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musings-sans-muse · 5 years

Text

1995 Krug Clos D’Ambonnay

Summary: You get settled into your new life in London, while skirting the fact that Henry wants to talk to you about the future of your relationship.

Warnings: Language, mentions of alcohol consumption, unfaithful thoughts, angst, (and for whatever’s worth) a wedding ceremony.

Word count: > 9k

A/N: So after a cold, dark winter (I’m just using poetic license, here is hot as hell, raining also) I’m kinda back. This fic was one of the causes of my meltdown, and I hope that with it out of the way things go back to normal. I’m leaving my status on hiatus still, because I don’t know if this was a fluke.

I owe the ending of this fic to the always amazing @shellbilee, without whom there wouldn’t have been about 5k of these words and I would probably have given it up and given in to the bad thoughts in my head.

If you haven’t read Schnaps and Mulled Wine, the story will probably confuse you, or make you feel lost. This is a direct follow up, despite having a flashback and mentions of certain events. I strongly suggest you read it before you read this one, not only because of the events, but because I believe I’ve grown quite a bit in between the two as a writer, in my humble opinion, and the difference between them is abismal.

*The location of the wedding is based on a real place in Topanga Canyon, California. The description is partially the same as their website.

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London was still as beautiful as you remembered. The way the many buildings gave way to a park here and there was your favorite thing about the city. It would never become a complete concrete jungle.

As you sat in a car, hired to take you to the place you’d call home for the next six months, you reflected once more on the words Henry had written you.

‘I want to see you and talk this through. Please.’

As if it were that easy.

You couldn't sleep throughout the eight hours until touching down in London, because you kept re-reading his text message all through the flight, and something like butterflies fluttered uninvited in your stomach, only to be mixed with a sense of dread that made you nauseous.

Jetlag was going to be a bitch.

The driver was, mercifully, discreet, and decided not to chat with you. Or, perhaps, he took a look at the deep, dark circles under your eyes, and decided you weren’t worth ruining his day.

You tried to distract yourself during your drive into town, and got busy making lists of groceries and supplies you'd need. But the drive was too long, and there was only so much you could think of, before your mind drifted back to him.

You arrived at the house you had rented through Nate and Sofia, saw what errands you needed to run and, in less than half an hour, you were already out.

The busy morning did nothing to dispel your thoughts of him and his ultimatum. If anything, walking around the London streets only made you even more aware that he and you now breathed the same air. Thankfully you had a weekend for meal prep and studying your new client, who apparently was very particular about every single aspect of any deal, because the following week would be stressful enough without the added pressure of a certain man and his talk of feelings.

Meetings after meetings, tons of emails, piles of memos and heaps of documents to sign made most of your week. The fact that work included dinners left little time for sleep, and that made for a cranky you.

When Saturday finally came around, you were ready for a spa day and no talking shop to absolutely anyone.

You turned your cell phone off and made your way to your bathroom where you hoped to cleanse your soul from the stress and the stiffness on your shoulders.

You couldn’t help thinking of certain strong hands, and the relaxation they once provided.

As you relaxed into the hot bath water, inhaling the calming scents of lavender and geranium, you thought about him and what he might have done throughout the week, knowing you had arrived.

Did he know your address? Had he asked Nate for your number in the UK? Had he kept his distance waiting for you to make the next move? Was he interpreting your silence as a denial to his request? Had he forgotten the whole thing and let go of the idea of you?

That last thought caused your chest to constrict, with a pain you hadn’t anticipated.

It hit you out of the blue, with the intensity of a bullet from a shotgun.

No matter how difficult it was to admit that, consciously or not, throughout the years you may have harbored many fears about the idea of the two of you, living without him seemed to be no longer an option.

You worried about what life with him could be. What adapting to his reality could be. What would you have to let go to be with him? What would he have to give up to be with you?

You had foolishly teased him about it once, but the harassment from the fans had been the catalyst to several of his break ups. Would you be strong enough to deal with all of that?

***

Henry was restless.

You'd probably have arrived by that hour, and you hadn't texted or called yet.

He reasoned that maybe you still had to sort out your mobile.

Maybe you were tired and would only call the following day.

Maybe you were already working and would only have time for these personal things the next weekend.

So many maybes danced around his mind that he felt as if he was going mad.

One thing was crystal clear: he had to see you.

To unwind and try to quiet all the turmoil in his head, he decided to run with Kal on his way to the gym, but running did nothing to quiet the voice inside his head.

He should have asked Nate for your address.

He felt too self conscious to ask when he and his wife were there. Wanker.

Besides, he didn't want you to feel cornered by his eagerness.

Shaking his head he tried to think more positively, but was distracted by a fan stopping him for a photo. Bless her.

Two selfies of respite and a bit of small talk later, it was back to running and torturing himself.

He had tried not to fall. It didn't used to be this bad.

You two had met occasionally through the years, and every time seeing you was like being hit by the Eurostar.

Your smile. Your perfume. Your laugh. Your eyes. Your lips.

Those bloody lips that tortured his dreams.

But he wasn't always alone, neither were you. You just kept missing each other.

He had purposely ignored and battered down the clear signs over all these years, he had turned his back on his own feelings. Out of what? Convenience? Settling, for what someone thought would look better by his side? Creating his public image? Seeking what he thought was his heart’s desire at that time? He didn't know anymore. That wasn't him anymore. No longer did he let his actions be blindly guided by his heart, without thought of consequences. Nor did he let someone dictate what his life should look like. He set his own standards and lived by them.

In the past few years, life had you meeting less and less often, until that day you just showed up at his place with a bottle of tequila.

You were just as tired as he was of this constant failure to make it work. He was sure of that.

You wanted more, just like he did. And he had known that for years.

He couldn't blame you for not staying, though. He had hurt you before. Idiot. Such stupid situations, easily avoidable.

You had been open to the possibility of forever with him all those years ago, and he had been a coward, not wanting the responsibility.

Foolishly thinking he was still too young for settling down.

But you had always known what you wanted. You knew where you wanted to work, how far you wanted to go in your career. Where you wanted to live, how much you wanted to earn by your thirty fifth birthday. He admired that about you.

Your whole life was planned ahead, as you had once told him, you just needed someone to share it with.

In hindsight, that was probably your subtle way of saying that he was the missing piece, but he had been lost inside his head as you spoke. He kept comparing his lack of planning, or even his lack of future, the fact that he was unemployed - his contract with Showtime having just expired and he was hired only once after that - to the picture you had painted back then.

Your steadfastness compared to his unpredictability.

He always felt like he would fall short of your expectations. That he didn't fit at all, in that picture perfect world you painted for yourself.

If only he had allowed himself to try.

He huffed what was supposed to be a sigh and looked down. Kal, who was thrilled to be running out and about, looked up back at him as they stopped at a traffic light.

"Bloody hell. It's going to be a long day, mate."

***

Los Angeles, March 2011

The party had been going for at least two hours when you arrived.

Being held up at work was commonplace now and your friends didn’t really torment you about it anymore.

It was Sofia’s and Nate’s rehearsal dinner. Both of their families were thrilled about the union and, as an old friend of theirs and the one who had introduced them, you were chosen as the maid of honor.

Walking into the restaurant - closed for the evening to host the party-, you followed the sound of loud laughter, music and what you imagined must have been an exciting toast.

You stopped by the empty hostess stand and observed the long table set on the terrace surrounded by fairy lights and peonies of various colors, as they lowered their glasses and Sofia’s father took his seat.

There were such big smiles on their faces as they talked, that you almost felt you shouldn’t interrupt, but you knew how much they cherished your presence. They’d definitely be hurt if you just left.

And you were hungry.

Before you could reach the floor to ceiling folding glass doors leading to the terrace, however, a big pair of hands covered your eyes from behind you.

“Guess who.”

His whispered words in your right ear had immediate effect, and the skin on your arms and legs pebbled up.

You covered his hands with your own, pulling them away from your eyes.

Without saying a word, you turned around and gave him a hug. He hugged you back, quite tightly. None of you said anything.

When you broke apart there were tears in your eyes, and you were surprised to find that his eyes were watery too.

Ever since Italy you hadn’t spoken to each other.

He had visited L.A. multiple times, for not only the premieres of his movies, but for negotiations and promotional shoots, and not once had he contacted you.

Hurt as you felt and proud as you were, you believed he should be the one to approach you, and not the other way around.

“How have you been?” He asked, wiping his eyes.

You sniffled, wiping your eyes carefully not to ruin your make-up, and nodded.

“Fine, you?”

“Yeah, fine.”

You knew there was more he wanted to tell you, but it wasn’t the time or the place.

He motioned for you to walk with him and the both of you reached the table to loud cheers.

“Finally!” Nate said, gesturing for you to sit by Sofia, where there was an empty chair. Henry took his place on Nate’s other side as he was best man. “I was beginning to think we’d have a runaway maid of honor.”

Everybody at the table started laughing.

“Har, har. Work.” You needed to say no more, he was already nodding his understanding.

The dinner went on for another two hours and you were glad it was a Friday night, because you most definitely needed to sleep.

Mundane tasks made most of your Saturday, but in the late afternoon you and Sofia met at the Inn, where all of her family from Europe and most of Nate’s from across the country, were staying. You’d be joined by the bridesmaids the following day for a spa day, but that night, instead of a bachelorette party, she just wanted to stay in her hotel room, talk about old times and eat chocolates, ice cream and Doritos.

The boys would be out and about, having ‘all kinds of crazy fun', her words, in the L.A. night.

“Why haven’t you talked to him yet?” She asked you around a mouthful of Doritos dipped in the chocolate ice cream.

