#sorry if i made anyone uncomfortable before hand!! gotta start realizing my boundaries are different from others

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 4

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

If you have been reading this series....things are going to start happening....

Title: Dreams, Chapter 4

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3773

Summary: For Sam and the reader, a winter night working together leads to an uncomfortable confrontation and a confusing dream.

Warnings: angst, fluff?, alcohol, swearing, slow burn, I think that’s it!

           The tree was still up a few days later when you were throwing together sandwiches. It was a gloomy afternoon, stealing from the already meager offering of sunlight you got each day, but at least you could see the Christmas lights as you worked in the little kitchen and listened to Me Talk Pretty One Day. Brushing crumbs off your hands, you ducked your head into the bedroom to tell Sam lunch was ready.

           He was sitting on the bed with his legs crossed under him, looking surprisingly young with his long limbs folded. He glanced over at you briefly with a noncommittal nod before turning his gaze back to the wall. You walked into the room when you understood; following his eyes to the photos where you’d taped them up. Toeing off each of your boots, you climbed onto the mattress with him and gently put your arm around his broad shoulders. “He would’ve loved this,” Sam murmured, and it was almost too low for you to hear.

           “Which part?” you asked, trying to match his tone.

           “This cabin, the bar, Christmas.”

           “I think you’re right.”

           You looked over at the pictures, a tight row intentionally placed a little too low so you could see them as you fell asleep. Sam tilted his head to rest on yours.

           “We had a lot of fun though, didn’t we?”

           You considered the memories and the heat coming off of him under your cold fingers. “Yeah, we did.” After a beat you opened your mouth again. “Getting that tree was fun.”

           Sam pulled back and you looked up at him. A sad smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

           You curved your head back into him. “Dean would’ve liked that too.” He was silent for a moment.

           “There’s no way he would’ve worked at the bar and not made every night a party.”

           He was right. Even just passing through, bars like the one you worked at were Dean’s favorite—no frills, honest people, décor not so nice it couldn’t tolerate some spills in the name of a good time. In the right mood Dean would’ve been everyone’s best friend in an hour, taking shots with the owners and playing pool with anyone who had a spare minute.

           You sat upright and tucked your hair behind your ears. “Okay, then tonight’ll be a party.”

           Sam looked at you in surprise. “Uh, what?”

           “You heard me. Tonight, we’re doing tequila shots and dancing on tables and talking to people longer than to take their orders.”

           “It’s a Monday.”

           “Wouldn’t have stopped Dean. Now come eat this sandwich I slaved over, you’re a lightweight on an empty stomach.”

           Sam’s smile was tired, but he obediently untangled his legs and got off the bed to head to the kitchen. You padded after him, letting a deep breath out through your nose. Dean would be so pissed if he saw you weren’t being strong for Sammy, just a little tougher, come on. By the time Sam sat down at the tiny breakfast bar to eat, you’d screwed your face back together.

           In some ways, it was better that you’d had this sudden change of heart on a Monday, when there weren’t so many customers to watch you crumble if it came to that. You had a propensity for being a sad drunk even in the best circumstances, and this first time truly drinking around people since losing Dean was about the worst circumstance as you could imagine.

           A few shots in Sam’s cheeks were flushed and you could feel the heat in yours as you sucked hard on a lime wedge. He was pretending to know about some football controversy with the over-shoulder towel that was ever present when he worked, his legs crossed and accentuating the long, relaxed line of his body. It was an especially cold night and condensation clouded the windows of the bar where hot air met the freezing glass. You watched as a woman about your age—you were pretty sure her name was Megan but had only served her a handful of times—traced lazy shapes in it before replacing the moisture with a hot breath and starting over. It was almost hypnotic and you didn’t know how long it was until you snapped back to reality when Sam’s warm hands wrapped over your shoulders.

           “You okay?” he asked, low and private, straight into your ear.

           “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just tired,” you lied.

           Sam gently and half-consciously kneaded the muscles in your shoulders. Before you realized what you were doing, muscle memory bobbed your head to the side, kissed his rough knuckles, and pressed your cheek to his hand. You both froze.

           “Aw, so cute,” Steve sang out from across the bar top.

           You took your chance to step forward out of Sam’s grip. “Yeah, yeah. Refill?” Steve nodded, and you snatched another Miller High Life out of a mini fridge under the bar and popped the cap with a fluid practiced motion. About a week ago you’d realized that the twist-bottle callus you had just below the first joint of your index finger had come back, a recurrent souvenir that had lasted years after you’d quit bartending last time. You were thankful for it as much as the distraction from your bizarre reflexive step over the unspoken boundary between you and Sam. It wasn’t that the contact was unprecedented, obviously, you could only catch even chunks of sleep tightly wound around Sam and kept your fingers wrapped around his forearm as he drove, but Dean was the last person whose skin your lips had touched. Until now, you corrected yourself. It was a very specific kind of closeness in a relationship already stretching the limits of what appropriate intimacy could possibly be.

           You jammed a cold metal scoop into the ice machine to break up chunks and buy some time. The same grief-hungry part of your brain that searched Sam for facial tics and habits that Dean had couldn’t stop repeating how much those hands felt the same, dry and warm and firm under your lips, under your cheek, and you wanted to clutch at them, a phantom of Dean’s that first stitched you up in Bobby’s kitchen all those years ago when life was easy and bloody, so nervous to touch you his hands shook and the scar still remained to this day. You crashed through those thoughts with a solid thump of This Is Sam Not Dean Sam Your Friend Sam The Only Thing You Have In This World, and how cruel it was to triple distill him down to only the parts that were reminiscent of someone else. Sam, who chopped wood to keep you warm, who restocked beer in the little life you’d created here. Sam, who in his own unfathomable sadness let you latch onto him as a steady point in a storm and kept you afloat just as you had him.

           “Hello?” Joe repeated, a touch of concern peeking through his annoyance.

           “Yeah, sorry! What’s up?” you asked, hearing the shrillness of your voice as you tried to overcompensate.

           “I’m trying to buy you a drink, hon. 5 shots, dealer’s choice.”

           “You, me, Jake, Steve and who?” you asked, racking up 5 sturdy shot glasses.

           “Your Paul Bunyan over there, unless you’re trying to take his too. I’ve never seen you guys really drink before, gotta jump on my chance,” he winked.

           “Oh, okay. Uh, Sam—” you called out across the bar. He was wiping up a spill you knew didn’t exist from the way he focused too hard on the bar top, trying to look busy. He looked up at his name and walked over with his hands jammed in his pockets. His unease was palpable, and your heart sank as you let go of any possibility that he wouldn’t have registered the fleeting kiss and the shift was only in your head. “—Joe’s trying to get you drunk.”

           “Careful, Joe, you think you can carry me home?” Sam joked, and you thought you would be the only one who’d be able to detect the tightness in his throat underneath it. He rubbed a lime wedge on the web of his thumb and poured salt over it before handing you the shaker. You almost dropped it when your fingertips grazed his.

           “To the only people dumb enough to move up here in the winter,” Steve proclaimed, touching his glass to the counter before shooting it. You all followed suit, politely chuckling at the teasing. When you took the lime wedge out of your mouth, Sam had his palm open in front of you. You dropped the rind in his hand and let him take the stack of glasses to the sink.

           It didn’t get as crazy as Dean likely would’ve gotten which was probably good for the bar’s bottom line and your drive back to the cabin, but Sam did end up somewhat accidentally hustling Jake for $100 over a game of pool and singing along to Shania Twain when you put it on. You were careful not to touch him or stare too long the rest of the evening, and by the time you were flipping chairs up for the night you had almost convinced yourself that nothing was different save for a little softness around the edges of the ever-present bolus of sadness in your stomach.

           Sam had two cases of Miller Lite from the basement in his grip, the veins on his forearms popping out as he set them on the ground in front of the beer cooler and crouched to replace the ones that had been drunk that night. You double checked that the cash drawer of the register was even and hopped up to sit on a spare spot of counter.

           “That’s the last one?”

           “Yeah, I already did the Coors and Bud.”

           “Are you good to drive or do you want me to?” You wiggled your toes in your shoes, feeling the ache of standing for hours in the balls of your feet.

           “No, I’m good to drive,” Sam said, shaking hair out of his face. He looked up at you, hazel eyes hard to read with fatigue or fear or pity or some murky combination thereof. You drew tight spirals over orders you’d taken that night, feeling the pen press impressions into the small notepad. The absence of words spread out to close the distance between you, feeling cloying and claustrophobic even as the Nate Bargatze standup you’d cued up piped out through the bar’s speakers.

           “Hey, I—”

           “Are you—” Sam started at the same time. You held out a palm to signal for him to continue, not truly wanting to speak yourself. “Uh, sorry. I just…I—I’m not Dean. I can’t be Dean.”

           The words and deflation in his shoulders made you wish you’d been set ablaze. Stunned, you felt your mouth open and close around words that weren’t materializing, just collecting in your throat and hardening there, the backup starting to choke you.

           “I, uh—I know,” you finally managed to squeak past the lump.

           And part of you wondered if he was right in thinking you were using him as a stand-in. As atypical as the whole situation was, you couldn’t imagine that it was normal to sleep in the same bed and spend virtually every minute together. You began to feel sick at the thought that Sam would be out living up to his potential somewhere if it weren’t for you, back to law school or righting the wrongs of the world rather than in a Northwoods dive bar restocking domestic beers at 2:30 on a Tuesday morning. The selflessness of it seemed unfathomable and yet so entirely something Sam would do. Suddenly it felt like the walls were collapsing around you.

           The moment stretched out and Sam stood up, leaning on the counter across the bar from you. His jaw was set hard and he tilted his head the way he did when he was trying to stop himself from teetering over the edge of tears. “Sam, I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

           He cleared his throat but looked down at the nonstick mats on the floor. “No, ah, you don’t need to apologize. I just need you to know I can’t be him for you.”

           You didn’t dare look up in case you met Sam’s eyes as you nodded, so eviscerated and humiliated you were having a hard time taking a deep breath. After a long minute you heard the clink of bottles as Sam finished restocking, grabbed your coat to mumble something about warming up the car, and went to the small parking lot. You managed to make it into the Impala before your vision started swimming and the potential enormity of the situation crashed against you; was this the end of your carved out hideaway, full of grief and memories and comfort and little moments of affection and joy you had just barely started to accept? All for some stupid thought that Dean would be happier if you were out getting wasted, an idea that reduced him to a drifter barfly instead of the complex man who’d been more loyal and loved more deeply than anyone you’d ever met. The tears dried up quickly as self-disgust rolled over you and started ringing in your ears. You didn’t hear Sam coming and jolted when he opened the door, recoiling against the passenger side to give him as much space as possible. He glanced over at you with eyes so pitying that you couldn’t bear to look at them, staring out the window at the abject darkness the rest of the drive home.

           Sam didn’t turn on the stereo.

           Back in the cabin, you quickly shucked off your coat and snatched what you needed out of the bedroom before barricading yourself in for a shower. You didn’t bother taking your makeup off first, allowing the sting of mascara to get washed away in the water. It was too hot and you didn’t care; you only came out when you realized you were going to leave Sam in a cold shower in the last week in December.

           You brushed your teeth in the mirror and took a few deep breaths before sliding out, heading past the open bedroom door straight to the kitchen in order to gulp down a panicked glass of water. Mercifully, you heard the bathroom door lock when Sam entered it quietly. You took the opportunity to grab your pillow out of the bedroom, tossing it on the couch and pulling the throw off the sofa’s back to cover yourself. Your eyes were closed tight and ramming up against your racing mind when Sam came out.

           “You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he said softly from behind you.

           You opened your eyes but didn’t move your head to seek him out. “It’s okay.”

           Sam appeared in front of you, legs bending severely to perch on the short coffee table. His bare chest still glistened a little from the shower and you knew the green flannel pants he was wearing were soft and thick to the touch. Earnest hazel eyes meeting yours, Sam braced his elbows on his knees.

           “Sam, I’m really sorry. It was a weird reflex and it was unfair for me to—”

           “No, I, it—it wasn’t that. It’s just like, sometimes when you look at me, you look like you’re seeing a ghost. I’m just—I need to know you’re not staying here because I’m the closest you can get.”

           If your heart hadn’t been shattered and re-shattered over the last almost- two-years and today, the fear and resignation in his eyes would’ve sent you to pieces. You pushed up to sitting in order to give Sam the respect he deserved.

           “I can’t—I won’t lie and say you don’t remind me of him, but you’re my best friend—been my best friend since I first met you guys—and I am so, so, sorry I made you feel…I could never try to replace him, Sam.” You were barely making sense, having a hard time stringing together how you felt. “The only place I want to be is with you. You’re all I’ve got.”

