#sorry for the lack of art. I’m back in uni and working as the same time

[snowyteal]

Happy Valentine’s Day and happy birthday to the biggest sword lesbian, Valentine

[djarinbarnes]

me olvidarás - two

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings for the chapter: charming javi. (yes he needs his own warning) kissing. making out. doubtful javi. curse words. in thoughts. flirting. a lot of it.

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: an undeniable warm summer vacation in Bogotá. simply trying to get away from your nosey, boring parents and live for once, you meet a man who impresses you beyond where your imagination could ever take you.

a/n: the slow burn is here. ugh.

previous chapter · series masterlist

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You made your way through the stuffy bar, eager to finally try a Colombian specialty of a drink. You had done some researching from home, and it excited you. You knew you wanted to try the traditional aguardiente you had read about, and that was exactly what you were going to try.

You propped your elbows onto the counter of the bar, liquids smearing against your elbows as you leaned over the bar to place your order to the bartender. With a nod directed toward you, he places the shot in front of you.

It’s clear as water and with shaky hands you empty the shot into your mouth. It’s strong in your mouth, and you wince slightly at the taste of anise lingering on your tongue. You’re not used to the heaviness of anise and liqueur in this way, and with an intake of breath you’re coughing roughly, having inhaled the fumes stuck in your mouth.

You wince as you hear a voice beside you, flagging down the bartender to get you something to take the edge off your coughing. The music is loud in your ears and you feel slightly uncomfortable in the given situation. You smile warily when something bubbly and orange is placed in front of you, a straw being presented to your lips.

You open them reluctantly before taking a big sip of orange soda. You sigh in content before you take another sip, feeling the way the stranger beside you is eyeing you up and down. You feel the stranger’s eyes linger on your exposed ribcage, barely covered by the silver, glittering low-cut top you’re wearing over your bralette.

“First time tasting guaro?” His voice is smooth as velvet, the words rolling off his lips sensually as he brings his elbow to the bar, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand, watching you as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

For the first time, you turn and look at him. And holy shit. The white button-down he’s wearing is neat, very neat, the mustache on his upper lip so perfectly groomed, his brown eyes watching you intensely as you stand there, possibly looking like a fish out of water - gaping and lacking breaths.

He’s hot, beautiful even, and you’re easily taken aback by the way he moves when he orders a double whiskey for himself. His hair is slightly unruly - tousled to what you would call something between perfect and what would be left after hands had run through it under… Stop it. He’s a stranger, for god’s sake. You bite your lip, trying to slowly compose yourself as he looks away, bringing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“First time in Colombia,” you tell him and take another sip of the soda he’s bought you. The right side of his lips draw up slightly as he nods and you feel a surge of heat go straight from your heart, into your cunt. God damn it he was a sight for sore eyes.

“You up for anything else than a shot of guaro and soda?” You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, with the way one of his eyebrows raises as he turns back to you, but you shrug slightly before moving a tad closer to him, to hear him better over the noisiness of the bar.

“If you’re offering to show me what’s good, then I’m not one to decline.” You retort with a sly smile, grinning inwardly when he braces himself slightly against the bar. You watch as he flags down the bartender yet again, ordering something you don’t hear over the music.

You blink slightly when another six shots are placed in front of you, slightly scaring you. Was he trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you? You weren’t really sure, but… you decided now was the time to get drunk with a stranger in a stuffy bar in a city you just landed in.

“Three for you, three for me.” He says as he moves two at a time, three toward you and three toward himself. “Let me know what you think.” You grasp the first shot in between your fingers at the same time as him and bring it up to your lips simultaneously with him. Then you halt.

“Wait.” You stop, still holding the shot by your lips. You watch as he raises his eyebrow just once, yet again, as if it was the twitch of a muscle. “I don’t even know your name.”

He smirks before letting out a short puff of laughter, shaking his head slightly. You pout slightly at his reaction before you decide to defend yourself. “What? I wanna know the name of the handsome stranger whom I’m about to get drunk with.”

His teeth tug his bottom lip between them swiftly, before you both down your shots at the same time, maintaining eye contact through the whole ordeal. He leans in closer to your ear to shield his words from the noise. You can smell the alcohol radiating between the two of you - you’re not sure if it’s your own breath or his - but it’s good. New. Exciting.

“I’m Javi.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You have no recollection of how much time you and Javi spend at the bar. The two of you hit it off so easily, like you’d known each other for a long time. Maybe it was the alcohol continuously spilling in between you, or the fact that he was charming and transparent with you.

You learned that he was pushing 40, had worked at the Colombian embassy for a couple of years as an agent in the Drug Enforcement Administration, and was currently on leave after a gunshot to the shoulder. He told you it barely hurt anymore, but you definitely noticed slower movements from his injured shoulder.

You also learned he hated being on leave, and that he was better off working his days away than relaxing and being bored, as he said so himself. It was a very last-minute idea he’d gotten, to go out on a Wednesday evening to get drunk, but he made it clear that it was more than worth it.

He told you about how toe-curling he found the telenovelas constantly playing on the only three channels his tv could take in his building, how he almost only listened to American artists like Lionel Richie and Prince (even though The Supremes were his favorites) and how he always had a cup of coffee before and after every meal.

With the number of cigarettes he smoked, you wondered how he was able to keep his shirts so white. Every time he put out one, barely five minutes passed before he’d lit another. You wondered where they kept coming from - if he had a whole carton on him, just for the sake of it. You remembered hearing somewhere that smoking excessively would leave awful stains on everything, but so far, you didn’t see where that statement was coming from.

You told him about yourself too, and how boring you found your parents to be. He laughed with you as you told him one of the most embarrassing moments you had experienced with your parents, which they hadn’t found embarrassing at all.

How you had trouble finding someone like-minded like you. You told him how you hated when your parents would set you up with whomever friends’ sons, they were meeting, as if they could find a perfect fit for you to date.

That was one of the main reasons you hadn’t had a boyfriend yet. Because there just weren’t any alluring men in your city that could be a potential man for you. They were just boys. You weren’t even sure they had proper knowledge about the female genitalia.

You told him that your favorite book was none other than the classic Pride and Prejudice, how you’d read Jane Eyre more than ten times because of the storyline Jane has, which you find so heartbreakingly beautiful, and how you sort of relate to it.

You also tell him about how hard it is getting through uni as an English Lit major, with the period you’ve just finished. “Right now, I hate the renaissance. I mean… Shakespeare is amazing and all but analyzing so many of his works in tow of each other is just tiring.” You sigh and take another sip of the rum and coke in front of you. Javi is listening to you intently, watching your every move as you explain.

“I mean, Cervantes is truly one of the best Spanish writers of all time, and Don Quixote is a masterpiece that deserves all the recognition it’s getting, but I also feel like we’re all oblivious to everything else it stands for.” Your breathing is heavy as you finally stop yourself from rambling and you look at Javi with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m… rambling...” you feel the heat spreading through your cheeks with a giggle, wondering if you’ve scared him off completely by impersonating a waterfall. You can feel his eyes on you when you look away, like they’re trying to get through to something hidden inside you.

“It’s alright.” Your eyes return to his face and there’s that smile again - it makes your heartbeat faster in your chest. “You’re passionate about literature. It’s impressive.” He reaches out, and for a moment you’re sure he’s going to take a hold of your hand. Instead, he diverts his hand when he notices you watching him and brings it back to rub at the back of his neck. He breathes out, whispering out another word you can barely make out. “Impressive.”

“Oh… Okay,” your words are too barely a whisper, and you’re unsure if he’s heard it. You feel all the shyness that hadn’t been present all night slowly seep into your body while watching him through your lashes as he takes another swig of his whiskey before lightning another cigarette.

You silently admire the way the orange hue makes its way toward his lips, slowly dissolving the tobacco. It was almost like art - watching him suck the dangerous fumes into his lungs before exhaling the white smoke. You watch as his fingers tap the body of the cigarette, flicking the spent ashes into the tray on the bar.

He sighs, his hands find back to its original spot on the bar, and you discretely reach out to caress the underside of his arm, where the white sleeve of his shirt is stretched over his tan skin. It’s like the last few hours didn’t happen, and you’re back to strangers. It’s a bold move of you to even reach out for him.

Why did it have to get awkward now? You think as you swiftly play with the hem of his sleeve, watching your fingers as you twirl a thread around them. His hand finds yours and you look up at him, catching the way the lights reflect in his eyes. He has put out the last of the cigarette just seconds before, his exhale still white from smoke.

You close your eyes slightly, enjoying the way the smell of nicotine lingered on him. You had never been one to like the smell of cigarette smoke, but the way he wore it made your nerve ends tingle. What you wouldn’t do to taste the nicotine on his lips. You flick your eyes up, meeting his gaze again.

His face is closer now than when he whispered in your ear, and you find yourself blushing again. You really want to kiss him. His lips look so kissable as well, like… like soft, plump pink rose petals. You felt every sense of restraint disintegrate slowly, while you unhurriedly gather enough courage to lean into the heat radiating off his body.

You’re watching his face as you deliberately lean in, closer, closer, until your lips are resting just over his. You should be disgusted with the smell of his cigarette filling your nostrils, but the way it mixes with the scent of him, you find yourself loving it. Craving it. Wanting more.

“Don’t want to take advantage of you,” he whispers against your lips, the gentle brush of his lips against yours setting your every nerve ending on fire, causing electricity to burst through your limbs. “Want you comfortable,” he breathes again, tilting his head just the slightest before flicking his eyes over your face. “Want to taste you.”

He takes in the gradual reddening of your cheeks and the way your lashes rest against them. “I am comfortable,” you murmur, before tilting your head sparsely, your lips finally meeting his. The feeling that hits you is indescribable, like somebody has ignited a thousand firecrackers behind your eyes and in your body.

It sounds cliché - the first kiss with someone drawing out those reactions in you. It’s the cliché of every teenage romance movie you’ve ever seen, like the way fireworks go off behind them or the casual leg-bend that happens every time. That’s what it feels like, though.

His lips move against yours ever so softly, his tongue gently swiping across your lower lip as his hand finds the side of your neck. The rough pads of his fingers are considerate and tender as they softly caress your skin, his touch leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You silence a whimper into his mouth as his tongue finally gains the access it’s begging for, the tip of it gently meeting yours. It’s unfamiliar, both the feeling of a foreign tongue in your mouth and the coarse feeling of his mustache against your upper lip.

It feels amazing, though. Your fingers, previously playing with the sleeve of his shirt, are now gripping the front of it tightly, holding him close. Your heart is beating so loud against your ribcage you’re afraid he’s going to hear it over the deep bass still flowing through the speakers of the club.

You find it hard to breathe, mixed with the breathlessness of kissing him, finally, and the lack of air from you not wanting to breathe into his mouth directly. Your lungs are struggling with the lack of air, and you squeeze your eyes tighter, to hold on for as long as possible.

Your parting comes sooner than you would’ve liked - way sooner - you silently wish that your lips would’ve stayed connected for eternity. His forehead is resting against yours, your breaths mingling in the sparse space between the two of you. You flick your eyes upwards slightly, taking in his closed eyes before they fall again, focusing on the way his shoulders are rising languidly.

Before you know it, he’s kissing you again - pulling you closer to him with one single pull. His arms are holding you tightly, one hand swiftly caressing your back as the other holds the back of your neck, softly caressing your hairline.

This time it’s your mouth that’s insistent on getting another taste of him. Your tongue explores the soft pillow that’s his bottom lip, tasting the lingering essence of tobacco and whiskey. A small moan escapes your lips as his tongue meets yours in the opening of his mouth, pressing against yours to let him back into your mouth.

Your hand comes up to grasp the back of his neck, fingers intertwining in the short, dark brown curls resting at the nape of his neck, urging him on. Your other hand is working its way under the arm that’s holding your body close, landing against his shoulder blade like it’s where it belongs.

His mustache is tickling your upper lip as his mouth ravishes yours in the most intense kiss you’ve ever experienced. Well, it was easy to make out the intensity scale with the two kisses you had ever experienced. This one definitely took the crown.

You didn’t even know how it had come to this point, kissing a stranger on your first night on vacation - well, not exactly a stranger anymore, but certainly not a previously known acquaintance. All you knew was that it felt so damn good, and that you wanted to stay right there in his arms forever.

Your hand slides down swiftly, feeling up the side of his body, and there’s no doubt he’s in shape with the number of tensing muscles you feel under his shirt as he holds you, but it’s also clear to you that he is indeed an older man.

There is a soft bagging over the top of where his belt is resting on his slim hips, and it ignites something inside you, that you hadn’t even thought possible. There’s no doubt this man has experience, but you’re not exactly keen to find out just how much. All you want to do, is to stay lost in the flurry of emotions you’re feeling at this point.

In a shortage of breath from both of you, you finally peel yourselves from each other, taking in the others disheveled state. There’s a slight pause between the two of you, before you both break out into grins, soon thereafter joined by giggles and laughter.

You finish the rest of your drink swiftly, watching him over the rim of your glass before you put it down. “One more?” He smirks and you offer him a smile, before you nod.

“If you’re offering.” You watch as he nods before signaling the bartender again, for the 10th time that evening. You watch as he makes your drink behind the bar before placing it in front of you. He looks between you and Javi swiftly, before speaking up.

“Cerramos en 20” he says, leaving you two again, but this time with a bill in front of Javi. You look it over with a smile, wondering how much you had to contribute with. Javi blocks your view before pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, throwing a good amount of pesos on the bar to cover the bill.

Your mouth falls open when he turns to you, his eyebrow raised at your expression. “He should be the one tipping us for the show we just gave him.” He laughs, and you can hear it comes all the way from his stomach. You can’t help but join in. Well, that’s one way to say it.

“They’re closing in 20. Finish your drink,” he pulls on the leather jacket he draped over the back of the bar stool he’d been sitting on, and damn if that one piece of garment doesn’t suit him startingly. “You mind if I walk you home? I’d like to make sure you’re getting home safe, so I have a chance of seeing you again.”

You can’t help but smile at his question, giggling as you quickly down the drink the bartender has placed in front of you, before you’re getting off the bar stool you were sitting on. “Sure.” You whisper in his ear as you walk out of the bar with Javi hot on your heels.

You can feel his eyes on your hips as you saunter out of the bar, twirling once to see if he’s still following you. He is. And his eyes are trained on you like a hawk on its prey. His lips tug between his teeth as he watches the curve of your body being engulfed in the dim rays of the rising sun.

It’s like you’re some kind of ethereal being right then, sent to him by the gods. He never truly believed in heaven and anything else superstitious before this exact moment in time. Seeing you right at that moment - it changed something within him. He usually did the whole relationship without the aspect of love. Scratch that - he never did proper relationships.

Yet he couldn’t help but think that you, at that moment, could be a part of his future. He felt his heart pick up the pace when you smiled at him, as you reached out your hand for him to take. It was like he imagined what your whole future could look like, right there.

He steps out into the morning light overshining Bogotá as he takes your hand, his eyes reacting poorly to the already brightly illuminated city. He brings a hand to rest against his brows as he halts in his steps, squinting his eyes to get his vision back. As the whiteness clears from his eyes, the first thing he sees is you.

It’s in stark contrast to the dim lighting of the bar - out in the sun he can see just how beautiful you are. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but he feels his heart pick up the pace again. He feels like a teenager again. Your voice fills his ears and at first, he doesn’t really hear what you say. Your plump pink lips are just moving angelically, taking his breath away.

Then you’re pulling him by the hand, and he follows you. He’s amazed that you manage to hurry through so many small passageways, since it’s only your second day in Bogotá. He watches your back the whole time you’re leading him wherever the two of you are going.

He notices a constellation of freckles on your shoulder that slithers its way up the back of your neck, and he finds himself wanting to kiss the skin there. He almost runs into you when you come to a stop, turning to face him with rapid movements.

“How do you still have this much energy?” He breathes - he is out of breath. He watches you, your chest rising rapidly as your smile beams at him.

“You’ve paid for my drinks through the night. Let me repay the favor.” You grin as you gesture toward the small restaurant you’ve led him to. The small restaurant is already buzzing with life, and Javi still has no recollection of what time it is.

It doesn’t really matter when he’s in your company. “I walked past this place yesterday when I was exploring. I wanted to try their pancakes and a cup of real Colombian coffee.”

His hand is still intertwined with yours, and you’re swinging it slightly between you, as if it would help you convince him to let you buy breakfast. He nods then, making you smile even wider.

“Guess I could use a cup of coffee that isn’t homemade.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The pancakes you’re eating are the perfect combination of sweet and spongy dough. You almost moan when the freshly made syrup-glazed bite fills your mouth. You notice Javi watching you from the other side of the table, and you offer him a close-mouthed smile.

Your cheeks are full of pancakes, and in that moment, he realizes just how young you are compared to him. It unsettles his stomach just slightly - he’s never been one to overthink hooking up with someone, but right at this moment he’s starting to second think his decision.

He’s afraid he’s gonna be the one who ruins you completely with who he is, and the story he has. It’s never been easy for him to have relationships. He even had the audacity to leave his former fiancée at the altar.

He never knew why he was unable to commit himself, yet he found so much hate within him, diverted at himself. He just didn’t understand the impulses he would have. He could fuck three different women in the same day, if he wanted to. He didn’t even know where his libido came from.

He watches you as you chew your way through your sugary breakfast, all while occasionally taking a few sips of your coffee. He sips his own coffee in silence, just observing you as you fill your empty stomach. He should be eating something.

When you finally lean back against the backrest of the chair, your plate cleared and your mouth swallowing the last bite of pancake, you offer him another smile. This time it’s with teeth, though.

He feels his heart beat like that again, and he doesn’t fucking understand why you’re doing this to him. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way about someone he just met. Yet he can’t help himself.

He watches you without a word, simply observing you as you look around the small restaurant, the street in front of it bustling with life by now and your eyes observing every person walking by.

He admires the way your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip, your tongue most likely finding some residing syrup. It runs over your lips twice more and he feels a jolt run from his heart right into his groin.

It ignites everything inside his body, and he closes his eyes slightly, imagining things he definitely shouldn’t be imagining at this point. He barely knows you. He sort of feels bad. Yet he can’t stop himself.

When he opens his eyes, you’re looking directly at him. “Where did your head run off to?” You tilt your head with a slight smile playing on your lips, and he finds himself getting lost in your eyes again.

This is the first time he’s actually getting to look into them properly. Dazzling orbs are watching him through lashes, compelling him to do things he’s sure he’s going to regret later. He’s simply mesmerized by your eyes. He feels like you can see right through the barrier he’s been working on and putting up for so many years to shield himself from the problems of the world.

“You really don’t wanna know, hermosa.” The words leaving his lips make your heart beat faster in your chest, again, and oh man if this man isn’t going to be the end of you. Even with the little-to-no experience you had, you were sure you would let him do anything he wanted with you.

You scoot to the edge of the chair you’re sitting on, feeling a sudden surge of confidence overcome you as you let your chin rest on your palm. Your foot slowly extends out, finding the inside of his calf under the table before it makes its way north lazily. “Try me. Maybe I’m thinking the same thing.”

He feels a breath getting stuck in his throat. That he definitely did not expect from you. With the little knowledge he had about you, he hadn’t expected you to come onto him so strong. He definitely didn’t mind your interest in him - you were a beautiful woman.

He leans forward slightly, over the table to get closer to you. He doesn’t need the whole restaurant knowing their business. “Maybe I’m not the man for you, hermosa.” Your hand unexpectedly takes his, and he yet again finds himself taken aback.

“Maybe I’ll let me decide for myself.” You whisper to him, before retreating yourself from his personal space. You dig through your small handbag to find your purse, pulling out pesos to cover the bill along with a tip. You rise from your seat with a smile, scooting the chair back under the table.

He’s reluctant to follow your movements, so you speak up. “Were you going to follow me home, or have you changed your mind?” You challenge him as you watch him stand as well. His eyebrow raises slightly at your statement before he signals you to leave the restaurant with his hand.

“So, where do you live?” You ask him as you both leave the restaurant. He walks beside you with his hands deeply buried within the front pockets of his jeans as if he’s scared of touching you.

You walk beside him with your hands clenched at your sides, desperately wanting to touch him again. There’s something infuriating and infatuating about him at the same time. It’s not easy to read him, and he knows it. He loves it.

“I live in one of the apartments ordinated to me by the organization. They have some apartments close to the office.” He tells you, and the rest of the way home to your rented apartment is with small talk between the two of you. You feel the distance between you now, like he regrets the fire he undeniably has started within your body.

You turn to him when you finally stand in front of the small apartment, you’re currently residing in. You offer him a small smile, unsure of what to do at this point. How were you ever going to say goodbye to him? You didn’t really want to.

His fingers move a strand of hair out of your face before he’s grasping your head in his hands again, placing his lips against yours again, finally. You realize by then that you have been craving the feel of his lips against yours, the smell of him once again making its way to your nostrils. Tobacco, whiskey and something you can’t place - maybe sandalwood or cedar.

Your lips move against one another slowly - sinfully - and you catch yourself grasping the front of his jacket within your fists so tightly it hurts. His hands are persistently holding your face close to his, further deepening the kiss.

The kiss leaves you breathless yet again, and you find yourself craving more and more of him. You want to know everything about him. You want all of him. You detach your lips from his with a sigh, your eyes closed as you await something, anything.

Yet nothing happens. When you open your eyes to look at him, he’s already watching you. You turn your body slightly, digging through your handbag to find your key. You unlock the door swiftly as he watches you, slightly out of breath himself. He watches you step into your apartment, feeling a slight sense of anguish at the way you’re not inviting him in. Or so he thought.

“Would you like to come in?” Your words are low and soft as you ask him, almost like you’re afraid he’s going to refuse. Your heart falls in sync with your face, as he hides it in his face. You watch as he rubs his fingers over his eyes with a sigh.

“I better get home. I need to sleep for a bit. I am an old man, after all.” He tells you and watches the way your face falls. You nod though, as if you’re letting him know that you’re alright with it, even though he can clearly tell you aren’t. “I’ll come pick you up later today? Maybe I can show you some of the city.”

Your face brightens instantly, and yet again he has to remind himself just how young you are. He knows already he’s going to hurt you, but how he’s going to do it is unclear to him.

“I would love that. I think I may need some sleep as well.” You say with a smile before you’re stepping back out through the door to place another kiss against his lips. You know by now that you will never get tired of the feeling of his mustache against your skin. And boy were you wanting to feel his mustache against other parts of your skin as well.

“I’ll see you then.” He says as he departs from your front step, and you watch him as he walks down the road, occasionally looking over his shoulder to see if you’re still watching him, before he turns around a corner, and out of your sight.

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next chapter

[franeridart]

Anon said: [Spoilers for non-manga readers] opinion on Baku's hero name?

Very Bakugou, honestly don’t mind it at all! Mostly just surprised it’s, like, legal in the bnha universe for heroes to call themselves stuff like explodo-kills (and also that there isn’t a character limit for hero names??) but that Bakugou would stick with it is pretty damn in character for him so I like it xD still, I’ll probably just call him Dynamight if I’ll ever need to use his hero name lmao

Anon said: not to be the most romantic sap but uh just a kiss by lady a is killin me

Nothing sappy about letting romantic songs get to you!!!! I say, as I’m constantly crying over romantic songs so this mindset benefits me as well lol

Anon said: i may or may not have stumbled across some of your older kiribaku art, the stuff with akane, and she's the best child oc tbh. i actually like her and i tend to not be a fan of child ocs but she's just the cutest darn thing 🥰

I’m so glad you like her!!!!! She was a lot of fun, what a good gremlin ;;;

Anon said: uve heard of dragon!kiri w his hair spikes up, now get ready for dragon!kiri w his hair dowm lookin like the softest boy

AW HECK I think I’ve drawn him in the past, actually!!!! Spike-haired Kiri will forever be my fav Kiri, but there’s just something about hair down Kiri isn’t it!! What a cute boy ;;;; all sharp edges and soft curves, what a lovely sight

Anon said: can i just say your itafushi art is so cute? these two already make me feel and then your art just (つω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

THANK YOU SO MUCH I really need to draw them more, don’t I! goge kinda monopolized my attention there, but the way itafushi makes me feel..........boy the way they make me feel ;;;;

Anon said: good day, poké au thought: 12 y/o bakugo somehow catches a dreepy as like his 2nd pokemon and never questions it

WHY NOT WHY NOT I have a whole team in my mind for the boy tbh but dreepy is so cute ;;;; and anyway, I like my poke!bakugou with as many dragon types as he could possibly get his hands on hahaha

Anon said: Please know that, amongst other factors, you were one of the maon reasons I stsrted Jujutsu Kaisen two days ago and there isnothing more to say except thank you and I'm absolutely in debt with you for that, thank you so much 😍

I’m so so SO glad you’re liking it!!!!!! It can get kinda heavy but it’s such a great story.... honestly I’d been wanting to start it since I saw the first pv for the anime all the way back last year but I was like, you know it’s a mappa anime! so I wanted to watch the anime as a new thing, cause I love mappa, but three episodes in I couldn’t hold back and just binged it. It’s kind of story that just makes you wanna drink it all in one go, isn’t it? so good so good

Anon said: makeup artist kirishima and model bakugo or makeup artist bakugo and model kirishima? :0c

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm can’t say I see either of them much into fashion tbh, but if I had to pick probably model Kiri and artist Baku? I just don’t think Baku would be able to stay still enough to get photographed, and he wouldn’t like the photographer bossing him around anyway, and catwalks would be impossible for him to stomach imho, he’s too restless for it! At least it’s the way I see it haha

Anon said: fdgdhdkfhdafs i had a thought, what if bakugo prefers dogs and kirishima prefers cats and when they meet each other and become friends it's like, "oh." because they have some striking similarities to their fave animals

That’s been my headcanon for a while now, actually!! I think for me it came from two characters in a manga I like that are a lot like a dog and a cat but have inverted fav animals and when I read about that I was like “oh, right, makes sense since they like each other” and then my brain turned it krbk because when does it not lmao

Anon said: your art is the soothing balm to my soul recently, thank you for posting so much beautiful content. i hope you have a lovely week. ♡

sob thank you so much, I’m glad my doodling can help you feel better ;; <3

Anon said: Friendly reminder anon from last time: that post I left last time I had only eaten 7 gingersnaps that day and hadn’t drank any water. So that encouraged me to actually self care. Thank you.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! well I hope you’re taking care of yourself today too! And as fair trade, I’ll do the same myself! <3

Anon said: Hi! I'm an artist and I'm thinking of making a sideblog for my art. Do you have any tips?

Ah man, I’m sorry but I’m not the best person to ask this to! I started this sideblog cause I had too many followers on my main and I didn’t want my stuff to be seen by that many people at first, so whatever I did probably isn’t what you’re looking for :( but really there isn’t much to it, just post whatever you like to draw, tag it as best as you can (but remember that only the first five tags appear in the search page) and be patient, since whatever you do at first you won’t get much attention anyway - the only real advice I can give is to draw something that makes you happy and that you’d draw anyway even if no one were to see it, it’ll make keep posting despite a possible lack of activity a lot easier!

Anon said: Your goge art🥺🥺

I just love them so much ( TT’’’TT)9

Anon said: how the fuck have i not been following you? I remember seeing your bakushima art in the bnha tag and always thinking it's so cute. Now you're into JJK too??? and the satosugu art??? fuckin, diabetes incarnate. I love it. I love you. Your art 10/10. I'm tired lmao.

WELL thank you for the follow!! And for thinking my stuff is cute!!!!! I do my best with that, I want all the soft things for my favs 😌

Anon said: Are you gonna draw Gojou/Getou comic?? 👉🏻👈🏻 WOULD LOVE TO READ IT

you mean an actual doujin? I don’t think I will, sorry! I’m really no good at long projects orz but thank you so much for wishing to read something like that from me!!! ;A;

Anon said: Hello! YOUR ART IS SO FREAKING GORGEOUSSSS!!! I love them so much!! If I may ask you one question. Between Getou amd Gojou, who do you see as top/bottom? Just curious

THANK YOU!!!!! And I honestly don’t care as long as they’re happy and together!!! please let them be happy and together 🙏🙏🙏

Anon said: i want you to know!!! i followed you for your kiribaku art but!!! i love your art so much that idc what you post because it's all just!!!! incredible and wonderful and stunning!!!

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!!! this means a lot to me so seriously thank you so much!!!!

Anon said: d'you think bakugo has like headaches or migraines after training or battles because of how loud his quirk is? like, i listen to music slightly too loud and my head is sending me to hell. (unless you go with the hoh hc which is also 👌)

I like to think Baku’s body is attuned enough to his own quirk that he wouldn’t get drawbacks of the kind tbh, though that wouldn’t be a bad thought for when he just starts to increase the output/width and strength of his explosions............ well, I myself suffer from chronic headaches and migraines so I’m always up for projecting on my favs ngl lmao

Anon said:  so like... dragon kirishima's eyes glow right? like, if we equate his dragon-ness to unbreakable his eyes glow? they also glow when he's half shifted? honestly i just live glowing eyes

Oh hell yeah I’m all for that, definitely definitely, I love glowing eyes with my whole heart and Kiri’s eyes in unbreakable are just so!!!!!! NGH *chef kiss* the more of unbreakable there is in his dragon form the happier I am ( TT^TT)9

Anon said: me, scrolling through your blog: ah shit guess im gonna have to start watching jjk

!!!!! hope it won’t hurt you too much, anon!!

