going to run George upstairs and then I’ll be back to lend you a hand.” He smiled, ignoring the things that George was trying to say to him.

“You don’t have to. I can handle it.” You said, tossing a handful of cups away.

“I know you can. I just don’t want you to be lonely is all.” He said, turning on his heel and marching up the boys’ dormitory stairs with George.

You felt a warm flush course through you at his words once more. You weren’t sure why you were extra sensitive to him tonight. Sure enough, Fred returned a few minutes later, almost stumbling into the wall at the bottom of the stairs. You both laughed as he gave a witty comment.

“Woah. Guess I had more to drink than I thought.” He said, walking into the room once he steadied himself.

“Is George okay?” You asked, accepting the pile of empty bottles that Fred placed into your trash bag.

You usually hand cleaned for the first few minutes, but would eventually grow bored and cast a spell from your wand to finish the work. It was seldom that the common room was this quiet, so you liked to bask in the silence for a little after there was a party.

Fred scoffed with a nod.

“Oh, yeah. He’ll be fine. Nasty hangover in the morning, but there’s a potion for that.”

As usual, the two of you were tired of cleaning, so you waved your wand with a quick cleaning charm. You both watched in amazement as the trash and everything else whisked around the room into trash bins, leaving the room spotless. You put your wand in your back pocket with a satisfied hum. Usually, this would be the time where you went to bed, but you were getting that familiar heavy feeling in your chest.

It immediately dawned on you that you had a perfect chance here. No one was around, and no one would be around for more than enough time.

“You want to sit and chat for a bit?” Fred questioned, noticing your dazed look; “You seem like you’ve got something on your mind.”

The fireplace was still occupied with a cozy warm fire, which was very inviting. You nodded, following Fred to the same couch you had been on earlier. The common room was beyond peaceful now, your head almost lulling onto Fred’s shoulder in relaxation.

Oddly enough, you weren’t freaked out now. In all the past times you had tried to do this, you were a jittery mess and could barely get a word out without stuttering. You felt so at ease now, as if this was something you did often. You hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol tonight, so you couldn’t blame it on that.

“So what’s up?” Fred questioned after you didn’t initiate a conversation.

He had unknowingly opened a door that you knew you had to take. It was now or never.

“I’m just thinking about some things.” You admitted.

Fred’s curiosity was sparked now. He was always interested and willing to hear what was going on in your mind.

“What kind of things?” He pressed on.

Your sights were set on the flames in front of you, causing you to miss the way that Fred was looking at you with such fondness and care. He was cherishing every passing second of this moment.

“You and me.” You confessed.

Fred was filling with anticipation, not sure where you were going with this. He raised a brow.

“What about us?” He replied.

You took a breath.

“Fred, what did you mean when you said I was your favorite girl?” You queried.

Fred looked into your eyes that were peering up at him in a puppy-like way. He noticed that you were expecting an answer. Fred, as confident as ever, responded with a voice like butter, his accent a little thicker.

“Because you’re my favorite person in the world.” He revealed.

Your heart caught in your throat and your breathing hitched. So far so good.

“I am?” You asked to confirm

Fred’s arm that was around you pulled you in closer. You were being flooded with such a sense of intimacy that it was overwhelming. Your nose was level with his chin, and you were so close to his face that you swore you could hear the blood flowing through his face. Fred knew what was happening now, and he was ecstatic about it. He had wanted you all along, but never knew how’d you’d react. The last thing he ever wanted to do was scare you off.

He thought about all the times he had seen you upset, and how it hurt him when you were pained with something. He always wished for nothing but happiness for you. He didn’t want to ruin things because of how he felt.

But now he was sure that you’d be here to stay.

“Absolutely you are. You’re all I ever think about.” He whispered, stroking your face with the side of his thumb that was wrapped around you.

This didn’t feel real, but felt all too real at the same time.

“Why are you whispering?” You smiled softly, whispering back to him.

He smirked, and whispered again.

“Because I want you to know how much I love you.”

A cannon of confetti seemingly exploded all throughout your body. Shock, desire, lust, love, want, everything went through you all at once. This wasn’t at all how you had imagined this happening, but you were happy that it did. It was very fitting for the two of you.

“Kiss me.” You whispered once more.

He lowered his head and his lips caught yours in a feverish way. All the pent up feelings from the last 6 years all loaded themselves into the kiss. It was a huge weight off of your shoulders.

“I love you,” You professed once Fred pulled away; “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to tell you that.”

Fred chuckled lightly, responding before kissing you again.

“I think I have a pretty good idea.”

[hoodieofholland]

Tom tries to convince you to come to his online class during quarantine // Professor!Tom

Pairing: professor!Tom x reader

Warning: except for the mentions of quarantine and the pandemics, just fluff stuff >.<

Masterlist || Request

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"You look pretty good this morning" lazily leaning in behind Tom's chair, you reach your arms out to hold him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He was all dressed up, wearing that ridiculously good black turtleneck sweater, as if he was actually going to give classes back at college, and not at his apartment, online.

Tom smiles, turning around to look at you. "Well, looks like I'm the only one ready for today's class", he eyed you up and down, noticing your pyjamas were still on. "We're starting in five minutes, love".

You puff your cheeks out, rolling your eyes and making your way to Tom's small sofa in the corner of his studying room.

"You seriously making me watch a zoom presentation when I've got my professor here stuck with me?" You lay down and look at him through your lashes, putting some effort on your best innocent look. "I'm tired, Tommy. It's so early".

Tom arches a brow, pretty much telling you he won't buy a single one of your protests. "Actually, you're the most important presence in my class today. If I can't make my own girl to sit down and listen to my lesson, then I guess I totally failed as a professor". He makes his point and you pout.

"That's not true". You sprawl your whole body, yawning loudly, almost theatrically. "I love your classes, I really do, but the point is that online classes totally suck. I mean, it's so much better going to campus".

Tom sighs softly and walk to you, sitting on the end of the sofa, putting a hand over your ankle. "I know, darling. Miss it too", he smiles a little, which quickly turned into a smirk. "Miss seeing you walk in the classroom with that pretty little skirt of yours too".

You feel your face heat up and fold your arms. "Can't wait for this to be over".

It's been months since you were taking classes online, as your university established for your last semester as soon as the pandemic started.

So right after the quarantine started, Tom came up with the idea of both of you living together for the following months, so you wouldn't have to stop seeing each other.

Tom leans in above you, supporting his weight with his knees beside your body laid on the sofa.

"You already tired of living with me?" He pouts, his face hovering yours. You giggle, shaking your head.

"No, silly. That's the only good part of quarantine" you breath his scent deeply, smiling wider and you bring your hands to cup his face, pecking his soft lips. "Besides, I can have all help I need right here. Not a chance I fail college this semester".

Tom rolls his eyes, but smiles. "What a selfish girl", he lower his head, until his nose rubs your cheek, and closes his eyes. "That's all I'm useful for?"

You shrug playfully, biting your lip to hide a smile. "Mostly".

Tom laughs, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You put your hands over his hair, the soft locks perfectly tidy, as he was ready to go to his lesson. "You don't need me to pass exams. I can help you, but you could definitely pass without me", he lifts his head to look at you, thumb going to your bottom lip, roaming over it slowly. "My intelligent girl".

You smile and sighs heavily. "You trying to convince me?"

Tom looks up at you, "Is it working?"

You snort, shoving him to the side and getting up. "You're a monster, you better know it".

Tom laughs, watching as you walk out of his room, despairing in your shared room. Usually, you'd watch classes in the living room, doors closed, and Tom would give them in his office, so no one could notice you both were in the same place.

"Where you going?" He shouts to you, getting up himself to get prepared for the class.

You come back into his office, a teasing smirk on your face as he stops in his tracks to look you up and down.

"Well, since you missed this skirt so much...", you rub your palm on the smooth material that you were dressing, "...think I could wear it for today's class, just for my favorite professor".

[angryinternetduck]

When All Feels Lost Chapter One: All Business A scheme, some terrible plays, an outburst in an elevator. Rom coms, late night talks, dreadful kale and carrot juice. Harry Styles is one arrogant son of a bitch. [producer!harry x actress!reader; enemies to lovers] Warnings: explicit language and alcohol consumption about 11,000 words series masterlist | general masterlist | ask

~*~ The interior of the staircase doesn’t match the exterior of the apartment building at all.

On the outside, the building is run down. The paint of the windowsills is chipped, dead flowers lay wilted in graying flower boxes. It’s not quite derelict enough to catch the eyes of passerby, though; in fact, it’s so unnoticeable that you almost walk right past it.

When you walk in, the door creaks loudly. A small bell tries and fails to mask the sound, ringing out a pleasant chime just barely noticeable over the whine of the door. The man behind the desk looks bored, but a slight bit of interest crosses his face when you ask for the producer you’re looking for: Harry Styles.

The man at the desk points you up the stairs, tells you where to go.

Apparently, Mr. Harry Styles has a level all to himself. The staircase up to his apartment is lined with awards, certificates, and framed newspaper clippings. Where there are shelves, more awards in the form of small trophies cover every surface.

Despite yourself, you’re a little in awe. You knew how famous he was, how good he was at his job, but you never really saw all his glory laid out before you like this. It’s really quite impressive.

When you arrive at the door, you take a second to pause before knocking. You take a breath, read the gold plaque on the door: Harry E. Styles. Executive Producer. You let the breath out, and then knock.

“Come in.”

You walk inside. It’s a big office. There’s a leather sofa on one wall, a desk in the back covered in papers. A coffee table sits in front of the couch, covered in even more papers. Stacked on top of and spilling out of filing cabinets are thin yellow books, bold black print on their covers.

And Harry Styles himself is sitting on the couch. He’s terribly handsome, you notice first, all tan skin and tattoos peeking out of sleeves and green eyes when he looks up at you. He smiles, and you see dimples.

He’s also a mess. His crisp white shirt is undone one too many buttons, his bow tie unknotted around his neck. The coat of his black suit is over the back of the large chair behind the desk.

It hits you, then, that this man isn’t a big time producer. He was a big time producer. You close your eyes for a split second, thinking back to the dates on the newspapers, all from years ago, back to the less-than luxurious building he’s residing in.

He produced countless hits on countless stages, but none in the last few years. Which is odd, seeing how he looks young - he can’t be more than twenty five, twenty six, but it somehow seems like eons ago when you last saw his name in the papers.

Well, it seems like eons since you’ve seen his name glorified in the papers and online. He’s been featured quite a few times with horrific reviews, critics ripping his pieces to shreds and complaining about the once-master reduced to nothing.

Really, that’s the only reason you’re here, the only reason you think you have a shot with him: he’s probably just as desperate as you are. He hasn’t produced a hit in ages. You haven’t starred in a hit in ages.

You’ve been to every other place imaginable, starting at the top and spiraling down, but you haven’t been able to find a job anywhere. You’re the picture of a starving artist. You’re an actress - a damn good one, too - but haven’t seen the stage in months.

“Are you lost?” Harry Styles asks after a moment, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You blink. “No.”

“Alright, then,” he sighs, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. A sliver of muscled stomach peeks out at you as his shirt lifts, and you frown, your gaze darting back to meet his eyes, which are staring at you almost challengingly.

“I need a job,” you say.

“There’s a McDonald’s down the street,” he replies flatly. “It’s hiring.”

“I’m an actress.”

He quirks an eyebrow and then turns around, walking over to his desk. “Then the reason you don’t have a job is because you’re stupid.” You frown more, following him further into the room. He collapses into the chair, which squeaks and bounces under him.

“I’m not stupid,” you tell him, a sliver of irritation flashing through you. “You were the best producer Broadway’s ever seen. I need a job.” He laughs wryly, shaking his head. “‘Were’ being the key word there.”

“You must have something.”

“Yeah, I have something,” he says. “I have a lot of somethings. But a play isn’t one of those somethings.” He stands up again, heaves a sigh. “Neither is patience. So I’m asking you to leave, please, and find some other poor bloke to torture.”

“I’m not torturing you,” you say, stepping forwards rather than back. “I’m asking you for a spot in one of your plays.” His face hardens, and he juts out a finger at you. “Listen to me,” he says lowly. “I’m not producing a play. I’m too fucking broke for that, and it’s not like there are people lined up outside to support me.”

You scoff. “So what the hell are you doing in here?”

He blinks, his hand lowering as his expression melts and his face softens. “Withering away,” he mutters under his breath. “Just leave,” he sighs. “There’s nothing for you here. You look like a good actress… or whatever. You’ll find something else.”

“No,” you snap. “No, I won’t. This is my only option. I’ll do anything.”

He sits down at his desk. “Moose Murders,” he says.

He’s joking. You know he is. Moose Murders is widely considered the worst play ever created. But you sit down across from him anyway, because this is a test, and goddammit you’re going to pass this test and get a job if it’s the last thing you do. “Sold,” you say. “Moose Murders. I’ll do it.”

For a moment, he studies you. You’re a bit intimidated, but you hold his gaze.

Finally, he leans forward. He folds his hands in front of him, on the desk on top of loose pieces of paper. “Would you like to know my secret?” he asks, and you pause. You wonder if it’s another test, but if it is, you have no idea what the right answer is.

A hesitant, “Okay,” is what you decide on.

He clears his throat. “I’m going to try and perform a heist.”

“You what?”

He smiles, almost sweetly, and says, “I’m planning a scheme to cheat rich investors out of thousands of dollars.” Your jaw drops, just slightly, and you have absolutely no idea what to say to that. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Harry Styles mutters. He stands up, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts pacing. You turn around and watch as he walks. “I peaked early,” he begins. A faraway look is in his eyes, and you’re a bit scared of what you just got yourself into.

“I was nineteen when I produced my first hit.” He pauses at the record player tucked in a corner, inspecting it. “I’m a genius, I’ll have you know. I’m the perfect producer. I churned them out, one hit after another. I was the best there ever was. And then…” He sighs heavily. “It took one mediocre play to topple me.” He looks at you, and you see anger in his eyes. “It wasn’t even that bad. It was okay. It just wasn’t a hit. And I had… I had no idea how to handle it.”

He turns back around, starts walking around the room, gaze drifting over the documents and posters lining the walls. “I was a flop after that, as you know. Still am. My reputation went down the drain, my investors lost their interest… And now every show’s a flop.” He laughs wryly, looking at you again, shaking his head. “You know that, too. They’re all flops. Failures. But I… I figured something out after my last fuck up.”

Your eyes trail him back to his desk, and he meets your gaze as he sits down.

“You can make more money with a flop,” he says, “than with a hit.”

At that, you frown. “No, you can’t.”

“You can,” Harry insists. “You sell shares before a play, right?” It’s rhetorical, but you nod anyway. “Right,” he says. “You get money, in exchange for a payment once your play is a hit. But if your play isn’t a hit, if it’s only on stage for one night, you can avoid payouts and then just…” He shrugs. “You can just run away with all the money.”

You blink at him.

“We can run away with all the money,” he amends. “If you… want to work with me.”

“You’re kidding,” you say flatly.

“No,” he insists. “I’m not kidding - I swear. It will work. Nobody will check the books of a play thought to have lost money! If I - we - wait for a while overseas until it’s all forgotten about, we can come back, go our separate ways, rich as can be, and…” He tosses his hands up. “And live happily ever after.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

He shifts forward, focusing his gaze on you. “Listen,” he says. “I need somebody like you to convince my investors that something’s different. They’ll never believe something’s changed unless I can show them that I’m serious this time, and you’re the way to do that. An experienced actor, a beautiful actress to star in my next hit - it’s perfect.”

You bite your lip, stay quiet.

“And you…” He scoffs, throws his hands up at you. “You need this. What else are you going to do? Where else can you go? Nowhere. There’s nothing. Theater’s a dying business, darling. You said it yourself: this is your only option.”

You swallow thickly, feeling yourself start to consider his offer. It really might work, you realize, and that kind of scares you, because you really shouldn’t do this. “Well - well it’s not right to steal like that.”

“Oh, please,” Harry mutters. “First of all, we’re stealing from rich old bastards who have nothing else to do with their money but invest in plays. Secondly, we’re barely stealing anything! We’re not taking thousands from one single person, it’s - oh, it’s just a little bit from each person. Each person who has millions, probably.”

You cross your arms. “We could go to jail.”

He rolls his eyes at that and replies, “We absolutely will not. We won’t get caught. Who the hell will check the books?” He leans forward. “Nobody. Besides,” he goes on, spinning his chair around, “compared to my bleak bloody existence at the moment, I don’t think I’d mind jail all that much.” He sighs, staring out the window at the gray building front it looks out on. “At least I’d’ve gone out with a bang.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

He turns back around. “Well?” he asks. “Any more arguments?”

“I need money now,” you say. “My rent’s about to let up. It’s the end of the month, and I… I can’t cover it. I need a job, or - or something now.” Harry looks at you. “Move in with me,” he suggests.

You scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“Because - because I can’t!”

“Fine,” Harry says, waving a hand in the air. “Consider it. Whatever. Just get back to me by… oh, by the end of the month.” He levels your gaze. “Before rent’s due.” Then he slides a card over to you and taps it twice. “There you are. Use it well.”

He opens a yellow booklet and spins around in his chair.

You can’t do this. It’s insane. It’s absolutely ridiculous. You could go to jail. And moving in with a complete stranger? Especially one malicious enough to scheme people out of - what did he say? Thousands of dollars?

You look at the business card.

Shit, you think. You need this.

“Fine,” you say. “When can I move in?”

***

The days are starting to blur together.

So are the words.

It’s been about a week since you moved in with Harry Styles, and your days have been nothing but reading lately. You’ve paged through what feels like hundreds of those thin yellow books you’d seen that first day, spilling out of cabinets and opened on tables. You’re looking for the perfect play, which really means the most awful play. It needs to be so indescribably bad that it closes within the first week of opening so that everything goes according to plan.

You never thought there could be so many plays. Most of them are pretty awful. There’s a pile on the coffee table in the main room of potential prospects, but nothing good enough - or bad enough, rather - to run with.

You’re sitting on the bed in your room, plays scattered around you. There’s an empty cup of coffee on the table next to the bed, and you look at it forlornly, willing it to fill up. It’s almost midnight, and you’d go to sleep if you had any sense.

But you don’t have any sense. So with a sigh, you roll off the bed and pad out of your room in your fuzzy socks. As you head to the kitchen, the front door opens up behind you. You glance around.

Harry meets your gaze.

You turn around and pour more coffee into your mug.

The first time he disappeared, you had been asleep and had only realized he’d left when you woke up to him opening the door. He looked a little less than disheveled and absolutely exhausted, and you could only presume he’d been out getting laid.

Well, you thought. Good for him.

Then it started happening more often. It was almost every night, which was fine, you supposed, but only if you didn’t have a play to find. He worked with you during the day and left at night, or left mid-afternoon and came back around midnight, like today.

He shuffles around behind you, and it’s a combination of laziness and stubbornness that keeps you from turning around and watching him or asking him where he’s been. When your mug’s full, you turn around and walk back into your room.

Hours later, on another coffee trip, he’s asleep on the couch with a script on his chest.

***

The first few times he offered you snacks, you refused. You wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, which was a bit difficult seeing as you lived with him. You couldn’t control bumping into him on your way to the bathroom in the morning, or eating breakfast at the table while he watched TV on the couch, but you could control where you read the pages and pages of scripts.

Sometimes he plays records out in the office. He must have quite the collection. You’ve heard a few things you recognize through the door of your bedroom - lots of Fleetwood Mac, some Joni Mitchell, the Eagles - and a lot that you’ve never heard before. It’s all good, and it’s a pleasant background noise to your tedious reading.

He never stopped offering snacks, though, and today, apparently, the last of your restraint has melted away. When he knocks on your door and says, “Popcorn if you want it,” you can’t refuse the delicious smell of buttery popcorn wafting under your door.

If he’s surprised when you come out of your room a few minutes later, he hides it well. He glances up at you, but then his eyes go right back to the script in front of him. The popcorn’s worth it, and when the bowl’s empty, Harry wordlessly goes and microwaves another bag without taking his eyes off the script he’s reading.

When he comes back from the kitchen, he slides down from the couch and sits on the floor, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. From your spot on the opposite side of the sofa, you watch as he spills crumbs all over the script.

You wonder why he’s pulling this scheme, suddenly, wonder why he’s going through all this trouble when he’s really probably fine from what he’s made in his early productions. Scowling, you come to the conclusion that he’s just greedy, and take one more piece of popcorn before standing up and walking back to your room.

***

“Have you seen my, erm - my collection?” Harry asks.

You’re eating lunch at the kitchen table, some spaghetti dish that Harry had made the night before. He’s quite the chef, you’ve learned. “Nope,” you say. There’s sauce on the booklet you’re reading, and you frown as you try and thumb it off.

“You should.”

The sauce smears. You frown more.

“Do you like music?” Harry asks.

You stand up. Walk to the sink. “Of course I do,” you say, a bit sharply. “I’m an actress.”

Behind you, you hear him shuffling through his records. “I love music,” he says softly. “I wish I could… I dunno. Sing or something.” You bite your lip as you run water over your plate. There’s a beat of silence. It’s just the sound of water, the clinking of the dishes in the sink.

When you turn around, Harry’s staring at the empty record player thoughtfully. He looks up after another second and smiles, just slightly. “Any preferences?” he asks, running his hands over the vinyls.

You shrug. “I don’t care.”

Harry looks at you, then shrugs and starts looking through the collection. Finally, he chooses one. “I listened to this,” he begins, sliding a disk out of its sleeve and gently placing it onto the platter, “on the plane the first time I came to the States.” The gentle sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” float from the turntable.

He begins mouthing the words, dancing slightly, smiling at you.

“We should find that play,” you say, and you walk back to your room.

***

A few days later, you gasp awake when you feel Harry’s hand on your cheek.

“Christ, what are you reading?” he asks. “That’s the third time I’ve woken you up.”

“You had to slap me to wake me up?” you scoff indignantly, sitting up on the couch.

Harry frowns as he takes the script out of your hands. “I did not slap you.”

It’s two pm. You’ve been chugging coffee all day - he’s right, you shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all, much less three times since you started that script. It really is very boring… Your eyes widen as you think back to the play, and you begin, “I think -”

“This is it,” Harry breathes.

“It’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever read!” you exclaim, sitting up.

“I can see that. This is it. It’s dumb as hell, and - and you’ve fallen asleep.”

“Three times!”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Harry says happily. “The ending doesn’t - it doesn’t…”

“It’s awful,” you agree with a grin.

“Margaret Fitcher,” Harry says, reading off the back of the script. “It’s - there’s an -” He grins, looking at you as he snaps the booklet shut. “She’s close,” he says excitedly. “Get your shit. We’re going.”

The car ride is quiet. You fidget. So does he. His leg moves a mile a minute, his finger fiddling with his lip. He’s going just a tad over the speed limit. When he pulls into a parking lot, you don’t even look at the building.

There’s a directory, and you find the name you’re looking for: Margaret Fitcher. 9C.

The elevator is shaky. It has an iron gate, blinking numbers. When the ninth floor button lights up and the elevator rattles to a stop, the gates clatter open and you follow him out into the hallway.

Harry knocks on the right door. “Ms. -”

“It’s open, sweetie! It’s open!”

You look at Harry. He shrugs. He looks excited.

He pushes the door open, and immediately, the smell of rotten fruit assaults your senses. You grimace, and you see Harry blink, nose wrinkling. “Come in, dearie,” a voice calls. You walk further inside. A cat comes and slides along your leg. You shift away, bumping into Harry, and he steadies you before he turns the corner and you see an old lady - Ms. Fitcher.

Her face is illuminated by the TV, on which an infomercial is playing. There are cats curled around her. You count. Six. Plus the one who’s decided to sit on your feet. Seven. You spot the source of the odor: a small bowl set in front of an easel, which carries a small, partially painted canvas. It’s supposed to be the bowl of fruit, you see. It’s not half bad.

“Sit down, sit down,” she says. Her voice is weak. She’s wearing glasses, on a chain, that are sliding down her nose. “Hello, Ms. Fitcher,” Harry says, speaking up above the TV. “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“Eh?” she interrupts, squinting at him “You’ll have to speak up, dearie.”

Harry tries again, louder, “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“What are you selling?”

This time, Harry shouts. “We’re here to talk to you about your play!”

“My play!” Ms. Fitcher laughs. She picks up a ball of yarn that had been sitting next to her. One of the cats fusses. “My play, my dear play…” She begins unwinding the yarn. “Who are you, again?”

Yelling, you introduce yourself, and then Harry does.

“Nice to meet you!” Ms. Fitcher croons. “Never see young ones around here anymore… What a shame…” She shakes her head, beginning to wrap the yarn around her frail hand again. “What a damn shame…”

You and Harry exchange a glance.

“Your play is wonderful, Mrs. Fitcher!” you shout.

She looks up. She seems almost coy. “Why, thank you.”

Harry clears his throat, begins to scream, “We wanted to -”

He’s cut off by somebody banging on the wall from the other side. “Oops,” you mutter, realizing neighbors can probably hear all the commotion through the thin walls. “Can we shut off the TV?” you shout, a bit afraid somebody’s gonna come over and rap on the door.

“Oh, the TV?” Ms. Fitcher says. “Whatever you want, dearie.” She hands you the remote, and you shut it off. The silence is glorious. “We want to buy your play,” Harry says, and Ms. Fitcher’s eyes grow wide. “To… to put it on the stage?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Yes,” you tell her. “We want the world to see your story, Ms. Fitcher.”

She pauses, inspecting the two of you. You feel slightly uncomfortable. “You’re not wearing wedding bands,” she says, looking suspicious, and a surprised laugh bursts out of you. “Oh! Oh, no, you - you mean - you think we’re -” You laugh, shake your head. “No, no, just - just business partners.”

“Business partners, roommates, that’s all,” Harry adds.

Her gaze narrows. “Roommates?” she echoes.

“Yup!” you chirp, hoping that’s not a problem.

She hums lowly in a way that makes you think it is a problem, but then asks, “Who will be playing the role of dear Rosalind?” You falter, then remember that’s the main character’s name. “Anybody you want, Ms. Fitcher,” you say.

“I can see auditions?”

“You can come to every rehearsal,” Harry reassures her. “It’ll be just as you like it.”

She stares at you over her spectacles. And then she says, “No.”

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t want you children ruining my masterpiece,” she sneers.

“We are not children,” Harry says irritatedly.

“Hmph.”

“You sent this play to me,” Harry says.

“That was ages ago,” Ms. Fitcher says wistfully. “When I was but a girl.”

Harry scoffs. “It was last year!”

She glares at him. “Get out.”

“No, no,” you try, “no, please, Ms. Fitcher, you’ll have total control, it’ll be you, all you and your -”

“Get out, you’re bothering my cats,” she snaps. “Get out!”

“Please, Ms. Fitcher,” you beg, “please. We’ll -”

She stands up, and now the cats really are bothered. “I’ll call the police!” she shrieks, and both you and Harry jump up, hurrying to the door, which she slams behind you. You look at it, at the sign with the apartment number engraved on it, at the fraying fuzz of the green carpet inside that had stuck to your shoes and was now on the floor of the hallway.

“I’m covered in cat hair,” Harry whispers.

You turn around first. He follows you to the elevator, which clanks as it stops and as its doors slide open. You step inside, lean against one wall. Harry leans against the other. You look down, not sure what to say. The adrenaline’s fading. You really thought that was the one.

And then -

The elevator bangs to a stop.

“What the fuck?” Harry whispers, looking up as you do.

Each floor’s light blinks, then shuts off, in rapid succession.

“Are we gonna die?” you ask.

“I - I don’t know.” He pokes a finger through the iron gates. “We’re in between floors.”

You blink, feel your brows furrow as you shake your head to clear your mind of the cloud of disappointment. “The - the building,” you say, pulling out your phone. “We can call the building.”

“What’s it called?” Harry asks.

You look up. “I have no idea.”

You stare at each other for a second, and then Harry’s face lights up. “I have it,” he says, fumbling in his bag for the paperwork. When he finally finds it, he flips it around so you can see the address. You type the name of the apartment complex into Google and call the first number that appears.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep calm. “Hi, we’re, um - we’re stuck in one of your elevators?”

There’s a pause.

“Hello?” you say, impatient.

“Um… I don’t really know…”

“Who are -” You sigh, taking a step in the elevator, trying to pace, but you don’t have room. “Who am I speaking to?” A bit of static, and then, “I’m Mike,” the guy says dumbly. “I’m just the desk guy…”

“Do you have the elevator controls?” you ask, not really knowing what you’re asking but unsure of what else to say. “I mean - can you restart the elevators or, like - I don’t know, can you get them moving again? Do you see the - I don’t know, the controls?”

“Yeah, they’re… the box is right here,” Mike says.

“Great!” you exclaim. “Can you please start the elevators again?”

“Oh… I don’t know how to work them…”

You let out your breath, gritting your teeth. “Fantastic,” you mutter. “Um, well, can you call somebody who does?” Mike shuffles a bit. “Um… Yeah, I think so…” You laugh wryly. “Great, Mike, that would be great. Please do that.”

“Okay, I, um… Okay…”

“Keep me updated, okay?” you say tensely. “I’m counting on you, Mike.”

“Okay… bye…”

He hangs up.

“We’re gonna be trapped in here forever,” you moan, banging your head against the wall.

“What?” Harry asks. “What was that?

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He said he’d call somebody.”

“You didn’t get a time estimate?”

“Jesus, Harry, no, I didn’t get a fucking time estimate.”

Harry frowns at you. “Maybe you should’ve.”

You glare at him.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you start your two-step pacing again. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter. Harry blows his breath out, sliding down one of the walls to sit on the floor. “Ridiculous indeed,” he says.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” You feel yourself getting riled up. “I can’t - fuck. I can’t fucking believe this is happening.” Harry stares at you from the floor. “I’m in an elevator… after getting shot down by a crazy old lady… with - with -” You glance at Harry. “With a fucking con artist.”

Harry frowns at that. “I’m not a -”

“Dammit, I should be on Broadway,” you interrupt. “I should be on Broadway. I did everything right, Styles.” Your breaths are coming faster. You lean back against the metal. “I - I went to fucking Julliard, Styles. I’m a pro. I trained, and I did all the little shows, and I - fuck.”

“It’s just a little pitstop,” Harry offers. “Before Broadway.”

“No!” you sob, and you clap your hand over your mouth. “No.” You step forward, turn around, two steps, you’re pacing around him in the teeny-tiny little box. “God, I’m a failure. I’m a - a failure. That’s why I’m here.” You glare at him through tear-clouded eyes. “With you. Jesus, how fucking evil do you have to be to steal money to get rich? You don’t even need it. You’re probably just fucking fine, probably have some rich daddy back in fucking - fucking England - and you just…”

Your voice is cracking, getting weaker, and you wipe away the tears on your face angrily. “I can’t believe this.” You sniffle, shaking your head. “God, Styles, everybody likes to talk about the new opportunities. Everybody likes to say, ‘Oh, when one door closes” - you jerk on the iron gates - “another opens!’ But dammit, Styles, it’s not open!” You shake your head, stumbling back onto the back wall of the elevator.

“Those goddamn doors must be locked,” you say softly, staring at the shut elevator doors in front of you. “They’re locked,” you repeat. “They’re locked. They slam shut - in my fucking face - and every other door is locked. They’re all locked…” You slide down the wall. “They’re all locked with a key I just - I don’t have.”

Your breath stutters. You look at Harry. “I just don’t have it, Harry,” you whisper.

He opens his mouth to reply, and then your phone rings.

“Hello?” you say. Your voice cracks.

“Hi, are you the lady stuck in the elevator?” It’s a different voice than before. Not Mike.

“Yes! Yes, yeah, I’m here with -” You clear your throat. “What’s happening?”

“We’re resetting the system,” the guy says. “Hopefully that’ll pull everything together. Can you stay on the line for me and tell me if it starts moving again?” You nod excitedly, stepping forward and scanning the buttons. “Yes, I can - what, um - what am I looking -”

A button lights up. There’s a loud clank, and the elevator starts moving.

“It’s moving!” you say happily.

“Great, great. Thanks for calling. Have a nice day.”

There’s a dial tone.

“Right, then,” Harry says as the doors open and you slide your phone into your purse.

You start walking to the car, and Harry follows you. You slow down a little so you’re walking side by side and look at him apologetically. “Um… I’m sorry,” you say quietly, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “I’m just… frustrated, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says.

The car ride back to the apartment is silent.

***

You’re back to reading in your room after seeing Ms. Fitcher.

What’s sort of annoying is that you’re not even partially ignoring him because you’re mad at him - you’re almost just embarrassed about your explosion. You don’t want to face him, don’t want to talk about it. You don’t even want to think about it.

He seems to understand. He cooks a lot. You told him your favorite food a few days ago, before Ms. Fitcher, and he’s made it quite a few times. That makes you even more embarrassed. You blew up at him, insulted him… and now he’s cooking for you.

Ridiculous.

He still disappears a lot. It’s for longer, now; sometimes he’ll leave at noon and not be back until around midnight. You only know because he keeps his bedroom door open and the apartment always has a different air about it when he’s not there.

He doesn’t usually tell you, but… today he is, apparently.

There’s a knock on your door, and you tell him to come in.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks down at his hands, and you follow his gaze. He’s holding a small black box, fidgeting with it. “I have to… go,” he says, quietly. “But I, erm…” He looks up, steps forward almost hesitantly.

You get up to meet him, and he holds the little black box out to you.

“I thought of you,” he murmurs. His ears are tinged red, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You take the box. It’s light. When you go to open it, his cheeks flush red to match his ears, and he presses his hand on top of yours. You blink, surprised, looking up. “Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling away. “I just… I, er -” He smiles, laughs a bit sheepishly. “Do you wanna open it when I leave?”

You smile slightly, a bit amused despite your confusion. “Sure,” you say.

Harry nods. “Okay,” he says. He clears his throat, not moving, and despite yourself, you’re not mad, because it’s nice to be in his presence, to hear his voice, because you haven’t heard his voice in a while, haven’t been near enough to -

“Okay,” Harry repeats.

He leaves, and you look at the door of your room for a second, hearing the door of the apartment shut before looking down at the little black box in your hands again. It’s a jewelry box. When you open it, a little slip of paper flutters out.