           It felt desperate and needy but it was true and Sam deserved the truth. You didn’t shy away from him, stayed there holding his gaze until he seemed content having searched your eyes for anything hiding from the light. After a moment he nodded tightly against lips pressed in a firm line. “Okay.”

           Sam stood up, the broad planes of him catching the glitter of the Christmas tree lights. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and tentative. “Can you, uh, can you come back?”

           It took a moment to process before you nodded, standing up and snagging your pillow before following Sam into the bedroom. You climbed into your side of the mattress, close to the wall and your tiny precious gallery, and Sam folded around you, his warm skin seeping through your t-shirt onto your back. You felt tense and comfortable all at once, safe and uneasy. The two of you sat there for a long time, the relatively light weight of Sam’s arm over you betraying that he wasn’t asleep either. When drowsiness finally began to tug your eyelids closed, he pressed his lips to a spot on your shoulder exposed from the looseness of its sleeve. The last thing you remembered was his arm going heavy like an anchor across yours.

           The sun is hot and delicious on your cheeks, baking the cotton of your jeans and t-shirt into you and turning the roof tiles under you into a frying pan. Wispy clouds move with no urgency across the sky above you and you can’t think of anything better than this, glancing down to worn laces on Dean’s boots undone to give his feet some air as his t-shirt clings half-humid to him. You know his freckles are going to be darker by dinner and it makes you smile to think about it but you’ll never tell him—it makes him shy to be reminded of the spray of pigment that makes him feel alternatively feminine or juvenile but never stunning the way you think it should. You press up to your elbows, barely registering the sting of heat and grit of the roof underneath you and kiss the spot on Dean’s arm where his shoulder slopes into his bicep. He smiles down at you, a lazy half-open smirk perfectly framed by the blue sky behind him like a painting.

           “You’re so weird,” he chuckles. “Who kisses someone’s arm?”

           “Then come down here,” you toss back, exaggerated pout ready for him. He ducks down to you, the warmth of his lips on yours like a cookie fresh out of the oven, like sliding down the hallway on new fuzzy socks, like the summer’s first plunge into water.

           Sam’s head peeks out from under the gutter. “Bobby’s putting brats on the grill, do you want any?”

           “Hell yeah, extra onions,” Dean yells down, grinning smugly when you make a face.

           “Me too!” you call out, watching Sam squint up at the roof. 

           “No onions though, right?”

           “You’re the best, Sam.”

           Sam beams up at you, dimples almost high enough to reach the squint-crinkled skin around his eyes. He nods and ducks back out of sight.

           “Come on, I’m thirsty,” Dean says, standing up. He reaches a hand down to you and takes a half step back to brace himself, stepping on the lace of his other boot. He stumbles and it’s a quick shuffle and you realize he’s too close to the edge his next step is into thin air like Wil E. Coyote and you’re grabbing at that same thin air and you can see his face change when he realizes and some part of your subconscious that’s even deeper than this can feel it’s happening again and the sound is so final, such a wet crack but you scrabble to the edge anyway because you have to see and Dean’s lying there.

           He’s clutching his left leg bent against his chest like a stretch. “Son of a bitch, what the fuck!” he mutter-yells, and you hear the thump of Sam and Bobby running through the old house and skittering to a stop in front of him as you carefully shimmy down the porch post with your hands tearing on the gutter’s rusty edge, jumping down when you feel the railing beneath you.

           “Dean! Are you okay?” Sam yells over Bobby who’s cursing out the goddamn idjit told you not to climb up there it’s like having a bunch of teenagers in this goddamned house and Dean winces and nods angrily.

           You’re lifting up the hem of his jeans and gingerly taking off his boot and Dean hisses when you peel off his sock, but nothing is poking through the skin and that’s better than you expected. “Can you stand up?”

           He nods again and you can practically taste him biting back the string of expletives when you and Sam each take an arm and lift him to standing. You snake a hand into his pocket and grab the keys to the Impala, leaning behind Dean to say to his brother, “I’ll take him to the ER.”

           Dean doesn’t argue and it’s yet more evidence that it’s pretty bad, but you feel fine, elated almost, that he’s still warm under your palm and against your side, that he still smells like fresh laundry and domestic beer and a little bit of salt and engine grease. Sam’s long arm opens the door when you get there and slides Dean in and you promise to text when you know how bad it is as you round the car and get to the driver’s side. You turn the key in the ignition and throw your arm around Dean’s seat to reverse out of the driveway. Dean’s looking at you as you throw the car back into drive, staring almost, and his face is soft even around the broken ankle.

           “I’m always going to love you,” he says, smooth and sure of himself. You tug your eyes away from the road with half a question on your face but Dean doesn’t explain why he’s saying this now. “I’ll be okay and I’m always going to love you, no matter what.”

           It doesn’t make any sense and you open your mouth to tease this unexpected sappiness, remind him the ankle is just one more in a long string of injuries he’ll owe you for, and then Dean’s gone, the car’s gone, and the heat is coming from Sam’s chest in front of you. 

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 5

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[bopbopstyles]

Temptation (pt. 3)

RATING: M/smut (cw: prior sexual harrassment mentioned)

WORD COUNT: 14.6k jesUs

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

He paid the price in Nora not being his. He couldn’t say anything when he saw guys looking at her from across the room, he couldn’t hold her hand when they walked down the sidewalk on campus, he couldn’t touch her whenever he wanted in public. There was a barrier they maintained during daylight hours—no contact in public. At night when everyone else was drunk they broke that rule and could barely keep their hands off each other, lasting on the dance floor of the parties for a mere thirty minutes before going up to Harry’s. But he couldn’t show her off the world, couldn’t sing her praises, couldn’t call her his. At least, not in the way that mattered. He called her his during sex, but that wasn’t the same, he couldn’t distinguish the fervor of sex from the reality of his feelings. And it pained him more than he had expected.

Because he was Nora’s.

She just wasn’t his.

or

Nora can’t figure out what she wants and Harry gets hurt in the process.  (part three of this / fratboy!harry)

PART ONE | PART TWO 

Harry woke to the sound of his door opening and an empty bed. Nora was standing at the end of his bed tugging on her pants, hair a beautiful mess.

“Oi, what’re you doing?”

Nora looked up and saw that Harry was awake, sitting up on his elbows and staring at her in confusion. She didn’t want to run out, but she had to. She had a fucking UTI and she was going to have to pee every five seconds, she needed cranberry juice, and she wanted to deal with all of those things not at a fraternity house. “I gotta run,” she said simply.

“Where?” Harry looked over to his alarm clock. “It’s eight AM on a Sunday. Where’re you going?”

“The store,” she replied. “Gotta pick up some things.” She buttoned her jeans and reached for her shirt, long forgotten on the ground.

Harry sat up fully, confused. Who would go to the store at eight in the morning on a Sunday when they could stay in bed? Especially with him? He didn’t want her to leave. “And get what?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so nosy.” Nora pulled her shirt over her head, exasperated. “I’ve got to get some cranberry juice, okay? And then I have to go home and spend all day by my toilet.”

“What? Why?”

This boy was clueless. But then again, he was also a boy, so what was she to expect. “I’ve got a fucking UTI, H.”

Realization dawned on his face immediately. “Oh.” And then suddenly, he was out of bed, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers, a shirt, and a pair of jeans from his drawers. Nora watched him and tried not to ogle at his muscles as he lifted hisi arms to get his shirt on, or the way his hair flopped into his face ever so slightly when he pulled on his jeans.

“What are you doing?”

Harry stood up and grabbed his keys from his dresser. “Going to the store for you. Now get back in bed, put on some of my clothes that are comfortable, and tell me what exactly you need.”

“What—Harry—“

He pulled her into his body and pressed the most soft and delicate kiss to her cheek. “I’ve got an older sister. Know how much these things suck and I seriously doubt you want to move much farther than to and from the toilet. So get back into my bed and let me take care of you, okay?”

Looking back, that was the moment that Nora fell for him. Right there, Harry holding her close and telling her to let him take care of her. “Okay,” she said, because how was she going to deny him? Plus, his bed was more comfortable than hers, and he was right, the idea of getting in an Uber and going to the store and then home sounded horrific because she already had to pee again.

“Now, what do you need?”

“Pure cranberry juice,” she told him. “No sugars, no sweetener, no mixed with anything else—pure, unfiltered, cranberry juice, and two bottles of sparkling water.”

Harry nodded, memorizing her words. “That it?”

Nora bit the inside of her cheek. “Some Monostadt if you’re feeling courageous.”

“What’s that?”

“Medicine of sorts. Probably will be in with the tampons and stuff.”

Harry’s cheeks reddened—he couldn’t help it—but he just nodded. “Text me if you think of anything else, okay? I’ll be back in a jiffy. And ignore anyone if they tell you to hurry up in the bathroom.” He kisses her forehead with such kindness that Nora possibly melts right there on the floor, and then he’s out the door.

~

Harry finds Nora curled up in his bed in his Fleetwood Mac shirt, hair pulled up in a messy bun, and reading his copy of Americanah that he was reading for a Literature class. Looking back, this was the moment Harry fell for her. His heart stops a bit at her in his clothes, in his bed, waiting for him, but he pushes the thought from his brain.

“Got a few different kinds,” he says, rousing her attention from the book. “Wanted to make sure it was right.”

Nora sits up and watches him pull three cartons of cranberry juice out of the bag, two bottles of sparkling water, a pack of Monostadt, two bars of chocolate, and some chips. She hadn’t asked for the snacks, but he thought she would want them and that warmed her heart, and the fact that he braved the tampon aisle for her gave her immediately more respect for him. She surveyed the options and saw he had gotten two that would work. “Those two are good,” she said.

“Perfect,” he said. He grabbed a cup from his desk and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Supposed to mix the cranberry juice and sparkling, I assume?” She nodded. “And the juice is pretty strong?” She nodded again. “Ok. Let me mix something and you tell me if it needs more of one or the other.”

“Ok, Mr. Bartender,” she said and Harry chuckled. He poured the two together, focusing on making sure it wouldn’t be too strong for her to sip on. He handed her the cup and she took a sip—perfect. “S’good,” she said. “Thank you.”

He smiled at her, proud of his ability to make the perfect thing for her. “Course. Now shove over so I can get in with you.”

Nora blushed, scooted over, and watched him get undressed. He stripped down to just his boxers, and then crawled into bed next to her. “Thank you for doing this,” she said softly, carefully edging closer to him so her head was on his shoulder. “It’s a bit awkward, you know. We just...” Had sex, she almost said.

“Hey,” he said softly. He pushed a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear, fingertips trailing down her cheek. “I wanted to do it. Don’t care if it’s awkward.” He pressed another chaste kiss to her forehead, and then grabbed a remote from his bedside table. “Now, want to watch a David Attenborough nature documentary with me?”

“I’ve been meaning to watch Our Planet,” she said, settling in next to him.

Harry decided that she couldn’t get more perfect.

They laid in bed for most of the day watching nature documentaries and ended up cuddling without even thinking about it. Harry discovered that he loves Nora’s head on his shoulder, their legs tangled at the end of the bed, a thin blanket tugged over them to keep them warm in the late January cold that the heat can’t keep out. Sometimes her fingers found his skin and drew outlines over his tattoos, which never ceased to pull a sharp inhale from him and a plea that she didn’t pull away. But she always did. Nora was better at keeping her boundaries up—she didn’t hold his hand, she didn’t snuggle into him too much—there was almost a reticence to the way she relaxed into him. She wouldn’t stop fidgeting and even when she relaxed, he knew she wasn’t letting her full bodyweight lean into him.

She was up and down constantly to go pee and he kept pouring her more glasses of cranberry juice and sparkling water, but her UTI didn’t go away. He asked about it hesitantly, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, and she just blushed before shaking her head. After another trip to the toilet, she reached for the Monostadt from where it’s been sitting on his dresser.

“You okay, Cherry?” The nickname popped out and he immediately remembered saying it the night before, balls deep inside of her and the image made him harden immediately. He tried to disguise it with the blanket, but Nora saw it without him knowing. The image made her smile inside, the reality of what she did to Harry making her quite happy.

“S’not getting better,” she said. “Gonna take this and hope it helps.”

“Need anything?” He asked and she shook her head before heading back to the toilet. He leaned back against the pillows and sighed, keeping the documentary paused so she didn’t miss anything in her absence. His phone buzzed with a text and he grabbed it, swiping it open. It was Nash.

Who’s the girl who is going in and out of the bathroom and your room?

Nash lived upstairs, but he must’ve been cleaning the house and noticed Nora. Her name’s Nora. She’s not feeling too great.

Aren’t you a gentlemen

Harry chuckled before placing the phone back on the nightstand, the sound of Nora re-entering the bedroom making him want to forget everything else. She was on the phone, he realized when she stepped inside, but she was speaking in another language.