Anon said: dragon!kiri and bakugo having a tug-of-war match over a piece of meat. both have it in their mouths. both are determined to win.

Kiri is turned into his dragon form and Baku still wins, hell yeah

Anon said: your satosugu is top tier!! it's hard to find stuff for them that isn't straight up angst so your art has been super cool and also very very cute!! (tho if you went with angst, it wouldn't be a bad thing obviously)

AH I’m so happy to hear you like them!!!! but also happy you wouldn’t mind angst, as I do like them the best happy and soft but my brain, my brain has been throwing sads my way for a while now 👀 I got some ideas

Anon said: What program/device do you use??

Easy Paint Tool SAI and a wacom intuos!! Though I got myself an ipad+procreate just yesterday and I’ve been messing around with it, let’s see how that one goes!

Anon said: *inahles* i am simping for mohawk man please tell me everything about your ocs immediately or i will detonate

THANK YOU FOR LIKING HIM HE’S CALLED DAVIDE Dav for short, he’s a cat of a man and a music instrument enthusiast (mostly string ones, but he’s very good with the piano as well) - he works in a music instruments store, and he’s a uni student majoring in philosphy! He doesn’t like bothersome things, he isn’t very good at taking anything seriously or putting effort in stuff, but he’s very chill to spend time with and generally a nice chat both if you want mindless thoughts or deep conversations (he’s a philosophy major after all). He can’t sing for shit, he’s got two cats (tago and schelly!), and he just wants a quiet life to laze around but all his friends are hurricanes in human bodies, but then again, he picked them himself so he can’t complain. He’s a good boy!! I’m planning a comic for him and his boy Ross >:]

[thedanceronthestreets]

PEDRO PASCAL GQ GERMANY - OCTOBER 2020

Original text by Esma Annemon Dil

Fotos by Doug Inglish

Styling by Simon Robins

Translated by @thedanceronthestreets

Intro: A broken tooth could almost have been the reason for our meeting with Pedro Pascal to be cancelled - and with that our conversation about roots, his new movie and times of change. 

Interview: It is almost eery how empty the streets of Los Angeles are under the gleaming sun. While Europe is finding its "new normal", people in L. A. are cutting their own hair even without being neurotics. Many of them have not seen their friends in half a year. The pandemic is out of control. So are the reactions to the situation. Inviting someone to a "distance drink" in the backyard can lead to the same consternation as proposing a relationship partner exchange. 

All the more of a surprise was Pedro Pascal's immediate confirmation. To the drink, not the partner exchange. He is one of the winners this year - and if Corona had not forced the movie industry to go on a holiday, he probably would not have had the time for this drink. After "Game of Thrones", the series in which his head was squished, followed 2015 the leading role in "Narcos" as a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar, and now the leap onto the big Hollywood screen. As of 1. October the Chilean will appear in the blockbuster "Wonder Woman 1984". Furthermore, the second season of the "Star Wars" series "The Mandalorian" will start in October with him as the main character - unfortunately underneath the helmet. But we all seem to be under the same helmet in 2020. It is this man we want to meet, who worked as a waiter in New York a couple of years ago. Whose parents are political refugees that settled in Texas, and one day their son decided to walk into a drama club in high school. 

And then the cancellation. While we were preparing the house and garden for Pedro's drink and fashion shoot, which isn't an easy task under L. A.'s restrictions, his management called in with terrible news: Pedro has - no, not Corona - had to receive emergency surgery due to a sore tooth and is now lying in bed with a swollen cheek, making talking or shooting impossible. The sun shines onto empty streets. And our empty garden. 

A few days later, he stands in front of the door anyway, no huge bulge in his face, but stitches in his gum. No limousine service that dropped him off, he arrived in his own car and picked up his makeup artist on the way. He helps her to carry in all the equipment and states first and foremost: "I've got time today!" What a star! It does not seem like we are about to ask him how he managed to become a Hollywood sensation, but rather him asking us that question. Pedro Pascal! So, what kind of star is he then? 

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for ruining your plans. The operation was a total emergency. 

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling was the result of a secret trip to the plastic surgeon. Apparently, because of the quarantine in Hollywood, their schedules are packed. 

Sorry to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I raced to the hospital with a tooth fracture and the worst pain I've ever felt - a hospital where the severe Corona cases are treated. I was unable to contact any dentists! Right before I parked, a specialist called back. I'll spare you the details of the surgery, gruesome. The pain was excruciating despite the 10 anaesthetic shots. The doctor said I wasn't the only one going through this, a lot of people grind their teeth at night thanks to stress. 

What are you most afraid of at the moment? 

The way the government is handling the pandemic scares me more than the virus itself. The lack of intelligent crisis management is a moral disgrace. The leadership crisis makes orphans out of all of us - we're left to fend for ourselves. 

How have you spent the last few months? 

With frozen pizza in jogging trousers in Venice Beach. I live in a rear building that's in the garden belonging to a family. In reality there are enough good takeout restaurants around that area, but for some reason I like salami pizza from the supermarket. 

That doesn't exactly sound like the movie star lifestyle. What does it feel like to be forced from top speed to zero? 

Considering the things happening in this world, my own state really isn't the top priority. But I would have to lie, if I said I wasn't disappointed. The entire cast and crew of "Wonder Woman 1984" put so much heart and soul into the production. We had so much fun on set. I had hoped to carry this feeling of exuberance around the globe to the openings of this movie. 

You are part of a political, socialist family that fled the Pinochet regime in Chile. What do you remember from back then? 

My sister and I were born in Chile, but I was only nine months old when we claimed asylum in Denmark. From there, we moved to San Antonio in Texas, where my dad worked as a doctor in a hospital. 

Texas isn't exactly considered to be socialist utopia. How well did you settle in? 

San Antonio isn't a cowboy city but rather very diverse with large Asian, Afro-American and Latino communities. In my memory it's a romantic place, culturally inclusive. The cultural shock only hit when we moved to Orange County in California later. Suddenly, the environment was white, preppy and conservative. 

How were you welcomed in California? 

To this day I'm ashamed when I think about how I let my classmates call me Peter without correcting them. I'm Pedro. Even without growing up in Chile, the country and language are part of me. I was quite unhappy in that place. At least I was able to switch schools and visit one in Long Beach, where I felt more comfortable. With its theatre programme, I found my path. 

Could you visit your family's homeland as a child? 

Yes, after my parents ended up on a list of expats that were permitted to re-enter the country. First, there was a big family gathering, then me and my sister were parked at some relatives' place for a few months while my parents returned to Texas. They probably needed a break from us. They'd had us at a very young age, had a vibrant social life, and my mother was doing her doctorate in psychology. 

Was your mother a typical young psychologist that tested her knowledge at home? 

You mean whether I was her lab rat? Absolutely. I can remember weird sessions camouflaged as games, where someone would watch my reactions to different toys. Even though I couldn't have been older than 6, I knew what was happening. My favourite thing was to be asked about my dreams. That was always a great opportunity to make up fantastic stories. 

Was that your first performance? 

Definitely! My strong imagination alarmed my mother, because I'd rather live in my fantasy world than in real life. I didn't like school. I ended up in the "problematic kid" category. At some point the subjects got more interesting and my grades improved. So many children are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be daunting. Why is it acceptable to be bored out of your mind in class, when there are more stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

With everything happening in the world this summer: Do you believe that social hierarchy structures are genuinely being reconsidered? 

Hopefully. After the lockdown my first contact with people was at the Black Lives Matter protest. The atmosphere was peaceful and hopeful until the police got involved and provoked violence. At least during these times we can't avoid problems or distract ourselves from them as easily as we usually do. It seems that the pandemic provided us with a new sense of clarity: we don't want to go on like this. 

The trailer of "Wonder Woman 1984" represents the optimism of the 80s. That almost makes one feel nostalgic nowadays. 

That holds true. It's two hours of happiness. Patty Jenkins, the director, managed to make a movie full of positive messages. We shot in Washington, D. C., then in London and Spain - which now sounds like a different time. 

Do you miss travelling? 

I've only now realised what a privilege it is to just pack up your things and fly anywhere. With an American passport you can travel freely. And that's why the small radius we live in now is kind of absurd. Over the last few years I often retreated in between takes, because I was always on the road and overstimulated. Friends complained about how comfortable I had become. We all took social interactions for granted and realise now how reliant we are on human connection. Now, I wistfully think about all the party and dinner invitations I declined in the past. 

In L. A., people spend more time indoors or in nature than in other metropolises. Could this city become your safe haven after New York City? 

My true home is my friends. Ever since I was young I've lived the life of a nomad and haven't set roots anywhere. Until recently, my physical home was a place for arriving and leaving and hence I didn't want to overcomplicate living by owning lots of things. The opposite actually: Without having read Marie Kondo's book, I got rid of all the stuff that was unnecessary and lived a very minimalistic lifestyle. 

Is there something you collect or could never say goodbye to? 

Books! I still own the literature I read during my teen and university years. Recently I found a box of old theatre scripts and materials back from my uni days at NYU. I can't separate from art either, same as lamps or old pictures. Furniture and clothes are no problem though, they can be chucked. 

Do you remember any roles that were defined by their costumes? 

Yes, "Game of Thrones" comes to mind immediately. During that time I first understood what it means, as an actor, to be supported by a look. I owe that to costume designer Michele Clapton. She developed these very feminine robes and brocade cloaks for my role that looked very masculine when I wore them. I felt sexy in them. And very important were of course Lindy Hemming's power suits and Jan Sewell's blond hair for the tycoon villain Maxwell Lord in "Wonder Woman 1984". Relating to the style, I couldn't really see myself in the role since the shapes and colours of the 80s don't really fit my body. My type is the 70s.

Do you adopt such inspirations into your private closet? 

At this point in time, I'll choose any comfortable outfit over a cool look. Sometimes I mourn the days when I defined myself with fashion. It's a bit mad when I think about how, in the 90s as a teenager, I would go to raves; a proper club kid with crazy outfits: overalls, chute trousers, soccer shirts and a top hat like in "The cat in the hat knows a lot about that!" by Dr Seuss. Later in NYC I was part of a group that placed immense value on wearing a certain style. The fact that I only walk around in joggers nowadays is actually unacceptable! 

Normally, actors who work on comic screen adaptations become bodybuilders and eat ten boiled chicken breasts per day. You don't? 

My body wouldn't be able to handle that. I find it difficult enough to maintain a minimum level of fitness. As of your mid 40s, you suddenly need a lot more discipline. Until the tooth incident happened, I worked out a couple of times a week with a trainer to keep the quarantine body in shape. 

What would annoy you the most, if you were your own roommate? 

I can be very bossy. I have to gather all my goodwill not to force my movie choice on to everyone else. When I want something, I'm not passive aggressive about it, I attack head on. Also, I can get caught up in tunnel vision: When i feel down, I can't imagine that I'm ever going to feel better again. I have difficulty with seeing the bigger picture when experiencing problems or emotions. Method acting really wouldn't be my thing. That's why I try to only work on projects that feel good and where people encourage and lift each other up. 

While you were trying on the outfits you pointed out a lack of self-esteem. How does that coincide with your career? 

Isn't it interesting how traits and circumstances go hand in hand? Self-esteem comes from the inside, but it's also influenced by what society believes. We use critical stares from the outside against ourselves. I lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and worked as a waiter up until my mid 30s, because I couldn't live off acting. It was always so close. The disappointment of always just barely missing a perfect part or opportunity is exhausting. When is the right time to stop trying and what's plan b? That's not just a question actors ask themselves, but anybody who struggles to earn a livelihood - unrelated to how much potential they have or how close their dream may seem. We are beginning to see now how our narrow definition of success is destroying our communities. At the same time, it's becoming obvious that, until this day, your family background and skin colour determine your chances of living a dignified existence. 

What are the positives of becoming a leading man later in life? 

I have the feeling that I've got control over my life - without the pressure of having to accept projects or be a social media personality. That surely also has to do with the fact that I'm a man. Women are surely pressured to appear quirky at any age. 

Life is always a management of risks - especially at this time. For what would you risk losing something? 

Usually, if you don't play the game you're not going to win anything. That applies to friendship, love, work, creativity. Anything that really means something to me, is worth the risk. 

Wonder woman 1984 will appear in cinemas 01.10. The 800 million dollar earning DC comic franchise is moving into the New York 80s with its sequel. It looks spectacular - only Pedro Pascal with blond hair in a three piece Wall Street suit looks better.

[skullsandwineglasses]

Arsenal Military Academy (First Impressions - Eps 1-13)

I’m about a quarter of the way through, but I’m really enjoying it so far. The premise is simple: a 19-year old young woman disguises herself as her deceased brother and enrolls in the military academy. Like most dramas that take place during the pre-modern republican era, the main conflict and antagonist is usually about the threat of Japanese occupation. 

But this drama is more light-hearted than serious. The Japanese plot line looms in the background, but the main focus (so far) is about the FL’s training at the academy and the missions that the students go on and their interactions with each other. There are some really good comedic moments, and the drama has good pacing. 

The Female Lead - Xie Xiang (played by Bai Lu)

I’m going to be making comparisons to The Legends because the reason why I started this drama was to see Bai Lu and Xu Kai again. I know these two dramas are completely difference so it’s not fair to compare them, but I’m going to be talking about these differences. 

Xie Xiang is a watchable FL, but I think she’s missing that spark that would make her a memorable FL. She’s not as physically capable as her male counterparts, but she has the perseverance, wits, and martial arts skills that many of her peers lack. It’s a really standard character profile for a cross-dressing FL in a military academy, and tbh, it’s kind of boring. I’m not sure what would help elevate her character more, but it just feels like something’s missing. 

In comparison, the second FL has that spark. She’s more layered. She comes from a middle-class, well-to-do family, but chooses to be an entertainer. She’s arrogant, demanding, high maintenance, but she’s also protective of her friends and doesn’t hesitate to stand up to things she thinks is wrong. She’s a haughty firecracker, but what makes her admirable is how she isn’t afraid to be herself. I think it’s an interesting balance for a character to be obnoxiously full of themselves, but to also care about others. She’s probably the first SFL that I actually enjoy watching (even if she might be a potential love rival to the FL). 

The Male Lead - Gu Yanzhen (played by Xu Kai)

Speaking of someone who is obnoxiously full of themselves but still has the capacity to care for others, the ML is exactly this. In this drama, Xu Kai plays a character who is nearly the opposite of the character he played in The Legends. Here, Gu Yanzhen is a cheeky, mischievous, spoiled rich kid who loves flirting with women and causing trouble. He’s like an overgrown child (like when he’s jealous and purposely gets himself sick so that Xie Xiang would take care of him), but when he wants to do, he’s also able to show high levels of competence, maturity, and bravery. 

Xu Kai really stands out in this drama. He’s quite charming and adorable because he’s allowed to be more expressive. He mopes, teases, complains, smirks, worries, and yearns. Despite playing a noble, self-sacrificing, and devoted ML in The Legends, Xu Kai didn’t completely win me over then. Mostly because his character was a bit flat and so overdone in the xianxia genre. But seeing a different side of his acting in AMA has made him grow on me. 

It’s almost as if Xu Kai and Bai Lu switched personalities in this drama where he’s more outgoing, while she’s more reserved. He’s now the loud and impulsive one, while she’s the more conscientious one who wants to do something meaningful. 

The Chemistry

So far it’s been very one-sided. Gu Yanzhen figures out that she’s a girl early on and falls for her, while she still finds him intolerably annoying and is instead crushing on the second male lead. Because she doesn’t want to have anything to do with him, the chemistry is kind of lacking. If I hadn’t watched The Legends beforehand, I’m not sure if I would be onboard with this ship. 

The story is currently purposely set up so that we see that the ML and SFL are more compatible, and the FL and SFL are more compatible. Gu Yanzhen and the SFL are practically the same person, and they have a lot of playful bantering, so it’s kind of hard not to ship them. But I’m curious to see when the switch happens. We see that Xie Xiang is starting to slightly warm up to Gu Yanzhen, but Gu Yanzhen needs to mature a bit more before she changes her opinion of him. 

I’m also living for these stories where he figures out her true identity before everyone else and tries to help her protect her secret, but she’s completely clueless to it. The same things happened in The Legends, and the dynamic repeats itself here. 

The second ML is portrayed as being a perfect character. Mature, clever, kind, caring, righteous. It’s hard not to like him. I’m wondering if he already knows that Xie Xiang is a girl because of his glances, or if that’s because the director was purposely trying to make it ambiguous. At least at this point, he seems to be the best match for the FL, even though he currently likes his former classmate, who is actually working for the Japanese. 

The Plot

I like how there are a lot of intersecting characters, which helps expands the fictional world. The peripheral characters all somehow relate back to the main leads, so you can’t really skip their scenes because their stories connect somehow. 

The colour-grading, costuming, sets, and OST also help immerse you into the era. 

Despite being have a simple and stereotypical premise, it’s not easy to predict the endgame of the drama. You know that at some point, Xie Xiang’s identity will be revealed, but then what? After that point, the plot is going to take a turn because it’ll need a new conflict, which will be probably related to the Japanese, but you’re not sure what yet. The drama feels refreshing so far, but I also haven’t watched too many republican era dramas, so it’s not hard to impress me. 

Other anachronistic observations

In episode 1, when Xie Xiang uses the women’s restroom while dressed as a man and runs into the second FL (Qu Manting), Manting accuses her of trying to take pictures of her and demands that Xie Xiang take out her camera and delete/destroy the photos. It’s a minor point, but cameras in those days were huge and thus hard to hide, so it should have been obvious that Xie Xiang didn’t have a camera on her. 

In a later episode, Xie Xiang struggles to complete the obstacle course because she’s unwell, and while it’s not explicitly stated, I think we’re supposed to assume that it’s because of period cramps, and I applaud the drama for implying this (but it would have been even better if they made the implication more explicit). But ever since the drama started, I wondered about this. Even if someone didn’t have period cramps, how would you hide menstruation while living in the same room with someone? TMI, but when I was living with 4 other girls during uni, the garbage can in our bathroom would be filled with sanitary products during the same week every month. Women back then didn’t have the same sanitary products as we do now, but they still had to scrub and change cloths, like my mom did when she was younger. So realistically, Xie Xiang would have had to spend long periods of time (no pun intended) in the washroom to scrub her cloths. And after she did so, where did she dry them? 

Anyway, those are minor points. Overall, this drama is a fun watch, and I’m thankful that Xu Kai and Bai Lu got to collaborate again before the fandoms made things awkward as they do with any rumoured CP (*cough cough* Deng Lun and Yang Zi, and Cheng Yi and Yuan Bingyan). It’s as though the more chemistry two people have together in a drama, the less likely they’ll collaborate again because the fandoms will start to hate each other due to some misunderstanding and/or company management. The irony. So I guess the goal is to have low, platonic chemistry so that you don’t become enemies so as to leave the door open for future collaboration opportunities. Sorry, so that was bitter and a bit off tangent. I just have a lot of thoughts about the toxicity of fandom culture. 

[sxfterhearts]

28. [1:31 am]

➳ pairing: youngjae x reader

➳ genre/warnings: angst, idol!reader, non-idol!youngjae

➳ word count: 1,378 words

➳ summary: 28. “Drive safely,”

➳ author's note: thank you to lyss, @strxwberri-milk for recommending the song that inspired this timestamp! also, this is the first week of proper uni classes so i’m getting a bit busier, sorry for the absence! hope you’ll enjoy my 1st proper angst timestamp 💕

➳ music: call button by ars (youngjae) & j.praize, 1:31am by jaebeom & youngjae

//

He clutched his phone tightly within his clammy hands, utterly nervous. Youngjae stared at the device blankly, or more specifically at his call log. He stared. He stared and stared and stared. The clock hanging on his wall mocked him with its incessant ticking, and still, he stared.

He stared at the most recent phone number on his call log, a string of numerals he committed to memory two years ago. Youngjae stared and he wondered how a number that used to bring him so much joy and excitement was currently the root cause of his sorrows.

If it wasn't for the box full of your belongings sitting idly by his feet, would you have called?

He couldn't deny the tiny glimmer of hope that sparked within his chest when his phone screen lit up and displayed your number earlier that night. 

Were you finally ready to come back home to him? Were you getting tired of sleeping and waking up without a good morning or good night call? Were you constantly thinking of him too? Did you see his face every single time you close your eyes?

Because Youngjae was. He did. He was sick and tired of this so-called break in your relationship that you suggested a month ago. He had enough of the gigantic, gaping hole in his heart caused by your absence. He was alone, and he was over it.

When he closed his eyes and focussed hard enough, Youngjae could still picture the memories you shared. The classes he spent passing you little notes back and forth instead of learning about the history of musical composition. The afternoons spent lounging on the rooftop of Korea Arts High School, sharing a pair of earphones while humming softly. The nights spent sneaking you out of your trainee dorms for a cheat meal - a supper of tteokbokki with extra fishcakes, extra cheese and a container of mozzarella cheese balls. The secret messages and phone calls you made on your hidden phone as you hid under the covers of your bunk bed in the wee hours of the morning. Even the stolen, longing, loving glances you would exchange when he came to watch your performances. He could relive nearly every single moment.

But he also remembered the jealousy burning his insides when he watched your music show co-host act all lovey-dovey with you. He recollected the arguments about your close relationships with other male idols and trainees, stemming from his deep-rooted insecurities. He recalled the tears of betrayal and frustration streaming down his face when you finally said you needed a break from your relationship, simply because it was too much for you to handle. He could still feel how your harsh words stung and punched and stabbed his heart. It still hurt beyond belief.

A series of light knocks announced your awaited arrival. Youngjae laughed to himself, humourless and emotionless and cold. You knew the passcode to his apartment. There was a time when he was sure you memorised it, just like how he memorised your phone number. You used to punch the numbers in with glee and burst through the door, greeting him with a big hug.

Tonight was different. Youngjae trudged towards the front door, the box he carried in his arms dragging him down like a ton of bricks. A part of him didn't want to open the door. That way, he could continue living in this stagnant middle ground where your relationship neither ended or continued. At least that way he could grant himself the privilege of hope.

He opened the door to reveal a completely worn-out version of your usual bubbly self. You were sporting an oversized shirt and sweatpants, an outfit that used to consist of his own clothing. Your recently bleached hair, an eye-catching shade of platinum blonde, was thrown up into a lazy bun. Your stage makeup from the earlier music show recording hadn't been wiped off. Youngjae was reminded of how he used to wipe your makeup off when you were so fatigued from your performances. He missed doing these things for you. He missed his boyfriend duties. He missed the secret, low profile dates. He missed being close to you. He missed you.

"Youngjae, hey." You greeted so nonchalantly that a part of him broke. You weren't hurting like he did. "Sorry for coming at such a late hour, I just got off from the recording studio. I managed to borrow my manager's car and came here as soon as I was done. Is that all of it?" You asked, pointing at the cardboard box in his hands.

"Yeah, yes. Hey, Y/N. Um, do you need help with this? I could like, take it down to the car for you. It's a bit heavy."

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to prolong this conversation. "No, it's fine. I can take it. Here, pass it over." You reached out towards him, grabbing the box with ease.

Youngjae parted his lips to talk and you waited. To both of your dismay, no words came out of his mouth. For nearly ten seconds, the two of you stared at each other silently.

"Listen," you started, unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer.

"Actually, I meant to ask, how have you been? Are you doing well?" Youngjae forced the words out of his mouth. He regretted it the moment he saw your eyes avert his piercing, pleasing gaze.

"I'm alright, same old. Work's busier than ever." You paused, searching for the right words to let him down in the most painless way possible. 

He didn't know this, but you had felt disconnected from him for a long time now. It wasn't just because of your busy schedules. This job as an idol was demanding. Having been exposed to the cutthroat industry, both of you knew that very well. However, it wasn't the lack of quality time together that you couldn't deal with. It was Youngjae's possessiveness over you and his irrational jealousy of any male who came within thirty centimeters of you that drove you to the brink of insanity. You felt so restricted.

"Have you been eating enough? Your arms are thinner, it looks like you've lost weight." He began to ramble in a hurry, afraid that you would leave at any moment. "Maybe you should take more vitamins, you seem really tired and pale. You have to stay healthy. Don't get sick, okay? I know-"

"Youngjae," you cut him off. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry but I don't think I can continue with this; with us. This relationship has taken a huge toll on me and I'm sorry but it's best if we break up."

Those were the words. The dreaded words. Youngjae wanted to cover his hands over his ears so that he could drown out whatever you were saying. He didn't want to hear it at all. The two of you were going strong just a while ago, what happened? Everything changed so quickly. Or was there a gradual buildup? Did he miss the signs? Was he so blinded by his love for you that he completely missed the warning signs?

"Say something, Youngjae." You urged as the man in front of you fell into an internal conflict.

He snapped out of it at the sound of your voice. He hated to admit it but it was his favourite sound in the world. It could pull him out of the deepest, darkest depths. Ironically, it was now throwing him further into a bottomless pit. "Break up? Yeah. Yeah, okay." Youngjae forced himself to inhale a shaky breath. "Just, yeah. I hope you'll stay well."

"You too, Youngjae. There's someone out there who's better for you than me. I hope you find your happiness."

Inside, he refused to believe this to be true. You were his happiness. But he didn't say anything about that. Instead, he reminded you, "Keep doing what you love, and keep smiling. You know I'll always be here if you need me."

You nodded, unable to form a more appropriate response. 

Youngjae's vision began to blur. He knew he had to go before the waterworks started pouring uncontrollably. "Goodbye, Y/N. Drive safely."

He was still in love with you.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

two years too late, chapter t h i r t e e n 

It wasn’t the first time you’d said too much to Harry in a bathroom. Admitting that you had feelings for him the second time wasn’t as terrible as the first, so if anything, you’d take that as a positive. 

Bryn handed you the beer you’d placed on the coffee table before she picked up her phone to change the song. When you folded your legs beneath you on the couch, she spoke. 

“Remember Leah Putney?” A few nods from the others. “She’s pregnant.”

Adam shrugged, “shocking, innit?”

“Why’s that shocking?” Jessie asked.

“She seemed quite timid in high school! Now she’s knocked up before the rest of us?”

Jessie rolled her eyes, elbows pointing towards the sky as she fastened her hair in a bun on top of her head. “Didn’t one of you make out with her at the cinema in Year 7?”

Harry let out a snort, eyes looking up quickly to see if anyone would rat him out.

“He did,” Jake nudged his chin towards Harry. “Wouldn’t should up about it for months.”

“It was my first experience with tongue!” He defended. 

“S’disgusting,” Bryn seemed to chastise. “We were children.”

“Oh relax, Mother Theresa,” Harry shot back. “I seem to remember you getting caught with pictures of naked women in your sock drawer at the ripe age of 15.”

“A closeted girl’s gotta live,” she raised her beer in the air, eliciting a laugh to fill the room. 

Alyssa--who’d only gotten home shortly before the lot of you--emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her wet hair.

“Got you a beer,” Harry held up the still-full bottle that sat in front of him on the coffee table, an obvious attempt to prove his virtue. 

“Thanks,” she said, her tone communicating the hesitance she felt. She’d complained earlier that morning about how tough it was. She was mad at him, sure--but she also thought you should hear him out and talk things through. She disappeared into her bedroom to dress.

“M’grabbing coffee with a guy for work next week,” you said suddenly, a casual attempt to gauge Harry’s interest. “Said he works with a social media firm.”

“What for? Like, a new job?” Adam asked. 

“No,” you said. “Just a networking thing. He was the guy at the airport?”

“Hold on,” Jessie put her phone down and seemed suddenly interested. “The one with the hat and the scruff and the amazing smile?”

You let out a laugh, grateful for her excitement--almost as if she knew more than she did and had been planted to say exactly that, stirring up jealousy in Harry when he pulled his eyes over to you. 

“Yes, that one--his name is Patrick. Think he goes by Pat, though--his twitter says Pat.”

“Pat,” Bryn raised her eyebrows. “So will he just help you be more cool on the internet?”

“I think so--I mean, social media strategy and planning, probably. I dunno. I have no information other than the name of his company.”

“S’exciting, though,” Jake offered. “Always good to network.”

Jessie leaned forward, a devilish grin on her face when she wiggled her eyebrows up at you. “Maybe it’ll become a date!”

Harry picked up his phone, scrolling through something to seemingly distract from Jessie’s comment. His forehead wrinkled, a finger tugging at his lip. 

You rolled your eyes. “Probably won’t become a date, but, he’s cute.”

Jessie let out another excited noise, reaching over to pat you on the leg. Harry took it as a cue to change the topic. 

“So what’s the actual birthday plan, then? I’ve got a few things to do tomorrow but I can try to be done early.”

“Let’s go to a club tomorrow night,” Bryn leaned forward, looking up at you from the ground. “I would definitely make out with American girls.”

