#speaking of graves now my sister has her name written somewhere i should probably go and see it

[deeisace]

aw damn it

[potterverse-united]

In Loving Memory

A fanfic in which Snape and Harry actually talk it out a little and start to understand each other...

Rating: G / K

Summary: Harry has never really liked Halloween... for obvious reasons. A certain professor isn't really a fan either. Perhaps some healing is in the cards for both of them, after a trip out to a small village in southwest England. Takes place in second year, but it could honestly be any year at Hogwarts.

Read on AO3 Read on Fanfiction.net

A/N: I haven't written fanfic in forever, but I just watched every single Harry Potter movie in one day a couple days ago, and it sent me into a relapse of my 13 year old self's Harry Potter obsession (not to mention that I now live in Orlando and have been to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter like 6 times in the last couple weeks). Oh man if my roommates ever find this they're gonna know exactly who wrote this…

O-O /*

With a flick of his wand, Snape slammed the door to his office shut, locking it beyond the hope of any student's best alohomora charm. He set out at a brisk pace toward the castle's entrance, glad to be escaping the merry cheers and shouts emanating from the Halloween celebration taking place in the Great Hall and, frankly, all throughout the castle.

As he turned a corner, he nearly tripped over a pair of legs and a stack of books. Idiotic, really. You would think that students would have the common sense not to sit where they could easily become a tripping hazard, but Severus had learned not to be surprised when 'common sense' was absent at Hogwarts.

A Ravenclaw, he expected. They were book smart, sure, but other than that, they could be incredibly dense, clumsy, and shortsighted. Or maybe Granger, though he imagined she was probably off getting roped into trouble with Potter and Weasley, perhaps with Hagrid and some illegal creature involved.

He had not expected the scrawny boy with round glasses and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead to be sitting in this dark hallway, far removed from the rest of the student body.

"Potter, I figured you'd be milling about and enjoying the festivities with your rowdy little friends," Snape spoke with a sneer. "What's a second year Gryffindor like yourself doing inside on Halloween night?"

Harry looked up, caught off guard by his professor who seemed to be wearing a heavier traveling cloak and carrying a crate full of items he couldn't quite see.

"I was, sir. I just… Well, Halloween isn't exactly my favorite night, professor."

Snape's head tilted back, eyes piercing through Harry's as if assessing the veracity of his excuse before, unbelievably, softening.

"I see," he answered. The potions professor pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth slumping downward slightly, almost imperceptibly. "I'm not too fond of it myself." He shuffled the items awkwardly in his arms, turning to walk away.

"Are you going somewhere, professor?" Harry asked. After what had happened the previous Halloween, Harry wasn't sure it was the best idea for professors to leave the students unprotected, but Snape must have a good reason if he was. At Harry's words, he froze.

"As a matter of fact, I am," he answered in his drawling voice, turning back to look at his student. "I have business outside of the castle."

Harry nodded and shifted his attention back to the Transfiguration assignment he had been working on, expecting that his professor's patience for such an idle conversation had long since worn off.

Snape, however, continued to stare at the young boy, seeming to consider his next words very carefully.

"Perhaps you'd like to accompany me, Potter. My destination happens to be one that you may wish to visit."

"Sir?" Harry sat, confused.

Any hesitation Snape had shown at his initial offer was quickly covered by what could only be described as impatient certainty. "Come along, Potter. Unless you'd rather stay here staring at a blank roll of parchment?"

Blinking in surprise, Harry promptly gathered his things and trailed after the flowing cape of Severus Snape, down the hall and out of the castle.

O-O /*

Harry had to walk twice as fast as he usually did to keep up with the deceptively fast stride of his professor. They traveled down the lane a while, Snape charging ahead without so much as a glance back at the castle where students' delighted screams and laughs could be heard from half a mile away.

"I could help carry that for you, sir," Harry offered, seeing his professor struggle with the bulky items in his arms.

Snape's instinctive refusal died on his lips as he glanced down and met the wide, truthful eyes of Harry Potter. Eyes that could only remind him why he was bothering to drag the kid along with him on his yearly pilgrimage in the first place.

He nodded jerkily, not used to accepting help from anyone, much less the son of James Potter.

"Hold this," he said, transferring a large wreath of white flowers from the top of his overflowing box into Harry's awaiting arms.

Harry eyed the wreath curiously. Whatever he had expected the professor to be carrying, this certainly wasn't it.

"Where is it that we're going, professor?" he asked, shaking off the momentary confusion that had held him back from where Snape was walking ahead of him.

Snape made no move to meet Harry's eyes as he responded. "We are walking to the edge of the castle grounds, from which point we will apparate to a village in the southwest of England."

"Southwest England? Am I allowed that far from Hogwarts during the school year?" Harry asked curiously, wondering now if this was some ploy to trick him into breaking some serious school rules and getting sent home.

Snape's lip curled in a slight smirk at Potter's uncertainty. "As long as you stay with me, the headmaster can have no objection," his answer came, with an air of finality.

O-O /*

Apparation proved to be tougher to stomach than Harry was expecting, but his lack of an appetite at the Halloween feast served him well in that regard. Snape's firm grip on his arm helped stabilize him as their feet met the slightly damp soil of a small, sleepy town.

"What is this place?" Harry asked, turning his head like an owl to take in his new surroundings.

His professor looked down at him, a flash of concern and… something else behind his dark, inky eyes before it was easily masked by practiced impassivity. His gaze turned to the town in front of them.

"Godric's Hollow," he answered, seeming to lose himself in the line of small cottages and the old church standing silent in the middle. His voice was quiet, even softer than his usual reserved intonation, and there was a faraway look in his eye, like he was seeing more than Harry could see in front of him. "It is the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, the invention of the Golden Snitch, and…" Snape paused, glancing down at the boy. "You."

Harry sucked in a shuddering breath.

"So that means…"

Snape gave a small nod, breathing out a sigh.

"Yes. This is where it happened."

Harry's knees suddenly felt like jelly. Snape must have recognized this, as he placed a firm, guiding hand on Harry's shoulder and led him through the quiet, leaf-covered street without another word.

As they neared the back of the church, Snape began to speak. "I had assumed you would have been brought here to visit by now. Twelve years of age, surely someone would have shown you where you're from." A kind of sadness formed in Harry's eyes, and Snape had to look away. "From your reaction, I can see I was incorrect in that assumption."

Harry nodded.

Severus clenched his fist, suppressing quiet rage at Petunia Evans who, looking back now, Snape should have realized would be unlikely to share fond memories of her sister with her nephew.

As they walked, Harry couldn't help looking at the streets, dimly lit with a warm yellow light. Bedroom lights in the small houses flickered out one by one, and he imagined that in each one, loving parents were kissing their children goodnight as they drifted off into content sleep.

This is where he would have grown up. A peaceful, happy life. A mum and a dad.

If, if, if.

Harry had long since learned that such thoughts only brought pain, but on the anniversary of their deaths, it was harder to push back those feelings. A deep sense of melancholy settled itself in his heart, pressing inward. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes before the brisk autumn breeze blew across his face and dried them all up.

So lost in his musings was Harry, that he didn't even notice where Professor Snape had led them to.

The man stood, unmoving, gazing over rows and rows of tombstones in a fenced-in cemetery next to the church. Harry came up alongside him and felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Would you like to visit their grave, Harry?" Snape all but whispered, calling his student by his given name for the first time, possibly ever.

The boy looked up in shock, realizing now what was before him.

"You mean they're in there?" he asked, though perhaps he should not be so surprised.

Snape's lips twitched in what was his attempt at a comforting smile. He gave a nod. "Come, I'll take you to them."

O-O /*

Harry walked in a daze as Snape led him through the meandering rows of graves. Graves of magical and muggle folk alike. Eventually, the professor came to a stop in front of an unremarkable tombstone, though the names engraved on it held more weight than any of the muggle residents of this village would ever understand.

It seemed there were others who had already been to visit, as flowers and letters adorned the site, no doubt thanking the couple for their heroic sacrifice and continuing to mourn their tragic end.

Somehow, it had never occurred to Harry that his parents were buried somewhere. That he could go to a place and stand not a meter away from where they lay in rest. Until now, all they had been were names and a story. A few shared memories, but other than that, nothing but words. Knowing that they were once here, physically present, made the loss seem all that much more profound. And for the first time, Harry could imagine what it would feel like to be wrapped in his mother's arms, for his dad to ruffle his hair playfully. They were real, even if they weren't here anymore. They were real.

Harry swallowed back the emotion, bringing himself back into the present. At some point, Snape had knelt to the ground and was now brushing leaves and dirt off the top of the tombstone. He turned his head, nodding to Harry. "Come, Harry, help me with these flowers."

Cold, muddy water seeped through the knees of Harry's trousers, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he sank to the ground and held the white floral wreath limply in his hands. There was something about being here, doing something to honor his family, that soothed the pain in his heart.

Snape set out a bundle of white calla lilies, tied up with a small black bow, and motioned for Harry to hand him the wreath. After adjusting it to his liking, he stood and admired his work.

Harry was at a loss for words. Following his professor's example, he stood and gazed down at their names once more.

James and Lily Potter.

He could understand, now, why he had been invited along on this trip. In fact, he was incredibly grateful beyond words for such an opportunity. He had never expected for something like this to give him closure, much less for it to come from Snape.

But there Snape was, silently paying his respects to his mother, and Harry couldn't even theorize as to why.

"Sir, I—I don't understand…" Harry spoke, breaking the somber silence that had settled on the graveyard.

Severus didn't need to guess what Harry was wondering about. It was only natural for him to want to know.

Though Severus would infinitely have preferred to keep his connection with Harry's mother a secret, he knew it would not have been fair to Harry. After all, he had had so much time, comparatively, with her, and Harry so little. Though certainly her son deserved it far more than he ever did. The world could be cruel.

And Severus could not deny his part in that cruelty all those years ago. It was his fault that Voldemort sought out Lily and James. His fault that Harry wound up an orphan. It filled him with immense discomfort now to be standing there, guilt heavy on his shoulders, with the one person who suffered most from what happened that night.

"You are, no doubt, wondering why I would come here, to this graveyard," he spoke, nodding at the tombstone and leaving no room for denial.

Harry looked to his professor, awaiting an explanation.