“Must you do that? It’s disgusting.” You complained, but she just shrugged.

“Have been doing it my whole life, won’t stop now. Don’t change the subject!” She complained back, after swallowing.

“I’m not. There wasn’t time f…” She interrupted you by putting her dirty palm up, very close to your nose, making you throw your head back a little.

“Don’t even start. If you really wanted to, you would have. There was time when my cousin was telling the ski story, there was time when Nate was talking about the bonus he got from his boss, there was time when I was telling people about the venue that you booked. There was plenty of time.” She counted all of these instances in her fingers, full of Dorito powder and after she finished, started licking them clean.

“Fine!” You acquiesced with a grumble. “But he could have too!”

“What are you? 8?” She asked with a scowl.

You refused to reply to that.

“Sweetie, it was way too long ago, and you guys keep tiptoeing around each other. And that's me being generous. He was high on pain meds back then, and even if he wasn’t…” She trailed off and you noticed she was trying to spare you from something.

“What do you mean, if he wasn’t high?” You sounded harsh, even to yourself.

“This should be between the two of you, but you are being such idiots about it that I’ve had it!” She huffed and ate a particularly large spoonful of ice cream.

You waited for her to finish, eating some ice cream yourself.

“Well, he may not have been high.” She said when she finished. “He had been taking Tylenol only, and putting up with the extra pain, exactly because he didn’t want to get high. He only asked for the stronger meds after you left his room that night.”

The look on her face was a mixture of apologetic and sad.

You didn’t know what to say.

“So… why…?” You breathed the words, not really able to find your voice.

“That is something you two must settle. By talking. To each other.” She gave you a pointed look and used her spoon to punctuate every sentence as she spoke.

You were silent after that. You kept trying to find the hidden meaning behind her words and remembering that night. You knew you couldn't trust your memory, hurt by it as you were, so it merely led you to frustration and a fitful night of sleep.

The morning of the wedding started with the gorgeous California sun gracing you with it's lovely glow.

The bride, despite all of the carbs consumed the night before, was glowing and couldn't stop smiling. When asked about her happy mood, Sofia simply said she was following this diet some celebrity recommended before her million dollar union.

You looked at her as she said that, shaking your head and unable to hide your knowing grin.

You spent the day in the spa with all of her cousins, aunts and mom, and future sisters, aunts, cousins and nieces in-law, where you got ready. Time seemed to zoom by, and when you least expected it was already time to get the bride into the Rolls Royce with her mom and dad. You'd follow in a limo with the bridesmaids to the venue in Topanga.

The men had gotten ready at the hotel and would meet you at the venue which was located by a creek in the canyon.

There, on the left side, as you entered, there was a large circular room, with tables all around it. In its center lay a beautiful, tall, garden fountain, with plenty of space around it for dancing. On the other side was the huge tent where the ceremony would take place and an elevated space, with its own waterfall, where the musicians would be. On the far end, there was another patio, with a real waterfall coming down the hillside under the trees, surrounded by banks of green foliage.

When you saw that everything was perfectly arranged as planned you breathed in and let out a deep sigh of contentment.

It was your friends' happiest day and nothing would ruin it.

***

The moment you entered the tent, Henry felt as if he was the one getting married. His heartbeat went into overdrive and his palms started sweating. He didn't notice the bridesmaids coming in before you, but when the doors opened, there was a magnetic pull that drew his eyes towards you.

You looked stunning. There were flowers in your hair, which you wore loose, and your dress, of a blue satin, opened in a v that went all the way down to your stomach.

You smiled at him as you approached the altar. Before he could do the same, you had turned your smile to the very nervous Nate next to him, and given a reassuring thumbs up. You took your place and looked at the doors where everybody else's attention had also turned to.

The wedding march began to play for Sofia and her father to enter. Sofia also looked good, but somehow, every other woman paled in comparison to you.

He zoned out as the officiant spoke the same old words he had heard so many times. He wondered when it would be his turn, and if then, he would finally pay attention.

His thoughts immediately turned to you. He knew that you couldn't hold a smile for long, but you had a very peaceful expression, like you'd just finished a job and it had been well done.

You looked happy.

He wondered if being away from him had affected that.

Since that kiss, and those stupid words, he had deeply considered the two of you.

He cherished your friendship, and until that disastrous day you two had had a relationship that was quite like that of a brother and sister.

Nothing had prepared him to the proximity of the two of you that day, to the smell of your hair, the color of your eyes - which he'd never seen so up close or even paid that much attention to. The heat of your breath on his lips, or the taste of your tears as his tongue slid past your lips.

He had pretended to sleep at first, and if it weren't for the fact that his heart had hammered so loud in his chest, and the thought that you could have heard it, he'd keep pretending and let you leave without saying goodbye to you.

He'd blamed himself for that accident on the ski slope, even though he got the worst of it, his board was the one tangling with yours. He miscalculated his descent and got too close. And when he thought of you falling face first on the snow, and how much worse it could have been... he remembered it so vividly, suffering now almost as much as he did then, he had to shake his head slightly to dispel the thought.

But that night, as you ran your nails over his stubble, he just had to know why his reaction had been so visceral. Why he'd felt as if a part of his heart had been ripped from his chest, and he could only breathe again after he had heard you groan in pain.

So he kissed you. And it felt really good. And it confused him.

What would happen to the two of you? Why did you kiss him back? Did you feel anything for him? Had you felt that way for long? Was it just an attraction thing? Should he even entertain the idea of friends with benefits? How would you feel about that? And also about him being in Europe for shooting most of the time? Would a long distance relationship be okay with you? With him? Did he even want to be in a relationship? Of course he did! But, with you?!?!

You were his best friend.

If he messed things up, he'd lose you.

So he did the only thing he knew he did best. He pretended.

He couldn't think of anything clever enough to convince you that the amazing kiss you'd just shared meant very little to him. So he blamed it on the meds and his famed love for alcohol.

Daft. So bloody daft.

It could have been the beginning of something great. It could have been nothing.

If he hadn't been so weak, he would have found out.

Months later, when Nate asked what was wrong between the two of you for the umpteenth time, he'd confess to the cowardice.

Nate reassured him that he shouldn't talk about his insecurities that way, and that if he had opened up and talked to you, like friends do, you both would be on speaking terms. All would be better in the world.

So easy for him to say. The cute redhead he had met on that trip would become the love of his life.

Your hawk-like look that sees through him every time would make him stumble over his words. He'd end up messing up the situation further and you'd hate his guts to the fifth generation.

Then there was his pride.

You had kissed him back. You could have called him on his bullshit like you always did.

The hurt he saw on your face and the outrage he'd heard on your voice were warring for his perception, and he latched onto the venom on your words as you spat them at him. You were obviously not used to that kind of reaction. But he couldn't believe that you would try to verbally abuse him.

As every word you said, laced with sarcasm and condescendence, felt like a slap on his already wounded cheeks, he let go of his perceived duty as a gentleman and hated you outright.

That hate simmered to hurt in the following months, and his pride wouldn't allow him to call or visit. So he went on with his life, dated other women, but that kiss was never really completely gone from his thoughts.

Seeing you breathing deeply, as you watched the couple exchange their vows, he realized that you brought him joy. He didn't really know why, but something about the rise and fall of your chest as the air moved in and out, not because you were exasperated, but in admiration or whatever you happened to be feeling at that moment, made him happy.

You looked so beautiful.

Right then, he realized that something was very wrong.

He couldn't stop thinking about you and it was getting harder and harder to hide or deny that there had always been much more there than pure friendship and camaraderie.

He also couldn't help feeling deeply guilty about the woman he called his girlfriend. The relationship hadn't been going well for some time now, and he decided to focus on his career instead of on her.

He kept beating himself up about that decision. The thought that he may be losing the opportunity to start a family anytime soon if he didn't go back to the UK, scared and haunted him.

But you and Ellen were polar opposites. You were so sure of yourself, decided to take your career further, and doing so without depending on anyone's help. There were no rich or famous family members to rescue you, you were on your own and carved your path.

Right then, Nate looked at him questioningly, and he came back to the wedding, reluctantly taking his eyes off of you and searching his pockets for the rings.

After handing them to Nate and earning a smile from you, he paid attention to the end of the ceremony.

***

Throughout lunch you couldn't really sit down, coordinating the party, so that everything would be as perfect as you had planned. The only time you sat down was when it was your turn to make a speech after Sofia's father.

You enjoyed some respite during the remaining speeches and took the opportunity to eat.

After that it was time for the couple's first dance, and consequently, your dance with Henry.

It was not an exaggeration to say that you had been dreading it.

He hadn't been part of any of the dancing rehearsals, and not everyone can waltz.

After watching Nate and Sofia dance the first half of Chopin's Nocturne no. 2, and then be accompanied by their parents in the second half, Henry extended his hand to you and led you to the patio around the fountain to join them.

The band began to play Liszt's La Campanella, and you realized that your fears were unnecessary.

He led you gracefully in circles around the patio, while looking into your eyes.

You blamed your racing heart on the exertion.

The music ended, and while the bridesmaids and groomsmen that had joined you during the dance were clapping, they hid you from the view of the guests around.

Henry leaned closer to you, while still holding you.

"I want to talk to you." He whispered in your ear.

A flashback to the kiss you shared made you take a step back and forced him to let his hands go from where they held you at your waist.

"Later." You spoke normally, then turned your back and went in the direction of the toilets.

Later, however, seemed never to make itself available, as mishaps kept holding you from rejoining the party, the worst of them being a hurricane in the Bahamas, where the married couple would be spending their honeymoon.

Four and a half hours, and a ton of phone calls later, they were on their way to Cinque Terre.