“I know you would,” you patted her head. “We don’t have to do that though, I don’t really care what we do. You said you wanted to do the Met,” you reminded her. 

“The Metropolitan Museum of Art is not how people are supposed to celebrate birthdays,” Jessie teased. “Don’t you want to be off your face and making out with hot guys?”

“I’m alright,” you nodded, a reassuring look promised that you’d live. “I’d seriously rather just go to the museum and do dinner or something. We can totally go to a nice bar for drinks.”

“Really not feeling the club scene?” Jake rested his elbows on his knees when he waited for a response. 

“A club?” Alyssa reappeared from her bedroom. “Are we going to a club?”

“No! They’re not the same here!” You replied. “Girls are mean and they’re loud and crowded.”

“Girls are mean?” This seemed to deflate Bryn.

“If you look at someone the wrong way here they’ll tell you to fuck off,” Alyssa informed, coming to sit cross legged on the rug beneath you. 

“Not all of them,” Harry replied, his voice steady and sure--his eyes still glued to the screen of his phone. 

A snort escaped you--an eye roll from Alyssa before you even replied to him. “Maybe not when you’re Harry Styles.”

He looked up, lips parted to speak before Jake cut him off. “Yeah mate--not sure if you’ve had the typical club experience anywhere.”

He sunk into the couch cushions at that. “M’just trying to be supportive of the birthday girl.”

“She doesn’t want to even go to the club,” Jessie shook her head, furrowed brows when Harry readjusted, got up from the couch and headed for the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. 

“Let’s go to the Met and we’ll go to this cute Italian place nearby for dinner. Super small--no one will even know you’re there,” you said, wondering if your words sounded too reassuring to the man who just broke your heart--for the second time. 

He reappeared with a plastic blue cup in hand--one you’d stolen from an old roommate in uni. “Yeah--that’s good.”

Adam brought the conversation back to Leah Putney, scrolling through her facebook page to learn she’d been married for two years--bit young, don’t you think? He asked. 

Alyssa laughed and laughed when Jessie told her about the time she put gum in Jake’s hair, leading to a Friday night hair cutting experience in your mum’s kitchen. Harry missed that one--it was sometime between the X Factor and their first album. 

Remember when Y/N and Peter Willoughby were going at it and Katie walked in on them? Bryn seemed to think the moment was hilarious--definitely more so than your younger sister had. 

Another one Harry didn’t remember--sometime before the second album, he was likely on tour for the summer. 

“You and Peter Willoughby dated?” He asked with a tilted head, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh did they ever,” Jessie proclaimed, excited eyes and a threatening giggle. 

“We were, like, seventeen, it was only a few months,” your words were more of a warning to her than an explanation to Harry. You knew how funny your friends found the story to be and now didn’t feel like a good time to relive the whole thing. 

“A few months? It was the most sexual time of your short life!” Bryn let out a squeal but gained composure when you shot her a glare across the living room. 

“What?” Both Harry and Alyssa asked at the same time--their lack of involvement in that time period seemed to quickly align them in learning more. 

“It was nothing,” you said. 

“Yeah right,” Alyssa countered. 

“The most sexual time of your life?” Harry’s eyebrows jumped.

“I didn’t call it that, they did.”

“Oh just tell them,” Adam laughed, waving a hand before finishing his beer. “S’not that bad.”

You let out a big sigh--something about the theme of embarrassing moments being rehashed for all to bear witness felt a bit overwhelming these last few months. “I was--” a pause, another breath before really relinquishing yourself to the vulnerability. “Quite determined to lose my virginity in the spring of 2011.”

“You lost your virginity to Peter Willoughby?” A smile threatened to pull at Harry’s right cheek--a dimple seemed to appear slowly before Jake interrupted him. 

“Oh no--she tried to. Ended up being Nolan Truscott, right?”

Harry’s eyes bounced between you and Jake like a ping pong ball--an eager smile on his face as if he gained something from this meaningless fact. “Tried to?”

“The condom was on and ready to go,” Bryn stifled a laugh, “but poor Katie needed homework help and barged through the door to Y/N’s bedroom.”

Harry’s eyes were wide and he let out a sheepish giggle--as did Alyssa (though she was clearly trying to be more poised than he was)--when you let your head lean against the back of the sofa. “Alright, alright. As if I’m the only one who’s ever been walked in on.”

“Been there,” Bryn admitted. “My roommate had no clue I wasn’t straight--you can imagine her surprise.”

Harry’s eyes were still on you, though, a smirk apparently stuck on his cheeks when he licked at his lips.

“Why are you smiling like that?” You challenged, less amused by his demeanor now.

“I just--I dunno, missed out on a lot, I guess, so I’m just catching up. S’that alright?”

“No,” you rolled your eyes. “Should have stuck around.”

The words were more weighted than you intended. So weighted, in fact, that a silence took over the room and Jessie desperately tried to divert for you. 

“Oh come on Harry--you’re the one who lost your virginity to someone old enough to be your mum.”

“She wasn’t that old,” he retorted.

“Yes she was,” Bryn argued, a look of disgust on her face, one that was all too similar to the night he told you in the first place. 

**

December 2010 

Your lips were parted, frozen as if the air from outside had seeped through Jake’s bedroom window. You sat atop his bedspread--navy with white pinstripes--as you watched Harry smile across the room. Luckily, Bryn and Jessie seemed just as alarmed as you did. 

“I’m sorry--you said Caroline Flack?” Bryn’s arms were crossed as she leaned against Jake's desk. 

Adam sat in the computer chair, a smile spreading over his face. “Like, the fittest presenter on the planet?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a sheepish grin on his face before his eyes scanned over to you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I--I just--she’s a bit old, no?” You stammered out a more polite version than what was actually in your head. 

“A bit?!” Leave it to Jessie to be unfiltered. “She’s practically my mum’s age!”

“Alright, didn’t tell all of you to be put on trial--I shared because you’re my friends.”

“We’re not trying to be rude, Harry,” Bryn rolled her eyes. “We just don’t want anyone going to jail seeing as it might be illegal somehow!”

“He’s sixteen!” Jake raised both palms towards the ceiling, adding a new level of emotional charge to the conversation. “S’the age of consent!”

Harry’d been home for a few days--busy forming a band in London and you’d yet to really see him. At first he promised you’d all come to the finale if they made it that far. When they were eliminated, he didn’t even respond to your apologetic text. 

“Are you defending him?” Jessie asked, her eyes wide--Jake immediately shrunk back on the bed beside you. 

“She’s, like, at least thirty! So she’s thirteen years older than you?”

“Fourteen,” Harry’s voice was quiet--ashamed, even. 

“She’s thirty-one?!” You asked. 

“Yes--okay? It’s not a big deal. We’re friends. She’s nice and she’s normal and she’s not some crazy girl our age who just wants to sleep with me because I was on the show.”

“No--I’m sorry, you’re right. She’s just a crazy 31-year-old adult who wants to sleep with you because you were on the show.” Bryn’s voice was seriously disapproving--her eyes watching his every move as he shifted in the bean bag chair Jake had received for Christmas five years earlier. 

“Okay, alright, we don’t need to shit on him,” Adam said, somehow bringing order back to the room. “S’his decision after all. His virginity, that is.”

You were quiet--you watched again as Harry squirmed in his chair and seemed to let his eyes wander through the room you’d all sat in so many times. Only this time, one of you now had a song on the radio and was sleeping with thirty year olds. 

Times had certainly changed. 

“M’gonna grab some water,” you hoisted yourself up from Jake’s bed and walked through the room--leaving them upstairs before you made your way for the kitchen. 

Footsteps behind you on the stairs, you looked over your shoulder to see Harry behind you. “M’not trying to follow you,” he said. “Just--needed a minute from them.”

You nodded--unsure of how to reply. He looked different, older, even. His hair wasn’t long as it had been on the telly, a few inches taller since you’d seen him over the summer. He’d already told you about the parties he’d been to and the celebrities he’d been drunk with. Pubs with Ed Sheeran and Olly Murs were typical Friday night hangs. 

You reached for a glass above the sink, filled it from the tap and let the silence spread through the kitchen. 

“Do you think it was stupid?”

You turned around, lips to the glass. A sip. “Sleeping with her?”

He nodded.

You shrugged. “I mean--s’up to you, right? As long as you’re happy.”

You bit at your lip, so badly wanting to tell him that yes it was stupid, how could it not be? But you didn’t--you took another sip of water and wondered what he’d say if you told him it was stupid because you’d always kind of wished it would have been you.

**

“Alright well--I don’t think we have to rehash it,” Harry said. “It was short lived, anyway.”

“Right,” you said, standing from the sofa, “cause this group never rehashes things--but, closing time, yeah?”

Jessie stood and stretched--Adam let out a yawn and watched as Bryn sprawled out on the floor before she peeled herself off of the carpet. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. 

You shot him a look--annoyed by his sudden ignorance to the hell you’d been put through by the lot of them for the last two years being forced to relive that one night. 

“She’s sick of us all reliving her embarrassing memories,” Jessie answered for you, pulling her jacket on by the door. Alyssa plopped herself on the couch, if only she had popcorn. 

“Yeah--as if we haven’t all done enough rehashing to last a lifetime.” You moved towards the coat rack, plucking his off of a hook and shoving it towards him. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” he said, his eyes on yours as he took the jacket. 

“Alright--okay,” you raised both hands in front of him. “I know it might be fun for everyone now that we don’t have to pretend it never happened but that doesn’t mean it’s up for discussion, got it?”

Silence. Harry had his phone in his hand--likely trying to signal Roger that now would be a convenient time to show up. 

“Message received,” Jake teased, a two-finger salute before he pulled you into him. A kiss on the forehead before he moved into the hallway. Adam was next, then Bryn, then Jessie. Harry stood awkward in front of the door to your flat, his hands in the pockets of his black peacoat. 

Alyssa had now disappeared to take a call from Owen--the others were heading down the stairs to find their way out to the blustering winds of Greenwich Village. 

“Well--see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you said, less anger in your fists and less hatred in your veins. “Tomorrow.”

“I miss you.”

You winced--as if he’d told you a sad story or reminded you that your sheets no longer smelled like him. You crossed your arms to ensure he wouldn’t move closer, shoulders up to your ears as if you could shrink away from him and hide beneath the fabric of your blue sweater. 

When you brought your eyes up to look at him, he was already out the door, pulling it shut behind him. Footsteps down the hall, fading as you slumped onto the couch. 

You missed him, too. 

**

You smoothed out the skirt you wore--black and an appropriate length for a business meeting. At least--you thought it was a business meeting. Alyssa had gotten in to your head this morning when Pat had messaged you to move it up. Something came up next week, he said. Any chance you can meet this morning?

So sure--why not? You’d already taken the day off to spend time with your friends and you’d be shocked if they were awake and ready before 11am. So you’d called for an uber and taken it out to Long Island City--making decent time doing a reverse commute. You found your way into the office at Digitize fine enough--Pat had said you’d pick a coffee place once he could introduce you to his team. 

There’s no way it’s a date if he wants me to meet his co-workers, you’d told your roommate, brushing mascara onto your eyelashes while she sat on her glorious work-from-home throne. Her hair was up in a bun and she had a spoon in her mouth--a cup of yogurt was beside her on the coffee table. 

But now, right before you were set to meet Pat in a conference room on some 14th floor--the door to the bathroom opened and you were face to face with a dark-haired, red-lipped girl. You almost let out a laugh at how cruel and unusual the universe had decided to become. 

You reached up for a towel to dry your hands, a quick smile in her direction. When she made eye-contact, you pounced. 

“Hi, um, are you--uh, Nina Winters?”

A nod--a humble one, not what you were expecting. She seemed caught off guard, as if the last place she expected to be recognized was a corporate bathroom in LIC. 

“Nice to meet you--I’m, uh,” you paused, unsure if giving your name was the right move. “I’m a big fan.”

“Oh, hi,” she seemed to soften at that--as if she’d expected something less pleasant. 

“I’m a journalist--s’why I’m here, I didn’--like--sneak in, or something.”

Her eyes squinted a bit, a look at you up at down. You felt stupid and small and suddenly not very pretty. 

“I’m meeting with Pat Martin--I work for The Scoop, do you know us?”

A smile pulled at her lips. “I do! Yeah--fun site.”

“We try,” you said, an awkward pause when she reached for a hand towel beside you. Curiosity poured out of your mouth, as you dug through your purse for come chapstick. “Listen--uh, I know this is none of my business, but--I’m writing a feature on Harry Styles, and I know you and him were friends.”

She laughed, tossing the paper into the bin and checking her reflection in the mirror. “Off the record, short lived--nice guy, but, ended it really soon.”

“Huh,” you nodded, arms crossed over your chest. “Off the record, any reason why?”

She looked at you with suspicion in her eyes--too personal of a question, you guessed. 

“Sorry--not prying. I don’t--I’m not talking about his love life in the story at all, just trying to get to know him as a person.”

She hesitated again, brushed her long hair behind an ear and then shrugged. “Said there was someone else. Don’t know who--haven’t seen him in tabloids with anyone.”

You forced a nod--wondering if you didn’t count because you weren’t in movies or magazines. She tilted her head to the side, now her curiosity was getting the best of her. “Has he--has he mentioned seeing anyone to you?”

“No,” you shook your head, a casual tone laced around your words. “Hasn’t mentioned anyone.”

She let out a hum, standing up straight and taking one last look in the mirror, a look of sheepishness crossed her face. “Can’t help but wonder, you know? Said he really liked her.”

Of course he did. 

“Well, sorry to bother you,” you said. “He’s just--he’s got me curious.”

She laughed, heading out the door. “Don’t be--what you see is what you get.”

So you were alone with a wet countertop, wondering why Digitize wasn’t more environmentally friendly--even The Scoop had the nice, new, air dryers for your hands that attached to the faucet. 

And since you were early, you stared at your reflection in the mirror and tried to ignore the voice in your head that reminded you how hard it would be to always be the no one by his side. 

But talking with Pat helped you get your mind off of it. He told you all about the things that Digitze did--grow your following, organize content and run analytics to tell you when to post what. They were an expert team of social media gurus, aiming to help you capitalize on the engagement you already had. They partnered with brands to initiate sponsorships, something you’d only been approached about twice before. 

But the best part of your meeting wasn’t getting introduced to his co-workers or seeing his office (almost as nice as Whitney’s)--it was walking down the block to get coffee and hearing him tell you about his favorite part of the job. 

“When I help people get more comfortable with their online presence and help them really solidify their own brand,” he shrugged. “That’s kind of a magical moment for me.”

“Yeah, I get that. Must feel good to know you’ve helped someone create something that’s unique and special to them.”

“Exactly. And a lot of people think it’s stupid, you know?” He let out a laugh when he held the door open for you to move inside from the cold air. “Social media is such a touchy topic. But it’s how we connect now. If I can help people connect with others that relate to them in one way or another, that’s cool.”

“I totally hear you,” you said, rubbing your hands together in the blast of warm air. “It’s similar with writing. If I can write something that makes people laugh even just quietly at their desks--that’s good enough. I just want to spread some joy and happiness.”

He listened when you told him about your hopes of one day writing more real news--though he also claimed you were already doing it. He laughed at the right moments and he definitely was educated about ways you could grow your own brand outside of The Scoop. 

The coffee was good and people worked quietly on computers nearby, only looking slightly annoyed by the way you laughed at his stupid joke about Whitney’s bagel obsession. You twisted a napkin in your fingers when you admitted your biggest dream: a talk show. He didn’t even flinch. 

**

Harry stared up at a statue--his lips pushed out just enough to block the light that came through the window. Dust danced in the evening sunlight, marble walls let even the slightest whisper echo. 

“S’bit weird, right?” His head cocked to the side, ear almost to his shoulder before he turned to see you, waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes still on the cream colored figure that stood, bent, in front of you. A woman, naked of course. Hey Brynnie, found your favorite wing, Adam had joked when you’d turned the corner. 

It was quiet--apparently a Wednesday evening wasn’t a rush for the museum. But Harry still had a hat on, his curls hidden beneath the frayed edges of an old beanie that you swore he’d had for a decade. At least my headware keeps me warm, he’d said to Jessie--who insisted on buying a Statue of Liberty-esque foam crown and wearing it proudly all day.

It’d been cold outside and after dodging Bryn’s questions about your coffee date with Pat, you were thankful for the drafty halls and soothing colors--even if you had to trail behind the dimpled boy who always knew exactly how to make you forget why you were mad. 

“Smalls,” he said, a grin on his face after he’d moved a few statues over, mimicking the panicked expression etched in stone. “Look--s’your face when you got the interview.”

“What interview?” Adam asked, a confused laugh bounced through each of them, what a silly face on that statue. Harry didn’t even realize what he’d done, a smile waiting on his face for you to return it. It didn’t hit him until you let out a noise--more of a squeak, really--and blinked twice. 

A deep breath, inquisitive looks from the rest of them. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I--uh, I’m interviewing Harry for work, but they don’t know that we’re, you know, friends. So, s’why I asked you all to delete any photos of him and I.”

“What?” Bryn stepped towards you. “You didn’t tell them?”

“No,” you shrugged, hoping the oncoming wave of shame wasn’t a tsunami. “I dunno--I wanted to be my own person, you know? Not just be the friend of someone famous--so, they don’t know.”

Harry shrunk at that, a look of guilt on his face when you locked eyes with him again. “She’s amazing at her job, though, so, how mad can her boss be?”

“Really mad, honestly,” you let out a feigned laugh, as if the upcoming deadline didn’t keep you up at night. As if your thoughts didn’t bounce between trying not to love him and wishing you could.

Jessie made a face--one that was nervous and confused all at once. “So you’re just going to tell your boss that you know him when you write it, or?”

“I mean--I will, yeah. Before I give her the story, I guess. But--I dunno--can we not talk about it right now? S’not a big deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake seemed to nod, a cue to the others to let it go. Adam pulled out a museum pamphlet, Harry caught up to you when you moved into a new hallway. 

“Sorry, Smalls, I didn’t--it just totally slipped.”

“S’fine,” you said, mostly relieved that your friends hadn’t been more curious or less forgiving. “Just--don’t bring it up, okay? They don’t need to know any more.”

Hesitation--parted lips and a look in his eye that told you he had something else to say, but then, he didn’t. “Yeah,” he said, “okay.”

He hung back, waiting for Adam and Jake, three steps behind you on the polished floor.

“Is that why you’ve been so weird around him?” Jessie’s arm linked with yours, her head on your shoulder when she looked up at the painting right in front of you. Squares of color, melting together--a clear sign you’d left the statue exhibit.

“What?”

“I dunno--the fight the other night, spending all that time together for an interview. It’s seemed like you’ve been mad at him the whole time we’ve been here.”

“What are you talking about?” You shoved your hands in the pockets of your coat after snaking out of her grasp, thankful for the scarf wrapped around your neck that provided a hiding place from her question. 

“Every time he talks to you it’s like you couldn’t be bothered.”

Her observation wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to admit that. “We’re fine, Jess.”

“Y/N--come on, you’ve been pretty shitty all week and now you want me to believe that nothing’s wrong when I find out you’ve been hanging out with him more than you let on?”

“I don’t know why you always think everything is your business,” you said quickly, Bryn appeared beside her, a confused look on her face when Jessie replied, a snarl on her face.

“It wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t such a liar all the time!”

“M’not a liar, you’re just nosy!”

“Whoa relax,” Bryn tried to raise a hand between you, Jessie pushed it out of the way.

“Well maybe I’m nosy because I know something’s going on between two of my friends but no one wants to admit it! So I’m left to make assumptions and wonder about what the fuck is really going on!”

Bryn was about to speak but you didn’t let her, words tumbling out of your mouth faster than you could have planned. “Fine--alright, we were having sex for a while, is that what you want to hear?” The echo on the smooth marble walls of the museum only made the embarrassment more staggering when you realized what you’d said. 

Jessie’s eyes were wide--her stupid green crown still on her head--and her mouth hung open. After your eyes scanned her face, you turned to see the rest of them. 

Bryn stood, face pale and round eyes. Jake and Adam both looked between each other, then quickly to you. 

Harry--who’s arms were crossed over his chest, beanie pulled low over his hair--simply offered an uncomfortable smile. 

“What?” Jessie finally broke the silence, her eyes still locked on your face. “The two of you?” She turned to see him quickly, a finger pointing in his direction before letting it glide lazily through the air until, finally, it pointed right at your chest. 

You looked to Harry quickly--hoping for some kind of back up. Even Jake--the only one who knew that things had been heading in that direction--stood silent. A statue stood behind him, towering over the group of you in the one room in all of New York City to have perfect acoustics. 

When your eyes locked with Harry, he shook his head, a slight shrug of his shoulders. “S’all you.”

“What’s all her?” Adam leaned forward, peering past Jake to look directly at you. 

“I was joking,” you said quickly, a shake of your head and a small laugh. Harry’s face fell, his chest deflated and he broke his gaze from yours. “We’re not--there wasn’t,” you tried to find words, a way to take it back, to wipe the sadness from Harry’s face or the anger from Jessie’s.

“Have you two really been sleeping together?” Bryn’s voice was quiet, almost as if she was nervous to know the answer--like somehow that would change everything. 

A look exchanged between you and Harry was all Jessie needed to know to storm out, a grunt from her lips before she took off, passing by the only other group of unsuspecting tourists nearby.

“Great,” you said, mostly to Harry, an afterthought as your legs carried you behind her, heading back down the hall you’d already wandered, the main room only a few feet ahead. “Jessie! Hold on!”

She didn’t listen--instead, she headed out and into the sun, stopping on the big steps when she realized she hadn’t the slightest clue as to where she was. 

“Don’t make a scene,” you said. “Don’t bring attention to him and ruin the day for everyone.”

She groaned again--a loud and theatrical one--as if saving Harry the pain of being recognized was unbearable. 

“I can’t believe this!” She said, arms sweeping by her sides when the others caught up behind you.

“S’not a big deal,” you said, eyes flashing to Bryn for some kind of support. “It was only a few times, it’s over though.”

“I don’t care if it’s over or not, Y/N, I care that you didn’t tell us--that you both lied!”

Harry kept quiet, his hands in his pockets and his hat pulled even lower than before. The streets of New York didn’t exactly feel like a safe space for this conversation. 

“Oh Jessie please--as if I could have told you the truth without judgment or advice or something.”

“Maybe we should go back to someone’s apartment,” Jake suggested, a hand in the cold winter air when you both looked his way. 

“No one else is mad about them being liars?” Jessie’s eyes searched the group, looking for a beacon of hope before she let out another dramatic sigh. 

“You’re surprised, Jessie? Really? After all these years Harry and Y/N finally having a good shag is a shock to you?” Bryn seemed to be a bit more annoyed now, but you were unsure whether it was the scene Jessie was causing or the topic of conversation altogether. You hoped for the former when Harry cleared his throat. 

“M’more than happy to answer questions about who I’m sleeping with, but--I dunno--maybe we can not do it on the streets of New York?”

In a split second he decided the Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side was a better option. A tiny place with only five tables--two pulled together to fit all of you. Every time Adam rested his elbows it would wobble, the walk over had been quiet and Jessie now held her menu in front of her as if she was hungry, but you all knew that 5:30 was a bit early for supper. 

“Does anyone have anything to say?” Bryn’s eyes seemed to linger on yours, a knowing look on her face communicated that she thought you should start. 

“I don’t know why this matters,” you said, hushed voice bounced off the light yellow walls. “We’re not, like, together.” 

Harry looked up when you spoke, an unreadable expression on his face while he toyed with a sugar packet between his fingers. 

“It matters, Y/N, because you,” Jessie cut herself off, eyes drifting up to Harry before they landed on yours again, a sigh from between her lips. You knew what she was going to say. 

There were no secrets now, though. Harry knew how long you’d liked him and there was no use in dancing around things--especially if this was literally all out on the table for discussion. “Because I’ve always wanted it?”

Her gaze shifted to him momentarily, “yeah,” she said. “And because we’ve all been waiting for it to happen. I know you think I’m a proper knob for leaving you in the loo that night but--everyone just wanted it to finally be a thing.”

“Leaving us stranded probably wasn’t the best way to accomplish that,” Harry shrugged, eye contact with Jake who seemed too interested in your reply.

“We didn’t tell anyone because it wasn’t a big deal! And I mean--really not a great idea especially with me writing the story on him and so much time has passed and,” you tried to keep yourself from looking at him across the table, curious as to what he’d disagree with. 

But he didn’t--he didn’t tell them that he’d wanted to tell them or that he’d been begging you to just come clean. He didn’t argue a word you said. Which only made you feel worse. 

“So wait,” Adam tilted his head to the side and looked between the two of you, his hand around a glass of water. “You mean to tell us that it finally happened and now you’re just--not together and not shagging anymore?”

Jake stifled a laugh at his wording, both you and Harry shook your heads. “No.”

“Why’s that?”

You let your gaze lift to see him tugging at his lower lip. You wanted to say yeah, why’s that? but instead, you watched him stammer. 

“I--uh--I was just, I fucked it up, I guess.”

Silence--apparently Jessie chose now to not be so nosy. Bryn folded her menu and leaned back in her chair. “Well--I appreciate the two of you coming together for our trip.”

“Thanks, Brynnie,” Harry’s voice was quiet beside her, you watched as he let his hand reach down to pat her thigh. 

**

January 2011

Jessie had a hand in a bowl of crisps when your phone lit up on Bryn’s twin bed, you thought nothing of it at first. An instant message from Harry to the group. You clenched your jaw and focused your vision back on Bryn’s hair in front of you, but you’d never really been good at french braiding. 

Music floated up from Jessie’s iPod on the floor, she laid beside it with a magazine open to a page about Justin Bieber. She spoke with a full mouth before making eye contact with you. “Harry said something.”

You had no idea if he was coming home--and it didn’t seem like he did either. His band had been voted off the show and while it certainly left you all gutted, a tiny, heart shaped piece of you was secretly thrilled that your friend hadn’t been showered in confetti and champagne. 

“What’d he say?” Bryn asked, you kept your fingers working, ignoring the climbing heartbeat in your ribcage. 

Jessie had already read it--a fallen expression on her face when she looked up at the two of you. “They got a record deal.”

Silence for a second, your fingers fumbled with the locks of Bryn’s hair you held. “That’s amazing,” you said, getting back up to speed. “Wicked exciting.”

“Y/N,” Jessie said, pushing herself up to be seated. “Who knows what it means, though. They might not do well or something--we never know.”

“They’re already doing ridiculously well and they lost,” Bryn reminded, scooting forward and out of your grasp. Her braids untwisted at the ends, but she didn’t seem to mind. She turned around on the bed and watched you for a second, picking at her fingernails when Jessie spoke. 

“Maybe now’s a good time to tell him.”

“Right,” you laughed. “Let me text him in the chat room and say that he should turn down a record deal because I was hoping to go to the prom with him.”

“Well nothing is ever going to happen if you don’t tell him how you feel!”

You laid back on the bed, your head hitting a pillow with a thud before you closed your eyes. “Fuck me,” you said, your voice quiet and emotional. 

“I’m sure he’d love to,” Jessie teased, a laugh escaping her lips when you opened your eyes quickly, shocked by her words. “He just doesn’t know you’d let him.”

Your lips pulled into a smirk, one that you tried to fight when Bryn leaned forward and hit you with another frilly pillow. “If he knew how bad you wanted to suck him off he’d move home in a heartbeat,” she giggled. 

“No he wouldn’t!” You argued, squinting in response to her vulgarity. You pushed yourself up on the bed and looked at them. “It’s over, alright? I missed my chance and I should have told him before he left. Now he’s been deflowered by a thirty-year-old.” They laughed at that. “But it’s fine, anyway. Plenty of cute boys in our year and plenty of prom date options.”

They were both quiet for a second, almost as if they didn’t know whether or not to believe you. 

But you didn’t know, either. 

“Well good, then.” Jessie nodded, her tone confident as she pushed the magazine out of her way, likely thinking that if she really sold it, you’d all believe the lies you were spewing. “Gives you plenty of space to get over him if he’s stuck in London.”

**

You knew they hadn’t asked enough questions. You knew the silence on the ride back to Harry’s was too good to be true. So when Bryn and Jessie pulled you into the guest room they’d somehow made a mess of in just a few days, you knew you were stuck when Jessie blocked the door. 

“Alright, so--we need way more details,” she said, her voice quiet. 

Bryn had claimed she wanted to show you a new outfit she’d bought, Jessie had said something about using the loo. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, partially relieved that it was out in the open, and totally freaked that now you had to tell them more about it. “Well I told you he had texted me in the beginning of December.”

They nodded.

“And Alyssa and I went to that show, and then him and I had Thai.”

“When did the fucking start, though?” Jessie cut right to the chase, a smile on her lips when you blinked three times at her bluntness. 

“After Christmas, in January, I dunno.”

“So was this all happening when you both came home?” Bryn had sat on the bed they’d been sharing, sheets and blankets twisted into a ball at the foot. 

“No--I mean, sort of. Not the sex.”

“What do you mean sort of?” Her head tilted to the side. 