Snape stared straight ahead at the engraved names, taking in a deep, unsteady breath. "Your mother Lily was my very best friend in our first years at Hogwarts. My only friend." His look was somber. "It only seems right to come here and pay my respects when I can."

For a moment, Harry swore he couldn't breathe.

Snape, of all people? Aside from learning last year that it had been Snape trying to protect him and protect the Stone, the potions professor was notorious for not having a kind or gentle bone in his body. He was impatient. Unnecessarily harsh on his students. Hateful. Every thing he had seen tonight, however, called every preconception of the man's character into question.

"F-friends, sir?"

A humorless smirk crossed Snape's features as he looked down at the young child. "Yes, I suppose my dealings with you would make such a thought unimaginable. Unfortunately, your father and I never got along." Now that was an understatement. "Once again, my assumptions of you may have been too hasty. I was foolish to believe your aunt would outgrow her childish contempt for the wizarding world."

"You knew Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked incredulously, finding this whole situation more and more unbelievable by the second.

Snape let out a disdainful laugh. "Perhaps one day you will know the whole story, Potter. But for now, I'll say that if your aunt treats you at all like how she treated Lily when we were children, then your mother would be rolling in her grave."

Harry pursed his lips. He was still not used to people caring what his home life was like, but he supposed that his parents would wish it a little better than it was with his aunt and uncle.

The belltower on the church rang out across the dampened street, chiming half past 11 o'clock at night. Snape bent down to collect the letters that rested against the stone, shuffling them into a neat pile and placing them in a wooden box.

"Here," he said, handing the box to Harry. "I believe these ought to belong to you."

Harry felt his eyes again welling up with tears as he accepted the gift. "T-thank you, professor," he stammered, clutching the box tight.

"There's a lot more where that came from, believe me," Snape commented as he packed up the boxes he had brought. For the first time, Harry was seeing a different side of Severus Snape. He was witty in his remarks—when he wasn't trying to be cruel. He could almost imagine the boy he once was, who held his mother's friendship.

"More, sir?"

Snape nodded as if it were obvious. "More than a decade's worth, now. The rest are in the possession of the headmaster, though I suspect he will return them to you if you should ask."

Harry wanted to speak, but no words would come out. It was overwhelming, everything that had happened in the course of a couple hours. Being here, now, he had a backdrop in which he could imagine his life before. A mental picture of what had happened. It somehow filled a gaping hole in his heart that he hadn't realized was there, while tearing it to pieces at the same time.

"I'll be at the gate, when you are ready," Snape announced, stepping away from the gravestone. Before Harry could argue, he was gone, and Harry turned back to the engraved names of his mother and father, alone with them for the first time since that night eleven years ago.

"Hello," he said, awkwardly, not sure what one was supposed to say to his deceased parents. "I guess I want to say thanks," he continued, "for, you know, saving me." A chilly breeze swept past the grave, causing Harry to shiver. He wiped the dampness from his face, sniffling softly. "I wish you were here."

There he sat for several more minutes, allowing the tears to fall as they may, before heading back to the entrance of the cemetery.

O-O /*

Snape watched from afar as the boy sat alone by the grave. He looked so small against the backdrop of large tombstones and overgrown trees. Much too small to have experienced all the pain which he had in his short life.

He sighed. For ten years he had carried on this tradition – returning to Godric's Hollow on this most miserable of nights. Never forgetting the night eleven years ago that had changed his life forever. He considered it in some ways a form of penance, self-punishment for his stupid, thoughtless actions that brought about the death of the one person he truly cared for. It was about reliving the pain, allowing himself to feel it deeply, in his bones.

But now…

Seeing Harry here, his first time in the village since that fateful night…

Perhaps it was about healing. Growth. Like Albus' blasted phoenix metaphors, perhaps it was the beginning of a new chapter in the aftermath of what had happened.

It was time he passed on the tradition. Gave it to its rightful owner, the son of Lily and James Potter.

Oh, yes, he would still visit her grave. But it was time he stopped this selfishness. There was one who needed these visits more than he did. And it was the boy he had sworn to protect. He couldn't change what he had done, but he could change what happened next.

Healing – yes.

It was about time that everyone start to heal.

O-O /*

Just a little reminder down here to leave a comment and reblog!

I could be convinced to write a follow up chapter with Harry seeing his old house for the first time, just saying 👀

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #399

“i was raised by the devil’s own kin, taught me that a good time was never a sin”

Do you like wine? NOOOOOOO that shit is gross. Explain the grossest thing that's ever happened to you? Having an infected pilonidal cyst drained. Would you rather go on holiday somewhere warm or somewhere cold? Cold, for sure. What would be your ideal pet? I reeeeaaaally want a very visibly sunset morph ball python one day. The really pretty ones are expensive as fuck, but omg, I want one so badly. What was the last book you were required to read for school? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. It was fantastic. Would you chew somebody else's gum? EW FUCK NO. What was the last type of meat you ate? Chicken. How old were you when you had your first kiss? 16. At what age would you allow your kids to dye their hair? Whenever they wanted, as long as a professional did it. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? Probably McDonald's. Bats are not spooky or are they? I adore bats. Do you like the song "Womanizer?" Unabashedly, yes, haha. I love the beat and it's really catchy. Do you know how to change a tire? Nope. How big is your backyard? Very small. What is your favorite Nintendo 64 game? I've actually never played a Nintendo 64. If you want children, what are some of your reasons for wanting them? I don't want any. Does a career in finance sound interesting to you? Absolutely not. When you cook a dish that has beans in it, do you prefer to use canned or dry beans? I. HATE. Beans. What’s something that makes absolutely zero sense to you? Those that deny the existence of dinosaurs. Fossils don't lie. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s your favorite dessert? That's so hard, but probably cheesecake. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? Vanilla ice cream. Do you know anybody who is ambidextrous? Sara. Have you ever been 4-wheeling? Yes. Will you be attending any weddings in the near future? No. If you have glasses, have you ever smashed them? No. What was the last thing you got a really good deal on? My APAP mask. Insurance covered it way more than even the women in the office were used to so had to look into it. Insurance has been nice to me lately, from TMS to this. What was the last reason you took medicine? I had a massive headache. Any important birthdays coming up? My older sister's was today, and her eldest daughter's is in two days. Mark's birthday is the 28th, and that's like a holiday in my book lmao. What colour are your headphones? These earplugs are pink. How do you express your creativity? I mostly write RP and rarely poems. I also like to draw sometimes, and I'm big into photography. Gypsies or gnomes? Gypsies. Dragons or fairies? Dragons are my favorite mythological creatures. Elves or pixies? Elves. Where is your favourite place to get breakfast? Maybe Cracker Barrel? Or Waffle House. What was the first sport you learned how to play? I want to say soccer. I hated it. Nickname you’re called the most? "Britt" is the most used. Do you sleep on your stomach? I can't now with my mask. -_- That's how I usually slept. Have you ever been called a bitch? Yes. Would you ever want a super-realistic baby doll? Fuuuuuuuuuck no. I don't like dolls, never mind realistic ones. Ladybugs or bumblebees? Ladybugs. <3 What is the best thing that ever happened to you? My first round of a partial hospitalization program and meeting my psychiatrist. Both that therapy and proper medication is the reason I'm alive. What is something really hurtful someone you love has said to you? That I was an "ungrateful bitch." What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? One for advanced ball python husbandry. There are some SERIOUS elitists in there, but it does have great information. Did your mom ever own a typewriter? I think she did? We used to have one, so. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Maybe orange. I want to wear a black dress and get married in the fall, so, Halloween vibes! :') Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska. Do you wear a watch every day? I never do. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? No, thankfully. Not yet, anyway. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I am much happier with pets. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic ones. Who is/was the best friend you have ever had? Sara. Do you own a trenchcoat? No, but I wish. They're badass. Name the hardiest piece of technology you own? My iPod that I've had since middle school. That bitch STILL works, and I use it heavily. Are you currently in a smoking environment? No; people aren't allowed to smoke in our house. Have you ever owned a tire swing? No. Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? My old friend Alex did. I don't know if I can call her my "friend" anymore because I haven't seen or heard from her in well over a year at the bare minimum. Do you ever not speak to someone because you’re afraid you’ll annoy them? STORY OF MY LIFE. Is there any drama going on in your circle of friends? No. But I don't really have a "circle" of friends to begin with. Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? No. Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? I don't go on rollercoasters. If given the opportunity, would you act in a commercial? No. Do you believe in finders keepers in most situations? No. How many pills do you currently take a day? Ugh... Now keep in mind this number encompasses medications that I just have to take a larger dose of that particular med; I don't take this number of different prescriptions. AS a whole though, I take uhhh. Somewhere around nine or ten in the morning, and six at night. I might be off about my morning pills. What do you take medication for? Bipolarity and depression, anxiety, OCD, severe heartburn, even more intense nightmares, uhhh... maybe I'm forgetting others? Idk, man. I'm on too many. Have you ever had a bag stolen? No. What class from high school did you love the most? Art. What class did you hate the most? Economics. If you don’t have a car, do you wish you did? Not at this very moment, because it'd be useless as I don't currently drive. Have you ever had a job you loved? Nope. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I just eat normal fries when they're offered. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? At least twice. Have you been best friends with someone of a different race? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? I think only my grandmother has done that. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes, while Dad doesn't have one. What do you absolutely have to have to make your birthday feel special? My family. Mice or roaches? I love mice, but roaches creep me out. Have you ever received a gift and truly did not know what it was? Yes. A family friend is good at that. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No. Do you like being in pictures? NO. Do you travel a lot? Not at all. Have you ever eaten a dog treat? No. I've eaten a guinea pig treat though, haha. And it wasn't awful. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but turns out my alcohol tolerance is too high while only liking weak alcohol to begin with. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't do that, I'd get way too dizzy, and besides, I don't want a headache. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I've been wondering if I should (for the most part) abandon human photography. I've lost so much passion for it, and besides, I feel like I'm going nowhere with it. I know I really, really shouldn't, though. Have you ever captured a moth? I put a caterpillar in one of those little plastic habitats once as a kid that grew into a moth. I then released it, of course. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? It's been months. Do you have a really fat cat? No, he's healthy. Do your initials spell a word? No. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Did you love playing hide and seek as a kid? Yes, that was my favorite! Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multiplication times tables? No. Do your parents allow you to have your privacy? Yes. Have you ever been severely burned? No. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've had many, actually. Guess with who. What was the weirdest thing you've ever seen cross the road? I want to say a turkey? Or maybe it was beside the road.