“Je vais bien, maman,” she said. It was French, he realized. He didn’t know she spoke French and the sound of it falling from her lips turned him on more than he wanted to admit. “Mon ami prend soin de moi.” She leaned against the door as she spoke to her mother, Harry understanding that much. “Non, un garçon. Non, on ne sort pas ensemble. Maman, arrête.” She sighed, her eyes catching with Harry’s, and she rolled her eyes. Sorry, she mouthed and Harry shook his head, as if to say No matter. “Maman, je dois y aller, d'accord? Je t'appellerai plus tard. Je t’aime. Salut.”

“You speak French?” He asked, amazed.

She nodded. “My mom’s French.”

“That’s so cool that you know French and German.”

Nora tried ignore the way the fact that he remembered that she spoke German made her heart warm. Without a word she laid down next to him, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. “You can start it,” she said, and Harry followed her directions.  

They laid in his bed until almost five o’clock, at which point Harry suggested they order food. They decided on sushi and they picked out a bunch of rolls and dumplings to try, and Harry grabbed the food when it arrives, making a spread on his bed for them. He didn’t tell her that he usually doesn’t let people eat on his bed because he made an exception for her, not being able to bear the idea of making her go downstairs and eat when she looked so cuddled up and warm in his blanket. They finished another documentary and it was seven o’clock when Nora declared it was time for her to go home. She was feeling better, she reassured a worried Harry, and Maddy was at home to take care of her. He insisted on driving her and Nora wore his Fleetwood Mac shirt with her jeans out of the frat house, since Harry wouldn’t let her give it back to him. He made sure she didn’t have to talk to any of his brothers downstairs, coming to grab her when he knew the coast was clear, and she appreciated it—she didn’t want to get whistled at or questioned, just to go home.

His car was a Prius, which Nora smiled at. He was so unlike any other fraternity brother she had ever met and he intrigued her more than she wanted to admit. When he turned on the car, Elton John blasted from the speakers and when Harry went to turn it down, Nora grabbed his hand and shook her head, telling him to keep it. He drove her home and they sang Elton John at the top of their lungs, both grinning from ear to ear, catching each other’s eyes sometimes. Harry loved seeing her in his car, loved having her around all day. When he dropped her off, she hopped out of his car without a kiss and he tried to ignore how it made his heart sink. He hated watching her walk away from him and inside her building.

It’s just sex, he thought to himself. It was what he had told himself time and time again and what he kept having to remind himself of.

The thing was, though, he was starting to have doubts.

In class, Harry checked in with Nora about how she was feeling and when she told him she was all better he smiiles warmly at her. They went and studied together after class, but Nora picked up her books around three and told him she was heading out, barely a look over her shoulder at him as she walked out.

She was creating distance. She needed it—after she’d spent all day with him she needed to remember that it was just sex, nothing more. When he dropped her off, she had gone into her apartment breathless purely from being around him and that whole night all she could think about was him. She needed space to figure out what was going on, to get her feelings in check. Nora had a life that she needed to focus on, grades to keep up, friends to see, an internship to search for. She filled her nights with homework and the job search instead of texting Harry, her mother reminding her that she needed to turn in applications soon if she wanted her dream internship position in London with the archival research department at the Museum of London. (She’d gone the past summer with her parents and fallen in love with the history of the city and decided she had to work there.) It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be around Harry, it was that she couldn’t. Everytime she was around him she felt this itch to fucking touch him and she couldn’t handle it anymore. She couldn’t handle how much she wanted to kiss him and curl her fingers in his hair and feel him between her legs. Nora needed air, she needed to re-calibrate, she needed to remember that she didn’t want to date and especially not a fraternity boy.

Harry’s texts went unanswered for the most part, other than the occasional quick response to something related to their classwork. He tried not to wonder if he’d done something wrong, but it was hard when he went from caring for her and her UTI to feeling iced out. Nora acted normal in class, small talk and shared laughter when their professor did something funny. But it wasn’t the same as usual and Harry was confused. When he asked Nash about it, he looked at Harry and said, “you’re just hooking up, right?” That made Harry self-concious—was he having feelings for her? And if so, did she not feel the same pull that he did between them? Being around Nora this week made him realize how much he just enjoyed her company, whether they were talking or studying or just sitting next to each other in class. He simply missed her, despite how much he tried to convince himself he didn’t.

He invited her to a party that weekend, hoping the weekend would mean he would be able to see her, but she responded a few hours later with a simple Sorry, I can’t :(. He spent the party sulking in the corner, sipping on whiskey and watching people have fun before going upstairs and calling it a night earlier than normal. Nash noticed and when he asked, Harry just replied, “She’s not here.”

The next week was just like before. They chatted in class, but beyond that it was radio silence. She responded to his texts even less and Harry was a confused mess. He threw himself into his school work, getting ahead on readings that he didn’t need to do for two weeks. All he wanted was an explanation, but he was too scared to even ask why she was doing it. Did she wants to stop hooking up? Had she been freaked out by his kindness? Maybe it was the nature documentaries. Did she want him to be more like Nash? More aloof? Did she want him not to care? Because he didn’t know if he could.

That weekend DSig had another party, but this time Harry told Niall, who was seeing Nora’s friend Maddy, he discovered, to invite them. Niall did as Harry had asked, but he didn’t know if they would come. And when Friday rolled around, Harry was stood in the kitchen, alone, drinking whiskey. Again.

Maddy and her friends had arrived, but Nora wasn’t with them. When Harry had asked her about Nora, Maddy had shook her head and said that Nora “wasn’t feeling it”.

“Harry!” It was Nash and he was properly drunk. “My man! Why aren’t you drunk, bro?”

Harry raised at his cup. “I’m drinking still.”

Nash looked in the cup and grimaced. “We’re doing shots,” he declared, looking around the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of tequila, two limes, and handed a shot glass to Harry. The shots were doubles and Harry wasn’t looking forward to it, but he did it anyways, because if Nora wasn’t going to be there then he at least wanted to have fun. He was entitled to have his fun—after all, he was Harry Styles, as Nash kept reminding him. He was hot and people were into him right and left, guys and girls alike.

So Harry decided to have fun. He did four shots, his mind whirring by the end, and followed Nash to the sweaty dance floor. The music overtook him and he let go, blissfully and fully. He danced with girls who he could tell were interested, but everytime he looked at them all he could think about was how they weren’t Nora. Sure, they were pretty, but they didn’t look at him like she did. He danced with them anyways, but when they leaned in to kiss him he stepped away and found his friends again, not wanting someone else to touch his lips because Nora had touched them last.

It was after midnight when he stopped dancing. He was hot, trashed, and wanted Nora. He just wanted her, not some other girl to fill the Nora-shaped hole in his night. It wasn’t until this moment that Harry, drunk off his ass, realized just how deep he was. Something was different with her and he didn’t know why or what it was, but he needed it more than he needed to be at this party. So he pulled out his phone and called himself an Uber, not even telling Nora he was coming because he didn’t want her to turn him away.

The knock on the door had Nora looking at her clock and sighing. It was almost one and she was exhausted—she was winding down for bed and watching a documentary on deforestation, finishing a glass of wine, skin fresh from a face mask. Maddy was out with Taylor and Lauren, but Nora had stayed in. She wasn’t sure why, but when they’d asked her to come to the party with them, she had said no. The idea of seeing Harry made her nervous—the last time she’d been at his party they had hooked up, and she didn’t know if she was in a place where she could do that and not have questions after. So she avoided the situation entirely.

But when she opened the door to find Harry standing in front of her, she was just as lost. “H?”

Harry smiled at the nickname, it settling the part of him that was nervous to see her. “Cherry. Hi.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Seeing you.”

“I noticed,” she replied. “Why?”

“Wanted to see you.”

She took another look at him and realized he was drunk. Quite drunk, in fact. “How’d you get here?”

“Uber.”

That was a relief at least—he hadn’t drive himself. “Come on inside. You’ll freeze out there.” He’d not brought a jacket and Nora could see the raised goosebumps on his exmposed arms, the tattoos littering his body open for the world to see.

He kicked his shoes off in the entryway and watched as Nora poured him a glass of water. She rummaged through the cabinets before pulling out an Advil, which she handed to him. He took both, murmuring a thanks under his breath. She leans back against the counter and watched him, his presence in her apartment all consuming and more comforting than she had expected. He smelled of sweat and alcohol, but underneath it she could taste his cologne, the memories of it rushing back to her like a freight train. Him, close to her as he fucked her deep and fast, begging for her to finish. She pressed her legs together at the memory.

“Why are you here?” She asked him again, breaking the silence stretching between them.

Harry leaned on the kitchen island, his elbows digging into the granite countertops. “You didn’t come tonight.”

“Didn’t feel like going out,” she explained. She hadn’t expected him to be so disappointed, but she could read it on his face.

“You’ve been dodging my texts and not spending time with me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Bullshit,” he replied, his voice hard in the quiet of the room. She wasn’t answering him and he was about done with it. She was standing there, staring him down, and completely ignoring the meaning behind his questions. He wanted answers, goddamn it—he wanted to understand her. “We’re all busy. It’s more than that and I don’t get it. Did I miss something? Did I do something?”

The way his voice trailed off at the end, emotion radiating through his words, had Nora’s heart aching. She hadn’t meant to hurt him—she had been selfish, needing the time away from him and ignoring how it would affect him, or that it would affect him at all. “I needed space,” she said, trying to find the words.

Harry’s eyes met hers and the way they bore into her soul made her stop fidgeting for once and concentrate on him. “But why, Nora?”

The way he said her name made her realize she had to be honest with him. “We’re just hooking up,” she said, the words sandpaper on her tongue. “And I needed space to make sure it stayed that way. I’m not in the position for anything more and I didn’t want you to be confused.”

Harry didn’t reply. He just looked at her. Maybe it was the alcohol or the hour, but Nora thought she saw disappoint and defeat in his eyes. And if she did, she had nothing to offer him. She didn’t have the psace in her life for someone else right now, only herself. People were complicated, especially relationships, and Nora didn’t want that. She wanted simplicity and hooking up with Harry would only stay simple if she kept it that way.

“I know we’re just hooking up,” he reponded finally. The lie was bitter on Harry’s tongue, because she did need to. The minute her words met Harry’s ears he knew that he was craving more. He had fallen with her, one way or another, somewhere in the week he had known her. His crush was full-fledged and suffocating, because when he looked at her he could barely look away. In her oversized sweatshirt and tiny shorts, her hair loose and messy, face clean of makeup and eyes weary with exhaustion. So when he looked away from her, it took every bone in his body, but he knew if he continued to look at her she would know he was lying. And he wasn’t ready to lose her yet. “You didn’t need to avoid me to make that clear, you know.”

His answer brought comfort to her—he felt the same way, that it was just sex. He didn’t need more, he wouldn’t complicate her life. He would let her be her and not ask for more. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “Shouldn’t have done it.”

He watched as she rounded the corner of the kitchen island and came up to him, her body mere inches away from him. Harry could smell her coconut shampoo and see the wrinkles between her brows from when she frowned. The desire to touch her was almost too much for him. “I survived.”

Nora wanted to touch him with every bone in her body. She wanted to feel his skin under fingers and watch him inhale as she scratched down his back. Since they were on the same page, she realized she had no reason to stop herself anymore.

Watching closely, he exhaled sharply as she touched him for the first time. It was soft, reticent, a reminder and a memory of before. A simple brush of her forefinger down the length of his bicep that had his heart beating faster in his chest. “Cherry,” he said, his voice gravely with desire.

When their eyes met, a simple understanding passed between them in seconds. And then Harry was pulling her up, her legs were around his waist, and he was walking her into her room, their lips melded together as if no time had passed. They hadn’t forgotten how to kiss one another, it was like muscle memory, the need for one another feeding through their skin as they kissed, a shared desire for more and more.

Nora dropped to her bed and she wasted no time with shedding her clothing, her shirt and pants coming off before Harry could even tug off his shirt. He wasn’t drunk anymore—their conversation had sobered him—but when he looked at her skin, he thought he might be intoxicated again because he couldn’t get enough. Sheets curled in her fingers as he pressed his lips to her body, murmurs of how beautiful she was and how much he wanted her flowing from him freely. Gasping, she reached for his chin and pulled him up to her, needing him to kiss her properly again. Which he did. He ground into her, desperate for her to feel him, and Nora moaned at the feeling. How had she managed to go two weeks without him between her thighs?

“Need you,” she said, breathless.

He looked up from where he was attached to her nipple. “Where do you want me, princess?”

“You know where.”

Once he might’ve made her spell it out, but he was too spellbound. He lowered himself flat on his stomach and tugged her panties aside without another word, pressing his tongue to her hot skin.