It has jagged edges like it was ripped from a larger piece of paper. You recognize the handwriting from the notes Harry writes in the scripts he reads, from the thoughts he writes in the margins of the books he’s lent you.

For when every door seems locked.

Inside the box is a necklace.

The chain is delicate. Simple.

Attached is a silver pendant, in the shape of a key.

***

The next day, after you said thank you to him, and after he smiled and said you’re welcome, you stayed in the main office with him to read. It’s quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You could stay in this quiet all day.

The day after that, he’s gone for most of the day.

When he comes back, your plan to silently scold him for leaving again by ignoring him for a while crumbles because he’s watching The Notebook while he works. It’s late. You were just getting coffee, planning to hide away in your room after acquiring your dose of caffeine.

Then he gives you a soft smile and nods towards the empty side of the couch.

Come on, he says silently. You know you want to.

So you do. You can’t help it. It’s The Notebook, of course, and you can kind of just tell it’s his favorite from his small smiles at certain parts, his whispered echoes of every other line. Also, he tells you, says, “This is the best movie ever created,” as he grins over at you from the opposite end of the couch where he’s wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

It continues the next day, when he flicks on a movie during dinner and doesn’t turn it off after all the food’s away and you’re just reading on the couch. It’s just something random, but you have to bite your lip to hide your amusement at Harry’s snarky comments under his breath.

A few days later, you shouldn’t feel as satisfied as you do when he comes in to find you already on the couch, your favorite movie onscreen. He smiles at you, takes some of the chips on the coffee table, and starts reading.

Progress goes a bit more slowly once the movie watching begins. You need it, though; it’s a welcome distraction and you’d definitely go crazy without it. Letters dance after a few hours of nothing but reading in silence.

The Potential Prospects Pile on the coffee table grows, but it’s kind of just for show. You both know you’ll know it once you see it. Your interest piques whenever you see him add a booklet to a pile, though, and you flip through each one that’s added like he does.

It’s a few weeks after that first time watching The Notebook, and to your slight reluctance, you’re watching it again. You’re sitting on the floor, coffee sitting next to you, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table on top of the prospects. Harry’s on the couch, all six feet of him sprawled and taking up the entire thing.

It’s late, almost two am. You want to fall asleep - are falling asleep - but Harry only just arrived and you feel like you should stay up with him. He’d been out the entire day, doing God knows what.

“Sometimes I hate Allie,” Harry murmurs suddenly.

“Really,” you say, only half listening.

“She makes it so… unbalanced.” His voice is so low. He sounds exhausted. You look up, and you see that the play he’s reading isn’t even open - it’s closed in his hand, fingers marking his spot, hanging over the side of the couch. He’s on his side, head on his hand, eyes fluttering shut.

“What d’you mean?” you ask before you can think.

“He writes to her for a year,” he whispers. “A whole year. And she... She doesn’t.”

You shrug. “She didn’t know he was writing.”

“She should’ve written to him anyway. She said she loved him. She should’ve written, and told him again, or… or…” He fades off. “What, she should’ve run away back to him?” you ask, and Harry whispers, “Yeah.”

When you turn around again, he’s asleep. You bite your lip, and then look back at the TV.

On screen, Noah catches a glimpse Allie across the street, then sees her kiss someone else.

You open another script and take a sip of coffee.

***

Sleepless in Seattle is playing on the TV. Harry loves his romcoms.

It’s late again.

The days seem to pass so quickly, and the nights seem to drag on forever and ever. Maybe that’s because your sleep schedule is royally fucked up, but you’re mostly blaming that on Harry being out all day.

You’re sipping hazelnut coffee. It’s delicious. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not quite cold enough to be given up on. The remainders of your midnight snack - tacos - lay on the coffee table, and there’s a smear of guacamole on one of the Potentials.

The movie’s wrapping up. The elevator doors are closing. The credits begin to roll.

Sighing, you stretch for a second before turning around and resting your chin on the coffee table so you can look at Harry. The key necklace swings forward. It hangs in the space between your chest and the table, and you can feel its weight on the back of your neck. It’s comforting.

Harry’s on the couch. He’s on his back, holding his arms straight up with his elbows locked so he can read his script. His brows are furrowed, and his lip is between his teeth. He looks uncomfortable.

“I don’t know anything about you,” you whisper.

Harry meets your gaze, dropping his arms. “You know my favorite movie.”

“But not your favorite book.” You wonder what the hell you’re doing.

Harry smiles slightly. “Or, apparently, how indecisive I am. I can’t decide.”

“Are you just trying to avoid other ‘what’s your favorite’ questions?” This is the longest exchange you’ve had in weeks. “No,” Harry says, “really. I can’t decide. I’d answer all the ‘what’s your favorite’ questions you have if I could.”

“Why?”

Harry sits up, looks at the script in his lap, and shrugs. “Seems like you hate me.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” he says softly, looking at you.

His eyes are really green, you notice. Maybe it’s just the light. Or lack thereof. They sparkle in the darkness, and you kind of want to see him smile, want to make him smile, want to be the cause of those dimples so that you can see his green, green eyes light up for real.

You close your eyes and lean backwards. Now your back is on the ground, your arm over your eyes. “I think you should pay for a chiropractor for me,” you murmur. “My back’s killing me from sleeping out here all the time.”

“There’s a bed just in there,” Harry says.

“Too far away.”

“Then that back pain’s on you.”

“You’re why I’m out here in the first place.”

“No, you’re out here for the food.”

You feel yourself smile. “And the movies.”

“There you have it.”

“Still think you should pay,” you whisper.

“I pay for yours, you pay for mine.”

You close your eyes tight, bite your lip hard, because now you’re smiling even more.

“You have yourself a deal,” you say.

***

A few days, later, and you’re trying to hold your tongue again.

It’s been quiet for too long, and you’re getting uncomfortable. You’re not sure if that’s because you’re beginning to associate silence with the tremendously boring reading, or if it’s because you just don’t like silence.

Another possibility hovers in the back of your mind, one that implies that you really aren’t uncomfortable, you just want to talk with him, with Harry, the enigma sitting two feet away from you, but you don’t want to think about that, so you say something.

“You sound British,” is what comes out, even though he hasn’t spoken in hours.

It’s a few days later. Four in the morning. The TV’s quiet, no movie playing. There’s a bowl of M&Ms on the table - this guy has every snack imaginable in his little kitchen - but that’s the only distraction. You’re both on the floor this time, the coffee table pushed off to the side. He’s cross-legged, sipping tea, you’re on your stomach, eating more M&ms than probably healthy.

“Is that a compliment?” Harry asks, looking up from his script.

You eat another M&M. “Can be.”

“That’s ominous. I am. Born and raised.”

“Why’d you come here?”

“Broadway.”

You smile, turning onto your back to look at the ceiling. “How romantic.”

Harry frowns, asks, “Why?”

“Dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “There’s something sweet about that - a little boy, being absolutely entranced by plays he sees onstage… he’s enchanted, wants to be a part of it but isn’t nearly handsome enough to be an actor, so -”

“Hey!”

You look over at him. Grin. “What?”

“You don’t think I’m handsome?”

“I’ll only make that big head of yours bigger if I answer honestly.”

He smiles. Takes a sip of tea. “Nice to know.”

“Why not an actor, anyway?” you ask, looking back at the ceiling. You follow the fan with your eyes as Harry says, “Believe it or not, I prefer to be backstage.” He sighs, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him follow your gaze to the fan.

“I wanna see people’s reactions,” Harry says softly. “I like to see their faces light up at something funny… Or their tears at something sad…” He looks back down and takes an M&M out of the bowl. “The best is when somebody’s trying to hide it.” You see him smile at you, and you look at him. “When they think they’re so cool, so stoic and - and immune to the wonders of the stage…” He smiles more, fiddling with the M&M. “And then you see them break, see their reluctant laughter or their hands rush to hide their watering eyes…”

You steal the M&M he’d been playing with. “Wouldn’t you rather be the one making them feel those emotions?” He gets another M&M. “Nah. Too much work.” He eats it, finally, you watch him chew and swallow and then you look at the ceiling again.

“It’s not,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right.”

You open an eye to glare at him, and he smirks.

“I am,” you say. “You’ll have to see me some time.”

“Maybe after this mess I’ll produce a real play,” Harry murmurs. “You can star.”

You close your eyes again. “Not in one of your plays,” you hum. “Don’t want my first play back to be a flop.” You feel something against your arm, and you realize Harry had thrown an M&M at you.

You scoff. “I’m just being honest!”

“Sometimes a little white lie can be appreciated.”

“That’s not good for your ego.”

“What ego?”

“The one making you think you’re funny.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry laughs.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you whisper, “What if we never find a play?”

Harry clears his throat. “We will,” he says. He stands up, dusts off his hands, and grabs a book. You watch as he sits down in a chair and puts his legs up onto the table. “Keep looking,” he tells you quietly.

So you do.

***

A few days later, a little after lunchtime, and it’s your turn to pick the movie. It’s one of your favorites, a comfort movie at this point. You mouth along the lines with the actors, grinning madly at the television screen because it’s so perfect and you love it so much.

Harry’s not really paying attention. He’s been quiet. Normally, he’s cracking jokes, murmuring sass at the stupid scenes and sighing heavily at the dramatic ones. If it were any other movie, you’d be curious, or anxious, but not this one.

You’re not even holding a script.

Harry is, though, and you look over at him curiously as the credits start to roll.

“You okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply.

“Hey,” you say, nudging him with your foot, “are you good?”

“I think… I think this is it,” he says quietly.

Yawning, you stretch towards the ceiling. You wonder what time it is. “What’s it?”

“This is it,” Harry says, sitting up but not taking his eyes off of the script. You frown, straightening. “It’s bad?” you ask, and Harry finally looks up. He’s practically glowing, he’s so excited, and a spark of excitement rushes through you.

“It’s so bad.”

“Lemme see,” you say, standing up, but Harry’s pacing.

“Retired FBI agent Leopold Gray is suddenly being hunted down by a small town dentist named Ernest D’Angelo who thinks Gray has killed his wife. As D’Angelo chases the elderly Gray around the globe, the two slowly start to lose patience; by the end, D’Angelo has given up, and Gray is retired - again - in Bismarck, North Dakota.”

He pauses, and you frown, waiting for him to continue.

Instead, he looks up, grinning. “That’s it!” he exclaims.

You blink. “You’re kidding.” He hands the script to you, and you read over the summary, scoffing in pleased disbelief as you get to the end and see that it’s just as unsatisfactory as Harry read it to be.

“God, it’s a - it’s an action and a musical!” you laugh.

“Come on,” Harry tells you, grabbing his coat. “Look at the address on the back, tell me where we’re going.” Following him out the door, you read off the street name and number. Harry plays music in the car, but you don’t hear it.

A sliver of doubt runs through you as you get closer and closer to the address, scared to be shot down again. You shove it aside, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait on the front porch.

This guy lives in a house. His name is Richard. The house is a small stand alone, with a little yard out front. It’s gated. The paint on the door and under the windows is chipping, and the flowers in the yard are drooping and wilted.

Harry knocks on the inner door. The screen door slams shut when he pulls away.

You wait a beat, another, you’re getting nervous, and then -

BANG.

You jump a foot in the air as the screen door slams again, this time against the rail behind it, and then fear courses through you, because the guy is holding a large cast iron pan, and you’re genuinely afraid for your life.

“Who are you,” the man - Richard? - hisses, glasses sliding down a crooked nose.

Harry coughs, backing up half a step. “I - I’m Harry Styles, this is -”

You tell him your name. His eyes are beady, and there’s a single strand of graying hair on his forehead, and his fingers are trembling, and Harry says, “Please, sir, we just want to talk to you about your - your, erm - your absolutely fantastic play -”

He freezes.

“Could you put away the, um - the pan?” you ask, and it slides out of his hand.

It thuds against the floor.

“My play, huh?” he says gruffly, wiping a hand under his nose.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s - it’s absolutely ingenious.”

He stares at you for a second, and then backs up. “Come in.”

Harry looks at you, and you shrug helplessly, opening up the screen door. Richard’s already halfway through the hallway, which is dim, and if you squint, you can see cobwebs in the ceiling. You follow Richard until he stops in a living room and sits in a creaky sitting chair.

Richard glares at you. “What about my play.”

“We want to put it on the stage,” Harry says.

“Why.”

You clear your throat. “Because it deserves to be seen.”

“I think so, too,” Richard says. His glasses are slipping down his nose.

Slowly, Harry pulls the documents out of his bag. “If you sign here,” he says, patiently, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, or perhaps a wild animal, or maybe a criminal about to kill somebody, “thousands of people will see your play.”

“Thousands,” Richard echos, his eyes widening.

“Thousands,” you confirm, lying. Harry gently slides the papers, along with a pen, towards Richard on the glass table between the easy chair where Richard’s sitting and the sofa where you and Harry are.

“You’ll be praised in every newspaper,” Harry says, also lying.

Richard picks up the pen. He looks down at the papers. The place where he’s to sign is highlighted in yellow. He’s looking down, and his glasses are at the very tip of his nose. You wonder what would happen if they slid off his face completely, or if he’d notice.

After an awkward moment as Richard just stares at the papers, he begins to sign.

“My mother will love me again,” he whispers.

You look at Harry.

Harry looks at you.

“Make me proud,” Richard says hoarsely, and you and Harry both look to Richard, who’s holding the papers out. You see a single tear roll down Richard’s cheek. “Thank you so much!” Harry exclaims, and then he grabs your hand and practically sprints out of the house and into the car.

“Floor it, floor it,” you rush, and Harry speeds away.

As soon as he turns a corner so Richard’s house is out of eyesight, he pulls the car over, parking for a second. “Okay,” he breathes, palms flat against the top of the steering wheel, “what the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea,” you reply, laughter bubbling out of you.

“Oh, my God,” Harry says incredulously, laughing too, and for a second, all you can do is laugh, because that was so surreal and you’re not quite sure how else to react. “I hope we never have to deal with that again,” you say as your laughter dies down.

“Christ, he’s fucking insane.”

“Harry, our cause of death could have been a frying pan.”

“No wonder his mum doesn’t love him!”

“Shit, this play better bomb,” you giggle, and Harry pulls onto the road again.

“We gotta do something,” he says. “To celebrate.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

Harry glances at you, and smiles. “I know just the place.”

***

You haven’t been out in forever.

Harry’s music is great - calming, quiet, mellow. The entire atmosphere of the apartment is like that. Everything’s quiet, with a layer of comfort over it. That’s not bad, of course, but it does mean that the club Harry’s just taken you to is a little more than a shock to your system.

This music pounds in your ears, thrumming in your chest and in your stomach, pulsing in your hand where it meets Harry’s. He’s leading you through the crowd, and when he turns around to grin at you, he’s glowing.

He says something, you can see his lips move, but you can’t hear him.

“What?” you shout, and he stops for a second, but you don’t, and you’re suddenly bumping into him, pushed flush against him by the moving crowd around you. Smoothly, his hand slides down to your waist, holding you tight, grounding you.

You can feel his breath on your skin, his fingers digging gently into your hips. He’s everywhere, flooding your senses. The fabric of his suit jacket is warm under your fingers, his cheek so near you’d be kissing him if you were any closer.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says, right next to your ear.

You feel yourself shiver, and you nod because you don’t trust your voice.

Suddenly he’s moving again, and then you’re through the crowd and landing at the bar, and you’re breathless, and he’s flush-faced and happy and you feel yourself smiling because he’s smiling, and then he’s ordering something and you’re not sure what it is.

On three, you see him say when the shot glasses appear in front of you.

And on three, whatever it is slides down your throat, burning a trail to your stomach and lighting you up from the inside. The music is deafening. You love it. Harry’s beaming, and he clinks his next glass against yours before downing it as you do.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Harry leans forward, and you lean into him, and you’re smiling blissfully, you’d kiss him if he let you, and he says, right into your ear, “You alright?” You laugh and nod and tell him, “Never been better.”

Time begins to blur, and your head’s fuzzy as hell not just from the alcohol but from Harry’s intoxicating presence and the thud of the bass in the music. You find yourself in the bathroom, a while later, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

You look different. Good different. You giggle and lean forward, inspecting yourself, and then sigh and stumble backwards against a wall. It’s much quieter in here, and you can breathe for a second, and can kind of hear your thoughts through the muddle of your mind.

After a while, you wonder where Harry is, and walk out of the restroom to search for him. “Harry,” you sing out, your voice drowned by the music and people. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” you call, just for the fun of it.

“Harry, Harry, Har -”

You freeze.

You recognize his hair, and the jacket he was wearing, and the rings on his hand, which is holding someone else’s hand above their head, against a wall. He’s close to them, lips against their neck. It’s a girl. She’s grinning euphorically, eyes closed. You can see her laughing, chin tilting upwards as Harry whispers something into her ear.

“Oh,” you say, out loud, even though you can’t hear yourself.

You can’t move. Your brain’s stuck.

When he moves, his arm slides around her waist, and he’s leading her out of the building. He looks over his shoulder before they reach the door, and sees you. He falters, and a spark of hope flashes through you before he just grins and winks and keeps walking and your heart falls back down into your stomach.

You see his fingers linger against the door as he guides it shut from the outside.

Oh, you think, silently, blinking back something that feels suspiciously like tears even though… why? You rub at your eyes, frowning at yourself, walking away, because why on earth would your - friend? roommate? coworker? - why would Harry getting laid suddenly make you cry? That’s ridiculous.

You collapse at the bar.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Somebody’s smirking at you. They’re pretty good looking. You sniffle, then smile back.

There’s nothing more ridiculous than crying over Harry getting laid.

They start to come over, and hurriedly, you blink away the tears in your eyes.

He wouldn’t cry if you were getting some.

They’re smiling at you. You bite your lip, letting your eyes trail over their body.

Not if - he won’t cry when you get some.

You say yes when they ask to buy you a drink.

Yeah, no, he won’t cry when you get some. Tonight.

You lean into their kiss, open-eyed. They’ve got some pretty green eyes.

It’s not like you can go back to the apartment, anyway.

***

“Charles Cartwright,” Harry reads off the list in front of him.

“Double ‘c,’” you say.

“Hope his middle name is Carter.”

“Or Chris.”

“Cole?”

“Cooper…”

You watch as Harry sighs, setting the stack of papers down onto his desk again. He doesn’t sit there a lot, behind the huge mahogany desk at the back of the room with the giant leather spinny chair.

“We’re never gonna get anything done,” Harry says, looking down at the list.

You shrug. “We have tomorrow.”

“Said that yesterday.”

“All these people sound like bastards, anyway,” you mutter, spinning the paper around on the desk so you can look at the names. “Yeah, that’s why they’re wasting money investing on my plays,” Harry mutters back.

The list is very long, a whole stack of crisp white printer paper with a cover page and a shiny black binder clip holding it together. Enumerated neatly on the left side are what seems like thousands of names, all previous investors of Harry’s various plays. Phone numbers and addresses sit under the names, along with emails and other pertinent information.

“We’ll go for Mary Sanders first,” Harry says decisively after a second, clearing his throat. “She loves me.” You look up at him, an eyebrow raised, and he rolls his eyes. “I look exactly like her son,” he says, “who hates her. So she’ll do anything for me.”

“Fun,” you say.

“Very. Tanner Smith, however…” He points his name out at the bottom of the third page. “He’s just fucked up. Batshit crazy. He hates me, but liked my old, erm - the company manager, so he chipped in for something I did with - with her.”

“Great.”

“Excited to meet Mr. Smith?” Harry asks with a wry smile, sliding a manila folder over to you. “Can’t wait,” you say, flipping the folder open. There’s a picture of a scowling man in wireframe glasses. “Wow,” you add, shuffling through the ten or so pages in the folder. “This is… a lot.”

Harry shrugs. “Most of it’s just financial details, but there’s a” - he reaches forward, slides a single page out to the front - “page on personal stuff. Don’t mention his wife, but we’ll definitely mention hockey.”

“Hockey?”

“He sponsors his grandson’s minor league team,” Harry tells you, rolling his eyes. “It’s all these entitled little rich boys who flip him off behind his back. He thinks he’s doing God’s work.” You snicker, scanning the document.

“They have games every Saturday,” Harry says, and you look at your phone. It’s Wednesday. Harry goes on, “I usually ambush him there,” and then frowns. “It usually doesn’t work.” His frown turns into a smile as he looks at you. “But maybe this time it will.”

“Making me feel a little used here, Styles.”

“Well, you’re using me for money, too, so don’t get all high and mighty on me.”

You sigh. “Are you really gonna take me to a hockey game?”

“Consider it our first date,” Harry says, smirking.

“Better buy me flowers, then.”

Harry smiles. “A whole bouquet. That’s Saturday, though. We’ll go for Miss Mary today.”

“Have a file on her?”

In response, he slides another manila folder from a filing cabinet behind him. This one’s a lot thicker, double the size of the last. “I’m a little creeped out,” you say, hesitantly opening the folder and peeking inside.

“Don’t be,” Harry replies. “She’s, erm - quite the chatterbox. This was all given consensually, I promise…” There’s a picture of Miss Mary herself on top of the papers, and then a picture of a young man next to her.

The young man is very good looking. Dashing. Green eyes, dark hair, a charming smile.

You look up at Harry and then back down at the picture.

“Nicholas,” Harry says. “Her son.” He poses for you. “See the resemblance?”

“If I squint,” you say with a shrug.

“He’s a lawyer.”

“Good for him.”

“Married,” Harry sighs. “A kid on the way. He lives in San Francisco. Drinks kale juice.”

“Damn.”

“I know,” Harry says, almost wistfully. “Imagine that.”

You scoff a laugh, brows raised. “No, Styles, I’m surprised that you know all of that, not that it’s - unimaginable.” Harry frowns at you. “Like I said! Mary’s a chatterbox. Not my fault she calls me to give me an update on her perfect son every week.”

“Je-sus. Every week.”

“More or less,” Harry says. He stands up and stretches. “Study up, we’ll leave in ten.”

***

He’s a natural.

You can tell from the moment he walks into the little flower-covered house that he’s got her wrapped around his little finger. “Oh, Harry, darling,” Mary coos, patting his cheek and linking her arm with his. She doesn’t even notice you, just leads Harry into the house. “I have biscuits in the kitchen, dearie, come on, come on.”

Attempting to disentangle himself from her, Harry starts, “Mrs. Sanders -”

“Mary, dear, you know that,” Mary interrupts cheerfully, pausing for just a second in the hallway. You hover in the doorway, but Mary goes on, “Oh, and I have that dreadful kale and carrot juice you love, too!”

You make a face at Harry, and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s Nicholas, Mrs. Sanders,” Harry mutters.

“Oh, of course,” Mary says absently, and she rubs his arms before starting into the house again. Harry sighs, and you watch his jaw clench in frustration as he gently places a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary, I have a guest.”

“A guest!” Mary sputters, turning to look at you, still standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” you say.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Mary gasps to Harry, smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand. Harry winces. “He’s terribly impolite, isn’t he, sweetie,” Marry says disapprovingly. “What’s your name, then?”

You introduce yourself, Mary hugs you, and Harry shrugs at you over her shoulder.

“Come in, come in!” Mary exclaims when she finally pulls away. “I have biscuits and tea in the kitchen, you won’t have any of Harry dear’s terrible juice.” Behind her back, Harry throws his hands up exasperatedly.

“Okay, Mrs. Sanders,” you say, biting back a smile at Harry’s dramatics.

“It’s Mary, dear, please,” she tells you, leading you into the kitchen.

Harry closes the door behind her, then follows behind you.

“Sure, then, Mary,” you say with a smile, and she pinches your cheek. When you arrive in the kitchen, there is in fact a plate of cookies on the table and one teacup. Another cup, this one tall and clear, is set across the teacup, filled with a thick, scary looking green substance.

“Sit, sit,” Mary orders, pulling another teacup from a cabinet.

You do. Harry sits next to you, inspecting the juice with a disgusted look on his face.

“I do hope chamomile is alright,” Mary says, pouring some into the teacup that sits in front of you. “More than alright,” you say, closing your eyes as you breathe in the comforting steam happily. When you open your eyes, Harry is glaring at you over his kale juice.

You smile at him sweetly, then turn to Mary. “So, Mary,” you begin, “I’ve heard you’ve helped Harry here with his plays in the past.” Mary nods, hands wrapped around her own cup of tea. “Yes, I have. Quite the talented one, he is. He’ll be a force to be reckoned with once he finally decides what he wants to do with his life!”

“It’s this,” Harry says in a halfhearted way that makes you think they’ve gone through this many times before. “I’m a producer. That’s what I want to do with my life.” Mary chuckles, patting his cheek again. “Okay, dearie.”

You clear your throat. “Well, about this play…”

“Oh, yes, yes, what’s this one about?”

“It’s about an FBI agent,” Harry says. “It’s very adventurous.”

“Adventurous!” Mary echoes gleefully.

Harry smiles. “Yes. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Your eyes widen as Mary rifles around in her purse and then comes out with a checkbook. “I certainly will!” she says happily. Her handwriting is elegant, flowing from her black fountain pen and onto the check with graceful ease.

“I have an appointment at two, darlings, so you’ll have to excuse me,” Mary tells you, handing Harry the check. “But I do adore seeing you, love, so come back soon!” Harry slides the check into his pocket, and you stand up as he does, following him to kiss Mary on the cheek.

“Bye, now, Mary,” he says. “See you soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mary,” you say, and Mary smiles at you. “And you too, dearie. You better come back soon, too, promise me.” You nod, and she looks at Harry. “And pick up the phone, Harry.”

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but she goes on, “You’ve been dodging my calls, love, don’t bother denying it.” She glances at you and winks. “Maybe it’s because of this one. Try and take a break from each other every now and then, you hear me? Young love is important but so am I.”

Harry looks about as red as a tomato. “We’ll see you later, Mary,” he says hurriedly, and he grabs your hand to lead you out, which probably doesn’t help with Mary’s assumption. “Bye, Mary!” you call.

“Sorry about that,” Harry mutters once you’re outside, letting go of your hand.

“Seem a bit flustered,” you laugh.

Harry rolls his eyes as he opens the car and gets in. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t deny it, though.

“‘s not worth it,” Harry sighs as he starts the engine.

You reach over and pat his cheek like Mary, grinning. “Whatever you say, Styles.”

~*~

aaaaand that's chapter one! hope you liked it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be much appreciated <333

masterlist | ask | next chapter >>

[fanficparker]

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER SIX

“They agreed with each other violently and disagreed with each other pleasurably.” - A Suitable Boy, Seth

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.13k words

Warning: Swearing, guns, knives.

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

<< FIVE [ MASTERLIST ] SEVEN >>

"Who let you enter my private study?"

Harrison asked, stopping with one step inside his office, fixing the watch on his wrist. His eyes focused on the uninvited guest.

"My ability to walk." A smirk played over Sandhya's lips as she flipped a page in the file she was holding, twirling the ball pen between her fingers. The base of the pen rested below her lip as she lifted her eyelid to catch a glimpse of Harrison's irritable face. And damn he indeed was irritated.

"No one comes here without my permission." He hissed, striding into the centre of the room, staring at her furtively until his gaze landed on the other parts of his office. His office was a mess. Not anywhere near how he left it. His file cabinet was open and at least twenty files were lying on the sofa and a few over his desk. There were two on Sandhya's lap as she sat with her legs crossed over each other, leaning back leisurely in one of the chairs, skimming through the papers. An empty plate and a coffee mug were also sitting on his desk. The mug wasn't even placed over a coaster. He could even see some bread crumbs scattered on the wood.

He barely managed to not lash out at her, clenching his fists. Drawing in a shallow breath, he opened his mouth in an attempt to reason with her but she was the first one to speak.

"Can you log into the system? I need to look up something." She pointed the tip of the pen at the computer placed on his desk. Her voice was far from that of requesting even if she framed it as a question.

Harrison's brows pinched, "Are you serious?!" His voice sounded so pitchy, almost resembling a train wreck about to happen.

"Yes."

That's all? His stomach rumbled with anger. She didn't even look up at him. That bland yes twisted like a snake in his gut. He was past taking orders, especially from her. So, he walked up to her, swallowing his building rage and snatched the file she was holding.

"Hey!" She squealed, trying to take it back as he pushed it over his head and out of her reach.

She rose from the chair, about to grab it when he dropped the file on the floor behind his back, scattering the papers.

"Why would you--"

"Because it's my office and those are my files! And fucking," he seethed, trying to keep his voice casual, lifting the mug from the table, "We don't eat in the study, let alone dump the scraps on the desk. Also, you didn't even use a coaster!" He groaned upon noticing the ring the liquid left on the wood before he settled the mug again on the table, only this time there was a coaster beneath it.

Her eyebrows pulled together, disbelief roaring through her head, "You are worried about the coaster--"

"The white oak---"

"The uncle was murdered in this house and the nephew is more interested in coffee stains." She squinted her eyes, shaking her head.

Harrison bit back a groan. Her words had managed to flip his stomach. He sighed keeping his conduct civil.

"As much as I am curious about Clarke's mysterious death," he spoke as calmly as he could, meeting her eyes, "We aren't even sure if he was murdered in the first place."

"You gotta be kidding me!"

"I am not kidding you!" He bit back, "And anyway, get out of here. I don't like outsiders touching my stuff," he shifted his gaze to the side, hands folded across his chest.

She scoffed, almost scornfully. "Says the one who had no problem sleeping together."

Harrison's neck snapped at the words, his temper reaching new heights. Gritting his teeth, he took a step forward, looking down at her face. "If I had known it was you, I would have never--"

"Exactly!" She snapped, "You didn't know who you were sleeping with, how do I ensure you know about the people working here?"

"That's bullshit."

Sandhya exhaled, failing to reason with him. It was harder than she had expected. So, she tried the gentler way, trying to make her words sound closer to a request, "I need you to give me access to your computer." For no avail--

"What made you think I would do that? You have already seen enough." His hands dropped from his chest and she fought back the urge to roll her eyes.

The last attempt at asking and being gentle, "Look Harrison," her voice was sweeter as if she had accepted her defeat, moving to the last resort, "You have already ruined my Plan A and now I need to know about certain things to come up with a Plan B."

"You really think you're some kind of mastermind in planning? Don't you?"

"Harrison, that was my job back then--"

"Oh. I thought your job was to seduce strangers and sleep with them." He didn't hesitate but when the words finally parted his lips, he noticed the light in her eyes dimming for a brief second, the little grin on her lips fading. His heart thumped in his throat. Perhaps, he went too far.

But what he said wasn't a lie. Perhaps, it was okay. He didn't care anyway, yet his eyes moved to her neck, somewhere-anywhere, away from her face.

Those scars on her throat fell into his line of sight. Fine red lines, shallow, peeking off from her pink hoodie. He hadn't paid much attention before but she looked cute in the outfit, a way he had never expected her to look. Her expression defied the notion though, driving his brain back to the thick air that engulfed them.

Her hand came to cover her throat, gently rubbing across the marks. He swallowed. His eyes flickered back to hers and she averted her gaze to the side. Probably, that was the closest he would ever get at marking her.

He was waiting for a reply, a sharp hit back. Instead, the air between them seemed to hum quietly. Harrison had hit the mark so blatantly, Sandhya didn't even bother refuting it. And that somehow bothered him.

She tore her gaze from him, turning on her heel. He felt the urgent need to cut the silence.

"I don't support the idea of a murderer walking among us." He spoke slowly.

He heard her sigh heavily.

"Well enough," she made up her mind, walking away from him and picking up the file, he had previously dropped, "You live in your protected shell, dreaming about sunshine and rainbows while someone stabs you in your sleep," her voice was still without heat or anger, "But you know what..."

She turned to face him again, eyes hardening, "I don't want to die or lose what I have earned so, I'm going to do something about it."

"Good luck." He muttered, eyes never leaving her figure as she stormed off the room.

***

The day was heavy on Sandhya. Checking up all the records of the people Clarke had ever worked with was more time consuming than she had thought, especially considering how her initial plan of dividing the work with Harrison went amiss.

She had navigated through whatever documents he had in his room, along with Clarke's and had taken the help of Holly to get access to their server. It would have been nicer to have her in person than on a phone but she was indeed helpful, although, Sandhya hadn't found anything game-changing. There was at least a compact list of people she had her suspicions on, though.

The library was bigger than what it appeared from afar. Probably they could shoot a Jurassic Park movie in here. Or Night at the Museum or library or whatever. She had laughed at the thought. She had also walked through all three tiers of the magnificent space, analyzing the delicately carved rosewood shelves carrying books older than time. They even had some of the original manuscripts of the classics. Unbelievable.

But now she was tired. It was over six hours, she was sitting there, skimming through all the information she could get her hands on. The mob business was full of mischief. Interacting with people you should definitely keep a six feet distance from was customary .

She sighed, shutting the library computer and keeping the files aside. Untying her hair and pressing her fingers against the pulsing side of her head, she tried to relax. A gasp left her lips. She bet she saw a shadow move outside.

Her heart stopped for a moment when the lights flickered. There was definitely someone who shouldn't be here.

Slowly, carefully, she rose from her seat, ducking down the table. Then she heard it. Footsteps. She scrambled forward, keeping low, hiding behind a pillar, drawing the knife from her clothes. She waited and waited, breathing through her nose. But no one came for her. And then it hit her.

They could be here for Harrison.

She risked a peek, looking outside the library. There was still no one in sight. The alleyway seemed dark, dead; enough to accelerate her pulse. She climbed down the stairs, one foot at a time, letting her eyes wander around the hall. Stopping and hiding behind an intersected wall, she saw it: A guy in all black, twisting the knob to Harrison's room, the haft helpless in the vice of his grip. He entered inside.

Sandhya swallowed. Her throat felt dry. She only had a knife on herself right now. Protecting Harrison at all costs was a requisite. Even when he was an insufferable jerk.

He was a team.

And she hated teamwork.

She also hated jerks.

Harrison turned in his sleep, lying over the left side of his body, hugging the silk sheets that covered him. His room was pitch black, with curtains all drawn shut. He preferred sleeping in the dark and maybe that was the reason why the silver light shining over his thin eyelids discomforted him. He wasn't a heavy sleeper and little sounds managed to bother him.

He had somehow grown accustomed to the noise his clock made. His mind erratically jumped between disconnected, unwanted thoughts whenever he sensed other sounds in his proximity. Sounds that didn't match the rhythm of his clock.