[sleepy--cal]

hitched pt.1 | ashton

word count | 7.6k  →  fake dating, tinder, romcom au

synopsis | Ashton lies about having a plus-one for Michael’s wedding, sending his friends into an excited frenzy, and him? Scrambling to make those lies come true.

a/n | i’ve never written anything for the 5sos community before so here is my hello :3 Warning: excessive swearing bc the author has a potty mouth

★

When Ashton thought about it way back when, he really thought he’d be the first to settle down. To tie the knot. To get hitched.

But the first 5SOS wedding is coming up in August and it’s not his. It’s Michael’s - as in feet-on-the-table, milk-mustache-wearing, fortnite-until-dawn-playin’, doesn’t-wake-up-until-2pm, stray-cat-lookin’ ass Michael.

Luke has his plus-one. Sierra. Even Calum’s weekends have been spent chasing after this girl that Ashton has yet to be introduced to. Yet here he himself is at 2 months shy of 25 years of age, and he’s so fucking single he’s pretty sure he and Virgin Mary could be featured side-by-side on an expert level of a spot-the-difference game.

In fact, the last time a female even stepped foot into his mancave of an apartment was before he’d broken it off with his ex-girlfriend over a year ago. And when his ex had moved out, she’d brought all of her stuff with her and when Ashton says ‘all of her stuff’, he means all of her stuff. There’s no longer a toaster oven in his kitchen, only a microwave that he uses to heat up pizza pockets and poptarts. There are no bowls to eat from because he eats his food straight off his only pot like an 18th century caveman. There’s a lacy bra hanging off the doorknob to his bathroom but even that was a gag gift from Calum for Christmas two years ago. It’s fucking sad.

So Ashton doesn’t think it’s his fault, okay, when his phone pings and he comes face to face with the link to RSVP to Michael and Crystal’s destination wedding and the first question that comes up is “Do you have a plus one?”

Ashton scoffs.

He doesn’t know what it is - either the internalized compulsive need to one-up his friends or you know, casual demonic possession but he physically cannot control his goddamn thumb as he checkmarks the little “yes!” next to the question from hell. The panic doesn’t settle in for a little bit, even when he’s staring blankly at the ‘thank you for your response!’ message that pops up after he submits the form.

It’s only when he picks up the phone to an ecstatic Michael less than a full minute since he indicated he wanted steak instead of fish for the wedding dinner that he well and truly has his ‘oh shit’ moment.

And of course, when one person in the band knows something, everyone fucking knows. Which is how he finds himself stuck in a 4-way facetime call with every single 5SOS member and their dogs.

He can see all of Luke’s pores from how close his face is to the screen.

Everyone speaks all at once.

“Ash you’re what?!”

“Mate, why the hell didn’t you tell us?”

“I seriously had to find out from you RSVP-ing to my fucking wedding?!”

Ashton winces as he pulls his phone further from his face. “Guys it’s not that big of a deal.”

Michael scoffs at the same time Calum screams. “Not that big of a deal?! Dude!”

“What’s her name?” Luke demands like he’s asking for tonight’s weather forecast and not the name of Ashton’s fake fucking girlfriend.

“Chernobyl,” Ashton says. What the fuck.

“Chernobyl?” Luke repeats, his nose scrunching up in deep thought.

“Isn’t that the name of the nuclear power plant that-”

“It was a joke!” Ashton snaps, cutting Michael off. “I was kidding. It’s an inside joke between us.” He bullshits. “Um-”

“Aw, you two have inside jokes already!” Luke coos instead. Calum falls for it immediately, cooing alongside Luke and if Ashton’s ego wasn’t so big, he would’ve hung up the call already.

“So what is her name then?” Michael probes curiously. Ashton wants to kill Michael.

“Uh,” Ashton says intellectually. Favourite cartoon character. His grandmother’s name. The name of his childhood stuffie. The street he used to live on?? Ah, his neighbour’s cat! “April! I- yeah, it’s April.”

“Aww! Ashton!” Calum says dreamily like he’s Ashton’s mom finding out about his girlfriend and not his punk rock band member.

“She’s twenty-two,” Ashton’s fat mouth adds unnecessarily, because apparently, Ashton Fletcher Irwin is a closeted masochist and likes his grave deeper than most.

★

When management had approved of the band’s 6-month hiatus in preparation for Mikey’s wedding, Ashton never imagined he’d be spending it alone on his living room floor downloading Tinder.

But as he watches the progress bar slowly fill with green, it dawns on him that this is probably the worst decision he’s ever made in his entire life and that he should probably get psychologically evaluated for compulsive lying.

He isn’t even sure if Tinder is the right app for this, because he’s not looking for a hookup. He’s looking for a very specific 22-year old April who happens to live in Los Angeles, is open to sharing a fake inside joke with him about the tragic 1986 Chernobyl disaster, and won’t think he’s a serial killer when he asks on the first date if they want to accompany him on an 11-hour flight to Bora Bora as his plus one for his best friend’s destination wedding.

Ashton groans, falling backwards onto the carpeted floor. “Fuuuuuuck.”

The only thing that answers him is the mocking ping from his phone telling him the download is complete.

The carpet is rough under his cheek as he turns to grab at his phone, the ‘Let’s get started!’ page of the app staring innocently back at him.

It’s afternoons like these that makes Ashton wish he wasn’t such an insufferable idiot.

In no time at all, Ashton has his profile set up - his name (just Fletcher), age (24), and a couple of long-distance unrecognizable shots of himself because there’s no way in hell the tabloids are about to catch him on Tinder.

He spends the next 30 seconds swiping right furiously on every single girl that pops up because Michael’s wedding is in four months and the fitting for the groomsmen suits are tomorrow and he seriously has no time to be picky right now. He literally needs his 22-year old April yesterday.

He’s about to max out on his swiping limit for the day when a loud knock on his door startles him out of his thoughts. From his spot on the floor, he peers around the corner at the front door and when the lock doesn’t jiggle after another ten seconds, he groans and gets up to see which one of his not-bandmates have decided to show up unannounced.

When the door swings open, Lauren is staring at him from the other side with a giant luggage behind her and a raised eyebrow.

“Lauren!” He greets enthusiastically without missing a beat.

She rolls her eyes at him anyway and pushes her way past him and into the apartment. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“I did not. I even have a poptart in the microwave for you.” He insists as the front door swings shut with a bang.

Yeah... he should really get tested for compulsive lying.

“Here, let me grab that for you,” Ashton says, hauling the gigantic suitcase Lauren had brought with her, ignoring her sarcastic as you should! as he goes off to dump it somewhere in his room. While there, he shoves his dirty clothes underneath the bed and smooths out the bed sheets so Ashton can at least pretend that he’s somewhat gotten his act together since Lauren had last visited.

When he reemerges, Lauren is relaxing on the couch with a poptart in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Lauren!” He roars as he does a running dive over the back of the couch. Lauren shrieks as she drops the poptart and stumbles to the floor, carrying the weight of her brother on her back as she tries to keep the phone out of his reach. “What did I tell you about touching my things?!”

“I see Tinder, Ash!” She screams back, knocking the cushions off the couch as she shoves a sharp elbow into his cheek. “I have to tell mom!”

“Like hell you will!” He shouts as he makes a grab for the wrist holding his phone hostage. “Give me my phone back!”

“Screw off!”

“I made you a poptart!”

“So?!” Lauren retorts. “I-”

They both freeze at the sound of a loud ping. Ashton can only watch helplessly as Lauren’s eyes dart to the phone in her hands, her expression going from angry cat to sparkly eyed in two seconds flat. “You have a match!” She squeals.

“What?”

Ashton takes advantage of the distraction to snatch his phone back. Immediately, Lauren is peering over his shoulder as he swipes on the notification, watching as the words ‘It’s a Match!’ displays itself on the screen.

Underneath the words are two circular pictures - one is of the blurry ass photo of himself that he’d chosen and the other is a photo of a pretty brunette beaming shyly at the camera from behind a teacup.

‘You and Luna have liked each other!’ Tinder informs him.

Lauren shrieking into his ear is probably the single loudest thing he’s ever heard in his life, and as the drummer of a band, that’s saying something.

“She’s pretty!” Lauren squeals. Two seconds later, she mellows down as she clears her throat and punches him hard in the shoulder. “I guess you have pretty good taste. Proud of ya, Ash.” She grins.

Ashton doesn’t know how to tell her about his blind and desperate swiping spree that he went on seconds before she showed up at his doorstep, or about why he’s even on Tinder in the first place so he doesn’t and just lets CompulsiveLiar!Ashton strike again. “Thanks Laurie. Her bio’s what really got me.” He says.

He has no freaking idea what Luna’s bio says.

“Let me stalk!” Lauren exclaims and snatches his phone back before he can say anything and because Ashton can’t help but admit he’s a little curious too, the pair of them huddle on the couch together, looking at Ashton’s phone like it holds the answers to the future, which, for Ashton, it seriously might, just not in the way his sister might be thinking.

“Luna, twenty-two years old,” Lauren reads aloud. Ashton’s eyebrows shoot up at her perfect age. She scrolls further down. “Hey, she went to UCLA! I wonder if I’ve passed her on campus before.”

“Majored in developmental psychology,” Ashton reads next. “Holy shit.”

Lauren glances at him suspiciously. “I thought you’ve read all of this before.”

“I have!” Ashton says defensively. “I’m just doing a dramatic reading for your sake.”

“God, please don’t.”

They spend the next half hour combing through every bit of Luna’s bio, from the three photos she has of herself and one of her dalmatian to her biography that simply reads ‘wine and pizza and I’m all yours! Protip: +25 bonus points if you have a dog. +75 bonus points if I get to meet ‘em.’

“Borrow Luke’s dog! You have to!” Lauren begs.

“I can’t borrow Petunia!”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t! Luke might ask questions.”

Lauren squints at him. “Are you embarrassed that you’re pimping yourself out on Tinder?”

Ashton snorts and crosses his arms. “First of all, I’m not pimping myself out. Second of all, no.”