You shook your head at the fact that when you told them what had happened, they simply nodded their heads and were happy that they wouldn't be spending their honeymoon in California. Sofia even rejoiced that she'd be speaking Italian and they wouldn't eat anything that could possibly ruin their fun.

They hugged you tightly and got into the Rolls Royce, which the groomsmen had decorated with the beer cans they had consumed during the bachelor party the night before.

When she heard the loud noise of the dozens of cans being dragged by the car, you could see Sofia slapping Nate's arm from the rear window.

Most guests left then, and only a dozen friends of Nate's remained, you and Henry among them.

There was finally a chance for you to sit down and eat a piece of the damned cake you'd chosen for Sofia, because her family arrived the same day she had scheduled the tasting.

Before you could sit down and take your shoes off, as you had intended when you headed for the table, Henry held your arm and pulled you in a semicircle, to dance with him.

You groaned, but allowed him to lead you, putting your other hand on his bicep as his other hand slipped over your waist to stop at your lower back.

The v of your dress went all the way down your back as well, and that meant that his thumb grazed your bare skin as he tapped it to the music.

He pulled you closer and leaned his cheek on your head, humming the melody of the song that you, unfortunately, didn't know.

After that song ended, he kissed your forehead, surprising you, and pulled away a little to look into your eyes.

"I'm glad we finally have time to talk."

The musicians started packing up as you made your way to the main table. He did not let go of your hand.

He sat by your side after you got your cake, and watched as the other remaining guests lamented the band leaving, and gathered their things to leave.

You bit into the rich, decadent chocolate and diplomat cream cake and moaned.

Henry turned to you then and laughed.

"That good, huh?" He said and grinned.

"Mhmm." Was all you could muster.

"Give me your feet." He said, looking at you with kind eyes.

"Hm?" You were still enjoying the last bits of chocolate flakes melting on your tongue, and used your facial expression to show your confusion.

"Just do as you're told, for once. Take off the bloody shoes and give me your feet." He had a smile on his face so all exasperation he could have put into his words was lost as he extended his hands for your feet.

You did as you were told and lifted your feet to his lap.

"You can keep eating, I'm not going to tickle them." He was still smiling as his hands caressed the top of your left foot and started massaging the sole.

You watched for a while as he concentrated on the task, and couldn't help the heat building inside you at his touch.

You went back to eating, making sure you paid attention to your mouth to avoid choking.

His thumb applied pressure to the ball of your foot and you stifled another moan, this time of pain.

He did see you wince, though, and applied less pressure.

"I'm sorry." He said with a grimace.

It felt like he meant something other than your foot.

"I guess I'm sorry, too." You said, looking at the last piece on the fork.

The both of you said nothing else as he massaged your other foot.

The sound of the waterfalls reverberating in the canyon, and the birds on the long boughs of the oaks and sycamores that surrounded you, were the only things breaking the silence. You could tell the sun was starting its descent, and the air was getting chillier.

When he was done he bent and put your shoes back on your feet. His hand on your ankles only adding to the feeling that you wanted it to continue touching you in a torturing ascent.

"Shall we go?" He said, lifting his eyes only, and looking at you from under his lashes.

You didn't trust your voice and only nodded.

He got up first and extended his hand to you, entwining his fingers with yours when you got up.

There was very little talking on the drive back to the hotel. He got his key and walked you to your room where you'd only get your things. You were eager to go back home.

When you told him that you saw him deflate.

"I thought we'd have more time… I'm leaving L.A. on Tuesday. Do you think I could crash at your place?"

It was hard to hide your shock.

***

Henry could see the impact his words had clear on your face. He didn't know if it was because the request was truly surprising or because you couldn't believe he'd have the balls to ask you such a thing.

He wanted to go back in time.

Before the blasted kiss you wouldn't have thought twice about it. He had always been welcome to stay over at your house. Now, he wasn't so sure. And he hated it.

You shook your head. His heart sagged.

"Of course you can! The spare room is always yours, we have discussed this already. Go grab your stuff. I'll meet you in the lobby in 20, ok?"

It took him a few seconds to process your words, but then he nodded and went to his room, thankfully on the same floor, and cleared his things.

He arrived in the lobby first, and after taking a photo with a fan, which he still found a bit strange, he went to the adjoining lounge and sat to wait for you.

The newspapers and magazines in front of him in the faux antique coffee table held nothing that could hold his attention for more than five seconds. He gave up trying to read the day's news and whipped his head from the stairs to the lifts, watching for any signs of you.

After three agonizing minutes he thought would never end, you exited the lift, pulling a small suitcase.

You saw him, waved and pointed to the reception.

You still had to check out, so, he came close to you, sliding his hand over your lower back and let it rest there while he spoke into your ear in a whisper.

"I'm gonna get your car, is that okay?"

You turned and looked him in the eye for a few seconds, then nodded, handing him the keys.

He didn't know if he was imagining things, but you seemed a little flustered. He walked out of the hotel toward your car, smiling to himself as he thought of being able to make you feel like that.

He wondered at just how flustered you could get, and what exactly he'd do with you in that situation.

A flashback to that kiss invaded his thoughts. He definitely wanted a do over. This time he wouldn't mess things up. This time he'd make it count, make it unforgettable. This time…

His thoughts were interrupted by his mobile ringing with that awfully shrill ringtone Ellen had chosen.

Ellen.

Shit.

"Hello love, what's up?"

"How much longer till you're back? We haven't seen each other in eons! I miss you!" She demanded, not wasting time with polite frivolities.

"I'm fine, too. Thank you so much for asking. I'll be back when my business here is done. It isn't yet. You'll have to have a little more patience…" He said eyeing the entrance of the hotel and seeing you coming out of it.

It was impossible to stop the immediate comparison between you and the woman who had just rudely interrupted him. He turned away from the car and paced along the empty spaces in the car park.

"Patience? All I have is patience! We haven't seen each other in over a month! How much longer are you going to stay in America and hope that we stay together?" She huffed against the receiver of her phone and he heard her take a deep breath. "You pay attention Henry, you'll do well to remember that you're lucky I decided to date you in the first place. Don't throw these two years away!"

"Not something I'm likely to do, love. I miss you. But this moment in my career is pivotal, and I will not apologize for advancing it. Yours being a solid one, I understand this may be difficult for you to accept."

He sighed and turned back towards the car where you waited.

Oh, right, he had the keys.

He unlocked the car from where he was and gave you an apologetic grimace.

You smiled back at him, put your luggage and his in the boot and got in.

"I just miss you a lot, that's all. I want you here with me. The horses miss you too, you know?" He smiled at her attempt at lightening the mood.

"Well, I'll be back when I can, okay? Promise that we'll ride for hours when I do." He said, as he rounded the car going to the driver's side.

"Oh, I'll ride alright. Love you!" With those words, and leaving him with what he was pretty sure was a deep blush, she hung up.

He waited for his face to cool down a little, breathing deeply, before he opened the door.

"You good if I drive?" He asked and cleared his throat, feeling a bit foolish, because you were already on the passenger seat.

"Yep." Was all you replied.

He noticed, as he put the car in drive, that something had changed since your exchange in the lobby.

The ride was quiet. You'd generally put music on, if you were ever in a car together, but this time it was different. All of the six times he looked at you during the forty eight minutes it took to get from Topanga to your place, because of the fucking L.A. traffic, you stared out the window, not turning once. He thought you had fallen asleep, but when they were close to your house, you turned to the backseat to rummage through your purse, and turned back with the keys to the gate.

Your face held a strange expression, like you had fought hard for something but had been defeated in the end.

He didn't know what to do or say so he kept quiet.

He took care of the luggage while you opened the door.

"Well, you know the place. Make yourself at home. I'm gonna take a shower. There's food in the fridge, and if you feel like anything else, numbers are on the wall by the sink." You said without looking at him, going through your two-day accumulated mail, then turned and, dragging your suitcase, disappeared down the hallway.

He was left alone in your open floor living area, certain that you had heard some of his phone call, and wondering what he should do about it, and if he should do anything at all.

***

You needed that shower.

You needed the hot water on your shoulders and feet to wash some of the tiredness away.

You needed to wash the sweat and grime of being up and down solving problems.

Most of all, you needed the shower to hide the noise of your sobbing, and to wash away the tears.

How could you have been so foolish? If he had broken up with her, the fan sites and tabloids that now had started to mention his name more and more often, would have brought it up.

It hurt to hear that they’d ride for hours when he went back. Whatever the hell that meant.

And it hurt even more to realize that after all this fucking time, you had caught feelings, like a damned disease, a cancer that lay dormant all this time and now you couldn’t get rid of, inoperable as it was.

You cried even harder as you thought back about all of the words you had exchanged since meeting again in the restaurant.

What the hell did he want to talk about? What was there to discuss?

He was in a happy relationship, with a perfect, famous girlfriend. Sporty too. What the hell were you thinking? You couldn’t compete.

It dawned on you, then, that he probably wanted to talk to you about how misguided that kiss had been, how ridiculous the thought of you two being more than friends was.

You didn’t want to get out of the bathroom. That conversation wouldn’t bring you anything other than humiliation and brutal pain.

So you didn’t.

You blow-dried your hair, and went to bed, leaving him to fend for himself out there.

You cried silently after that, tears that you just couldn't hold back, hating him, a little, for being so nice. For massaging your feet. For holding your hand. For caressing your back with his thumb during the dance. Both times you danced.

You wished he was an asshole. Why couldn't he be a normal guy and just be awful, cracking crude jokes at your expense or something?

You felt hungry around eleven in the evening, and thanked heavens that you kept a stash of goodies in your nightstand. You didn’t even need to turn the lights on.