Things passed like that for a few weeks. They texted each other when they needed one another, Nora went to Harry’s parties just for Harry, and they flirted all through their class. Nora was comfortable with where they’d left things—clear and precise on the fact that they were nothing more than friends who were fucking. No relationship and no future of one.

Harry, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the disappointment he felt that night when she told him they were just hooking up. It poured through every fiber of his being and the more time he spent around her the more he knew that he had messed up. Royally. He had missed the opportunity to tell her how he felt, he had missed the opportunity to steer their relationship in a different direction and he was going to pay the price.

He paid the price in Nora not being his. He couldn’t say anything when he saw guys looking at her from across the room, he couldn’t hold her hand when they walked down the sidewalk on campus, he couldn’t touch her whenever he wanted in public. There was a barrier they maintained during daylight hours—no contact in public. At night when everyone else was drunk they broke that rule and could barely keep their hands off each other, lasting on the dance floor of the parties for a mere thirty minutes before going up to Harry’s. But he couldn’t show her off the world, couldn’t sing her praises, couldn’t call her his. At least, not in the way that mattered. He called her his during sex, but that wasn’t the same, he couldn’t distinguish the fervor of sex from the reality of his feelings. And it pained him more than he had expected.

Because he was Nora’s.

She just wasn’t his.

It was a Friday night and Nora wasn’t at DSig—a rarity. Maddy, Taylor, and Lauren had convinced her to go to the bars with them, telling her they needed a girls night. That she had been spending all of her time with Harry (a lie) and they missed her. So she dressed up, looking hot as fuck if she said so herself, and got drunk with her girls. They played drinking games in her and Maddy’s living room until they were all perfectly wasted, before taking an Uber to Slots.

At first, it was just the girls. The music flowing, dancing at the table they get in the corner, dragging each other onto the tiny and cramped dance floor. It was sweaty and drunk and so much fucking fun.

But then, some boys who Taylor knows came over, and one of them had eyes only for Nora. He was tall, but not as tall as Harry, with dark brown hair, but not as curly and gorgeous as Harry’s, and blue eyes, but they didn’t pierce her heart the way Harry’s do. His name was Leo and he stuck to Nora all night. She let him too, basking in the attention, loving when he bought her drinks and asked her about her classes and her life. She asked him about his and the more they talked the more Nora thought he was cute. Not in the way that Harry was—Harry was hot—but Leo was cute in his own way. A bit unsure, fumbled for words, searching for the way to say something in a way that Nora would like. She loved the power that surged through her veins at knowing that she was desired by someone other than Harry.

Leo was a Economics major and planned on working on Wall Street after college. He was from a few towns over from their college and had planned to go here most of his life. He wasn’t in a fraternity, but he was in a couple of clubs and they discovered quickly that they had some mutual friends. He was kind and made horrible jokes that Nora laughed at anyways because she saw that he wanted her to laugh. No—he needed her to laugh. He listened intently when she told him about her major, about her interest in German history, about her time abroad. He asked her questions and listened, diving deeper and asking her more and more. She felt like he wanted to know her in a way she wasn’t used to and she was surprised, but also flattered. Harry didn’t ask her these things, they just came up in conversation. But Leo sought them out, desperate for more information about her.

So when he asked for her number at the end of the night, she didn’t hesitate to give it to him. She didn’t know what to expect, but it couldn’t be anything big.

But when he texted her in the morning asking if she wanted to get coffee that afternoon, she was thrown off guard. She had told herself she wasn’t going to date anyone. But it was almost March and she had been seeing Harry and a part of her was intrigued by Leo. She wanted to get to know him, see what he was about. If all else failed, she could always tell him it wasn’t going to work out, she decided. So she said yes.

Harry was working Saturday afternoon shift, aka his least favorite shift. He usually spent the afternoons in the library or his room working on readings or writing papers. He had to work on his paper for the Urban Studies class he had with Nora, actually, he realized as he flipped the switch on the espresso machine. Would she want to help him outline maybe? It would be an excuse to hang out with her in a purely PG environment, something he was increasingly trying to find excuses for. He wanted more from his relationship with Nora and had decided he was going to try and ease into the idea—take it slow. Maybe they’d just…end up dating?

Somehow he sensed her presence the second she stepped in the door of the coffeeshop. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a simple white tshirt and jeans that showed off her body in the ways he loved seeing. He watched her eyes lift from the floor and then they met his, a look of shock running across her face. Somehow they’d yet to have the discussion about which coffee shop he worked at, but here she was when he was working behind the bar making espressos and fancy coffees. Then, her eyesight shifted without even a smile in his direction, and he watched helplessly as she made her way over to a boy who had come in 15 minutes earlier—he was seated in the corner. He’d ordered some flavored latte, and Harry decided that was reason enough to hate him. He had never seen the kid before, but that wasn’t impossible at their school, especially if he wasn’t in a frat or in his classes.

“Harry.” He turned and Lauren, the other barista was looking at him in confusion. “You okay?”

He glanced back at Nora, her eyes bright and a smile dancing across her face. “Fine.” He grabbed the coffee cup Lauran handed him and turned back to the espresso machine, placing the cup under the drip and staring daggers at the back of this kid’s head.

Not too long after, Nora rose, her wallet in hand, and made her way to the bar. This guy wasn’t even going to buy her coffee? Maybe it wasn’t a date, he thought to himself. Any guy who didn’t take Nora out was an idiot, but that was a thought for another time. He heard Nora order her coffee, the same drop coffee and skim milk that he remembered, and tried to avoid making eye contact with her until she was standing right in front of his station and said his name.

“H,” she said, words soft. The nickname she used jolted through his body and he hated it. How dare she use while she was on a date with another guy? But then again, she wasn’t his, was she?

“What?” Harry knew his voice was gruff, but he didn’t care. She should know that he was pissed, even if he had no right to be.

She sighed as he filled her cup. “Why are you acting like this?”

Harry grabbed the milk and filled the cup the amount he knew she liked, and then looked up at her again. He rested his hands on the corner of the counter and leaned towards her—he wondered if she could feel the tension radiating between them. “You on a date?”

“I—“ she looked over to the guy who waved at her, and then back at him. “I don’t know.”

Fuck that. It was obviously a date. “Did he ask you to coffee, no studying or other excuse?” He handed her the coffee, but she didn’t move.

“Yes.”

“Then it’s a fucking date, Nora.”

Her fingers slid up and down the cup, moving the sleeve with them. “Are you mad?”

The laugh that left his lips was dry, mocking almost, and Harry didn’t have it in him to care. “No, I’m perfectly fine, Nora. We aren’t doing any more than fucking, right?” He ignored the way the hurt look on her face stabbed his heart and turned away, desperate for literally anything else to do. A beat later, her heard her footsteps as she moved away from the counter, and Harry tried to blink the tears from his eyes.

Nora knew she had fucked up, but how did she fix it?

She was lying on her bed, staring up at her ceiling and running through every moment she had shared with Harry in the past few months. The sly gazes in class, the conversations as they cuddled in his bed, the sex—the sex. And him. He was unlike anyone she’d known, he was unlike Jonas in all the ways that mattered and the ones she didn’t know were important. Harry was someone she never saw coming and the feeling she had for him she’d been trying and trying to push down since she’d met him, because if she let herself feel them then she would be ripped open for him to see. All of her demons out of the closet laid bare for him to investigate, to judge, to tell her how handle. And she didn’t think she wanted that.

And Leo was simple. He might want to date her, but she didn’t feel the need to share everything about her life with him. He was…easy. They could date for a while, just enough to get her mind off of Harry, and then she could break up with him. She didn’t want something serious and Leo didn’t scream serious at her—he screamed pure, kind, caring. The kind of guy who wouldn’t push her when she didn’t want to talk, wouldn’t bed to know everything about her. And that was exactly what she needed.

And the exact opposite of Harry. Harry desperately wanted to know her—she could see it in the way he looked at her, and it scared the shit out of her. He knew all the surface things and was begging to see the depths of her in a way that wanted her to lock a door and never reopen it. But she had hoped to at least stay friends with him, she enjoyed spending time with him. After the way he’d acted today, though, she didn’t know if that was possible, though. He seemed royally pissed off, despite the fact that he didn’t technically have the right to be, she told herself. She wasn’t his, not in any real way. Despite the way he had said the words, they were true—they were just fucking.

Her phone buzzed next to her and she rolled over to see who it was—Leo.

I had fun today. Study tomorrow?

Nora considered her thoughts, the things she knew and the ones she didn’t. Leo was something to be explored, she decided. See you at noon, she replied, pushing the sinking feeling in her stomach aside.

When Harry saw her on the dance floor, his heart lept in his chest. She’d come to another DSig party, despite the date on Saturday he’d seen. Despite the fact that they’d barely spoken this week, no funny texts during the evenings or study sessions or picking up coffee before class. Just words shared about the lecture and reasons given for goodbye. He could see her messy waves bouncing as she jumped and he smiled, he’d always loved how she danced. Carefree, not giving a fuck what anyone thought of her.

He wanted to go to her, touch her, make her his. But then the face of that other guy flashed through his brain, and he couldn’t rationalize it. She was seeing someone else unless she said otherwise. Off-limits, at least for right now.

“That Nora?” Nash leaned against the doorjamb next to him, handing him a beer. “What’s she doing here?”

“Fuck if I know,” Harry replied. He’d told Nash about what had happened in a rare moment of honesty over one too many beers on Saturday night, but now he was thankful to have someone who got it. “Think I misread the situation?”

Nash shrugged. “Dunno man. She’s coming over here, though, I think.”

Harry whipped his head towards her and saw Nash was right—she was weaving her way through the crowd alone and heading straight for him. Nash left his side so he could be alone, and Harry was thankful for it. Nash was one of the rare good ones.

“H,” she said, voice barely audible over the thud of the bass. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He wanted to talk to her with every fiber of his person, but his brain was screaming at him to walk away, leave her alone, let her figure out her shit and come back to him after. Her fingers ghosted over his chest and Harry sucked in a breath. He looked at her eyes and realized she was pretty drunk—drunker than he was, at least. Is that what it took for her to touch him—alcohol? “Nora,” he said, covering her hands with his, “what are you doing?”

“Touching you.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, her tumbling down her back, “want you.”

Harry gulped. Did he have the self-control? “What about that guy?”

“He’s not here.”

“Are you dating him?”

“No.”

Harry considered her words, the look in her eye that was begging him to fuck her. And for some reason, he decided to do it. “I’ll only do this if you’re sure you want to.”

She nodded, curling her fingers into his black t-shirt, slightly damp from the sweat of being in a room this crowded. “Positive.”

And with that, he decided to shove all of his thoughts telling him that she was just using him to the side and kissed her. Her arms wrappd around his neck immediately and he grasped her waist, pulling her flush to his body. Fuck, he’d missed how she felt against him, like she was made for him. Nora’s fingers curled in his hair and tugged slightly, a moan falling from his lips that he couldn’t stop. “Upstairs,” he said, voice rough with desire and hurt and disappointment.

She followed him up the stairs, hand grasped in his, and pulled off her clothes the minute she was inside his room. He raked his eyes over her, knowing it might be the last time, and decided to fuck her like it was. Slow, deep—make her remember that she wanted him. Make her know how much he wanted her, that he regretted not telling her when he’d had a chance.

And so he did. He left hickies all over her body, telling whatever boy she was talking to other than him that she was his, fucked her so deep she moaned his name like a prayer, held her so close that their skin felt like one, and didn’t let her go after. When she rolled over and crawled down his body, he let her, wanting to have her go down on him one last time, to feel her mouth and watch her grip his hips as she bobbed up and down. And he fucked her again, this time a little faster, a little rougher, but just as deep. And he licked into her after, drawing another orgasm from her, trying to memorize her taste on her tongue, how his name sounded off of her tongue, the way it felt for her fingers to curl in his hair and pull. After, when she was curled up in his arms, eyes shut and asleep on his chest, he prayed that she wouldn’t regret it in the morning. That maybe she’d tell him it meant something, that she wanted him and not the other guy, that she was his and only his.

But when he woke up, the only trace of her was her perfume on his pillowcase.

Weeks passed without more than a few words in class and it pained Nora, but she understood. When she’d woken up in his arms, him holding her close so her faced was smushed in the crook of his neck, she knew it was going to be a bad idea to let herself do this again. He’d barely returned his texts or replied to her in class, the smiles she adored were forgotten. She avoiding the coffee shop where he worked and told Maddy she wasn’t going back to DSig. He didn’t want to be her fuck on the side anymore and she would respect that. She spent time with Leo in small doses, trying not to give too much to him, and when they had sex, she tried not to think of Harry. But it wasn’t as good, it wasn’t the same.