“Just tell him it’s for me then,” Lauren urges, nudging his shoulder. “Tell him I’m trying to impress my Tinder date with a cute puppy and that I’d feel safer going if Petunia was with me.”

Ashton thinks about it for a moment. Luke does have a soft spot for Lauren after all, considering the fact that Luke had always wanted a younger sibling but ended up being the baby himself in both his own family and the band, which, in Ashton’s opinion, fucking hilarious but Lauren did have a point. There’s no way Luke would say no to Lauren and her safety on a random ass Tinder date in the middle of downtown Los Angeles.

Plus, he really needs this whole Tinder shit to work out. For Mikey’s wedding. And if he gets +100 bonus points for showing off a dog that isn’t even his? Sign him the hell up.

“Okay, well, I can see your thinking face.” Lauren says nonchalantly. “So while you text Luke about Petunia, I did you the favour of sending your first message to Luna.”

Ashton chokes on his spit. “You what?!”

The sound that Lauren makes when Ashton throws himself on top of her to grab his phone back is inhuman. But the sound that Ashton makes when he sees the message is worse.

I’m told I remind people of a puppy. If you get to meet both me and my dog over pizza and wine, do I get double the bonus points? 🐶

★

His neighbour’s goddamn cat is staring at him when he wakes up to drink coffee on the balcony the next morning.

“April,” Ashton greets slowly as a warning. Previous first-hand experience has told him that the stupid orange cat did not give two shits about piping hot coffee and would lunge at him for the cup if Ashton so much as blows the steam in her general direction.

As a safety precaution, he moves a little farther away because he’s not sure if his sore neck can take a hit from the crazy cat if she lunges, especially since he was forced to fit his 6 foot long body on his two-seater couch last night, Lauren having taken over his bedroom for her beauty sleep as soon as it hit 10 o’clock.

That, and, uh, the fact that Luna had messaged him back less than five minutes after Lauren had ditched his ass in the living room and left him to his own devices. How was he supposed to continue a conversation he didn’t even start?

And seriously? If anyone in the band was the most puppy, it was Calum. What’s he supposed to do? Bring Calum too and get triple the bonus points?

Thankfully, Luna seemed to think Lauren’s bullshit was cute, replying with a “oh, definitely! 😂 guess I’ll have to double the amount of puppy treats on me”, teasingly followed a minute later by a “what breed of doggos will Oreo and I have the honour of meeting?”

And that was precisely what had kept Ashton up all night.

If you look at Ashton’s most recent search history, you’d find the following: Most popular breed of dog Most popular dog breed in Bora Bora Best looking dog breeds Most popular breed of dog for girls Golden retrievers German shepherds Golden retrievers vs German shepherds

Ashton sighs as he sips on his coffee. In the end, he’d narrowed himself down to either a golden retriever or a german shepherd, not because he thought he resembled either of those two breeds at all but more the fact that both seemed to be the most popular dogs with the ladies (in general, not in Bora Bora because that one yielded zero search results when he tried). But before he could decide which one, he’d finally passed out on the couch last night close to 4am in the morning.

A loud meow comes from his right.

“What?” Ashton asks grumpily as he looks over at April. She’s staring back at him with a stinky look on her face.

Then, he gets an idea.

“Hey April,” He calls out. “Meow once for golden retriever and twice for german shepherd.”

The bitch meows three times.

★

Lauren is laughing so hard, she has to bang her fist on the kitchen table multiple times to control herself. “Golden retriever german shepherd mix?!”

“Stop laughing!” Ashton hisses. “Eat your pancakes!”

“You mean the pancakes that I made?”

Ashton pauses. “Drink your coffee!”

Lauren’s still laughing. “I can’t believe you said a mix! Now she definitely knows you spent all night thinking about it.”

You left me out to die last night!” Ashton accuses, pointing a finger at her. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You replied this morning anyway! You could’ve waited for me to wake up.”

Ashton’s mouth opens and closes a couple times but nothing comes out. So he changes the subject because he’s mature like that. “I have to get ready for the fitting.”

Lauren snickers. “Sure.”

Calum and Luke swings his front door open right as Ashton emerges from his bedroom shamelessly in a 5sos tour hoodie and black jeans. They both give him a once-over, both looking confused.

“I thought we were going to get fitted for suits?” Luke says, eyebrows scrunched together. “Or is there a band gig tonight that I don’t know about?”

“A band gig,” Calum replies seriously. “At the wedding boutique. I thought you knew! If we perform for the boutique staff, Mikey gets a 30% discount.”

“Budgetsos,” Ashton butts in.

They finally notice Lauren when she snorts from the kitchen counter.

“Laurie!” Luke beams as the both of them go over to bear hug her and inspect what she’s eating. They don’t question why she’s eating pancakes out of a pot. Lauren offers some of her food and Calum takes it immediately, chomping over her fork for the bite. Luke takes her coffee instead.

“So you arrived here last night and you didn’t even ask us to come hang out? I thought we were friends,” Calum pouts, helping Lauren clean out her plate even though she didn’t ask. He looks like a puppy begging for scraps. “And I’m like 300% sure we make better company than Ash.”

“Hey!”

Before Ashton can say anything else, Lauren is looking over at him mischievously. “Sorry,” She snickers. “I couldn’t. Ashton and I were too busy last night setting up a daaaaaate for him.” She drags out.

Ashton chokes on his coffee. Holy fucking shit.

Luke turns to her immediately with a gleam in his eyes. “So you’ve met April?!”

“Yes!” Ashton interrupts loudly between coughs, voice raspy from the coffee in his goddamn airway. He ignores Lauren’s face that goes from evil to confused in two seconds flat. “Lauren’s met April! They both, uh, seriously love dogs and that’s all they could talk about I couldn’t get them to shut up, like at all.”

“No fucking way! Is she here?!” Calum asks, eyes wide and head whipping around in both directions so fast his curly hair looks like it’s taking flight. “Where?! Is she in your room? I want to meet her!” He asks, already sprinting into Ashton’s bedroom before he’s even finished his sentence.

“She’s not there!” Ashton hisses, running after him. “She left this morning! She had, like, you know... work! It’s a Tuesday.”

Calum visibly deflates and Ashton almost feels bad for a minute before he remembers that he can’t introduce Calum to anyone anyway, because he doesn’t actually have anyone.

Luke bounds over next, immediately taking notice of the odd state of his room - Lauren’s open suitcase at the foot of his bed, a fuzzy purple towel thrown over his bathroom door. Luke picks up a random bottle of face cream out of the many that are lying on his bed covers. “This looks like Lauren’s stuff. Didn’t your girl stay over last night?”

“Uh,” Ashton stutters, pulling an excuse out of his ass. “Yeah, they ended up having like… a girls night?”

Calum snickers. “So you got banished to the sofa?”

“Chicks before dicks!” Lauren shouts from somewhere in the kitchen.

Luke pats Ashton on the shoulder sympathetically but Ashton doesn’t feel any less shitty. There’s absolutely no way Lauren doesn’t know he’s lying now. He sighs. “Come on, guys, I have to change into better clothes. Can’t let you guys one-up me.”

“We’ll wait for you outside!” Luke waves as Calum shuts the bedroom door behind him.

When Ashton reemerges from his bedroom in a button-up and slacks this time, Luke and Calum are listening intently at whatever’s coming out of Lauren’s mouth. Ashton manages to catch the tail end of what she’s saying, something to do with hawaiian pizza and rosé wine.

“Yeah, they’re totally in love,” Lauren smiles. Luke’s smile is even wider than Lauren’s. Calum looks like he’s ready to take notes. “Kind of weird to watch my brother act all lovey-dovey in front of me, but I guess it’s kind of sweet. I can really tell she’s the one, you know?”

On their way out, Lauren pulls Ashton aside with a smile that’s way too wide and whispers, “You owe me an explanation when you get back and also your life.”

★

They make it to Rosie’s Bridal Boutique after 45 minutes stuck in traffic. It’s located in a cute little yellow brick building in the middle of the suburbs surrounded by more greenery than Ashton’s ever seen in his life. On the way there, he manages to evade Luke and Calum’s curiosity by blasting All Time Low at a ridiculous volume with the windows rolled down, letting the violent wind and the voice of Alex Gaskarth constantly try and outdo each other.

Unfortunately, Ashton knows he can’t evade shit for long as they pull up to the boutique and see Michael’s beaming face plastered to the window from the second story of the building.

“Mikey!” Calum greets as soon as the elevator door opens, bounding in like a puppy (Ashton will never stop saying that because it’s true goddammit) to drape himself all over the husband-to-be.

Michael’s already in a little bow tie and a black suit that’s getting wrinklier by the second, no thanks to Calum. He does a little wave despite the weight on his arm, “Hey guys!”

“Shut up,” Luke says as he pulls Michael in almost violently for a hug. “You’re gonna pull a ‘hey guys’ on us when we’re about to be your groomsmen?”

“Best man!” Calum shouts.

“Shut the fuck up,” Luke threatens again, voice muffled from where its pressed into Michael’s shoulder. “Get in here,” He complains to Ashton who willingly obliges and throws himself into the man pile.

The boutique staff giggle at them from where they’re standing around the room holding various pieces of Michael’s suit.

Ashton’s about to crack a joke about how Crystal’s going to be blown away by seeing Michael go from boxers filled with holes to a 4-piece suit when he swears his phone pings louder than the combined pings from the phones of Lauren and all her friends during a girls sleepover.

It’s suddenly awkward. For Ashton. Just Ashton.

Ashton knows it’s coming, but he still flinches when Michael asks, “Is that April?!”

“According to Lauren, they were being lovey-dovey last night,” Calum swoons teasingly.

“And she staaaaaayed the night,” Luke drags out.

Ashton wants to murder all of them.

Michael whistles. “You know it’s serious when the sister and the girlfriend meet.”

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Ashton complains. “We’re getting suits fitted for Michael’s wedding, guys. Be a little respectful.”

“Michael literally started this conversation,” Luke points out.

“Can I just try on my suit now please?” He says unnecessarily loudly.

Immediately, the boutique staff jump into action, pulling suits protected by plastic bags seemingly out of nowhere and ushering Ashton into an open changing room where a lady comes over with bright green measuring tape. The other boys grumble at the change in topic but oblige, spreading out and opening their arms to let the staff take their measurements.