He knocked on your door once when you had your hand deep in the bag, looking for the last pretzel.

You stopped moving, and saw the shadow of his feet through the gap under the door.

He spent a while standing there, and his forehead must have hit the door from the thud you heard.

You were surprised by how deep you sighed after he left.

All the lights were out after that and you fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of him repeatedly, and shrieking when your alarm went off at 5:30 that Monday morning.

You sat on your bed and groaned, only to shriek again when his fist hammered on the door.

“Hey, you okay? Open up!” His booming demand left no room for discussion and you hurried to open the door.

“Hi! Sorry, I must have startled you.” You rubbed your eyes and yawned as he stood speechless in front of you.

“That’s an understatement. Uh, are you okay?” You didn’t miss the way his eyes took in your body from head to toe and back to your head again, wearing only an over sized tee shirt saying ‘the deeper you go, the better it feels’, with a picture of a scuba diver.

“Yeah, had a mini heart attack because of my alarm. I’m sorry I woke you up.” You said, trying not to smile at his annoyed face. And finally, your brain connected with the rest of your body and it was your turn to take in his shirtless state. At the sight of his sweatpants, hanging dangerously low on his waist, you swallowed hard and blinked a few times.

“Should I make breakfast?” He asked, after clearing his throat.

You snapped your eyes away from his happy trail, back to his, and slowly nodded.

He smirked at you and turned towards the kitchen, leaving you to gather your scrambled thoughts and hurry to get ready for work.

In thirty minutes you took an Advil to ease the headache from all that crying, got dressed, had your make up on, and your hair in a decent state for a Monday. You headed to the kitchen, led by the amazing smell of bacon.

“I need you here more often. Generally I leave and have a bite at work.” You said, as you sat and took a healthy swig of the coffee he had made.

“That’s unhealthy, and you know it! You’ll end up in the bloody statistics for heart disease, or cancer. Take care of yourself, will you?” He ended his speech in front of you, putting the spatula he had been waving down.

He was still under dressed. Your eyes widened as he spoke all those things to you, and you couldn’t help but remember yesterday’s meltdown at the mention of diseases. You looked at him with sadness in your expression for a while, and was grateful that he had to turn to the sink to find a cloth to clean all the mess he had made by waving the spatula.

“I’ll do my best.” You said, but you couldn’t help the bitterness inside you, and added, “Dad.”

He whipped his head around at that, looking outraged.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” He hissed.

You shrunk inside, but would die before showing weakness.

“Dad! I called you dad! I don’t need a lecture from you. Not all of us have amazing breaks in our careers that earn us millions all of a sudden!” You didn’t yell, but might as well have. His eyes scanned your face as if he had never seen you before.

“Wow!” He said, looking down.

You didn’t know what to say. You were angry, and you were lashing out. You knew you had crossed a line, but the hurt you felt kept you from backtracking and apologizing as you normally would.

“You think it’s easy. You think my life has been a picnic. That I haven’t... I don’t know, really. What the fuck do you think? Spit it out! This conversation is long overdue!”

His words hit you as if he were slapping you across the face.

Yes, you two needed to talk, but not when tensions were so high.

"I'll be late for work. We'll talk tonight." You said, putting the mug you had been holding down and getting up from the chair.

"I'm not staying." He said simply, without looking at you. He turned to the stove to stop the bacon from burning. "It's not right. I've arranged last night to fly this afternoon to New York."

"You're not going back home?" You asked, surprised after the phone call he got the day before.

"Right now is not a good time for me to be in the UK. I'm flying back and forth between New York and Los Angeles a lot.” He scratched his forehead with his thumb and frowned. “All of a sudden you care?"

Again, the hurt and anger in his words and tone hit you like another slap in the face.

"I've always cared." Your voice, quite small as you tried not to cry, cracked a little in the end. "Henry…"

"Yes. I know." He said, understanding your apology without the need for words. " Me too."

He cleared his throat then.

"Have a nice day at work."

"Have a nice flight."

You caught everything you needed and turned to face him.

"I hope you're happy Henry, I really do." You moved closer to him then, and hugged him tight around the waist, as you would when everything was okay. "I wish you loads of success. Be the best Superman there ever was!"

"Blimey, no pressure, huh?" You felt him smile against your hair.

He held you tight, and the feeling of goodbye was making your eyes sting. You couldn't help thinking that something had come to an end.

"You take care of yourself, you hear me?" He said sternly.

"Uh-huh." Was all you could manage.

"Eat right. Find a nice bloke, do not work too much and please be happy."

You could swear you felt something hit your hair, something wet.

"Yeah, my life is going perfectly according to plan, you know?" Your voice broke in the end, and you were fighting back the tears with all your might. "I just need the right guy to share it with."

You broke apart then, neither of you looking at each other, both sniffling quite a lot.

"Well, gotta go!" You said looking at the floor and darted for the door.

"Have a great one!" You heard when you were opening your car door.

You thanked heavens for the L.A. traffic for the first time in your life, because you cried all the tears you had inside you.

By the time you arrived at work, only your bloodshot eyes were a witness to it, and most people congratulated you for "letting it all out" at the wedding.

True to his word Henry wasn't there anymore when you went back home.

Months later, you texted him, once, congratulating him on his birthday and his engagement.

You heard the news that he had broken up with her a month after that.

He didn't get in touch with you at all.

You decided to leave him be.

*******

London, 2019

The second week of meetings was slightly better than the first. There was pretty much the same amount of work but you had gotten used to the routine and nothing caught you off guard anymore.

You hadn't heard from Henry at all and were afraid that you had missed your chance by waiting for him to get in touch with you first.

Saturday nights were quiet affairs at your place and you were just fine with that. It was exhausting to work that much and still have to have the energy to dance all night, or whatever your client came up with for weekend entertainment. If you were honest, you just didn't want to spend your weekend with the same people you already spent the entire week with.

You were sitting in your living room, engrossed in the last chapters of your book and sipping on ginger tea, when the doorbell ringing gave you a start.

"Fuck me! Who the hell…" you whispered to yourself as you walked towards the door, grateful that the leggings and sweater you were wearing were decent enough to get the door.

You were in the foyer when it rang again.

"Yeah, yeah! What?" You said loudly when you opened the door, not hiding the scowl on your face.

"Good evening! I'm so sorry to disturb you madam, but the postman left some letters and a parcel for you at my place. I'm Philip, I live next door."

He smiled at you throughout his little speech and extended his hand to shake yours.

You were slightly embarrassed at how rude you were. Shaking his hand you introduced yourself.

"That's very kind of you, to hold onto these for me. Thank you so much!"

You put all the correspondence he handed you on the little table by the door, and took a step back to close it.

"Uh, I was wondering if you'd like to come over for a drink?" He asked, but upon seeing your smile waver, his face fell and he added, "Sometime?"

"Uh, sure." Was all you could say.

You didn't really want to say no, cause he was cute and Henry was a permanent question mark in the back of your head.

"Maybe some other time?" You added.

"I'd love that." He said with a smile that rivaled Alice’s Cheshire cat. "You have a good night."

He waved and walked sideways towards the steps, never taking his eyes off of you.

"You too." You said, observing the bizarre scene and closing the door slowly.

Shaking your head, you made your way back to the couch where your book awaited.

Taking a healthy swig of the tea, you continued reading, but didn't make it further than one page when the doorbell rang once more.

"Oh, fucking hell. Can't get a peaceful evening in this country. Can't the Brits stay at their friggin' homes?" You went all the way to the door muttering to yourself.

"Did you forget a letter Philip? Oh!" You started complaining as you opened the door but couldn't help the gasp when you saw who was there.

"Does your postman deliver at this hour? Naughty!" With a wink and a smile, Henry stood there.

"Are you going to leave me standing here with my hands full, or are you going to let me in?" He said, raising one of his brows and his arms, to show you the things he was holding.

You let out a breath you didn't even realize you had been holding and stepped aside for him to enter.

"Nice place." He murmured when he got to the living room, then turned to face you and lifting his hands again, waved their contents slightly.

"These need water. And this needs chilling." He handed you a bouquet of roses, in red, orange, peach and white.

You gestured with your head for him to follow you into the kitchen and he put the bottle of champagne in the fridge.

"These are lovely. Thank you. While that chills, would you like some coffee, tea?" You asked, while opening every cabinet door until you found a vase and silently thanked Sofia.

"Why not some tea?" He suggested.

"I've only got ginger, chamomile and fennel. Which one?" You watched as he made a face.

"A glass of water will do just fine, then." He said with a grimace.

You chuckled as you finished arranging the flowers in the vase, filled a glass with water and handed it to him.

You two walked back to your living room and sat down facing each other.

"What's the Krug for?" You asked. The familiar bottle had intrigued you since he showed up.

"Housewarming gift. And, since I'm here, celebration." He explained, with a smirk.

"Ha, ha. I've been living here for two weeks already. The house is toasty warm." You countered, but your smile fell when you saw the look on his face.

He sat forward a little, on the edge of the armchair, rested his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and finally dropping the facade.

"I've been torturing myself for these past two weeks." He spoke to his shoes. "When you didn't reach out, despite having everything settled, - cause I called Nate and he told me you had - I kept wondering why, and…" He looked up then. The pain etched in his features broke your heart and filled you with guilt.

"Henry, I…" You were at a loss for words. What a great moment for it. "I'm sorry." You didn't trust yourself to say any more.

"I had a lot of time to think about us." He said and sniffled. "We apologize a lot."

You nodded and tucked your legs under you, but didn't say anything.

"We haven't been friends for a while, have we? I mean, not like before."