Leo introduced her to his friends and she struggled to stay interested in the conversation, her thoughts anywhere and elsewhere. When they studied together, she found herself on her phone stalking Harry’s Instagram, wondering who the girls in the photo he’d just posted were. It came time to work on the second paper for the class she shared with Harry and she missed his insights into her outlines. Leo couldn’t provide the same help and got frustrated when she didn’t take his suggestions (which weren’t good).

The trees changed colors and as she laid out on the lawns with a book, Nora wondered if Harry liked the Spring as much as she did. Maddy laid next to her with an iced coffee and her computer, working on an assignment for her GIS class, eyes flittering over to Nora every once and a while.

Finally, Nora heard her voice break the silence. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Nora lied. She was thinking about Harry.

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So you’re thinking about Harry,” Maddy said. She closed her computer and laid her head on her forearms. “Spill.”

Nora shut her book and sighed. She’d avoided talking about Harry with Maddy or any of her friends, never really telling them why it fizzled out. Just that it did and it was fine. Maddy had seen straight through her lies, but didn’t push. “I miss him,” she said simply.

“Then talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want me to.”

“Valid,” Maddy replied.

Nora whipped her head to her friend. “You’re supposed to say he’s stupid.”

“Well, he’s not,” Maddy said. “He’s got every reason to not want to talk to you—you started seeing another guy and then fucked him a week later.”

“But…”

Maddy sighed. “If you tell me you were just fucking, I’ll literally kill you.”

“We were, though!”

“Nora, you’re not stupid, so why are you acting like you are?” Nora narrowed her eyes at her best friend. How dare she?

“You’re supposed to always be on my side, you know.” “I am. You just aren’t thinking straight.”

Nora rolled over and shoved her face into the blanket they’d brought with them. “What am I supposed to do then?”

After a beat, she heard Maddy’s voice. “Do you like Leo?”

“He’s fine.”

“Fine.” Maddy parroted Nora’s word back to her and Nora grimed at how it souned. Bored, uninterested, which was exactly what she was most of the time. The interest she’d had in Leo had fizzled after the first two weeks, their conversations stalling, the desire dissolving.

Lifting her head nad making eye contact again, Nora said, “He’s boring.”

“And Harry?”

Harry. What was there to say and what wasn’t there to say? He consumed her thoughts and her dreams and she hated it. She’d had a sex dream about him last week while she was in Leo’s bed which was quite possibly the worst thing of all time. Sitting next to him in class was hell because she had to be close to his body, smell his cologne, just be around him, but she couldn’t switch spots because the other students would throw a fit. She missed the way he kissed her and touched her and said her name and laughed with her.

“He’s…Harry,” she said simply, becuase that’s all there was to say.

“Nor, I love you,” Maddy said, giving her a small smile, “but you fucked up.”

And Nora knew it the minute Maddy said the words. She’d hurt Harry and she just hoped there was some way she could fix it, because if she didn’t she didn’t know if she could forgive herself.

Leo was her first task. She texted him to see if he was at his dorm and when he said “yes!” she walked over, backpack thrown over her shoulder, a pit of dread in her stomach. Leo was perfectly nice, just not nice for her. He needed someone simple, easy, and most importantly, not completely infatuated with someone else, all things that she was not. Leo lived on the other side of campus in one of the nicer dorms, known for not having too many parties and only upperclassmen and thankfully for her, lived alone. If she had had to go in there and deal with a roommate after she broke up with him, nora didn’t think she could do it.

He answered his door immediately, a wide smile on his face, a pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt for their college adorning his body. “This is a nice surprise,” he said, kissing her cheek sweetly.

Nora nodded, making her way inside. “Are you busy?”

He sat down at his desk chair and gestured to the notes spread out in front of him. “Studying. Or trying to, at least.”

She sat down on his bed, the plaid bedspread reminding her of the nights she had spent cuddled up next to him in his Twin-XL, much too small for her tastes. Harry’s double bed in the frat hour was far superior. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said, the words rough on her tongue.

Leo cocked his head to the side but said nothing, shutting his laptop and giving her his full attention. Somehow, this was worse, having him stae directly at her. She almost wished he didn’t have the courage to look at her because she sure didn’t.

“I want to break up.” The words were blunt in the quiet of the room, the only sounds the soft echo of a door shutting in the hall. Leo blinked at her and Nora’s eyes shifted down to her lap, winding and unwinding her fingers. She knew she didn’t care deeply about Leo—not in the way she suspected he did—but she didn’t expect the words to come as easily as they did.

“Why?” Leo asked, his voice broken at the end of the word. Nora expected if she looked at him he would be tearing up; he was always more open with his emotions than she was. Vulnerable, something she did not excel at.

“I—I just…” Could she tell him? Be completely honest with him? Her eyes met his, trying to gauge what she should say.

But he beat her to it. “Is it Harry?”

“What?” She hadn’t even told him about Harry. Nora had kept those two parts of her life as far apart as possible, other than when Harry saw her first date with Leo. Otherwise, she made an effort to never mention Harry to Leo. She didn’t know if it was because she couldn’t bare it or if she said his name it would be harder to be around Leo. Either way, he wouldn’t have gotten Harry’s name from her.

“I saw his name on your phone one time. Asked around. Someone said that you and him were a bit of a thing before we started seeing each other.”

Thankfully this person seemed to have left out that Nora and Harry had last hooked up once she’d started seeing Leo. That was a truth that Leo didn’t need to hear. “It’s Harry,” she agreed, “but it’s also me. I’m…I’m just not right for you, Leo. I’m sorry it took me this long to figure that out, but it’s—this—just isn’t right.” That was about as honest as she could be with him without hurting him. And she didn’t want to do that, as much as she didn’t really care about him, she still cared about his feelings.

Leo studied her, his straight brown hair not falling into his face like Harry’s curls did. She loved Harry’s hair and somehow Leo’s always reminded her of Harry’s. Maybe that was the problem with Leo—he was a constant reminder of Harry, particularly of his not being Harry. “Why aren’t you right for me?” He asked, eyes darting around her face. “Like, how can you make that decision for me?”

God, so many things were wrong with them. “I’m not trying to make that decision for you,” she said, trying to backpedal, find her thoughts. “I—it’s...”

“So what you’re trying to say is that I’m not right for you.”

He was right. “Yes,” she said, voice soft. “But, fuck, it’s not like there’s something wrong with you. It’s just that I need someone and something else.”

Leo bit his lip, blue eyes hard as they looked at her. “And that someone is Harry?”

“Yes.”

It was silent in his room, Nora’s eyes falling to her hands still clasped in her lap. She didn’t have a plan for how to leave the room, but now she felt like she needed one. “Leo, I’m sorry—“

“Jesus, Nor, don’t fucking apologize.” She hadn’t heard Leo curse before, not even during sex, so the word was jarring. “If that’s how you feel then that’s how you feel, I can’t argue with you about it. I mean, I wish you’d been more upfront with me about how you felt, but I’m not going to sit here and say I thought we were completely fine. I just thought you needed more time or something…I just liked you so much, I thought you’d get there.” He swiped at a tear that fell from his eye and Nora softened. Just because she didn’t care for him in the way he did didn’t mean she was completely immune to his pain.

“I was hoping I did too,” she admitted. “You’re a really good guy, Leo. I hope you find someone who loves you in all the ways I couldn’t.”

Leo exhales and wipes his palms on his sweats before looking up at her. “Can…can you go now?”

“Fuck, yeah, ok,” she said, eager to get out of there if he wanted her out. She scrambled to grab her backpack and her shoes, tugging them on at the door. “I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Leo stood behind her in the doorway and just nodded. “Bye, Nora,” he said, and then shut the door in her face.

Which she guessed she deserved.

Harry didn’t know who—or what to expect when he heard a knock on his door at 12:30 at night. There was a party still going downstairs, it being a Friday night and all. Harry didn’t feel like attending tonight though, and had decided to spent the evening curled up in bed with a pint of ice cream watching re-runs of That 70’s Show on Netflix. He’d get up early and go for a run, he decided, and forcing pledges to clean up the mess downstairs. He’d probably end up helping them, though, because that’s just who he was as a person, no matter how many times Nash told him the pledges were supposed to do it.

So when he opened his door in just his boxers and a shirt, his glasses on the tip of his nose, the last person he expected to see was Nora. She stood probably a foot away in leggings and a big sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun, and Harry wondered what looks she had gotten downstairs when she’d tried to get in. Although basically all the guys knew her by now, since she’d spent so much time in the house when they were…fucking.

Harry leaned against the door, waiting for her to say something. He decided after the last time that he wouldn’t hook up with Nora again, not unless she was properly his. So unless it was to tell him that, he decided he would kick her out, tell her to go home. Have one of the guys call her an Uber though, since it was late and all.

“I broke it off with Leo,” she said finally, brown eyes staring at him with such hope in his eyes he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Good for you,” was all he could come up with to say. What was he supposed to say? Thank god, I’m kind of obsessed with you still?

She looked at him and then into his room. “Could we talk…please?”

Harry stepped back and let her into his room, shutting the door softly behind her. She stood in the space as if she was meant to be there, a piece of art that had been on loan but was finally back home. Harry couldn’t shake the fact that he had been waiting for her to come and see him for so long and now that she was here he had no idea what to say to her. So instead he was quiet, waiting for her to speak, and went and sat down on his bed.

“Are you going to say something?”

“What do you want me to say?” That I can’t decide if I’m happy you’re here or mad it took you this long? That you look gorgeous? That I want you, but all of you not just the bits you give me? He didn’t have the words for what he wanted to say, which was everything.

“Just…fuck. I guess I’ll talk first?” She said, her words rambling—he could tell she was nervous. “I fucked up, okay? I pushed you away and I don’t even know why—well actually I do. But it wasn’t a valid reason. I should’ve talked to you, told you what I was thinking, not just started seeing someone else without any explanation.”

“Why did you push me away?” He asked, the rest of it blending into the background, zeroing in on those few words.

“I—can I sit?” She asked, gesturing to his bed.

He nodded, shifting over to give them space and so he could face her while she talked. Harry had this feeling that this was when he might finally know Nora after being on the outskirts of her emotions for so long. And he so desperately wanted to know. It felt like the only way to know her before this was through sex, through seeing her when no one else was looking and her emotions and her pleasure took over and she was just…her. But if she could give him words and context for the rest of who she was, that would be even better. Then he might, finally, know all of her.

“When I was in high school I dated this guy—Charlie—and we dated for a year, almost a year and a half. And he knew everything about me. All of my secrets, all of my past, all of the things about me that I was scared of people knowing. But he was a year older than me and so when he was going to graduate I wanted to break up because I didn’t want to be that high school girlfriend left behind, you know? I didn’t want to be worrying if he was going to cheat on me with some college girl, and I thought if it was meant to be we’d find each other again. But then, when we did break up, he spread this video of me going down on him around the school and it destroyed me.”

Harry’s heart stopped. Of all the things he thought Nora would share with him, this didn’t even make the list of things he expected. He wanted to hold her but she was sitting bent over, her eyes not even meeting his, and he knew that she had to do this on her own.

“And he didn’t even care? Or get it? Like he didn’t understand why I was so hurt--or he pretended not to, because if he didn’t think it would effect me then why did he even share them in the first place, you know? And then he graduated and he could just leave, but I had a whole nother year there in that place. And it was hell. My friends stuck by me, thankfully, but everyone else treated me like I was trash. And I couldn’t bring myself to file a police report or something because rehashing it all to some police officer felt even more horrible than just dealing with it on my own. But anyways,” she said, running her hand through her hair, “ever since then I’ve had trust issues with relationships. Especially when I have feelings for someone and trust them. And so with you, it was like I had this trust in you from the beginning and you were so good but also wanted me so much and it just…it was too much for me. But Leo I could hold at a length, you know? Like I could keep him away from my heart, but you, you wormed your way in without me even realizing it.” Her eyes met his then, and they just looked at each other for a bit, Harry struggling to find the right words. If there even were such a thing as the right words. Which there probably weren’t.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Harry said, picking his words carefully. “For him to have done that to you…it’s horrific. And I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

She gave him a small smile, her hand flickering up to wipe a tear from her eye. “Thank you.”

“When you said I…I wormed my way into your heart,” he said, breathless, “did you mean that?”

She nodded, hair falling into her face.

Harry scooted closer to her, so close that their knees were touching. They both sat criss-cross-applesauce on his bed and somehow it felt so intimate, more intimate than anything they had done before because they were just looking at each other. “You wormed your way into mine, too,” he told her, a light chuckle leaving his lungs. “And you haven’t left. Did I?”

He ran his fingers over her knee and he could hear Nora’s inhale of breath. “No,” she said softly. “I just refused to believe it.”

“Well,” he said, taking her hands in his, finding joy in the feeling of her skin under his again after so long. “Do you believe it now?”