“So I was thinking either a classic all-black colour scheme for the boys,” Michael says, tapping his chin. “Or a fancy navy blue instead. My handsome self in a full suit and you guys in suspenders. That would be hot. What do you guys think?”

“Did Crystal say anything about what she wanted?” Luke asks as he’s examining the suit they’d brought over to him.

“Nope,” Michael replies, pulling on his bowtie. “Said you guys were all mine.”

“Awww,” Calum says jokingly, grinning over the shoulder of the staff person attending to him. “That’s so sweet, Mikey. I love you too.”

Ashton snorts. “Don’t go cheating on your girl with Michael, you homewrecker.”

“Oh, yeah!” Calum exclaims, suddenly perking up. Ashton has a bad feeling in his stomach. “You haven’t met my girl yet, have you?”

“Uh, no,” Ashton replies, unsure. “Not yet.”

The smile that grows instantaneously on Calum’s face almost blinds him. “And I haven’t met April yet! So you, me, our girls! Double date, tomorrow night! You can’t say no Ash, I know you don’t have anything to do tomorrow and you’re the only one that hasn’t met her yet.”

Fuck. “Fuck!” Ashton says, laughing nervously. “I wish I could man, but I have to take care of Lauren.”

Michael snorts from where he’s lounging on the couch. “Lauren’s an adult now. Stop being overprotective. You’re probably smothering her with your axe body spray and protein shakes anyway. I bet she’s gonna go on a date herself as soon as you’re gone.”

“If you’re so worried, she can always come over and hang with me and Sierra,” Luke shrugs. “Sierra’s been talking non-stop about those sugar cookies Lauren gave us last time. And Petunia loves her, seriously.”

Ashton panics. “Well definitely not tomorrow!” Because who the fuck is he gonna show up with? Their PR manager? “Uh, what about like, next week? Or next next next next week?”

Calum ignores the second part of his sentence entirely. “Next week then!” He exclaims excitedly.

Fuck!

“I’m going to try this thing on,” Ashton says quickly, grabbing the suit closest to him before he’s all but throwing the curtain closed. As soon as he’s alone, he throws the suit aside and then can’t dig his phone out of his pocket fast enough. When he presses the home button, it shows he has one message from Tinder, from Luna. He opens it hastily.

So according to Google, you’re intelligent, athletic, playful, affectionate, and loyal? 🐶😂 Sounds almost too good to be true.

‘So let me prove it to you! May Petunia and I take you and Oreo out on a brunch date this weekend, my lady?’ He types back quickly, adding ‘my lady’ to hopefully charm the pants off her. He hopes it isn’t too soon for that. Petunia isn’t even his freaking dog.

He’s so busy chanting please say yes over and over again in his head while clutching onto his phone that it startles him when his phone pings loudly again.

Luke, Michael, and Calum start hollering from outside.

Sounds great! 😊 I’m free Saturday. Where to?

★

As soon as Luke drops him off back home, he runs up six flights of stairs back up to his apartment because if he has to wait more than ten seconds for the slow ass elevator, he’s going to lose his mind.

He scares Lauren off the couch when he barges through the front door screaming her name.

“I have a date on Saturday!” Ashton whispers through his heavy breathing, wide-eyed and sounding both smug and scared at the same time because fuck yeah, I scored this date myself but also fuck! I scored this date myself.

“What? With Luna?” Lauren asks, equally as wide-eyed from where she’d fallen to the floor. “How? You were only gone for like 3 hours!” Then her tone switches from surprised to demanding so fast, Ashton gets whiplash. “And who the heck is April?!”

Ashton straightens up immediately and clears his throat. “Yeah, so, uh, long story.”

“I’m on summer vacation right now. Cough it up.”

Ashton goes to the fridge instead where he pulls out a beer because there’s no way he’s about to tell Lauren what’s probably the most embarrassing story of his life while sober.

And then they sit on the couch like they had yesterday when he matched with Luna on Tinder except this time, Lauren’s face gets less and less impressed the more he talks.

“So what you’re telling me,” Lauren starts slowly. “Is that you’re standing in a grave that’s 10 feet deep right now because your pride and ego are bigger than your brain?”

Ashton winces. “Can’t you sugarcoat it a little bit?”

“No!” Lauren explodes, almost knocking the beer out of his hands. “Are you even interested in Luna? What if you guys go on your date on Saturday and she’s completely into you and you’re just using her so you can one-up your friends and feed your male ego?” Ashton opens his mouth to say something but Lauren doesn’t let him. “And also!” She snaps. “What if she recognizes you when she sees you? Your face isn’t exactly clear in your Tinder photos. Your face is going to be all over the news Sunday morning, I swear to God!”

“Hey, just because I’m famous doesn’t mean I can’t date.” Ashton defends.

“Yeah, but does she know? What if she doesn’t know who you are and you two get caught on your date and suddenly, her face is all over the internet too?”

Ashton winces. ”Okay, you’re right.” He pauses. “You’re also right about me leading her on.”

“Thank you,” Lauren says grumpily, crossing her arms.

“But I mean,” Ashton says in a small voice. “I’m also not opposed to finding someone new?”

Lauren sighs. “How about you and Luna go on that date on Saturday, and if it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out. You both wish each other well and both go on your merry ways.”

“...And if it does?”

“Then don’t get mad when I say I told you so!”

★

The days that lead up to Saturday are almost too slow.

On Wednesday, Luna had finally asked for Ashton’s number, texting him a cute puppy emoji to let him know the text was from her. On the same day, Luna had gone from calling him Fletcher to Fletch with no explanation, causing his heart rate to spike for a good twenty minutes before Lauren slapped him back to present-day reality.

On Wednesday afternoon, Ashton found himself frantically googling pet-friendly restaurants that served both pizza and alcohol. For bougie ass downtown Los Angeles, it was fucking difficult. But he’d managed to find one thirty minutes out of the city centre that had a nice outdoor patio and a menu for dogs. When he texted her the address, he got a ‘thank you for finding a place!’ back from Luna and it made his heart skip a goddamn beat because his ex had never thanked him for something like that.

On Thursday morning before the sun had even risen, Ashton had startled himself awake when he remembered he needed Petunia for Saturday. Squinting at his phone in the dark, he’d sent Luke a frantic text, reading: ‘Michael was fucking right Lauren’s going on a date on Saturday!!!!! Can you do me a huge favour and let her borrow Petunia for the day I don’t trust her SKETCHY ASS TINDER DATE’. And then Luke had texted him back not two minutes later, not even about Ashton texting him at ass o’clock, but about who Lauren was going on a date with, if Ashton knew him, why he was sketchy, and if he needed to kick anyone’s ass. He spent the next hour trying to convince Luke that they didn’t need to follow her on her date. In the end, it had turned into a she just needs Petunia goddammit Hemmings go back to bed.

By the time Saturday finally rolls around, Ashton is fucking winded.

Lauren’s still in bed (still in his bed, mind you), half asleep and bleary eyed and watching him dig around head first in the closet, mumbling to himself.

“Dude,” Lauren groans, breaking the silence for the first time since Ashton had barged in with no explanation. “This is too much action for eight in the morning,”

“Brunch is at ten and I still need to pick up Petunia!” He hisses, head popping out of a pile of clothing a moment later with two shirts in hand. “The black button-up or the blue polo?”

Lauren groans again. “What colour pants are you wearing?”

“Grey.”

“Black button-up.”

Ashton flings the blue polo back into the closet before Lauren can even finish her sentence, pulling his sleeping shirt off immediately afterwards.

“Ash, ew!” Lauren grumbles, flopping backwards onto the bed and throwing the covers over her head. Her head pops back out a moment later. “Just make sure to roll up the sleeves so you don’t look like you’re coming from a freaking business conference. And don’t button up all the way!”

“Got it!” He says hastily as he’s running out the door. “Thanks Laurie, love you, see you, bye!”

He’s already sweating by the time he gets into his car, the summer heat already at a sweltering 25 degrees celsius and rising despite it being so early in the morning. But even though it feels like Satan’s armpit, he pulls on a hoodie anyway because he’d rather die than have Luke see him dressed up in a button-up for supposedly no goddamn reason. It’s a little past 9am by the time he pulls into Luke’s driveway, Luke already standing there with an excited Petunia pulling on the leash.

He throws open the car door. “Petunia!” He greets, out of breath for no reason.

Petunia yips, panting happily and immediately trying to clamber all over Ashton’s lap as he bends down to pat at her head.

“I don’t know how useful Petunia’s going to be if Lauren’s date turns out to be a creep,” Luke says worriedly, still tugging on the leash to get Petunia to calm down. “Are you sure you don’t want us to follow her?”

“Mate, we’re both over six feet tall.” Ashton retorts. “If we follow her around, we’re both going to look creepier than her date.”

Luke squints. “How are you not worried?”

“I am!” Ashton insists. He’s lying out of his ass. “But Petunia’s a bulldog. No offense but her reputation is already scarier than any face we could ever pull.”

“Just make sure Lauren picks up the phone if you call!” Luke’s voice trails as Ashton opens the car’s passenger door and ushers Petunia inside. She settles nicely into the seat, looking up at Ashton with more love and adoration in her eyes than her owner ever did. “And take this bag!” He says, shoving a plastic bag that’s almost overflowing with the amount of shit that’s in it. “It’s Petunia’s food and toys. Tell Lauren to feed her and make sure she’s hydrated and-”

Ashton climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door on him.

“-And don’t forget to bring Petunia back by dinner! I swear to god, Irwin!” Luke screams through the glass. “Love you Petunia!”

The entire ride to the brunch place, Petunia just sticks her head out the window, tongue flying in the wind as she bops her head to the classical music Ashton had put on to calm himself the fuck down. The closer he gets to the restaurant, the more he feels himself getting a stomach ache. He doesn’t even remember the last time he’d felt this nervous for a date but if this doesn’t work out and he ends up going to Mikey’s wedding by himself, Calum might cry on his behalf and Luke might force him to be his and Sierra’s plus-two and as the oldest in the goddamn band, he’s not sure if he can handle that kind of humiliation.

But if this actually does work out with Luna, then he’ll just tell her the truth after Mikey’s wedding. That would be fine, right? Assuming nobody asks why the names Luna and April don’t match up.

Ashton groans. This is an entire goddamn mess.