You only shook your head.

He stood then, and in two seconds, he was kneeling in front of you on the couch.

"What have we become? Are we anything at all to each other anymore?" He whispered, looking right into your eyes.

"Henry... I don't know." You confessed.

You didn't know if you wanted to cry, or tell him to leave, or kiss him.

"Well, we're both wasting life, running round in circles." He said quietly, and took both of your hands in his. "As you said, last time you came around, we're both tired, we both want forever."

He came closer, leaning on his elbows and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

"Let's try to be each other's forever." He punctuated his sentence by arching a brow.

His lips went back and forth on your knuckles as you deliberated.

Having him there, it was easy to picture quiet nights reading, or sporadic visits to the Royal Albert hall. Walks with Kal in the nearby parks, and best of all, coming home at night to those lips, if he were there.

Yes, there would always be the times when he was away, when photographers, or even his own fans would cross the line of what was acceptable, but whatever happened, you could face it together.

You let out a breath and closed your eyes, opening them a moment later to find Henry still looking up at you, eyes full of adoration and hope.

You couldn't help the small involuntary smile that grew on your face as you looked back at him, your heart thumping in your chest.

You denied it for so long, tried to push him out of your thoughts. Deep down you knew though, he'd never left, there was always a part of you that would forever be his.

***

Henry could have cut the tension with a knife.

If you said no to his proposal, to him, then it was all over.

"Go and get the Krug." You whispered gently, lifting one hand to cup his cheek tenderly, "We're celebrating".

His eyes widened and his lips stretched into a grin, his own heart thumping with your unspoken answer.

He wasted no time after that, holding you tight by the waist, standing up and kissing you so abruptly that you couldn't help but let out a moan.

#henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill x f!reader #henry cavill x y/n #musings-sans-muse #musings sans muse

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spidxysense · 5 years

Text

Back to You | 1

Summary: He broke your heart, but you’d always love him. Two souls that not even the universe could tear apart, even if you wanted it to at times.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: I told you guys I'd update to the best of my abilities!!! Hope you guys enjoy, just a bit of a filler, next chapter will be pretty intense so watch out for that. As always I hope you enjoy. I'll clean up the whole post tomorrow if there's a laptop or computer nearby since I'm just updating via cellphone.

Word count: not quite sure.

Prologue | 1 | 2

3 months later

“I’m home!” You hear the door slam from inside of what’s become your room and you het up from your seat, hoodie and sweatpants still on.

“I see you still look the same as when I left you this morning.” Troye gives you a pointed look that has you staring at him with an unamuzed face as you slumped your shoulders, “And not in a mood to joke around, I see.” He pulls out a bottle of wine that clinks with the other bottes in the paper bag and hands it over to you, “That’s for you, my little alcoholic.” He pats your head.

You sit down at the table, your right knee brought close to your chest and your left leg up on the chair as well, “How is the outside world?” You place the bottle on the table, “Is loaf bread still a thing?”

Troye snorts in laughter, “She finally speaks! And bonus, actually made a witty quip.” He ducks down to place the detergents under the sink, “I don’t think I’ve seen you sober without a hangover in two months.” He sits down on the chair in front of you and smiles sadly at you, he reaches across the table, squeezing your hand, “How are you today, love?”

You sigh, pulling your hood off, and taking out the bun in your hair before redoing it, “I don’t know, I still feel like shit.”

“Obviously.” He mutters under his breath, “You two were together for 3 years, you can’t just fucking break that up and not feel like shit for a long time.” He scoffs, “You can do sooo much better, Y/N.” His eyes soften up, “You know, he called me again today. I bullshitted him, obviously, he also asked about why my landline wasn’t in service.”

You eye the wire from the phone that you cut when you’d heard his voice from the answering machine, and you give him an apologetic look.

“And your sister called again too. She was worried.”

You sigh, rubbing your face in frustration, “I just cant talk to them right now. I don’t want to have to talk about him when I’m this out of it. They loved him so much.”

Troye sighs and stands up, walking behind your chair and undoes your bun, brushing his fingers through your hair, getting the tangles out, “Look Y/N. When you showed up on my doorstep three months ago soaking wet with blisters on your feet, I told you to do what you need for as long as you need to. I told you to stay for as long as you needed to. But for the past three months, you’ve been getting drunk and crying over him, this isn’t getting over it anymore, it’s just regression.” He grabs you by the shoulders and turns you to face him, “You are a strong independent woman, and I absolutely love having you here with me, but some things need to change.” He pulls you up and over to your room, “You room is a literal pig-sty.”

He runs over to your laptop, “And you can’t keep getting updates on him.” He shows you the articles opened up on your browser from months ago as he closes them one by one.

“Tom Holland steps out looking fresh from a cry with red puffy eyes and disheveled hair.” Closed.

“Tom Holland eats alone at restaurant, phone glued to his ear as he tries to contact Y/N?” Closed.

“Tom Holland takes dog Tessa out for a walk lookng tired and depressed.” Closed.

“Spider-man actor quitting franchise over relationship problems?” I point an accusing finger towards the article, “In my defense, I got a lot of shit for that, and I didn’t defend myself even if it was just clickbait because I promised myself that I wouldn’t go on social media!” Closed.

“Oh I’ll get to that.” He nudged your shoulder pushing you to sit on the bed.

“Tom Holland caught getting emotional on the phone.” Closed.

“Trouble in paradise? Tom spotted out once again, without Y/N in sight.” Closed.

“Tom Holland, spotted out and about, Y/N still as phone background, have the two worked out their problems?”

“Y/N spotted for the first time in months looking haggard as she grabs a bite to eat at local London Bakery.” He gives you a deadpanned look, “Seriously?”

You shrug, “That’s on you. You were gone for the whole day and I had nothing to eat.”

He sighs, closing the browser window with multiple tabs about Tom still opened, “Sweetie, you have got to stop caring so much. I understand that you love him and you two were in love.” He makes a stupid mushy face, “But he hurt you! Live your life, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.” He opens the next browser window still opened on Tom’s instagram and twitter, “Exhibit B.” He gives you a look before closing the browser.

“You’ve written so many good songs too! But you won’t even share them with the world.” He sat down next to you, clicking around on your laptop before the room is filled with your voice, singing.

You look over at him, “You really think they’re good?”

“I have literally cried with you at night while you would sing.”

You sigh, “I can’t sing right now. I just don’t feel like I can release at album where I’m at emotionally.”

“Then sell some of these to musicians who will, your songs deserve to be heard around the world. And for goodness’ sake, Y/N. Read this will you? It’s been in the mail bin for a month now, they’ve wanted to meet with you for a while now.” He throws a script on your bed

“You aren’t this stupid crying child, Y/N. You are fabulous and you didn’t need a man before Tom, why the hell would need one now?” He has his hands on his hips, “The Y/N I know is better than this. So unless you plan on being her again, then I’m gonna have to cut you off.” He grabs the half finished wine bottle on your dresser before slamming the door shut behind him, “Clean up your room and I’ll call uou when we need to leave to have lunch outside for once.”

You look over at the script on the bed, “The Greatest Showman”, and turn to the first page.

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

“Yeah, I just finished reading the script.” You speak into the phone you kept for business, “I love it.”

“Wait-” Your manager’s voice sounds excited on the other end, “Does this mean you’re going to do it?”

You bite your lip, “Yeah. I think I am, I’m done with this. I don’t want to sit around getting drunk and cry all the time. I’ll send you some compositions I’ve been making these past few months, maybe find some artists who could use the sound on their albums.”

“Th-this is great news, Y/N!” She practically shouts into the phone, “Alright, this is perfect. We’ll fly you out the LA in a few days and you can meet with the directors, meet with the rest of the cast. They’ll be so happy to hear this, I mean, you were their first choice.” she sighs happily, “Alright, well I’ll go ahead and email you the details. I’ll get on the phone with them asap so we can arrange this whole thing!” She pasues, “I’m really proud of you, Y/N.”

“Does this mean you don’t want to be my roommate anymore?” You turn to see Troye pouting with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

You roll your eyes, holding out your arms for a hug, “No way. You’re my bitch forever now.” You laugh, “Thanks for the tough love.” He rubs your back while hugging you, “I really needed it.”

“Ugh, I know you did. It sucked having to be so mean to you.” He pulls away from you, “But please don’t ever ever wear anything like what you were wearing in that article, you looked like garbage.” He scoffs at you, “Now go get dressed and we can talk all about your new movie over lunch!" He squeals.

_________________________

"So glad you could make it, Y/N." Michael leans over to give you a handshake which you take gratefilly, "Hopefully the flight wasn't too tough on you. You've been in London so long, I'm sure you'd have jetlag coming back here."

"It was great! I'm so sorry about not getting back to you sooner, I was gling through some stuf-"

He holds his open palm, "Oh, say no more. I understand, you've been very strong amidst your relationship problems and have stayed above it." He compliments you, taking a bite out of his grilled chicken.

Ylu paste on a tense smile, "We all deal with it in our own ways." You sigh, remembering the days you'd spend drinking glass after glass of wine or whatever liquor was available.

"Anyway, so we wanted you for the role of Anne Wheeler, a pink haired trapeze artist and acrobat who falls in love with Hugh Jackman's business partner and protege, Philippe Carlyle." He ponders for a while, "Obviously we had you in mind for Anne, and we also had Ben Hardy in mind for Philippe, but since you were taking a while to give your answer, we honestly did start approaching other people for the roles and since Ben wasn't too keen on the role after finding out we might be going for Zendaya, it was just more work to get done before the production even started, but now that we have you aboard, everything's going according to plan!"