“Wait,” Jessie said. “Is that what was happening on New Year’s Eve when I came upstairs?”

“No,” you said. “I mean--I dunno. It didn’t happen. I was still trying to fight it at that point.”

“Why would you fight it you idiot?! You’ve been wanting this forever!” Bryn’s volume grew with emotion, you widened your eyes at her to remind that if she wanted any details at all, she’d have to be cool and collected. 

“Yeah, Bryn, and you don’t think this is all too late? I’d moved on! I’d been over him and I moved here and this was my city and everything was fine!”

Jessie took two steps forward, apparently now she was satisfied that you wouldn’t try to bolt for the door. “So why did it crash and burn, then? Why is it not a thing anymore?”

“Because he was seeing someone else!”

“What?” They both asked in unison, utter disbelief.

“Who was that fucking wanker seeing?”

“A model,” you rolled your eyes. “Nina Winters!”

“She’s so fit,” Bryn mumbled. 

“Not the point!” Jessie waved a hand at her. “You’re bloody joking, right? How did you find out?”

“Pictures on the internet,” you said, a fire ignited in your chest with the newfound support from your friends. “They were holding hands in one.”

“Is he still seeing her?” Bryn crawled towards the edge of the bed, her face muddled with confusion. 

“No--said he ended it with her when we came home--like, after New Years.”

“Oh,” Jessie said, her eyebrows suddenly unfurled. “So, wait. He was seeing her before he was seeing you?”

“No--I mean, he said they met in August or something and were hanging out in the fall. Apparently in December he was making out with her but then drinking wine on my couch and buying my plane ticket home.”

“Y/N,” Bryn said your name slow, as if she was about to break some terrible news. “It sounds like he ended it with her when he realized there was something there.”

“No, there’d been something there. I mean, we were spending so much time together in December and then he kissed me in front of my parents' house and then apparently came back to New York and still saw her!”

“Do you know if he slept with her?”

“He said he didn’t.”

“So what did he say when you confronted him?”

“That he only saw her after the New Year to tell her he didn’t want to see her anymore.”

You knew something was wrong when they both watched you silently. You knew it didn’t sound as bad as it had in your head the nights after when you’d just stare at the ceiling and hope sleep would come. 

“Honey, I think that’s all he could have done.”

Jessie’s voice was quiet, much more controlled and sweet than it usually was. Her eyes were soft and apologetic, you heard laughter from the living room. 

“Did you guys ever, like, talk about what it meant?” Bryn’s expression seemed to mirror Jessie’s--fearful or hesitant or somewhere in the middle of the two. 

You nodded, eyes on the floor of the guest bedroom as it flooded back. The bathtub, the trip to LA in general, the empty suitcase on his floor when you showed up that night to call it all off. 

“Look,” you said, immediately trying to gain some distance from the emotions in your chest and the looks on their faces. “It’s fine, alright? It was a bad idea anyway. Unprofessional and just--living out a teenage fantasy, I guess. S’done, it was too much of a mess.” You let your eyes linger on Jessie’s for a second, a sigh before you continued. “I should have known, okay? I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, Jessie, don’t do this. I know you’re bursting at the seams to tell me I’m a fucking moron.”

Her face fell at that, eyes to the white shag carpet that you were sure someone else had picked out. “No--Y/N, I wouldn’t--”

“S’fine, alright? Honestly. I know it was dumb and now it’s over. It’s just a thing of the past and we can all move on and pretend it didn’t happen, yeah?”

“Just like last time,” Jessie rolled her eyes a bit, annoyed by your desire to drop it. 

“Alright,” you sighed, not enough energy left in your bones to bicker any more with her. “M’gonna head home--I’ll see you both tomorrow? Still on for ice skating?”

They nodded, letting you slip through the door and down the hall without a goobye. The living room quieted when you appeared around the corner, Harry’s eyes searched yours for some kind of emotion. You almost thought they were about to ask: everything okay? Did you tell them all the details? What do they know? How do you feel? Is this still going to be awkward?

But you grabbed for your keys on the end table near the door, a spot where they once belonged. “Late, innit? I’ll see you lot tomorrow.”

Blank stares returned, faces twisted to each other, wondering who should acknowledge the tension in the room. “Night,” you said, heart beat only slowing after the lift doors slid shut behind you, feet on pavement for the walk home. 

And with only a week left until your story had to be printed and placed on Whitney’s desk, you decided that instead of using the buzzing in your veins as a good reason to write, you’d channel it somewhere else. Organizing your closet, cleaning the bathroom, meal prepping, anything. 

You didn’t want to be left alone with the taped conversations, interrupted by laughter and kisses and thoughts of what could have been. So you’d put it off, just like most other things that had to do with Harry.

come talk to me about tytl

read the other parts here

AN: woooohooooo finally a chapter closer to 8k wc! Took a minute but things are moving along here, aren’t they? 

tag list:  @clorenafila @ainsleesolareclipse @castawaycths @harryspirate @wanderlustiing @ursamajor603 @thurhomish @omgsharry  @stepping-into-the-light @rachkon @jdcharliewhiskey  @shawnsblue  @gendryia @g0bl1nqueen  @laula843  @flooome  @a-woman-without-a-plan@awomanindeniall  @shaw-nm @staceystoleyourheart @ohprettylittlemind-deactivated2 @anssu-amry @my-fandomful-life2 @stylesfantasy @bookingbee  @mleestiles  @haute-romance-quotidienne  @craic-head-horan @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @at-least-im-1 @paigemck00 @rawmeharry @pinkpolaroidgirl @blackxxmagicc @sksspotkitty @nearbyou @kalesouffle @sunnflowerchild @lmk12310 @sing-me-a-song-harry @afterstylesmadeit @myhat @caritocp @liquor-and-intellect @harryinsweatersandbandanas @daydreamsofh​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Happy Together : 17

So the bell tolls

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Wedding bells ring and the reader hears them clearly.

Notes: Okay, so the fates aligned and I got enough time before work to edit this and get it out so thanks everyone for understanding. I love you all and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let’s just say, we’re in the endgame now.

I look forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

-

One day. Your last night of freedom. No, not really. That was long ago. 

Time passed swiftly, you could barely keep track. Each morning and night mirrored the last. The same bed, the same room, the same man beside you. You didn't imagine that marriage would be much different. Your life was already his. You belonged to him. The ceremony was only a pretense.

Marriage. The word hovered over you. The reality of it just hours away. One sleep. One dinner. Another performance.

It was startling. How had you let yourself slip so far? Staring at yourself in the white dress, the veil, the ring sparkling on your finger. It was as if your very reflection had shattered before you. The happy bride-to-be wasn't you. It was what Steve had made you. 

Your cheeks hurt from the fake smile, your throat tight as you forced out your lines. He was always watching. Always there. His hand on yours as your mother and father marveled at the man they were all too pleased to call their son-in-law. They swallowed his lies so much easier. For once, they were proud. Not of you, of course, but of the man you attached yourself to.

Steve ordered the wine. He bemoaned that this restaurant lacked the variety of his own. Alas, a meal there would have to wait until after the reno. For now, this would have to do. He requested a Cabernet and your mother cleared her throat.

"Steven," She called him by his full name. She liked that. He did too. "If you will, Jim and I would actually prefer a champagne to celebrate the marriage. Our treat."

"Not at all," Steve waved her away, "I insist. It's on my dime." He turned to the waiter. "Champagne, then. And another glass. We are still awaiting another guest."

The waiter as good as clicked his heels and diligently ran off to fetch the wine. It seemed everyone in the city knew your fiance. Revered him. You had been foolish before. He was more than the local celebrity, he was their saviour. That you had ever thought you could seek refuge in this city was naive.

Heels tapped along the floor and neared your table. Your mother glanced over her shoulder and waved to your sister. Estelle, with her died blonde hair and perfect contouring belonged more than you did. Steve stood and you mimicked him.

Your mother hugged your sister and your father did the same. You recalled how they had barely spared a nod for you. Steve greeted her with a handshake and a kiss on the cheek, "You must be Estelle."

"And you're Steve Rogers," She sang, "Wow, I really thought you guys were playing me."

She turned to you at last. "Hey," Was all you could manage. She chuckled and pulled you into her arms. 

"Hey?" She held you back and looked you up and down. "Is that all I get?"

You felt the tingle behind your eyes. Your lips trembled but you kept your smile in place. "I missed you." 

"Oh yeah? Well, you know I'm always up for a trip to New York." She chided. "You have my number."

"I'm sorry," You didn't realize you had grabbed her hand. You released her slowly.

"No, don't be," She chimed, "Congratulations. I'm so happy for you!"

The waiter returned and you stepped back as he set down the bottle of champagne and the spare glass. You resumed your seat beside Steve, Estelle on your other side, and your heart sank. You loved your sister but even she would think you were crazy. Maybe you were.

Steve poured the champagne and handed the glasses out. "Oh, Essie, you must see the ring," Your mother tapped the table with a long nail, "Come on, show her."

You shakily raised your hand and placed it daintily on the table. The sparkling pink diamonds caught the light and Estelle gasped. "You know she has no taste but Steve did a marvelous job."

"Mom," You rescinded your hand as she reached for it.

"I think she has wonderful taste," Estelle grinned at you. Your mother always agreed with her, even when she was wrong. Her baby girl could do no wrong.

"Well, I'll allow that she had improved. That whole artist look...so drab," She rolled her eyes. 

You couldn't smile anymore. You glanced around at the other diners and gripped the edge of the table. You stood suddenly. Steve caught your hand quickly. Was it concern for you or that you'd try to flee? Could he see the treasonous thoughts behind your eyes?

"I need to use the restroom," You lied. "Excuse me."

Steve nodded and kissed the back of your hand. "Alright, honey." He let you go and Estelle pushed herself back to her feet. "I actually need to freshen up, too. I love the city but it's dirty."

She took your elbow and guided you past the table. You sensed Steve bristle as she did. Her hand slipped down and her fingers twined through yours as you neared the bathrooms. She pulled you inside quickly.

"Why didn't you tell me? I can understand you not telling them, but me?" Her tone was not unkind. She was your best friend after all and in her eyes, you had entirely blocked her out of your life.

"I…" You exhaled and lowered your head. You looked at her hand in yours. "Es," Your eyes were glassy but you sniffed back the tears.

"Did you see anyone?" She asked, "I know in uni, you had to see that counselour…"

"I'm not..." Your voice cracked and you shook your head. "It's been stressful. The wedding. Planning…" You sighed. 

"Mom sent me a picture of the dress. It's amazing," She squeezed your hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner." She swung your hand. "I know it's your special day so I haven't told them yet but I want to tell you."

"What?" You wondered.

"I got a sponsor. In England. Model and brand ambassador for big make-up line. Big," She was giddy. "I'll even be able to incorporate my Instagram. It's actually one of the reasons they hired me."

"That's...wonderful, Es," You hugged her again. Her dream was coming true. "I'm so proud of you. I can't believe--England?"

"Yeah, that's the part mom and dad won't like," She frowned, "But I'll be going all over Europe. Asia, too."

"Fuck them," You said. "Really. They don't matter. You should go and have the time of your life."

"And you? Your art? I checked your website but...are you going to start again after the wedding? I really wanted to sponsor a piece for my apartment...or should I say flat?"

The wedding. You had almost forgot. You felt yourself deflate and you backed up against the sink. "I don't know." You whispered.

"What's wrong?" She leaned next to you against the counter. "Nervous?"

"Yeah," You said weakly. "Nervous."

"Well don't be, I'll be right next to you," She rubbed your back kindly, "Maid of honour, and all."

-

Estelle wasn't enough to save you but enough to make you brave. If this were to be your fate, you'd meet it with dignity. Even in white. Even in misery.

You didn't sleep. Steve spent the night in the den and left you alone. Tradition, he said. Even with the bed to yourself, you couldn't settle. You rose in a daze; groggy and numb. You ate, dressed in jeans and a tee, and followed Steve up the stairs into the early morning light.

A church. Wow. You almost laughed as you drove up to the grand cathedral. It was the place where celebrities and socialites wed, not you. Inside, Steve pecked your cheek and parted as you were left in a small room. A talkative stylist began on your hair and you drank cold coffee from a paper cup.

Your mother arrived shortly after with the dress and was followed by your sister and your collection of bridesmaids. Each had their own stylist and your mother bossed hers around like Meryl Streep in that movie. Estelle told her to stop and you were glad for it. She wouldn't have listened to you.

Your make-up was light. Your face shone as if it were natural beauty and you leaned forward to look in the mirror. You looked good. You didn't want to admit it, but you did.

The dress was a challenge in its. The laces tied tight enough to crush your ribs. You struggled to breath and wobbled as Estelle help you into your heels. The veil was pinned in your hair and a necklace with a single pearl around your neck. You reminded yourself of those gaudy royal weddings that people lost their heads over. Ugh.

You tucked the folded paper Steve gave you that morning and tucked it into your bodice. Your lines. You hadn't read them yet. Dreaded it. You tried to breathe against the tight gown and closed your eyes as your mother's voice rose in another complaint. You didn't know if it was better to get it over with or enjoy the last minutes you had.

-

You hated that smile. That face. You held back a glare and forced your lips to curve in deceit. Steve's voice carried across the caverned ceiling, his words as sickly as they were sweet. You felt as if you would pass out; from lack of air, lack of sleep. lack of sanity. He held your hand as he recited the words. Carefully planned and yet spontaneously pronounced. 

When he went silent, you stared at him. Voices buzzed in your ears, the audience in a ghastly silence. He squeezed your hand and the priest's words came clearer. 

"Miss," He whispered, "Your vows."

You shook your head but the haze remained. With your free hand, you reached into your bodice and uncovered the folded paper. You drew your hand from Steve's and unfolded it with a shudder. You gulped, cleared your throat, but couldn't look at him. So you looked at candlestick behind him.

His writing blurred. Was it nerves or tears? Both. You shook and brought the paper closer. You focused on reading the letters. Speak! You glanced up and Steve's jaw ticked. You peered around the large room. Speak, goddamn it!

"Steve," You forced out, the first syllable the hardest. "Steve, my...love." You swallowed the repulsion. He didn't know. He didn't know you weren't his little doll. Didn't know that when you go the first chance you would run. Yes, run. "I've never been very good at these things. I express myself in pictures rather than words. I am no poet but some things are best said simply." You inhaled and he took your hand again, the other wavered as you concentrated on the paper. "To put it simply, I love you. There's not much more to say than that. Other than I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. You're my true love, my best friend...my hero."

You almost crumpled the paper but instead folded it with one hand and held it to your skirt. The priest smiled at the two of you and made his final pronouncement, "...man and wife…" 

Steve pulled you close and you lifted your head just as his lips crashed into yours. The pews rumbled with applause and your stomach twisted. Finally, he pulled away.

"My wife," He whispered as he turned you to the audience and raised your hand in his, "Mine."

-

Steve hadn’t let go of you since the ceremony. His hand was always there, lingering. The limo ride, the dinner, the toasts. The latter the worst part. Empty words from those you didn’t know and those you did. Your father had taken the lead as your mother had little positive to say about you. ‘Finally, our little girl has got her head on straight--’ You were thankful when he swiped the microphone and you sunk into the endless folds of your skirt.

It all passed in a frightful blur. The time ticked by so quickly you were certain fate had you on some cursed list. You were hurtling towards the end and you weren’t ready for it. 

The DJ announced the imminent first dance and the walls of the grand banquet hall began to close in on you. Five minutes. Five minutes and all eyes would be on you again as you were trapped in the arms that would hold you for the rest of your life.

“Sweetheart,” You tugged on Steve’s hand. His grip was firm. “I gotta---” You struggled not to hyperventilate. “I gotta go…” You tilted your head. “You know…”

“Oh,” He blinked, “Uh, yes. Um, do we have time?”

“I’ll have to make it work,” Your panic was real but the reason not so transparent. “I’ll just...lift my skirts.”

He sighed. His brow furrowed as he thought. His blue eyes considered you. You shifted in your chair to add urgency to your act. 

“I can’t hold it,” You hissed. He shook his head and looked down the table. 

“Get your sister to help,” He checked his watch, “Three minutes.”

He stood and helped you rise. He walked you down the table and you tapped Estelle on the shoulder. You bent over her. “I need your help.” She rose and followed as Steve kept your hand in his. She had imbibed a bit too much already and she hiccuped as she trailed behind.

Steve escorted you to the hall and peered down it with a frown. His jaw twitched and you could see the suspicion whirring in his head. He turned to you as you grabbed Estelle with your free hand. He stared you down and reluctantly let go of you.

“Two minutes,” He warned, “They won’t wait.”

“I promise, I’ll be quick,” You pulled Estelle down the hall, “I need you to help me with my dress…” You let your voice carry.

“Again?” She slurred, “You know, I’ve seen these ones where the skirts come off--”

You turned the corner and glanced over your shoulder. Steve stood at the other end of the hall. His shoulders squared as he crossed his arms and watched after you. You disappeared around the bend and hurried Estelle towards the bathroom. You opened the door but kept her from going in. You let it close with a loud click and listened.

“Wh-” You clapped your hand over her mouth and signaled for her to hush. Her eyes rounded and you slowly pulled away. You knelt and carefully removed your heels as you nodded to her own.

You took your shoes and hers and backed slowly down the hall, keeping an eye over her shoulder as she wobbled after you. You could see the confusion but her drunkenness made her complacent. You gently pressed the long bar of the back door and eased it open. You waved her out and waited for her to follow.

You shut the door quietly and leaned against it. “What’s going on?” Estelle asked.

“I just--need air.” You tossed your heels and hers. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk? It’s your wedding--”

“Es, let’s go,” You inclined your head, a desperate grimace on your lips. “Please. I need to get away.”

“Why? You’re so happy and--”

“I can’t explain now, there’s no time,” You lifted your skirts and bunched them in your arms. “Come on.”

“Where--”

“I don’t care where. I need to get out of this city.” You began across the parking lot. “Let’s go.”

She followed and stumbled behind you. You turned to pick her up, your arm around her back as you urged her past the rows of car. She giggled. “I can’t believe you. Running away from your own wedding. It’s like that mov--”

“Shh,” You heard the door and ducked behind an SUV. You pulled her down with you and smothered her mouth again. “I...I’ll go to England with you. Please.” 

She blinked and you kept your hand in place as you listened. Hard soles echoed across the tarmac. You kept low and drew Estelle behind you as you snaked around cars. The footsteps grew fainter until they were almost silent. 

You felt a sudden weight and turned as Estelle crashed into you and belched obnoxiously as she landed on top of you. You swore. Her body went limp atop you and her head slumped over your shoulder. 

The footsteps were upon you in an instant as you were trapped beneath the unconscious Estelle. Steve stepped up between the cars on either side of you and knelt with a huff. He hung his head and ran his hand over his golden hair.

“Honey…” His voice was laced with fury.

“Estelle...I just came to help her. She said she was gonna vomit and--”

“Shut up,” Steve snarled as he grabbed Estelle and lifted her easily from atop you. “And get up.” 

He slung her body over his shoulder and grabbed your hand as he stood. He turned you back to the banquet hall and dragged you along, your bare feet scraping on the pavement. 

“It’s too bad your sister had to ruin our night like this...your parents will be so disappointed.”

-

tags to be added in reblog

[midas-or-khaos]

Spirit, Chapter 1

The journey down to the University of Falmouth had been a bloody road trip, rather than the drop off it was meant to be. Getting up at around the same time you’d usually go to bed, the two of them were at wits end, bags under their eyes so deep and purple you’d have thought they were weighed down by boulders to get so large. So to say the mother/son duo were at snappy was...

“Fuck me that was a lot of boxes.”

“Stop swearing!”

...A gross understatement.

Not for the first time that day did Bill wonder how his mum was able to hear what he thought were comments under his breath, when most of his life spent back at home she couldn’t hear his bellowing from inside their thin walled, two story house for a towel when he inevitably forgot to get before showering every. Single. Morning. Sod’s law.

Taking a deep sigh, both mother and son looked down the 3x2 meter room, floor littered with boxes of all sizes, and the boy couldn’t help but cringe. This was supposed to be his room for the next year. His home for god sake! Most dog kennels were probably bigger than this. Better furnished too.

“How much was this place?”

“I’m not cheap.” How did she always know what he was thinking?

Still trying to cover his bare arse, the exhausted boy quickly fumbled together an excuse, “I’m just asking for next year so I know what to expect when I have to pay for my own apartment.”

“Don’t lie to me, I know you think this place is awful. My first year, the halls I stayed in were so poorly insulated the toilet water-“

“-Froze over, I know. I’m not taking for granted the insulation, it’s just you can’t deny there’s enough dead skin on that mattress to say there’s probably a colony of something growing in there. Maybe Botulism.”

A light smack hit the back of his arm, turning the peach skin rosy. Ok, he was being too cheeky now, and she wasn’t impressed.

“I’m going to look at the kitchen, start unpacking now so I know it’ll be done before I leave ‘cause I know you won’t do it unless I make you.”

Taking her leave, the boy kept looking at the room, swaying between both feet, a sigh huffing out like like some overworked Victorian steam train as he let his brow hang heavy over his eyes to shade the shitty bleak, full-screen bright sky that dominated most of the year in dreary, coastal areas like his uni. The low ceiling only came to around 6’1/2ft tall, fitting the overall feeling of ‘Sardine tin’, though for the first time in probably forever he was happy to only reach 5’3ft. If he’d been reaching 6ft like most of the people his age, Bill was sure he would’ve been feeling claustrophobic. Still didn’t mean he enjoyed the room, though.

Working up the energy, the smallest box was taken into hand first, and began the tedious process of open, pick out, place, repeat. Contrary to the usual, the whole apartment wasn’t too overheated, and made the work more manageable, meaning once all the clothes were pulled out and hung up, he didn’t have to change out of his long sleeve t-shirt or baggy jeans.

With a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and a hand scratching cherry, buzzed hair to brush out the accumulated dust, the last and second largest box pulled open held all his art supplies, from a bag of coloured pencils to a tray of oil pastels, seven clean canvases and bottles of acrylic paint (all in different stages of use and decay, the white nearly out) to sponges, rollers and brushes. If you’d heard of it, he probably had it. These were his pride and joy, the reason behind his whole relocating. These next 3 years, he was going to learn how to illustrate professionally. It’d been a pain in the arse to get here, having to do an extra foundation year just to earn the correct amount of points to get in anywhere, but to finally be where he wanted to be (excluding this flat), was a dream come true.

Kneeling down and using care he hadn’t bothered using with his other bits and bobs, each item was lifted out and slid into the square cabinet just under window along the back wall, slotted in together. Silent work, with upmost precision. No more irritating unpacking after this. Just a well needed nap maybe.

The door threw open unexpectedly, slamming into the wall, sending the poor boy up in shock, only to knock o into the unforgiving block of wood making up the overhanging window cill.

“FUCKING HELL!”

“STOP. SWEEEEAAARRRRIIIINNNGGGG!!!!”

Swerving round, venom charged by the unexpected and unnecessary pain, alongside the lack of sleep spat out, “Well maybeeeee if you had KNOCKED like a NORMAL FUCKING HUMAN BEING I wouldn’t have swore when I HIT my HEAD!”

No reply, just the sourest notes pinching her brow and nose. Now she’d fully lost it. Just great. Always quick to offend, painfully slow to forget. She wasn’t going to let this incident go any time soon. The thought clogged his throat and pinched the flame of rage, till all that was left was guilty silence. He’d fucked up.

“...some...of your flat mates have arrived.” Muttered out. Turning round, she briskly left without another word, her footsteps echoing down the stairwell just outside the thin apartment door.

“..,I’m sorry.” Whispered out dejectedly against the silence. Too late, as always. Why couldn’t he control his anger and just hold his breath? So much impulsiveness was becoming irksome even to himself. He didn’t think about swearing negatively, it’s offensiveness never really made sense to him he never directed at anyone. But her constant nagging and his irritability made for dynamite. He’d have to make up for that before she left. God, she was leaving properly today! For months! Was he really prepared for life on his own?

No, he couldn’t think like that, this is what he had worked for. Getting up, giving few quick assuring leg rubs, Bill shook his head to get out any unwanted thoughts and to go find the kitchen. He wasn’t really in the mood to have awkward stranger conversation, but ‘first impressions are always important’ as his mum would say. He supposed she was right, he needed to at least make some friends. The cramped corridor outside only had 5 doors, so it was easy to find luckily, and already there were a couple people and residents hanging around chatting.

“OH! Hi, which are you in?” FUCK, where the hell had she been hiding?!

A regally tall girl sporting the single most neon make up I’d ever seen came unseen from my right, and stood close.

Poor idiot couldn’t help but stare up in awe at the whole display of cyan shadow circling almond eyes and mint lipstick offsetting her natural tan skin and jet black swath hair. She must’ve be studying as a make up or fine artist to have that much knowledge on colour theory and pattern. Shit, shouldn’t stare.

“Oh, sorry, ugh... which room was it...I can’t remember the number but the one just by the entrance to the apartment.”

“That’s room 7.”

“Thank you.” The conversation died. There was a social queue here wasn’t there? Conversations usually carried on longer than this, what was it?

The girl smiled politely, but turned and left to talk to another girl. Bill let out an irate huff. Damn it, once again, a failed attempt at human interaction.

Never mind, try again.

Taking the initiative this time, he walked up to a lone boy this time. Ginger, riddled with freckles, slightly chubby. Tapping his shoulder, the boy turned and Bill tried to give his best realistic smile: eyes crinkled, cheeks full.

“Nice to meet you, I’m-“

“I’m a bit busy, can we talk later?”

Taken aback, all he could say was, “Oh, er, yeah. Sorry.” And he backed off again

2 more attempts and all he was left to do was huff. This was useless! Turning round, the brunette took off with silent footsteps out and didn't look back till he reached his room, sliding the door closed. Hands on the door, Wetness on his cheek. Lifting a hand, he tried desperately to wipe away any sign of tears. This was stupid, why was he so bad at social interaction? All he had to do was respond, like other people normally do... but how do people know what to say when there’s nothing interesting in common? Who talks about the weather and sports as a proper conversation?!

No, he couldn't cry here, anyone could hear him though these thin door. The bed seemed a more inviting place to calm down; covered, warm, maybe decrepit and creaky but it was the best he had, so no time like now to jump in. So that’s what he did, and it took a good hour, but the ache of anxiety that he hadn’t noticed had been building up in his chest earlier, finally drained away under the covers till he could at least stop his tears from falling. A year apart from familiarity and family was more daunting thought than it had been ever before.

A light knock sounded out. Hastily the covers were ripped back and hopefully now enough time had passed that his eyes weren’t puffy from all the rubbing. Mum walked in and a btech version of his earlier smile came out, probably pained looking. She looked slightly less upset than before, but still sported piercing hawk eyes. For all their disagreement, the boy didn’t want his last link to home on a sour note, so took his chance, and spoke up, trying to make amends for earlier, “Mum, thank you for dropping me off. I’m so sorry for acting stupidly, I was tired and in pain, and should’ve been calmer. I’ve unpacked everything and what not so I can take you out for a meal like you said earlier if you want?”

No immediate response, just the same prolonged eye contact, up until she let out a sigh. Was that a resentful sigh or a sigh of forgiveness?Oh how he hated being unable to understand subtleties.

“It’s alright, just please try to understand this from my point of view. Your an adult and people won’t appreciate you swearing around them when you work professionally, so just please try to make an effort to stop. For both our sakes.”

She was being lenient this time. She too wanted to leave on good terms. “I know, I’ll try and stop swearing so much.” A lie, but his swearing was habitual now, so it wasn’t going to change any time soon.

“I’d love to go out, but I’m already meeting a friend in town. You know Sandra right? Well she’s come up from Exeter to meet me, so I can’t miss that. Maybe tomorrow morning before I leave to Manchester?”

Why did it have to be tomorrow?

“Sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright see you tomorrow. Try and make an effort to make friends please?”

His Mum blew a kiss and left on good terms, so at least now Bill knew his mind could be at rest not worrying over an awful departure. His whole face dropped at last, overexerted by false emotion. If he hadn’t felt drained before, he sure as hell was now. What the hell his expression must luck like now was unbearable to think about. The covers came back over, but this time it wasn’t coming back off till tomorrow. Screw getting into pyjamas, fuck making friends, piss off outside world. All he needed now. Was rest.

————————————————————————————————————————

...Cold...

...coooolllllddddd???…

...Where were his covers?...

...why could he hear wind?

Head pulled up and eyes forced open, Bill was greeted by a yellowing sea of grass. Only, this grass...was seven times his height..

...what in the actual fuck? Elephant grass?

Shit, a winter gust blew up the back of his shirt and crawled into his skin, the force throwing him face down back into the ground. Shit, he needed to get to shelter. But where the fuck would shelter be in a field of grass?! Isn’t this stuff supposed to be the shelter! And more to the bloody point, where even the fuck was he! Was this some sort of shit joke played by someone in his flat or something?