The brunch place is packed by the time he pulls into a spot fifteen minutes before his reservation. There are dogs everywhere and Petunia’s so excited to see other beings of her kind that she’s resorted to pacing in circles impatiently in the passenger seat.

“Hold on Petunia,” Ashton groans, cutting the engine and throwing a hand over his eyes. “I’m nervous. Give me a minute.”

And because she’s the most perfect dog to ever exist (don’t tell Calum he said that), she stops pacing and starts licking gently at his hand. For once, Ashton doesn’t mind the slobber. He grins, looking down at her. “Okay, fine. Out we go then, baby.”

Before he slides out of the car, he pulls off his hoodie and puts on his sunglasses, thankfully fitting right in with all the other bougie people in their sundresses and designer purses who have time to wake up early on a Saturday for a brunch date with their dogs. He and Petunia bypass the ridiculous line, ignoring all the people who start cooing at Petunia. Thank fuck he’d made a reservation.

“Fletcher for two?” He says, trying to make his voice sound more like Fletcher Nobody Irwin and less like Ashton from 5SOS.

He tenses for a moment when the hostess pauses mid-greeting to eye him up and down. To throw her off, he gestures at Petunia who’s busy sniffing at a dandelion. “This is Monster Truck.” He introduces.

It’s then that the hostess looks at him again, decides that anybody who names their dog Monster Truck probably isn’t anybody famous and gestures behind her. “Follow me, sir. Your table is right by the water.”

Ashton lets out the breath he’d been holding when he and the hostess round the corner and he sees the only empty table on the patio, meaning Luna had yet to arrive. He picks the seat with his back facing the majority of the restaurant’s patrons. The hostess plucks the ‘reserved’ sign off the table, hands him the menu, wishes him a good time and then leaves him alone which Ashton is thankful for because he’d rather be left alone to have his panic attack by himself.

Petunia sits dutifully by his feet, drinking the water that the hostess had generously poured into a clear glass bowl for her.

Ashton is so busy trying to calm the hell down that he doesn’t notice the giant dalmatian sniffing at him from behind until its nose bumps right into where he’s most ticklish. He jumps at the same time a voice behind him squeaks, “Sorry!”

His heart has time to throw itself wildly against his chest bone exactly 1 time before he’s whipping around in his chair and coming face to face with stunning pale blue eyes. “Luna?” He breathes out, his eyes catching hers just as the words leave his mouth. Wow, okay. Jesus fuck, her Tinder photos had not done the colour of her eyes any justice.

Her unsure face transforms suddenly into a smile. “And you must be Fletcher?”

He almost does a double-take at the name before he remembers that oh yeah, he’s supposed to be Fletcher I-Eat-Brunch-With-Sunglasses-On Irwin and making a good impression right now because Mikey’s wedding. “Yeah, yes! That’s me.” His palms are sweaty and he can’t tell if it’s because they’re sitting on an outdoor patio is 30 degree weather or if it’s just his pretty date making him more nervous than his ex had ever made him.

It’s at this moment that Petunia (god bless her soul) decides to come lumbering over from her water bowl, her panting, drooly, smiling face looking up at Luna like she hung the stars (which, in Ashton’s opinion, is very fitting for her name).

“And this must be Petunia!” Luna exclaims, bending down to pat the bulldog’s head. Luna’s hand is so small it’s practically dwarfed by Petunia’s giant head. “It’s nice to meet you.” She says to Petunia and oh my god, Ashton could melt right then and there.

Instead, Oreo decides to try and sniff his crotch as Ashton tries to stand. He makes a strangled sound as Oreo’s nose digs into the front of his pants. “Holy crap,” He blurts, because he apparently has no brain-to-mouth filter. “Petunia has never reached that high before.”

“I am so sorry,” Luna squeaks again, blushing up to her ears. “Oreo, behave please! This is my first date with such a handsome guy,” She jokes shyly, pulling the dalmatian back by the leash.

It’s Ashton’s turn to turn bright fucking red. Holy shit. He feels like a 15-year old virgin all over again.

“He must smell the golden retriever german shepherd mix in me,” Ashton jokes back.

She pauses and then looks up at him for a moment before she bursts into laughter. “Oh, that’s right!” She says as she reaches into her purse and pulls out a cookie shaped like a bone. It’s wrapped in plastic and tied together with a pink ribbon. She holds it out to him shyly. “I did promise you a treat. I hope you like gingerbread?” Oh, wow.

“Is this for me or for Petunia?” He teases as he takes it, because he wants to see her blush again.

She giggles and Ashton feels like his heart might fall out of his chest. “For you.”

Ashton can feel the heat creeping up his neck. He stands again, without Oreo all up in his crotch this time, and for a second he has to pause because holy shit, Luna is tiny, the top of her head just reaching his shoulders. And then she looks up at him, smiling, which kicks him back into gear, stumbling around the table to pull her chair out of her.

“Thank you,” She mumbles, cheeks still red. Oreo follows her as she sits down, folding his legs underneath him right next to Petunia who he sniffs a couple times before turning to Petunia’s water bowl to stick his face into. Petunia doesn’t look like she minds.

“So,” Ashton starts as soon as he’s settled back down. It’s when he pulls up the menu to his face that he realizes he can’t see the tiny font through the dark tint of his sunglasses. Shit. “Uh.” Luna’s looking at him expectantly from over the top of her menu. “You studied psych in school?” He asks, diverting the conversation by pulling the topic straight out of his asshole.

She smiles so much that her eyes disappear into little moons. “You remember that from my bio?”

“That, and the dogs and the pizza and the wine,” He lists off, grinning on autopilot when she does and trying not to make it obvious he’s trying to find the right time to take off his sunglasses. What the hell kind of expensive ass sunglasses are these anyway? “Psych’s very cool.”

Oreo yips.

“Yeah, Oreo’s pretty cool with me studying psych too,” Luna jokes, reaching down to rub at Oreo’s head. “What about you? What do you do?”

Ashton freezes. Lauren’s words from yesterday start ringing in his head. It’s now or never. Now or never.

His heart is hammering in his chest as he slowly, inconspicuously slides the sunglasses off his face, getting ready to launch himself over the table and towards the car park if she starts screaming.

When nothing happens, he looks back up at her. She’s still staring politely at him even though his sunglasses are completely off now and his bare face is exposed for the world to see and lit up from the glaring sun. Those pale blue eyes blink back at him.

Nothing. Ashton inhales sharply. She… doesn’t recognize him?

“I’m a drum teacher,” Ashton blurts, the words flying out of his mouth before his brain even knows what he’s saying. Okay, too close! Too close to real life, Jesus Christ. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to make any connections.

“No way! Drums?” She says, looking surprised. Her expression melts into a wide smile. “That’s really cool! I don’t think I’ve ever gotten my hands on a drum kit before. Maybe you could teach me sometime.” She compliments genuinely, looking at him shyly. She reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and for moment, Ashton’s fucking smitten. He forgets all about the fact that he’s the drummer of the band that released Youngblood, multi-platinum certified and #1 on the Billboard Top 200. For today, he’s just a regular fucking guy out for brunch and Luna’s attention is all on him. He feels like a sponge, trying to absorb as much of it as he can.

Thankfully, the waiter that’s serving them chooses that moment to swing by and introduce himself with too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning, looking like serving brunch to people with too much money is his life calling.

“And what would this lovely couple like to order today?” The waiter sings eagerly.

Luna stutters. “O-Oh, we’re not...”

Ashton doesn’t even bother denying the waiter. “The blueberry pupcakes for Petunia and just the steak and eggs for me, please,” He says, smiling before glancing up at his date. The waiter pretends to swoon at his charm. “And for you, my lady?”

Luna laughs at the subtle reference to their tinder conversation, a rosy blush decorating her cheeks. “The Poochini for Oreo, please, and I’ll take the prosciutto flatbread. Thank you.”

The waiter leaves with promises of their food soon.

“So, the prosciutto flatbread?” Ashton jokes. The look on her face says she already knows where this is going.

“It’s the closest thing I can get to pizza here,” She says with a serious face before she bursts into giggles not two seconds later.

Fuck, Ashton’s in love.

★   

| TBC |

[onlovestreetwithjimmorrison]

Frank Lisciandro Interview

Frank Lisciandro was a close friend of Jim Morrison. He worked, traveled and partied with Jim for three years, photographing and filming the Doors at the height of their popularity.

Last year Frank Lisciandro wrote a book about his experiences with Jim Morrison entitled "Jim Morrison, An Hour For Magic, A Photojournal" (Delilah Books)

We take great pride in presenting this very special interview with Frank Lisciandro.

Q. Frank, why haven't we seen more books about the Doors? A. I think it's because the Doors themselves and the estate of Jim Morrison have been rather unapproachable in the past about writing about Jim, and about access to the kinds of material you need. As a matter of fact, the Sugerman, Hopkins book ("No One Here Gets Out Alive"), was not authorized by the estate. The estate wanted to stop its publication because there are a lot of inaccuracies in it.

Q. Why don't Morrison's parents speak out about their son? A. His father is an ex-Navy Admiral, and they tend to be rather conservative, military people. I don't think they've ever realized Jim's greatness, and I think they've always been ashamed that he was busted in Miami, and busted in New Haven. It doesn't fit the image of a military man. In a sense, they would prefer that nothing be written about him. They don't like the way it reflects on them, believe it or not. They don't see the greatness in their son; rather they see the embarrassment it causes them. Because of that, they've been totally uncooperative with everyone. I did hear that they liked my book quite a lot. Although I didn't need their cooperation, it was nice to hear that. But, even his sister hasn't spoken up, or his brother. They would just rather cherish the kind of images they had of him rather than have a publicity thing go out. So they're not very sympathetic to the fans' needs or the people who really idolize Jim even to this day. There are young people and older people even, who find him a great innovator, a great rock singer, lyricist, poet. And these people want more and more information about him. The parents and the family don't see that really. They just don't want the exposure, so, they haven't been generous with their information about Jim. Hopefully, that will change.