You clench your glass of water at the mention of Zendaya, you were definitely not feeling well enough to be around too many people, "So…" you play with the table napkin, tearing it to smaller bits and pieces starting at the corner, "When does filming start?"

He munches on some mashed potatoes, "We were hoping to start next month so it would probably.take a good 3 to 5 months to shoot, but your filming would probably be shorter since this is focused more in Hugh's character."

You clasp your hands together, "Perfect, I love it!"

"So, we'll send over the contract within a day or two to your manager, and we'll just pick up from there." He stands up to give you a quick hug.

__________________________________

You hop out the car, walking straight to the elevator in your hotel, your manager following closely behind, "He's your phone. Troye told me you broke it after throwing it against the wall." She looks over at me nervously, "I thought it'd be good for you to listen to his voice every now and then."

You take it without saying a word and stuf fit in your pocket, ignoring the constant dings and alerts coming from it as your manager gets off at the 12 floor. You grip the phone tight in your hand. You knew you didn't hate Tom, you walk out the elevator and towards your room, kicking off your shoes and finding more comfortable clothes to wear.

You could never hate him. But a part of you was afraid of all the messages he'd left you you were scared that if you opened them, you'd come crawling back to him, or if you heard him pleading for you to come back, you'd do it in a heartbeat.

You lie in bed, pondering over the phone, technically, you didn't need to open the messages.

0601 you hear a 'click' before a picture of your scrunched up face as Tom kisses your cheek greets you and you feel your heart ache. You open the photo gallery, and while your scrolling through all the pictures and videos, you accidentally press kn a video.

"I am with a child." You laugh as you watch him,it was raining in London, but you two were out and about, "Babe, let's get back to the car. We can just drive there."

You point the camera towards him as he jumps in a puddle, laughing loudly, pulling you along, "What are you doing with that umbrella? Get over here!" He pulls the umbrella away, "I love you." He mumbles before embracing you and giving you a kiss.

You pull away, giving him a look, "We're gonna be late to the movies, you know."

He shrugs, grinning at you and looking you like a lovesick puppy, he pulls you in again, "It's just the movies." He grins against your lips.

And then suddenly the video cuts and you're left there missing him and missing who the two of you used to be.

You smile sadly at the black screen, clutching it closer to your chest as you hug your phone, the closest thing you had to Tom, as you drift off to sleep.

#tom holland #spiderman #spidxysense #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #back to you

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caroline18mars · 5 years

Text

A Man On Fire - Chapter 51

“Stop” she returned to her senses and abruptly disconnected her mouth from his, “babe, come on, nothing happened between her and me, I swear” he refused to let go of her, holding her arms, and that's when the inevitable happened. “Well, well, well, now that's a lie, Jared dearest, and we both know it” Val strolled inside like she owned the place “why don't you tell her what really happened, or should I do the honours?”. A black veil of anger fell over his eyes and if Shannon hadn't come in and pulled him back, he would have scratched her eyes out “what the fuck is your problem? You just waltz in here with all your lies, you even steal a key to my room just to be with me?! Fuck that Val, I told you over and over again that I love Harper”. Harper felt the blood drain from her face, what the hell was she doing here, she didn't have the energy to fight, at least not over a man “why don't I leave the two of you so you can battle this out together...I'm done, I really am” she just couldn't take it anymore, all of a sudden she felt so stupid standing here watching two people that had a common past, fight, who was lying? Who told the truth? Did it really matter? It was just one thing after the other with this man, maybe this was the universe reminding her of the stupid mistake she made falling in love with guys like this..or maybe she was just jetlagged out of her brain, whatever, she was outta here. Shannon gestured at his brother that he would take care of it and followed her out of the room “Harper? Wait, just wait” stopping her midway to the exit, “no Shannon, I think this was a mistake, I just want to get back to the airport” she gently pushed his hand away. “Nonono, I understand that this is hard for you right now but don't go, I'm begging you, I'll get you settled in a room at the hotel, you can rest, catch your breath..just don't leave” that sad look in his eyes was just..unbearable and she felt herself give in with a shrug followed by a nod. “Alright..I'll go with you, come on” his hand that lightly rested on her back felt nice, never in a million years woul she have guessed that the one person she felt she could trust right now would be Shannon.

”I wouldn't if I were you” after reassuring Harper, Shannon met his brother who came storming out of the elevator, “where is she? Stevie told me you put her up here, you don't want me knocking on every door, do you?” Jared walked around him in search of the right room. “Jay stop, she's sleeping, so why don't you come with me and leave her be for a while, you can talk later when she's calmed down” Shannon tried to steer him away from her room, hoping she was resting or being carried away by a dream that would hopefully soften her thoughts on this whole ordeal, because if they still were the same as when he had left her room and Jared would storm in there right now, then all hell would break loose. “Where is she?” Jared ignored every single word and pushed him aside, frantically trying to figure out which of the doors would be the right one “which one is it?” he breathed dangerously all of a sudden, he had enough of this nonsense, he needed to be with her right now. “Ok, you really need to chill the fuck out, leave her be and be fucking grateful she's still here, alright? Because she could have just walked the fuck out of here and you never would've seen her again, but she didn't, that's gotta mean something” Shannon angrily grabbed his arm and pulled him further down the corridor. Ok so he might have lost this battle but not the entire war, oh no, no way in hell was this over! Further down the hall Harper sat on the kingsize bed, looking out of the window and out over the Roman skyline when her phone bleeped the arrival of an e-mail, she didn't even look at it, she just pulled it out of her pocket, threw it over her shoulder before her hands returned to the same position. A tear rolling down her cheek glistened in a ray of evening sun that lit up her face with that typical melancholical glow, what a mistake, what an absolute fucking waste of time and effort.

There was a knock on the door, go away, just leave, I'm not interested in anything you might have to say, “Coco? Hey? You in there? It's Sean”. She closed her eyes and shook her head, him? Really? “Just go, Sean, I just want to be alone right now” she yelled back, what was he here for anyway? Drive the knife in just that little bit deeper?! He could fuck right off!. “Harper, come on, I just want to talk to you” he didn't even hear the dry click, he was too busy checking out some chick that walked by, long legs, cute bubblebutt, what room did she come out of? 'Ding' when the elevator swallowed her, he turned his attention back to the closed door. “Coco, just open the door” he wriggled the doorknob and to his surprise it gave way and he almost fell inside her room, had it been open all along? Didn't matter, there she was, sitting on the bed in a halo of evening sun, her back turned to him. “Hey..” he slowly walked over to the bed, “hey..” she answered, keep it short Sean, I'm not in the mood for more drama, “Shannon told me you had arrived..” oh my her face looked almost..angelic in this light, like a crying Madonna sculpted by Michelangelo..”so you met Jared huh?..Jared and his Russian queen, ok well queen is the wrong word, his Russian devil..”. Just hearing her mentioned made a shot of bile shoot up the back of her throat and she shrugged “where does she even come from? And why now? Has she been here all along? Tell me the truth, Sean..” she swallowed and shivered at the same time, like she was bracing for the inevitable blow.

”Uhm” he bit his lip and sat down next to her on the bed “she has..I'm sorry, babe..” he put his hand on her back to soften the blow but she didn't move at all “we all went clubbing..she's been all over him ever since..”. Harper hung her head and closed her eyes, this was unbearable “ok stop, I really don't need all the details” she lifted her hands in defeat, “ok ok, I didn't mean to..” he started. “I need to get out of here, it's like I can't breathe..will you take me to the airport? I just can't do this on my own right now” she stammered, “no, I won't take you to the airport but I'll take you out of here to get something to eat”. Anywhere sounded good as long as it wasn't here, she got up as on automatic pilot, grabbed her bag and let Sean guide her out of the room but abruptely stopped when the door fell shut behind her, Sean picked up on her discomfort. “They've got a show, don't worry..” his hand landed on the small of her back and slowly pushed her forward, it was like her feet didn't want to carry her, why was this hurting so much? She was stronger than this, she was gonna have something to eat, stop crying and walk out of here with her head held high. “No answer?” Shannon eyed his brother who was pacing up and down the dressing room, his fist squeezing the phone in it “no! I don't know what I'm doing here..I don't want to do this show, I just want to go see her, talk to her..” on impulse he headed for the door where he was stopped by Shannon. “You're gonna do this show, she's probably sleeping, jetlag's a bitch, besides she promised me she'd stay..at least for tonight..just let tempers cool..” he put his hand on his brother's chest. This show was gonna be crap, he just felt it and it was hell when Jared wasn't focused, he would mess up setlists and when he did his usual stupid stuff like throwing himself to the lions that were their audience but unfocused, you could bet your ass that things would end up in disaster. Let tempers cool? There was nothing to cool, he hadn't slept with Val and that was final, all he wanted then and now was Harper.

Show, wave, scream, make 'em sing, wave again, get them on stage, make 'em jump, automatic pilot it always worked, what time is it? What song next? This is the finale, oh great, I hope that car is waiting. His eyes kept scanning the crowd against all odds, was it that stupid to think that maybe she would've changed her mind and come see him? Yeah it was, what would you do if you were in her shoes, Leto? Huh? Yep, you'd do exactly the same or worse, deceipt always brought out the worst in any person, was this fixable? Were they over before they had well and truly started?. For the first in a very long time she was actually glad to be in Sean's company, he did all the talking during dinner so she could forget her misery for an hour or two, but walking back to the hotel had her stomach in knots again, where was he? Was he back from his show? Was she there with him in his room?. “Wanna go for a nightcap? There's probably some great bars around here” he stopped at the entrance of the hotel, “it's late and I'm tired..if it were summer I would have said yes, sit outside with a drink..it's lovely, but right now..rain check?” she pulled up her shoulders and dug her hands deep into the pockets of her trousers “you know, I've missed this country..more than I cared to admit, it's where I was born, maybe I should just come back, after all this is the country where the 'renaissance' was born, so moving back here can be a 'renaissance' for me as well”. His heart sank, what? If she moved back here, then he would never see her again “I guess” was all he was able to say, don't go now, please don't! He got so lost in her and being here, walking around with her that he didn't hear the cars pull up behind them.