Getting up properly this time, adrenaline pumped out by his rude and impromptu awakening, the boy grabbed the edge of his shirt to keep it down and hunched over as he began to walk forward. Obviously he was automatically lost, but he was balls deep in this shit show now so nothing better to do. Ughhhh Just one foot in front of the other COME THE FUCK ON. There’ll be shelter at some point. Thank god it wasn’t muddy, otherwise he’d be stuck here forever. Would be like walking through tar. Looking up through the arching tips of the leaves, the sky was the same blinding, blanket white as yestrday, no sun at all. It could very well rain soon if the clouds decided to turn grey. That spurred him onward. The winds kept on beating down, nearly knocking him down without warning at irregular intervals so he was constantly on his toes, and the uneven ground was a bitch to deal with. Ugh, now he understood what his mum was going on about “too much swearing”.

Something felt especially wrong about this situation. Obviously waking up in an endless field of grass was completely out of the ordinary, but the world felt.. out of proportion. The cracks in the earth which should have been minute, barely feel able, yet these were the more like small trenches, the size of gutters. On top of that the elephant grass was decidedly less woody, and reached higher than anything he’s seen before. Was this actually a joke?

Over the gale, was that. It WAS. Murmurs over the utterances of the wind; there were others out here too!

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!”

The murmurs stopped, YES they’d heard him.

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!”

“AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

...who responded to a hey with ‘arghhh’.

But more importantly...how in the hell were they so loud? Would it be a good idea to be found by someone he didn’t know the intentions of? An extra large gush smacked the back of his head, thin, neon red fuzz doing nothing to stop the icy chill gripping his skull and adding to the overall painful exhaustion that was going to take the waning strength of blueing limbs. There was no choice left.

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY, I’M OVER HEREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!”

No shout this time thank god, his ears couldn’t take that again. Legs shaking, feet black and blue in his trainers, Bill was desperate for them to arrive soon.

THUMP THUMP

What was that?

THUMP THUMP

WHY THE FUCK WAS THE GROUND SHAKING?!

The earth tremors kept coming, and the boy couldn’t stand any longer, falling to his knees and gripping the strands around him with white knuckles. They were getting closer. They couldn’t be earthquakes. Something huge was approaching. Nonononononohejustsighedhisdeathwarrentandnowwhateveritwaswascomingtocollect-

The thumps stopped directly in front of him and a shadow fell over. He’d been seen. Looking straight up through the light canopy, staring straight down at him, was a face.

A gigantic.

Bearded.

Middle aged.

Face.

...Not a point of pride. Bill fainted.

(AN:- a repost from my other account cus it isn’t working properly)

[rockshortage]

*Cracks knuckles* Ow. Let's see, how about: A6, 16. B1, 12. C1, 2, 3, 5, 8. D4. E2, 3, 7. F2, 5, 10, 12 (Sorry, but also not sorry) I6. L1, 2, 4, and 9 :)

hoo boy that took a while

A6) Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.”

Ah, he questions himself a lot. Maybe he wasn’t listening well enough because he was too distracted by being anxious? Maybe he misinterpreted this event, because his background knowledge on it was lacking, he doesn’t know the full story and opinions from all sides, he’s not sure he can form a well educated opinion on this--

A16) Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?

Hector needs to do it himself for Science, because how else is he to truly know, if not from his own personal experience? Trusting what people tell you is good and all but gathering data yourself is better.

Unless we’re talking about raider politics, in which case there’s not really a good way for Hector to gather data without seriously endangering him and friends, so he’ll just listen to Gage.

B1) Do they believe you have to give respect to get it, or get respect to give it?

Generally, he believes it’s necessary to give people respect before you can expect it in return. He learns that many people do not in fact think the same way. He’ll still want to extend basic courtesy to them even if they’re assholes, unless they disrespect/piss him off to the extremes, or if their actions threaten his position and in turn the well-being of himself and friends.

B12) Your OC orders something to eat and gets their order done in a pretty wrong way, something they can’t just pick off or whatnot to correct, or something major is missing. What do they do?

Have a back and forth about it in his head – ah it’s not so bad it’s still fine, but then again he really wanted it differently… but he doesn’t wanna bother them and be entitled about it, but man… :( Might get close to pointing it out but chances are slim that he’ll actually get someone to correct the order. It’ll be disappointing but he’ll eat it.  

C1) Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it?

Eeeh, not a super strong one. His baseline are general societal morals and norms, like… help person good, kill person bad. Most of the time he’ll base his actions on what feels right for him and for his friends. He’ll consider: will doing this make me feel bad afterwards? Will it have a negative impact on other people, who don’t deserve it? Is that consequence worth it because it saves my own skin or helps/protects my friends?

C2) Would your OC feel bad if they acted against their morals? If not, would they find a way to excuse themselves for it?

Bringing back the point about sacrificing for the greater good. He’d consider that the morally right thing to do because it impacts fewer people negatively. But making that sacrifice endangers his friends, whose lives for him personally are worth much more than an abstract crowd of people. So he chooses to not do the thing for the greater good and save his friends instead, and yes, he would feel very bad on the one hand, because oh boy. As far as most people are concerned, he did a horrible terrible thing and was extremely selfish and absolutely chose wrong. But on the plus side, and that’s a very big huge plus- he still has his friends. And still having his friends makes him feel less bad than how he would have felt if he didn’t have his friends anymore.

So uh… yes and no.

C3) Is it important for them to be with people (socially, intimately, whatever) whose major ideological tenets align with their own?

More or less. He can’t hang out well with people he completely disagrees with in every way, of course that’s not going to work. But Hector is… how to say… kinda boring when it comes to ideals and opinions and all that stuff. He just doesn’t have very strong ones in general. Which can make him a little bland and potentially spineless, but also pretty agreeable. As long as they don’t constantly shove their great big opinions in his face, they’ll get along well enough.

C5) Do your OC’s morals and rules of common decency go out the window when it comes to those they don’t like, or when it’s inconvenient? Aka, are their morals situational?

I think I kind of answered this in C2. Basic morals do get thrown out the window if friends are threatened, or if he gets pissed off enough. He’d have to be really pissed off though. As well as being post having-grown-a-spine(-at-least-partially). Hurting people bad but being insufferable to Hector also bad so guess what fucker

C8) Is your OC more practical or ideal morally? I.e., do they hold people to high expectations of behavior even if it’s not realistic for the situation, or do they have a more realistic approach and adapt their morality to be more practical?

Again a little tricky because I’m having trouble coming up with a scenario that would help me make up my mind with a definite answer. I’m leaning more towards a practical approach 1) because Hector is more of a realist/pessimist in general, 2) he doesn’t want to like… be overly demanding

D4) Would they like to be immortal? Why, why not? If they are immortal, would they rather not be?

The more he thinks about it the more meaningless life seems to get for someone like him. Solution: don’t think about it! Repress that shit because it’s not like you can do anything about it anyway. Also an involuntary solution but one that helps nonetheless: have shit memory so that you don’t feel like you’ve lived too many lifetimes.

If you were to ask him, the answer you get completely depends on the headspace he’s in at the moment. If he’s just vibing, going about his day and things are going well then yeah! Immortality isn’t so bad. If you catch him on an off day, things aren’t going so well, maybe he just thought about having to deal with losing his friends eventually… then you obviously get the opposite answer.

E2) Which of the nine types of intelligence is your OC strongest in? Weakest? (Linguistic, existential, naturalist, et cetera)

I know I talked about this before and I grouped them from strong to medium to weak but I can’t for the life of me find the post anymore (thanks tumblr for your useless garbage search and tagging features). So I can’t even check if I’m still on the same wavelength with past me :v

From strongest to weakest we have…

Logical-mathematical

Spatial

Linguistic

Bodily-kinesthetic

Musical

Naturalist

Interpersonal

Existential

Intrapersonal

E3) How many languages do they speak?

Three… and a half.

The half language being Swiss German, because I don’t know what the fuck it is even after graduating from language uni

The others: Standard German, English, and French, from strongest to weakest.

E7) Are they a good note-taker? Are they a good test-taker? Do exams make them nervous?

Yes, yes, and yes. He’s very good at taking notes considering most of science is documentation. And even now when he’s not doing a lot of Formal Science things, he still writes in his journal almost daily, summing up events and making notes of important things. He gets nervous with tests with all the self doubt if he really prepared well enough and the unpredictability of the questions that will be asked, but once the pen is in his hand, he just blazes through it.

F2) What’s their ideal home look like? Where is it?

Someplace underground, safe and sturdy like a vault. Industrial aesthetic is welcome and he wants to have plenty of space, but it shouldn’t feel huge and empty. Needs to be homey, even if it might feel a little rustic to the average person. Having it built into a mountain would be sick, so he still has the perfect protection from the sun, but he doesn’t have to crawl out of a hole in the ground like some kind of worm – instead he opens the door and gets the most amazing view immediately.

… and I promise, only after writing the above did I remember that he pretty much lives in a mountain already, just a plastic one. Close enough.

F5) How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera?

Quite handy indeed. He can fix most things, he usually just needs some time to (re-)familiarize himself with the object and its functions. A lot of it also involves trial and error, but he’ll figure it out eventually.

F10) Do they engage in any of the arts? How good do you intend them to be? Would they agree they are?

He’d actually be really good at pen/pencil drawing, what with making technical illustrations and blueprints of Science Stuff, but it’s not a skill that’s applied in an artsy setting. When the goal is to draw for the sake of drawing, evoking emotion, or paint with a brush, that’s probably when shit would fall apart. I can’t remember who the artist was, but it reminds me of this little comic about Paladin Danse – in which he’s extremely good at technical drawings but then he attempts to draw a dog and it just looks…wrong.

Now with music, he’s more likely to engage in it in an artful way. He likes to sing, even if he very rarely does it now that he has people around him more often than not. Before, he’d just be alone in his lonely place and sing and scream to his heart’s content, but now he’s too awkward to do it, because someone might hear him. He is pretty good at it though, considering how much alone time he’s had to practice.

F12) Would they enjoy a theme park?

The rides and junk food? Yes absolutely. But the giant crowd and every little consequence it entails, nope, no thank you, he’ll just leave it be.

You bet he’s gonna go on the rides at nuka world though once they got them back up and working, because the crowd isn’t as big as pre-war and he’s the fucking overboss and can skip lines and restrict access to others however he damn pleases.

I6) Could they eat the same thing they enjoy over and over and not get bored of it quickly?

He can, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. The first month or so at nuka world he almost exclusively lives off of some shitty nutrient bars. In some scenarios, food just exists as sustenance and not as something to be enjoyed.

In a preferable scenario though, it is to be enjoyed. And I think while he would get bored of it after a while, it’d take longer than for the average person. And even then, he’s just happy he can eat something enjoyable at whatever pace he likes instead of having to scarf down Compressed Nutrient

L1) How have your characters changed since you created them?

He stopped existing in a void, which is a pretty damn big change. Now he has a whole world and other characters to interact with, that contribute to shaping and developing his personality.

L2) What do you consider the biggest themes in your character, if any?

Oof, this is hard. Maybe… getting to know yourself? Accepting change, personal growth?

L4) Would you hang out with your OC if you could?

I’m actually not sure sjdfsdnsv

Like yes he is sweet bean who must be protected, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is a weird little old man. I guess if we can just chill listening to music and he can go off about crustaceans or something and we speak The Horrible Language, why the fuck not

L9) How did you come up with your OC?

Masks cool. Me especially like gas masks. Unhinged science characters also cool. Make generic but still sliiiightly unique design and make it a point to not have him be a young pretty boy character despite having immortality. Add lots of weaknesses to compensate for the immortality. Add science personality things and complete the picture with projections of my own personality. Boom, you’ve got yourself the beginnings of a Hector

[bubblegumstardust]

i havent bombarded you with questions in a long ass time so here i am (feel free to skip some if its too much): 1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 (i know you probably won’t even have to google), 16, 17, 18, 24, 27, 29, 33, 36, 41, 47, 51, 58, 59, 61, 66, 71, 74, 75, 76, 79, 80, 90, 95 and finally 100🥰🥰

Dear God Chelle 😂😂💕💕

So sorry this is so long but I can't do read more on mobile

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

I try to have more cereal generally but I just chuck milk in randomly and if it ends up being more then it ends up being more 🤷‍♀️

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

I generally just use an actual bookmark, but some things I've used in a pinch are: receipts, a pen, sunglasses, some mail, another book, debit card, a hairband, my purse

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

I don't drink coffee and I just have a teaspoon or 2 of sugar in my tea

7: do you name your plants?

Yep, I have 2 in my room called Ellie and Nyah. I even named their pots because they're cute and shaped like a sheep and a hippo! The pots are called Pippa and Mimi and they're girlfriends

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

Generally writing I guess. I do a lot of painting/drawing too but that's less feeling expression and more just fun.

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

Yep, and I'm probably very annoying to share space with because I do it a lot

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

On my side and I have to switch like every 10 minutes when I'm trying to sleep or I get uncomfortable

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

Literally cannot think off the top of my head. @wonderfilledness, remind me please. Also Chelle tell me any of ours I might have forgotten.

12: what’s your favorite planet?

In our solar system, Pluto because fuck science, it's a planet! Other than that there's a planet I can't remember the name of that, because of rotation speeds, always has the same side facing the sun so like most of the planet is uninhabitable except a thin strip on either side between the two

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

The pup. Also I was helping my mum make masks and I completely fucked up and it was really funny

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

Ngl it would be a mess. Also probably covered in books and art stuff and it'd probably be light and airy with lots of plants and cute pastel colours

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

Oh where to begin! Okay so for one NASA had to design a special pen for use in space because due to the lack of gravity, normal pens don't work. Any liquid in space will form itself into a sphere due to surface tension. Sunsets on Mars are blue. There's a planet where it's constantly raining glass sideways because wind speeds are so high. There's a (I think) dwarf planet in our solar system that they nicknamed The Goblin. Planet 9 is something we can observe exists but no one can find it and it might not be a planet at all. It could be a black hole or something. The moon is slowly drifting away. I'm gonna stop here but I could go on for ages.

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

Fucken love a good spaghetti bolognese

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

Kinda want it pastel pink or purple again but also really wanna dye it like a deep turquoise colour

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

Excuse me how dare you assume I've done anything dumb! Tbh I definitely have but again my memory is really bad for stuff like this so I'm gonna turn to @wonderfilledness and @mooncloudsea for this again

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

Tbh, you Chelle. Also I'd definitely trust Alice with them but it's somehow easier to tell you because admiting stuff face to face is horrible and I can only talk to you online really

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

I don't like gum

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

Everything all you guys do is cute 😘💕

33: what’s your fave pastry?

C r o i s s a n t s

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now?

Hmmm. I don't know what my mood is right now so like idk?

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

I mean I'm pretty sure the last book I actually read was Aurora Burning so I gotta say that

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

Well there's plenty of foods I don't like but I'm not sure I'd ban any of them because there's always people who do like them.

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

Okay it makes no sense but I always think of Alice when I here B0$$ by Fifth Harmony because it's one of the songs we always end up screaming along to in the car

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

I feel like Alice is a vodka aunt and maybe I'm the wine mum?

59: what’s your favorite myth?

Idk actually. I quite like the echo myth though

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

Honestly I have no idea 😂

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

Small little delicate one with lots of small cute flowers like daisies and other pink white and purple ones. Also it would be full of forget me nots because they're my favourite flowers.

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea?

Peppermint all the way

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

They have short brown hair and give some of the best hugs. They're a couple inches taller than me and will not let me forget it. They also steal all my old clothes and would probably steal my dog if given the chance. They need to learn to fucken drive already and it's been too long since I last saw them

75: tell us about your pets!

He babey. He also a little shit but I adore him

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

So many things. Probably most importantly, applying for uni

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

Lol no one likes me enough to do something cute for me

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

Light purple. I chose it when we first moved here but painted it even lighter a couple years in

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

I'm generally not the biggest fan of cities but I actually really loved living in Nottingham. It was super developed and you had like everything you could need and want there but also really kept its historic feel and it never felt so overcrowded like places like London do and idk, it was just a really nice place to live

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

I don't really have any in particular. Probably do some more art and writing and stuff but idk really

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?

I usually pick future no question but like I'm a little concerned as to what such a near future will actually look like. Maybe the past so I can redo some stuff and make a few better life decisions and get help for my mental health sooner and also maybe find a way to do something to prevent some of the awful things happening right now

[aislinceivun]

Hi! I know that you’ve said that you won’t continue with the sequel planned for Wandering Bird, but I was wondering if I could inquire on what you might’ve written? It’s just, I really adore your fic; can’t get it out of my head actually (so I’m so sorry if I’m being insensitive!) You mentioned once that you were going to do a POV from Arthur Gwen and Morgana- does that mean they (Morgana and Gwen specifically) had an idea of Merlin’s fate? Could Arthur “see” Merlin during his adventures? Part 1

Part 2: (Again, I apologize for my questions-your story just has so many interesting plot points!!) How would Bonnie and Co interact/react to Arthur’s return? Why couldn’t Freya interact much with Merlin; Was it a lack of magic, interference or something else? Somewhat weird question: but did you have anything in mind for Merlin’s Vigil Night? (If he can get one poor dear). (Gushing continued in third ask I’m so sorry)

Part 3: I loved how you showed Arthur considering legal reforms before his death-and the Phoenix as the emblem? *Chef’s Kiss* Was the creation of the phoenix’s later on a reference to that? Random aside: I really adored how badass you made Merlin, without making him too edgy or dark, you know? Also I really loved the many prophecies/legends surrounding just Merlin as “Emrys”! I adore literally everything about Aithusa, and her final scene made me bawl (also your art is gorgeous!) You’re amazing!

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

Don’t ever apologize for asking questions about fics! Even if they’re old fics the author doesn’t plan on returning to, these kind of asks can really make their day and I’m sure 98% of the time they’ll just be over the moon that someone still thinks so much about their work :D I am!!

I still get emotional thinking about Aithusa, so I’m super glad her storyline made you feel so deeply. And that yuo liked Merlin’s portrayal and the lore about him! And thea art! Ahh, just, thank you! 🥰

Unfortunately, I no longer have my original outlines and the roughly 15k I’ve written due to my old laptop crashing, and it’s been 7 years (oh my gosh how) so I no longer remember the details. Which is too bad - I have several abandoned fics in my mother tongue, and I always uploaded summaries of what was supposed to happen to provide some kind of closure to readers. I can’t do that properly with Wandering, but I’ll try my best!

Putting the rest under a cut. :)

Feathers was inteded to be a series of 7 fics: 3 long main stories and 4 shorter (8-15k) standalone side-stories. The graphics are pretty much the only thing I still have  left x’D

You know this one, 75k of how Merlin spends those roughly 1500 years between the end of the show and Arthur’s rebirth. Then, the stuff that never got finished:

The Gwen POV side story, set during ch1 of Wandering. Focused on Gwen dealing with Arthur’s death, managing the kingdom and working on abolishing discrimination against magic users. Also getting together with Leon after a few years.

The Morgana POV one, at parts corresponding to ch1 and ch2 of Wandering. Honestly, I’m no longer sure about the details, but the early parts were supposed to explain and detail show canon, and then... I think I meant to bring her back in as a literal bird. With the life span of it, just keeping her consciousness, so she can watch what happens in the world. She probably watched over Aithusa, too, and Merlin, and IDK but the goal was to show her thoughts and eventually give her character justice and closure.

The Arthur POV one. He was kept in some kind of otherworldly, underwater palace-like place and could only interact with Freya, really, but he did get constant flashes of Merlin - especially where he was near Albion. This short was supposed to be very dream-like, as time works differenetly in that place. It’s kind of like when you’re half-asleep, y’know? So Arthur didn’t really live those 1500 years like Merlin did, but he followed his journey, in a way. When Freya “woke him up” at the end, they did have a conversation about it. He lost these memories when he was reborn. (But he still often dreams of water and a kind lady)

The next big one! Set in 2012, this would’ve started with Arthur & Merlin going to uni and “meeting each other” and ended with Arthur finally regaining his memories. Merlin kept away from him while Arthur was growing up, you see - aside from that one time when he learnt that by pure chance, Ray (who became a PE teacher) ended up being one of lil’ Chris/Arthur’s teachers. As old man Emrys, he got himself some history teaching shtick because he wanted to see how Arthur was doing, but he quickly realized that this is not going to work, what with him being in love with the man Arthur is going to become. xD So he left after a few months, and kept away from Arthur. (But kept pestering Ray with questions :D)

Anyway, when Arthur goes to uni (by this point, he exclusively goes by ‘Arthur’ btw, dropping Christopher) Merlin magics himself back into his eighteen year old form and gets enrolled in the same school. Agatha and Mike would have had prominent roles as basically Merlin’s sidekicks. Aggie is especially close with him, after him mentoring her about magic all her life.

Arthur has no memories either of his old life or about the years spent with Freya, so the dynamic at first is pretty much show S1. Most of the angst would have come from Arthur finally wanting to get together with Merlin but Merlin pulling away because there’s just too much Arthur doesn’t know; how is he supposed to be together with him when he’s hiding so much, lying so much? This Arthur is pure and free of the tragedies of the past, and maybe it’d be best if Merlin left him alone... But something must be happening - something the world needs Arthur for, if he slept through WWI and WWII but NOW fate decided to send him back...

Anyways, he would have gotten back his memories aroud the end of this instalment. Cue a lot of crying from Merlin’s part.

The last big one, a direct sequel to With Memories. A lot of recap and talking in the early parts, Merlin and Arthur reconciliating who they were in the past with who they are in the present and who they wanna be in the future. 

There was a Big Bad of some kind of malicious magical origin (not necessarily a person, but an “end of the world” kind of thing/entity. It was 2012 after all. Little did we knew the real shit was coming 8 years later It was revealed that Arthur had magic himself, plenty of it - he couldn’t use it, at all, but he wielded a lot of pure magic, maybe related to how he was basically marinated in magic-juice for over fifteen centuries and how his soul was pushed back into the world xD There was a lot of magical and dragon-related lore to be revealed. The Phoenixes came back to play a part in resolving the Big Bad, too. But it’s all very hazy. What I do remember is that to fix the Big Bad, Merlin AND Arthur had to hold their Vigil Night, in a way - not dying, god now, but both of them hand to give all their combined magic back to earth.  This resulted in the Big Bad no longer happening and Merlin losing his immortality =)

After figuring out their shit in the first half, they were pretty much together, btw. Learning each other in a new way. Arthur digged Merlin’s Phoenix emblem tattoo, that’s for sure. A lot of communication was needed, especially because it wasn’t easy for Arthur to understand Merlin’s grief (sometimes, Merlin looked so old despite the young form he wore; sometimes he felt ancient, and Arthur was a bit scared in his presence - not scared of Merlin, but scared of how to measure up to him, reach him, help him.) And Merlin had to understand that even with his old memories, Arthur wasn’t exactly that Arthur, the king - he had a life of his own in the present, a new identity, and it was unfair of Merlin to expect him to be the same. They no doubt talked a lot about Merlin’s lived experiences, his lost ones, Aithusa. (Merlin never stopped wearing the pendant made of Aithusa’s scale)

Happy end, of course :)

Well, that was a lot of vaaaague stuff, but hopefully gave you an idea? Bonnie wasn’t around too much, though I’m sure I’d have included some scenes with her. She probably didn’t met Arthur until Together Again. Aggie liked him fine but kept teasing him and she could be a bit harsh, what with her being so overprotective of Merlin. Mike and Arthur got along really well. Arthur was shocked when he was first fully introduced to the whole family and was met with his old PE teacher AND that brought up the fact Merlin attempted to teach him for a few months xDD 

Buuuuut.... this was still just 6, eh?

Last instalment, another side oneshot, and a prequel to the whole series. Kilgharrah’s POV. Set a few generation’s before Uther’s rein, elaborating on some of the lore and backstories revealed in Together Again. (all of which I no longer remember, rip) I know we’d have met an ancestor of both Merlin and Arthur through Kilgharrah: Aurelius Ambrosius, who does some good deed to Kilgharrah, and the dragon blesses him - after this, the man takes the name Pendragon. And Coel, who was a dragon lord, husband to Ystradwal high priestess. Coel had a cheerful and kind personality, and he was the first human Kilgharrah came to like. They became friends. Coel was supposed to be Merlin’s grandfather, I think. Kilgharrah and his mate were expecting their first egg to hatch when Uther’s purge started, and that was pretty much the end of this short =(

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

All I have left aside from these is some tidbits of dialogue from the single file on the sequels I have:

~

“Whoa, Merlin, slow down. I can’t follow you.”

“I’m different from you. Okay? I’m not... I wasn’t... I didn’t reincarnate. I’m not a reincarnation of the original Merlin. I am the original Merlin. Do you understand? I never... Look, I never died.”

“You are. The same Merlin." Merlin nods. "The same Merlin who mucked out my horses and saved me countless times and magicked his way into my life.”

“I’m afraid, sire.”

The title comes without a conscious thought, and when he realizes, his heart twists and cracks.

Arthur just stares at him.

~

“So? Who are you guys, then?”

“I wasn’t lying about them. They are family. No! Gods, no, not like that,” he adds quickly upon seeing Arthur’s widening eyes.

“He’s our magical fairy godfather,” Mike and Aggie say in perfect union, completely straight-faced.

 ~

“The only times I was really miserable were the very first few hundred years, and later the roughly three centuries that followed Aithusa’s death. For the rest of the time, I wasn’t completely alone, and that... helped. A lot. But... it was hard. I hated how everyone I cared for withered away and died before my eyes, so I tried to keep people away for a long time. I was lonely, but that kept me safe from heartbreak. At least, that’s what I’d thought.

“But then I met Bonnie, and as I watched her grow up and start a family - a family that welcomed me - I realised how foolish I was for attempting to condone myself to a solitary life and deny myself the warmth of others’ love.”

~

Arthur wipes a hand over his face. “Owning a magical heritage but no apparent talent to use it... Just. Great. I’m a fucking Quibble!”

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

Phew!! What a trip down memory lane xD And I actually remembered more than I thought I would, so that’s nice. Thank you for enabling me to ramble and recall some stuff a really liked about this verse. I hope I was able to give you some closure! Cheers!♥

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Back to Haunt Me

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Light Angst

Word count: 12301

Summary: Simon Snow hasn't heard from his former roommate in years. So when he gets a call from him, he's equal parts confused and intrigued. Based on "I called you at 2am because I need you" request from @god-themself

Read on AO3

AN: I'm really sorry for how long these requests are taking, oy. Every time I start writing, the fic ends up getting longer and my stupid body decides to crap out and not work. Anyway, here's the latest fic. Hope you enjoy it :)

———————————————

Simon

I’m sitting upside down on my couch when I get the call.

It’s not something I do too often, just when I’m really, really stuck on something. I say that ideas pool in my feet and this lets them trickle down to my head. Penny thinks it’s absolutely ridiculous. She says it will give me headaches, and it does, but it also helps. I’ve been stuck for an hour on coming up with new lessons. This is my last resort.

So I’m laying upside down on my small couch, legs up in the air, face turning a very bright shade of red. My glasses slipped off a while ago, making me essentially blind to anything more than five feet away. My mind is swimming with new ideas for maths games and art projects, the mental images almost swirling past my blurry vision.

And when I’m deep in contemplation a new history Kahoot, my phone blares out my “Toxic” ringtone. (Britney is amazing and haters can fuck off.) I flip up way too fast, making my vision spin like water in a toilet bowl. I paw at my phone while I wobble back and forth. With the combination of my glasses on the floor and blood rushing from my head, I don’t bother to read the caller ID. Or lack thereof.

“Hello?” I say shakily, still clutching my head.

“Siiiiimon,” a low, slurring, strangely familiar voice says. Is a student prank calling me again? Dammit, I thought I scolded them enough.

“Jeremy, if that’s you, this isn’t funny. This is my personal mobile and you-”

“Aw, did you already forget me, Snow?” the person continues, and my heart suddenly freezes. “It hasn’t been that long has it? Only seven years.”

My jaw drops and I sit ramrod straight. Every vein in my body turns ice cold. Holy. Fucking, Shit. “Baz?!”

“Yes, it is I. Good evening, Snow,” he snorts, but there’s still that weird waver to his voice.

“A-Are you drunk?”

“Ding ding, we have a winner in every category,” he giggles. Fucking giggles. I don’t think I ever heard him let out so much as a chuckle in all the years I lived with him. He must be very drunk.

“Um, how did you get my number?”

“Remember when you got mysterious calls supposedly from the Babadook when we were fifteen? Surprise! That was me! Got your mobile off the school registry.”

My mouth falls open even more. “I knew that was you!”

“Duh!” There’s some shuffling on the other end. “Shush! Yes, I actually have him on the line. I’ll get him to come.” He’s definitely not talking to me. He lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about that, Snow. Super sorry, for everything I did back in school. So please don’t hang up.”

Admittedly, I was going to. But he sounds so pathetic and drunk, so I stay on. “Alright,” I sigh. “I’m still here.”

“Hooray!” There’s a short stretch of silence. He doesn’t continue, so I have to pipe up again.

“Baz,” I say, “not to be rude, but, uh, why are you drunk calling me? We haven’t seen each other in awhile and it’s...” I scramble to grab my glasses, then look at my wall clock. “After two in the morning. Plus, you like, hate me.”