Q. Why is Jim Morrison so popular today? A. When Jim wrote, he wrote from a universal standpoint. That is, he dealt with themes that are universal, and they are timeless. He dealt with love, death, sex, breaking away from one's family, mysticism, breaking on through to the other side. To see a new reality, he talked about rebellion and revolution. Those are things that are a lot different than Sixteen Candles, boy meets girl, boy loses girl. Not only were his themes meaningful, but the way he addressed those themes, the way he treated them. He read deeply into philosophy, and psychology. He was a very learned and well-read person and he was able to talk about those things in a way that people responded then, and still respond to. I think people who listen to him are attracted now both by his physical image, his voice, and also the things he wrote and talked about because those subjects are always meaningful to people.

Q. Is there anybody out there today who has picked up where Morrison left off? A. I don't see anybody right now on the horizon that has quite the charisma, the magic, and the influence of Jim. I don't see anybody with the deep philosophical bent that Jim possessed. I think the person who has the most humane kind of lyric; and the most humane kind of outlook is Jackson Browne. But, Jackson Browne is no Jim Morrison.

Q. As a co-producer of the "American Prayer" album, are we to believe that everything Jim said on the album should be taken seriously? Are parts of the album a put on? A. I think that some of the poems are comic, some of the poems are serious, and some of the poems are kind of serious but are meant to be taken comic. Individual poems have different intent. In effect, he was a comic poet. The poem that goes "Curses, Invocations", that's a wonderful set of phrases and images of just weird and surrealistic and wonderful kinds of things that it brings to mind. So, I don't say everything in "American Prayer" is serious, but at the same time, he was serious about the way he used words. It's just at times he used them in a comic sense and other times in a very serious sense.

Q. Towards the end of his life, Jim was asked if he would've lived out the same style of life again, if he had the opportunity. He said no, he'd prefer a quieter, much simpler lifestyle. Was it the legal hassles that caused him to think like that? A. That was a good part of it, but perhaps more was that he had become, his image had become, larger than himself and in some respects, people expected him to live up to his image. He was a very sensitive, and a very gentle kind of human being. He really cherished close friendships and quiet moments. Unfortunately, he couldn't outlive his image.

Q. Did Jim Morrison like to laugh? A. Oh yeah, he had a great sense of humor. He was a great conversationist. We would spend afternoons sitting around talking about everything under the sun, laughing and having a good time. He enjoyed good company. He enjoyed other people's ideas. He encouraged other people's ideas. He elicited them. He was a good listener. He was just a pal.

Q. What was his attitude towards women? How did he treat them? A. He was raised in the South and he had in his background a lot of the manners and style of a Southern gentleman. He would rise up from his seat when a woman entered the room. He would invariably hold a door for a woman. He would always let a woman walk before him. He had all those traits of good manners. And then he was very discreet about the women he dated. He never told macho stories, like boy you should see what I did with her or anything like that. He never even mentioned names. He was so careful about that kind of thing. Virtually any woman who was anywhere near him adored him because he was so kind and considerate. Of course, he looked great too, so women fell head over heels in love with him immediately.

Q. Bill Siddons, who was the Doors road manager, remarked that Jim was "always testing death". He took everything to the extreme. Is that fact or fiction? A. That's probably fairly true. He was a non-stop kind of human being. I don't know how to really explain it, except to say that he lived as fully as he could in the present moment. He wasn't one to think about the future very much.

Q. Jim's death is surrounded by mystery and controversy. No autopsy was done. His death was reported six days after it happened. Many people didn't even see the body. Is there a possibility that Jim Morrison is still alive somewhere, living under an assumed name? A. It would be nice to entertain that illusion. Being a close friend, I would love to think of him as being alive, but my feeling is, that he was such an extraordinary human being, so unlike anyone I'd ever met, he had so many talents, he was such an extrovert, that it would be hard to disguise those talents. Even if he assumed a different name and identity, he would still somehow show up in the media somewhere. We're talking about ten, eleven years now, and in that intervening time, I'm sure there would have been some notice of him, or some way he would have made himself known. I think he died in Paris, that Pamela his girlfriend at the time was so grief-stricken by his death; I don't think she faked that. She did see the body. She was there when he died. I've come to the conclusion that he is dead and buried in Paris.

Q. Pamela died of a heroin overdose in 1974. Is there anybody alive today who saw Jim's body? A. Well, I don't know. I would like to know too. They did have a friend in Paris who was sort of a secretary to both Jim and Pamela, and I don't know what happened to her. Apparently, she would've seen the body. But, I've never known anybody who's known her. There's a Frenchman who lives in Los Angeles who was there in Paris. Whether or not he saw the body, I don't know. I do know he was at the grave when Jim was buried. There's a French film director who was also in Paris and a friend of Jim's at that time. Whether or not she saw the body, I don't know. I did see a death certificate from a French doctor which stated the cause of death, and it was officially stamped. Of course, that could've been forged too. I have not talked to anyone, ever, who saw Jim's body after he had died.

Q. So, the mystery goes on. A. Absolutely. And I think the mystery is cause for a lot of people to cling to the notion that he might still be alive. I don't want to dissuade people from that, if that's what they need. For my own self, I've come to the conclusion that it's more healthy to think of Jim as not being alive, but his work being alive, his poems, his music.

Q. Don't you find it rather strange that Jim's girlfriend, Pamela, should die of a heroin overdose? A. I find it tragic. I think she was so grief-stricken, that she turned to hard drugs as a way to relive some of the grief. I think she got into a very bad crowd in Hollywood and there was nobody there to protect her after Jim died. I'm not trying to condone drug use. I don't condone it at all. In her case, she could've made a new life for herself, but in fact, I don't think she was strong enough.

Q. What did Jim Morrison mean when he said, "Give us an hour for magic"? A. You know other people's poetry is very, very hard to define. I think you limit it when you define it. In a sense it means something different to each of us. I can tell you what it means to me. Somehow, it's saying that life itself is a magical, mystical experience. I mean, you don't have to take drugs. You don't have to get far out. If you can just sit still and realize the complexity of life and the intricacy, mystery, and beauty of life, then that's magic alone. So "Give us an hour of magic", I think he was talking about, extend our life another hour or at least another day, whatever the word hour tends to mean. It can mean a day, a month or a year. But he's talking about having the privilege of being alive, and continuing to do the kind of things he does ...did.

© Gary James All Rights Reserved

http://www.famousinterview.ca/interviews/frank_lisciandro.htm

[initiala]

Dark Horse - Chapter 21 - COMMENTARY (2/3)

Part 2 of 3 of @yayimallamaagain’s request for commentary on Dark Horse.

Killian's phone starts to buzz just as the receptionist calls his name. He digs it out as he stands - Will's the only one who knows he's got these appointments and Will's the only one who call him these days, so Killian's half-thinking the shedrow's burning to the ground as he flips his phone open to check. Instead, his stomach swoops as he sees it's not Will calling, but Emma.

Ah yes, this is when Killian has started therapy! Surprise surprise, this came to me only slightly before I started grad school. I’d actually written a bit before starting classes, and had a lot of panic once I started learning about how to be a counselor and realized there were some discrepancies in how Tink conducted sessions versus how she should have in best practices. But later it did come down to “once you know the rules you can start breaking them a little” and that’s where Tink is. I think. Also fiction.

The receptionist calls for him again and Killian hastily shoves his phone back into his pocket, following her down the hall.

Why would Emma be calling? He mutters a distracted hello to Tink as he takes a seat. He and Emma haven't spoken in a few weeks, and as far as he's aware nothing of grave importance has befallen anyone. It's not as if he's unhappy that she's tried to reach him, but he's not particularly glad of it at the moment either. But that's Emma - never leaving him on sure footing with her. Perhaps it's a timing issue or it's that he's still sore from her brutal brush-off from their last encounter.

Surprise, a lot of readers were on Killian’s side of things while all this was going down. As a writer, it was both irritating and interesting to see the woobiefication happening in real time, with many readers completely disregarding Emma’s completely valid feelings in favor of her just sucking it up to stop making him sad. That was Emma’s path to take in this story – she had to come to terms with her feelings, come to terms with everything that had happened to her in the past and reconcile with the present, and come to him on her own time and with sure footing. Killian, meanwhile, had his own shit to sort out before he could be in a healthy, adult relationship, which is where we’re going now.

Killian blinks, suddenly aware that he's been sitting in Tink's office for several minutes without speaking. She's sitting in her chair, watching him expectantly. "Sorry," he mumbles, shifting a little in his seat.

"You were quite lost in there for a bit," Tink observes.

She doesn't ask, but her tone indicates that he should talk about it. He swallows, not sure if he's ready to fully divulge things; but while his broken heart has been mending it still aches at times. And he has been sitting here in silence for far longer than is appropriate. "I was… I was thinking about Swan," he says after a moment.

Tink tilts her head, considering him as she twirls her pen between her fingers. "Ah, the mysterious Swan again."

He's only mentioned Emma once - well, twice in one session - so he hardly thinks this is an 'ah, her again' moment. But he did ask for time and he supposes if she's distracting him enough with just one phone call, it's a good a sign as any to discuss her now. "Swan is a woman," Killian tells Tink. She doesn't say anything while he ponders his next words, simply waits for him to gather his thoughts. "It was… Emma was a breath of fresh air. She's a quick lass, smart as a whip, beautiful, the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met."

"And it ended."

It's not a question, but he nods anyway. "Badly. We… I said things I shouldn't have. I was angry, but I let it take over my rational senses, let the fact that I was ill stand as a poor excuse for poorer behavior."

"But were they true?"

He looks up. Tink's leaning on her knees, peering at him in that perceptive way that's becoming familiar. He swallows, then nods. "Aye. They were unkind, but that doesn't make them any less true."

She nods. "And do you regret them?"

Killian opens his mouth to say yes, then pauses. Does he truly regret what he said? He regrets that his words and actions pushed her away. He regrets that he tried to keep her there by laying his heart on the line, a last-ditch effort, a plea to her kind heart. It's no one's fault but his own that she ran for the hills. One corner of his mouth lifts. "Can I say I regret the manner in which they were said, but not the facts within them?"

Tink shrugs. "You can say whatever you like as long as it's the truth. And that's perfectly reasonable. You're not the first or last person whose relationship ended because of bad timing or lack of communication."

This!!!!!!! Conversation!!!!! God I forgot about this, but it was so cathartic to write!! A big thing in the first part of their relationship was just how bad they were at communication, both of them way too guarded and walled off from each other to actually be healthy and functioning. The fight that ended their dalliance really didn’t have to be a fight – if it had happened at a different time and with less fighting and more frank discussion. But Emma really wasn’t ready for that, and Killian was way too ready for that, so now we get to the point where they find their way to more even ground. Killian has to slow his roll and Emma needs to make peace with a lot of her past.