Shannon grabbed his arm “Take it easy, Jay, don't scare her off again..” but there was just no stopping him, “Harper!” he jumped out and ran up to them standing there talking on the pavement. His hand folded around her upper arm, yanking it in all his desperate excitement which had her almost losing her balance “Che due palle?! Ma che fai?!” she growled as their eyes met. “You're coming with me” he sternly said as he started dragging her with him inside the lobby of the hotel, “the fuck you're doing? Can't you see you're scaring her?” Sean rushed after them. He stopped in his tracks and hissed “stop meddling, Sean” but before he could turn around again Harper yanked her arm free and straightened her jacket “alright alright, I'll come with you but you've got to stop pushing me around”. She refused to make a scene for the first batches of fans that were starting to hover around the entrance of the hotel so she quickly hopped on up the stairs “well? Are you coming or are you just gonna stand there gawking?”. He nervously looked at Shannon who gave him a firm nod as if to say that he would take care of the fans with Stevie and then walked after her, she didn't wait for him, she just kept a firm pace towards the elevator without looking at him or even giving him the light of day. “Coco..I'm..” he whispered as they shot up to the 7th floor, “save it, Jared, just save it” she hissed back at him as she kept her eye on the LED-panel while the floors whizzed by. Finally the doors opened and to his surprise she just followed him to his room, there was a bounce to his step, having her this close, ready and willing to talk this through..it was more than he could have hoped for. He opened the door and let her go in first, god she smelled divine, “right, I'm here now so start explaining!” she took a deep breath and dug her hands in the pockets of her trousers into balled fists.

#jared leto #jared leto fan fic #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #30 Seconds To Mars #30stm fanfiction #30 seconds to mars fanfic #a man on fire #chapter 51 #Harper Coco #Harper and Jared #caroline18mars

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kissykiwi · 6 years

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money, money, money (pt. 2)

(part one)

wherein things progress, and harry makes a bit of an ass of himself. (mamma mia au, 4700 words)

Y/N got to sleep in the next day by just a bit. Her Big Ben alarm clock, a gift her grandmother had picked up in a thrift store somewhere in Cheshire, rang furiously as soon as eight o’clock rolled around. The day was to begin.

“Good morning dear. Mr. Styles has asked for breakfast at 9 o’clock -- a pot of tea with the fixings, some toast, and a bit of fruit, if you please -- so you’ve got a bit of time to get ready and have your shower before I need you going,” her mother said, opening the creaky, light blue door to her room. Y/N paused, frozen in her morning stretch, to stare at her mother.

“Mr. Styles? You mean Harry Styles? The travel writer?”

Dee sighed, and suddenly Y/N understood why this information had been so carefully hidden from her. Harry Styles was her favorite author. He’d been around half the world and had quite a knack for colorful descriptions and vivid storytelling alongside a cutting humor. Though she’d never gone farther than a bit into the mainland, his work made her feel like a proper globetrotter.

“Yes, that Mr. Styles. And you are absolutely forbidden from badgering him about his travels. He’s come here for a respite from all that, and I won’t have you stressing him out and running him off the island,” Dee said warningly, shaking one beringed finger. Y/N tried not to pout.

“Okay, heard. Toast, tea, and fruit, and absolutely no mention of the fact that he’s been to every place I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Exactly. Now, up!”

Y/N watched her mother go, and then rolled out of bed. Today wouldn’t be too much of a day, overall -- a few check-ins who would probably fall straight into bed from jetlag and Harry fucking Styles were her only priority. She might even have time to read on the stairs or make it down to the beach in the slow moments. A pair of old cutoffs and one of her tee shirts should do the day. One quick shower later, and her neroli scented soap had her feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day.

“Gooood morning, Helena!” she sang, throwing herself around the doorframe into the kitchen of their main guest building. At the stove, the lady who did the cooking for the Muse turned to grant her a smile.

“Can you believe this new guest, huh? Toast and fruit! Is he a traveler or a hummingbird?” she said, half to Y/N and half to herself. Helena believed strongly in meals that would stick to the ribs, and clearly their new guest was already not quite up to snuff.

“We’re only here to provide what they ask, Len.”

“Well he had better start asking for a proper breakfast before he wastes right away.”

Y/N laughed and picked up the tray of food. Helena had been careful to set out cream and sugar alongside the teapot, and they’d even gotten out the nice jadeite tea set that grandma had sent her mom from Myanmar (it had still been Burma at the time). She’d also sliced apricots nectarines and thrown a few cherries onto the plate, even added a little pot of lemons in case that was how he preferred his tea. A few slices of Mr. Alexandrou’s local whole grain bread had been toasted to a perfect golden brown and were placed delicately to the side with a small pot of local butter. Despite it not being Helena’s preferred fare, it really seemed to represent the best of Kalokairi and her environs.

“You’re an artist Len. I’ll be back for my coffee!”

Y/N trotted away as quickly as she could with a tray full of food (and alright, so maybe it was a bit more of a slow walk), headed to the stairs that carried the kitchen up to the dining balcony.

The dining balcony. That was number two out of Y/N’s eleven favorite spots on the island, with a view that could almost rival the staircase. Though it was just a little rectangle sticking out from the second level of the cliffside building, it had always made Y/N feel like a princess staring over her ocean kingdom. The far left side of the building, facing the north of the island, peeked out upon Calliope’s Beach where this side of the island went to swim. If you faced the building on that side, you could see just past into the citrus orchards where Y/N had spent her childhood munching on oranges and reading fantasy books, and even further in, the houses of some of the locals. Though almost no one who ate up there knew it, the entrance to Euterpe’s Grotto was hidden at the very end of the beach where the island curved northeast. The west view, looking straight off the cliffside, was more of the dazzling blue of the Aegean Sea, and the east peeked into the docks and the little markets that sat behind them. It felt as though all of Kalokairi was encapsulated in a single turn.

“Good morning Mr. Styles,” she said cheerfully as she came up upon the curls she had seen the night before.

He looked up, eyes even greener than they had looked on his book jackets and framed by angirly furrowed brows and purple bags.

“I was told my privacy would be respected when I came here,” he all but snarled.

Y/N tried not to visibly recoil as she set his tray down, though she heard the clink as the tea set jerked slightly.

“Well of course, I mean-- we’re not going to go about on social media screaming that you’re here. But all the same, I’m the daughter of the woman who checked you in last night, and we make a point of greeting our guests by name.”

He stared at her a moment more, gaze both analytical and totally disinterested, and she wondered for a moment if she was actually a ghost. She took a deep breath. He grunted dismissively.

“I did want to ask, Mr. Styles, if you had any questions about the island or what we have to offer here. If you don’t mind me saying so --”

“I do mind, actually,” he started, cutting her off. “Can’t a bloke get some bloody peace around here?”

Y/N’s jaw snapped shut so hard that the canals of her ears hurt faintly.

“Of course.”

She was not ashamed to say that she fled the space after that, taking the stairs in a sprint with cheeks burning like the cherry of a cigarette from sheer fury. It was only the telltale cadence of Georgie’s footfalls at the bottom of the stairs that kept Y/N from running face first into her.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” Georgie asked, grabbing her by the elbows to steady her. Y/N rolled her neck.

“Haven’t had it yet. Did you know we have Harry Styles gracing our humble establishment?” Y/N laughed, clenching her fist.

“You mean your favorite author? The guy whose books I’ve bought you for the past three out of five Christmases?” Georgie asked. Y/N could tell she was confused.

“The guy’s an asshole. Steer carefully around him,” Y/N scoffed. Georgie was frowning at her, face clearly sympathetic, and Y/N wanted to scream.

“I’m so sorry rosie,” Georgie said, stroking her hand softly down Y/N’s arm. Y/N frowned.

“I’m only warning you George. We’ve got him for three months, and whatever his books were like, he is not.”

There was more Georgie wanted to say, that was certainly visible on her face, but she nodded instead.

“Wanna talk about this over coffee?” she asked softly. Y/N didn’t, not really, but it might be easier if she did, so she turned to the worn wooden table and chairs for employees set up in the kitchen. A steaming cup of coffee was set in her usual place, alongside a plate of Helena’s breakfast hash.

“So Harry Styles sucks?” Georgie prompted, taking a mouthful of potatoes. Y/N took a bracing drink.

“Of course he does. He’s massively rich and has met a million interesting people and seen half the world. What time does he has for us small folk?”

Georgie’s eyebrows raised high.

“Not that she’s bitter.”

Y/N glared.

“For the past six years I have lived the rest of the world through him and how funny he is. Now he’s here to stay with us and I find out it’s all an act. Forgive me for my sour grapes.”

Georgie waited for the next shoe to fall.

“It just feels like...” Y/N scrubbed her hands through her hair. “I don’t know. It just feels like everything happens outside of Kalokairi. And when it happens here, it can never be the same.”

“Oh c’mon Y/N. I’d bet you half my paycheck that he’s like that everywhere. You know how rich people are, they forget what it’s like to be ordinary like us. The ants can’t help but bother him,” Georgie pointed out. She poked Y/N’s plate, trying to remind her to eat for the rest of the day, and Y/N managed a morose forkful.