“No,” he slurs out. He sounds well pissed. “I don’t hate you, Snow. You’re too much of a kind brave hero to hate.”

“Um, thank you?”

He laughs loudly. I’ve heard him laugh more in the last five minutes than I did our entire childhoods. “You’re very, very welcome.”

Again with the silence. I can’t believe I’m the one talking more between us. “So... why are you calling? You wanna catch up or something?”

Baz lets out a long, low groan. For some reason, I imagine him slumping against a wall or something. “I bloody wish. Stupid barkeep won’t let me leave until I call someone to get me and my stupid friends and stupid aunt won’t pick up.”

“So you decided to call me?!”

“You’re the only other person I know who lives in London.”

“Who told you I lived in London?”

“Aggie. Said you had a cute little flat and a cute little cat.” He giggles, and I can almost picture a dopey smile on his usually frowning face. It looks so weird and wrong. “Hey, that rhymes.”

I sit even more upright. “Wait, Aggie? As in Agatha?! Are you two dating now?!”

He scoffs. Now that really reminds me of our school days. “No, Snow, I’m not dating your ex. She’s not my type.”

“That’s rude. Agatha is very pretty.”

“I mean that she’s not a man, Snow.”

My face immediately turns scarlet, and this time not from being upside down. “O-Oh. You’re gay?”

“Once again, duh!”

“Fuck off, you flirted with her all the time!”

“Nuh-uh.” He sounds like a bloody obnoxious American. “Not really. Just did that to piss you off.”

“I’m hanging up,” I growl.

“Wait!” Baz shouts as I move the phone off my ear. “Please don’t hang up, Simon. Fucking hell, I need you.”

I seriously debate actually hanging up. But there’s something in his voice that tugs at my chest. It’s weird and explainable, but it’s there. I slowly bring the phone back to my ear. “You need me?”

“Yeah,” he groans. “I’m drunk as fuck and uh...yeah, I’m still bleeding.”

My pulse goes wild instantly. “Bleeding?! Are you hurt?!”

“Yeah, but you should see the other bloke,” he laughs proudly. “Bartender says if someone doesn’t pick me up and take me home, she’s calling the police to come get me. Doesn’t trust me with an Uber or something.” Baz makes a weird yet familiar sound. Is...is Baz Pitch sticking his tongue out at someone? What the fuck has happened in the last seven years?

“Alright,” I sigh. “Where are you?”

“Yay! I am...” He takes a long pause, which gives me time to rub my aching temple. “Hey, where am I?”

There’s more rustling and some muffled yelling. “He’s at XOYO,” a stern woman’s voice says. “32-37 Cowper St, second floor. We’re closing in an hour so get here soon.”

Before I can say anything else, the phone clicks off. I stay frozen for a moment. My brain is still playing a bit of catch up. So, Baz bloody Pitch has called me out of the blue after seven years, drunk off his arrogant arse, apparently gay, and needs me to pick him up. And now he’s sorry for being a dick to me through our entire time in school? That’s nice. Few years too late if you ask me, but better late than never I suppose.

I look down at all my notes, the ones I have to finish in a few weeks before the new school year. If I were a worse person, I would forget about Baz, finish my lessons, and just go to bed. He’s my former bully, I shouldn’t care. But when I think about Baz, drunk, bleeding, sitting there alone at a bar waiting for me but I never show up, my stomach plummets to the centre of the Earth.

Godammit.

I march towards the door, grab my keys, and set out to fulfill a bad idea.

Turns out this bar is right in the middle of bloody Shoreditch. Which means at this time of night (or morning), there’s lots of closing nightclubs and stumbling drunk people being sick on the sidewalk. Glad I didn’t take the tube.

XOYO is a mostly nondescript red brick building with some black panelling and a neon red sign. I park as close as I can, which is not that close. The stairs up to the club are steep and leave me panting by the end. Bloody hell, I need to get back to the gym. Chasing ten years old is not enough exercise apparently. The bar is one of those hipster places with wooden tables and old Victorian chairs and candles. There’s a few people passed out on tables, snoring with their beer glasses.

“Simon!” a familiar voice shouts from the bar. “Simon, over here!”

I turn to my left too look at the bar, and...wow. After seven years, Baz looks so different, yet so the same. Same sharp cheekbones, same long-ish raven hair, same deep sea grey eyes. He’s broader though, shoulders filling out his blood stained grey dress shirt. Far less gaunt and gangly and vampiric looking than he was in school. The shirt has the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. Weird. Baz always had his uniform buttoned to collar in school. Then I have to do a double take, because...Baz Pitch is wearing jeans? They’re dark and expensive looking, hugging his legs, which still have a footballer’s strong muscles. He has a big, dopey, drunk grin, which is offset by the small black eye and blood trickling from his nose. It’s unfortunate this is the first time I’ve ever seen him smile.

I walk towards him, hands in my pockets, shoulders nervously hunched in. Why is my heart beating so fast? Bloody hell, calm down, Simon, it’s just Baz. You know him, probably better than most people. He’s an arsehole, not evil. And we haven’t had a physical fight since we were thirteen. Plus it’s been seven years, we’re adults now. He won’t bite. Hopefully.

“Hi Baz,” I say, trying to hide my nerves. “Uh, nice to see you.”

Baz squints at me, and a pang of panic shoots through me. Is there something wrong with my face? Bloody hell, what a cruel twist of fate it would be, to see my childhood enemy after years and have pizza sauce on my cheek.

“Um, Baz, you there?” I weakly wave a hand in front of him.

“Since when do you wear spectacles?” he asks, still slurring his words.

I instinctively touch my wireframe glasses, immediately self conscious. “Oh. Since first year uni. Turns out one of the reasons school Watford so hard for me was that I couldn’t read the board a lot.”

I chuckle awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. I expect Baz to laugh or mock me like he used to. But instead he grins again, leaning his cheek on his bruised hand. “They look good.”

Why are my cheeks heating up? Must be bad air conditioning. “Um, thanks, Baz.”

He keeps grinning, showing off his sharp bright white teeth. (There’s a good reason I thought he was a vampire.) “Welcome.”

It goes silent again, with me standing awkwardly and Baz grinning. Christ, this is so weird. I assumed I’d never see Baz ever again, let alone drunk and bloodied in designer jeans. I have less of an idea what to do than usual.

“Ugh, finally!” a woman’s voice says to the side. I whip my head around to see who must obviously be the bartender. She’s got a deep scowl on her face and hands on her hips. “You’re Simon Snow?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” I reply.

“Good. Please take this arsehole off my hands.”

Baz blows a raspberry at her like a toddler. Bloody hell, he is a weird drunk. The bartender glares and flips him off.

“I’ll get him out of here,” I say.

“Thank you.” She digs under the bar and takes out a sleek black iPhone. “Here’s his phone. Took it from him after he almost dropped it in a beer glass.”

“Alright.” My brow furrows in confusion. “Do you have Baz’s keys? Or does he still have them?”

“He never had them. Searched all his pockets, nothing there.”

“Worst feel up ever,” Baz grumbles.

I rub my aching temple. “Baz, did you really forget your keys?”

He frowns and scratches his head with a bloodied hand. “Hm, yes, I think I did. I left my flat pretty fast. Maybe the super will let me in if he’s awake.”

“Where do you live?”

His brows pull together, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. Now that is certainly an expression I remember from school. It’s his thinking face. I used to glare at him while he studied all the time. “Somewhere...posh, and silver.”

I groan and drag a hand over my face. “Alright then. Well...I guess I’ll bring you to my flat.”

Baz’s jaw drops open and he shakes his head, making his black hair fan out in a strangely majestic way. “No no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll figure it out-”

“No, Baz, you won’t, you’re too pissed to think right now. I’m taking you to my place, no questions.”

He frowns. I can’t tell if he’s sad or angry. “I don’t wanna im-”

“We lived together for years, arsehole. One more night won’t kill you. Come on, get up.”

I grab his bicep and haul him to his feet. Bloody hell, does he work out a lot or something? He’s made of fucking rock. Baz wobbles back and forth and ends up leaning on me. I struggle to keep him upright.

“Baz,” I grumble, “you’re too heavy, I can’t hold you up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He sort of heaves himself upwards, still wobbling on his feet, but at least he’s standing. That’s something I guess.

“You good?”

Baz sticks out his arms like he’s on a tightrope. “Yeah, I’m alright. Mostly.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.” I look over at the still very annoyed bartender. “Uh, thanks for taking care of him.”

“If you’re really thankful,” she spits, “make sure he doesn’t come back.”

She marches off into the back. Baz flips her off before I quickly pull down his hand. “Enough,” I grumble. “Let’s get you out of here before she smacks you.”

“Kinky,” he chuckles. God, drunk Baz is fucking weird.

Getting down the stairs takes far longer than it should. Baz has to watch his every step so he doesn’t go tumbling down. He’s like a shaky newborn fawn. It would be cute if it weren't so frustrating. Finally, we get to the bottom and I lead Baz by the sleeve towards my car. He laughs loudly when we reach it. I immediately scowl and whip around to face him.

“What?!” I snap, assuming he’s making fun of my old beat up beetle. But instead he has his head tilted upwards, laughing at the sky. Neon club signs and yellow street lights light up his smiling face. He’s like a rainbow constellation, colour reaching every crevice. Huh. Baz has always been pretty, but has he always been this pretty?

“Lights in the sky,” he laughs. “Pretty.”

I groan and tug him hard. “Come on, you drunk prat, hurry up.”

Baz stumbles along reluctantly. I shove into the passenger seat and buckle him up like he’s a bloody eight year old, then take my place in the driver’s seat. Baz is slumping, the seat belt digging into his cheek. If we crash his pretty face is going to get cut open. I debate telling him, but Baz rarely ever listens to me, and I doubt that has changed much.

I turn the engine over. Baz lets out a whoop so loud I jolt. “Allons-y,” he shouts like some deranged adventurer.

“Silence, s’il vous plait,” I reply as I turn on to the road.

“Oo, you speak French now, Snow?”

“Yes. I lived in France for a year, I learned pretty well.”

“Very nice.” For a moment I think he’s mocking me, but his smile is completely genuine, if not a bit drunken. Is it weird that I like drunk adult Baz better than sober teen Baz?

I drive through Shoreditch slowly, making sure not to hit any wayward club leavers. Baz grumbles about the slowness, but I tell him to shut up or I’ll drive us into a pole. That makes him quiet for a little while, thank god. When we hit the main drag, he decides to pipe up again.

“So what have you been up to, Snow?” he asks.

My eyes briefly flick over to him, catching his grin and glazed eyes. I scoff and look back at the road. “Really? We’re going to chit chat about life after Watford?”

“You just want us to sit in silence the whole time?”

“Maybe.”

“Boring,” he groans. “Come on, Snow, it’s been a while. Let’s catch up.”

I chuckle low in my throat. “Yes, I would love to catch up with my plastered childhood bully.”

Baz lets out a pathetic sort of whining sigh. Suddenly, something brushes my shoulder. I jolt away and briefly look over, realising it’s Baz’s hand. He’s pouting in the way his mouth is perfectly made for.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “About all the shit I did. I was a messed up prick at Watford. I’m really sorry I took that all out on you.”

I raise an extremely suspicious eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?!”

“It’s been seven years, Snow. Am I not allowed to learn from my mistakes?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, of course. I just didn’t expect it from you...”

“I’m a changed man, Snow,” he declares proudly. “No more picking on other people to avoid dealing with my emotional and family problems.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Wow, you sound like a therapist.”

“That’s because I am a therapist.”

We stop at a red light, giving me a chance to whip my head around in shock. My jaw is firmly on the ground. “You’re a therapist?!”

“Sort of.” Baz grins pointed ear to pointed ear. He offers his hand, though it’s a bit limp. “Dr. Basilton Grimm-Pitch, psychiatrist in training at University College Hospital. Pleasure to meet you.”

I can’t take my hands off the wheel, so I don’t take his, but I smile instead. Baz chuckles as his hand falls, so I think he gets the picture.

“Wow,” I sigh. “You, a psychiatrist. I never would have thought.”

“Me neither, until I took a psychology course in year 10. Then I decided I liked, y’know, mind stuff and shit. It was interesting and challenging. And I could help people with it.”

I scoff, but with a smile. “And you used to call me the overly noble hero.”

“Well, I decided to follow in your golden footsteps, golden boy.” He turns towards me, cheeks squished against the seat. He’s really going to die if we crash. “So really, what have you been up to since Watford, Mr. Hero? Storming castles? Saving damsels in distress? Travelling the world?”

That makes me laugh louder. “You have a way overinflated sense of my heroism.”

He snorts, but it’s not unkind like it used to be. Just sort of amused. “Alright. Then what do you do?”

“I’m, uh, actually a primary teacher. Year six, to be exact.”

“Oh,” Baz breathes out, sounding genuinely amazed. “That’s cool. That makes sense, yeah.”

“Makes sense?”

“You were always helping out the kids in younger years at Watford.”

I chuckle and shrug. “Yeah, guess you’ve got a point.”

“Is it fun? Teaching children?”

“Yeah. I like finding fun ways to teach them stuff. Though it’s not great they get in fights or stuck lego bricks up their noses.”

Baz lets out a barking laugh. It’s a fun, sudden sound. I’ve never heard it before, yet it works well for Baz. “Is that what people mean by ‘the joys of children?’”

“Something like that. Is psychiatry fun?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “But time consuming. Doctors aren’t supposed to have damn lives apparently.”

“Well, good thing you found time to go to a hipster bar”

Everything suddenly gets very, very quiet. It reminds me of when we would study. Backs to each other, no noise, plenty of tension. Did I say something wrong? I used to do that a lot, but I thought I’d gotten better. I’ve learned to chew my words better over the years. But when we stop at a roundabout, I turn to see that Baz is gazing ahead, mouth a thin line and grey eyes lost in the distance.

“Pretty lights,” he whispers in awe, like a child. I guess alcohol does turn adults into children. His nose is still letting out a small trickle of dark red blood. I sigh and shake my head.

“Glove box,” I say.

Baz turns his head to me. “Huh?”

“There’s tissues in the glove box. Your nose is still bleeding a bit.”

“Oh.” He paws at the latch in front of him, floppy drunk fingers struggling to just bloody lift it. I sigh and reach over, lifting it for him. Baz takes out the little packet and flashes me that dopey smile. Why does my chest feel funny? I must be overtired.

“Thanks,” he says, then presses the tissue to his nose. It’s weirdly comforting in its familiarity. I still remember sitting in the headmaster’s office after our fights, covered in bruises and blood, glaring at each other. This is better though. We’re not fighting, in fact we’re being nice. Maybe this is how we could’ve been at Watford. Maybe we could’ve been...friends.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride. But it’s a comfortable silence, no tension. I like it. A lot. I like all of this better than fighting.

———————————————

I pull into my spot in front of my apartment. Dragging Baz out of the car is a bit of a problem, but luckily my place has a lift, so no more stair problems. He starts leaning on me as we go up to my floor. I use one finger to push him back, and he slumps against the wall. I need to strap him to a dolly.

We go into my apartment, and I instinctively prepare for a snide comment from Baz. Something about it’s size, it’s clutter, the decor. But he says nothing derogatory. In fact, he smiles, brushing his hand against my Van Gogh print and old dining room table.

“You, uh, like it?” I ask. Wait, why does it matter what Baz thinks of my place? I don’t need his approval.

“Yeah,” Baz replies. “It’s very nice.”

There’s a thump from my room, followed by the familiar pitter-patter of tiny paws. Cherry prances into the room, all fluffy tailed and cute. She blinks up at Baz with big green eyes. Baz makes a tiny gasp and gets on his knees, holding his hand out to Cherry.

“Hello, pretty kitty,” he says softly. “Aren’t you an adorable little thing.”

Cherry sniffs his fingers, then immediately nuzzles against his hand. Baz looks absolutely elated, a big childish grin on his face.

“You like cats, huh?”

Baz nods vigorously. “I would have one if my building allowed pets.” He scratches behind Charry’s ear with glee. “What’s this little one’s name?”

“Her name is Cherry.”

“You did love those scones,” he chuckles.

I chuckle as well, fiddling with my shirt sleeve. “Still do. Though none are as good as Cook Pritchard’s.”

“Very true.” He stands up, pulling away from Cherry, and wobbles his way into the sitting room. He stands between my coffee table and ratty old couch. “So may I sleep on that couch?”

I scramble in after him and start piling up my curriculum papers. I don’t want Baz shouting at me for the mess. “Uh, yeah, just lemme fix it up a bit.”

“It’s alright-”

“No, I’ll fix it. And...maybe you should clean up a bit first?”

Baz turns to me with a confused expression. “What?” I sigh and point at is blood spattered shirt. He pulls it in front of himself, like a child who’s spilled food. “Oh, right.”

“There’s stuff on you face too...”

Baz drags a long finger over his cheek, and rubs the dried blood between his fingers. “Good  point.

“You wanna take a shower maybe?”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Uh, yeah. But be warned, I don’t have any of your fancy French soaps.”

He lets out a loud short laugh, like a happy little firecracker going off. “Wouldn’t expect you to, Snow. I doubt you’ve changed that much.”

“Heh, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, which is getting very hot for some reason. I think I need to fix my fan.

Baz wobbles back towards me. He stands a bit too close, and now that things are calm, I notice how he smells. It’s a mix of liquor, irony blood, and the very faint, familiar scent of cedar and bergamot. Seven years later and I can’t forget that smell. I guess it’s burned into my brain forever. I’m not sure that I mind.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asks, snapping me out of my olfactory induced daze.

“Oh, uh, down the hall and to your left. There’s towels in the cupboard.”

“Alright.” He sticks his hands in his trouser pockets, a very shy gesture I’m not used to seeing from him. “Thank you. Again. I’m saying that a lot tonight, wow.”

I chuckle and shrug. “I guess so. Now go wash off that awful blood please.”

“Aye aye, Mr.Snow.” He does a mocking little American salute with two fingers. I watch as he half skips his way to the bathroom, trying not to giggle at his ridiculous gait.

The bathroom door shuts, and I let out a long breath. My brain is still playing catch up. I need to sit, relax, just process all this shit. Once I organize my papers into semi-neat piles and close my laptop, I grab a cherry granola bar from the counter and collapse on the couch. I hear the shower turn on. I glance over at the clock. Bloody hell, it’s past 3am, and my enemy is taking a shower in my flat. Well, former enemy, I guess. We’re not fighting anymore. In fact, Baz is being really nice. It’s pretty damn great. I hope we can keep this up.

Cherry jumps onto the couch, startling me from my daze. She immediately curls up on my lap, purring happily. I chuckle as I pet her. Penny jokes that Cherry is my emotional support service cat. Honestly, she’s not wrong. I don’t know what I would do without her.

“Wanna watch Dr. Who, darling?” I coo, scratching behind her ear. “Yes, yes you do.”

I grab the remote and turn on Netflix, going to one of my favourite episodes. We sit there in peaceful silence through the show. I try not to listen to the shower down the hall. I can’t help but worry. What if he slips and hits his head? What if he falls asleep and drowns? What if he tries to eat the bloody soap? All are strong possibilities. But he’s still Baz. He’s too smart and stubborn to die.

As I near the end of the episode, I realise it’s been half an hour since Baz went in. My heart beats double time, every fear racing through my head. (As well as concern for my water bill.) But the sound of water shuts off, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I hear Baz’s unsteady feet pad around the tiled floor. But then there’s rattling and muffled swearing, and I’m on my feet immediately. Cherry meows unhappily and scuttles away.

“Sorry, girl,” I say as I speed walk to the bathroom. I knock on the wooden door. “Baz? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” his muffled voice replies, but that’s followed by a loud bang. “Bloody fucking hell.”

“I’m coming in.”

“Snow, wait-”

I push the door open and immediately freeze. All the blood in my body goes straight to my face, turning it tomato red. Because Baz Pitch is standing in front of my medicine cabinet with nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair is soaked and messy, falling adorably in front his shocked face. His legs look strong enough to crush someone. Thin rivulets of water drip down his broad, bare chest. I watch them for a few long, drawn out seconds, completely frozen. In our time living together, Baz and I made a point to never see each other without clothes on. Did he even look close to this back at school? Did I just never notice?

“Um...” Baz says, breaking me out of my daze. I whip around, hand cupped over my eyes.

“Bloody hell, Baz!” I shout. “Give a guy some warning.”

“I would have if you hadn’t come bursting in!”

“Well, you took awhile in the shower, then I heard swearing. Excuse me for being concerned.”

“I’m grateful for your concern, Mr. Hero, though not for your usual brashness.”

“Just put some clothes on, please.”

“Very well.”

I listen to Baz shuffle and grumble as I assume he gets dressed. I resist the urge to turn around and check if he can get his legs into his trousers. I’m not sure how drunk he still is.

“You can turn around now, Snow.”

I slowly turn, and my face turns scarlet again. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

“Because mine is covered in blood,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which I guess it is, but still he’s not wearing a shirt. Why are my hands so clammy?

Baz starts sorting through the medicine cabinet. I frown in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for bandages.” He lifts his left hand, showing off his bruised, still slightly bleeding knuckles. “You got any?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll get it, sit down on the toilet.”

Baz stumbles over and does what he’s told (for once). I grab the first aid kit from under the sink and sit next to him on the edge of the tub.

“Gimme your hand,” I say. Baz holds out his arm, fingers limp. I try not to look freaked out. His skin is black and blue and there are many cuts, still bleeding slowly. “Why are you still bleeding? It’s been like, an hour.”

“My blood alcohol content is high,” Baz replies. “Booze is a blood thinner. Means I’ll bleed more.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Thanks, Mr. Doctor.”

Baz chuckles, a soft smile playing on his mouth. “Dr. Grimm-Pitch will do.”

I laugh as well. I take a towel off the rack and pat his hand dry, then get the antiseptic.

“I just had a shower,” Baz protests.

“Don’t care. We need to make sure you don’t get an infection.”

“I’m fine.”

I pour the clear liquid on a sterile pad. “Still doing it.”

“I’m the doctor here, dammit.”

“The doctor who is still drunk off his arse after a bloody bar fight. So shut up.”

Baz frowns, but doesn’t protest. I lightly pat his cuts. He inhales sharply through his teeth and tries to pull away, but I grab his wrist, holding still.

“Don’t move,” I say.

“It hurts,” he whines like a toddler.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s what you get for getting in a bar fight, idiot.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t move again either. Once I’m satisfied all the cuts are clean, I use another pad to get them dry, then take out the bandages.

“You get injured a lot, Snow?” He’s smirking playfully, not a hint of malice. It’s much nicer than his smug arsehole face.

“No,” I chuckle. “But it never hurts to be prepared.”

“Especially if your former enemy shows up drunk and bleeding.”

Thoughts start racing through my head. Horrible, nervous thoughts. I stop wrapping his hand for a moment, but quickly start again. Unfortunately, Baz notices.

“Something on your mind, Snow?” he asks.

I chew on my bottom lip as I secure the bandage. I gesture for Baz to give me his other hand, and he does. I slowly pat on the antiseptic and he doesn’t move at all. Slowly, I look up, and I meet Baz’s deep sea eyes. He doesn’t look mad or annoyed, just concerned. So am I.

“Baz,” I sigh, “you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And considering you’re a bloody doctor now, I doubt that’s changed. So I’m absolutely astounded at how you could get so drunk and end up in a bar fight.”

Baz’s thin lips press together, and I watch his throat bob in a gulp. He leans his elbow on the sink, propping his cheek on his fist. “Snow,” he says slowly, “what do you know about my mother?”

My blood turns ice cold. I stop with the bandage completely, just looking at Baz. “Uh, not much. I know she died a long time ago. And...it was at Watford...”

Baz nods slowly. “Yes, that’s what everyone knows. But what most people don’t know is that I was there.”

And now my heart completely stops. My mouth falls open slightly. Baz’s face stays completely neutral. “You...you were there?”

“Yeah.” He leans harder on his fist. “I was sitting with the rest of the kids in the Watford nursery. Suddenly a group of men with knives burst in. They started to come after the nannies and the children. But that’s when my mother showed up with her hunting rifle. My father insisted she have it for protection when he wasn’t there. She got all of the men immediately, including the one holding me. She hit him in the shoulder so he dropped me. Another man charged her while she was distracted, and she shot him in the chest, but not before...” Baz rubs his eyes and the bridge of his nose, like I do when I have a headache. “Not before he stabbed her in the neck. She bled to death in seconds.” He drags his hand down his face. “I fell unconscious after that. When I woke up, my father and aunt were tending to my wounds, and my mother was gone. I was young, it’s all a bit hazy, but I remember enough.”

I’m left in stunned silence. Baz doesn’t say anything either, just rubbing his head. He’s not crying, but he looks on the verge of tears. I don’t blame him. I can’t believe it, can’t believe Baz went through that and no one ever knew. It’s just terrible.

“Wow,” I finally say, “that’s...wow.”

Baz chuckles quietly. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“I never knew that happened...”

“No one did, Snow. All the gruesome little details were kept under wraps. It would’ve been terrible if anyone found out Natasha Grimm-Pitch died in such an undignified way that traumatized her heir.”

His voice is mockingly scathing, even with his slightly slurred speech. He’s a mix between furious and mournful. I don’t understand how he feels, but I don’t think I ever could. I may never have had parents, but that’s a far cry from watching your’s die.

“I don’t know how much it means, but I’m sorry that happened to you Baz.”

The corner of his lip quirks up into a small half smile. “Thanks, Snow.”

I start wrapping his hand again, and my brow furrows. “So, uh, what does this have to do with you getting drunk and fighting? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Baz takes a deep inhale through his nose, and lets out the air through his mouth. “My mother was killed twenty years ago today.”

“O-oh. That...yeah, that makes sense.”

“Mhm. I’ve lived with it for most of my life, but this anniversary hit me harder than I expected. I had my first day off in months, so after some mindless telly, I went to that bar. Gave the bartender my card and told her to keep the tequila coming. First mistake.”

“Second one was getting in a fight?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He flexes his bandaged hand. “It was just some arsehole looking for trouble. He kept prodding at me and shoving my shoulder until I snapped. I don’t even remember what he said. I was just so angry and sad and drunk. And that arsehole was right there” He groans loudly and rubs his head. “One of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.”

“Probably. But you made one good choice.”

“Oh?”

I finish bandaging his other hand and smile at his mopey face. “You called me.”

His mopeyness melts away as he lets out a breathy laugh. Our eyes meet, and his are glinting in a way I’ve never seen before. “Yeah, I guess that was a good idea.”

We smile at each other. Something tugs in my chest, something I don’t fully understand. I’ve never felt anything like this. Maybe I’m just overtired.

Baz flexes his bandaged hands. I put the first aid kit under the sink again. Baz stands and presses a hand to his bruised eye. hissing between his teeth. “Got any ice packs, Snow?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” I reply. “It’s in the kitchen, c’mon.”

We walk towards the kitchen. I open the freezer and pull out my reusable ice pack. Teaching a bunch of children can result in some bad headaches. I wrap it in a napkin and hand it to Baz. He presses it to his eye with clenched teeth. As he leans back against the counter, I remember he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Uh,” I say, “those jeans don’t look comfortable. I’ve got some spare pyjamas. Want me to get them?”

Baz nods. “Yeah, that would be good, thanks.”

“Alright, stay here.”

I go to my bedroom, wading through the laundry I have to do tomorrow to get to the dresser. It takes awhile for me to find something that will probably fit Baz. Damn his extra four inches, always so infuriating. I eventually pick out some trackies and a long Chicago Cubs shirt. It’s all I’ve got. I go back to the kitchen, and come upon a strange scene.

“Baz,” I say slowly, “what are you doing?

Baz looks up from the messy, cutlery covered counter, still pressing the ice pack to his eye. He lifts a plate with two pieces of bread, both half covered in marmite. “Making a marmite and cheese sandwich. You want half?”

His expression is so innocent, not a hint of the old malice I used to know. I let out a sigh. “Sure. Let me get the cheese.”

He grins and goes back to slathering on marmite. I pull my sliced sandwich cheese from the fridge. Hope Baz doesn’t mind cheap Tesco brand swiss. I bring the package to the counter, and Baz takes out a slice without even looking. Guess he’s not as snobbish about food as he used to be. He cuts the sandwich into two slightly lopsided triangles and swans out to my dining room. I follow behind with the pyjamas.

Baz sits in a chair, leaning back with his legs spread out. I sit across from him, placing the clothes on the table. Baz snatches it. It unfolds and his brows pull together.

“You a baseball fan now, Snow?” he asks.

I chuckle and shake my head. “Nah. Micah definitely is though.”

“Who?”

“Remember that American exchange student from fourth year?”

“The short nerd with large glasses?” His voice is muffled as he struggles to put on the shirt. Drunk Baz doesn’t get along with t-shirt holes.

“Yeah, that’s one way to describe him I guess. He and Penny started dating then and have been together ever since. She lives in America with him now.”

Baz’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s wonderful. How is Bunce? I miss facing off with her in debate club.”