Noises of shallow breathing.

Noises of out of tune footfalls.

Out of tune...

His eyes flew open, wide, fixed on the dagger that stood three feet above his chest, reflecting the minimal amount of light his window shades failed to conceal.

He tried to kick off his sheets but the dagger lunged forward swiftly like a wild animal. He squirmed, unable to move, waiting for the impact. Only that he never felt the object pierce his body. The guy groaned, his steps faltering backwards.

Harrison unspooled himself from the sheets, quickly switching on the lamp. Leaping from the bed, hands first, he landed on his toes, squatting.

Sandhya's arms were crossed around the guy's neck from the back. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she tried to push him back.

"Don't just stand there!" She cried, struggling to hold the big guy as she pulled him backwards, pressing her forearms against his throat.

Harrison shook his head, jumping forward. His heart pounded in his chest as he hit the man over his shoulder. The guy with his face blocked out with a black woollen mask, wailed, stumbling on his feet. He slammed Sandhya's back against the window, dropping both his weapon and the whimpering girl on the floor.

Harrison tried to catch him but he ran, pushing him back, storming off the door. His eyes roamed at the door and then at Sandhya. He sighed, giving out his hand. Grabbing it, she pulled herself on her feet.

"Don't say it." He mumbled, jutting his tongue out of his compressed lips.

"Told you so." She said anyway, voice so low that only he could hear, flashing him a small grin, more of a grimace, actually. His own mouth twisted but then his eye caught the sight of his window, the shades drawn away because of the rustling. His slight frown turned into a scowl.

"Watch out--" He grabbed Sandhya by her waist, pulling her down with him, capturing her body beneath his as a gunshot blasted the window of his room, crashing, shattering the glass over them.

A moment passed in silence as they tried catching up their breath.

"Are we even?" He mouthed, manoeuvring his eye line back up to her face. She was horrified, her chest rising and falling.

"We'll see..."

____________________

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…TO BE CONTINUED… // COMMENTS WILL BE APPRECIATED.

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Tags: @parkerpeter24 // @its-a-leap-of-faith-kid //@softholand // @annathesillyfriend // @harryhollandsgirlfriend // @miraclesoflove // @thenoddingbunny-blog // @samhollandscupcake // @brokenwhiteboyy // @spidereader //

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Little Letters

Stiles likes to leave little love notes in Derek’s pockets. He never writes his name on them, but he doesn’t have to; Derek knows who writes them.

For @kirjastorotta​

(You can also read it on AO3, here)

The first time it happened, Derek was a little confused.

He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for his phone, but as he pulled it out, a folded piece of paper fell out of his pocket and onto the ground.

Derek bent over and picked it up.

He unfolded the note and read it.

Every day that you’re here you make the world a better place.

He felt a warmth blossom in his chest, his cheeks flushed with a rosy pink blush. He bit into his lower lip, trying to his the soft smile that crept onto his lips.

There wasn’t a name at the bottom, or anywhere on the note, but there didn’t need to be; he knew who had written the note. He knew the messy, chicken-scratch handwriting. He knew the scent that clung to the paper. But what stuck him as odd was that he never questioned it.

He folded the note up again and carefully slid it back into his pocket.

- - -

Derek hunched his shoulders as the icy breeze rolled by. He shoved his hands into his pockets. His heart skipped a beat as his fingers brushed against something cold and smooth.

He pulled it out of his pocket, letting out a sigh of relief as he looked down at the folded piece of paper. He carefully unfolded it, reading the chicken-scratch handwriting.

Are you made of Copper and Tellurium?

Because you’re

Cu Te

Derek couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, bowing his head as he tried to hide the smile that played across his lips.

At the bottom of the paper—hastily written to fit in the space at the bottom of the note—was a second message:

Seriously though, you look good today.

Derek smiled, carefully folding up the note and sliding it back into his pocket.

- - -

Derek let out a deep sigh as he stepped into the loft, dragging his feet across the polished concrete floors. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the end of the bed, halting when he heard a quiet crinkle, the sound muffled by the fabric of his jacket.

He stepped back over to his bed, digging into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out the folded piece of scrap paper.

He carefully unfurled it, looking down at the scrawls of ink across the page.

Smile for six seconds and then turn this note over.

Derek’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked down at the note in confusion.

He half-shrugged and followed the instructions, letting a smile turn up the corners of his mouth. He held the smile, counting away the seconds.

He turned the note over.

Your smile is beautiful.

Derek let out a quiet laugh, his smile softening into something more genuine.

He let out a quiet chuckle as he walked back over to his desk and opened the drawer. He pulled out an old leather-bound copy of Watership Down that was wrapped in black leather that had been embossed with gold lettering and a picture of a rabbit down the spine and another illustration of a rabbit embossed on the cover.

Derek opened the cover, stowing the note away inside with all the other letters that had been left for him.

Beneath all the notes, a message was written on the faded paper in his mother’s elegant handwriting.

Happy birthday, my darling.

Love always,

Mum.

xx

Derek looked down at the message for a little while. He let out a soft sigh before carefully rearranging the notes and scraps of paper that he had hidden inside of the book.

He looked down at the notes with a fond smile before carefully closing the cover and setting the old book back down in his desk drawer.

- - -

Derek let out a weak groan as he rolled over, blinking his eyes open. The golden light of morning streamed through the wall of windows that lined the loft.

He pushed himself up, pulling back the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He rose to his feet, hastily making his bed before making his way towards the bathroom.

His feet slowed to a halt as he crossed the loft, something in his peripheral vision catching his attention.

He turned, looking at the note that was taped to the window.

“If this is a threat, it’s too damn early for this shit,” Derek muttered to himself as he dragged his feet across the floor and over to the window.

He snatched the letter from the window, blinking heavily to clear the sleep from his eyes. He looked down at the paper.

When you smile, the sun hides in shame because it knows it cannot shine as bright as you.

He let out a quiet laugh, feeling his mood brighten as he stood in the warmth of the sunlight that streamed through the window.

His smile turned up the corners of his lips as he read the letter over again before lifting his gaze and watching as the sky lit up with brilliant colours as dawn broke over Beacon Hills.

He stayed like that for a while before a thought struck him.

The smile fell from his face as he looked from the note to the window.

“How did you…?” He let the question die off, shaking his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

- - -

“Where’s my phone?” Derek muttered to himself as he patted down the pockets of his jeans.

He heard something crackle as he patted his back pocket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He reached into the pocket and pulled out the piece of folded paper.

“How?” Derek asked, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer—regardless, he had to admit, he was impressed.

He unfolded the note and read the message,

If life were a garden of flowers, I’d pick you.

Derek snorted as he struggled to smother his laugh.

He let chuckled as he looked down at the hastily drawn illustrations of blossoming daisies and delicate dandelions at the bottom of the note.

Derek couldn’t help himself. He lifted the note to his face and inhaled the scent that clung to the paper.

Every nerve in his body was ignited, a rush of warmth flowing through his veins before a wave of calm washed over him.

A faint smile turned up the corners of his lips.

- - -

There are some days when everything gets to be too much for him to handle, when it feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and he doesn’t have the strength to carry it.

He paced back and forth across the loft, drawing in measured breaths as he tried to ignore the deafening voices in his head; thoughts and emotions crashing over him like waves breaking on a rocky shore.

His heart hammered against his ribs, his chest tightening as he fought to hold back his tears.

Something in his peripheral vision caught his attention, a small piece of white paper sitting on the small table by the door.

Derek’s brows knitted together as he frowned in confusion. He didn’t remember leaving anything there; the shopping list was pinned on the fridge and the reminder to call Cora was on his bedside table.

He crossed over to the small table and picked up the note, feeling a sense of calmness still his racing thoughts and turbulent emotions as he looked down at the familiar handwriting.

In a hundred lifetimes, in a thousand worlds, in a million versions of reality—I’d find you and I’d choose you.

Derek held the note tight. His vision began to blur into streaks of colour and light as tears welled in his eyes. Tears trailed down his cheeks, glistening as they caught the light.

His legs weakened beneath him as he slumped down on the couch, his hands trembling as he held onto the note.

He knew he was important. He knew he was loved. But looking down at that note, for the first time in a long time, he felt it.

- - -

The pack often spent time together at the loft. If they weren’t coming together for pack meetings or fighting off the latest supernatural threat, they were gathered in the lounge room, surrounded by text books and notes books, studying or helping each other with their homework.

Erica and Lydia sat up on the sofa, sitting cross-legged and facing each other, their books spread across the cushions in front of them. Boyd sat on the floor beside Erica, leaning back against the couch. Isaac sat beside him, hunched over a text book and scowling in confusion. Jackson sat on one of the arm chairs, his legs hanging over the side as he sat his notebook against his thighs and worked through his homework.

Scott and Allison sat on the far side of the coffee table, sitting atop throw cushions they’d scavenged from the couch and talking through their Chemistry homework.

Stiles sat at the other end of the coffee table, sitting in the space between Lydia’s end of the couch and the arm chair that Derek sat in – reading. He was juggling different highlighters—green, yellow and red—blocks of text in his books coloured as he worked through his method.

He switched between his text books and his notebooks, flipping through pages upon pages of scrawled notes, brightly coloured highlighting, and messy writing.

Derek glanced up from his book, looking down at the notebook Stiles held.

His mind darted back to the last note he’d been left.

Derek reached over to the end table, picking up the notepad and pen that sat beside the phone. He quickly wrote something down, tearing the paper from the pad before setting the pen and notepad aside.

He set his book aside and leant forward, dropping the note into Stiles’ lap.

“I’m going to get dinner,” Derek said, rising to his feet.

Stiles picked up the note and read the elegant cursive handwriting.

His face lit up with a bright smile as he read the note, his dark eyes turning to pools of gold as they caught the light.

He looked up at Derek, his face one of surprise and bashfulness as a smile played across his lips.

A small smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips as he met Stiles’ gaze, his sweet smile turning to a smug smirk as he turned to leave.

Stiles looked back down at the note, reading it over again.

I’d choose you too.

[bubblyani]

Bail Out : 07

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi Chapter Series

Chapter 07: Apologies & Decisions

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault.  However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne,  surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your  choices in life, career, and in love.

Word Count: 10k +

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Swearing and (Surprise!!)

Author’s Note: Haha Long Chapter, Yay! Needed a small break, but I’m back. Hopefully I can post weekly again. Gonna work hard for that cause I love writing this so much. Enjoy!

CHAPTER LIST HERE

In your head, gratitude morphed into the form of Alfred Pennyworth almost a million times whilst you stood before the stainless steel letterboxes in the apartment building lobby. Aside from graciously stopping by an ATM machine, Alfred was considerately patient when you took the opportunity to grab a carton of milk and a few envelops as well. This, when it came to your assigned duties as a roommate and friend, Alfred Pennyworth was your savior for the night.

Inserting the money filled envelop into the specified box, you prayed the farewell party would be a success. “Oh! Señora Hernandez...” you muttered to yourself with a soft chuckle, “ I almost died for you today”.

Given her previous call of concern, you expected Allison to show you what real dramatic worrying was all about. Instead, you did find her, sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

Though she sloppily slept on her side, with her mouth open, she managed to carry it adorably, all the whole the light of the television washed over her figure. Smiling, you entrusted your tip toes to guide you to and from the bedroom, only to bring a throw blanket for your friend. Covering her with it, you were suddenly fully appreciative of all the little joys that were presented to all in life. You were grateful, once again.

Speaking of gratitude, the phone vibrated, sending signals to your face, tempting you to smile from ear to ear as you opened the text from Bruce Wayne, your savior, the object of your desire:

Can’t sleep.

You chuckled, biting your lower lip. All the sudden, it came to realization how those two simple words carried so much more weight with all the variety of meaning. There entailed softness, excitement, a smile that would not wash off your face, and a sudden throbbing inside full of possibilities. Turning the television off, you floated over to your bedroom as your fingers expertly formed a reply:

Well I can. In fact, think I’ll take a sick day tomorrow.

Considering you hardly take any days off, this was a certainly bold move indeed. If almost getting killed by strangulation and bleeding doesn’t suffice as valid reasons, then what would?

Kicking your shoes off, you sank into bed, exhausted to do anything else but to stare at the screen longingly as he responded:

You deserve it

You may have been in your lonesome in your room, yet you had never felt this shy. Even the simplest of words suddenly tempted you to smile your troubles away. Heavens, you could literally hear his voice in your head. That voice of his, so kind, so soothing, rousing in every way. Greed suddenly begged to crawl its way back into your head, so you could long for him passionately. More importantly, greed even offered to bring in desire along, all so you would be free to long for his heavenly lips on yours once again. You missed them already, even a few minutes later. Finally, a new drug addicts frustration was relatable to you. The memory of that wonderful first kiss, it felt powerful enough to inject you with intoxication, forcing your eyelids to grow heavy as you proceeded to type:

Th-

Except your heart seemed more inclined to sink into that memory once more, releasing you from any form of control as you sank into that intoxication.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As your eyelids slowly managed to open a few millimetres, it was clear that the intoxication had vanished. However, it managed to carry you over to witness the golden rays of morning. Opening them fully, you found a figure similar to Allison standing before you.

“Ali?” You mumbled sleepily, “Wha-?”

Pausing, you realized you had difficulty moving your lips freely, for your phone rested on your face.

Not only that, you also discovered how your roommate was stood there with her phone, dressed in her work clothes and a rather mischievous smile. Your seemingly goofy confused expression brought Allison hearty laughter.

“Oh my-!” She kept laughing, “You should have seen your face, Sweetie!”

She added, as the shutter sounds played rapidly from her phone, possibly from taking photos. Groaning with with chuckle, you turned away from her to the side, your phone sliding off your face as you covered it shyly.

“Shit! I should have gotten a video…” You heard her say, recovering from her laughter, until she gasped, “Wait! aren’t you working today?”

“Taking a day off” your tone remained muffled with your face pressed against the pillow. Putting her phone away, Allison chuckled.

“Oooooh…” as she rubbed her hands together, “Someone had a wild night last night?” “Mmm….You could say that” Clapping her hands together, Allison began, “Alright sweetie, Imma head out” she said, heading out of your room,  “ So I’LL DIG THAT DIRT ON YA LATER…” her voice echoed, followed by naughty laughter as the apartment door closed shut behind her.

Silence. With complete silence finally being in your ownership, you slowly sat up. You stretched, you yawned, all before you sleepily waddled over to the bathroom. Gasping loudly as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, did you truly realize the intensity of your injuries from last night.

Body getting sweaty with panic, you quickly stripped yourself from the hoodie, leaning on the sink as you observed your neck. It was simply a canvas, filled with the detailed colors of smothering, strangle marks evident in their dark maroon. You shuddered loudly, for a split second, it did not seem to look like your own. You felt disgusted, you felt sorry for yourself. Studying your right wrist, the wrapped bandage was another reminder, of the pain and the struggle for your life, all the while you almost bumped heads with the Grim Reaper, who came in the form of Alpha. Under the fluorescent light, you appeared lifeless. You needed a bath, you needed a proper hot meal.

“Sweetie…looks like I messed up the times. I have the night shift toni-”

Allison’s voice crashed in to the bathroom, stopping the very moment she caught the sight of you turning to her with surprise.

“Hey! Wassup?”

You blurted over-enthusiastically. Standing in just your tank top and leggings, you quickly found yourself covering your neck. However, given her furrowed eyebrows, Allison was not amused. In fact, she was quite far from it.

“What the hell are those?”

She inquired, pointing directly at your neck. You shrugged innocently. “Nothing...” You murmured. Pressing her lips together, she quickly dropped her handbag down, which alarmed you. For that move was nothing new to you. She was simply angered.

“Sweetie, I can fucking see them…” Allison yelled with frustration, “What the hell is going on?” She added, voice shaken soon after.

Being your trusted friend for simply ages, Allison Hughs was certainly no fool. You sighed heavily, not knowing where to even begin. With your hands on your hips, amidst the speedy heartbeat, you offered a somber reply:

“You’re gonna need to sit down for this” 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“So let me get this straight...” Allison finally began, whilst sitting on one of the dinner chairs, “According to the police guy, Erik Henderson could be trying to KILL YOU?” She yelled, her frustration translated into rage, “And you’re JUST SITTING HERE DOING NOTHING?”

Truthfully, you did not blame her. How else would a friend respond when you finally decide to dump every trouble you encountered since that fateful Friday night? Getting up on her feet, Allison was clearly furious, “I mean, what were you think-”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I Ali?” you cut her off, with your own frustration. As soon as you broke out, you noticed the anger in her eyes slowly vanish. Standing before her with your arms folded, you sighed, “Say I step up and make my accusations…” you continued, “It’s just my word against his…No legit proof” scoffing could not be helped, “…and none of the perps will talk, no matter what” a sigh passed your lips once more, “He’s one bad, rich man!”.

Rubbing your forehead nervously, it finally dawned on you on the ferocity of your situation. You finally realized how powerless you really were. That foul hearted man had certainly had you trapped in the box of corporate power, and there were little holes of justice poked for you to truly breathe.

“Sweetie…”

You looked over to Allison, “As twisted as all this is, you can’t just go on like this, not without telling me…” she said, voice growing emotional with her hands on her chest,  “I mean…” she paused, for her voice broke, “…what if something had happened to you?” she inquired softly, her hand slithering over to her mouth. That very moment was when sheer guilt washed over you in a flash. How selfish were you truly to leave everyone in the dark this way? But your intention was never that. A nuisance was what you clearly did not wish to impose on anyone. If Lillian ever knew, she would surely be hurt. Your shoulders loosened while your arms rested on your sides.

“I’m sorry…” you said, shyly looking down. A few seconds of silence was adequate for you to walk over to her, confirm your apology as you gently stroked her shoulder. It was certainly adequate for Allison to succumb to it, until she willfully brought you in for a hug, pressing her face against your tummy. Allison truly defined a true friend. “But I was always fine…” you began, “I mean, Batman saved m-” “BATMAN!!” Allison cried out, her face lighting up as she pushed you back gently, “Oh bless that man for saving you!” She said, bringing her hands together in a prayer stance, before she clapped excitedly. You chuckled, relieved to find her in a better mood now. But of course you were not foolish. Revealing your story did not exactly entail revealing the entire truth about Batman. For now, he was merely a hero who saved you every single time. “But wait…” Allison paused, “Where were you when I called you, then? The police? The hospital?” Shaking your head, it came to your realization there was no other fitting lie to replace the original. “Uhh…with Bruce Wayne...” You answered shyly. It did not take long for Allison’s jaw to drop. Concern hit you hard like a bullet. Could she possibly connect the missing dots? “Wait…so you…him….” Allison began, getting up in an instant. With a gasp, her eyes widened: “DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM? Suddenly it was your jaw’s turn to drop. “WHAT?” You yelled, “NO NO!!!” Shaking your head frantically, you backed away, “WHY would you-” “I mean, you were gone for so long, I assumed you had sex with hi-” “Ali, could you stop saying the S-word please?” You blurted out, covering your ears as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks with fervor. The heat grew intense, as if an explosion were to occur was a result. Why on earth would you act this way? And Allison seemed to find it quite amusing. “Why?” She mocked, “Sweetie, why you suddenly so prude-” Pausing, she smiled widely, as if she just realized.

“Ha!” She scoffed, “You really like him, don’t you?” she inquired, “You’re serious…” as she looked at you with amazement. Your immediate response was clearly to laugh nervously and uncontrollably. Yet as each second passed, the continuous confident glance of your friend, clearly steered you towards the similar direction of realization, as you stopped laughing. It all seemed so clear.

“Yeah…” you breathed, nodding, “I do…I guess” you admitted, smiling softly by the thought of the very man being mentioned. It was true. Every reminiscent of your confession to Bruce last night,  and the blessed kiss that followed, it was a symbol of rebirth on loop. And you felt at peace. Squealing with excitement, Allison jumped up and down whilst clapping.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” She said, grabbing your hands, “So? So? You guys are finally a couple or something?”

That simple question. Funny how it surprisingly shooed away the smile on your face. Funny how suddenly that peace was disrupted. For that question led you to another realization. The realization that taught you the gravity of it all. The gravity of the harsh reality that shattered all forms of hope. Allison appeared confused the moment you simply headed back to your room, only to close it shut and scream your frustrations out in the fittest way possible:

“FUUUUUCK!”

Simply put, you kissed your boss. Fantastic.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Allison Hughs certainly had quite the morning dealing with you. And the following stage was indeed no different. Laying on her side on the bed, she could only continuously shake her head with complete disbelief watching you pace from one corner to the other in your bedroom. And you knew of that, you noticed it clearly. Though you were caught in a tangled mess. Being a corporate woman, you handled conflicts and issues in a professional manner. Therefore, this was simply an embarrassment.

“Oh god! oh god! oh god-” you went. “I don’t understand what the big deal is, Sweetie“ Allison said coolly.

“Oh Shit! No no no” Your concern still continued as you kept muttering to yourself. “So you guys kissed...And?”

Allison pointed out, as she incited more groans from you, “Okay! Let’s say you guys do start dating…So what?” Allison posed the inquiry, sitting up finally with a smile, “Personally I think it’s hot” she grinned mischievously, while bringing her knees to her chest, as her mind wandered, “Imagine…” she began dreamily, “...getting it on with Mr.Wayne in his office at Wayne Tower...” A sensual tone exited from her, “....No one there to eavesdrop your sexy encounter because the doors locked-”

“Oh yeah...it’s all so tempting until you REALIZE this is REAL LIFE...with CONSEQUENCES!” You spat out frustratingly, before covering your face “...shit! I kissed Bruce Wayne...” Muffled tone emphasized your frustration. Funny how you were blind to all this last night.

“Sweetie! if you like the guy, what the fuck is wrong?”

Allison’s innocent inquiry forced you to look up. You were touched. She really did care for you. However you also sensed her naiveté. And life did not carry on the way one hoped it would. You were finally on the smack bottom of reality. Deeply breathing, You grew calmer.

“Ali, it’s not like I’m falling for a colleague, that’s different. THIS IS Bruce Wayne…” you scoffed, “I mean...dating my EMPLOYER BRUCE WAYNE! It’s just the worst timing. It’s bad enough I punched Henderson, but NOW THIS?? If I do this…” you continued, “I’m bringing Wayne Enterprises down with me…Just think of all the horrible rumors” sighing  heavily, you began rummaging the bed for your phone.

“Sweetie, Who cares?”

“I HAVE TO CARE, ALI!” You looked back at her, pausing by your own loud reply, “This is not a fantasy…” you said softly, grabbing the phone, “This is real life…” your tone brimming with sadness.

Breathing deeply, Allison stared at the wall with realization, “…for a second I forgot you’re the acting Head…Shit” she muttered, “Real life problems…” she said, breathing heavily, “…definitely not easy…”

With the phone pressed against your ear, You were finally relieved to see Allison finally understand.

“Greg? Hey!” you began as the call was answered, “No! No! I’m better” you said, shaking your head, “Listen, I’m coming by later to office, okay?”

Allison looked at you confusingly as you finally hung up. You jolted when your phone vibrated in your hand. It was him:

Hope you slept in today.

“Thought you were taking the day off” you heard Allison begin. Your heart could not help but clench when you forcibly swiped the message off your lock screen. The first grueling step.

“Well…” you said, looking up, “I guess I need a distraction from this nightmare”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Few days later)

The sounds of the television echoed throughout the Wayne Penthouse. All the while Alfred Pennyworth continued to set the dinner table for one. The evening news played, images of the variety of criminals courtesy of Gotham’s underbelly, captured and arrested taking main stage as the news reporters presented their usual reports. With the appetizing yet comforting meal served in fashionable white crockery, the butler finally sat on the sofa when the elevator door quickly opened with a ding! The old man smiled, especially when his wrinkled eyes caught the sight of Bruce Wayne enter.

“Another successful arrest…” He began, pointing at the screen, “Thanks to you, sir” he added with a teasing tone. However, the younger man did not acknowledge. Clad in his jeans and leather jacket, Bruce quietly made his way towards the bedroom. Alfred sighed in silence. Fourth night. This probably was the fourth night his young master had acted this way. And the fourth consecutive night he barely touched his dinner, even after his nightly duties. Not to mention, the fourth night of absolute silence. And by this very moment, Pennyworth simply had reached his limits.

“Something’s been bothering you, Master Wayne!”

Alfred began loudly, forcing Bruce to halt, “I can tell…” he added, walking towards the paused man. Tired, Bruce turned back.

“What are you talking about, Alfred?” He inquired with possible denial. Alfred’s eyebrows furrowed: “I’ve raised you since you were an infant…to know when you’re fibbing, Sir…”

The moment the words left Alfred’s lips, an invisible force urged Bruce to sink into the nearest armchair. Bending forward, Bruce covered his eyes before letting out a heavy sigh.

“It’s just that…” he paused, “…it’s her…” taking his hands away, he looked at the old man. Given the nature of their relationship, it was more than sufficient information for the both of them to understand what exactly was being discussed here. And who.

Nodding slowly, Alfred made his way to the counter:

“Think it’s time to open up that Whiskey you’ve been saving, Master Wayne”

He said, who did not notice the subtle sad smile that appeared on Bruce’s face during.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Performance Appraisals : the review of employees performance and the overall contribution to the company. In other words, the busiest time of the year for the HR Department. It was certainly the most perfect distraction from the nightmare you had identified as reality. Which mainly was the situation between you and Bruce Wayne.

Forget him.

Your fingers, they were shamed, they were strictly forbidden from traveling anywhere near his name on your phone screen to form any sort of replies to his countless messages.

I suppose work is keeping you quite busy, huh?

Messages that kept coming:

Is everything alright?

With much enthusiasm and concern:

You know, I’m here if you need me. What’s going on?

In other words, you had made the horrid, difficult decision to forbid yourself of thinking about him. Let alone hope for any possible future with him.

Forget him.

You welcomed late night, early morning assignments, deadlines, work meetings. you volunteered on behalf of everyone, all the to the point they all began to wonder about your sanity. And it did not matter to you. Fully immersed, you made sure the only free time you were gifted with, was only to sleep. Just for one vital goal:

Forget him.

Physically and mentally, you were quicker and more reflexive than ever before. It seemed quite essential to do so, especially when you were more prone to accidentally encounter the man you wished to avoid with all your heart. And it was quite the challenge to avoid him, considering the fact he surprisingly was present at work every day.

However, those efforts were tested, and Lucius Fox was responsible. Little did you expect to submit a report to the CEO all the sudden, only to find Bruce Wayne sitting in his office conversing with him during. Though sheer panic came over, you remembered politely offering your greetings to both. As much as the sight of him brought a sense of comfort to a part of you, the strength of your will assisted in forcing you out of the office in time to recover yourself in the elevator.

Truthfully, you were no fool. You knew who he was, and you could appreciate him. If you were any other woman, heaven knew how much you would treasure him with all your heart. With no shame and no boundaries. Heaven knew the infinite amount of love you would give to him.

But you were you, and you were desperately full of bad luck. You were at the risk of being called out as the Senior HR Manager entangled with the owner of Wayne Enterprises, possibly sleeping with him as well. It was not what you were deserved to be called as, but it would be rumored and fabricated as such. Life was never kind to women. It still is not.

Forget him : Two words that you kept telling yourself. They were what you had to believe in, even though you truthfully missed him every single time. It was the pill you had to swallow every single moment your body would be in cold sweats deprived of his touch. That wonderfully innocent touch you were gifted with one night, being in his arms as you kissed him with all the love. You were not happy with this, that was the plain truth. In fact, the self-hate and disappointed increased by tenfolds.

Forget him

You prayed you would bore him. You prayed he would move on. You prayed to see him smile, alongside a wonderfully appropriate woman, someone that he could walk hand in hand with. You prayed he would be happy with no shame or regrets. Dying of jealousy would be inevitable for you, but at least you would be at peace. All because you truly cared for him, because you truly loved him. And thus, there you were, immersed in the distraction, your life consistently on fast pace , like a dance remix track on loop.

However, one early morning, a particular phone call suddenly managed to force your life to hit pause.

“Miss, Please come”  

Alfred Pennyworth said, his voice laced with a tone close to sadness, something you had never heard before:

“It’s about Master Wayne”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The manner you scrambled in to the elevator, “Forget him” was certainly the last thing you could ever do, for Bruce Wayne was all that you could think of at the moment. Was he hurt? Injured? Or something worse? The few seconds taken for the elevator to reach the Penthouse felt like an eternity, thus driving you beyond patience as your foot tapped nervously. Your heart was beating at a new pace of its own, speed so deadly you feared you might even explode. Hunger or thirst had come second in your needs this morning. The moment the elevator opened, the tapping of your foot joined the exact speed of your heart. You literally jumped out:

“ALFRED!” You cried,  “ Alfred…where is h-”

You paused, eyes widening with confusion. The worry and panic birthed in you suddenly seemed quite wasteful. Especially when you found Bruce Wayne casually standing next to the sofa chair alongside Alfred, being at their safest and calmest. That very moment, did you realize how overdramatic your behavior might have seemed, which caused nothing but sheer awkwardness in the room. It was clearly intensified when you noticed the mess of a state you were in. Dashing out of your own apartment so fast, you had forgotten to tuck in your shirt, while your hair remained loose and inhibited. With a proud smile, Alfred looked at his master:

“I told you so…” the butler said, beginning to walk away from him. You grew confused.

“Told?-” you paused,  “Wait!” you exclaimed, looking at Bruce. Confusion morphed into instant anger. Could this possibly be another cheap ploy to see you? By playing with your emotions? You were in disbelief, as you pointed at him accusingly:

“Did you put Alfred up to this?”

“It was purely my doing, Miss”

Your eyes widened once more when Alfred answered with confidence. Panting to recover your breath, you looked at the older man walking over to you.

“I only did the needful…cause no one else did…” he said, shooting you a look before looking over at Bruce, “I’ve made you some, if you excuse me”

You chuckled in disbelief. It appeared that someone was clearly compelled to take decisive action on behalf on both of you, as a proper adult. And his name was Alfred Pennyworth.

“Thank you, Alfred” Bruce said, to which the butler nodded in acknowledgement before leaving the area.

All your dire efforts in the past few days seemed moot, when finally you were back to square one, as you had this standing right before you. Dressed in such simple attire such as a crisp white shirt and black pants, Bruce Wayne still managed to break your defenses, leaving you breathless once more. He was the physical embodiment of the dewy grass in the early morning. Simply cooling and refreshing. The mere thought of being alone in a room with Bruce Wayne would have been your version of heaven a few days ago. Truthfully, temptation frantically begged you to run into his arms, only to just remain there for an eternity. And heaven knows what else it would urge you to do with a man such as he was.

But you could not. You should not. Not when you constantly felt as you were being trialed by morality. You despised it.

The room reeked of silence, to the point it was simply unbearable. The fact he did not seem cross made it worse for you. An explanation was needed by him. You could not disagree on that. Taking a few steps towards him, you inhaled deeply, especially when he looked at you with a gentle yearning:

“I-”

The phone rang frantically in your bag, making you jump. With a deep sigh, you took it out. Immediately, you looked over to Bruce:

“It’s Officer Blake…”

You said, knowing information of much importance was to be received. It was a call not to be ignored. With his nod of agreement, you put the call on speaker phone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

With a reasonably stacked file in hand, Officer John Blake sat comfortably at the rooftop of the Police Station. It was a cloudy morning as he looked over the Gotham city with his phone pressed to his ear. This call, was certainly the precinct walls need not eavesdrop to.

“Officer Blake!”

The woman known publicly as ‘The Bruiser’ answered, “ I really hope you’re calling to bring me good news” John could not help but chuckle by her response, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ma’am” he said, “But I promise to give you something better than ‘I’ve got nuthin’” Opening the file with one hand, he continued, “The shooter from last time…” “… Mr. Slender?” “Who?” John asked confusingly. The woman laughed nervously from the other side of the line. “Sorry…” she said, “…that was what I called him in my head…” “Makes sense…” John nodded, proceeding to smile when he saw a woman walking over to him. It was Nina Langdon. With her loose red hair brushed to the side, she quickly perched next to John, offering him a coffee cup, labeled “Commons Café”. Putting the call on speaker, John handed the phone to Nina as he went through the file whilst taking a quick sip of the hot beverage:

“His name is Emilio Cruz, or thats what it says in the system...” He said, as the coffee warmed his throat, “No priors, and…” sighing, John shook his head, “…there’s very little detail about him. He barely talked during the interrogation. And before we knew it, Henderson’s men got him out again” 

The woman exhaled deeply. John did not blame her. For even Nina did not seem pleased.

“So he’s a free man again…”

“Technically yes, there’s not much the police can do right now” John answered, looking through the file, “The CCTVs near the bodega were blocked the moment shots were fired, so we couldn’t make out the other people involved.”

The woman expressed her response with silence. Blake felt guilt clenching him hard. His distress was evident. And for a second, he did not even have the heart to look at Nina. Gripping the file tighter, his voice suddenly grew louder:

“Ma’am…” John began, “…I know this seems like a dead end, but it’s not. I won’t let it” he said, “I’ll do my best to open a case against Henderson, and you will have to come in every once in a while for questioning”

“Of course…anything you need, Officer”

The woman answered instantly. Her voice rife with enthusiasm and relief.

Finally hanging up, John quickly took in another long sip for comfort.

“You’re doing the right thing, John” Nina spoke, the warmth in her voice seemingly much stronger than the beverage. As he looked into her eyes, John knew he got the morale boost he so needed to carry with this mission.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Putting the phone away, you let out a heavy sigh. You were filled with such suspense during the call that your forced you to sit down. As he stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, Bruce watched you silently. After almost escaping death, a partial hope formed within you, that perhaps your life would finally be spared and intruded. Truthfully, how far could someone really go for murder? But now, upon hearing the sombre tone of Officer Blake, another reality dawned on you. One where you might have to keep your eyes wide open. Open for ‘Emilio’ and for ‘Alpha’. Feigning a chuckle, you slowly got up, barely looking at the man.

“Guess I still got a target on my head…heheh”

You said, looking down. But the moment your eyes traced his footsteps growing closer, you cleared your throat,  “..right-”

“You’re avoiding me, aren’t you?”