Her fingers interwined with his and when her eyes met his, Harry knew that she did. “Yes,” she whispered, and Harry didn’t pause before taking her face in his hands and kissing her the way he had been craving ever since he woke up in an empty bed.

Nora’s reaction was immediate, lips melding with his, body falling into him in the way he had missed. Her fingers scrambled up his back, pulling at the fabric with a desperation that Harry felt in his bones. After weeks apart, he wanted to see her—all of her—and feel her against him.

“Will you take this damn thing off?” Nora mumbled against his lips, pulling at the neck of his shirt. Harry smiled at her frustration and pulled it off, groaning from the way Nora traced his tattoos. Her mouth attached to her favorite spot—the place right above his swallow where she’d sucked a lovebite into the skin so long ago—and it felt like coming home. The pain of her teeth nipping the skin sent goosebumps up his spine and he couldn’t stop the helpless hum that left him, loving the feeling of her so close to him. He could smell her shampoo in her hair when he leaned his head down to rest on top of hers, and when he tugged her head up and traced a line from her earlobe to her neck, wrenching aside her sweatshirt that he wish was his instead, the scent of her laundry detergent filled his senses.

“Your turn,” he said, nudging up her sweatshirt so he could grab onto the bare skin above her leggings. “Wanna see you.”

Nora leaned back and smiled at him, one of the smiles she gave when she was perfectly at ease. The same one he earned when he brought her ice cream to the couch or tucked the blankets in around her in bed or wiped at a bit of toothpaste at the corner of her mouth. The fact that she was at ease with him again meant the world to him—he was safe for her. After so many men who weren’t, she trusted him, and Harry was never going to give her reason to think it was misplaced. She pulled off her sweatshirt and he helped her get it over her head when it got stuck, muffled curses leaving her mouth before their lips could reconnect.

But Harry missed her skin. So he gently laid her back and set about recreating one of their first moments together, kissing a line from the top to the bottom of her body. Trembling mewls fell from her lips as he went about his work, sucking on her nipples like it was his God-given duty. “I, missed, you,” he said against her skin, each word with a suck of his lips, earning him a wanton hiss that left his aching for her. “All of you.” He licked a stripe from her rib cage to her belly button, softly nipping at the skin of her belly. He loved digging his fingers into her skin and adored the fact that she let him suck marks onto her. Most girls hated them, but Nora didn’t mind in one bit, and Harry was an arrogant son of a bitch and loved the idea of her looking in the mirror and seeing proof of how much he cared for her.

When he made it to her leggings, Nora wasted no time in lifting her hips so he could peel them down her legs. Harry pressed his forefinger to the fabric right over her center and gasped, looking up to catch her eyes. “You’re dripping, love.”

The blush that colored her cheeks felt so out of place in the moment, but Harry loved it all the same. “Your lips are…” She paused, searching for the right word before settling on, “good.”

“Good?” He hooked his fingers in the hem and pulled them down. “You need to work on your vocabulary, baby.” He loved using that pet name on her and he loved even more when it made her smile.

“It’s not my fault I’m not a—fuck—literature major,” she replied, cursing when his tongue licked a circle on her folds. “H, please, Jesus.”

Harry peeked up at her and sucked harshly on her clit, a sharp squeal reverberating in his ears. “Not Jesus,” he teased, rubbing circles on her clit as he nosed at her skin, “just me.”

Nora snorted, but when Harry dipped his finger inside of her, it quickly changed to a gutteral cry that only rose as he found an even rhythm of his finger sliding in and out of her, his tongue licking cirlces on her clit at an even beat. It was like music to him, the most perfect symphony of sound. Her fingers wound into his curls and when he curled his finger inside of her she tugged on his locks, a groan leaving his lips and falling on her skin, drawing a gasp from her. It was give and take and give and take and it was Harry’s favorite game.

“H,” she said, tugging at his head, “need you.” She groaned as he sucked on her clit again, Harry ignoring her words. He had missed the taste of her on his tongue and he wasn’t about to give it up. “Please,” she cried, “I’m too sensitive, I want you.”

“What do you want?” He asked, adding another finger just to torture her for a little bit longer. He lived for her little whines and moans, he decided, the way her eyes fluttered shut and then open, desperately trying to keep him in view. “Use your words, princess.”

“Your dick,” she said, not even wasting a second. “Deep. Please. Please, H.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, drawing his fingers from her, storing the groan that left her deep inside of him to remember for later. Harry wasted no time in pulling at his boxers, tugging them off and dropping them to the floor. She bent at the waist, sitting up and pulling his glasses from his face—he wasn’t sure how they had survived his assault on her skin—and tugging open the drawer in his bedside table, searching around for a condom.

“You’re out,” she said, turning to look at him with a surprised look on her face.

Harry let out a string of curses and clambored over to the table to look inside. She was right though—the brothers must have stolen them in the weeks since he’d last seen her. He’d been low before then, but he hadn’t had any reason to restock. “I—I didn’t need to restock,” he said, looking at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

Nora wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him back down against her, his body resting on top of hers, his dick pressed against her skin. “You haven’t been with anyone else?”

He shook his head. “You…and him?”

She nodded slowly and Harry tried to ignore the part of him that hurt. She was with him now. In his bed, with him, no intention of leaving. “It wasn’t as good,” she whispered, runing her fingers across his jaw. “He didn’t know me like you do.”

That sure as hell made him feel better.

“And we always used a condom,” she continued. “So I’m clean.”

His eyes widened at her meaning. Bare? With her?

Harry thought he might cum from the thought itself. “Me too.”

Her voice was small when she asked him, “Is that okay with you?”

Harry took her face in his hands and kissed her nose, begging her to see how much he cared for her, wanted her in every which way. “Baby, that sounds like fucking heaven.”

She smiled, her lips crinkling at the edges, and Harry kissed a line across the freckles that danced on her cheeks. “I want to know what you feel like,” she said, testing the words, “bare. Inside me.”

The deep growl that left Harry was one he’d never heard before, but it perfectly encapsulated how he felt at hearing her speak like that. “You…are magnificent,” he told her and then he leaned his body up, just enough so that he could reach down. Her fingers drew circles on his arms as he pumped his dick once, twice, a hiss between his teeth filling the silence around them. When he brushed his tip against her folds, they both moaned and Harry recaptured her lips, wanting to feel her moan against his mouth. He wanted to not miss one single sound that left her when he pressed into her.

And when he did it was like remembering how to speak.

Nora’s hands grabbed at the skin at his shoulderblades, begging for purchase—something to grip as he pulled back and then in again. The feeling of being bare inside of her, of feeling the velvet of her walls and the way she gripped him when she clenched without meaning to, Harry decided this was better than any high. “Faster,” she mumbled against his chin, but Harry shook his head. He wanted her slow, he wanted to feel her.

“Want this to last,” he whispered, words threatening to expose his deepest fears.

But she knew immediately, her hands cupped his chin as he thrusted deep inside of her and she said, “I’ll be here in the morning. And every day after. Okay?” She kissed his nose, then his eyelids when his eyes shuttered closed at the grip she had on his heart. “We have all the time in the world.”

Harry gathered her in his arms, wanting to be as close to her as humanly possible, and drove himself as deep as he could. Her legs hooked around his waist, begging him deeper, the neverending stream of moans spurring him on. But he tried to hold back, wanting to enjoy every second of this. Because she—she was heaven and Harry didn’t want to leave.

“I know you want slow,” she said, digging her fingers into his skin, “but I need slightly faster. Please, H. Please.”

That was all he needed. He would have slower later. He wanted to please her, he wanted to give her everything she asked for and more. So he leaned her down on her back and lifted her foot to rest on his shoulder, earning him a deeper angle and drawing a gutteral moan from her chest as he slammed into her. Their hips met over and over again, the only sounds the sound of skin on skin and the moans and breaths that left them both. Harry drove deeper and deeper, wanting to find every inch of her and when he hit a spongy spot she keened, back arching up into him, her breasts bouncing up and down in a way that begged to be touched.

So he did, never wanting to let her be without his touch. “You’re perfection,” he mumbled against her skin as he licked patterns on her skin, kneading into the other breast as he drove his dick deeper inside of her, hitting the spot repeatedly. “Utter perfection. Goin’ to tell you all the time, yeah? Never want you to forget it. How perfect you are. Nora. Nora, fuck, you feel so good,” he said, words a mess in his brain. He didn’t even know what he was saying but from the way she gasped and clenched around him, he knew she liked it so she kept going. He told her that she was all he thought of, of how he’d tugged himself off in the shower to the thought of her, how he could barely stand to sit next to her in class knowing he couldn’t have her. How she ruled his every thought and dream.

“I’m about to come,” she said, arms hooking around his shoulder so he could press closer to her, “you?”

He nodded, hair sweaty against her shoulder where his face rested. Her legs had fallen back to the bed and they were impossibly close. Harry didn’t know two people could be this close, but with Nora it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted to be inside of her skin somehow. To see every nook and cranny of her. He dug his knees into the bed and kept up the pace, hands kneading every inch of her skin, words whispered in her ear for only her to hear, and she did the same. She told him how much she cared for him, how she missed him every moment of the day, how being with him was a new kind of solace. Her fingers drew lines down his back that he decided he would treasure for the rest of time.

Suddenly, her walls fluttered around him and then clamped down and Harry knew she was coming. Her back arched her hands scrabbled for purchase on his skin, his name leaving her mouth in an echo, a prayer, a desperate desire for salvation. Harry could feel himself falling after her and he slammed into her once, twice, and again, and then he fell, holding her still against him as he came, her name whispered in her hair.

She held him against her, arms a cage around him and Harry didn’t want to move. He didn’t have muscles left, he didn’t think.

“H,” she said, kissing his shoulder, “I should pee so we can sleep.”

“But I want to hold you.”

He could feel her smile against his skin. “After. Promise.”

“Fine.” He rolled to the side and she kissed his nose once before pulling on her sweatshirt and his boxers, padding over the door to go pee. Harry’s eyes fell to the sheets which they had claimed as their own and he smiled. He had missed her—everything about her, but this was how they had started in so many ways. This was where they learned each other, memorized one another.

The door opened and she was back, a smile on her face, a flush on her cheeks. It was quiet downstairs—the party must have ended while she’d been here, he realized. “C’mere,” he said, arms outstretched.

She answered by stripping off her clothes and falling back into him. Her chest pressed against his, legs intertwined, and they lay there. “Missed you,” she said softly. “A lot.”

“Me too.”

There was a pregnant pause before she asked him, “H?”

“Mhmm?”

“Can you…” She trailed off and Harry swiped at her hair, pushing it back so he could kiss her neck.

“What is it?”

“S’awkward,” she said and Harry chuckled.

“We just had sex, baby, you can’t say anything that’ll be awkward.”

She ducked her head so her chin rested on his arm which was wrapped around her. “Can you put it back inside me? Miss the feeling.”

He stilled. Fuck, he thought, where did she come from? “Course, love.” He lifted her leg slightly so he could fit there, and then tugged at his cock a few times before pushing gently inside of her. “Still wet,” he choked out. “How?”

“Always want you,” is what she replied and Harry keened.

He pressed kisses to the back of her head and tugged her closer into his body. “Sleep now, huh?”

“Love you,” she breathed out and Harry’s blood stopped in his veins. It was so sudden, but at the same time, so right. The words were what he needed to hear always, he realized. The ones he had been missing.

“Love you,” he answered and closed his eyes against her hair, thankful that she’d be there in the morning so he could say it again.

Waking up next to Harry, shirtless and holding her close, was a dream in of itself.

Nora blinked her eyes sleepily, adjusting to the sun streaming in his windows. He had these soft grey curtains that didn’t do much except hold off the harshest parts of the sun, so whenever she slept over she usually woke up fairly early. Not that she minded too much—it meant she got to watch Harry as he slept, which he hated her doing when he was awake. He always got twitchy under her gaze and ended up distracting her, usually with his lips.

She rolled slowly in his arms so that she could look at his face. His brown curls were smashed against the pillow, long eyelashes framing his cheeks with an impossibly sharp cut to themm. His nose—Nora had always loved his nose—and his perfectly soft lips. Nora reached out a hand and brushed her fingers across his jaw and Harry’s eyes fluttered, but didn’t open. Nora decided that was a good sign, and continued to trace the outlines of his features. She’d missed looking at him studying him, just being with him. She didn’t realize it until she was gone, how much she ached to be with him. And now that she was here, she wasn’t going anywhere. She pressed her lips to the column of his neck, right above his adam’s apple, before gently pulling his arms away from her waist. He was pliant under her touch, adapting quickly to her absence, which she tried not to think about too deeply.