Most people who've had the pleasure of his acquaintance would not say that Killian Jones lacks in communicative abilities, but he has a hunch that Tink isn't implying he's not verbose.

And she would be correct.

"She left. She had every right to, I was a right bastard to her."

Tink sits back, writing something down. "Normally, I don't put much stock in self-loathing men who feel they deserve every blow given to them," she says, and his eyebrows go up. "But there's this saying: drunk words are sober thoughts. You said whatever it is you said because you weren't in your right of mind and weren't in full control of yourself - it doesn't mean you weren't already thinking them. And that's a sign that you should have probably opened up with these thoughts earlier."

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.” I had a boyfriend who claimed this was true because he thought it was funny, but it’s quite true in reality. It’s largely what ended that particular relationship. But in this case, yes, lowered inhibitions and filters means stuff just comes out, and the stuff here was hurtful. Filters would have helped to lessen the blow, but the intent was there all the same.

Killian leans back, tossing his arm over the back of the chair. He doesn't know how to explain the relationship he and Emma had shared, how so many things had been off the table for discussion for so long. He's starting to realize how little they really had shared - mostly their bodies, only a little of their lives. Part of him knew that, the part that wanted her to make a decision and fully be with him or not, but the truth was that he hadn't given it the full weight of thought it deserved. He'd lashed out, hurt that Emma had left him at such a critical moment, but now he's starting to wonder if there was more to it than just a lack of love. He'd realized back in the spring that there was a lot more to her than met the eye, but he'd lost sight of it somewhere along the way.

She had her reasons for her actions. She'd never explained, and he hadn't asked - not really, not as fully as he could have, too afraid of her pushing him away if he probed too deeply.

Now look where that had gotten them.

Killian shakes his head. "Direct little thing, aren't you?"

She beams. "It's what you pay me for. Now, why bring her up today? You implied it would take some time before you were ready to discuss her."

"She called, just as you were ready to see me. No clue why." He sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand.

"If things ended badly between you two, it seems to me like she would only call for something important. Nothing of the sort comes to mind?"

Killian frowns. Henry… Would she call about Henry? He's inclined to think that any updates about the boy would come from his mother. And during their last conversation, Regina had given him the impression that she and Emma were on the same page about Henry now, so he's not sure if that would be the case. "I don't know, truly," he says finally.

However… It makes his chest ache to remember it, but this is supposed to help that, after all. "Something else, though, with Emma... It's been bothering me. Last day of the season at the Downs was Saturday, right? There's paperwork we have to turn in at the main offices in the grandstand, so there's me and every other eejit standing around like bumps on a log. Then she comes down from her high palace in broadcasting, her and the Adgarssen sisters, and quick as you please they're darting through the lot of us and talking about going down to Boston. And Emma, she says something about dating."

Tink raises an eyebrow. "And this bothers you."

Killian's temper sparks at her tone, as if she's almost bored with such an observation, and he fights not to grind his teeth together. A little over a week or so until they can declare him fit enough to take all these bloody wires out of his mouth, he doesn't want to muck it up. Tink notices his clenched fist, (or perhaps the color he can feel rushing into his cheeks and ears), raising the other eyebrow and giving him a look of reproach. "Mr. Jones, we're going to have a very long discussion about your temper one of these days. I'm merely curious as to why a woman - whom you are no longer in a relationship with and can make her own choices - making a general statement about dating that is not to you but rather within earshot should bother you."

It takes all of his willpower not to shout because I'm still in love with her! It's pathetic, he knows it's pathetic, he doesn't need Tink to remind him. His eejit bleeding heart just won't give up on her, despite the hell they've been though - he's been through. And he knows that Tink is right: he and Emma aren't together, she can do as she damn well pleases.

She has her reasons.

But just because he knows Tink's right doesn't mean he has to be particularly pleased about it.

But Emma calling him out of the blue… There had to be a reason. You don't know why she would do such a thing, he tells himself. If nothing else comes of today, he's figured out that he really doesn't know Emma as well as he thought he did. He can talk himself in circles about it and it would get him nowhere. So instead he sits in silence, scowling at the table for the rest of their time together, listening to Tink's pen scratching against the notebook as she writes.

So therapy in fics isn’t really done, and I know it’s because it can be tedious and boring and a lot of people frankly can’t write that kind of thing, but honestly as much as I know it grated on some people I really did like going this route. It’s different. Sometimes you need to talk at someone or something to figure out your own shit and this was a fun way of doing it.

Will's truck is still parked over in the yard when Killian gets home. His first thought is concern - Will's not one to work overtime if he can help it - but then he notes Belle's car is in the yard as well. She must have come in to work on one of the horses; possibly Scarlet's stayed behind to assist her.

Ah, this is kind of the start of something between Will and Belle. Like, not really, because she’s still married, but this is around when I started to hint at some Scarlett Beauty beginning in the background. He’s a good egg, Will, and genuinely their friendship is dear to me, but he also is like ‘well bugger me, I actually am starting to like this lass as more than a friend’.

Killian leaves them to it - they know where to find him if they need him for something. He walks up the lawn to the house, the frosted grass crunching under his boots. His phone sits heavily in his pocket as he tromps up the porch stairs, Emma's phone call weighing just as heavily on his mind as he unlocks the door and heads into his kitchen. Si trots in, yowling for her dinner and twining around his legs as he shucks his coat off. "Step off a chroí, let me remove me boots. Where's your sister?"

Am has been snubbing him for the last few weeks, hiding under something whenever he comes into the room or outright ignoring him altogether. She has her temperamental moments, though, and hasn't put much thought into it. Si just bats at his bootlaces as he unties them, the prick of her claws against his fingers not fazing him in the least. "You're being a nuisance, sweetheart," Killian murmurs. She headbutts his hand affectionately, chattering at him.

I still have a chuckle at every single review that was like HOW DID IT TAKE ME THIS LONG TO REALIZE THESE WERE THE CATS FROM LADY AND THE TRAMP!!!! A few were like ‘why are the cats named ‘yes’ and ‘ante meridiem’???’ and then they’d get it later. Anyway, idc what Colin says, Killian is a cat person. Also Am definitely likes Emma more.

He scratches under her chin the way she likes, smiling at the way she closes her eyes and bares her fangs as she tilts her head to allow him to reach her favorite spot. "Spoiled cat," he mutters, straightening and going for their food dishes.

Si practically sits on his feet as he refills the bowls, being as in the way as she possibly can. Am is nowhere in sight, not even after he rattles the bowls to call her. She'll turn up, he thinks, setting both bowls down and grabbing the water dish to refill it.

~cats~

He thinks longingly of real, solid food as he makes himself another protein shake. Will's brought him all sorts of flavors, but they all taste like chalk. Belle had introduced him to blending everything into a strange sort of shake; but though he understood it likely looked that way in his stomach, something about a steak-and-potato-and-green-beans milkshake made his stomach roll. "Should try it with pizza and a beer," Will had quipped. Belle had backhanded him in the chest for that.

One of my cousins has had his jaw wired shut on three separate occasions and every time he talks about his everything-smoothies I get green around the gills.

He leaves the television on for noise, flopping back on the couch and digging his phone out of his pocket. He flips it open, staring at the missed call and voicemail notifications as he begrudgingly sucks down his shake.

What could Emma want?

He hits the voicemail button as the tell-tale sound of claws on the back of the couch signals one of the cats scaling it. Si settles herself in on the top, giving herself a post-dinner wash while Killian listens to Emma's message: "Killian - hi, it's uh, it's me. Emma? That's dumb, sorry, you probably already know it's me. Unless you deleted my number, and I get it if you did - wait, shit, sorry, let me try this again. Hi. I was hoping you'd - I wanted to know if you wanted to meet up. To talk? Because last time wasn't - I really couldn't -" She sighs exasperatedly and Killian finds himself smiling. "Okay, look, if you want to make plans to meet or whatever, just call me back. I'll try not to be a bitch this time. Sorry. Bye."

Attagirl, Emma, right to the point.

His first thought is that she sounded slightly inebriated. Given that it was well into the afternoon when she'd called, he's a bit concerned - hypocritically - that she was imbibing so early. Something must have happened - or she couldn't face the idea of contacting him without some liquid courage.

He's not sure he likes that she would feel the need to be drunk to talk to him, that she might be nervous enough about how he would react that she needs something to soften the blow. He lets his phone fall to the side as he drags his hand down his face, loathing the things he said to her that made her so skittish of him. It's his own fault.

But then Tink's words from earlier come back to him: drunk words are sober thoughts.

Where he had been weak, allowing himself to speak the truth so cruelly, perhaps Emma is gathering strength. She's guarded, her armor and her walls thick and impenetrable; but perhaps in this way she's letting him in, allowing herself to be vulnerable though she's scared to.

I have a lot of thoughts about Emma and vulnerability, but we’ll be here all evening and I have things I have to go do. For a summation of my thoughts, watch any interview JMO has given about Emma and being a complex character.

Si chirrups and a weight lands on his legs. Killian looks down; to his surprise, it's Am, her tail flicking as she kneads his jeans before settling herself on his legs. "Are you speaking to me again, then?" he asks mildly. He reaches for her, but she growls a bit, her ears flattening back. "Apparently not," Killian grumbles.

Am stares at him almost disdainfully, the tip of her tail still flicking in annoyance. Not to be outdone, Si chirrups again and stretches her way down the couch, paying Killian no mind as she curls up on his chest. He sighs, petting her; she starts to purr as he thinks. The fantastical part of him wonders if Am is annoyed with him because Emma isn't around anymore - she'd rather adopted Emma as 'her' human, and her little attitude problem had only begun in the last month or so.

His cats are having themselves a snooze and his shake is long gone by the time he makes up his mind. Si trills in surprise when he moves, shifting to fish out his phone from where it had slipped down into the couch. It's not all that late, so he doesn't feel guilty as he calls Emma back - he feels nervous, yes, but not guilty. His heart leaps into his chest when he hears her voice. "Hello?"

"Emma, it's me. You, ah, said something about wanting to meet?"

Stick around for part 3!