You tensed, when Bruce Wayne finally brought up the elephant in the room. Turning your head up slowly, your eyes finally met his. His eyes, they were far from displeased. However, you did manage to catch a glimpse of sadness in them. As if he was let down. As this was not expected. Not from some such as yourself. You felt so ashamed.

“Mr.Wayne-”

“Bruce” he corrected, with a soft smile. Shushing yourself embarrassingly, you held your hands together for forgiveness, “Force of habit….” You muttered shyly. As your hands were engaged in a silent wrestling match of it’s own, you took a deep breath:

“I’m really sorry…” you began softly, “…truly…for everything, Bruce”

His name, simply unbelievable how it rolled out of your lips so beautifully. And more importantly, how you managed to involuntarily smile whenever it did. As you smiled, you felt your body relax, enabling you to admire those handsome features he owned. For a split second, you were overjoyed to implant your gaze at him. Your eyes, they indulged in the details as he grew closer. The brunette hair parted on the side and brushed back seemed so delectable, your fingers suppressed their desire to run through it with frenzy. The high cheekbones and the lines on the sides of his mouth seemingly majestic, distracting you until it was clear he stood merely a few centimeters away from your face, bending his head, high hopes to steal a long-awaited kiss.

Except you looked down. With a deep breath, you put your hands on your hips before looking up with a serious expression: 

“I am a woman...” you began, “....who takes her job very seriously…” You stated confidently, “And…” you chuckled, pointing at him, “…you being you...and me being me…” you said, pointing at yourself, “I just…” you paused, “…this ...is this right?” You inquired, “…Us? I mean…” taking another breath, you smiled, “Are you sure you want this?”

Beating around the bush just to inquire the ethics of a relationship. Was this over dramatic? Bruce however, did not flinch. Instead, he smiled.

“I think you should ask the question yourself...” he said, his voice softer than velvet, “... do you want this?” He said, passing the ball over to you, which you held with such reluctance. You sighed:

“Don’t do this, Bruce-”

However you shut up the moment he cupped your face with both hands. He was not amused. He seemed highly convincing:

“You’re the one who kissed me” he stated, his warmth breath falling on your face, “…you’re the one who drove me insane… from the very moment I saw you”

Breathless, you tried your hardest not to be. But it was difficult, especially when his velvet voice soothed your wounded soul.

“Well, to be fair…” you began in a witty tone,  “…you weren’t entirely innocent yourself” you said, smiling. Bruce shot you an amused glance. Breathing deeply, you sighed, “You have no idea how wild you drove me” you added with sincerity: “And you kissed me back, mind you”

You said. Chuckling together, the atmosphere seemed to grow normal and comfortable. Truthfully, you missed that dearly.

“I just hope you understand, I’m in a really screwed up place…” you said sadly, “…you being my boss and all…” you stated, for that was simply the truth. Bruce smiled gently.

“Well, until things get unscrewed…” he began, “I will wait for you…”

“I wish you won’t…” you said, reminded of the kindness  you felt in him on the very first day you met him. Instead of a defying reply, his lips landed on your forehead, kissing it gently to send a rush of warmth though you. As simple as it was, yet it called out for many of your frustrations to come out of the shadows. And it simply caused you to long for him even more. Forget him? It would be a herculean task indeed.

“But don’t make me suffer for too long” he teased, muttering on to your forehead before looking at you. With a chuckle, you tilted your head:

“See? I don’t want to be a burden to you…”

“You’re not-”

“Master Wayne!”

Alfred’s voice emerged out of nowhere, forcing Bruce to release you from his grasp. The older man walked over briskly, “Pardon the intrusion but…”

“And that’s my queue to leave…” you announced, unwilling to intrude on pressing matters.

“Best if you stay as well, Miss”  

Alfred certainly had other plans, as he turned on the television to GCN Breaking News. Complete surprise was the default mood as you all watched Erik Henderson standing before Henderson Incorporated surrounded by news reporters. His smug expression was as flashy as the tile of the news frame that read:

Wayne Enterprises: Guilty of Intellectual Property Breach?

Bruce’s phone began to ring continuously, however he silenced it as Henderson began to speak to the press:

“Henderson Incorporated has been robbed of our dignity. And I demand Bruce Wayne to step forward and address this. He may be able to protect thugs in his own company like ‘the Bruiser’ but, we will not rest until this issue is resolved”

Folding your arms worriedly, you wondered if you were actually a fatal curse brought upon to destroy Wayne Enterprises, and Bruce Wayne himself.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

An Emergency Management Meeting was called. Being Lillian’s backup, it was imperative for you to participate from HR. Henderson’s surprising stunt had definitely caused quite the stir that a swarm of reporters waited outside Wayne Enterprises when you finally arrived. Thus, entering the building itself was a dire task with you bombarded with questions:

“Bruiser! Bruiser! Over here!” “What are your thoughts regarding the claims made by Erik Henderson?” “Do you feel partially responsible for all this?” “Have you been in contact with Bruce Wayne?” “Do you regret attacking Henderson?”

Those unanswered questions echoed in your head, sitting alongside the other Heads and members at the conference room. The group collectively clamored with questions, growing louder when Lucius Fox and Bruce Wayne arrived and took their seats. But as soon as Fox stood up, silence fell on all of them.

“Members of the Management” he began, his voice booming across “As we all know, Erik Henderson has made certain unsavory claims about Wayne Enterprises”

“What the hell is this devil up to?” Kline from Accounting certainly had no time to be formal, while the others heavily buzzed in agreement.

“He’s claiming Wayne Enterprises has stolen the…” Fox paused, as he read the file in hand,  “…blueprints of their Main Server” he added with raised eyebrows. As if what he heard was unimaginable.

“That’s preposterous!” Kline cried out, leading the crowd to continue their clamour.

Slight relief washed over you. When you expected the Heads to show their aggression towards you for your previous blunder, they somehow surprised you with complete solidarity instead. Perhaps that company dinner helped. And it was certainly a relief that the Board of Directors were not involved. They did not need to be. Heaven knows the chaos they would make, and the blame they might impose on you. Thank goodness for Fox. You looked over at Bruce, who sat on the other corner of the table. Looking at Fox with seriousness, he seemed to be deep in thought. Maybe he was.

“Regardless of the minor details, this is simply utter nonsense” Fox said.

“But Mr. Fox, we cannot take this lying down” Ted Hawthorne pointed out, sitting beside his Head in Legal with a concerned expression, “The Board of Directors will definitely have questions. And Henderson will not hesitate to press charges…”

“Exactly…” Fox said, “..so before this drags on to court, I suggest we meet Henderson’s team in private, resolving this as peacefully as possible”

“Henderson is asking for me”

All turned towards Bruce’s direction as his voice pierced through, “I will go.”

Your heart clenched. As valiant as he was, this was not the time to be Batman. He  could not take on this endeavour all on his own.

“You’re going to need us, Mr Wayne” Ted said, “Henderson’s Team is like a pack of wolves, you’re going to need reinforcements if this is gonna be resolved.”

“Thank you” Bruce nodded at him.

And so, whilst the Management continued to plan out their strategy before the fated meeting, you could not help but continuously glance over at Bruce. A sudden urge came over you to speak to him. Was he prepared with this? Will everything be alright? As he kept himself busy listening to the Legal Team, you were descending down on a personal spiral of regrets. Which included getting this entire company in trouble in the first place.

All because of a drunken punch in the face.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“What the damn HELL?”

Lillian Foster’s enraged voice filled your ears through the phone. In complete disbelief yourself, you could not help but laugh while walking out of the ladies washroom. You could not resist sharing the news with your Boss.

“Yeah! my thoughts exactly…” you said, bending to toss the used tissue to the trash bin. Lillian sighed heavily.

“I swear, that man Henderson is going off the rails”  her voice kept you in good company strolling through the HR floor, “So…He thinks we had a spy stealing a Blueprint?”

“So…you remember Caleb saying he went for an Interview at Hendersons before joining Wayne?” you recalled, walking over to your office,“And that was like TWO years ago” you stressed, locking the door behind you, “And now suddenly it’s a matter of company safety for Henderson? He’s unbelievable…” you scoffed, standing by the window blinders , opening it slightly to watch the staff outside, “Anyways, How is the baby?” your voice quickly changing to an affectionate one.

“Thankfully loves her mama…I could sleep for a few straight hours finally”

Nodding, your eyes seemed occupied once you caught the glimpse of Clara Bennett. Sitting in her lonesome in one of the smaller meeting rooms, she seemed to be far from her usual self. Down in the dumps, more like.

“So, what are you gonna do about the Offer?”

Your focus returned immediately upon Lillian’s query. Nervousness began to form.

“What offer?” you blurted out with feigned surprise. Your boss chuckled.

“Don’t play dumb with me, young lady …” she said,  “I bet you already got Hudson’s email …I heard from a contact”

With a deep sigh, you made your way to your computer. Lillian seemed patient with your silence, as she cooed her crying baby lovingly. You opened your inbox with trepidation, clicking on that fateful email titled:

Job Offer for General Manager -Hudsons Solutions

Hudsons Solutions, possibly the best HR Specialist Company in Gotham city. It was known to only hire only the best in the field, providing excellent services to all major companies and businesses. The fact that Clara Bennett herself was not a permanent staffer there was a clear example of their elite status.

Therefore, it was quite the surprise when they offered you a job. You remember going for the interview two years ago. It was an impulse decision after a bad day. But never did you think they would get back with a green light. This email was a blessing. Yet, you were reluctant to even consider it.

“So…how does it look?”

Lillian inquired as you looked at the email. You sighed with an involuntary smile, “It’s everything I hoped it would be…“ you said, “...the working hours, the pay, the benefits…” You added, feeling a sense of excitement the more you read it , “But” you paused, “… after the Bruiser incident… would they choose me?” You wondered, your fingers grazing over the mouse.

“The fact they sent this after the incident, clearly shows they want you no matter what”

Funny how you still were brimming with confusion, even with Good News staring at you in the face. “I really don’t know what to do, Lillian” you admitted, crossing your legs, “But…Hudsons is my dream place to work”

“Heheh…I’m really gonna miss you if you go…”

You chuckled, “Well, Why don’t you come along with me?”

“Don’t tempt me. I might…”  

Lillian said, with laughter breaking out between both.

Truthfully, you were surrendered by fear. It finally was evident that you possibly may fear of letting go. Imagining the possibility of leaving the company that was your home for a decade. The thought of it seemed heartbreaking. It was never hell. But you always longed to get better. However, if you did strive and take the daring step, would that not help you in every way imaginable? With Bruce Wayne, for example?

Then again, if the Billionaire ends up never being invested as you were, would it regretful to leave behind a trustworthy workplace?

“You were born to do great things, honey. I hope you make a good decision”  

Hanging up, a huge weight landed on your chest with more queries. But at the same time, you had a thirst that needed quenching. And a sudden urge to check on a friend.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Gently knocking on the small meeting room door, you surprised Clara with two paper cups of steaming coffee. And to your sheer relief, her face lit up soon after.

“Thanks...” she said, taking one cup, “…you already know my order” she added with surprise. You smiled.

“That happens when you come to the HR Department at Wayne Enterprises…you remember your coffee order” you chuckled, sitting in front of her. Finally, after a few of consulting, it was finally Clara’s last week. But that could not possibly be the reason for her blue expression, “You doing okay?” You inquired.

Looking up from her coffee, Clara appeared quizzical, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not saying I miss you poking on our business but…” you said ,shaking your head, “It’s just that…you’ve been unusually quiet these days” you stated, shrugging, “Just wanted to see if you’re okay”

Ever since the night you were almost killed, you were too distracted by being distracted ,to fully notice how Clara exuded a different energy at work. She spoke less and she smiled rarely. Holding onto her coffee, she sighed: “I’m sorry. It’s just that-” she paused, smiling, “Never mind..”

“What?” You asked quickly, only to stop yourself, “I mean- you don’t have to-if you don’t want to…” you said, unwilling to cause trouble by slowly getting up, “I can just-”

“No, I want to” Clara said, urging you to sit down once again. Taking a deep breath, she looked at you, “So…I’ve been seeing this guy”

“Ooh…” You began excitedly with a smile, “….someone tamed Ms. Bennett’s heart. Spicy!-Sorry…” you bowed your head embarrassingly upon seeing Clara’s look.

Taking another sip, she continued: “Anyways, We went out a couple of times. And he wasn’t shy on telling me how much he liked me”

“So he’s an expressive one, that’s rare” you noted, nodding before drinking your coffee. Clara chuckled.

“Yeah, I like him, I do” She added, “But, I was scared to admit it for some reason”, you swore you felt your smile fade upon hearing it, “And when I finally summed up the courage to tell him…” Clara smiled sadly, “…he didn’t seem that interested anymore. He had moved on”

“Oh Clara…” you breathed. She shrugged.

“Guess he figured I wasn’t as invested as he was…” she said, “…which was NOT true…I was just late to the party. I just didn’t…do it right…” she added, her fist clenching tightly. You sighed deeply.

“That just sucks…really, I’m so sorry”

Clara chuckled amusingly, "Why you getting so upset?”

The sadness was evident on your face, you may not have seen it. Yet you felt it. Coming to realization, you pressed your lips. She was right, why were you so upset? Could it that it was a clear reminder of someone else you knew? Yourself? Your future? Bruce?

“Me?” You feigned your disbelief, “ I just-” you paused, “ I guess I can understand when you like someone…and the challenges that come with it” Indeed, you could empathize to the core. More than ever. Along with the what would smother you. In every way.

"Ah well…what to do” the consultant replied, leaning forward “ All I can tell you is this: If you really care for someone…” she added seriously, slowly tapping her fingers on the table, “….like or love or whatever, better act on it… fast” she stressed, finally leaning back once again, “Cause very few people will be patient in life. And Life IS short so….” Getting up, you were left with some of your own pondering as she left.

Work proceeded as usual, going on until you managed to look through the glass window to the glittery Gotham skyline that evening. Unease remained in you throughout the entire day with one person in mind: Bruce Wayne. 8 hours since they left for questioning, and there were no news. The number of texts you sent were still left unanswered. So, this is what it feels like, you thought.

Perhaps Alfred. Being his confidant, he may have contacted him.  Making your way out of the Wayne Tower, you knew where to head over to.

But all was made simply made convenient for you, when you found Alfred Pennyworth standing by the Rolls Royce,  in front of the Tower, seemingly waiting for you.

“Master Wayne insisted” he said, before you could even question. And without any objection, you nodded to let him drive you home.

As the vehicle cruised through the city, you were quiet. It could not be helped. A certain form of guilt had occupied you, forcing you to do so. However, when Alfred’s eyes greeted you from the rear view mirror, you knew you were compelled to speak: “Any news from Bruce?” You inquired.

“Not at the moment, No”  the butler answered with politeness. Sighing was inevitable at this point, as you looked through the window.

“I hope they’re not in trouble” you muttered.

“It’s Master Wayne, miss” Alfred said, “He will figure it out somehow” The reassurance he offered, filled you with comfort. But simultaneously that guilt within you grew larger like a tumor, reminding you of the indirect cruelty you had inflicted on both men.

“Alfred…” You began with a deep breath, “I’m sorry….” You continued, “…for avoiding you both…” sighing soon after, “This situation…its not easy for me…”

“We are all bound by responsibility, that I understand, Miss” Alfred replied, as he continued to drive, “But one thing is for certain. In all my life, I have never seen Master Wayne wanting so much to be happy with someone…” he insisted “…and by someone… I mean you, Miss”

He may be the trusted Butler in the Wayne family, but given his tone, you also heard the concern of a father, watching over his son with affection. That strong concern pierced through your heart and remained with a memorable pain.

As you sat on your bed that night, rubbing hand cream, you recalled all the moments that clearly urged you to reflect: Lillian, Clara and Alfred. All three of them, involuntarily shedding light on the path you possibly should journey in. And in the end of the day, you were the one to decide, to take that daring step. Was Bruce alright? You wondered still. Given the time now, it seemed impossible to imagine Henderson’s legal team to wear them out with accusations at this hour. It was simply ludicrous.

Your heart skipped a beat when the phone vibrated. But the moment you glanced upon it,  you chuckled lightly, for you guessed it wrong. It was Clara.

Thanks for today. I felt much better unloading on you.

Smiling warmly, you were relieved. Such a sheer pity she would leave soon. It was certainly a rollercoaster ride of emotion knowing her. However, it all worked out well in the end. You formed a reply:

Yay! Glad I could help.

Would you be truly fortunate enough to receive a text from Bruce instead? At least one word, just to hint all was well. Sleeping seemed unimaginable to you now. For all you could imagine doing was to blankly stare at the screen, drown oneself in the blue light until his name would appear at some point. You were patient.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(5:30 am )

Dawn peacefully greeted your eyes when they slowly opened. Exhaustion finally had sent you to deep slumber, you appeared to have rested in fetal position, cradling your phone as if it was the most precious object. The reason for it, you had an important one. But, as you glanced upon the screen, the efforts still seemed moot.

With a glass of water in hand, you quietly paced around the apartment in your oversized t-shirt. Morning lights in shades of blue and gray had fallen over every object and corner of the premises. The blue hour, as it was called, was possibly your favorite moment of the day. Regardless of what time you may sleep, your eyes would always open to be greeted by the blue hour. Perhaps your body was hopelessly besotted with it, therefore efforts to wake up seemed nonexistent anymore. You were thankful, for it was the apt moment to indulge in peace, the beauty before the bustle of the streets grew loud, before your roommate woke up. The blue hour was indeed your own, special hour.

Gulping down the entire water, you kept the glass in the sink with a sigh. He never managed to leave your thoughts every single minute. It was inconceivable to imagine how one could think of someone always, but it seemed you could, at least once a minute. For no matter how many attempts arise, he managed to stealthily conceal himself in some undiscoverable corner of your heart. You asked for nothing much, all you really longed for was to confirm his safety, his company’s safety.

The doorbell rang, suddenly waking you up from your pondering. The fact it rang so early in the day, had you quite suspicious. Could it be another attack? Right here in your home? With a deep breath, you tip toed over to the door. Your heart evidently beating out of your chest as you pressed your ear against the door.

“Y-Yes?”  You inquired softly.

“It’s me”

That familiar voice. It suddenly provided you with the amount of life your body truly needed. Brimming with relief, you swore you almost felt your eyes water with tears. Overjoyed, you quickly opened the door wide to find Bruce Wayne standing there. Still dressed in his suit and tie, he certainly wore an extra exhausted look as he entered:

“Hey, sorry for barging in like th-”

He paused. He had to. Especially when you ran into him for a tight embrace.

“I-I didn’t go to war, you know” Bruce began, confusingly.

“Doesn’t matter…you’re here now” you replied, with warmth. Heartbeat began to increase the moment you felt his own arms tightly hold you back, to bring you closer. This very moment was when you realized this probably was the very first you shared an embrace. And truthfully, you certainly were pleased with the result. In fact, you were euphoric. His body, you found home in it, with its warmth and it’s safety, framing your own body with such care as your face rested on the crook of his neck. Bruce finally sighed:

“But it did feel like war” he breathed gently. You chuckled.

“Well, Welcome home, soldier ” you whispered teasingly. 

Pulling away was torturous. If only you could stay like this forever. Nature certainly was on your side, when you realized his magnetic energy exuded with strength. You were deeply inclined to press your forehead against his, witnessing the quiet, syncopated breathing between each other. And you did. Being in this close proximity, noses brushed against another, sending small sparks of electricity throughout your frame. The memory of that first kiss. The tension, the warmth and the affection. You were reminded of all of it instantly. Lips were heavily strengthened with the magnetic force, urging to reunite with one another. However before tensions skyrocketed, you moved away. Breathing in to reality once again. And it was Hell.

“What the hell happened, Bruce?”

You inquired casually, your hands resting on your hips, “How long did they keep you for?” “Since this morning” “What?” Hissing in shock, your eyes widened as he quietly closed the door behind him. “Henderson’s guys, they were good” He said softly, shaking his head as you offered him a seat on the sofa, “They were armed with enough questions to last the night. Some of them just plain outrageous, in fact. All just to make sure we didn’t steal their Blueprints” he chuckled.

“God!” You exclaimed quietly, “…that man is crazy” you said, walking towards the window while looking at him, “Were you alone?”

“No no...” he said, “Ted and the others...safe to say, they saved my ass” he added, following you. Smiling proudly, you tilted your head:

“You owe them big time, by the way”

“Oh, I told them to sleep it off today....” Bruce said, with a smile, “With pay...”   Clutching your chest, you were joyous to see all had ended well, “Thank you...” you breathed, to which he nodded graciously. All the sudden, it came to your awareness of how indecent you appeared before him. Being the woman who paraded around in her formal office attire, now standing in just her oversized T-shirt, messy hair and no makeup.

Yet, it indeed was surprising that it only occurred to you later on, for your strongest emotions and concerns had come first before reputation. With your long silence, it seems Bruce finally took a good look at you as well. Dare to catch his expression, you dared not, for you urged yourself to shyly look away.

“Henderson...he-“ you began, folding your arms, “I’m pretty sure all this happened because of me...” you added, looking down at his shoes. You sighed, “this was definitely a petty method to get you to fire me. I mean, none of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me” you stated, “I’m putting this company through so much”. Hunching forward, you chuckled sadly:

“They should have just killed me in that alleyway in the first place-Ah!”

Gasps exited your lips when you felt Bruce snatch on to your right hand with an iron grip. Only then did you realize the intensity of his eyes piercing through the dim morning light. And how they glinted with hurt.

“If they killed you,...” he breathed, pressing his lips soon after, “I would never be able to live with myself…ever”

Those words brimmed with vulnerability. However, your heart could not accept them.

“You’re just saying that“ you whimpered. Looking in to your eyes with focus, he breathed in your name.

“I spent one whole night…” Bruce began, “…answering senseless questions, to a man child with anger issues…And I did it for you” he said, “And…I would do it all over again...”

To your surprise, this composited of all qualities deemed romantic, though it may not seemed traditional. They were certainly most adequate for you. But, your heart was not yet convinced:

“Bruce…” your voice almost broke, “…I’m just a Senior Manager in your company” you said, with a sad smile, “You deserve better”

And you meant it, truly. Gently pulling you closer, Bruce exhaled deeply: “I don’t care of what I deserve...” he stated, his thumb grazing over your hand, “…I care of what I need…”

Your fast paced heart had difficulty functioning when you felt him place a gentle kiss on the back of your wrist. The same traumatic place Alpha willfully slashed, the same spot blood managed to gush out. His lips, they were akin to an invisible bandage you preferred not to rid oneself of. And to find him  reach this stage of vulnerability, you would be lying if you did not acknowledge your broken heart as a consequence.

“Bruce...” you breathed, your defenses breaking down within seconds. Looking up, he looked at you with desperation:

“What is it?” he inquired with impatience, “What do I need to prove to y-”

He was silenced, when you clashed your lips against his with sheer desperation. Your heart finally understood, it seemed.

“Just kiss me” you breathed shakily, your lips brushing against his. Was this what he desired for? You wondered for a split second. But the moment he exhaled with relief, Bruce kissed you back with equal fervor, both finally have come to an understanding.

A desperate one, to be exact.

Bruce’s lips were as addictive and charismatic as his entire presence itself, and certainly strong enough to drive away and forget all matters that resided in your head, except one: your desperate need for him.

Desperation was what you tasted when he kissed you, and that was what your own lips preached religiously to his. It was the lead role of this passion play. Every minute, every day, every week you had deprived yourself of him, you hopelessly needed them back. All forms of doubts and suppression that lingered, you threw all out of the window. For you chose him, you wanted him.

His lips, they held on to you tightly, savoring your own with enough passion and impatience whilst his hands gripped on to your waist with intensity. And truthfully, you did not blame him. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you were relieved to share that similar greed for one another. You moaned into the kiss, as his palms made themselves at home on your buttocks. Backing up, you finally stopped the moment you felt the dinner table right behind you. And before your brain could even form any connection, Bruce was generous, lowering himself enough for you to jump onto him, just so he could carefully place you on the table.

Pulling him by the loosened tie, you felt the kiss deepen at last. Tongues were in a desperate race to reach their destination before the other, intoxicating each other with no shame. As he stood between your legs, you heard yourself gasp into his lips as bodies clashed intimately close. It sent goosebumps, it cause fireworks. Your body was awakened in more ways than one.

Like a drug addict deprived of her usual supply, you suddenly looked at Bruce with desperation when his lips quickly pulled away from yours. Looking at your messy, aroused state, he began breathlessly:

“I can…” he panted, forehead pressed against yours, “I can stop if you want-”

“Don’t dare fucking stop, Bruce!”

You whispered, sheer impatience leading you to kiss him roughly afterwards. His consideration even at this point led to even more arousal than before. By now, the level of desperation increased, to the point a sense of connection was expected of, where desire and lust grouped up form a stronger alliance. A pair of trousers being unbuckled never sounded this heavenly, especially when it was Bruce Wayne engaged in it. With your own fingers hooked on to the ends of your panties, you impatiently managed to pull them down whilst moving from side to side on the table. All the while his lips were desperately glued onto yours.

No clothes were in need of shedding, for there was simply no time to. Sloppy Desperation overruled this morning, to the point all that simply mattered were the uniting of one’s bodies until two became one, until that burning flame could finally be put out. Until that hunger was satisfied, and that thirst was quenched.

“Bruce…” you breathed, pulling away, eyes widening as you looked down.

For the moment your eyes caught the glimpse of his own aroused manhood reveal itself before you, the need for him was confirmed once more . The very moment you found yourself adjusting for him, you were aware of what you needed. The moment you let out of an incredibly emotional cry  when he finally inserted himself into you, all that seemed challenging in your life were suddenly filled with clarity.

“Ah! Bruce…” you cried softly, as his own grunts harmonized with yours.

With every thrust he made inside you, with every kiss  he planted on your skin, you gladly were prepared to be his. As the apartment filled up with suppressed moans, grunts and whispery sighs exchanged between the two, you were hopelessly and shamelessly his.

When finally the passion peak was reached, and his own passion erupted and released within your core, You finally knew what really was important for you. For you had finally decided. 

——————————————————

Chapter 8 HERE

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A Little Bit of Attitude Ch. 35: I Love Him

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

A/N: Hey! I’m not dead! I just have shitty mental health! But I’m good! 

WARNINGS: drugs, OD, death(kinda), angst

TAGS: @madamsixx @emariehorror​ @nosebleedblitz​

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October 13th, 1987

Los Angeles, California

Home. The only place Sammi wanted to be was home with her parents. It was the perfect time to drive 7 hours with no Motley Crue anywhere close to Los Angeles. While this seemed essential to Sammi to come down, Mr. & Mrs. Bass were heavily confused by the visit. Of course, they loved having their youngest daughter back in the same city, but when they knew ahead of time. Sammi always planned her visits for the weekend after a busy school week, not a random Tuesday. As parents, Mr. & Mrs. Bass kept their questions to zero with happiness in the air to help combat Sammi's melancholic demeanor. A perfect way to help had ice cream for dessert after dinner. Sitting together at the breakfast table, Mrs. Bass placed a bowl of rocky road ice cream in front of Sammi, knowing it was her favorite. Sammi smiled happily for a second to her mother, remaining silent as she ate. Mr. Bass took this as his way to attempt to break through his daughter's walls.

"I talked to Tommy the other day," said Mr. Bass, glancing over to Sammi as he ate a spoonful of cookies & cream ice cream. "Have you gotten a chance to speak to him, Sunny?"

"Nope," bluntly said Sammi, looking down at her ice cream.

Mr. and Mrs. Bass only exchanged looks with each other. "Well what did Tommy get to tell you, David?" asked Mrs. Bass.

"Things are starting to feel overwhelming for him and the boys. Tommy mostly wanted to speak about home and how everyone's been," said Mr. Bass. "He said he missed us and the girls,"

"I hope he doesn't stress himself out too much. Tommy does push the limits with everything especially when Nikki's by his side," said Mrs. Bass. Sammi let out a dry chuckle, making her parents turn their gaze towards her. Sammi glanced up but only remained silent once again when Mr. and Mrs. Bass stared. "Is everything alright, Lovebug?"

"Yeah, I'm good," lied Sammi.

"Is everything alright between you and guys?" asked Mr. Bass, leaning forward onto the table. Sammi only shrugged her shoulders.

"Did Tommy and you get into an argument recently?" asked Mrs. Bass.

"No, we didn't"

"Well then how are you with the boys?" asked Mrs. Bass again.

"Are you alright with Nikki, Sammi?" asked Mr. Bass. Sammi took a deep breath, dropping her spoon into her half-empty bowl. She leaned back against the wooden chair, pushing any fallen hair out of her hair.

"No. I'm not alright with Nikki. I haven't been for a while," finally admitted Sammi.

"Well, what happened? You had told me Nikki wanted to work out, even invited you out to a show on your birthday," asked Mr. Bass.

Sammi hugged herself almost tight, not wanting to look her parents in the eye. "He fell off the wagon… turned back to drugs. I found out when I saw him and said I didn't want anything to do with him," said Sammi. Mr. and Mrs. Bass couldn't help but appear shocked for Sammi's reason, staying silent. Sammi didn't add anything else, only continued to finish her ice cream.

"Can you tell what drugs he's back on?" asked Mrs. Bass.

"I don't want to say it out loud. Just know it's too hard for me to let it go," said Sammi.

"Well, I hope Nikki learns from his actions. He's too smart of a man to throw everything away just for a fix," said Mr. Bass, studying Sammi's facial expressions.

"I doubt that…" mumbled Sammi, standing up to drop her bowl into the sink, leaving the kitchen to head upstairs for the night. Mr. Bass held Mrs. Bass's hand, trying his best to think of a solution to Sammi's sadness.

"You really do like Nikki, huh?" asked Mrs. Bass.

Mr. Bass sighed out. "Yeah, I do. He's a good kid and I know how much Sammi cares about him. I mean it when I say I hope he learns from all of this and gets help,"

"But he hurt our daughter, David," pointed out Mrs. Bass.

"Because he's sick, Vi. When I say I know, I just know. I know he cares about our daughter, just like our daughter cares about him," said Mr. Bass, standing up and kissing his wife on her forehead.

December 13th, 1987

The air was crispy and chilly for winter being so close, even if it was rare for an authentic cold in Los Angeles. Even with the chilly air, it didn't stop Sammi from lighting a cigarette and taking in tobacco into her system. She blew smoke into the air and leaned against the balcony of Emm and Sabrina's apartment. Sammi listened to the sirens go across the city, staring out into the lights. She then heard the sliding door open behind her, seeing Emma appear over her shoulder.

"You're not cold?" asked Emma, leaning against the railing next to Sammi.

Sammi took another drag before answering. "No, I'm pretty good even with this thin long sleeve," said Sammi as she held her pack of smokes between her and Emma. "Want one?"

"Nah I'm trying to quiet," sighed Emma, Sammi raising a brow. "My coach saw my pack in my duffle, gave me a lecture. So now I'm trying to quit," said Emma.

Sammi chuckled with a smirk. "Better than me. I think I'm addicted to these at this point," said Sammi, blowing another puff of smoke.

"Wouldn't doubt it with you being around Nikki so much," said Emma without thinking until realizing. "I'm sorry I didn't-" said Emma with wide eyes.

"It's fine," uttered Sammi, looking straight ahead, biting her lip. The two girls stayed in silence, sirens continuing to make noise all around. Emma couldn't handle it anymore.

"The boy's have been back for a while," said Emma. Sammi nodded. "They're gonna go to Tokyo soon," Sammi stayed quiet. "Have you heard anything from Tommy?" Sammi shook her head. "Have you heard anything about Nikki?" asked Emma, turning to see Sammi's expressions.

Sammi only kept a gaze ahead of her, taking another drag of her tiny cigarette. "When I said I was done with him, I meant it, Emma. I don't want to hear anything about him or from," said Sammi, smashing the bud against the black iron and flicking it down to the ground.

"It's his birthday," Sammi stayed silent, looking down at the ground, two floors down. "I'm on your side in all of this. And you know if you need to talk it out some more, I'm right here," said Emma, squeezing Sammi's shoulder as she walked back inside. All Sammi could do was stay outside and smoke another cigarette. She also could only play with the black stone around her neck.

December 23rd, 1987

Covina, California

3:30 am

The television light danced around the dark living room, the sound almost at a mute. On both of the sofas, Sammi and Athena dozed off with blankets and pillows cuddling them. They wanted a night that reminded them of their teen years, watching movies with popcorn late into the night. The girls could've easily slept into the bright and early morning until a loud ring echoed in the house. Athena rustled on her sofa, groaning from the continued ringing of the doorbell, rubbing away the sleep from her eyes. She looked across to Sammi, seeing her still fast asleep. Athena sighed out as they lazily stood up from the sofa, walking over to the front door. She looked through the peephole, confused to see Tommy visibly worried outside. Athena opened the door, almost tumbled down as Tommy rushed into the house, gripping onto the wall for balance.

"What the hell, Tommy?" whispered Athena, scrunching her eyebrows together into deep 11's. She finally saw a good look at her brother's face, noting his glossy red eyes. "Woah. Are you okay?" asked Athena, locking the front door.

Tommy shook his head. "Where's Sammi? I- I need to talk to her," uttered Tommy, his voice sounding raspy.

"Um… she's asleep in the living room over here," said Athena, walking a few feet to the doorway of their parents' living room. Athena halted in her steps when seeing two empty sofas and no one in the living room. Athena looked to Tommy, who was still on edge and scanned around the hallway. The sound of feet coming down almost made the brother and sister jump, seeing their parents come down the stairs in robes.

"What's going on?" asked Mrs. Bass, having the same face as Athena. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" Mrs. Bass asked Tommy, walking over and cradling his face in her hands.

"Why did you ring the doorbell so many times, Tommy?" asked Mr. Bass, fixing his glasses from slipping off his face.

"I-I-I need to talk to Sammi. It's urgent. I called Emma and Sabrina's and they said she was here," stuttered Tommy, eye darting all over the place.

"What's everyone talking about?" said Sammi, walking down the hall with a glass of water in her hands. She frowned at everyone around her, confused by the scared and worried faces, especially Tommy's. "Dude, have you been crying?" asked Sammi, standing right in front of her brother. Tommy only looked down at her with a painful sadness, biting his lip. "What's wrong?" Sammi asked again with a stern voice.

"Nikki's dead." croaked Tommy, swallowing the knot in his throat.