A collection of paper had caught her eye. It sat in the opposite corner of his room, shoved up next to his guitar. It was the one he still had on loan from the guitar shop downtown. He’d taken Nora there once, wanting her to see guitars and understand them like he did. She tried to, but her favorite part was watching him appreciate them—that was enough for her. She slipped on his tshirt that was closest to her and her underwear and made her way over to the stack. Maybe it was snooping, but the truth was that Harry didn’t share this side of him with her all that often. She’d tried to get him to sing for her, but he had refused time and time again. Nora tucked her legs in and sat down on the floor, grabbing the stack to investigate further. The first couple papers were scribblings—words and letters—chords, she realized, Harry had shown them to her. Some chord diagrams too. But when she got fifth page, it was different. Full lines. Chords matched up with it, his handwriting crossing out things and changing them. It was lyrics, she realized. A song.

She looked up at Harry, still curled up in bed, the sunlight hitting his face perfectly, and wondered if this was too much of an intrusion. But when she glanced down at the pages, she couldn’t resist. She wanted to know his brain, that was all. She wanted to know what he thought about and how. And so she read.

Don't you call him "baby" / We're not talking lately / Don't you call him what you used to call me

I, I confess / I can tell that you are at your best / I’m selfish so I'm hating it

I notice that / There's a piece of you in how I dress / Take it as a compliment

Don't you call him "baby" / We're not talking lately / Don't you call him what you used to call me

I, I just miss / I just miss your accent and your friends / Did you know I still talk to them?

Does he take you walking 'round his parents' gallery?

Don't you call him "baby" / We're not talking lately / Don't you call him what you used to call me

She couldn’t help the tears that fell from her eyes because the lyrics were about her. About them. About when she ended things and started seeing Leo. About her calling him “baby” over the phone when he was being annoying, about him seeing her with Leo and the pained look on the face, about the graphic t-shirts that he’d bought that resembled her own. About her accent when she spoke in French that he always loved, how Maddy told her that Harry still would stop and talk to her in the quad. Leo’s parents owned a gallery a few towns over and he’d taken her there on a date, and she’d mentioned it in class one day. “Don't you call him what you used to call me” hit her the hardest, because she never could. The nicknames that she gave Harry, baby especially, they were all just for him. Leo would give her pet names and she could never do the same. The words came easily with Harry, but for Leo, they would’ve been forced and even she couldn’t do that.

When she left Harry it had caused him so much pain—pain she didn’t even stop to consider. It was a snap decision, Leo, and when she thought about him she thought only of herself. How it would be easier for her to leave Harry, to stop what they were doing, to shove her feelings to the side, ignore them. But she had forgotten that she wasn’t the only person in whatever relationship they had. And she had hurt him, despite that being the utter last thing she wanted to do. She had wanted to save him from the trainwreck that she was, from her inability to care for people in the deep way that Harry did for her. But she had surprised herself, because what she had said to Harry last night after they’d had sex, right before they went to sleep, it was true. She did love him. She loved him with every bone in her body, every hesitant, dubious part of her soul.

She was his, even though it scared her.

“Cherry?”

She looked up at the nickname, one he hadn’t called her in a while. He was sitting upright in bed, looking at her on the ground with his papers in her hand. “I was curious, I read them. I’m sorry if they were private, I just—I wanted to understand.”

Harry shook his head at her, giving her a warm smile that immediately put her at ease. “It’s fine, love. What do you think?”

Nora looked back at the paper she was holding and then up at him. “Is this one about me?”

Harry’s eyes widen and she can see the panic on his face. He must not have known this one was in the pile or that she’d read it. “Fuck. Um, yeah—I’m sorry, I just…I needed to process, you know? And then I wrote it, I’m so sorry, it’s so personal, I—“

“H, stop.” She got up, feet padding on the rugs on his floor over to his bed. She laid the paper on the duvet and crawled over to him, throwing her legs over his so she could sit comfortably at his waist. “Don’t apologize, yeah? It’s okay. You have every right to write all about me, about how I make you feel, about your pain. It’s not mine just because I cause it, it’s yours because you feel it.”

Harry’s eyes searched hers, trying to discern if the words were honest. But he would find no hint of a lie, because Nora wasn’t mad. She was angry at herself for being so blind to how her actions had made him feel. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, curling a finger in his hair. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” she said, and shushed him when he tried to speak. “I didn’t think about how I was going to hurt you, I was thinking about how to protect myself. I tricked mmyself into thinking that somehow by distancing myself from you I was protecting me and you, and in the end I just hurt us both. So I’m the one who gets to be sorry here, ‘kay?”

He brushed circles on her thighs, chin dipped to think about her words. “It was so hard,” he said softly, words quiet in the silent house. No one else was up yet, it was just them, wrapped in their own world. “Seeing you with him. Knowing what you were doing with him and not with me. Having to see you all the time—it was like my own specialized torture.”

“Never again,” she said, pressing a kiss to his browbone. “I promise. I’ll tell you what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking. No secrets.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her body in close, and rested his head right between her breasts. It felt so intimate in a completely different way than anything they’d done before. This felt vulnerable in that way where your heart is completely bared open, ready and willing to be taken from you. “Love you,” he said, words muffled in his t-shirt that she still wore. “No secrets.”

Nora kissed the top of his head and rested her cheek against his soft curls. “I love you too, H.”

They sat there on his bed, their body curled up against one another like two commas, perfectly aligned. Meant to be, as long as there were no letters separating them. And for now, it was just them, the two commas, in a sentence all of their own.

——————————————————————————————-

YEEEE SHE’S DONE!!!!! this took so long to get my shit together to write--I had like half written and just couldn’t figure out how to finish. there were supposed to be four parts, but I ended up just rolling it all together in this one. I’m planning to do an extra (#italy!harry anyone!?!?!?!!) and lmk if you have any requests for Nora + Harry. love u all to pieces!

ask me about fratboy!harry here | masterlist here | fratboy!harry tag

PART ONE | PART TWO

[queenangst]

blister

blister achieving elysium | read on AO3

It’s been about three months since Galo has seen Lio’s face. Okay, well, not just his face, but the point is that three months is like, way too long. 

But Galo gets it. The Burnish need care, and help, and a leader. Where Galo’s shiny, Burnish-Flare fighting tech is a little too much for fighting regular fire, and the Burning Rescue’s original purpose is gone—there’s still work to do. Still fires to put out with his burning soul. For the Burnish, though… everything is gone. It’s a chilling thought. 

Every now and then he checks in with Lio; the guy seems to be in a different place whenever Galo calls. One day he’s half around the world, the other Galo catches him glowering at some poor Promepolis official. He’s trying to help the Burnish find family, rebuild, sorting out logistics, fighting the deep-rooted prejudices that Galo suddenly realizes has been everywhere for the past thirty years. 

Yeah. Galo gets it. 

So he doesn’t expect to see Lio Fotia on the other side of the door when he’s rudely woken up at some ungodly hour. 

“Lio!” 

“That’s my name,” Lio says dryly, picking at his sleeve. 

“You’re here!” 

And then Galo’s brain catches up, because the poor thing works really hard and takes some time, you know? 

“Holy shit—Lio! You’re here. At my apartment!” He squints. “And it’s like, two in the morning.” 

Lio cringes. It’s such a non-Lio movement that Galo pauses, realizing he’s crossed the boundaries of what Remi keeps calling ‘personal space.’ He backs off. 

Lio takes a breath. “I…” 

And he falters. 

Okay, so Lio is being super not-Lio. Okay. The Lio Galo remembers made a fucking dragon out of fire, would have thrown himself into anything to save the Burnish, was quick and confident and sure. He’s not— pale and shivering, eyes low. Suddenly Galo shifts, and the dim light catches on a dark smudge on Lio’s face. Blood.

“You got a little, uh….” Galo blurts, “uh, you’re bleeding!” 

Lio cracks a smile. Lio’s bleeding, and he’s smiling. 

“I’m well aware,” he says, and his lashes flutter against his cheeks. “I can leave. If I’m… inconveniencing you.”

“Dude,” Galo says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re bleeding. Come in.” 

He steps back into his apartment, and Lio follows, right hand clasped around his left wrist. He slips his shoes off and walks quietly behind—ghostlike. The last time Lio was here he’d walked into the place like he owned it, familiarizing himself in the space. He’d made box mac n’ cheese in the kitchen, eating it curled up in front of the news on TV. 

They head right into the bathroom, where Galo has a dedicated cabinet full of first-aid kits. Lio sits on the floor with his back to the bathtub, watching warily as Galo pulls out a clear box. 

“I’ll take it from here,” he says when Galo cracks his kit open. 

Galo frowns. 

It’s not like Lio isn’t capable. Lio’s capable of plenty, even without the Promare. He commands a room with his presence; he can draw every eye to him with the same magnitude as he can make them look away. Galo’s seen him stare down every Promepolis official there is, every person who worked on the Parnasuss Project. Galo’s seen him run a soothing hand down a child’s back. He’s seen Lio smile, and it’s kind of one of the coolest things in the world. 

But he also remembers back when the mess had only begun—Meis pulling him aside and saying, you gotta help us look out for Boss ‘cause he’s not too good at doing it for himself. And the other one, Guiera; he doesn’t know how to ask for help. 

Galo had promised. 

“I can help you,” he says. In the fluorescent light he sees Lio. Drawn, tired. There’s bruising forming along his jaw. The blood’s from a cut along his cheek. Galo tries for a smile. “We’re not Galo de Lion for nothing, right?”

Lio sighs. His eyes close for a second—Galo jerks, thinking Lio’s passed out.

But then Lio opens them again, and says, “Alright.”

Before Galo can react, Lio’s twisting. He carefully unzips the jacket, a size too big, and peels it away. Galo throws himself backward when he sees the mottled skin on Lio’s arm. Burns. 

“...Lio?” 

Lio doesn’t meet his eyes. His breathing is uneven. Slowly Galo scuttles forward on the bathroom floor and takes Lio’s hand, gently straightening his arm to get a closer look. 

“Why didn’t,” Galo’s voice doesn’t sound right, “you go to… the hospital, or, or, why didn’t— you’re welcome here, don’t— who?”

Lio shrugs with his uninjured shoulder. “I can’t go anywhere else,” he murmurs, “I trust you.” 

Lio’s fingers curl around his. Galo’s shaking, but he doesn’t let go. He’s trained for this. He’s a member of the Burning Rescue—he forces himself to stop shaking and reaches for a towel, throwing it into the tub and running cool water. 

“Lio,” Galo says, to the sound of running water, “what… happened?”

Lio bites his lip, glaring angrily at the ground. There. Anger. Galo can work with that. 

“Fire doesn’t protect me anymore,” Lio says after a moment. He doesn’t make a sound when Galo pressed the cool compress to his arm. He doesn’t even flinch, but his fingers twitch. “I knew that. But people started figuring that out, too.” 

There’s a sort of ugly picture forming in Galo’s mind. 

“You’re not a bad guy,” Galo whispers. 

“Not everyone sees it that way.” Lio closes his eyes, dropping his head forward against Galo’s shoulder. He’s shivering, so Galo reaches for the jacket on the ground and half-drapes it over Lio’s shoulders. 

“So someone…”

His stomach churns like the time he’d challenged Varys to a pizza-eating contest. He can see it. A dark figure grabbing Lio— the dizzying light of a fire catching— Lio, alone, Lio, hurt—

“Did you fight back?”

Lio shakes his head, hair shifting across Galo’s skin. Galo reaches for the antibiotic cream. 

“Why… you’re not the type to take a hit lying down.” 

Lio huffs a laugh. “So the ex-Mad Burnish terrorist leader attacks an innocent citizen. Then what? My months of work turn to ash. People are scared. What will my people do if I’m arrested? What will they do when the government decides we’re not innocent?” 

“You are!” 

“It’s hard to believe sometimes,” Lio says. 

“I’m gonna punch them.”

Apparently it’s the right thing to say, because Lio laughs. “Idiot,” he says, but the word is fond. “You can’t just punch problems. And they’re not your problems, either.”

“Ah. Nuh-uh. Your problems, my problems,” Galo says. “We’re a team. We share stuff. Sometimes too much stuff, like when Lucia takes shit from the Burning Rescue communal pile of snacks, because wow, she really puts that stuff away— anyway, your problems, my problems.”

He finishes wrapping Lio’s arm. It’ll do for now; maybe later Galo can drag him to a clinic or call in a favor to get it looked at. 

“Are you hungry? Aina sent us all home with leftovers yesterday, and did you know that Varys is really good at making cookies? What I’m saying is we’ve got robot cookies. And—”

“No,” Lio says firmly. He lifts his head again, and Galo reaches without thinking with the towel to wipe at the blood on Lio’s face. Lio goes still.

“Sorry,” Galo says. 