“She’s doing well. She’s got a job as an assistant professor in Chicago and loves American food. I just saw her a few weeks ago on vacation.”

“Marvelous. Tell her I say hello next time you speak to her.”

“Will do.” We both take one half of the marmite-cheese sandwich. Baz takes a huge bite, followed by a happy groan. I can’t tell if he’s drunk hungry or actually hungry. Probably somewhere in between. I take a bite as well. There’s far too much marmite, but it’s four in the morning. Right now anything tastes good.

Thinking of Penny makes me think of Watford. And something else, or more accurately someone else, pops into my head.

“Hey,” I say through the marmite, “you said you talked to Agatha earlier. How are you two still in contact? She cut off almost everyone after Watford. I didn’t start talking to her again until a year ago.”

Baz quickly chews and swallows. “Funny story there. I did a semester abroad in California and ended up in the same biology class as Agatha. It was extremely awkward at first. But once we sat down over coffee and sorted stuff out, we bonded very quickly. Similar upper class British family problems and expectations.”

“Oh. That’s makes sense I guess. It’s nice you guys talk.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.” He chuckles, mouth gummed with marmite. “The weirdest part was telling her I’m gay. I apologised for leading her on, and you know what she did?”

I lean over the table, genuinely enraptured. “What?”

“Laughed her fucking arse off for ten minutes straight.”

I snort so hard I nearly shoot sandwich out my nose. Baz throws his head back laughing. He’s so loud he might disturb my neighbours, but I don’t care. His laugh is too incredible.

“Just like that,” he giggles, calming down.

“So she wasn’t mad?” I ask.

“No, not at all. She admitted she wasn’t really into me. She was just rebelling against her parents. We both sympathised on that front.” He sighs and leans back even more. “That’s all I wanted at Watford, really. I was under so much pressure to be the perfect son. I seriously considered yelling ‘fuck it’ and doing whatever I wanted.”

I sigh too, putting my cheek against my palm. “Yeah, I understand that. Mr. Mage put a lot of pressure on me. He wanted to prove to the Watford board that scholarship students were worthwhile, and since I was Watford’s very first scholarship kid, I had to be perfect. Every time I got a low grade he would yell at me for an hour.”

“What a prick,” Baz grumbles.

I chuckle as I nod slowly. “Yeah, total prick. Watford wasn’t an easy place to be.”

Baz slowly lowers his sandwich, looking pointedly at the plate, and therefore not me. My heart speeds up. Did I say something wrong? Did I piss him off by accident? I do that a lot. And I definitely used to do that to Baz.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I don’t mean to pry,” he says carefully. “And maybe this is me still being pretty drunk. But...I saw something in your medicine cabinet.”

I squint, trying to think what could be so concerning. “Saw what?”

He fiddles with his still damp hair. It’s an old nervous habit I recognise from finals studying. “A bottle of citalopram. I’m a future psychiatrist, I know what that medication is usually for...”

My stomach drops out. I freeze with the sandwich still in my hand. “Oh,” I squeak.

“Yeah.” He leans closer, eyes round and sympathetic. “I’m sorry I looked. And...I’m sorry if I had any part in your need for it-”

“No no, Baz.” I shake my head, leaning forward as well. “You don’t have to. It’s not your fault, it’s not anyone’s in particular, really. It’s stupid chemicals misfiring in my brain. You’re a doctor, you know that.”

“Yes, of course I know that, Snow. But I also know my incessant arsehole behaviour for seven years probably didn’t help.”

I shrug, leaning back again. “Probably. And I bet me insulting you and punching you in the face all the time didn’t help your mental health either.”

He smiles and laughs again. He looks better when he laughs. “Okay, good point.”

“Exactly. So let’s agree neither of us need to apologise. We’ll let the past be the past, move on from here.”

“So you mean a truce?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I reach out my hand. “Truce.”

Baz smiles and clasps his hand with mine. His skin is just as rough and cold as I remember it being back at school. But even after we pull apart, my skin still feels warm.

“Just so we’re even,” Baz says with his mouthful, “my favourite antidepressant was cipralex. I went off it a few months ago because it started making me too drowsy, but it worked well for years. Citalopram made me far too ill. When I first tried it, I ended up vomiting in a bloody bedpan.”

I burst out laughing. And Baz’s grin outshines the sun.

We finish our sandwiches together. Baz complains that his mouth tastes like a rubbage heap. Apparently the combination of old tequila, Tesco cheese, and marmite creates a truly awful flavour. I give him an unused toothbrush from the dentist. He goes into the bathroom and soon emerges with clean teeth and wearing my trackies. I’m back on the couch with Cherry in my lap.

“You tired?” I ask.

“Not really,” Baz replies. “Late hospital shifts have turned me into an insomniac.”

“Wanna watch some Dr. Who?”

He throws himself down next to me, long arm stretched out over the back of the couch behind me. “Sure.”

I switch to a new episode. It’s a standalone, so Baz won’t be too confused. But he still asks incessant questions. Who’s this, what’s that, how the everloving fuck can they do that and survive? No wonder he’s a doctor. He’s perfect at looking for answers, no matter how annoying he is. Eventually I have to threaten to duct tape his mouth to get him to shut up. He huffs, crosses his arms, and sinks down further.. His head ends up on my shoulder. Despite my shorter neck length and Baz’s naturally long face, his head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck. Like it was made to be there. Wait, where did that thought come from?

The credits roll, and I notice a quiet whistling noise. I turn my head to the side. Oh. Baz is asleep. His eyes are softly closed and his lips are slightly parted. I’ve seen Baz sleep before of course, but this is different. Baz had nightmares throughout our entire time at Watford. (So did I.) I don’t think he’s having one now though. There’s no thrashing or whimpers. I’ve never seen Baz look so...peaceful.

“Baz,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond at all. “Baz,” I say louder, jerking my shoulder a bit.

“Ugh,” he groans, “let me sleep in, Daphne, it’s summer.”

“I’m not your step-mum, Baz.”

He cracks one eye open. “No, you’re really not, Snow.”

“Yeah. You wanna go to bed?”

“Mm, yeah.”

“Okay.” I slowly get up, easing Baz off my shoulder. I gently lower him onto the couch. The bottom half of his face hangs off the arm. Yeah, he’s going to need a pillow. I go to my bedroom and grab a pillow and blanket. I also make a stop by the bathroom for some aspirin and make another at the kitchen for some water and a bowl, in case he’s sick. I would prefer not to clean vomit out of my carpet.

Baz is still awkwardly pressed against the sofa arm, drooling slightly. Who would’ve thought I’d see the day Baz Pitch drooled in his sleep? I wouldn’t have. Not in a million years. But apparently tonight is a time for new things.

I place the bowl, water, and aspirin on my coffee table. Slowly and carefully, I lift Baz’s head and fit a pillow under it. I drape the blanket over his annoyingly tall body. His arm hangs like a limp noodle off the side. I sigh, kneeling down to tuck it back in.

Out of nowhere, I feel long, rough fingers touching my cheek. My whole body locks up in shock. Slowly, I raise my head, and I meet Baz’s half open grey eyes and soft smile.

“Uh, Baz?” I say, not sure what else I can.

“You’re still so beautiful,” he whispers. My eyes widen and every nerve in my body is filled with...something? Fear, nerves, an absolute sense of what the fuck? I can’t tell.

“W-What?”

Baz’s hand moves lower. His thumb traces just under my bottom lip. Why does my skin feels like it’s fire? “Your face, it’s still really pretty.”

I let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, I guess you’d know. You punched it enough.”

He laughs softly. His hand falls, pulling back under the blanket, and his eyes slip shut. “Wish I had kissed it instead.”

I don’t even have time to respond to that, because Baz is asleep in an instant, snoring quietly once again. I’m frozen in place. My jaw is slack. Baz would tell me I’m going to catch flies. Baz, who’s sleeping right in front of me, who wished he had kissed me? My brain can’t process this. I’m like a computer with an eternal blue screen. This does not compute, cannot compute, fuck fuck fuck.

There’s only one thing I can think to do.

I grab my phone, rush to my room, and close the door. Cherry is already curled up on her side. The second I’m sitting on the mattress, I click Penny’s contact.

��Hello?” Her voice immediately calms me down.

“Hi, Pen,” I say.

“Simon?! Bloody hell, isn’t it like four in the morning in London?”

I look over at my clock. “Uh, yup, just about.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but why are calling me at four AM?”

I sigh and flop backwards. “Pen, you’re not going to believe who is sleeping in my living room right now.”

“Who? The Doctor? Boris Johnson? The Queen of England>

A laugh bubbles from my mouth. “Nah, even weirder.”

I can almost hear Penny’s face pinching together in confusion. “Who?”

“Baz Pitch.”

She gasps loudly. “What?! As in Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch? That Baz Pitch?!”

“You think there’s another Baz Pitch in existence?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “good point. So why is your arsehole former roommate sleeping on your couch?”

I rub the bridge of my nose. It doesn’t help. I’m not sure anything can help now. “That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

I sigh, and start spinning my insane tale. From the call to the bar to my flat, how Baz and I talked and became friendly and made a weird truce over cheese and marmite. I try to say everything quickly yet accurately. Penny barely makes a noise as I talk. I can’t tell if she’s shocked or contemplative. Probably both, honestly. I can’t blame her. The more I talk, the more completely nuts it all sounds. I’m living in a bloody sitcom.

“And then,” I say, “he held my face, said I was beautiful, and that he wished he had kissed me instead of punching me!”

“Wow,” Penny gasps. “That’s...a lot.”

“I know right? I’m so confused and I have no idea what the fuck to do!”

“Okay. What do you want to do though?”

I rub my very aching brow. “I don’t know, Pen. It’s so weird. Like, is this something he’s just realised or has Baz always felt this way?”

“Probably the second one.”

I bolt upright, brows knitted together. “Wait, really? You think so?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“But why?!”

“Well, Baz has always been very obsessed with you. He would go out of his way to be around you.”

“Yeah, to torment me,” I grumble.

Penny lets out a sigh. “Yes, he did. But as you told me, Baz said he picked on you because he couldn’t deal with his emotional issues. One of those issues certainly could have been romantic feelings for you.”

“Then why didn’t he just say something?!”

“Because he was the gay son of a conservative upper class British family, which probably wasn’t easy to deal with. Plus, his father and aunt hated the idea of scholarship students, also known as you.”

My righteous anger fizzles out like a dying campfire, shoulders slumping as I fall back against the headboard. “Oh. Yeah, that’s a good point. Still shouldn’t have been a snob and a bully.

“No he shouldn’t have. It was probably half poor coping and half trying to get your attention.”

“Like a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails?”

“I guess.”

“That’s a stupid and sexist way to handle a crush. I tell my students that all the time.”

Penny sighs. “Yeah, of course it is. But I’m pretty sure Baz knows that, at least now. He’s sorry for what he did. It seems like he’s gotten a lot better.”

“Yeah.” A smile creeps across my face without thinking. It just feels natural. “He’s gotten a lot nicer. He’s not the perfect, pretty, unfeeling arsehole I thought he was. And he’s funny, at least when he’s drunk. We had a pretty great time .”

I laugh quietly, but Penny’s is far louder. She sounds like she’s muffling her giggles. I frown a bit. “What’s so funny, Pen?”

“Oh,” she keeps giggling, “I think I’ve just realised something, and it’s hilarious.”

“Realised what?”

She takes a few deep calming breaths while my anxiety just climbs. “Simon,” she says kindly. This is the way she used to speak while explaining our complicated maths homework. “Hear me out, but I don’t think Baz is the only one who feels something.”

“Huh?”

“I think you have at least a few romantic feelings for Baz.”

“What?!” I shout far too loudly, and I worry I’m going to wake up Baz. I crouch inward, like I’m hiding, but I’m not really sure what. Baz? Penny? Myself?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I hiss.

“Hear me out,” Penny says. “I’m saying that based on the evidence, you may have latent romantic feelings for Baz Pitch.”

“What evidence?!”

Penny lets out a low chuckle, like a super villain who’s plan has come to fruition. “Let’s see. Number one: back at Watford, you spent 99% of your time thinking about, talking about, or being with Baz. I had to put a limit on how much you were allowed to talk about Baz, remember?”

“Yeah, because he was bugging me,” I mumble.

“Number two: when you talked about Baz, it was always about how annoyingly pretty, smart, and graceful he was. You hated him, yet you had so many nice things to say.”

“Well he was perfect and it was annoying!”

“Number three: During the entire time you dated Agatha, you paid far more attention to Baz than you ever did to her.”

“T-That’s not true!” Though, looking back...fucking hell, it might actually be true.

“Number four: even though you hadn’t seen him in seven years, you dropped everything at two AM to go pick up his drunk arse from a bar.”

“It was the right thing to do!”

“Number five: you just gushed about how much you like Baz now and that he’s fun to be around. And I bet you were smiling.”

“No.” I think my cheeks are turning red.

I hear some rustling, and I think Penny is leaning forward in her chair. I can almost see her kind face in front of me. “Simon, I don’t want to push anything on you, but I also want you to really think about this. I know you hate to analyse things but it’s necessary right now. Maybe it could lead to something good.”

I tug on my hair, trying to distract myself. “I don’t know about that, Pen.”

“I know. Doesn’t even have to be romantic, maybe a good friendship. You could use more friends. And I’m not saying you have to jump his bones tomorrow.”

“Penny!” Now I’m definitely blushing.

She laughs uncontrollably, snorting every once in awhile. I cover my blushing face and groan. “Oh, I’m only joking, Si,” she says. “But I’m serious, don’t shut it down. Think about it. Baz is nice now, maybe it could work.”

“Why are you so desperate to set me up with my former enemy?”

“Because you haven’t been on a date or made new friends since first year uni. And I haven’t heard you this happy about being around someone in years.”

I hate to admit it, but she’s right. I’ve had more fun with Baz in one night than I have in ages. I enjoyed talking to him. I enjoyed laughing with him. I’m glad he’s asleep in the next room, where I can make sure he’s okay.

“You may have a point,” I say.

“Of course I do.”

I roll my eyes, just like she does. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve always known you’re smarter than me.”

“Mhm. And in my smart opinion, you need to go to bed.”

“Will do.” I flop backwards. The pillow feels heavenly on my head. “Thanks, Pen. I’ll talk to you later.”

“You better. Night, Si.”

I smile, and I hope she can hear my love and gratitude over the phone. “Night, Pen.”

The phone clicks off. I let it fall to the side. I am 0.2 seconds from passing out, even with so much still on my mind. I plug in my phone and turn on my side. I pull Cherry close to me. She curls around my hand like usual. When I close my eyes, all I see is raven hair, deep sea grey eyes, and a smile I never knew was there before.

———————————————

“Bloody fucking shit!”

I wake up with a start, clutching my sheet. Late morning sunlight is bleeding through the gap in my curtains. There’s muffled banging on the other side of my door. It’s like a very clumsy little rhino is moving through my flat. But I know exactly who it is.

I grab my glasses and slowly walk down the hall, peeking around the corner. It’s weird to sneak around my own apartment. I see a familiar long, lithe back, bent over as he struggles to get his struggles to get his oxfords on. He keeps wavering side to side like a branch in the wind.

“Good morning,” I say nonchalantly.

Baz whips around so fast he nearly topples over, stumbling to the side. He looks even more disheveled than last night, hair extremely tangled from sleeping on it wet, bruise worsening under his eyes, and bloodstained shirt buttoned wrong. He looks absolutely shocked to see me, which is odd, considering this is my flat.

“Um,” he says, shakiness in my voice, “good morning, Snow.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Uh, well, yes, I suppose.”

I lean against the wall with my arms crossed. “So you were going to go and what? Leave me a thank you note like some bad teen movie?”

He probably thinks I don’t notice, but I see him crumple up and shove something in his back pocket. “No. I-I would’ve texted you my thanks.”

“Because that’s so much better.”

Baz looks down in shame, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. It’s just...I didn’t want to make things awkward after last night. I’m truly sorry for the way I acted and imposing on you.”

“It’s okay.” I walk forward, hands in my trackie pockets. “I know you were pretty drunk, but, what do you remember from last night?”

Baz looks up, but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I remember, being upset, going to the bar, getting in the fight, and the bartender screaming colourful obscenities at me.” That makes him laugh a little. It still sounds so nice. “Then I called you, you came and you had glasses. We drove to your place. I had a shower. You tended to my wounds like some war nurse.”

I giggle, nodding in complete agreement. “Yeah, I definitely did do that.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Then uh, we ate sandwiches, watched Doctor Who, and I assume I fell asleep.”

“Okay.” I draw out the last syllable on purpose, making my doubt extremely clear. “That’s most of it, but you’re missing a few key parts.”

“Am I?” He’s trying to sound confident, but I know Baz, and I can hear a waver in his voice.

I start walking closer. “Mhm. You’re missing the parts where you apologized for being a prick in school, called my flat was good, liked my cat, said you drank because it was the anniversary of your mother’s horrible death, talked about your experience with antidepressants.” I’m only a few feet away from him now, looking him right in his pretty. “And, the part where you said that you wished you had kissed me back at school instead of punching me.”

With his complexion, it’s hard to tell when Baz is blushing. But I can see it. Scarlet creeps down from his cheeks to his long neck, eyes locked on me in stun.

“Oh,” he squeaks. “I see.”

“You really don’t remember all that?”

He rubs his brow. “Well, maybe, it’s just...fuzzy.”

“But was it true? Did you like me back at Watford?”

He visibly gulps, then looks at the floor again. He looks incredibly embarrassed and ashamed. “Yes,” he says, like he has to force himself to say it. “Yes, it’s true.”

I let out a long breath, half from relief, half to calm myself down. Okay. It’s true. Baz had feelings for me. All through school, all that time, Baz was pining after me from afar. And I never knew. Not a bit. But I think that was the idea.

“Alright,” I say.

Baz lifts his eyes slightly, cocking one eyebrow. “Alright? Is that all you have to say?”

I shrug high then drop my shoulders low. “I don’t know what else to say. That’s all. It changes a lot of things I assumed in school.”

“I bloody well hope so.” His voice is lighter, trying to lift the mood, trying to make this even slightly less than horribly awkward.

“So,” I say drawing out the o, “when, uh, did it start? You feeling like...that.”

If Baz’s blush could get any worse, I think it just did. He plays with his sleeves, his buttons, his hair, obviously looking for a distraction. “I realised it when I was 15. But I think, it started almost since we met.”

That hits me hard. The first year we met, I wore ratty old clothes and was essentially nonverbal. Baz saw me like that, a dirty silent little orphan kid, and he already liked me. He didn’t show it, but only because he couldn’t. He cared about me, even then. Even when so few truly did.

“Huh,” I say stupidly. “That’s a long time.”

He lets out a scoffing chuckle. “No shit, Snow.”

“That makes me feel even more sorry for being a prick to you in school.”

Baz shakes his head very quickly. “No, no, don’t apologize. I was a prick to you first. I just...” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “In my family, I wasn’t supposed to be gay, let alone have feelings for someone they hated. I lashed out and hurt you because I was hurting. It was wrong.”

He sighs and sits down heavily on the couch. He looks so forlorn and ashamed, head hanging forward, his hair like a curtain. All the guilt seems to be pushing down on his shoulders, making him slump. Penny was right, as usual. But to hear it from Baz, to see him like this, it tugs on my heart. Like that time I caught him drunk in front of his mother’s grave when we were fifteen, or twice last night. He’s grown a lot and gotten happier, but a small part of Baz is still that sad kid, I guess.

Slowly, I walk towards him and sit down. Before I can think too much, I reach out and touch his hand. Baz’s head snaps up, completely terrified and shocked. Yet, he doesn’t pull away. One by one, I slip my fingers between his. Baz’s skin is such a strange contrast. My palm touches the smooth back of his hand, while fingers trace tiny rough ridges. It feels...really good.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “I know it’s been awhile, but what do you think about me now?”

I look him in the eye. I can see the way his lips shift, feel how his hand twitches. I wish I could hear what he’s thinking right now. He stays silent, so I decide to jump in.

“Well, let me start. I know what I think about you. I think,” I move closer, “that you’re kind, funny, smart, and still annoyingly gorgeous.” That makes his eyes widen ever so slightly. “And now I also know that you’re incredibly strong. That you struggled and mourned and came out okay. I mean, you’re a bloody doctor who’s going to help people work through their own problems. That’s amazing.”

Baz looks so shocked, probably both at my words and my coherency. I’ve gotten a lot better at speaking over the years. I’m so glad for that right now. “You really think all that, Snow?”

I smile and nod. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always found you annoyingly amazing. Now it’s just not so annoying anymore.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Is it so hard to believe?”

Baz presses his lips together for a split second. “Honestly, yes. We hated each other for years, fought like cats and dogs. I assumed I had ruined any chance of that changing.”

“Well,” I move even closer so our thighs press together, “you didn’t. Because I like this.”

“What is this?”

“This!” I gesture wildly between us. “What we’re doing right now. I like this, I like you.”

He looks so shocked, yet there’s a twinkle of happiness too. “Like me how? As...a friend?”

And he calls me oblivious. I squeeze his hand again. “That depends. I know it’s been a long time, so have your...feelings about me gone away?”

Baz stares at me, studying my face. I just watch his eyes roam over me again and again. Then he reaches forward and delicately places his hand on my cheek, just like last night. Except it feels more purposeful. And so much better.

“No,” he says quietly, “they haven’t gone away. I don’t think they ever could.”

My body feels so light and happy and indescribably full. I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone. It’s hit me so suddenly, yet it feels so right. I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.

“Okay,” I say. “I feel the same.”

Baz’s hand falls, touching my arm. He raises a perplexed eyebrow. “Okay, but since when?”

I shrug, which makes Baz roll his eyes. “I’m not sure. All I know is that I do. That’s what really matters, right?”

He sighs. His hand moves up and down my arm. I can’t tell if he’s studying me or trying to hold on. “I suppose, yes.”

“Exactly. So why don’t we give it a shot?”

“What are you saying, Snow?”

“I’m saying I want to be your boyfriend.” Baz’s lips falls open and hand slips slightly down my arm. I hold onto him tighter. “Like, fair warning, I’m not a great boyfriend. I forget things, I’m super clumsy, and I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Agatha, so my experience is limited. But I like you. And I’m not asking for something serious right now, I just want to give this a try. Do you maybe want to?”

Baz’s face is such strange, confusing mixture. His brows are tense and pulled together. They scream worry and doubt. His thin beautiful lips hang open is absolute disbelief. But his eyes, a mix of dark blue and dark green, are filled to the brim with hope.

“I’m a doctor,” he blurts out.

“Um, yeah, I know,” I reply, trying not to laugh.

He shakes his head violently. “No, you don’t understand. I’m a medical resident. I’m at the hospital almost every day. I have barely any free time, and if I do I use it to sleep. And I don’t have much experience either. I’ve had two semi serious relationships that both ended in flames. I’m terrible at everything relationship related, probably even more than you, Snow.”

Baz looks so frantic and scared, but he’s hanging on to my hand. In spite of harsh realities, he doesn’t want to let go. I think he’s expecting me to admit defeat and walk away. But what he doesn’t seem to get, is that I don’t want to let go either.

I move closer, and cup his face this time. Baz instinctively leans into it. “You called me Simon before.”

He lets out a bursting laugh, sudden and unwanted. He immediately calms down, but there’s a little smile there. “Really? That’s what you care about?”

“Yeah. Because I like hearing you say it, and I like this. So,” I squeeze his hand again, “I want to try, no matter the risks. We’ll just deal with the rest later.”

He gives me a doubtful expression. “That’s your solution? Put off thinking about the problems we may face?”

“Yup. Because I want this, you want this, and that’s all that matters.”

“I guess...”

Stupid bastard still overthinks everything. I don’t want his mind far away, I want it right here with me. I brush my thumb over the soft skin of his cheek. “Plus, I’d rather focus on other things right now.”

“Oh? What things?”

“Well, more a question.” I deliberately move my hand lower, tracing under his bottom lip. “You said you wished you had kissed me when we were in school.”

He gulps. I watch his Adam’s apple bob slowly. “Yes, I did.”

“So, do you still want to kiss me?”

His eyes flick down, just for a moment. I can feel his hot breath on my face. “Yes.”

I smile, leaning close so our noses brush. “Then do it.”

Baz doesn’t ask for anymore assurance. He just leans forward, pressing his mouth to mine. And my mind completely implodes.

His lips are colder than Agatha’s, than anyone’s really. It’s like kissing a soft autumn breeze. Just chilly enough to send shivers over your skin. Yet when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, I melt completely, leaning closer and wrapping my arms around his neck. He clutches my sides, hanging on with a death grip. Like he never wants to let me go. (I wouldn’t mind that.) It’s an awkward position, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I run my hand through his hair. It’s soft and slips through my fingers, just like I thought it would. I clench my fist and push his face into mine. I more feel him groan than hear it. He bunches my shirt in his own fists. I like him here, under my hands, not off being sad or drunk, where I know he’s okay. I’ve got you know, Baz, I’m not letting go.

From that first press of our lips, I know I want this. Baz feels perfect and wonderful. I want to kiss him forever. It’s strange, to have something you never knew you wanted before, and suddenly need to hang onto it forever.

We both pull apart at relatively the same time, flushed and out of breath. Baz’s eyes flutter open. His pupils are blown incredibly huge, and his lips are swollen and pink. I think mine are too, at least it feels like they are. I’ve never felt so elated from just one kiss. I’m sure I never will again.

“Wow,” I breathe out.

Baz lets out a breathy laugh, so quiet and sweet. “Very eloquent.”

I chuckle too, twisting a strand of his hair. “Yeah, well, that’s all I can manage right now. I think you broke my brain.”

“Don’t stroke my ego too much, Snow. I’ll get a big head.”

“You mean a bigger one?”

Baz glares, but when I flash one grin, his entire face melts. My heart melts too. It’s in a goddamn puddle on the floor forever.

Baz presses one hand to his temple, eyes squinting shut. “Bloody hell, all the drinking and excitement is too much for my head.”

“Did you take the aspirin I left?”

“Yes, but apparently that only does so much. I want coffee.”

“I’ve got some. Probably not very fancy, but it’s good enough. That alright?”

He flashes a lopsided grin. It’s incredibly sweet, making me smile in return. “That would be wonderful, Simon.”

God, I want to hear him say my name like that a thousand times.

We reluctantly untangle ourselves, but our hands stay linked. I lead Baz to my tiny dining room table. He sits on the far side, facing the open space of my kitchenette. My hand drags across his as we reluctantly let go. I walk into the room and flip on my ancient coffee machine.

“How do you take your coffee?” I say over my shoulder. “Black?”

“Actually, I like a lot of cream and sugar.”

I laugh loudly and smile at him. “Still have a sweet tooth, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Of course. I still remember how you would steal my mint aeros.”

“You have no proof of that, Snow,” he singsongs.

His voice is light and joking. I look over my shoulder, and see his soft smile. I want to see that smile all the time. I want to find out every little happy expression he has, the ones I never got to see when we were kids.

“I’ll find some,” I reply..

“It’ll take a lot of coaxing.”

I lean against the counter, looking at him. Really looking at him. Baz Pitch, the former arsehole bully, now the mostly well adjusted altruistic doctor, still someone who can occupy most of my thoughts. This is all new yet so familiar.

“Good thing we’ve got time,” I say.

Baz leans his cheek on his palm. From his calm, happy expression, I know he agrees. We’ve got time to not just catch up, but start something strange and beautiful and new.

And I’ve never been so excited in my life.

———————————————

AN: Is this a bit unrealistic? Yes. Is this super adorable? Also yes. Hope you guys thought the same. I def enjoy writing drunk Baz and switching it up so Simon has glasses this time. And I like Simon's total obliviousness to his own feelings. He's a dumb romantic little shit lol. Thanks for reading, see y'all next time :D

PS: XOYO is a real bar. Hopefully they don't have to deal with drunk traumatized psychiatry residents too much lol.

[shibereshu]

hi! could you do 6 and 7 from the christmas prompts with byeongkwan from ace? thanks so much!

i’m so sorry this took so long!! both of us admins are in uni and just recently started our christmas break but still have a lot of work to do but i’m happy i could finally finish this !! i really hope you like this! also (and this applies for anyone who may read this!) our requests are still open so feel free to request again! the groups we write for are in our bio and here are some prompt lists that can help you come up with a request! thank you so much for requesting !!6.: “It’s snowing!”7.: “You look even more beautiful covered in snow.”

The words from the people walking past you as you made your way to the place where you were supposed to meet Byeongkwan were muffled by the thoughts inside your head. You were going to do some last-minute gift shopping with him for the little secret santa game you had organised in your group of friends. The idea for the game had been his, and after telling you that you would be Sehyoon’s secret santa and you couldn’t come up with many ideas for his gift, he offered to meet with you so that he could help you shop for a present for him and you could help him with his.

When you got to the spot you had agreed to meet up, a fountain decorating the central square of a big shopping centre, you looked around to see if he was there already, but took out your phone to text him when you couldn’t find him in the crowd of friends and couples hanging out in that spot at first glance.