The room stood utterly still. Athena's eyes grew wide in a panic, turning to see Mr. and Mrs. Bass's mouths ajar from shock. Sammi didn't move an inch, just gripping tighter onto her glass of water. Tommy stepped an inch to hug Sammi, but this only made her take a step back. Everyone stared at Sammi, waiting for the smallest amount of something of a reaction.

Sammi shook her head. "It isn't true. Someone's lying. They have to be," said Sammi, feeling her heartbeat out of her chest and palms sweat. "Nikki isn't dead,"

"Sam, Slash called me. Slash's been calling everyone," said Tommy with a frown.

"Well, then he's lying! Slash and Nikki play shitty jokes on everyone! You know that!" yelled Sammi.

"He overdosed!"

"No!"

'Love-"

"No, mama!" said Sammi, pushing her mother's arm away from her. "He said he was going to get clean! Nikki wanted to get clean!" yelled out Sammi again, still managing to keep a tight grip on the glass. "He can't be dead!" cracked Sammi's voice, eyes turning into a sad pink.

"I'm tired of this," uttered Athena, walking over to the coffee table in the living room. Everyone followed her, gathering in the middle of the room. She swiftly grabbed the clicker, changing the channel from a MASH rerun to MTV.

Blasted right on the new television screen was a video of Nikki playing at their last American show. "It's a sad night in the rock n' roll scene as Nikki Sixx, bassist for the successful band Motley Crue, has died today in Hollywood due to a heroin overdose. He was only 29 years old," said the MTV news anchor. An image of Nikki appeared on screen, showing 1958-1987. This is what cracked Sammi finally.

Everything felt as if it was moving in slow motion. The glass in Sammi's hand finally fell free, smashing into a million pieces on the hardwood floor, water spilling everywhere. The sound of it breaking didn't register into Sammi's ears, but it didn't matter. Sammi felt numb all around her body as if she was weak. Soon when Sammi felt her knees hit the floor, it was back to 'normal.'

"No!" howled Sammi, tears running down her face. "No! No! No!" Sammi screamed, hunching forward and hiding in the palms of her hands. The air in Sammi's lungs felt almost gone, as if someone punched her in the gut because it was. Hearing the facts for herself of Nikki dying was a punch in the gut that Nikki caused her. Yet sadness was the only thing Sammi felt.

As Sammi gasped for air, Athena and Mrs. Bass lifted her off the ground to lay on the sofa. Sammi rested her head on Mrs. Bass's lap, continuing to cry. Mrs. Bass ran her fingers through Sammi's hair, frowning at her daughter's misfortune. Athena kneeled on the floor, soothing Sammi with soft rubs on her back. Athena soon felt her own tears begin to form, regarding the most miniature form of sadness than Sammi. It's strange what death can lead others to think at the moment. For this moment, Athena felt horrible for her history with Nikki. Never giving him a chance when she knew Nikki made Sammi happy. Never saying kind things about him to Sammi. And now never getting to say sorry. Athena felt even worse seeing Sammi break down for her person.

"Sammi, I'm so sorry," uttered Athena.

"I should've helped him. I should've stayed," outcried Sammi, tears falling down harder as she gasped.

"Don't say that. This isn't your fault," reassured Athena. "Nikki knew how much you cared about him,"

Athena turned to see Tommy sitting by their father, rubbing away the tears from his eyes. "Do you… do you know how Vince and Mick are, Tommy?"

Tommy shook his head. "I don't want to talk to them right now. I can't," mumbled Tommy. "It's late anyway,"

"Tommy's right. I think it's best we take Sammi up to bed," said Mr. Bass, squeezing Tommy's shoulder before standing up and walking over to his daughters. Mrs. Bass wiped away the dry cheeks on Sammi's face before slowly sitting her up. "Sammi. Sammi, come on, we have to take you to bed," Mr. Bass said softly.

Sammi only shook her head and cried harder, unable to have the strength to move. Mr. Bass and Athena gently laid hands on Sammi's arms and shoulders, bringing on her feet. Before they could help guide Sammi, Tommy moved past Athena and Mr. Bass as he decided to be the protective older brother he always was. He wrapped Sammi's arm around his neck, lifting her petite figure in his arms bridal style. In almost complete silence, except for Sammi's soft whimpers, Tommy carried Sammi up to her childhood bedroom. The rest of the family followed behind.

"He wanted to get better," wept Sammi into Tommy's chest.

"I know he did, Sammi," consoled Tommy. To his luck, Sammi's bedroom door was ajar, only needing the push on his foot to open it wide to walk right in. Tommy gently laid Sammi down on the bed, lifting the blankets to cover her body. Mr. and Mrs. Bass stayed in the door frame while Athena stood right next to Tommy. Athena delicately hopped over Sammi, squeezing herself in the rest of the bed space. She wrapped her arms behind Sammi for a hug, knowing her sister shouldn't be alone. Mrs. Bass came into the room for a quick moment, kissing on her forehead, then retreated back to Mr. Bass, going to their rooms. Tommy and Athena gave a knowing look to each other, nodding as if they could communicate telepathically. Tommy left the room without another word. The cry had stopped for Sammi, but now it was only numbness, physically able to feel her heartbreak. Sammi closed her eyes, praying for something to end this.

*

"You promise everything will be good from now on?"

Nikki smiles at Sammi, brushing away her dark locks from her face. "I promise. I meant it when I said I missed you and don't want to lose this,"

Sammi cuddled up to Nikki's chest, almost hugging him. "I believe you,"

*

6:00 am

In a stir, Sammi snapped open her eyes, dismayed to find herself in her childhood bedroom. It took a couple seconds before Sammi could remember what had happened only 3 hours ago. Sammi peeked over her shoulder to see Athena lightly snoring, lying straight on her back. She quietly snuck out of bed, knowing she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. The sun was barely making its way up into the sky for the new day. This new day wasn't what Sammi wanted, but she had to accept and begin to grieve, even if she didn't want to.

Sammi quietly went downstairs, seeing Tommy asleep on one of the sofas, continuing her walking down the hall. Sammi stopped when seeing the wall phone in front of her. It was a habit she grew to have, dialing Nikki only to hang up soon after. It was tempting at this moment to do it. Grieving has different stages, right?

Like clockwork, Sammi grabbed the phone with a shaky hand, pressing Nikki's home phone number from memory. Sammi leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes as the tone began dialing, just waiting for his voicemail. Expect this time it wasn't the original.

"Hey it's Nikki I'm not home cause I'm dead…" said Nikki with a rough voice that has gone through the wringer. The beep of the answering machine made Sammi come back to earth. She gasped and slammed the phone shut, feeling her hands begin to shake. Sammi hastily walked back to the living room, dropping herself next to Tommy.

"T-Tommy. Tommy, wake up," shakily uttered Sammi, tapping Tommy's shoulder.

Tommy groaned, turning on his side to give his back. "What," annoyed Tommy said.

"It's Nikki. He-"

"Is dead. We already went through this, Sammi. I'm sorry for your loss," groaned Tommy.

"Tommy, he isn't dead," said Sammi. Tommy sat up in a flash, getting a dizzy spell from the quick motion.

"What are you talking about?"

Sammi didn't say another word, jumping on her feet as she tugged Tommy onto his. She pulled him all the way to the wall phone, passing it to him as she punched the buttons. Tommy's face went from confused to shock, eyes widening when hearing Nikki's answering machine message. In almost a freight, Tommy slammed the phone back on the receiver.

"I'm gonna kill him," said Tommy, nostrils flaring. "I'm gonna kill for making us worry like this,"

"Tommy as much as I would agree on any other given day, I want Nikki alive. We need to go check up on him," said Sammi.

"What if he doesn't want to see us? Why should we after he scared us?" asked Tommy. In a rash decision, Sammi punched Tommy in the shoulder with all her strength. "Ow! The hell was that for?"

"Your best friend, who you see as a brother, and my ex-boyfriend, who I still have feelings for, died last night and is alive again. You really don't want to see him after that?" asked Sammi, trying not to raise her voice. Tommy huffed, looking back and forth from Sammi to the floor, finally nodding in agreement. "Great. Let's tell Athena before we split," said Sammi, running up the stairs, Tommy in tow.

Athena was still fast asleep in Sammi's bed, moving over right into the middle. Sammi and Tommy shook her gently, repeating her name until hearing her groggy voice.

Athena opened her eyes, scrunching her face when seeing Sammi and Tommy standing over her. "Why are you two up so early?"

"I just called Nikki's house. He's alive, Athena," said Sammi.

"Oh thank god," sighed Athena, hands falling on her face. "Did you talk to him?"

"No, he just left a shitty answering message. Tom and I are going to go check up on him," said Sammi.

"Wait, I'm coming too!" said Athena, ripping the covers off her and jumping off the bed. "Someone needs to be stable between the two of you,"

"Okay great. Now change and let's get the hell out of here before mama and dad wake up," said Tommy, leaving the bedroom to head downstairs.

"I'll leave a note. Let's just hurry," said Sammi grabbing a random piece of paper and pen.

7:45 am

The ride was a quiet one driving through the California valley. Tommy didn't feel the need to race; wanting to be at ease, they grew closer to Nikki's house. It had seemed no one else got the news of Nikki being alive, flowers already beginning to gather outside his gate. Sammi swallowed hard at the thought, trying to prepare herself for what was to come. Tommy lowered the window, staring at the gate code box.

"Do you know his gate code?" asked Tommy to Sammi.

"Uh yeah it's 0882," answered Sammi, Tommy raising a brow. "Don't make fun of him, it's when we first met,"

"Damn Nikki being a softy was not what I imagined," teased Athena, Tommy giggling as he punched in the code. Nothing. Tommy looked back at Sammi.

"You sure it's that?" asked Tommy.

"Yeah! He never changed his code when he got this place," said Sammi, unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping out of the car. She tried the code herself, only to get nothing again, making her groan in annoyance. "Why would he change it?"

"Maybe to keep Veronica out," suggested Tommy, putting the car in park and getting out along with Athena. "I don't think we can climb this," Tommy pointed out. Nikki's gate was close to 7 feet tall of steel with surrounding brick walls in the front.

"Nope, but I do know where we can climb," said Sammi, walking to a nearby corner. Athena and Tommy glanced at each other with scrunched eyebrows, following Sammi around the corner to more brick walls only with more trees. Sammi stood in what appeared to be the end of Nikki's property.

"What are you doing? Again, I don't think we can climb that," asked Tommy, pointing to the wall.

"If you give me a lift, I'll prove how wrong you are," said Sammi with a slight smirk. This shut Tommy up, even with confusion and questions still on his mind. Nevertheless, he listened to Sammi and lifted her up as safely as he could. Sammi extended one foot against the wall, pushing herself up to graze the ledge.

"Sammi!" both Athena and Tommy said.

"Shut up! Tommy, lift me up higher," ordered Sammi. Tommy didn't argue, extending his arms high as he held Sammi's right leg. This gave his sister the chance to climb and sit on the ledge. "See! I proved you wrong!" exclaimed Sammi with a smile. "Now lift Athena and I'll pull her up!"

It didn't take long for Athena to be sitting next to Sammi, looking on the other side. "Oh hey there's a little hill on this corner, How did you remember about this?"

"Because this isn't the first I've had to jump the wall thanks to Nikki," joked Sammi, as the sisters lifted Tommy up by his arms to join them.

"You've had to sneak into Nikki's house before?" asked Tommy.

"His lovely ass forgot his keys at a party making us do this drunk," said Sammi, jumping off the ledge, landing on the grass perfectly. After the siblings all joined together, they walked through the backyard and straight to the sliding door. "Thank god," whispered Sammi as she found it unlocked, quietly sliding it.

The house was dark and cold as if no one cared to live in it. Dishes and stains piled up in the kitchen. It almost reminded Tommy of the Motley House, just waiting for the sight of a cockroach or rat to crawl by them.

"I don't hear anything," said Athena as the siblings walked to the front of the house.

"Maybe he's catching up on a few zzz's after his fiasco," said Tommy, taking one step to the stairs. After trying not to for the entire time, Sammi looked up the staircase as she bit her nails, nerves, and fear all in one. "What are you guys waiting for? Let's go see him," said Tommy, taking a few more steps. Athena held Sammi's hand for reassurance, walking up the gothic flight of stairs, Tommy leading.

The second floor wasn't as of a mess as the downstairs, but doors to other rooms were all open. Sammi could feel her heart pound out of her chest again once walking into Nikki's room. It was more of a mess from the last time Sammi spent the night, clothes and empty alcohol bottles thrown around. With no sight of Nikki, Sammi glanced over to the closed closet doors, swallowing away the lump in her throat. Sammi let go of Athena's hand, stepping closer to the closet, opening it with a shaky hand. A loud gasp turned Tommy's head.

"Oh my god," gasped Sammi, stumbling back into Tommy's chest, covering her mouth as she almost sobbed. Athena and Tommy could only stare with wide eyes, finding Nikki in an unfortunate way. In the middle of the closet sat Nikki, almost naked with only his underwear on, passed out. Beside him, his special wooden box of everything and a bloody arm with a needle lodged into a vein. Nikki looked scary to Sammi, his body completely pale and covered in sweat. "He cannot be alive after that!" shouted Sammi. Athena pulled her into an embrace, covering her eyes.

Tommy carefully stepped inside, kneeling beside Nikki. He took one deep breath before beginning to shake him awake. "Nikki," uttered Tommy. Nothing. Tommy looked back to see a scared Sammi, settling into his nerves. "Nikki!" shouted Tommy, shaking Nikki viciously. Finally.

Almost jumping out of his skin, Nikki shut his eyes up and let out a gasp. His blurred vision soon focused, looking around to find the siblings watching over him. Scared. Nikki's eyes locked with Sammi's, seeing the fear he caused. This made him want to just run away and be small, but he couldn't do that. Tommy didn't need to ask Nikki and carefully took out the needle of heroin.

"It's going to be alright, Nik. We got you," whispered Tommy. He tossed the dirty needle in Nikki's box. "Athena, come help me," Tommy told his sister, swinging Nikki's arm around his neck. Athena rushed over, kneeling by Nikki and grabbing him to support his weight. "Okay. One, two, three. Lift," said Tommy. The brother and sister lifted Nikki's weak body off the floor, trying not to stumble over their feet. Sammi could only watch, tears welling up as Athena and Tommy took Nikki to his bathroom. She still followed slowly, seeing how exhausted Nikki was. Tommy sighed out as he sat Nikki on the bathtub's edge, looking at Athena and Sammi. Nikki only stayed silent, staring down at the floor.

"Get out," said Sammi; Athena and Tommy whipped their heads to her. "Nikki needs a bath. I'll do it,"

"But-"

"Athena, it's fine. Tommy, can you please find some clean clothes for Nikki, something comfortable?" asked Sammi. Tommy nodded, stepping out of the bathroom.

"I guess I can make some breakfast for us," said Athena.

"There isn't any food in the house," uttered Nikki, finally looking someone in the eye.

"Um fine then I can just pick up from breakfast somewhere," said Athena, beginning to make her way out of the bathroom but turned on her heels. "By the way, what's the gate code? We couldn't get it the first try,"

Nikki looked away from Athena. "It's Sammi's birthday…"

Athena nodded with a smile that wasn't for happiness. "Of course it is. I won't be long," said Athena, kissing Sammi on the cheek before closing the door behind her.

The room fell silent, neither Sammi nor Nikki looking at each other even as Sammi got close to run the bath. Sammi began looking for a towel and even soap to wash Nikki, opening every drawer in the master bathroom. She almost gave up until opening the bottom sink cabinet. Right in front was a never-opened bottle of fancy scented liquid soap Sammi bought a long time ago with the two towels she used as her own. Sammi only scoffed, grabbing the three items to keep next to her. Tommy knocked for a second and dropped Nikki's folded clothes on the counter.

Sammi felt the warm water, adding a bit of her soap to the bath, turning off the water. "Okay, get undressed," said Sammi, turning her back on Nikki.

Nikki looked up, staring at Sammi's back for a moment, the feeling of regret coming up. Slowly standing up, Nikki took off his boxers and carefully lowered himself in the bathtub. Nikki didn't need to tell Sammi he was ready, seeing her kneel down in a flash beside him. Sammi soaked the smaller towel in the soapy water, adding more as she began the washing. Silence still followed, which only made Nikki want to scream on the top of his lungs. Feeling the towel draw across his chest didn't give any happy effect. It just made Nikki angry at himself.

"I'm sorry," whispered Nikki. Sammi remained silent. Nikki only dropped his head against the granite, looking up at the ceiling. "I could've done this myself,"

"I don't trust you,"

Nikki huffed. "Fair enough. I don't blame you. I wouldn't trust me either,"

When Sammi reached Nikki's arm, she grazed the bloody wound carefully, causing her to finally break.

"Why?" asked Sammi, finally looking up at Nikki.

Nikki looked at Sammi with deep elevens between his brows. "Huh?"

"Why would you go back after dying?" whispered Sammi, a tear rolling down her face. "You died and you still wanted to shoot up again… why?"

Nikki sighed. "Because I'm an addict. I never thought it would get like this though. I mean it when I say I'm sorry,"

"Yeah where have I heard that before?" mumbled Sammi. "I thought you were gone. Doesn't that matter to you?"

"It does..."

Sammi didn't need to say anything else, moving on to wash Nikki's hair.

8:50 am

"Um thanks for the food, Athena," uttered Nikki with a mouth full of diner chocolate chip pancakes. Thanks to Tommy, the siblings and Nikki ate on the kitchen island in awkward silence in the now somewhat clean kitchen. Sammi didn't look at anyone but the plate of her as she sat beside Nikki.

"You're welcome, Nikki. It's the least I can do. Just from guessing, you seem to be enjoying your pancakes," said Athena with a small smile. Nikki only nodded as he continued to eat.

"So I don't know if this is a great time to ask but, what happened, Nik? And please tell us the truth," asked Tommy. Nikki swallowed his food and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He glanced over at Sammi before speaking.

"Well, I was with Slash at his and Duff's hotel room. It was just us and a couple of random guys. I was pretty out of it already from bar hopping, so I don't remember everything. Next thing I know my dealer is next to me and I ask him to help…" As Nikki paused, he caught the glaring anger from Sammi's eyes. He only looked away. "You get the idea. Then I pass out only to hit with two adrenaline shots by an EMT who happened to be a huge fan,"

"Well aren't you so lucky" mumbled Sammi.

"Sammi…" said Athena.

"What? I can't say anything?"

"Yeah but don't be mad at him," whispered Athena.

"It's okay Athena," said Nikki

"I'm not mad at Nikki, I'm just mad at this day," said Sammi, going back to her food, feeling Nikki keep a close eye on her.

"Tommy, you're going to have to tell everyone that Nikki is okay. I think the last thing anyone wants is flowers flooding the front gate," said Athena.

"You're right. I'll call Doc after this,"

"I think what we need to do after this is clean the house for drugs, especially Nik's room," said Sammi.

"I can help," said Nikki.

"No. You need to sleep. We can handle this," said Sammi, resting her hand on his. The simple act of touch tugged at Nikki's heartstrings. Nikki nodded. "Athena, let's get the guest room ready for Nik," said Sammi getting up from her seat.

"Yes, ma'am," said Athena, following her sister up the stairs. "Are you sure you want to clean up this place?"

Sammi didn't answer right away, only opened a closet door that she knew had all the linens and blankets organized. She led Athena to the closet guest room, opening the door to find it surprisingly clean. She stripped the bed of its sheets, handing Athena one side of the new ones.

"Do I want to, no. Do I think it's necessary, yes. Again, I'm mad at this day but we've got to do things for Nikki right now," said Sammi, fluffing one of the pillows. Athena remained silent, helping Sammi finish the bed. Nikki shuffled his way into the room in perfect timing, surprised to see a clean bed with Tommy right behind him.

"Wow, thanks," said Nikki, sitting at the foot of the bed. Tommy and Athena waited for their sister in the hallway. Sammi squeezed his shoulder, stepping back to the door. The amount of no talking between the two was rare. Nikki hated every second of it.

"If you need anything just yell for me, okay?" said Sammi, leaning against the doorframe, hands hidden in her back pockets. Nikki nodded, laying down in a bed the first time all day. Sammi quietly closed the door behind her with a yawn. "Gosh,

I'm sleepy,"

"You'll take a nap after this. Where should we start?" asked Tommy.

"Athena and I will look through up here, and you can take the downstairs. I'm sure most of it is in his room anyway," said Sammi.

"Perfect! Let's get this over with and maybe go to sleep!" said Athena, latching onto Sammi's shoulder as Tommy dashed downstairs to the next guestroom. All three of the siblings were just trying to mentally prepare themselves for even more to come.

*

"Jesus this is so gross," groaned Sammi throwing dirty needles covered in napkins onto a pile on the floor. Sammi was right, as most of the drugs Nikki consumed were either scattered in his room or in his closet. This didn't stop the girls from looking through every corner of Nikki's room or bathroom.

"Why does Nikki have so many girl clothes? There's bras, shirts, and freaking underwear," said Athena kneeling in front of the bottom drawer of the black dresser. Sammi walked over to Athena for a peek.

"Because it's all mine," said Sammi, kneeling beside Athena. Sammi smiled as she looked through the drawer, finding articles of clothing she thought were lost. "Damn I didn't think he'd keep all this crap. Hey, my first Motley shirt!" exclaimed Sammi, pulling out a cropped black t-shirt from her first tour with the boys.

Athena could see the smile on Sammi's face, the first one all day. "You two really care about each other,"

"I guess we do," uttered Sammi, folding the shirt back in the drawer.

Before Athena could say another word, Tommy walked with a trash bag in his hand. "I called Doc. Told him Nikki was okay," said Tommy picking up the filthy pile for the trash bag. He dropped it down in the corner, sitting on Nikki's bed with a huff. "The guys and he are going to come. We need to have a meeting. You two included,"

"Why us?" asked Athena.

"My sister for moral support," said Tommy pointing at Athena. "My sister and Nikki's whatever," Tommy said, pointing at Sammi. "I just need the both of you there,"

"Fine but I'm taking a nap," said Sammi, jumping on Nikki's bed.

"Ew Sam, you don't know if it's clean or not," said Athena, curling her lip.

"Out of every bed I've slept on, I like Nikki's. Now shut up and let me sleep,"

Tommy chuckled at Sammi with a shake of his head, guiding Athena out of the room. It was something Sammi deserved.

1:30 pm

"Okay, I'm glad we can all make it today after these rough past 12 hours," announced Doc, standing front and center of Nikki's sitting room. On one sofa sat the Bass siblings while Mick and Vince sat across from them, Nikki still asleep upstairs. The tension between everyone felt gross to Sammi almost, wishing for an ounce of happiness like always.

"I hope that the misfortune of last night comes as a wake-up call for all of you men," said Doc. Sammi rolled her eyes without hiding it. "Now we need to discuss the question, where do we go from here?"

"Simple," spoke Vince. "We kick Nikki out of the band,"

"What?!" everyone but Doc shouted in unison.

"You can't kick Nikki out of the band!" said Sammi.

"And why not? Clearly, he isn't stable enough to be playing in a band,"

"No one in the entire rock scene is stable enough to be playing in a band!" explained Sammi.

"You do realize Nikki is the reason you're in Motley Crue right?" asked Athena, narrowing her eye at him.

"It was actually your brother," said Vince with a smirk

"Because Nikki made a fucking band and wanted me as a drummer. We all have jobs because Nikki fucking made Motley Crue. He does everything!" said Tommy.

"Do you even know how to write a song?" asked Mick.

"Enough! This kind of fighting isn't going to solve anything," said Doc. "We need to come up with a plan to move forward,"

"I don't know why you're acting like you don't know anything?" said Athena, crossing her arms. "Rehab! Rehab should already be in your head!" Athena said with a sharp finger pointing at Doc. Doc was almost taken aback by this.

"You're right, Athena. Nikki needs rehab and maybe this time-"

"No, not just Nikki. All of the guys" said Athena, looking at the rest of the guys turn confused into anger. "You all need to go to rehab,"

"What the hell, Athena. I don't need rehab!" said Tommy, jumping up from the sofa.

"You don't? So you popping pills, drinking until you blackout almost every night, and only two steps behind Nikki is healthy?" asked Athena, standing up to Tommy.

"It's not that bad! We aren't as bad as Nikki!"

"I can quit drinking whenever I goddamn please," said Mick, fixing himself to stay comfortable.

"Mick, since Sammi and I have known you, you pretend to be drinking water when it's vodka. You told me you were drunk recording Girls," said Athena.

"This is bullshit. I already did the whole rehab drama once, I'm good,"

"Now that sounds like bullshit," whispered Sammi, looking down at the floor with her arms crossed.

Vince cocked his head at Sammi. "Is there anything you want to say, Sammi?"

Sammi sucked the front of her teether, looking directly at Vince. "Yes, there is. For someone who went to rehab by force you sure couldn't do anything, they told you to do the first time. You still do drugs and drink exactly like the rest, and you're the one that went to jail because of drinking!" exclaimed Sammi, jumping on her feet. This quickly silenced Vince. "And Tommy, you cannot say you don't need rehab when mama and dad have been worried about you for years . I'm surprised Heather hasn't told you anything about stopping the drinking," Tommy only looked away from his sisters. "Mick you're supposed to keep in shape and stay healthy. Drinking your liver away isn't going to do anything!"

"Sammi's right. You guys-"

"Do not get me started with you," said Sammi, turning on her heels to face Doc. Doc's eyes grew frightened. "You're their manager. You are supposed to be the one to help them when needed but you didn't. Instead, you kept Nikki on the road just so you can get a paycheck. And don't tell me it's not true when I worked at Elektra. You fucked up too,"

"I helped as much as I could! I didn't realize how bad the rest were because I was concerned for Nikki!" objected Doc.

"Says the man who said he needed to cancel Europe because he was scared of the guy's wellbeing!"

"Oh, Sammi shut up! If you cared enough about any of us, you wouldn't have ditched us to San Francisco," said Vince.

"So you're blaming me?!"

"Vince, that's so unfair to accuse Sammi of that," said Athena.

"Sammi moved for school. She's not our babysitter!" said Tommy.

"Just quit it, Vince you know you're wrong," said Mick.

"No, I'm not! She only gives a shit about Nikki and Nikki alone. Why would she even be here right now?"

"Maybe because she-"

"Guys!" said Sammi, looking at the sitting-room door frame. Nikki decided to walk downstairs for the meeting due to the yelling, looking a little better than this morning. Nikki shuffled into the area, almost awkward at the feeling of everyone staring at him. "Is everything okay, Nikki?" asked Sammi.

Nikki nodded. "I just… I heard what you all were talking about and I agree with Athena. I think we should all go to rehab," uttered Nikki, pressing his lips together. Motley found this shocking, the three looking at Nikki as if he had a second head. Vince's anger at Sammi disappearing when seeing Nikki almost scared of everything.

Nikki walked closer to the sisters, giving them a smile that took the energy out of him. "Athena, Sammi, thank you for everything. I know you and I haven't always been great but I really appreciate it, Athena. You already know how I feel, Sammi," said Nikki, still keeping a distance.

"When's the earliest we can all check-in? It doesn't have to be here in California, we just need help," asked Nikki.

"I'll start calling today to check you guys in at the beginning of January," said Doc.

"No, we- I need to go sooner,"

"We should check-in before the new year. In case one of us chickens out," said Tommy, glaring at Vince.

"I'm on board, I know I just complained but if it helps the band, then it's worth it," said Mick.

"Alright then. I'll get on that right now," said Doc, walking out of the sitting room to find Nikki's phone. The sudden silence was unbearable to Motley. Mick followed Doc, wanting to help out in any way he could. Vince reaching for the pack in his jeans, heading out in the backyard for a smoke. Tommy sat down on the sofa, dropping his head against the back as he sighed out, Athena next to him. Nikki turned to Sammi, gently grasping her hand.

"I think you should start heading home," said Nikki, squeezing Sammi's hand.

Sammi scrunched her brows together. "What? No! Who's gonna stay here with you? I need to know you're safe,"

"And I appreciate that and everything but it's only gonna get uglier from here. Heroin withdrawals are no joke and I don't want you to see me go through that,"

"Nikki, I get it. Please I know how to help," begged Sammi.

Nikki shook his head, frowning. "I need to be away from you. I have to do this and be alone for god knows how long. We can't be like this anymore,"

Sammi winced at the words, staring up at Nikki in disbelief. It was now her turn to feel what it was like to be pushed away, and she hated it. Sammi let go of Nikki's hand, stepping away from him slowly.

"Alright. If that's what you need. I won't be here," said Sammi, swallowing away the lump in her throat. "Tommy, do you think someone can give you a ride home?" Tommy nodded. He passed the keys to Athena, remaining mute. Athena only gave Tommy a tight-lipped smile, then wrapped an arm around Sammi, escorting her away from Nikki. Nikki stared at Sammi until she disappeared out the front door, dropping himself next to Tommy. Tommy only wrapped an arm around Nikki's shoulders, bringing him into his side.

3:30 pm

Walking into their parents' home felt like a sigh of relief for the girls, wanting to collapse on a sofa. They were lucky to find their dad in the living room watching tv. Sammi fell beside her dad; Mr. Bass was still looking at the tv. Athena decided to give her sister some space and head up to her childhood bedroom until dinner.

"Where's mama?" asked Sammi.

"She went to pick up your wrapped presents from the store. Kept her mind busy from all of this,"

Sammi dryly chuckled. "Wish I could keep my mind busy from this day,"

"You and your siblings have been gone most of the day. I'm going to guess things went well with Nikki?" Sammi shrugged her shoulders, tears wilting up. Mr. Bass looked beside him to see Sammi's blotchy pink face and pouty lip on the cusp of crying. "Sweetheart, what's wrong,"

"I'm so tired from all of this," said Sammi, breaking down and crying on her father's shoulder. It wasn't like crying from last time, but just soft tears. "I was so tired of worrying about Nikki. And now when I want to be with him, he doesn't want anything to do with me!"

"Sweetheart, I don't think it's like that,"

"He said it himself, dad. I'm so tired and now he's going to rehab. I just want him to be okay,"

Mr. Bass sighed out. "Sammi, listen to me and listen to me good. Do you love Nikki?" Sammi sniffled her tears away, wiping the fallen ones away, and nodded. "You have to say it out loud,"

"I love Nikki,"

"Okay then. Now I believe Nikki loves you too. He just wants to protect you even more from himself by pushing you away at this moment. You have to accept that and be away from him,"

"But I don't want to," pouted Sammi.

"This may be cheesy but like they always say  if you love something set it free. If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back to you, it was meant to be . I think you just need to set Nikki free for a moment so you two can come back to each other stronger. Do you understand?"

Sammi nodded but still let out a few more tears. Oh, to feel all of this in just one day.

[spiralingsoftly]

Proud

*This is my first time writing fanfiction in a long time. It's also my first BNHA and TodoDeku fanfiction period. Critiques welcome!*

Izuku Midoriya sat on the couch in the living room, his phone held against his ear as he stared absently out the window and listened as his mother went on about one topic after another. He loved his mother, truly he did. Ever since his father had left, his mother had been his biggest supporter even if she was overbearing at times – even now that he was in his thirties.

“Izuku? Honey? Did you hear what I just said?” his mother Inku asked, her worry ringing loud and clear through the phone.

“Hmm?” Izuku asked in reply, inwardly shaking himself out of the daze he’d fallen into as he listened to his mom’s voice and gazed out the window facing the couch upon which he was sitting.

The apartment was small, much smaller than one most people would consider appropriate for an up and coming hero like he was. But it was home and Izuku loved it. After he had graduated from UA, he’d worked at the Endeavor agency with Bakugo and Todoroki for a while until he had moved on to more freelance work. It wasn’t the glamourous hero life he’d envisioned when he had first began training with All Might, but it was fulfilling and Izuku honestly loved what he did every day.

“I’m sorry, mom. I spaced out again. Can you repeat that?” he said with a slight sigh, absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck even though his mother couldn’t see him through the phone.

“Oh Izuku. Are you sure that living in that apartment is still a good idea, honey? I know you love it there and have made it home, but I just worry….” Inku trailed off, not quite sure how to continue and not wanting to upset her son.

“Mom, I promise I’m fine. Things are slow with work right now and so my mind just wanders a bit more than before. But I’m okay.” Izuku replied, smiling softly despite how sad he truly felt inside. He hoped that the sadness didn’t seep through into his words, although he knew that it probably had.

Leaving the Endeavor agency to be a freelance hero had been the most difficult decision of his life, and almost every day he questioned himself as to if he had made the right choice or not. The work under Endeavor had been difficult and unrelenting. But it had shaped him into the hero that he was today. At the same time, it had also brought one of the best parts of his life crashing to the ground in the process.

“I know, honey. I just worry. I’ll let you go so that you can get something to eat – I know you haven’t been eating as well as you should be. Don’t even try and convince me otherwise, young man. I’m still your mother.” Inku said with a soft laugh before they bother said their goodbyes and ended the call.

Shaking his head and smiling softly, Izuku put his phone on the table beside the cough as his eyes turned back toward the sky outside. It was a crisp, cool fall day in mid-October. The leaves on the trees were turning brilliant colors and the air was turning colder by the day. This used to be his favorite time of year. Being able to walk down the street, wrapped up in his warmest coat, a scarf wrapped around his neck and his hands kept warm by a pair of hand knitted gloves. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his face as he walked thru the streets, hand in hand with his significant other.

Shoto.

That’s why his mind had wandered as he had been talking to his mother on the phone. The sky was the exact color of Shoto’s eye on his left side. While he loved looking into Shoto’s eyes, it was always his left eye that Izuku loved looking into most. Icy, beautiful blue.

They had publicly gotten together during the winter of their third year at UA. To their surprise, none of their other classmates had been too terribly surprised when they announced that they were now dating. It had been Bakugo who informed them that the whole class knew that they had secretly been dating since the previous spring. The brash blonde had gone on to say that they were both stupid to think that the rest of their classmates wouldn’t have put two and two together when the two of them kept having “study session” in one of their bedrooms. Apparently, they hadn’t hidden their relationship as well as they had hoped they had.