“I trust you,” Lio repeats. His eyes flicker. 

“Sleep,” Galo decides. “Sleep fixes everything.” 

“Almost everything,” Lio says. He stands and takes a very convincing step—but Galo grabs him when Lio’s legs give out and he crumples. 

“I got you,” Galo tells him, lifting Lio up. Lio weighs, like, nothing. Sure, he can knock a guy in the face as hard as anyone else, but Lio’s also small. He doesn’t eat a couple pizzas on the regular, and it totally shows. 

Whatever’s been keeping Lio going just— disappears now. He goes quiet and limp in Galo’s arms. Pain tightens his face. He’s just hurt, and Galo hates it, hates that people can’t see how cool Lio is. 

“I’ll be out of here tomorrow morning,” Lio says, curling towards the edge of the bed. He’s surprised Lio doesn’t protest more; he’d slept uncomfortably on the couch the last time he crashed at Galo’s place. But maybe he’s too tired to care now. Galo climbs in after setting him down, their backs pressing together to share a spot of warmth. 

“You can stay,” Galo mumbles. “However long you need to. Lio.”

Lio’s silent for so long Galo almost believes he’s fallen asleep. 

But finally— “Thank you, Galo Thymos.” 

Galo grins. “We’re friends.” 

“I tolerate you.”

“That’s a whole lot of tolerating,” Galo says. Lio sighs. 

Galo breathes in. It’s reassuring, to feel Lio pressed to his back. He feels like he’s been missing something for a while now, missing that surge of right when he and Lio had piloted together for the first and the last time in perfect synchronicity. When the fire had flowed from them. 

“I missed you,” Galo admits. It’s easy to say that with their backs against each other, staring at the distant shapes in the darkness. He doesn’t have to look at Lio’s face, or expect anything. “And I’m glad you… I want to help you.” 

“We’re a team, aren’t we?” Lio says, so quietly Galo almost misses it. “I hate being weak.”

Galo wants to roll over, wants to look at Lio’s face, but he thinks no. Lio won’t face him, not like this. 

“You’re not.” 

“And I’m tired.” He’s talking about a lot more than just tired, Galo knows. Tired of fighting, he thinks, and tired of suffering, and tired of holding things together. 

“You’re not alone,” Galo tells him, “you know that?” 

Lio hums. It’s enough for Galo to close his eyes, to let his own tiredness wash over him. The warmth between them. 

“I’m with you,” Lio says. “Tell me that again—tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow, Galo thinks. He reaches back, searching, and Lio takes his hand. Yeah. There will be a tomorrow, for healing, and for waking, and Lio will have him if nothing else.  

[punkkris]

ZombieTale Chapter Three - Reflections

Hey guys! Quick note here before the read. This chapter includes swearing, and torture. It gets a tad graphic, so if you're not into that, then I'm sorry to say that this fic series is not for you. I'm going to start getting more graphic as time goes on. So long story short, trigger warning. Without further ado, let us get started! _________ "C'mon Chara, we're gonna be late!" I yelled upstairs. I was already on edge since today was the day that we start the 6th grade. Over the last couple of years, the other monsters have started to find out who I really am on the inside—a wimpy little crybaby. Understandably, I didn't want to go today. Chara came sauntering down with a dull expression on her face. "There's no need to yell Asriel, I'm right here." she replied. She stared straight into my eyes for a good fifteen seconds before she shot me with a smile that made me slightly uncomfortable. "Y-you ready to go?" I asked in a futile attempt to calm my nerves. "Ooh you bet I am, fluffbutt. You have no idea." she replied slyly. "What do you mean?" I asked, slightly off-put by Chara’s mysterious demeanor. "I mean that I'm gonna make a statement. No one's gonna mess with me this year." Before I could once again ask her what she meant, she slipped past me and squeezed out the door. Our walk to school was unnaturally silent. Every now and then Chara would chuckle to herself, which was doing nothing for my nerves. We turned a corner and walked up to the school's front steps. As soon as we did, I turned to Chara. "So are you rea... Chara?!" The knife was in my gut faster than I could react. Chara was wearing a face that gave off a terrifying mixture of demonic and overjoyed. I screamed as loud as possible, but stood fast. Everyone immediately ran to us. At first I thought they were coming to help, but I soon realized that they all had knives. Similar to succumbing to a million mosquitoes, they all were on me in an instant, plunging their weapons into various spots on my body. It was a horrifying mess of blood, tears, screams, and devilish laughs. It took me a while to realize that it didn't hurt, which naturally freaked me out. I was screaming out of fear, not out of pain. When they all finished, Chara kicked me to my knees. She smiled at me with her shining blood red eyes, then stepped aside to reveal a face that brought me more pain than any amount of daggers could muster. "F-Frisk...help me..." Her eyes were cold. Her eyes were gleaming with the threat of tears. Her eyes were full of hatred. "No one can help you now," she whispered. "Your soul is hers now. And honestly," she leaned closer, her lips mere inches away from my ear. "You look pathetic, you little idiot." "B-but...I thought you loved me..." I asked. "Oh please," she responded. "That ship sailed ages ago." With that, her dagger found its way into my heart. As if that wasn't enough, Frisk proceeded to grab each knife that was affixed in my body, and turned them; it was like she was turning twenty different keys, each one unlocking more anguish from me, and betrayal from her. "I'm not sorry. And yes, my little Azzy, I do have something better to do. Anything is better than you," she concluded. Instant darkness. No feeling. No sound. No real discernable proof that I even exist at all. "Oh no...not this. Not the void. Not again," I thought. I've had this feeling before. "I-is anyone there? Didn't think so. Oh well it was worth a shot anyway." I couldn't seem to find any reason as to why I was here again. "Why am I here," I thought aloud. "Why am—wait...I remember...I remember the sun. And Frisk. Yes that's right. We were free. I was so happy. Then there was that stupid machine. The hole in my gut. The pain—oh the pain! And then...Wait a second. I'm dead. I'm dead again. But I can't be. Things were finally good again! After sixty-six damn years my life was finally fucking bearable!" I shouted, cursed, screamed, yelled, thrashed, did all I could to show my frustration and anger. All of a sudden, I was blinded by light. I try to shield my eyes from the light, but it seems to pass through my hands. Polar opposites. It's like I'm on the other side of the world. Everything was so white. I was sitting in a chair that slightly resembled one for dentist operations. That thought made me instantly nervous, but I couldn't move. There were no physical restraints, so I deduced that I was being held by magic. "Why am I here, Chara?" I asked to the seemingly empty room. At the mention of her name, Chara apparated into view. "You know why you're here, brother. You're dead, don't you remember?" She replied, a hint of hostility scratching the surface of her tone. "But why here? Why not the void? It's where I went last time," I looked down at my feet. Chara gave a full-hearted smile. "Maybe you should be asking yourself. After all, you're the one in control of you. Right?" Her smile grew wicked. "Well, until now, that is." As I saw Chara’s arm snap towards me I felt instant and colossal pain. It was like I could feel my heart taking itself apart and single-handedly destroying my sea of organs. "How does it feel, you pathetic little wretch?" I heard her ask in between my cries. "Does it feel like punishment? Madness? Maybe you're finally learning your place." She stopped and leaned in close to more intimate boundaries. "Or just maybe, I am your salvation." She left that theory hanging in the air before returning to the torturous pain. Every instant was that of a millennia. Every intake of air was fire, and every exhale, needles and knives. Speaking of fire, the next thing I noticed was the Jerry can of gasoline that Chara was toting. "Oh we'll get to that in a second. Something else to do first," she said, evidently noticing my worried glances. She then brought out her ever-present knife. Walking up to me, her grin grew more sinister, not unlike the smile of a demon. "You always did like flowers, right? Well let's make sure you always remember that shall we?" She rhetorically asked me before raising up her knife. "Wait—" I tried to beg. But my pleas fell on deaf ears. Deaf, devilish, hate-fueled ears. Faster than the blink of an eye, the knife was in my stomach and moving, carving the shape of a golden flower. "Oh," she said add she finished her drawing. "Sorry does that hurt? Here, let me fix that for you." She dropped the knife and closes her eyes, clearly focusing on something. Then, as if it were even possible, the pain mutated into something even more agonizing. I looked down and saw the formation of curves and lines morph together to make one long slanted cut across my belly. This apparently came as an opportunity for Chara. She continued to toy with me. "Now what have we got here? A nice little hand warmer? Let's try it out shall we?" I've seen some horrible things. Hell, I've done half of them. But this…this took it way too far. Chara shoved her hands through my stomach, enjoying every second of my torment. And if it wasn't enough hell to go through, she started to part the red sea that was my body. There was a visible hole all through my abdomen. She paused for a brief moment. Chara needed to chortle away her insanity, which sucks because it gave me a false sense of hope. For a moment I thought she was done. I wanted her to walk away and let me be. That's when she did what I was waiting for. Gasoline can in hand, she doused me all over in the flammable liquid, then took out a box of matches. With what little power I had left, I kicked the box out of her hand, but not before she retrieved a single match. One is all it takes. "That's only fair considering what I'm about to do to you!" She responded. ~"Asriel!”~ Striking the match, she threw it onto the ground in front of me; all in one fluid motion. It made me wonder if she'd done this a lot. ~"Can you hear me? Fight back!"~ It didn't take long for the flame to reach my fur. I tried to flinch away from the fire, but to no avail. I sat in misery is the pyre engulfed my body. It was easily the worst thing I've felt in my whole existence. "Hahaha! How does it feel Asriel? Huh? Tell me, Asriel!” "Tell me! Come on! Asriel!" ~"Asriel”~ "Asriel!" ~"ASRIEL!"~ "ASRIEL!" —————————— I need to find him. That's all that matters right now. Not the blood all over my shirt. Not the fact that my ulna is sticking out in an alarming angle. Only him. How did this even happen? We were standing in a row, watching the sunset. It was perfect; not a cloud in the sky. We told each other how much we loved the view, then Asgore asked me to be the ambassador between humans and monsters. After I agreed to it, I glanced over to Asriel to see how he was holding up. He seemed to be the kind of guy that would get overwhelmed by new sights. Then the blast came. I woke up in clearing with everyone else save Asriel. I looked around and got a check on my surroundings. I checked myself first and noticed that my arm was broken. It hurt like hell, so I tried to summon a little determination to ease the pain. But I couldn’t find it in me so I just moved on. My shirt was covered in blood, and my shorts were torn, but that was about it. Sans and Papyrus were enveloped in a translucent blue ball, and seemingly unharmed. Alphys was covered in cuts, and Undyne was wrapping a torn piece of her shirt around her calf. Toriel was hovering over Asgore, healing him from the looks of it. Everyone was alive and accounted for except for Asriel. I ran of to go find him. “ASRIEL!” I shouted for what felt like the hundredth time. If my body would allow it I'd be running right now. But I gotta work with the hand I'm dealt. All I have to do is find him and take him back to Toriel. She’ll do the rest, and will probably make me feel a tad better, physically and mentally. But finding the goat monster was proving to be a fairly taxing challenge. That didn’t make me even think about abandoning my search in the slightest, though. Asriel means way too much to me. I'm close to passing out from pain alone. Edging on the brink of consciousness, I catch glimpse of a white foot behind a bush. “Asriel!” I exclaim as I run to the foot. “I'm so glad I found yo-” I'm stopped dead in my tracks. What I was expecting to see was broken bones, maybe a gash or two. But not this… It's not even Asriel. It's a human. On another human. And at first I thought the moving one was giving CPR. But he wasn't. He was eating...something. Very loudly. I inched closer to find out what was so damn tasty that he wasn't saving the poor man. That's when my life changed for the remainder of my days. The moment that was way past the point of no return. The only point in my life I wish never happened. I ran away from the bush and continued my search for my dear friend. After shouting his name a couple more times, I heard some mumbling. I stumble towards the source of the noise and fall to my knees in relief. I've found him! Unconscious but alive. I pick him up and fireman’s carry him for a couple of yards. After I lose a bit more energy, reposition him to better suit my comfort. Now to get back to the group. Taking a different path so as to avoid my previous encounter, I carried Asriel back to the clearing we were stationed at. Toriel used her magic and healed me up and sealed the gaping hole in Asriel’s center. And then we waited in anxious, painful silence. After several minutes I grew too nervous. I broke down and clutched Asriel as tight as I could. “Asriel,” I cried. “Can you hear me? Fight back.” it was getting harder to control my sobs and outbursts. “Asriel!” I saw his foot twitch. He was coming back. “ASRIEL!” I screamed through my tears. He opened his eyes and closed them again. After coughing and shaking for a hot moment, he reopened his eyes. “Asriel, I'm here. Can you speak?” I asked. His lips parted, and alongside the blood and spit that came out, he muttered one single word...A name… “Chara…”