Just as you were going to type in the password to unlock your phone, a notification popped up with a new text from none other than the guy in question. You smiled as his name popped up followed by the message that read “Turn around”. You did as he said and in that exact moment, the fountain that was programmed to alternate between pumping water up and stopping for a few seconds on loop ceased raising the water just in time for you to see Byeongkwan just standing behind it, his phone in his hand that was waving at you and mirroring your soft smile as he looked at you.

He walked towards you and brought you in for a hug once he was in front of you. His embrace was warm in contrast to the cold air surrounding you, and it took you all your effort not to stop him from pulling away. As he did, he moved his hands down your arms and grasped your hands in his, as if he also didn’t want to pull away completely and get away from the warmth of your touch. At that moment where it was only you and him and the seconds of hugging and holding hands felt like they lasted a mere instant, you truly felt the realisation hit you about how this would be the first time you and Byeongkwan would hang out together by yourselves ever since you had realised your feelings for him.

You didn’t let the nervousness overcome you and thanked the cold weather for making the blush on your cheeks go unnoticed as if it was just the effect of the low temperatures, and somehow your hands didn’t shake in the slightest not even as he let go of one of them but still kept holding the other one as he began walking towards the shops.

—”It’s the first time we hang out and you arrive so early.” —Byeongkwan teased, and you quickly defended yourself.

—”I’m always on time! The only times I’ve ever been late were because I had to wait for Chan.” —Byeongkwan chuckled, still not giving up and this time leaving you with nothing to say for longer than you’d have wanted to.

—”I’m not saying you’re usually late, but we were going to meet at 6.30 and it’s not even 6.15 yet.” —

You didn’t even look at him, but from the corner of your eyes you saw he was looking at you, which ruined slightly the composure you had been keeping. What were you supposed to say? You couldn’t just admit you had been thinking so much about seeing him that you got ready early enough to have to wait almost an hour before leaving your house to meet him, and still arrived earlier than you planned. At the lack of an excuse for yourself, you quickly threw the question back at him.

—”What about you? You’re early too.” —Finally, you made eye contact with him again and he chuckled before looking away and to the front.

—”I just really wanted to see you.” —He said naturally. And perhaps because you were suddenly so focused on the red color adorning your cheeks, for a second you wonder if the reddish hue on his was also caused the same kind of feelings making your heart beat faster.

Since when was Byeongkwan so confident? You asked yourself as he changed the topic and you two got into a new conversation without bringing up the previous one again. It was true that you had never seen how he acted around people he liked so you didn’t want to ponder over the possibility of him liking you back. He was someone very affectionate with his friends and you also weren’t new to this kind of flirty comments since one of your friends, Jun, liked to throw them at you once in a while jokingly and sometimes you’d even talk back. But it was different because it was Byeongkwan. It was different because he was the person you liked. It was so different that, after thinking that it could just be something completely platonic, you started scolding yourself in your head for overreacting even if no one other than you had noticed.

You two had walked into an art shop after deciding to look for a present for Sehyoon there. He liked making art and trying new things with it, so Byeongkwan suggested the idea of buying him an art supply that he still didn’t have.

—”What about watercolors?” —You asked him as you stood together in front of an aisle filled with said art supply. All the different colors were organised so perfectly that you wanted to stand there forever. Until you noticed that someone had switched one of the tubes of green watercolor with a blue one -hopefully not on purpose- and you let go of Byeongkwan’s hand to put both tubes back in their place and as if you had just finished a hard task, you smiled proudly and put your hands on your hips.— “Now it’s perfect.” —

Byeongkwan let out a short laugh and reached towards one of the pink tubes, exchanging it for an orange one, and you gasped before reaching to put both things in their spot. After you were done, he did it again, and at one point it almost became a childish fight between the two of you that stopped when Byeongkwan stopped you from grabbing one of the supplies he had moved by reaching for your hands again and holding it tight, making it clear that he wouldn’t let go. As he laced his fingers with yours, you accepted defeat and let your hand fall back to your side, still holding Byeongkwan’s.

—”Let’s buy one of the full palettes over there and some brushes.” —Byeongkwan said, and you nodded and walked away from that aisle with him. You wanted to laugh at yourself for thinking that sure, seeing all the colors organised was perfect, but the feeling of your hand intertwined wth Byeongkwan’s was even more perfect.

You did as he had suggested and after paying, he carried the small bag and walked out of the shop with you, both of you reaching for each other’s hand again almost instinctively after you had to let go to take out your wallet and pay. Once you were out, you glanced at the bag he was holding with your gift for Sehyoon and then at him.

—”I almost feel kind of bad. Because I couldn’t come up with something for Sehyoon myself.” —

Byeongkwan looked at you with curiosity filling his eyes, clearly showing that he didn’t understand why you would feel bad about it. For you, the reason was pretty obvious. Wouldn’t it feel like a gift from Byeongkwan instead of yours? The only thing you had provided with was the money for it. When you told him that, his view on it didn’t seem to change.

—”So? It is a gift that you bought for him and that you want to give to him. You wanted to give him something and I just helped by giving you an idea. The gift is yours and you’re the one who got it for him.” —He paused for a second, and then continued.— “Besides, I live with him and he’s my best friend. That’s why the idea came so easy to me.” —

You nodded, your thoughts drifting away from the topic again after his words. Sehyoon was his bestfriend, and he was Sehyoon’s. Even though your group of friends was already very close, they were so close you were almost jealous of it and wished to have a friendship as strong and true as theirs. Without even realising, you wondered out loud.

—”What about me?” —You asked, and stopped dead in your tracks after the words came of your mouth and realised what you had said. The question was so ambiguous that Byeongkwan’s gaze was filled with confusion again at your words, but somehow you felt that he probably knew exactly what you meant but just wanted to make sure as he threw another question at you.

—”You?” —

Deciding that it would be even more awkward to fix your mistake with a stupid excuse or ignoring it, you decided to be honest.

—”Am I your best friend too?” —In your mind, once again you scolded yourself, this time feeling selfish for wishing that he wouldn’t say yes. Because you were already close friends, and you didn’t want just that anymore. You didn’t want to be the only person whose heart was suddenly overwhelmed and drowning in those uncontrollable feelings.

—”Of course.” —He said, and you stayed silent, your gaze still locked with his.

Slowly, the accelerated heartbeat went back to its usual pace and you let out the breath you were holding in through your nose.

Time seemed to have stopped until small snowflakes started slowly falling from the sky. Slowly like how you let go of his hand but kept that hand up with the palm facing up to see one of those snowflakes fall on it and just as slowly, disappear.

—”It’s… It’s snowing!” —You exclaimed. The first snow of the year came rather late, and you had mixed feelings after it didn’t meet the expectations you had for how it would feel to experience the first snow with the person you loved.

The snow started falling more rapidly and not really melting anymore when it landed, and as Byeongkwan grabbed your hand again just as a bigger snowflake was about to fall on it, your heart started beating slightly more rapidly too.

—”You look even more beautiful covered in snow.” —His words were spoken softly, to the point where they were kind of muffled by the louder ones coming from kids around you two who were overjoyed by the snow. Still, you heard them.

And although it still wasn’t enough to make sure that he said it in a way that wasn’t completely platonic, you couldn’t help but smile and giggle shily before mustering up the courage to compliment him back.

—”I could say the same about you.” —You responded, and he let out a happy chuckle too. He took a step closer towards you as his hand that wasn’t holding yours went up to cup your cheek. As if he had read your mind before, he spoke again.

—”You’re my best friend, too. But just that isn’t enough anymore.” —

Feeling too shy to keep the eye contact, you looked down, but his hand on your cheek moved to your chin and lifted your head again, forcing you to look at him and making the blush on your cheeks intensify as you saw his face even closer to yours.

Not like he had just read your mind, but more like he held in his heart the same feelings as you did, the two of you spoke up again.

—”I like you.” —

[empty-altars]

Okay, anon asked for Ellie Goulding’s Sixteen for the song prompt and then tumblr ate it. So, hope this serves the prompt!!  

The flat is dark and devoid of life when Zayn gets home from the gallery. He sighs heavily and drops his keys in the ceramic bowl next to the door. He kicks his shoes off and heads for the kitchen, weary down to his bones.

Zayn checks his phone for the first time in hours and sure enough there’s a message from Liam. He knows what it will say before he even opens it. “Recording session ran late, home after midnight :/”

This isn’t unusual. If Zayn didn’t know better he would suspect an affair, but he knows with bedrock certainty that Liam wouldn’t do that to him. They’re just both so busy these days. He feels like he sees his husband in passing, more roommates than partners.

If his 16 year old self, who couldn’t go more than a few hours without talking to Liam, could see him now, he would be appalled. It’s been 12 years together now and somehow they went from unable to keep their hands off each other to Zayn being unable to remember the last time they had sex.

It feels like their relationship is slowly slipping away from them, drifting away by degrees every day. Looking back he knows how they got here. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.

Uni was them against the world, proving everyone who told them they married too young wrong. Their flat was tiny and they owned nothing new and survived on pot noodle most of the time, but they loved deeply and fiercely like they had something to prove.

After graduation they’ve gone from strength to strength in their careers, but their increased responsibilities have taken a toll on their time together. Between running the gallery and his own art, Zayn some days barely has time to sleep and he knows Liam’s the same with his recording studio. Forget sex, Zayn is hard pressed to remember the last time they took a meal together.

He idly twists his wedding ring as he waits for his leftovers to heat. How can he be married to someone and live with them and miss them so much? How do they fix this?

Zayn eats his food standing up in the kitchen, afraid if he sits he won’t be able to get back up again. He’s knackered. He almost always is these days.

His evening routine is performed by muscle memory and Zayn is half asleep by the time he peels off his clothes and crawls into bed. At some point Liam comes to join him and Zayn half wakes at the shift in the mattress and press of lips to his forehead but falls back into sleep immediately.

In the morning Zayn wakes to an empty bed, sheets cool and lonely. He stares up at the ceiling and blinks back tears. Missing Liam sits like a weight in his chest, aching and raw.

When he finally heads to the kitchen there’s an unopened box of tea with a sticky note on it. “Noticed we were out! Have a good day! Love you!” Zayn stares at the note and tries to keep from crying.

It’s little things like this that make him know for sure that a lack of love isn’t the problem here. Liam doesn’t even drink this brand of tea, but he noticed they were out anyway. He’s still thinking of Zayn, he just never sees him.

Zayn spends most of the day thinking on it. They’ve both put so much of themselves into their respective businesses, made them successful. They have money and no time to spend it. Zayn misses being broke and happy.

Louis shows up around lunchtime with sandwiches from the deli down the street. He rambles on about his latest show, sitting on the counter, heels repetitively hitting the cupboards.

“And then she called him an obstinate fucker and stormed out.” Louis trails off and gives Zayn a scrutinizing look. “Oi, what’s wrong with you today?”

Zayn takes a sip of his drink and tries to figure out how to sum up what he’s been feeling. Eventually he just shrugs and looks down. “I miss my husband.”

“Why? Is Liam out of town?”

“No,” Zayn says quietly. “I just realized how little we see each other. He’s up and gone before I wake up and comes home after I’m in bed. Or he’s in bed before I get home.”

Louis snorts. “Why are you acting like this isn’t something you’re in control of? Neither of you work for other people, you own your own businesses, just make time.”

“How?” Zayn asks, gesturing at the entirety of the gallery to signify how much work there is to be done daily.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Hire an art student part time or something,” he says somewhat derisively. “This isn’t rocket science. You don’t have to be here open to close every day. You’re doing well enough to hire a couple part time employees at least. You already pay me to run things when you’re doing your own art.”

Zayn feels a bit stupid. Louis is correct, of course. He’s been focused on making it successful and reducing expenditure for so long that now that it is successful he hasn’t thought of hiring extra help.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “But what about Liam?”

“Liam worships you,” Louis says with a laugh. “If you told him he could only work every other day until noon he would figure out a way to make it happen.” Louis gives him a sly look. “When was the last time you two fucked?”

“That is none of your business,” Zayn says primly. He slumps a little under Louis’ knowing gaze and admits, “Way too fucking long.”

Louis hops off the counter and dusts the crumbs off of himself. “Alright,” he says firmly. “I will finish up for the day. You go and plan some kind of surprise for your husband and tell him to have his flat arse home for tea.”

Zayn frowns. “Stop disparaging my husband’s arse. It is not flat.”

Louis makes an ‘if you say so’ face and takes the rest of Zayn’s sandwich out of his hands. “Get out of here. I’ll finish that for you.”

There’s no use arguing with Louis when he gets bossy like this so Zayn goes to gather up his things. He has to admit it’s a good idea. Anticipation flutters a little in his stomach and he tamps down on it. No point getting ahead of himself. Liam might not be able to leave early, after all.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as he hugs Louis.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis dismisses, hugging him and then gently pushing him toward the door. “I’ll take good care of your baby. Go get laid.”

Zayn laughs for the first time in what feels like forever and heads out. He decides to cook since he has time. He can’t remember the last time he did that either. The grocer’s is on the way home and he formulates a menu in his head as he walks.

On the way he texts Liam since this whole plan hinges on his presence. “Can you be home by 7? I’m cooking.”

Zayn is halfway through shopping, getting more nervous by the minute, when he finally gets a response: “Yes,” is all it says.

He frowns at the stark message and puts his phone in his pocket when it vibrates again. He pulls it out to find a block of heart emojis filling the screen. Okay, that’s more like his nerd of a husband, he thinks, biting his lip so he doesn’t laugh out loud.

Everything seems brighter as he heads home, sunny and light to match his mood. He sings as he putters around the kitchen, chopping and frying and baking all of Liam’s favorites.

Half an hour before Liam gets home, Zayn carries everything up to the roof of their building. There’s a little communal garden up there, which was a big selling point when they were deciding where to live, but he can’t remember the last time they were up here.

The sun is low in the sky but it won’t set for another hour and a half or so. There’s a slight chill in the air, but not uncomfortable. He spreads the blanket and sets everything up.

Right at seven Liam texts, “where are you?”

“On the roof,” Zayn sends back.

Butterflies flutter up a storm in his stomach. He doesn’t think he was this nervous for their first date, even. But everything hinges on how Liam responds tonight. They can’t keep on like this.

Moments later the door to the roof opens and Liam steps through, still in the trousers and tshirt he tends to favor for his work wardrobe. The setting sun makes him look golden, highlighting his face. Zayn drinks in the sight of him for a long moment, starved for it.

“Come over here, Leeyum,” he calls.

Liam smiles boyishly as he sits down opposite Zayn. “What’s all this, then? Did I miss an anniversary?”

Zayn laughs. “No. You know you’re better with keeping track of dates than I am. You would know.” He considers bringing it up now but it can wait. “Would you like some wine?”

“Please,” Liam replies. He still seems confused but settles in, filling up a plate for him and one for Zayn, skipping the two items Liam loves but Zayn isn’t fond of.

It warms Zayn all the way through when Liam does little things to show he’s paid attention, that he knows Zayn in ways no one else does. Over their meal they chat about their day, tell each other funny things that have happened at work. It should always be like this, Zayn thinks.

Once they’ve finished eating and are on their second glass of wine, Zayn thinks it’s time. The sun is almost set and it’s gotten colder. He moves everything out of the way and scoots over to snuggle against Liam’s side.

“We should talk,” he says softly.

Liam stiffens against him. “What about?”

Zayn looks up at him and meets his eyes. “Us,” he says sadly. “We’re not working, Leeyum. We’ve been neglecting our relationship.”

Liam looks stricken but not surprised. “Are you leaving me?” he asks, voice cracking.

Zayn shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly. “But we can’t go on as we are.”

A relieved sigh escapes Liam’s lips and he slumps against Zayn. “Okay,” he says weakly. “You’re right. I know you’re right. Things haven’t been good for a while and I’ve been ignoring it.”

“Me too,” Zayn says gently, sliding his hand into Liam’s and squeezing. “This isn’t just on you, it’s both of us.” He stares at Liam for a moment. “I miss my husband,” he finally says in a small, sad voice.

Liam’s eyes squeeze shut and he tips his forehead to rest against Zayn’s. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Me too. I’m so sorry.”

Zayn brushes his lips against Liam’s. “You don’t need to be sorry. We didn’t do it on purpose, we just let life get in the way until we couldn’t see each other anymore for it.”

“You have a plan, don’t you?” Liam asks, opening his eyes. “You wouldn’t do this if you didn’t have a solution.”

“Technically Louis has a plan,” Zayn says with a small chuckle.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Of course he does. I just wish he weren’t right so much of the time. It’s annoying.”

Zayn pokes him in the side. “This time it’s going to save our marriage, so be grateful.” He smiles fondly at Liam. “We should have thought of it ourselves, honestly. It’s not complicated. I’m going to hire someone to help out at the gallery so I’m not there all the time. I’ll still fall down a rabbit hole when I’m creating, but most of the time I’ll be home at a reasonable hour. I’ll even take days off.”

Liam smiles back at him. “I used to love watching you paint. I haven’t done that in ages.”

“You’re welcome to any time,” Zayn says softly. “I would like you to.” He pauses for a long moment, nervous again. “So, that’s what I’m doing to commit to working on our relationship. What are you going to do?”

“I have staff,” Liam says solemnly. “I can put some of the workload on them. I’ll probably still have to stay late sometimes when a session runs over, but I can be stricter about leaving on time.”

“We both have to have one day off a week,” Zayn says firmly. “And four nights home in time to eat together.”

Liam cups Zayn’s face in his hands and kisses him gently. “I can do all of that. I want to do all of that.” He smiles when Zayn’s hands come up to cover his. “I think we both deserve a holiday together if we can manage it.”

Zayn moans slightly. “A holiday. I can’t even remember what that’s like.”

Liam laughs. “Well for our last one we didn’t see much outside of the hotel bed.”

“Oh right.” Zayn laughs and tilts his head. “I wouldn’t mind a repeat of that.”

Liam waggles his eyebrows suggestively, looking ridiculous. “Yeah? You want to spend exorbitant amounts for a room in a foreign country only to never leave it?”

Zayn laughs, loud and bright. He feels loads lighter than he did before. “Yes I really do,” he says, wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck. “And I think in a bit we should go back to our flat so you can remind me why that’s a good idea.”

“Why in a bit? Why not now?”

Zayn smiles indulgently and points up at the mostly clear sky dotted with visible stars. “Because right now I want you to hold me and look at the stars with me for a while.”

Liam chuckles and lifts Zayn into his lap, wrapping his arms around him. He kisses Zayn’s cheek and settles his chin on Zayn’s shoulder. “Remember how we used to do this in Uni? We’d sneak up to the roof of the art building and stargaze.”

Zayn laughs. “Remember how we almost got caught by security? Had to hide in a broom cupboard.”

“Hiding isn’t all we did in that cupboard,” Liam points out with a grin. “Had to cover your mouth with me palm.”

“That was fun, yeah,” Zayn says with a fond smile, snuggling back more firmly against Liam’s chest. “Remember after we first dating, before you moved in with us, and we watched that meteor shower together over the phone? You kept complaining that I had a better view in Bradford.”

“I think I complained that the view in Bradford was better, yes,” Liam says softly. “But I wasn’t talking about the meteor shower.”

Zayn looks at him with surprise. “Oh, you meant me.”

Liam squeezes him. “All I wanted was to see you every day for the rest of my life. Even back then.”

“Oh,” Zayn says softly. He turns in Liam’s arms to kiss him, slow and sweet. “I felt the same way. Still do,” he murmurs when he pulls away.

Liam looks at him with aching tenderness. “Me too,” he agrees. “I won’t let things get so crazy we don’t have time for each other again.”

Zayn nods. “Me neither.” He gives Liam a mischievous smile to lighten the mood. “I think I’ve gotten my fill of stars. You should take me downstairs now.”

“I love you,” Liam says with a laugh, palms cradling Zayn’s hips.

“I love you too, babe,” Zayn replies, eyes sparkling. “But I’m serious. Downstairs. Now.”

Liam makes a reluctant sound of protest. “But the dishes and the blanket?”

“Get them after your run in the morning,” Zayn suggests. “No one will be up here before then.”

“This is why you’re the brains of this operation,” Liam teases, standing up and taking Zayn with him.

Zayn happily wraps his legs around Liam’s waist. He’s not naive enough to think they won’t ever have problems again, but he’s certain they love each other enough, are committed to each other enough, to work through them. As long as they remember that they’ll be fine.

Zayn smirks and turns his head to whisper in Liam’s ear. “Go faster.”

[honeymoonjin]

the daily grind - jjk oneshot

A/N - 2k word count. No warnings needed.

Jungkook would love to ask out the cute girl that always comes to the coffee shop. If only she would actually look up from her textbooks.

Every uni student and their grandma had done a stint at a coffee shop. Most did it for some work experience and easy cash, ditching the job as soon as they found one where they could spend the shift sitting down instead of being on their feet for six hours.

Jungkook was happy to say he was different. Yes, he was doing the same-old coffee shop gig, but he really loved his job and had no interest in doing anything else until he graduated. He liked the coffee making process, sure, but one of the best things about this particular café was their bottomless refills.

If you ordered a black coffee at the Daily Grind, you could pay an extra two dollars for bottomless refills, and Jungkook would just pop out from behind the bar whenever he got the chance to come top up the drink for you. It meant that the number of actually difficult, elaborate drinks went down, and the number of easy customers who just wanted to stay wired in the most efficient way went up.

For being only a five-minute walk off campus, very few other university students actually came to study. Most were too entranced by the Starbucks on campus by the library to even think about outsourcing their caffeine.

There was one regular, though.

Jungkook figured she probably wanted a little more peace and quiet to get her work done, as she always had a bulky backpack filled with textbooks and stapled papers and stationery that she’d rotate through for hours at a time.

Maybe if the café was a little busier, Jungkook wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about her. But as it was, she was one of the only regulars that came in the afternoons while he was working, and over time he learnt more about her than he ever would have expected from a strange customer.

She was probably at least a year or two above him at uni judging by the long, super scientific titles of her engineering textbooks, and he had heard from his friend Jimin, who’s boyfriend was in third-year engineering, that by the time you got to that point, the pressures of good grades were heightened to the max, as well as the importance of trying to apply for apprenticeships and internships at a good company to get your foot in the door.

The stress of that whole situation certainly seemed to apply to her. He was pretty sure he could count on one hand the number of times she had actually looked at him when he came over to fill up her cup. She was either on hyper-speed, scribbling out equations and punching away on a calculator, or she was staring blankly at the page, half-heartedly doodling on a napkin to try and keep her mind occupied. Every few minutes or so, she rubbed her eyes gingerly like she had allergies or something.

That was another thing he had taken notice of over the several weeks she had been coming here. Her cute little drawings. Sometimes they were little blueprint diagrams as she worked out problems, but most of the time they were of a different style entirely.

Jungkook prided himself on having a good eye for art, seeing as he was two years deep into a photography degree at the fine arts school within the university, and he knew that she had a real gift, even though this was clearly the only practice she was getting. An empty cup with some dregs at the bottom; a shoe sticking out from behind a booth wall, a hand clasped around a coffee plunger handle that looked remarkably like his own. When she couldn’t think straight, she’d start drawing things she saw in the café.

One day, Jungkook noticed if she ran out of napkins she’d stop altogether and switch to impatiently drumming her fingers on the table and huffing. From that day on, he’d always bring three or four extra napkins every time he came over to top up her coffee.

The guilty pleasure of working here, one he’d never admit to but couldn’t help from doing, was that every time she left, he would dart over to her table and grab all the napkins for himself before the table got cleared by the cashier.

Whenever he found himself in a rut, not knowing how to photograph something original, he would take out those napkins and look over her drawings. He liked the way she saw the world. She focused on the details but made them look larger than life, in a way.

He would tell himself at 4pm every day of work, as he was tying on his apron, that today would be the day he’d work up the courage to talk to her.  He would create elaborate fantasies in his head, the way she smiled and blinked up at him as he spoke, like he was the only thing in the world to her. The way she would invite him to sit so that they could talk about their favorite classical artists and after his shift ended, she’d ask for his number.

But he could never do it. The pretty angles of her face would tense up with worry and stress the moment she opened up her hulking bag and dumped some more study material on the table. Her eyes never blinked up at him at all when he came over to her, and he didn’t even think she was aware of the extra effort he went to to provide her with drawing materials.

Jungkook just wasn’t headstrong enough to talk to her and risk a bad reaction. God, what if she got annoyed at him and left? What if she found another café where she wouldn’t be bothered and never came back?

He had gotten so used to seeing her four times a week while on duty that he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he messed that up.

So, he just refilled her coffees and kept giving her more napkins. Over time, as the middle of the semester approached, she was bringing more and more textbooks and practice papers, was typing more furiously into her calculator, and the soft, introspective lines of her napkin vignettes became aggressive chicken scratch of the ‘wet floor’ sign and the lines of electrical wires on the ceiling and her own massive calculator.

He had come to expect this dead-eyed, clenched-jaw version of her, and it came as a great shock to him when a man, still young but definitely older than Jungkook, opens the door to the café with a little bell jingle, and immediately paces over to the booth she’s tucked into, loudly proclaiming her name and sitting across from her.

To Jungkook’s complete surprise, it’s like the sun has risen inside the room. She looks up and beams at him, pushing the stack of work between them to one side.

As they chat back and forth like old friends, Jungkook can barely focus on the takeaway order he’s supposed to be making. Why did she never smile like that to him, even before things got so hectic? He suddenly had a desperate longing to have her look at him like that, even once. The way her eyes lit up as she listened to the guy wax poetic about his philosophy paper and scrunched up her nose a little when she told a joke. The light but hearty resonance of her laughter that pealed out through the shop periodically. All these things were completely new to Jungkook, but he knew he wanted more.

At one point, the man hops up and comes over to the counter. The cashier is on her break, so Jungkook takes the order.

“Could I please get a croissant and she’ll have a…caramel slice, please. Oh, and could I have a large chai latte? Thanks.”

Jungkook has to clear his throat to keep from freezing. Since when did she ever order anything else other than the one bottomless coffee? Was it a date? “Yeah, sure. That’s just twelve dollars, fifty cents.” The man pulls out a card to pay with, and as the order is processing, Jungkook can’t help himself. “You two are a cute couple,” he offers.

Thankfully, the man just laughs. “That’s nice of you to say, but we aren’t a couple. Old friends, actually.”

Jungkook nods and muffles his relieved grin, pulling out a takeaway cup. “Could I have a name for the drink, sir?”

“Namjoon.”

“That’ll just be a couple minutes away.”

The man sits back down and the two resume their lively conversation, but Jungkook tunes out, already planning what he can say to get the girl to smile at him the way she’s smiling now.

Jungkook doesn’t see the girl for five days. Of course, two of those days are a weekend, but she doesn’t come to the Daily Grind on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, and he can’t help but be saddened by the lack of her presence. Shifts seem so much longer, and for today, a drizzly Thursday, he is not looking forward to going back there.

For the first time since the start of the year, almost twelve weeks ago, Jungkook finds himself on the main campus, tasked with borrowing a book from the library about contemporary lighting techniques. The waitlist was thirty students long, but finally it was his turn.

The online catalogue told him it was on the fourth floor, so stairs were most certainly not an option. He gets in on the second floor, but to his shock, someone familiar is already in there.

It’s the girl from the café. His heart races as he stands next to her, but she doesn’t react.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, I haven’t seen you drop by for a while?”

She starts at the sudden noise, her eyes blinking wildly as she looks him over. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Oh,” Jungkook sighs. “I guess you probably don’t recognize me. I’m the barista at the Daily Grind, I do most weeknights.”

Her face lights up, though her eyes are still a little glassy. “Oh, Jungkook, right?”

“Y- Yeah.” She knew his name? Then why the weird reaction?

“I’m so sorry, I lost a contact earlier today, so I’ve been wandering around like a zombie, trying not to bump into things.” She gives him a little laugh, and he’s struck by how different she is here than she’s ever been in the café. She’s acting almost as friendly as when that Namjoon dude came into the store.

“Have you, uh, have you found a new café to go to?” The elevator stops on the fourth floor, but he makes no move to get out, and the doors close again. “I haven’t seen you around recently.”

“Oh, no, no more bottomless coffees for me. I’ve been studying like crazy for the midterm for way too long, and now that it’s over, I think I need to give my body some time to filter out the percentage of caffeine in my veins. Thank you for giving me extra napkins, by the way. I’m sorry I go through them so quickly, nervous habit, you know?”

His heart beats so strongly in his ears it almost sounds like waves crashing. So, this whole time, she had noticed him. And she had kept on coming back. “You’re all finished with the midterm, then?”

More people file in to the elevator from the sixth floor, but she takes no notice, swiveling around so she’s facing him head-on. “Yeah, actually, I got it back this morning, and I managed to get an A-! Honestly, I have no idea how that happened, but I guess all the desperate cramming paid off.”

“That’s amazing,” he enthuses. The button she had pressed, floor eight, was steadily approaching. This was the chance he had spent way too long dreaming up. “You should celebrate all your hard work,” he begins, giving her a soft smile, “I know this great little café you might like.”