Working together at Endeavor’s agency had been great at first, even if it was also very awkward. Enji Todoroki had never been a kind or cuddly man. He had gotten ‘nicer’ over the years as he atoned for his wrongs against his children and wife – going so far as to bring Shoto’s mother home again to be with her children. But the elder Todoroki was still a cold man, bordering on somewhat cruelly emotionless at times. But, despite all that, being able to work as a hero in an official capacity with his boyfriend was something that Izuku had all but leapt at being able to do.

It had happened slowly overtime. An offhand comment here, a rude remark there. Enji wasn’t homophobic – Shoto’s older brother had a boyfriend as well and Enji was accepting of them and his children’s friends who had same sex significant others. However, there was always a tenseness when it came to his relationship with his youngest son. More than once, Izuku had brought the topic up with Shoto. Explaining to his boyfriend how uncomfortable the comments made him. Shoto, to his credit, had grown so much as a person since Izuku’s words at the sports festival their first year at UA had broken through his hesitancy to fully embrace the fire side of his quirk. However, little things like his father’s comments didn’t always register with him in the same way they did with the rest of the world.

After once particularly difficult rescue mission, he and Shoto had been sharing some quiet time together in one of the breakrooms at the agency when Enji had come in and made some rude comment before leaving again a few minutes later. That comment had been the straw that broke the camels back. After an emotion filled conversation, an argument really, he and Shoto had decided that they weren’t working as a couple. They still loved each other deeply but being a couple while working together at his father’s agency just wasn’t working anymore. Between tears, they decided that Izuku would stay at the apartment they shared together and Shoto would return home to live with his mother and siblings.

Blinking a few times, Izuku brought himself out of the memory he had just been reliving. Reaching a hand up to his face, he wasn’t surprised to learn that he was silently crying as his mind replayed the memories of the day that his world had completely changed. He had stopped by his mother’s house on his way home that day, and by the time he got home Shoto had already been there, collected his things, and left. The only way Izuku had known that the other man had been there at all was a note that had been left on their kitchen counter. It was written on a small square of pink paper. In Shoto’s unique script were the words “I’m so proud of you, Zuku. I love you – Sho”.

Izuku knew that he probably should have thrown the note away. Part of him still wished that he would, even though almost six months had passed since they parted. But he’d kept it. It helped ease the ache a little bit, even in some macabre way.

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

Shoto Todoroki sighed heavily as he reached the floor where the apartment, he shared with his boyfriend Izuku was. He was tried and warring with himself internally as to if he should actually go inside or not. Slowly he approached the door, his fingertips lightly brushing against the cool metal of the door before he gently knocked and pushed the door open slightly. Izuku never locked the door during the day, even though Shoto had begged him repeatedly to do so.

Sticking his head in slightly, Shoto smiled as he spotted the green haired man curled up on the sofa sound asleep. Opening the door enough so that he could walk inside the apartment, Shoto toed his shoes off and gently sat his bag on the floor next to the door. Straightening back up, he took off his coat and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs as he walked softly toward the living room and over to the couch. Kneeling down in front of the sleeping man, Shoto gently ran the pad of his thumb across Izuku’s cheek.

“Zuku? Hey Zuku. Wake up, babe.” He said softly, retracting his hand from the others face as Izuku’s eyelashes began to flutter before opening to reveal beautiful green eyes.

“S-sho? Shoto? W-what’re you doing here?” Izuku asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I came home. If you’ll still have me, that is….” Shoto replied softly, looking into Izuku’s eyes with silent hope.

“But what about your dad’s agency?”

Shoto shrugged before answering. “I left. He begged me not to. Told me that the agency would be mine after he retired. But I told him I didn’t want it. I wanted to build my own agency, my own legacy. It’s my quirk, right? Not his?”

Izuku’s face lit up with the most stunning smile that Shoto had ever seen before the green haired man flung himself into the other’s lap.

“It’s your quirk, Sho. It’s always been yours. He might have been the one to give it to you – along with your mom’s quirk of course. But it’s yours.” Izuku replied before leaning in and kissing Shoto deeply.

Reaching forward, Shoto held the smaller man to him as he lost himself in the kiss. This was where he was meant to be. Sharing his life with the up and coming number two hero, Izuku Midoriya. Not trapped in some stuffy office in some agency being led by his father. When the kiss broke, their eyes remained closed as they both sat in silence, just soaking in the moment before either of them spoke.

“Does this mean I can come back? I can come home?” Shoto asked quietly, part of him dreading that the answer would be no.

Izuku’s eyes snapped open and he smiled before affectionately rubbing his nose against Shoto’s.

“Yes, Sho. You can come home. To our home.”

The bi-color haired man decided to forgo a verbal reply, instead opting to lean in again and capture the smaller man’s lips with his own again. They shared several additional sweet kisses before parting again. Sitting in silence again, Izuku once again remembered the note that Shoto had left the day that he left. Pressing another quick kiss to Shoto’s lips, Izuku silently got up and walked over to a cabinet that sat near the door into the kitchen. Opening one of the drawers, he took something out of it before closing the drawer again and returning to Shoto. Sitting back down on the other man’s lap, Izuku looked up at the other and smiled again.

“I kept it. I don’t know why, but I kept it.” He said, holding the paper up for Shoto to read.

Quickly reading it, Shoto blushed a soft pink as he looked down toward the floor. Huffing a quick laugh, Izuku reached out and lifted the bi-color haired man’s chin so he could look into his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you, Sho. Always have been, always will be.” He said before once again kissing the other man.

As they kissed, the paper was forgotten when Izuku wrapped his arms around his now returned boyfriend’s neck. As Shoto shifted them and rose from the floor in order to head to their bedroom, the last thing that Izuku saw before being kissed again was what was written on the note.

“I’m so proud of you, Zuku. I love you – Sho”

[blu-joons]

He Takes Care Of You When You’re Stressed ~ Doctor!Kim Namjoon

The slam of the front door made him jump, he hadn’t even realised he’d fallen asleep on the sofa until he saw you walk into the living room, throwing yourself down into the armchair. You sighed heavily, taking your hair out of its tight bun.

He smiled softly, sitting up on the sofa, folding his arms over his chest. Your body was tired and unable to focus, he knew straight away that the day had been tough on you.

Your eyes met his, weakly smiling. “I’m home,” you spoke, bringing a smile to his face too, stretching your arms in the air.

Every day at work was tough for you, you had a lot of expectation on your shoulders, which slowly began to wear you down. Today had been particularly hard, you had lost count of the number of meetings you’d attended, the information going in one ear and out of the other.

“Has your day been that bad?” He questioned, moving along the sofa so he could sit closer to you.

You stood up from the sofa to move next to him, but as you did, your weight came underneath you, your legs lost all control and you fell back into the armchair, the marginal pounding you experienced in your head quickly became a lot worse.

“Jagi, be careful,” he spoke, leaning forward to ease you into the chair, kneeling in front of you, studying your face. “You look a little bit pale Y/N, are you feeling alright?”

His instincts kicked in, looking into your ears, pressing his hand to your forehead, eyes widening at the temperature you were suffering from.

“I’m fine,” you tried to protest, but Namjoon knew much better than that. He knew the signs of sickness, stress, and you were most definitely displaying them.

He left you in the chair for a few moments, grabbing a glass of water and some food from the kitchen, in the hope it would help you feel a bit better. Once he handed them to you, he helped take off your jacket, hanging it over the back door.

Whilst you took a sip of the drink, Namjoon moved back beside you, grabbing his notepad that he kept underneath the coffee table, scribbling a few notes down. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“Just keeping a note of symptoms, I should have realised that things were getting to you a lot sooner,” he frowned, scolding himself for missing the key symptoms.

Your head shook, your spare hand rested over his that lay on the arm of the chair. He couldn’t work all hours, there were times when he needed the time off too, you were capable of looking after yourself and giving him some time away from just being a doctor.

If anyone was to scold themselves, it was you, allowing yourself to become overworked was always going to be a mistake. “You shouldn’t have realised anything, you’re far too stressed to, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“How can I not now? You’re ill Y/N, and the sooner I can get you back on the mend the better. I’m going to call your office and tell them you’re not coming in tomorrow too,” he spoke, not even giving you a chance to argue, silencing you with a concerned smile.

You nodded in compliance with him, too exhausted to put up any fight. “Everyone will be home by now, I was the last one to leave, but they’ll get the message in the morning.”

“See, you’re working too hard. I know when people get stressed, and you definitely are. Maybe you need a few days at home, forget about work, look after yourself, and stop putting so much pressure on yourself,” he advised, kissing the back of your hand.

The deadlines of work, with the added pressure of last-minute meetings, unfriendly colleagues and a snooty boss, all mounted into a pile of work that was just too much. You didn’t want to burden Namjoon with your work and his, so instead kept it all to yourself.

“Maybe I could take a few days off too,” he whispered.

There was no way you could allow him to take time off work, so many people relied on him day by day to help them, that’s one of the reasons why you loved him so much, his kind and caring nature was commendable, in fact, inspiring.

“I can look after myself, you have more important patients,” you smiled, placing the empty glass of water on the table, brushing the pain at the front of your head aside.

Your body was exhausted, your limbs ached like never before, your head was pounding, nothing was helping you to get comfortable, instead you just found yourself becoming less and less comfortable the more you sat.

He had his hard days too, experiences that could never be described, yet somehow he always managed to come home to you with a smile on your face, sitting and listening to all the things you had to say, helping you through all your problems as well as his own.

You sat for a while in a comfortable silence, exactly what you needed after all the noise of the day, before Namjoon suggested you might find yourself more at ease if you headed up to bed, giving yourself a bit more space to relax and calm down.

“I’ll get a hot water bottle,” he smiled once you were laid down on the bed, pillows surrounded you, with Namjoon desperate to make you as comfortable as possible.

You changed out of your work clothes, into one of his spare tops on his own advice to try and cool your body temperature down a tad.

“Namjoon, maybe you should go in the spare room tonight.”

“Absolutely no way,” he protested, placing the hot water bottle against your tummy, changing his own outfit, slipping under the duvet beside you. “I’m not leaving you through the night, I want to keep an eye on you and keep you safe.

He was stubborn at times too, and you knew straight away Namjoon was never going to listen to you. “At least go to work, your shift isn’t that long, nothing bad can happen to me in a few hours, and there are people far more important that rely on you more than me.”

He turned to face you, smiling softly, recognising how relaxed you had become. Seeing you in such a fragile state tonight had made him more aware that he needed to keep an eye on you too, you needed him more than anyone else.

“You’ll always be the most important person in my eyes,” he whispered across to you.

Your eyes rolled, as his arm raised into the air, trying to invite you into his side to cuddle, but you decided instead it was safer to keep your distance from him.

Namjoon couldn’t protest, if it was what you wanted, he wouldn’t argue. You were his, but right now you were a patient of his too. It was true what they said, doctors were never off the hook, the caring nature that they had always remained.

“If you need anything, and I mean anything, in the night, promise me that you will wake me. I don’t care what time it is, or what you need, I’m here to look after you,” Namjoon spoke, smirking as your eyes began to droop.

“I will, as long as you get a good sleep too and stop worrying, you’ve got patients who need you,” you replied, wrapping the duvet around your body.

He chuckled, leaning across to press a light kiss to the top of your head. “Goodnight jagi.”

“Night Joon.”

---

Masterlist

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 26]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

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Part 1

How To Be A Queen

I hated this.

She stared at me. My own staring had long turned to a steady glower; eyes squeezed almost shut as I tried to pick apart every stitch for some inkling of an answer. Maybe the real problem is that I didn’t have a coherent question.

The fire in my father’s mantle crackled to fill in my silence and illuminating my balled-up place on the carpet. I should be asleep right now, that was the plan anyway, but it was thwarted earlier in the day when my last bedroom was deemed a “risk”.

Still, I hated it all the more. The doll was in the same useless state where I placed it – a slightly slouched perch on the velvet loveseat. It intensely reminded me of when my tutors would make me find symbolism in a storybook where there obviously wasn’t, making me conjure some flowery explanation for why the author used this phrase or that description.

With my knees up to my chin, I fiddled with the hem of my night gown and wondered and wondered and wondered because a head full of pointless thoughts felt better than nothing at all.

There was commotion – arguing, then the door opened and I was met with the burning sight of Urbosa. In her hand was a page, crumpled by her fist, and I understood before she spoke.

“You can’t be serious!” she glowered. Urbosa was a woman who schooled her expressions masterfully yet now she was untamed.

My face reddened, embarrassment probably. “I can explain.”

“Explain what exactly? This man has threatened my life, my countrywomens’ lives, and now yours… and you want to give him a platform to speak on?”

She was outraged, flailing Ganondorf’s letter as she spoke. I pressed my lips together and let her rant on about what I had mentioned to Impa before. My toes pressed deep into the carpet.

“Your anger is something I can understand,” I finally said, frowning when she caught my gaze. “But I’m not a child and this is not an entirely irrational reaction.”

Urbosa watched me for a tense moment and stepped away to pace the room in an attempt to air out her feelings. When she did, I saw Impa accompanied her with a careful presence. I steeled myself for whatever it was she wanted to say.

My father’s quarters weren’t where I expected to be tonight, but at least he was in a safer (and more inconspicuous) part of the castle. If anything, the familiar setting was a slight comfort even if it wasn’t my own room. It was an airy space and not much had changed since the war started. I rose from my spot, trying to gracefully slip the doll into my gown’s deep pockets and perched myself where the toy once sat.

“Okay,” the Gerudo leader breathed again, sitting on the cushions with Impa across from me. “Okay, then explain it to me.”

I breathed in deeply. “No doubt you’ve read what he’s wrote, but I’ve read it more than you have. Let’s talk about it.”

The half impatient nod my way with born out of pure frustration. I could completely understand it, but it didn’t make the feeling of pressure any lighter.

“In his words, he wants to declare a form of parley,” I spoke, slowly choosing my words. “Meaning a temporary truce in war to sit down and discuss negotiation – or the start of them.”

I swallowed as I mentally scanned through the letter word-for-word in my head:

I doubt that my reputation holds well in your circles and it would be foolish to give a nobody’s word any weight.

“Traditionally, it would be held by one party sending an ambassador of sorts to the opposition. We would discuss terms at a distance, however he is willing to travel to Hyrule Castle himself.”

Urbosa scoffed, “That’s even worse.”

“It means he’s going in place of someone expendable. It was the whole point of ‘parley’ as a concept and he is willing to give us leverage to make this happen.”

I could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she chose not to. Impa spoke up instead.

“I realize that I haven’t told you this before,” she said. “But you should consider your image.”

My brow furrowed, “My image?”

“To history, Zelda, there has never been an enemy like this within the castle walls unless force was taken. No other ruler has offered an invitation like this before. Don’t you find that troubling?”

I felt my frown deepen. The fabric of my gown twisted around my fingers. I took another deep breath of the burning applewood in the hearth before saying, “The conflict we’re currently in has surpassed the amount of casualties in any other war I have lived through in half the time. Pray tell, do you find that troubling?”

They didn’t reply; they didn’t have to.

“I am afraid,” I spelled out. “I am afraid to see the country being torn with violence and bloodshed. To consider that I am assumed its leader is another type of fear I haven’t grasped yet, much less what historians will jot me down as. Better yet, let’s discuss how someone I know very dearly is out there; contingent to the choices I make.”

Roughly, I swallowed. My gaze went to the ceiling where engravings of old legends escaped the firelight.

“Let us discuss what I know will be his vehement disapproval of my consideration. My goal here is to mitigate as much as I can and if that means buying time at the cost of my reputation, then so be it,” I conceded. Impa stared at her hands and I could only feel shame, weak. I wonder if that’s what she had in mind. “Horrible rulers have preceded me and I don’t expect to be the last.”

There was a long moment of quiet that made it awful to resist squirming in my seat. I didn’t like our options either, but pride was my father’s forte. I wasn’t about to inherit it now that an opportunity like this is tangible, even if it came about through unconventional means. I’ll let them move me into the royal quarters and I’ll let them squander more of my personal time with increased security – I won’t let them pass this up without a single consideration.

Urbosa and Impa stood, I expected them to leave immediately but instead Urbosa said my name and took my hand in hers. Worry was in her eyes.

“You know I would never give you up,” I said softly. “I really hope you weren’t expecting me to abandon you so quickly.”

The sofa dipped slightly as she took a seat. “Tamen non obliviscar tui et filiae.”

At my slight confusion she merely smiled and said, “It means: Never forget your daughters. We say that when we underestimate our children after they’re grown. I am scared, Zelda.”

Our hand hold slipped into an embrace. She continued, “I worry constantly for you. As much as I want to, I don’t have all the answers. None of us do and maybe that’s why I reacted the way I did. I forgot that and, more importantly, I forgot you.”

  The next days brought sleepless nights. I wasn’t sure if I preferred them because in the darkness was the chilling vision of what Link had become. That dream wouldn’t fade as the days wore on, instead sharpening in the parts that struck me the most. In the mirror of my room, when Anju would prod at the dark circles under my eyes, I would see his eyes staring at me.

“It wasn’t real,” I muttered, almost angrily.

Anju grunted behind me with bobbypins caught between her teeth. “What wasn’t?”

“I had a dream,” I said. “And it wasn’t real, but I feel like it was and it’s ridiculous.”

“Well, ya look tired enough,” she replied with a nonchalant drawl, watching me in the mirror a moment before shrugging. “Everyone has nightmares, Zelda. Even Her Royal Grace Majesty Herself.”

The smile I tried to suppress fought hard. “It was about Link.”

“You’re worried! Welcome to the club. You already know the things Aryll writes to me, halfway between gloating and going stir crazy,” she laughed. “His next present to her has to be twice as shiny as the last.”

Her hands paused in their tugging. “If it’s bothering you, you should talk about it.”

I sighed, relenting quickly because she’d prod further if I hadn’t. I left out the odd parts about the strange man and the dancing and focused more on when I saw Link.

“It was probably me projecting…” I groaned. “But he seemed driven mad, Anju! And I caused that. The only reason why he isn’t with his family or living more peacefully is because of me.”

She considered it, seeming to weigh my words as she viewed me from the front. Her nose crinkled, “Zelda, you know that boy. I know that boy. When we were kids, he would always be the lead troublemaker leading the charges. Shocking, believe me I know, but you must be raving mad if you think he wouldn’t force himself into this mess regardless of your decisions.”

“With or without me?”

She hummed in thought, “Reckless is a word I would use  – no, wait – organized recklessness. But he has always needed help picking up the pieces. It used to be Aryll with scrapes and bruises.” Then, there was a glint in her eye that made me laugh, “I wonder who it’ll be now?”

  “There is no guarantee that the negotiations will come to anything,” Fierlin grimaced, reading through Ganondorf’s letter. “Though I won’t disagree that a truce, no matter how temporary, is a plus.”

He stroked his beard with a raised brow and met my eyes. “Do you… know how to send news to your right hand?”

We were in my father’s study with a long list of staff sitting on my desk, each with a detailed list of any possible connections to the opposition. I pushed it away.

“I have consulted every consultant at my fingertips at the moment; written out the pros and cons,” I said. My head rested on my fist in a dull way to help my sore neck.

“Well,” the man leaned back in his chair as old worn men tended to, “I know the tenacity and unwillingness to quit. I’ve gotten well acquainted with that side of him when he was my captain. Don’t get me wrong, Your Majesty, Link will follow any order you give him… but he will fight and kick every step of the way.”

“That’s only because Admiral Whitehurst is with him right now.”

He raised a hand to negate me. “Not necessarily. Link’s a fine remediator. He doesn’t show obvious favor to anyone under him and is constantly listening. He’ll tune out whatever sees fit. Any resistance you saw came from him alone.”

I glanced down at one of my desk drawers that contained some of Link’s letters and closed my eyes.

“I want him to travel back to the castle if we go through with it.” When, really, but it was hard to believe what was happening myself.

The look he gave me wasn’t remotely hopeful.

“I wouldn’t count on it. It’s not likely he would abandon his men because who is to say this truce lasts more than a day? We don’t know the temperament of this ‘Ganondorf’ and he is largely unpredictable in much else.”

“Will Link resent the idea that much?”

“I predict he will…” Fierlin stopped himself, then sighed. “He will have some complications with it.”

  That night, crumpled papers littered desk. They were filled with words that didn’t string together properly and thoughts that weren’t quite complete. The first letter was a formal inquiry of Ganondorf’s arrival. On the closed envelope, I pressed my father’s insignia with more pressure than necessary.

I kept it in a closed drawer because the second letter was both an order and request for counsel.

In this, my thoughts were far more frayed and there were countless drafts that kept the wick of my candle burning. It was a constant debate on whether I should even forgo pairing the first with it. I recalled his reluctance to retreat and the disappointment that came after. The ink pen felt heavier in my hand.

This was when I realized that this was what Impa was fearful of.

My hand dragged down my cheek and I forced myself to sit up straighter.

She has told me more than once, no matter how indirect, that whatever Link and I had would eventually conflict with my duties. Especially with the dynamic at play now, he was my Commander General and I was his Queen. I have asked the opinion of all my resources both past and present, why should my consideration of his opinion be so weighty?

It had grown to the point where I could barely put pen to paper.

An obstruction of my duties, that is a phrase Impa would say.

The words I ended up writing were addressing him formally. Though I was sure word had been sent about what had happened, I reiterated the events from what Lord Ibauna shouted about to the letter within my room. After that, in the most political way I could muster, I told him I was considering it with the counsel in mind. This time, I wouldn’t slip an additional note because I couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t me trying to influence him.

I bound the two letters and sent them the same night. Once I get the General’s counsel, I will make the final decision and either order him to send a messenger… or not.

  This is grossly miscalculated.

Urbosa was speaking, but it was difficult to truly listen to her. She was walking beside me. I want to say that her gentle suggestions to coax me off the ledge were helping, but it only pushed me to push my nails deeper into my palm. The sharp pain helped me more to keep my mouth shut.

“He was only trying to assert another option.”

Immature

I glanced to her and said through gritted teeth, “What he was trying to do was insult my integrity.”

My steps were heavier than they usually were when going to attend meetings with the admirals. On any other day, I would approach it with a cool head. It was a war room, I wanted to be as even keeled and level-headed as I could.

Rash

Now, I couldn’t stop seeing red.

Just barely, I turned my head towards her. “He acts as if he has had lifetimes of experience already,” I hissed, pausing briefly while passing a couple of maids with bowed heads. “Link is barely any older than I. Ridiculous.”

Urbosa and I bounded a set of stairs and before I entered the war room, I requested an ink pen and parchment as well as the awaiting messenger. It hadn’t been two days before I got a reply from Link. A set of officers stood when I entered the room.

I wasn’t exactly surprised to see Admiral Whitehurst return almost immediately after the letter arrived. His face was still red from his traveling and I politely acknowledged him.

“Your general isn’t happy,” he said. “He made the carriage ride through the night, gods willing my back is still intact.”

“Oh, no,” I uttered out, splaying the several pages Link had written me onto the table. “He surely is not.”

The admiral blinked considerably. I had never acted this way in front of them, but at this point I didn’t have the luxury to care. The only reason I took a seat was to keep them all from standing awkwardly.

“Groveling at the enemy’s feet, he says,” I glanced at the pages with a casted hand. “How, exactly, is he coming to these absurd conclusions?”

I feared that he would have tried to influence Link more in my disfavor, but I did trust what Fierlin had told me and the handwriting on the correspondence was unmistakably Link. Why he had sent John Whitehurst was a mystery to me altogether, perhaps in an effort to sway me even more?

Well, good, I thought. Maybe the one he is receiving will beat some sense into him.

Whitehurst grunted as he sat back in his chair and took a moment to adjust.

“General Forester is doing what he was appointed to do, fight to win. If we pause, especially in the terms he has relayed to me, I believe that he believes you have given up.”

I reeled back, “When has lessening the toll this war has taken meant ‘giving up’? Did he say those exact words?”

He looked uncomfortable. “Um, yes, perhaps, Your Grace.”

I breathed in deeply. Slowly, I counted from ten.

Tyrant was a bad look on anybody – more so me.

“Okay,” I said finally, calmer. “I think we can now say we have received all the insight we need to make a decision.”

A guard who was outside the door brought in a pot of ink, a pen and parchment. I thanked him quietly.

“I wanted to convene one more time before I decide to send this order,” I said, taking the pen between my fingers. The correspondence on the table, which Urbosa was now leafing through with Whitehurst, was missing the final page. It was burning in my dress pocket.

Reconsider, Zelda.

I caught Urbosa’s gaze while the officers and the sparse admirals had a last discussion about weighing the final options, or their lack of. She watched me with a solemn demeaner. Then, she nodded.

I will not be there to help you.

I don’t need his help.

“Is it decided, gentlemen?”

Delicately, I folded the paper twice just in time for the messenger to walk through.

My only words to him was an order to send my acquisition across enemy lines.

[darkblueboxs]

Best Laid Plans

For #aftgsummer

Prompt: Day trip

Pairing: Kandreil 

Read here or on AO3

*

Kevin’s plan for the last day of summer is bullet-proof: he has a huge wall calendar, a copy of his class schedule, a note of every Exy match and banquet date, a print-out of essay deadlines and exam dates, and enough pens and sticky notes to stock a stationary shop. All he has to do is put it all together.

Unfortunately, he forgot to factor his partners into the equation.

He is laying out his highlighters by order of preference when the sound of Neil’s head hitting his desk echoes across the room. Kevin doesn’t even bother with a cursory upwards glance; he can imagine well enough the image of despondency that would meet him if he did.

“Is all of second year going to be like this?” Neil groans into his stack of textbooks.

“No,” Kevin answers, at the same time that Andrew says, “Yes.”

“It’s a matter of planning,” Kevin continues, sending Andrew an arch look. “As long as you make a schedule, stick to it, plan out your work periods and your rest times and stick to a regular sleep pattern-” Neil huffs sceptically, but Kevin continues as though he didn’t hear, “You’ll find it perfectly manageable.”

Neil sits up to cast a doubtful look in Andrew’s direction. Andrew simply shrugs. “It’ll work out.”

“You can’t just say that about everything.” Kevin turns back to his planner. He doesn’t realise Andrew has moved from the sofa until he feels the brush of his breath on the back of his neck. Bracing his arm on the back of Kevin’s chair, Andrew leans over him to inspect Kevin’s progress.

“You have every minute of your every day planned from now until Christmas,” he observes flatly. Curiosity piqued, Neil joins him on Kevin’s other side.

“Wow,” he says as he studies the neat blocks of colour denoting Kevin’s activities. “I’m amazed you didn’t plot your bathroom breaks onto this, too.”

“I don’t need a planner to tell me when to take a shit,” he says irritably.

“What about me and Andrew? Do we get our own highlighter colour?” Neil leans forwards, pretending to read from a particular quadrant. “Sunday, seven am, get boned.”

“You two can ‘bone’ all you want at seven am on a Sunday, I’ll be enjoying my one lie-in of the week, thank you.”

Tired of their bickering, Andrew reaches between them to flip Kevin’s planner shut.

“Hey!”

“We’re going for a drive,” Andrew announces. He doesn’t wait for Neil or Kevin’s response, but leads the way with the typical certainty that they will follow.

Kevin and Neil flick a look at each other. The three of them have come as close to telepathy as anyone ever will, and this is the look that says, is this worth fighting him over?

The answer is, as always, a resounding no.

After Neil wins the scuffle for the front seat, Kevin settles into the middle back seat, arms crossed. Neil flicks a triumphant smirk over his shoulder, which Kevin replies to with a scowl. The Maserati’s engine purrs through the leather as Andrew throws it into gear. Kevin lets his head fall back as they pull onto the motorway, mentally mapping out and re-arranging his plans for the day onto the blank fabric of the ceiling. There’s a rustle as Neil finds the packet of peanuts Kevin stashed in the glove compartment, and a moment later one bounces off his forehead.

“Andrew,” Kevin complains.

Andrew sighs heavily through his nose. “Children.”

Neil cackles, and Kevin reaches around the seat to throttle him, and Andrew threatens to pull over and stuff them both in the boot, bringing the scuffle to an end. At some point during their distraction he pulled off from the road that would take them to downtown Columbia, electing instead to loop around the metropolis.

“Where the hell are we going, Andrew?” Kevin watches as buildings give way to long stretches of scrubland, bleached brown by weeks of sun. Midday is approaching, and soon a stuffy car will be the last place any of them want to be trapped. Andrew shrugs and merges onto another road seemingly at random.

“I think I hitchhiked here once,” Neil muses.

“How? It’s so empty.” The road stretches out like an endless tar river ahead of them. Other traffic is sparse to non-existent; the idea of breaking down out here is daunting enough. Kevin can’t imagine trudging along the roadside in the summer heat, waiting for a truck to take pity on him, subject to the chaotic whims of the world. Kevin isn’t as dependant on company as he was when he left the nest, but still the endless stretches of emptiness scratch at the remaining agoraphobia in the back of his mind.

Suddenly, Andrew slams on the breaks, hard enough that the strap of Kevin’s seatbelt cuts off the flow of oxygen. Neil jolts forwards, saved from smacking his face off the dashboard by Andrew’s arm. The bag of peanuts is not so lucky, scattering over the front seats in a cascade of empty shells.

“Fuck,” Neil chokes out. Kevin reaches forward to grasp his shoulder, and Neil clamps his hand down over it, reassuring each other of their presence. They look to Andrew; the hand that was not thrown out to protect Neil is clamped, white-knuckled, on the wheel.

Their explanation stares at them from the other side of the windscreen, a tall, slender deer with large, brown eyes. Its ear twitches as it watches them, caught between fear and curiosity.

“Move,” Andrew says as though the animal can hear him. “Move, you idiot.”

Neil leans across him to tap the horn. Startled by the noise, the deer darts across the road and disappears amongst the trees. After flicking a glance over Neil, Andrew turns to pinch Kevin’s chin between his fingers, turning his head back and forth to inspect the damage. The seatbelt left a red line across his collarbone, which Kevin insists does not hurt. Andrew prods it with his forefinger, and when he receives no reaction, he nods. He cups Kevin’s cheek briefly before letting go, the closest Andrew comes to acts of reassurance.

“She came out of nowhere,” Neil says. Andrew hums in agreement. He taps his fingers against the wheel, but does not start the engine up again until Kevin’s breathing has returned to normal.

They end up weaving along Lake Murray, bursts of endless, glittering blue backing the rows of trees that flash past. Andrew’s speed is unaffected by their brush with the deer, but his eyes don’t stray from the road ahead, not even to take in the glowing vistas as they pass.

Andrew picks an exit at random, and they pull up near a small jetty. At the peak of summer it would be swarmed with fishers and families in campervans. As the season draws to the end, only a few stragglers remain, a mother watching her toddlers chase each other around the picnic tables while kayakers splash each other with their oars a little way out from the boathouse. The boathouse shares its building with a shop that sells snacks and children’s toys. Andrew swings past the plastic bats and balls to raid the slim freezer of its popsicles while Neil stares at a map marking hiking trails and beauty spots.

They sit on the end of the jetty, feet swinging over the edge while they devour their purchases. Kevin catches Neil using his soda as an ice-pack, and the ensuing squabble nearly ends with them tumbling into the lake. Andrew watches them through lidded eyes, popsicle dangling from his mouth as he leans back on his arms. Noticing the reddening patches spreading across the back of Andrew’s neck, Kevin sends Neil back to the shop with a nod, distracting Andrew from his absence by debating which bird species were responsible for the orchestra of chirps and calls echoing across the forest. Andrew scowls when Neil returns with a bottle of sunscreen, but after a lecture from Kevin and pleading eyes from Neil, he submits to having his arms and neck slathered with factor fifty.

Andrew finds a picnic bench in the shade to drape himself over while Neil drags Kevin along a walking trail that meanders along the ins and outs of the coastline, finishing at a sandy outlet that gives then a panoramic view of the lake. Kevin ruminates on geographical quirks and features of the area until Neil grows tired of Kevin’s musings and persuades him to abandon his socks and shoes on the white sand so they can wade along the shallow embankment. The sludgy sand of the lakebed gives way so easily underfoot that for a second Kevin fells as though he’s being sucked down into quicksand. He stumbles, knocking into Neil as he does so. Neil mistakes it for a challenge, and bumps him back. Kevin, having barely recovered his balance, loses it all over again. He reaches out for Neil’s arm in the vain hope of steadying himself, but succeeds only in pulling Neil over with him.

They crash into the water with identical shouts. When Kevin looks up, Neil is pushing his sodden bangs back from his eyes. Neil takes one look at his expression and bursts out laughing. Kevin reaches for Neil’s shirt, the idea of drowning him in the sapphire lake water growing in its appeal, but is distracted from his mission when Neil catches Kevin’s mouth with his instead.

They stay there a while, drenched clothes plastered to their skin as the cool water swirls and laps at them, kissing the salty-sweet taste of the lake from each other’s lips.

They stumble back to the picnic benches, where they find Andrew absorbed in watching birds flit back and forth between the bird feeders hanging overhead. He levels the dripping pair with a long look.

“You have a hickey,” he says to Neil at last.

“Jealous?” Neil responds. Andrew’s eyes flick to Kevin, as good a confirmation as any. Kevin’s lips twitch as he tilts his head to one side, making a show of looking Andrew over.

“He needs more sunscreen,” Kevin announces. Andrew rolls his eyes.

When Andrew is slathered up once again to Kevin and Neil’s satisfaction, Kevin rewards him with a soft kiss to his pulse-point, enjoying the way Andrew’s body shivers under the point of contact.

“You’re dripping everywhere,” Andrew says.

“You think I did this?” Kevin levels Neil with a pointed look. Neil shrugs the accusation off.

They find an empty stretch of sand to settle down on, leaving the sun to do the heavy work of drying them off. After a cursory glance to ensure they’re alone, Neil pulls his shirt over his head and lies it out on a rock, stretching out on the sand.

“Sun lotion,” Andrew reminds him smugly.

“Fuck you.” Neil yawns. Soon, he is fast asleep, head pillowed in his arms while the sun warms his shoulder blades.

Kevin slides his feet around in the sand, mesmerised by the patterns it makes as the grains shift and tumble around him. Andrew arches an eyebrow at him.

“I travelled a lot, back when I was… in the nest. Never to places like this, though. It was always major cities, sporting events, press ops. Even then, my every minute was filled with promotions and endorsements and matches and interviews. I never had time to see much of anything.” Kevin picks up a handful of sand, enjoys the way it sifts through his fingers. “It’s quiet.”

Andrew pushes up suddenly, stalking off back in the direction of the boat house. He comes back with – Kevin blinks – a plastic toy set in a net bag. Little shovels, a bucket, brightly coloured moulds for pressing shapes of crabs and starfish into the sand. He dumps the contents into Kevin’s lap save for a shovel.

“Sandcastles work best with damp sand,” he offers, before moving off to work on his own project. When Kevin looks up several minutes later, most of Neil’s torso is buried in sand.

He makes a sandcastle, then another, then stacks one on top of the other two, quietly proud when the structure holds.

Neil wakes up as Andrew is smoothing sand over his shoulders with the blunt side of the spade. He wriggles to dislodge the wet sludge before hurling a clump at Andrew’s head. Andrew rolls behind Kevin’s larger frame in time to avoid Neil’s attack, and Kevin glares at Neil until he raises his hands in surrender.

As the sun sinks, the sky smooths into a pool of pinks and oranges, and the lake winks the colours back up to the heavens. They lean against each other and watch, side-by-side, while Andrew points out osprey and egrets as they flit from one end of the horizon to the other.

As the sun falls behind the line of the trees, Kevin realises with a start that the day is over, and he hasn’t done any of the things he planned to do with it. Then, he realises with a slow, creeping kind of irritation that quickly gives way to something warm and painfully affectionate, that this was Andrew’s plan all along.

“Andrew,” Kevin says. Andrew hums, but does not lift his head from its resting place on Kevin’s shoulder.

The words escape him, so Kevin doesn’t try to find them. Andrew will understand; he always does, after all.

It’s going to be a great school year.

*

Thanks for reading!

[vannahfanfics]

Unexpected Guest

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Chrome Dokuro, Ken Joshima

Ken’s eyes were lidded as he gazed disinterestedly out of the cracked window in the Kokuyo Land administrative building. He’d flipped a wooden chair around to sit on, leaning against the wicker back to stare out into the abandoned amusement park. Though it was only the beginning of December, the snow fell heavily, smothering the collapsed attractions and dilapidated building in a thick blanket of white. The winter chill seeped in through the small crevice to spread a numbing cold over his nose. He wrinkled it to stave off the deadening sensation creeping into his face, then groaned and pressed his cheek into his forearm. He bounced his legs incessantly, but the repetitive motions failed to channel the nervous energy sparking inside him like a roaring fire. 

“Boooooored-byon!” he whined loudly. His voice bounced in the empty room to echo hollowly in his ears. He half expected Chikusa to come scold him for his troublesome loudness, but the bespectacled boy failed to take Ken’s bait. Ken whined and licked at his fanged teeth, watching the snow continue to fall outside. He traced the fluttering paths of the snowflakes with dull brown-orange eyes. 

Ken managed to occupy himself with that for about ten seconds until the agonizing boredom crept back in. Yowling angrily, he jumped up from the wooden chair and kicked it. The chair rattled a few inches to the left before becoming unbalanced and crashing onto its side. Ken grimaced as portions of the old, worn wicker fragmented onto the concrete floor. Old piece of garbage, he thought and shoved his hands into the pockets of his deep green uniform pants. 

A certain pineapple-haired girl suddenly sprung into his mind. 

“I wonder what Chrome’s doing,” he pondered aloud, rubbing his chin. Though she’d transferred to Namimori Middle School and spent a significant amount of time with the two girls who hung around the Vongola Family, Chrome still lived in the abandoned amusement part with Mukuro and the rest of his subordinates. 

Her unconditional support for their boss was endearing but bordering on annoying, at least to Ken. She follows him around like a lost puppy-byon, he thought with a small growl. Sometimes it felt like she wanted nothing to do with Ken and Chikusa… Humph. Not that I care-byon! I don’t need her, just Mukuro-sama and Kakipi! he thought haughtily. Ken told himself that, but it never erased the dull ache that bloomed inside him whenever he thought about the timid girl. 

With another wolfish growl, he kicked the overturned chair again. 

Ken whirled on his heel and stomped out of the room. He certainly wasn’t going to find anything entertaining in there. Slouching with irritation, he trotted down to the lower level to see if he could find anyone to satiate his boredom for a little while. 

He happened upon Chikusa after about five minutes of wandering the complex, stretched out on a ripped sofa while lazily flinging his yo-yo around. A wide window stretched across the wall’s expanse, showing the snow-laden area surrounding the administrative building. “Kakipi!” Ken called as he trotted in. Chikusa leisurely rolled his head to blink lazily at Ken. 

“Oh. Hey,” Chikusa responded calmly. He continued to slowly swing his yo-yo in circles as he regarded the blond boy. Ken realized immediately that Chikusa would be useless in satiating his boredom, so he looked around interestedly. 

“Where is she-byon?” Chikusa knew exactly who Ken was referring to. The boy exhaled as he pulled himself into a sitting position, finally stowing his yo-yo and looking at Ken with a slightly raised eyebrow. 

“She went to Vongola’s. She said that the girls- Haru and Kyoko- were throwing her a birthday party.” Ken blinked blankly at Chikusa. A birthday party? “Chrome’s birthday is today.” Chikusa continued to throw the reeling Ken over the precipice of realization. When he finally fell over the edge, Ken’s cheeks brightened with embarrassment, and he flailed his arms a little. 

“B-birthday-byon? She never told me!” Ken complained angrily. Chikusa shrugged indifferently and rose to his feet. 

“I’m pretty sure you were present when she mentioned it in conversation, but it’s also likely that you weren’t listening.” 

Ken scowled and pointed vexedly at Chikusa. 

“That’s mean-byon!” He refrained from agreeing that it was also probably true. With a huff, Ken slammed his hands back down into his pockets. That silly girl… Ken wasn’t frustrated that she wandered off to hang out with the Vongola family; she did it frequently. For some reason, he was frustrated with himself for forgetting her birthday. Why should I care-byon? Loathe as he was to admit it, care he did. Snorting, he whirled on his heel. “I’m going out!” he announced to Chikusa before promptly making his exit. 

When he pushed the glass doors of the administrative building open, the wind jumped forth, blasting snow flurries into the lobby. The skin of Ken’s face prickled as little barbs of ice slammed into his flesh, so he hurriedly turned up the collar of his army-green uniform to shield at least the bottom half of his face from the gale. Absently, he hoped Chrome had decided to wear leggings. She always pranced around in that skirt, after all; if she stepped out like that in such inclement weather, her legs would be icicles before she even left the complex. Who gives a damn? Let her freeze if she’s gonna be that stupid-byon! He thought gruffly to try and distract himself from the little beast of worry gnawing on his insides. 

Ken trotted through the well-worn and disheveled concrete pathways meandering through the forgotten amusement park. The snow crunched loudly under the repeated plops of his boots into the calf-high snowdrifts, complimenting the wailing wind and rattling bare tree branches in a strange, ghostly harmony. He cursed as the hems of his pants legs grew sodden with ice-cold water and clung to his ankles and lower calves, siphoning his body heat away with frightening efficiency. “Soon it’ll be my legs that’re icicles,” he grumped to himself. 

As he came to the base of the inclined path and onto the road proper, which was thankfully plowed, he shook his legs vigorously to dislodge the clumps of snow and water droplets as much as he could. With a small sigh, he looked off into the distance, bitterly observing the cloud-choked, bleary gray sky and the snow piled on the horizon. Was he really about to hike to Namimori for that spacey, dopey girl? 

Of course he was. Eyes lidded as he resolved himself to follow his incessantly nagging shred of human decency, he began tramping down the fringe of the road. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Ken cursed through chattering teeth as he kicked the gate to Tsunayoshi Sawada’s front yard open. As the black metal clanged harshly against the concrete wall outlining the quaint little home, clumps of snow slipped off the gate to plop into the drifts below. Ken was grateful that the stone pathway leading to the small porch had been cleaned because his socks and shoes were so soggy that he’d scream if they absorbed any more water. 

Hands buried as deep into his pockets as they could go and collar snug against his face, he stiffly stomped up to the front door and rang the doorbell by hiking up his leg and planting his shoe against it. A chorus of surprised voices echoed in the small two-story homes as the pleasant chime rang through the rooms. 

“Oh? Chrome, dear, were you expecting any more guests?” came an older woman’s voice that Ken assumed belonged to the young Vongola Tenth’s mother. Ken hunched a little further into his damp jacket when the woman opened the door, revealing a pleasant smile and a friendly face framed by orangey-brown hair. “Hello there! You must be one of the boys I’ve heard so much about. Ooooh, let me guess-” she interrupted before he could introduce himself, placing the pad of her index finger on his lips as she studied him with bright eyes. He jumped a little when she clapped her hands together. “Are you Ken?” 

A faint blush deepened the already pink, wind-raw skin of his cheeks. He just nodded in affirmation, making the young mother trill and do a little dance of joy. “Ahaha, I guessed right! <3” By this time, Chrome had meandered out of whatever room she was hanging out with the Vongolas to peer curiously around the woman’s form at the snow-sodden blond. 

“Ken? What are you doing here?” she questioned innocently. Anger brought a blush to his cheeks this time, and as he stamped his foot hotly against the porch, a few blobs of wet snow shifted off the awning to join the white layer coating the yard. 

“Why do ya think I’m here-byon?” he mocked arrogantly. Chrome’s big purple eye blinked slowly and uncomprehendingly. Tsunayoshi’s mother hummed puzzledly as she looked back and forth between the clueless Chrome and the irritated blond dripping water on her porch. Finally, she laughed good-naturedly and grabbed Ken by the shoulders to all but yank him over the threshold of the door. 

“Now, now, no need to stand outside! Oh, look at you; you’re covered head-to-toe in snow! How far did you walk to end up like this?” she tutted as she bundled him inside, unzipping and removing his windbreaker jacket before he could even comprehend what was happening. The rest of the Vongolas, attracted by the commotion, came traipsing out of the kitchen to behold the shivering, cold, blushing Ken with mixtures of surprise, amusement, and indifference (in Kyoya Hibari’s case). 

The strange turn of events fried Ken’s brain, so all he could focus on is why the hell Kyoya was even there because he was an insufferable asshole with a stick constantly up his ass and didn’t seem the type to attend parties. Meanwhile, Tsunayoshi’s mother wandered off with his windbreaker in tow, humming a pleasant tune. 

“Nn,” Kyoya tutted and shoved a piece of hamburger steak in his mouth. “It’s one of the Kokuyo brats. Did you come so I could bite you to death?” he asked in that aggravating flat tone of his and drew his tonfa out of his uniform jacket. Why the hell does he have that-byon?!

“Now, now, don’t act like that, Hibari!” Takeshi laughed pleasantly. “He’s Chrome’s friend; I’m sure he came to wish her happy birthday.” 

“Yeah? Why didn’t he just do it before she left?” Hayato grumped, slouching with his hands in his cargo pants pockets as he regarded Ken distrustfully. Ken’s face took on a bright pink hue from forehead to chin, and he swallowed the shameful admission that he’d not had any clue it was Chrome’s birthday at all. Thankfully, the girl refrained from outing him, continuing to stare inquisitively. 

“Humph. Why the interrogation-byon?” he snapped, turning up his nose disdainfully at the collection of young mafioso. “I just happened to be nearby! Do you really think I’d march all the way here for some lame birthday party?” The group collectively looked at the darkened fabric of his uniform pants, making him bristle. “Oi! The snow’s just deep! Stop staring-byon!” 

“Ken-kuuuuun~” Ken stiffened as the older woman’s voice floated down the stairs, ears reddening further as she so casually trilled his first name. “Here! I brought some of Tsuna’s clothes for you,” she announced brightly as she hopped down the steps carrying a few light garments. 

“Mom! Why?” Tsunayoshi protested loudly. She just tutted scoldingly and flashed him a disapproving look as she dropped the clothes into Ken’s arms. 

“Now, Tsuna! He is a guest just as much as anyone else. He trekked all the way here in the snow to come see Chrome! Why, it’s almost romantic~” she sighed and pressed her hand to her cheek with a girlish giggle. Ken choked on his breath and squeezed the garments to his chest, face turning an ugly purple-red color. Romantic-byon?! What’s with this lady? There’s nothing romantic about it! Nothing! I just-! I just wanted-! 

Ken’s gaze slid to Chrome, watching her purple eye sparkle, and her cheeks flush with a carnation-pink hue. Huffing, he buried his face into the white shirt the woman had loaned him, sensitive nose flooding with the aroma of floral laundry detergent. “Ahaha! Anyway, Ken, dear, you should go upstairs and take a bath, hmm?” Tsunayoshi’s mother hummed as she pushed his upper back to propel him towards the stairs. “Tsuna, be a dear and show him where it is.” 

“What? Now he’s using our bath, too?!” the small-statured boy complained. Ken peered sourly at him, orange-brown eyes flashing just above the cloth of the shorts smooshed against his face, and Tsunayoshi squealed. “Okay, okay, okay! Fine, follow me,” he sighed in defeat and began tromping up the steps. Ken followed stiffly after him, ignoring Hayato’s comment that he should bathe because he smelled like a wet dog. Ken smiled slightly when the loud girl, Haru, slapped him upside the side of the head and called him rude. 

“Here we are,” Tsunayoshi said unenthusiastically as he stopped in front of the door to the bathroom. Ken continued to sulk at the unintended turn of events as he stared blankly at the door, waiting for the spiky-haired boy to retreat before entering. Tsunayoshi went to return down the stairs, then paused and looked up at Ken uncomfortably. “I, um… I know we aren’t exactly friends or anything, but…” he trailed off with a blush, twiddling his thumbs together as he fumbled over his words. “B-but I know aren’t a bad guy or anything, so you’re free to, you know, hang out as much as you want.” 

Tsunayoshi released a small “eep!” as Ken’s orange-brown eyes critically examined him for any distrust. I don’t think he’s even capable of tricking someone, Ken then thought with a small snort. 

Tsunayoshi hurriedly scampered to the stairs, so Ken huffed and opened the bathroom door. He paused when Tsunayoshi came bounding up the steps again to breathlessly add, “B-by the way, Chrome is really happy you came to wish her a happy birthday!” Ken’s face flushed red, and he gawked at Tsunayoshi with wide eyes before looking down at his snow-soaked shoes. 

“Get lost-byon. I wanna shower.” Tsunayoshi blinked at him, but then smiled pleasantly. Ken’s blush darkened as the boy chimed something about seeing him downstairs before hurrying down to the first floor. 

Ken purposely avoided looking at his reflection as he shambled into the bathroom and set the clothes on the counter. He shrugged out of his shirt, grimacing at the way the cold fabric clung to his skin, and threw it into the corner. It landed against the tile with a wet slap. Before he shimmied out of his cargo pants, he carefully retrieved a small wrapped package from one of the deep pockets. He set it on the counter beside his change of clothes. 

He’d hate for her present to get crushed, after all. 

“Jeez, you guys are impatient-byon,” Ken whined loudly as someone knocked timidly on the door. He jumped up to tug the waistband of the pants around his hips before yanking up the zipper and clasping the button. Tsunayoshi was slightly shorter than him, so the pants’ hem rose above his ankles, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It wasn’t until Ken had sunk into the steaming warm bath water that he’d realized just how cold he was, and he had no care to slip back into his ice-cold clothes. 

Ken refrained from putting on a shirt to unlock the door instead. Tendrils of steam tickled his bare chest and droplets of water vapor exploded over his slightly heat-flushed skin as he did so. “What?” he asked bluntly as he swung the door open. 

He blushed as red as a tomato as Chrome unabashedly looked him up and down. Her big purple eye blinked once before she looked up at his bright red face. 

“A blizzard,” she said simply. It took a few seconds for Ken to articulate the word, simple as it was. 

“A blizzard?” he echoed dumbly. Chrome nodded lightly and pointed a slim, dainty finger at the hallway window for good measure. Ken’s wide, orange-gold eyes followed the invisible line to the frosted glass pane. He then gasped and barreled past Chrome to adhere himself to the cold surface, too shocked to register the chill seeping into his exposed skin. “What the hell-byon?!” 

The wind shrieked voraciously beyond the thin clear panel. Snow flurries billowed in wild swirls through the neighborhood, darkened by the thick layer of stormy gray clouds choking the sky and blotting out the light. The snow piled up in giant plumes, burying cars and lawn ornaments deep beneath its thick white sheets and spilling over the fences to encroach upon the doorsteps. 

Ken felt his stomach plummet to his feet. There was no way that Tsunayoshi’s mother would let him leave the house with such inclement weather. To be quite honest, Ken absolutely did not want to trek back to the abandoned amusement park in the raging blizzard anyway. 

Ken peeled himself away from the window with a frustrated sigh while running his hand through his dampened blond hair. Great, he thought bitterly. When he turned around, he believed that Chrome would have descended back to the party; instead, she remained in the hallway, staring at him. Ken jumped. 

“Damn it-byon! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” 

“I’ve been here the whole time.” 

Ken growled under his breath and scratched at the back of his neck. His gaze slid to the bathroom, and then beyond to his wet pants still draped over the bathroom counter dripping icy water onto the floor- and then to the small white wrapped in simple blue yarn. A flush blazed across his cheeks. Chrome finally seemed to think that Ken did not want to hold a conversation; out of the corners of his eyes, he saw her twirl on her toes to head for the stairs. 

“W-wait!” he called before he could stop himself. Chrome turned around with her head cocked inquisitively. She regarded him with that big owlish eye that he thought so unnerving but so damn cute too. Grumbling and alternating his arm positions to try and nonchalantly cover parts of his chest when he realized he was still shirtless, he gestured lamely at the little box she’d failed to notice. “P-present,” he offered sheepishly. 

Chrome continued to turn on the cloth pads of her socks until her gaze settled on the unassuming little package situated on the counter. With a small gasp of wonder, she padded into the small space to gingerly retrieve it. She tossed him a slight glance, almost as if asking permission to open it. “J-just don’t look at it, dumbass! Open it up-byon!” 

Perhaps it was the wisps of hot steam still curling throughout the room, but Ken noticed her cheeks turn slightly pink as she looked back to the small gift box and slowly pulled the string. 

Ken held his breath as she opened it with so much care that it was painful. Damn, did she want to kill him with anticipation? Why the hell did he care, anyway? His fingers twiddled anxiously by his thighs as he watched her flip the lid off. He couldn’t help but smirk satisfactorily as a delighted little gasp slipped past her lips. 

“Malt chocolate candy…” Chrome whispered. Once more, she turned that intense yet innocent gaze upon him, and a strange, warm sensation bubbled up inside of him. Happiness sparkled inside those amethyst depths. It spread the warmth from the tips of his toes up to the crown of his head. 

“It’s your favorite. I remembered-byon,” Ken shrugged dispassionately, trying to belie the giddy lilt attempting to seep into his voice. “... Happy birthday,” he added after a few moments of silence. Heat began to creep into his face, and he rubbed compulsively at the wispy hairs hugging the back of his neck. Chrome hugged the package of chocolate to her chest and flashed him a rare, elated smile. 

“Thank you, Ken.” 

Normally, Ken would snap something snarky and shut her down, push her away before she could come too close. But not this time. Basking in the honey-glow of that serene smile pervaded down to his soul, Ken allowed her in, enabled her to see just a glimmer of the feelings he tried so desperately to suppress. 

“You’re welcome, Chrome.” 

The softness in his voice surprised them both. Their eyes simultaneously blew wide, and their gazes snapped away at the same time. Chrome covered his mouth as his entire face burned pink. Why did I say it like that-byon? I can’t believe myself; dumbass…! As Ken reeled in his stupidity, he paid no attention to Chrome. That is until he was forced to- when she scampered up to him with the open package of malt chocolate candy. 

“Here. Have some.” 

Ken jerked at her soft voice suddenly sounding at his shoulder. He glanced wildly from her face down to the candy, struggling to process the turn of events. 

“That’s yours,” Ken finally sputtered. Chrome’s purple eyebrows twitched, the only flicker of emotion on her once-again blank slate of a face. 

“I want to share it. It’s my present; I can decide what I want to do with it, and I have decided to share.” Her infallible logic obliterated any chance Ken had of refusing. Frowning, he dropped his hand from his still-burning face to break a piece of the chocolate away and pop it into his mouth. It was okay; Ken didn’t know why the girl adored the stuff so much. 

But, when she slipped her piece of chocolate past her lips, and her face immediately softened into bliss, Ken felt the hot rush of pride flush through his system. He put that expression on her face. 

“See?” Ken blinked when she interrupted his silent gloating. “Isn’t it good?” 

“Yeah.” Not really a lie, but not really a truth; Ken just wanted to keep that smile on her face. Chrome giggled, and the sound almost made Ken faint. 

Ken never could understand how Rokudo could rope such an angelic, pure girl into his devious little network of pawns. Chrome was so pure that it almost burned Ken’s eyes to ash every time he looked at her. Angelic, sweet, innocent… Everything Ken definitely did not deserve. 

As he was reminded of that fact, the bitterness seeped into his features, poisoning whatever happy expression that had appeared on his face. 

“I have to put finish getting dressed,” he grunted as a lame way to excuse himself from the discussion. Chrome blinked curiously at him as he shouldered past her to walk back to the bathroom. He was fully intent on closing the door behind him, but limber Chrome had planted herself in the threshold sooner than he could even grab the wooden door. He scowled but decided it was not worth arguing. He instead grabbed the graphic tee patterned with some dorky anime character and slipped it over his head. 

“Ken?” 

“What?” he sighed, popping his head through the hole in the shirt to glare exasperatedly at her. Chrome’s dark lashes fluttered before she continued. 

“Thank you for coming all the way here.” 

Ken thought she would leave it at that, and so opened his mouth to gripe some abrasive response. Whatever he had intended to say died an ember in his throat when she leaned forward to place a feather-light kiss on his cheek. The flesh instantly flooded with blood, spreading fire through the tissue and making his nerves spark into overdrive. He gawked stupidly at her as she retreated with a coquettish smile. 

“I do hope you’ll come join us downstairs. Maman made dinner. She’s an excellent cook.” Without waiting for an answer, she whirled on her feet and descended rapidly down the stairs. He could hear her munching on the chocolate as she plonked down the steps. She paused halfway down and looked up at him blankly. “You should come with me more often. Maman’s favorite guests are the unexpected ones.” He watched her go with a mixture of feelings swirling around inside of him, robotically slipping his arms through the sleeves of the tee-shirt. 

A smile spread wide across his face. His heart fluttered in his chest like a baby bird fumbling into its first flight. As he walked out of the bathroom, he glanced back at the window and the blizzard raging beyond. 

“Unexpected guests,” he scoffed with a dopey smile. “Yeah, okay…” 

Ken followed after Chrome, tromping down the steps two at a time. Who was he, an acknowledged guest, to say no to a free dinner? Besides… He wanted to make sure those yahoos of the Vongola family didn’t ruin Chrome’s special day, too. 

After all, he’d come here to make sure it was the best one possible… Regardless of whether he was ready to admit that to Chrome yet or not. 

The blizzard yowled faintly at him as he passed the front door, but Ken didn’t mind it. The storm whirling inside him had dimmed considerably, and the winds all but died as Chrome smiled prettily at him from her seat at the kitchen table. He stopped just out of sight for one brief second to savor the expression that was just for him. 

Unexpected guest, huh? Sure beats hanging out at that old dump all the time. Next time, at least I won’t have to hike the whole way alone. 

Smiling, Ken strolled into the room and was instantly greeted with many loud voices and Chrome’s sweet, quiet one.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[baseballbitch116]

Pillowtalk pt 2

Part one

Word Count: 1157

Warnings: none, just a cute little fluffy imagine

Masterlist | Fandoms | Submit A Request

“I’d rather hold you,” You flirt, smirking a little at him over your pillow. He rolls his eyes at you but you catch his lips curve into a small smile before he lays down to call it a night - but not before you hear him mutter “Maybe,”

You felt your heart skip in your chest, wondering if you had imagined that. He spoke quietly, probably to himself, so you don’t press it - instead, closing your eyes, trying to sleep.

It took a while, but you eventually drifted off to sleep. Daryl could tell, because your breathing became heavier, and you moved less. He tried to stop watching you, but he couldn’t help it. This was the one time he could look at and admire you as long as he’d like. He took notice of how long your eyelashes are, and how you sigh and smile in your sleep.

Daryl sits up, leaning his arms on his knees, facing you. He feels his hand slowly reaching out to touch yours, not stopping himself. He wanted to feel how soft your skin was. And just as he thought, it was very soft. His thumb rubs over the top of your hand, his chest feeling weird and hot as he does so. If Merle were here, he would be calling him whipped, but at this point, Daryl didn’t care. He retracted his hand when he saw you stir, laying back down and forcing himself to go to sleep.

You awoke the next morning pretty early - before anyone else was awake. The sun was just barely coming up, the colorful light peaking through the window across from where you lay. Tara’s feet were tucked behind your back against the small sofa. The body pillow squished between your legs and arms, just like every other night. Your eyes subconsciously fall to the floor beneath you, where he lay, peacefully sleeping. Normally when you saw him sleeping, he had one arm behind his head, the other resting on his stomach.

This morning; however, he rested on his side, one arm beneath his head, holding onto the pillow. He looked absolutely precious. He looks comfortable, peaceful. It’s a rare sight. He doesn’t look stressed, angry, like he’s overthinking, worrying... He’s just... him. Daryl. The man you had found yourself so heavily attracted to. You shuffle on the sofa slightly, still resting on your side, getting a better look at sleeping beauty.

The light is slowly beginning to fill the room, lighting his face up more and more. His light golden skin looks softer than you’d imagine. He is not covered in dirt and gunk. His mouth hangs open ever so slightly, the tiniest of a snore emitting every few moments. His eyes flutter lightly, and you see his right hand grasp the pillow a little tighter - almost as though he was snuggling it. Maybe you weren’t the only one who was feeling a little touch starved?

You take a deep breath, only to realize how dehydrated you were, your dry throat causing a cough to emit from your mouth involuntarily. You cover your mouth, but it’s too late - you woke him. You knew he was a light sleeper. The smallest sound could wake him from a deep sleep - perhaps it was a good thing in this world. You push the image of a walker approaching his sleeping form from your head as you see his eyes blinking, presumably adjusting to the light.

His intense eyes meet your own, and you can’t help the shy smile that creeps up your face. “Sorry,” You whisper. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” He nods his head lightly against the pillow, clearly still half asleep.

“Ya watchin’ me sleep?” He questions as he sits up, his voice deep and scratchy, twisting his back to stretch. You wonder how he could look so peaceful sleeping on a hard floor. You know he must be used to it, but you still feel bad.

“Maybe just a little.” You respond quietly, trying not to wake the others. You like moments like this when it was just the two of you. His guard isn’t up as high when he’s tired, either. He rolls his eyes at your comment, but you see the corner of his mouth raise in an almost unnoticeable smirk. You don’t move from your spot, and his eyes once again fall on your body pillow.

“Ya act like you’re datin’ that thing.” He remarks as he brings his knees up, resting his elbows on them. You smile at him because it’s all that you can do from keeping what you want to say from falling out of your lips. So instead you shrug your shoulders and lean your head on the comfortable pillow more, your eyes wandering over his body. Even in the most basic clothes he still looks like a damn sex god.

“Ya stare a lot.” He comments as he stands up, grabbing his vest from the chair and looking outside.

“Only at you.” You mutter. He looks back over at you, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. To anyone else, he may look grumpy. But you have him down. You know that’s just his face when he doesn’t really know what to say.

“It’s creepy.” He jokes, his little smirk returning. 

“Does it bother you?” You question, not very serious. You know he’d never admit it, but you have a feeling he likes a little attention.

“Nah,” He responds after a moment of studying you. The intense eye contact sends butterflies shooting up your stomach, but you don’t dare break it. Unfortunately, Tara stirs and begins waking up beside you, killing the moment. His eyes return to the window as he grabs his boots and begins putting them on, sitting on the window sill. 

“Mornin’“ You greet your friend as she sits up, rubbing her eyes tiredly. 

“You guys certainly are early birds.” She groans tiredly, letting out a yawn. You smile and shake your head. Tara is probably one of your favorite people here, besides Daryl of course.

“Ima go try t’ hunt a little,” Daryl announces, meeting your eye once more before exiting the room. You’d like to think he was telling you - as if he had a duty to inform you of where he was going. It was a stupid thought, but you just liked to imagine what it would be like. Being Daryl’s girl...

“You’re so whipped for him,” Tara remarks, startling you from your thoughts, your head snapping to face her. You can feel your cheeks burning as she smirks knowingly at you.

“Am not.” You respond, sitting up and stretching a little.

“Okay, Y/N. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She teases, giving your shoulder a little shove as she stands up to start her day. You drop your head so that she doesn’t see your embarrassed smile, Daryl never leaving your thoughts.

Until tomorrow morning, Daryl Dixon...

---

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[calumcest]

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter six

[ao3]

we all know the drill i did an exam and wrote 6k on 2 hours sleep. yes i am slowly going insane 

i just wanna do a quick shoutout to three very important people that have seen me through tonight: @ashesonthefloor who listened to me scream and helped me and read part of it to reassure me it actually made sense, taron egerton for singing so beautifully on the rocketman soundtrack, and richard madden for being the most beauitufl human being to grace the planet and also for having a scottish accent

Luke turns up at Calum’s apartment at eleven a.m. on Christmas Day, Clifford and a pile of presents in tow. He can barely get his finger onto the doorbell, shifting the jumper he’d got Calum to his other arm to free up a hand and dropping the cologne he’d bought Michael onto the floor in the process. He swears as it hits the ground with a bang, and leans down, forgetting the other presents he’s carefully balanced in his arms which immediately go tumbling down too. 

“Oh, fuck’s sake,” Luke mutters, and drops to his knees, gathering all the parcels in his arms as Clifford watches with mild interest. He’s just picking up the cologne when the door opens, and he looks up to be met with Calum’s amused expression. 

“You know,” Calum says conversationally, “most people just use the doorbell.” 

“Fuck you,” Luke scowls, getting to his feet and almost dropping the cologne again. Clifford’s tugging on his lead, panting and wagging his tail, putting on a show for Calum, and it’s not helping the whole precariously-balanced-presents situation. “Can I come in?” Calum grins, and steps aside, gesturing grandly for Luke to enter his little apartment. Luke considers flipping him off as he passes, but a warning wobble from the gift card balanced on top of the jumper makes him change his mind, and he just heads straight for the living room and dumps the presents down on the sofa before they can fall to the floor again. 

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Michael says from a chair at the table, eyeing first the badly-wrapped gifts and then Luke. Luke sighs, kicking his shoes off and throwing them in the general direction of the hallway, and unclips Clifford from his lead. Clifford immediately goes bounding off in search of Duke, and Luke hears a faint oh, c’mon, Cliff, he’s sleeping, don’t disturb the old man from Calum in the hallway that Calum knows full well Clifford’s going to ignore. 

“Would it kill you to take the two steps back to the hallway to put your fucking shoes away?” Calum says, appearing in the door to the living room with one of Luke’s shoes in his hand. Luke shrugs, haphazardly shoving the presents under the little tree Calum’s set up in the corner. 

“Maybe,” he says, and Calum shakes his head, but puts Luke’s shoes away for him before heading into the living room and throwing himself down on the sofa next to Luke and flashing them both a bright grin. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says, and he sounds far too happy for someone who’s sitting in an apartment without aircon in thirty-five degree heat. Michael rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile playing at his lips, and Calum spots it, holding his arms open and making grabby hands for Michael to come and sit on his lap. 

“Absolutely not,” Michael says, pointing at Calum. “It’s way too fucking hot for that.” Calum pouts a little, but lets his arms drop to his side again. 

“Should we do presents now, or after lunch?” Luke asks. 

“Now,” Michael says, eyes back on the gifts Luke had brought with him, because he’s an impatient bastard. Calum rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet, shooting Luke a look. 

“Why’d you even bother asking?” he says, a touch exasperated, and Luke grins. 

“Do mine first,” Michael demands. 

“Which ones are yours?” Calum asks. 

“Are you kidding me?” Luke says, a little offended that Calum can’t tell the difference between his and Michael’s wrapping. Luke might be bad, but he’s not that bad. “The ones wrapped in duct tape.” Calum reaches for a squishy-looking one, looks at it for a moment and then tosses it at Luke, who catches it deftly. 

“You got scissors?” he asks, and Calum throws Michael a beseeching look. Michael sighs heavily, like getting scissors for the duct tape he’d chosen to wrap his presents with is a huge ordeal, but gets to his feet and disappears into the kitchen. He reappears a few moments later with a meat cleaver, and Luke stares at Calum in disbelief. 

“Why the fuck do you own a meat cleaver?” he asks, and Calum shrugs. 

“To cleave meat,” he says, reaching for the knife from Michael and holding it out for Luke. 

“Are you insane?” Luke says, not sure whether he’s directing the question at Michael or Calum. “How the fuck am I going to open a present with a meat cleaver?” Michael shrugs, throwing himself back in his chair. 

“Not my problem,” he says. “I don’t have to open any presents wrapped with duct tape.” Luke scowls but reaches hesitantly for the meat cleaver, casting a doubtful glance down at the gift in his lap. 

“Try sliding it in sideways,” Calum suggests helpfully. 

“Or lift the wrapping paper up and cut into it,” Michael offers. 

“You guys are fucking stupid,” Luke tells them, placing the cleaver on its side and carefully applying a little pressure to create a small tear, then setting the knife aside and using his hands to rip the rest of the wrapping paper off. 

“Or do it like that,” Michael mutters, like Luke’s just ruined his fun somehow. Luke sends him a brief look of disapproval, shaking out the present Michael’s bought him. 

It’s a fluffy blanket with Clifford’s little face about a hundred times the size of life printed on it, gazing happily up at Luke, tongue out. It’s the dumbest thing Michael’s ever bought Luke, and Luke fucking loves it. 

“I love it,” he tells Michael, grinning as he flips the blanket the other way around to inspect the back. 

“‘Course you do,” Michael says, but he’s smiling too. 

“I’ll take it with me on the flight,” Luke says thoughtlessly, carefully folding the blanket back up. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Calum and Michael exchange an alarmed look, and realises with a sickening lurch of his stomach that shit, he hasn’t actually told them he’d agreed to go to London yet. He’d wanted to save it until after Christmas, not wanting to taint their first Christmas together with the inevitable argument that’ll come with both Michael and Luke stubbornly standing their ground and Calum trying to please both of them. 

“You’re going, then?” Michael asks bluntly, and Calum sighs, clearly having hoped for something a little more diplomatic. Luke swallows. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Okay,” Calum says, before Michael has a chance to jump in and say whatever thoughts are putting that dark expression on his face. 

“Look,” Luke begins, stomach churning uncomfortably, but Calum cuts him off. 

“No,” he says firmly, and Luke’s not sure whether it’s directed at him or Michael. “We might not agree with your decision, but we’re going to support you. Aren’t we, Michael?” He punctuates it with a glare in Michael’s direction, and Michael holds his gaze for a moment, eyes furious, before he nods tightly. Calum, apparently satisfied with that response, turns back to Luke. 

“So, when do you go?” he asks, and Luke shrugs. 

“I don’t know,” he says, because he’d kind of just thought Ashton would email Mr Johnson back and say they were both participating. “I’m assuming Ashton’ll tell me.” 

“Have you spoken to Phil about it?” 

“Not yet,” Luke says, because it’s the Christmas holidays, and he’s not even thought about how to phrase it. Can I work remotely for four weeks while I participate in a soulmate study in the UK because my soulmate’s my ex and my tattoo keeps growing and I need to find a way to stop it sounds a little desperate. 

“Have you told your parents?” Michael asks knowingly, and a lick of embarrassment at how badly Luke’s thought this all up flares up in him, quickly turning to annoyance.

“Jesus, what’s with the fucking Inquisition?” he asks, a little irritably. Calum holds his hands up in defence. 

“We’re just wondering,” he says.  

“Well, don’t,” Luke says moodily, shoving the blanket down on the sofa next to him with a little more force than strictly necessary. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“No need to bite our fucking heads off,” he says, and Luke sighs, closing his eyes briefly. This is exactly what he’d wanted to avoid; he’d wanted his first Christmas with Michael and Calum to be a good one, to not cast a shadow on Calum and Michael’s first Christmas together. That thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that Luke tries hard not to identify as guilt, and he swallows it and his pride down. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Luke says. “I- I was going to tell you. After. I didn’t want-” he cuts himself off, gesturing at nothing, and hoping Michael and Calum get it. 

“Didn’t want this to happen?” Michael says wryly, and Calum huffs out a laugh. Luke has to smile at that too, looking down at the floor a little sheepishly. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I want this Christmas to be a good one for you.” He hopes they get what he means with that too, that he won’t have to say the words I don’t want to ruin your first Christmas like I’ve ruined so many other parts of the beginning of your relationship, because he doesn’t know whether they’ll actually make it across his lips. 

“Oh, Luke,” Calum says softly, eyes wide and kind. “Of course it’ll be a good one. We’re spending it with you.” 

“Plus, what’s Christmas without a family argument?” Michael points out, and Calum and Luke both laugh, and Luke feels the guilt swirl in his stomach with the pure fucking love he has for Michael and Calum. 

“You think that’s going to be the argument of the day?” Calum says, eyes glinting as he grins at Michael. “Wait ‘til Luke opens the present we got him.” Michael’s grin immediately turns wicked, and he casts a look of delight in Luke’s direction, which Luke does not trust one bit. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, eyes locked with Luke, who frowns. 

“What did you arseholes get me?” he asks, and both of them just laugh, a touch hysterical. “What the fuck did you get?” he demands again, fighting back a grin as he watches Michael and Calum laugh and the love in his stomach shoots into his veins, warming up every fibre of his being. 

 -------

 (“You signed me up to receive daily BDSM tips?” Luke asks in horror, staring at the piece of paper he’s just pulled out of the envelope. “That I can’t cancel?” Michael and Calum are falling about themselves laughing, can’t get more than two fucking words out before dissolving into giggles again. 

“You know what the best part of it is?” Calum gasps, wiping at his eyes. 

“We signed Ashton up too,” Michael splutters.) 

 -------

 When Luke goes back to work a week and a half later, he’s got a whole speech prepared for Phil. He rehearses it on the train on the way to work, double- and triple-checking the email Ashton had forwarded him on Thursday to make sure he’s got his dates right, whispering it under his breath and getting strange looks from the guy sitting opposite him, but it’s all in vain. 

“A soulmate study?” Phil says, a calculating look in his eyes, like he knows something that Luke doesn’t know he knows. 

“Yes,” Luke says, mentally skipping to the next part of his speech. “It’d be for four weeks, but I’d be able to work remotely, and-” 

“Yes,” Phil says. 

“-I could probably come back early if I were neede- huh?” Luke cuts himself off mid-recital, when his mind finally catches up with his ears. “Sorry?” 

“Give me the dates and I’ll approve it,” Phil says, eyes already back on the notepad in front of him. 

“Oh,” Luke says, a little nonplussed. “Okay. Thank you.” He stands there for a moment, staring at the top of Phil’s head, bewildered, until Phil looks up again. 

“Was there something else?” he says pointedly, and Luke shakes his head, makes his excuses, and leaves. Strange, he thinks, but Calum doesn’t seem to think anything of it when Luke relays the story to him ten minutes later. 

The researchers want to start as soon as possible (‘ideally the fifteenth’, the email says, because they can somehow fast-track their visas), and Luke, Calum and Michael spend an age researching the cheapest flights from Sydney to London before Luke pulls up the original email stating that all expenses would be reimbursed by the university sponsoring the study and books himself a flight that stops over in Singapore for just under an hour, wanting to get the twenty-two hour long trip over as fast as possible. 

His mum gives him a knowing smile when he rings her and explains the situation, explains that he’ll be gone for four weeks, and it makes something like the teenage annoyance Luke had felt whenever she’d catch him staring at a boy burn hot in his stomach. He snaps at her that it’s only because he wants to get rid of the tattoo, and then immediately feels guilty when the smile slides off her face. He sighs, and tells her he’s sorry, and she smiles sadly and says she knows, and Luke knows the sad smile isn’t because he snapped at her and has to swallow back the annoyance rising like bile in his throat again. He fucking hates that everyone thinks they know how he feels about Ashton better than he does. 

Calum and Michael tell him repeatedly they think it’s a bad idea as they help him pack, but Calum secretly gets Clifford the required shots and certification from the vet to allow him to travel to the UK, and Michael pays Luke’s next month of bills for him. Luke tries not to think about it too much, because even though it’s only four weeks, it’s the longest they’ve ever been apart, and Luke catches both of them choking on their words and turning away quickly when the conversation centres on the length of time Luke’s going to be away for too long. Instead, they bitch and bicker about what clothes Luke should pack, whether or not Michael can be bothered to check in on Luke’s houseplants every few days, whether Luke should take a guitar with him, and if packing books is really necessary. It’s the only way the three of them can cope with the sense of loss that’s blooming in all of them, blossoming in their lungs and choking them from the inside out.

He tells Ashton he’ll be there on the fourteenth, and just gets an Okay in response. They don’t speak apart from that, and Luke’s too preoccupied with packing and sorting his affairs at home to spare any thoughts for Ashton. 

His parents drop by with a few leaving gifts, and for his mum to fuss over how badly he’s packed and re-pack everything at least twice, and for his dad to pat him on the back and try to have a serious talk about feelings and Ashton that Luke really, really isn’t ready to have. He’s saved by Jack and Ben appearing, handing him a bottle of champagne that he’s not sure he can take into the UK anyway, loudly making bets about whether or not Luke’s going to get laid in London in order to take their mum’s attention away from Luke, scolding the two of them for being so lewd, so Luke gets a moment to breathe. They stay for dinner, and it’s the first time the five of them have been together in months, and Luke loves it, loves the way they all fuss over him in their own ways, feels a pang of love and gratefulness in his heart that he’s got a family like this. 

On the thirteenth, Michael drives Luke to the airport. Calum spends the entire car journey twisted around in the passenger seat, telling Luke all the work he’s shafted onto Chris and Tom so Luke’ll have less to do when he’s in England, reminding him for the seven millionth time that because of the time difference, the deadlines that Luke gets sent will actually be a day earlier for him, and Luke rolls his eyes to avoid the anxiety growing in his stomach with every mile they get close to the airport and tells Calum yes, he knows, he’s worked remotely before, it’s not going to be any different because he’s in London. 

The three of them manage to hold it together until Luke’s checked his bags and Clifford in, Calum kissing Clifford a tearful goodbye, Michael instructing Luke far too seriously to bring his son back in one piece. It’s when Luke’s got to head to security that they all break down in tears. 

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Luke sobs, arms around both of them, not even caring that they’re getting strange looks from everyone around him. It’s suddenly hitting him, the enormity of what he’s going - four weeks, thousands and thousands of miles and hours and hours of timezones away from his entire support system, with nobody he knows except the man he’d hoped never to see again in his life. 

“I’m going to miss you more,” Calum says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. 

“I’m going to miss you most,” Michael says, voice wobbly in a way that Luke hasn’t heard since the time in Year Ten he’d thought Calum was dating Stephanie Newham. 

“We’ll call you every day,” Calum promises. “We’ll figure out the timezones.” 

“Don’t forget about me,” Luke says, aiming for light-hearted, but his voice wavers and he’s all choked up, and Michael and Calum both tighten their grip on him. 

“Never,” Michael says fiercely. 

“You’re our best friend, Luke,” Calum says, equally fierce. “You’re part of us.” Luke just chokes back another sob at that, pulls them in tighter, and kisses both of them on the cheek. 

“I love you,” he says, head starting to throb from crying already. 

“I love you too,” both Calum and Michael echo. 

When they finally disentangle themselves, all wet sleeves and blotchy faces, Luke feels anxious and sick, and Calum presses one final kiss to Luke’s forehead, and Michael one to his temple. 

“Go,” Calum says, giving him a watery smile. 

“I love you,” Luke says again, a little desperately. 

“We love you,” Michael says earnestly, scrubbing at his eyes. “Now get on that flight.” Luke nods, and slings his carry-on bag over his shoulder. 

“Text us as soon as you land,” Calum calls, as Luke takes his first steps towards security. He thinks he kind of understands what Neil Armstrong must have felt taking his first steps on the moon now.

“I will,” Luke promises. 

“And remember to call Ashton a bastard from me,” Michael shouts, and Luke grins, trying to stop the stinging feeling in his nose and the lump in his throat telling him he’s going to cry again. 

“I will,” Luke says again, pulling his boarding pass out to scan in the barrier. The barrier slides open, and Luke hesitates, throwing one last glance at his two best friends, his anchors, his everything. 

He steps through the barrier, and Calum and Michael both grin at him, fresh tears streaming down both of their faces, and it’s all Luke can do to turn away from them and step into the queue for security. 

 -------

 Luke’s flight starts boarding at half-past five, and he’s one of the first groups called after business class have finished boarding, meaning he’s one of the first on the plane. The plane’s set up in rows of three, and Luke’s got the middle seat on the right hand side, so he shuffles in, takes the things he wants for the flight out of his bag and shoves it inelegantly in the overhead locker. He doesn’t bother putting his seatbelt on, since he assumes someone’s going to have the window seat, just texts Michael and Calum that he’s on the first flight and switches to scrolling through Twitter as the plane slowly fills up. 

A friendly looking lady smiles at him as she sits down to his left, busying herself with getting her things out of her bag and arranging her pillow, and Luke returns her smile politely. The flight’s getting fuller and fuller, and Luke thinks for a brief few minutes that maybe, just maybe, he can snag the window seat for himself, before the lady’s getting up to let someone in and Luke automatically does the same, only to be confronted with-

“Ashton?” 

“Luke?” 

“You-”

“I didn’t know-”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Luke’s confusion burns into anger, but he steps out of the row to let Ashton in, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the woman, who’s looking a little bemused. Ashton shuffles past them, too close in the confines of the plane, and the scent of pine and oak and spice hits Luke as Ashton pushes past, making him feel dizzy and giddy and so fucking angry. 

“What the fuck?” Luke hisses, when Ashton’s flopped down in the window seat and Luke’s back in his seat. Ashton just gives him a tired look. 

“Why the fuck are you surprised, Luke?” he says, a little wearily. “We’re heading to the same place on the same day. There are only so many flights.” Luke knows he’s right, hates that he’s right, and doesn’t want to be wrong. 

“Yeah, but why are you here?” he demands, gesturing at the seat. Ashton’s far too close for comfort, arm on the armrest he’s going to be sharing with Luke for the next eight hours, and the scent of pine and oak and spice is still clouding Luke’s mind. 

“Jesus, Luke, I’m not stalking you,” Ashton says, like he knows what Luke’s thinking, rolling his eyes. “This is just my assigned seat.” 

“Right,” Luke says sarcastically, folding his arms. “So this is just a massive coincidence.” Ashton gives him a look. 

“I don’t think anything since getting the tattoos has been a coincidence,” he says, a little too knowingly. Luke hates it. 

“Well, at least we’re going to find a way to stop it,” he bites out, and then turns away from Ashton pointedly. Ashton sighs, but doesn’t answer, instead fumbling with a book he’s got out of his bag as the safety briefing begins. 

 -------

 Luke doesn’t even realise he fell asleep after dinner until the slow drone of the pilot’s voice rouses him gently. He lets the sound wash over him, not opening his eyes in case he wakes up too much and can’t fall back asleep, instead nuzzling further into the warm, firm pillow on his right. 

And, fuck, aeroplane pillows are never firm. 

Luke jolts upright, eyes flying open so fast he thinks he might have burst a capillary or something, ear and cheek hot from where they’ve been resting on Ashton’s shoulder. 

On Ashton’s shoulder. 

Ashton, thank the fucking Lord, also seems to be asleep, head resting on his hand, and Luke turns away before he can think about how peaceful Ashton looks, face tranquil and relaxed in sleep. His heart is beating wildly - shit, did he fall asleep on Ashton before Ashton had fallen asleep? Does Ashton know? Why does he feel so fucking well-rested for two hours’ sleep on a plane? - and he focuses to the dull thrum of the engines to try and calm his breathing down. Ashton stirs to his right, making him jump a foot in the air, but he doesn’t open his eyes, and his breathing remains even. 

Luke stares steadfastly and unblinkingly ahead of him, balling his fists, and doesn’t sleep for the rest of the flight. 

 ------- 

 Everybody stumbles off the flight in Singapore sleepily, and Luke and Ashton follow the signs for connections in silence. The bright lights of Changi airport make his head and eyes hurt, and Luke feels like he’s in a dream, in a deserted airport at what would be three in the morning back home with Ashton fucking Irwin, heading to London on his own for four weeks. It makes him feel delirious somehow, like this whole thing is a fever dream. 

Luke and Ashton aren’t sat together on the second leg of the flight, for which Luke thanks whatever deities he can think of in his semi-conscious state. This flight is much quieter, much smaller, people dotted around the rows of three rather than clogging them all up. Ashton’s two rows in front of Luke, which is still too close for comfort, but it’s far enough away that Luke can give into his exhaustion and fall asleep against the window, cold and hard and cricking his neck. He sleeps uneasily, drifting in and out of consciousness with every chime of the seatbelt lights, every slam of the toilet door, every update from the cockpit. By the time that the flight attendant wakes him up for breakfast six hours later, Luke feels like he’s slept about twenty minutes in total. 

He eats his breakfast, reads some reports he’d downloaded on his laptop to work on, makes notes on them, eats the next meal they offer, tries to sleep a little more because the darkness just doesn’t seem to be fucking lifting even though he’s been on this flight for nearly ten hours, tries to read some more of the reports but his eyes feel gritty and dry, and eventually settles into listening to some music with his eyes shut. He gets through three whole albums when he realises that light is stealing over his eyes, and cracks them open to see the sun rising over the horizon. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are starting our descent into London Heathrow,” the pilot announces, and Luke thinks thank fuck, cracks his neck, and starts packing his things together. He takes one last trip to the toilet, because he has no idea how long it is from Heathrow to wherever the university is putting them up, and then watches the plane get lower and lower, disappearing into the clouds and reappearing in the dull grey sky over London. 

London’s a huge, sprawling mess of buildings, a thick band of blue winding its way through the concrete and brick and glass, and it looks so foreign and so little like home that it makes Luke feel a little sick. He tries to pick out individual buildings he’s seen in photos, but they’re moving too fast and there are too many buildings that look the same. Luke’s so preoccupied with trying to find Buckingham Palace that he barely even realises how close they’re getting until he sees the runway looming underneath them, and braces himself as the wheels hit the ground. 

The pilot’s making some kind of announcement as they taxi to the bay but nobody cares, everybody eager to get off the plane they’ve spent the past thirteen fucking hours on, a flurry of movement beginning before the plane has even slowed to a full stop. Luke’s among them, jumping up before the seatbelt sign switches off to grab his bag out of the overhead locker and stuff the things he’d taken out for the flight back in. He stretches, cracking his back with a yawn, and looks to his left to see Ashton staring directly at him. Ashton looks away immediately, something unreadable in his expression, and Luke suddenly feels exposed, vulnerable, for letting Ashton see him with his guard down. 

They file off the plane and into the cold winter air, Luke about four people down from Ashton, and queue at passport control. More and more flights start to pile in behind them, and Luke stares at the EU arrivals swanning through the electronic passport gates enviously as his queue shuffles forward a centimetre at a time. 

Finally, though, he’s through passport control, heading for baggage reclaim, so focused on trying to remember that his bags are coming through on conveyor belt seven that he doesn’t even notice Ashton lingering on the other side of passport control. 

“Hey,” he says, falling into step with Luke and catching him totally off-guard, and Luke stares at him in surprise. 

“What?” 

“Are you taking the tube?” Luke frowns. He’d intended to, but that was before getting on a twenty-two hour flight across God knows how many timezones. 

“I was going to,” he says. 

“Want to split a cab?” Luke hesitates. On the one hand, he’s not really sure whether he wants to share a cab with Ashton, stuck in close quarters for who knows how long of a drive. On the other hand, yes, he would very much like to get in a cab and just arrive at his destination without having to drag his suitcases everywhere with him, and he’s going to spend the next four weeks stuck with Ashton anyway, so he might as well get used to it. 

“Fine,” he says, sighing, and Ashton actually smiles, like he hadn’t been expecting Luke to agree to it. Luke feels a weird flicker of something he can’t quite identify in his gut, but attributes it to his absolute exhaustion, quickening his pace to take his mind off it.

Their luggage is already on the conveyor belt by the time they get there, and Ashton hauls Luke’s suitcases off the conveyor belt for him, much to his annoyance. 

“I have hands, you know,” he tells Ashton, who flashes him a grin. 

“You won’t lift anything heavier than a fucking feather, Luke,” he says, and Luke scowls, because it’s true, and he hates that Ashton knows that about him. 

“Yeah, well,” he says moodily. “First time for everything.” Ashton huffs out a laugh at that, tired eyes twinkling with something like amusement, and he heads off towards the Nothing To Declare gate. Luke has to take a detour to pick up Clifford, which takes a ridiculously long time because they need to check both his and Clifford’s documentation, and then want to scan his microchip like, four times, but eventually he’s released, yapping at Luke from inside his travel cage, and Luke heads out in the direction Ashton had taken to find him leaning against the wall, waiting for him. It sends a jolt of something unpleasant shooting through his veins, gives him awful déjà-vu of times he’d gone to visit Ashton wherever he’d been recording and Ashton had waited for him in much the same way, but he’s too tired to feel anything more than the ghost of an emotion, so he forces it away and heads for the taxis. 

The taxi rank is absolutely full when they get there, and Ashton points to the polite queue that’s formed - how fucking British, Luke thinks, stationing himself behind the guy in a sharp-looking suit that’s barking angry instructions about filing the tax returns right now down his phone. Ashton throws the guy a look, then Luke, rolling his eyes, and Luke has to stifle a smile and then the strange revulsion that rises in his throat at sharing an unspoken moment like that with Ashton. 

Luckily, his mind is taken off it by them moving up the queue to the next cab. The driver gets out, opens the boot for them to put their bags in, asks them where they want to go. Ashton reels off an address as he’s hauling his bags in, postcode and all, and the cab driver gives him a funny look but nods, getting back in the driver’s seat. 

Luke and Ashton clamber into the back of the taxi, which looks a lot more spacious from the outside than it is on the inside, and sit on either side, Luke placing Clifford in the middle, fastening their seatbelts and both ignoring the tense, awkward silence. There’s a light on the door that indicates that the driver can hear their conversation, anyway, and Luke doesn’t particularly want to air his and Ashton’s dirty laundry in front of a stranger, so the silence suits him just fine. 

He watches the barren fields pass by, eyes heavy, and yet knowing he won’t be able to sleep if he tries. He steadfastly doesn’t think about what Ashton’s doing, sat only a metre away from him, and the fact that he’s now stuck in this cold, drab, foreign country with nobody but Ashton. 

“Hey,” Ashton says quietly after a while, so quietly that Luke has to look over to see whether or not he imagined it. Ashton’s looking at him, a slightly apprehensive look on his face. 

“What?” 

“Did you sleep? On the flight?” Luke swallows. 

“Not much,” he says. 

“I did on the first flight,” Ashton says, and he’s saying it pointedly, like Luke’s supposed to understand some greater meaning behind it. 

“Okay?” Luke says, nonplussed. 

“I mean,” Ashton says, and now he sounds a little nervous. “I slept better. With you.” Luke blinks at him. 

“Oh,” is all his exhausted mind can produce for him, not giving him the capacity to lie. 

“Would you…” Ashton trails off, and bites his lip. 

“Would I what?” 

“Sleep with me?” Luke chokes on his next breath, and Ashton’s eyes widen, and he starts to trip over himself in his haste to correct himself. “I mean, like, purely innocent, like literally sleeping, I don’t mean f-” Luke holds his hand up to stop him, because he does not want to hear another word of that thought. 

“How?” he asks instead, because he’s so fucking tired that a twenty minute power nap with Ashton is actually sounding vaguely not like the worst thing in the world. Ashton shrugs, a little tentatively. 

“Lean on me?” he suggests. 

“What, on your shoulder?” 

“That’s what you did last time.” Luke swallows. Great. Fuck. Ashton had been awake, then. 

“Oh,” he says, and then, before he can stop himself, his fatigued mind adds: “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Ashton says, surprised. Luke shrugs uncomfortably. 

“I’m fucking exhausted,” he says. “And, y’know. It’s just resting my head on your shoulder. Not exactly a declaration that I want you back in my life.” He adds on the last sentence a little meanly, and watches something flash across Ashton’s face briefly before he schools his features back into neutrality and nods. Luke hesitates for a moment, and then unclips his seatbelt, picks Clifford up and shuffles into the middle seat, busying himself with setting Clifford down and clipping the seatbelt on so he won’t have to face Ashton and the slightly musky pine-oak-spice smell that’s hitting him like a fucking brick. Eventually, though, he has nowhere else to turn, and he pauses a moment longer before slowly bringing his head down to rest on Ashton’s shoulder. 

Almost as soon as he’s done it, he feels his eyelids start to droop, comfortable tiredness padding every half-thought in his mind, easy sleepiness slowing the thudding of his heart. He barely has time to form another coherent thought before he’s being tapped awake, turning annoyed and bleary-eyed to face whoever has woken him. 

“‘Scuse me?” It’s the cab driver, and Luke stirs, wondering whether resting your head on someone’s shoulder is, like, against cab rules, or something. Did the guy really pull over just to tell them off? 

“Huh?” Luke manages, peeling himself away from Ashton and blinking properly. It’s brighter now, buildings towering over either side of Luke, and he frowns. They were in fields about two seconds ago. London’s a weird fucking place. 

“We’re here,” the cab driver says. 

“Huh?” Luke says again, because that doesn’t make sense. The cab driver seems to notice Luke’s confusion, because he grins wryly and says: “We’ve arrived, mate. You fell asleep about half an hour ago.” 

“What?” Luke says, and he hears a soft groan to his right; Ashton slowly returning to consciousness. “That wasn’t half an hour ago.” 

“Certainly was,” the cab driver says. “You want me to get your bags?” 

“No, no, we’ll manage,” Luke says, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d slept for half an hour without even noticing. He grabs Clifford and clambers out of the cab without waiting for Ashton, because his cash is in the boot, and moments later Ashton joins him in dragging their bags out of the back. Neither of them say anything, which means they’re both saying something with their silence, and Luke suddenly wants to fly back to Sydney, wants Michael and Calum to come and console him because he might have a second soulmate experience with Ashton, wants his fucking mum. 

“How much?” Luke asks Ashton, when he gets to his wallet. 

“Eighty-five,” Ashton says, and Luke’s eyes widen. That’s, like, a hundred and fifty dollars.

“Fucking hell,” he says, fishing two twenties and a ten out of his wallet and holding them out for Ashton. “Should have taken the fucking tube.” Ashton smiles at that, and then disappears around the side of the cab to pay the driver. Luke drags his bags onto the pavement, staring up at the foreboding looking hotel in front of him and shivering in the cold, waiting for Ashton. God, he never thought he’d miss the cloying Sydney heat, but he’d give anything to be sweating on the beach right now. 

“Is this it?” he asks Ashton when Ashton reappears, nodding up at the building behind them, and Ashton nods. Luke kicks his suitcases, getting them onto their back wheels, waiting for Ashton to get his in his hands, and they head into the building. 

“Hello,” Ashton says politely to the receptionist, when they get in. “Irwin and Hemmings, please.” Luke doesn’t like the way his name slips so easily out of Ashton’s lips, but swallows it down. 

“Oh, yes,” the receptionist says, beady eyes staring at the screen in front of her. “You’re with UCL.” 

“Uh,” Luke says, at the same time that Ashton says, “Yes.” Well. Good thing Ashton knows what’s going on. 

“Well, here are your room keys,” she says, slapping two key cards onto the desk. Luke and Ashton take one each. “You’re in room 203.” Luke waits, but she doesn’t add anything else. 

“And me?” he asks. 

“And you,” she says. Luke blinks. 

“No, I mean-” 

“Is there only one room?” Ashton asks, and the receptionist frowns, and nods. Ashton turns to Luke, a crease of concern between his brows. 

“We’re part of the group living together,” he sighs. 

Fuck.

taglist: @glitterlukey @hey-its-grey @cashtonasfuck @tirednotflirting @haikucal @cthofficial @tigerteeff @clumsyclifford @5sosnsfw @callmeboatboy @angel-cal 

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chapter seven

[i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate]

Can I request some nice Vergil/Lady because I think the world needs to see it No I am no one you know I hacked your computer and read your DMC fanfictions and they are too darn good to be hidden from the interwebs. Anything will do but they have to be sassing each other, obviously 😤🙏❤️

I know this you, Bree >:( EXPOSING ME LIKE THIS. VL is my favorite thing right now so...here, have some :D

Feelings

              She woke up gasping, and then burst into a cough, which made her back and head throb. “Shit…” she bit her lip, and blinked away the haze of sleep. She was on the couch at the office. Soft blue blanket pulled over her, a bandage around her head.

              “You’re awake!” Dante’s voice, much too loud, pulled her out of her thoughts.

              “Dante… what happened? The last I remember…” Lady paused, they had been facing a whole host of demons, and their leader—some sort of old god summoned from the depths of hell (or so they said). All in a day’s work, of course, but she couldn’t remember anything past getting rid of most of the hoard.

              “You were injured,” Vergil stepped down from the stairs. He wasn’t wearing his typical blue coat, and though his hair was still brushed back away from his face it was more of a mess than usual. “It’s no wonder you can’t remember.”

              “You hit your head pretty hard.” Dante frowned, “There was a lot of blood. Vergil was freaking out.”

              Vergil scoffed, “Tch. I was not.”

              “He was.” Dante stood, grabbing his coat. “I’m going to pick up my pizza and since I’m out, I’ll grab some pain killers for you. You look like you need ‘em.”

              “I really don’t remember anything. But… it couldn’t have been too bad,” Lady said, glancing up at where Dante had paused in the doorway.

              “It would have been a lot worse,” he said, “If Vergil hadn’t taken the hit for you.” And then he was gone.

              Lady was silent for a long moment before turning to look at his twin brother. Vergil had crossed the room to where he had left his teacup on Dante’s desk, lifting it gingerly with his hands, before turning to face her again.

              “Is it true?” She frowned, staring into his pale blue eyes. Vergil didn’t respond, taking a sip of his tea. “Answer me!” she snapped.

              Vergil let out a deep sigh, “It is true that, while you were in imminent danger, I pushed you out of the way.”

              She bristled, gritting her teeth. “I can take care of myself!”

              “If I had let you ‘take care of yourself,’” Vergil said coolly, “You would be dead.”

              “Please,” Lady scoffed, “You’re exaggerating. I’ve been hit hard before, Vergil. I’ve broken bones, I’ve been cut. I could have taken it—” As she ranted he moved silently across the room to where his coat hung up on the rack by the door He lifted it off the hook. “Where are you going?” Lady frowned, but he just silently tossed her the blue coat, and she just barely caught it. It was heavy, long, the buttons scratched and dull. As she turned it in her hands, she saw immediately why he had tossed it to her. The front of Vergil’s coat was torn to pieces, absolutely in tatters, the side opposite his heart.

              “I was down for too long,” he said, face practically expressionless. “I can still taste the blood. You would be dead.”

              She couldn’t deny it now. These gashes in his coat were thick. Just imagining them in her chest made her feel sick. The realization of her own mortality hit her like a ton of bricks. She felt a weight on her chest like she had never felt before. I could have died. And then what. She ran her hand over Vergil’s coat again. There were so many things that would have been left unsaid. What about their next job? Or their next? Which outing would finally end up killing her?

              “Then…” she hesitated, clutching his coat in her hands. “There’s something you should know.”

              He set his tea down, “I know the coat is ruined. I’ll find a replacement. It’s quite alright.”

              “Not that,” she said rolling her eyes. She still held the heavy fabric in her hands. “I think I need to tell you something, in case next time… you can’t take the hit for me.” The gravity of her words weighed heavy with the following silence. Vergil set his teacup down heavily, his brow furrowed.

              “What are you talking about?” he asked, irritation in his blue eyes.

              “I’m saying… if I die… you need to know this.” She insisted.

              “I’m listening,” he said, gesturing for her to continue. What he didn’t realize was this was so hard. She felt like there were knots in her middle.

              “The fact is…. I…” She felt heat rise in her cheeks. Last week she had sat with him in the kitchen, and he had been reading. She had been admiring him from where she sat, the curve of his jaw, the way he seemed so content and absorbed with the book in his hands, pale blue eyes tracing over the words on the page. They had talked before. She liked the way he held the door for her, the way it felt when they stood back to back in a fight. She liked when he told her they would complete their job together.  

But, recently it was different. Recently, she was realizing it was more than just admiration. She felt something for him beyond that… “Vergil… the fact is…” she tore her gaze away from his eyes, clinging to his tattered coat for dear life, her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Why is this so hard? I’ve faced demons and… this…? “What I’m trying to say…”

“Are you feeling ill? You’re not making sense.” He frowned, crouching in front of her to press his hand to her forehead. “You did hit your head hard… and now you appear to be very flushed…”

“No!” Lady huffed, “Shut up and listen. I have feelings for you, Vergil.”

There was silence. Lady recognized the expression on Vergil’s face, his eyes searching. She could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Feelings…” he mumbled, “Well, I suppose I have feelings for you too.” Her heart skipped a beat.

“Y-you—”

“And everyone else… of course.”

“What?”

              “Dante makes me feel…” he paused, “Irritated. Trish—” Lady groaned, dropping her head against his tattered coat.

              “Forget about Dante and the others. That’s not the point. How do I make you feel?”

              “Confused,” he said without pause. And then he hesitated. “I used to think everything in life was so straightforward. I had my beliefs and I had my goals. I knew what I was seeking and I knew what I had to do to get there. But now… there’s you. Everything is jumbled in my mind. I want something… but I don’t know how to attain it. I try to think logically—”

              “Don’t think,” She said.

              “W-what?” Vergil blinked, as if it was the most absurd thing he’d heard.

              “I said stop thinking,” she said, tossing aside his coat, reaching out for him. She cupped both his cheeks, pulling him towards her to press a firm kiss to his lips. He tensed beneath her touch, and then tilted his head as she threaded her fingers through his hair. He was hot against her as she deepened the kiss and his hands tightening on her hips.

              When she pulled away, too soon, he held on to her. His eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “I see…. Those feelings.” His hands left her side, and her heart dropped. Of course, Vergil didn’t feel that way…. How could she be so stupid to think…?

              “You don’t have… those feelings…” she whispered.

              Vergil didn’t answer, raising his hand, and hesitating for a long moment before touching her cheek. “My feelings for you are a jumble,” he murmured, studying her, “But… when you kissed me it seemed as though… the puzzle was being put together at last…” he hesitated, leaning close. Lady’s heart skipped a beat. And then he kissed her tenderly once more… a chaste, quick kiss, thumb brushing her jaw. Just as she was about to kiss him again the door swung open, and there was the sound of heavy boots on the hardwood floor.

              “I’m baaaack!” Dante sang as Lady sat bolt upright, cheeks as hot as Vergil’s touch. The younger of the twins paused in the doorway, glancing suspiciously between the two. Vergil reached out and grabbed his tea, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip of his drink as if nothing had happened. “What are you two doing?” Dante frowned.

              “Vergil was showing me his coat,” Lady said, reaching out to grasp the heavy blue fabric.

Dante narrowed his eyes for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. “Yeah, it’s pretty busted, huh?” He crossed the room and handed Lady a little bag. “Here, some pain meds. And now, at last, I can enjoy my pizza.” He marched over to his desk, setting the pizza box down and dropping back into his chair, kicking his boots up on his desk and grabbing that first slice… just as the phone rang. “For the love of…”

“You better answer that, cowboy,” Lady said, leaning back on the sofa, and opening the bottle of ibuprofen. “I’m out of commission. And Vergil doesn’t know how phones work.”

Vergil glanced towards her over his tea, brows drawn together. She winked, and he quickly looked away, a nearly imperceptible blush rising on his cheeks.

Dante let out a heavy sigh as the ring sounded out once more, and he lifted the phone from the switch hook. “Devil May Cry.” Another job, possibly. Lady glanced over at Vergil. She was glad she told him. Though…. She had no idea what it meant for their future… together. She was glad he knew and… he had kissed her. He met her eyes over his tea once more. The feelings are mutual.