“It’s to be expected. Here I am working my ass off just to keep the walls of this place upright and he’s too high on the fumes of a few euros to be nice to people around him.”

“Never meet your heroes. By the way, he’s already sent down some laundry to be done,” Georgie replied. Y/N groaned and laid her head next to the plate on the table.

---

So Harry may have been a little mean to the cute girl who brought round his brekkie. In his defense, he certainly felt bad about it. He was just feeling so rotten between how tired he was and the start of the morning. There’d been this stunning sunrise he saw lighting up his balcony, and when he went out to watch it he felt so young and inspired and ready again. He’d grabbed his typewriter (which was a bitch to lug around, but always worth it) and set up on the little wrought iron table, and-- nothing.

It was like a million different words were pounding on his chest, begging to be let out of a door that his fingers could no longer be. It was infuriating.

So he’d gone to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling again, and by the time he’d marked down for breakfast, he was properly full to the brim with ire. And then the girl had known his name and he was just so bloody sick of being Harry Styles, Travel Writer that he’d snapped at her. He’d been even angrier when she’d had a reason for knowing it and he realized how rude he’d been.

He rather wished he’d let her speak too, because he didn’t know a stitch of Greek or where he ought to go now the day had begun, and he was a bit too afraid to risk running across her in the registration house. For now, he thought, he’d explore the resort.

It was a precious place, he had to say. The hotel complex itself was basically a square of buildings around a divided courtyard. The structures themselves were all very Greek, covered over with a pale stucco and roofed in with terracotta tiles. All of the doors were a soft shade of blue that matched the walls of the rooms. He was in the building to the north, the longest one, which connected to a dining balcony with one of the most breathtaking sea views he’d ever seen -- and he’d seen a few. The north building turned an L, so that it covered a half of the east side. There was a wide gate heading out of the courtyard that led onto a small, red dust lot, and that was where he’d entered the night before. The other east building on the lot had a spillover of more rooms (the least expensive ones, he assumed, since they looked out on trees and the road down to the markets and the docks). What must have at one time been a goat house was now a bit of storage for food and miscellany, according to the owner, Dee.

Beautiful though the buildings were, Harry could see the wear. In some places the stucco was chipped, and it was more of an off white than the pure, bright white that most Greek tourism brochures tended to picture. On the registration house he’d started in the evening before, on the very south side of the square of buildings, he could see tiles missing in the roof and how nearly all of the blue paint had peeled off the attic window shutters. Nevertheless, every worn patch had a cheerful flower to match it, and the food and comfort of his surroundings was undeniable.

Harry had already gone to inspect the flowers crawling the walls (he was almost fitfully delighted to see that it was an old, lovingly cared for bougainvillea plant), and noted with joy that the little box under the attic window was decorated with a carving of all of the muses and bursting with brightly colored blooms.

The courtyard had a slope to it, and it split like a step in the middle. Dee had explained to him in the ride up to the place that people had kept tripping over the damn thing, so she’d built a wall to make it safer because she wasn’t about to be liable. Then she’d found out that if you closed the gate and it made a suitable dance floor that went well with the courtyard’s outdoor bar, and it had kind of gone from there.

Though there was something almost magical about sitting under the clotheslines heavy with laundry on the east side of the gate, he’d seen stairs on the cliffside as the ferry came sailing in, and he thought that the gate on the southwest side of the courtyard may lead to it. It’d been closed all day, but he didn’t think that meant it would be locked. Those stairs, he thought, would probably be a good place to crack open the book of Ginsberg poems he’d grabbed as he was leaving New York.

To his surprise, the door of the gate he had seen was now open. His hunch had been totally right, he saw. There were the stone steps, and he could smell the faint aroma of cypress on the otherwise salty sea breeze.

He started down them, already thrilled by the view expanding in front of him, but froze when he noticed a head of familiar hair. It was the girl. She had a book in her lap and another stack to her side, and he noticed with a start that one of his was atop the stack.

It was a paperback version of Haggled History: Viewing Europe’s Past on a Budget, one of his prouder works. It was rather dense since it covered quite a few countries, chapter by by chapter, and how best to learn their histories with only a few euros in pocket. It was also less trendy, he supposed, than much of his other work. Apparently, his usual reader wasn’t much for history reference based jokes. He very rarely found himself signing it on his book tours-- and yet there was her version, tattered and well loved. Pages were marked with washi tape, seemingly in the place of a dog ear, and just about a whole pad of post it notes had found their way into the four hundred odd pages. As the gentle wind coming off the water blew her copy open, he could see it was highlighted and marked with a heart next to whatever city it was open to, margins crammed with notes.

Feeling suddenly vaguely ill, Harry turned around and decided that maybe sleeping off his jetlag would be the best use of his afternoon.

---

Georgie, the traitor, had told Dee how Y/N’s meeting with Mr. Styles had gone. Y/N tried not to be too irritated by the fact that her mother was largely unsympathetic -- “he’s just another guest, my rose, and his euros have the same value as anyone else’s. I don’t care what his personality is like.” Still, Dee knew how much his books meant to her (even now, having met the asshole), and Y/N would have liked a smidgen of understanding. Unfortunately, her mother was right. Harry Styles’ money was metaphorically green and all that, and he was giving them quite a bit of it. So Y/N could be nice. Or polite, at the very least.

Alright, she could prevent herself from being openly hostile. Y/N really thought, though, that that should count for something! It wasn’t as though he was being a peach. He’d been here two weeks, and the entire time he’d been surly and frowning. He’d even had the audacity to ask Dee to switch his mattress, as though that was the reason he was sleeping poorly. It hadn’t helped, either, because every time Y/N brought his breakfast (or any other meal. Or an extra pillow. Or had the nerve to even look in his direction), he was still as nasty and short as he’d been that first day.

The worst part though, easily, was the fact that she seemed to be the only person gifted with his special attentions. Her mother had insisted that he’d been a total sweetheart about asking about his bed, Helena declared that she liked him, despite whatever his breakfast choices might be, and even Georgie said that he really wasn’t all that bad.

Y/N was reeling with enough betrayal that this Thursday already felt pretty sour. But then the morning had started unpleasantly, moreso than usual. Big Ben had decided to take a day off (looked like she would have to bring it round to Mr. Hatzidakis to fix, again), so she’d awoken to her mother yelling through her door that she had 15 minutes before Mr. Clark would like his breakfast at 7:30. The food had been ready since Helena worked like an atomic clock, but Y/N’s hastily dealt with hair and puffy eyes were still a dead give to her own tardiness, and Mr. Clark was kind enough to let her know as much as she set down his cuppa and two eggs, scrambled, with sliced tomato and cottage cheese to the side. From there she’d been dashing up and down the service stairs to fill every ridiculous request from the latest batch of uni kids (and who on earth could drink three frappe’s in the space of an hour without their heart beating itself out?), never having time to eat or even get a sip of coffee in, until suddenly it was nine. The worst part of her day.

“Good morning Mr. Styles,” she said breathlessly, setting down his usual plate in front of him. She didn’t have his paper yet (they tended to get a variety of english options sent in for the guests, but this morning’s ferry was running late), but it would be on the way just as soon as she got that damn uni student his fucking Lucky Charms.

Styles grunted in response. “You forget I asked for the Guardian?” he asked mulishly, picking up the container of cream. Y/N sighed, feeling the simmer of anger in her chest roar to a boil.

“No, I-”

“Oi! Miss Waitress! I asked for that cereal,” called one of the Chads from the next table over. His friends snickered, and Y/N felt her fingers twitch at her side.

“-have to do that. I’ll bring the paper with his cereal,” she ground out, wiping an errant piece of hair from her forehead.

“Don’t see why it would have been so hard to do now, but alright,” Harry muttered, and Y/N felt the angry blood in her stomach crawl up her neck. She turned and left. Georgie grabbed her on the stairs.

“Listen, I know you don’t like Styles, but if you’re going to push any of them over the cliffside, pick the frat boys. They keep talking to me as if I don’t know english, and they say it’s because I ‘have an accent’. So do they! It’s just one of those English ones!”

“Duly noted. Have the papers come in yet?”

“Nik is running them up now, should be within five minutes,” Georgie answered as she jogged away. Well, Mr. Styles wasn’t going to love that. Now that the school groups were coming and going, Y/N found that he made a concerted effort not to linger over his breakfast. Helena, with her usual artful arrangement, had set out the cereal and milk alongside a bowl on a tray for Y/N to take, but Nik was nowhere in sight. Unfortunately, the food really couldn’t wait. The university boys seemed to get a kick out of complaining to her about every little thing, so the less room the better. Y/N turned and hauled herself back up the stairs.

“Cereal for you boys,” she said, voice distinctly more cheerful than she was feeling. She set the tray down and was ready to head back to see if Nik was around, but one of them grabbed her wrist.

“Pour the milk, won’t you?” he said, grinning, and Y/N heard her own knuckles crack.

“Of course.”

She poured the milk, trying to ignore the fact that her hands were now literally shaking with suppressed rage, and was once again ready to leave the balcony and maybe punch a wall, when she heard her name being called. It wa by Mr. Styles, who had a face like a thundercloud.

“Thought you said you were bringing my bloody newspaper up. I’ve been waiting all morning, and I understand that you might be busy flirting with England’s finest over there, but I would think you’d still be able to do your job,” he hissed as she drew up near him.

Oh, that was it.

“Listen. I know that in your tenure as one of the unnecessarily rich and stupidly famous airheads that wander this earth of ours, you’ve forgotten that the sun does not, in fact, revolve around your inflated head. Let me remind you though, that you are a guest here, just as they are -- in fact, very much like them since you’re in the running for ‘who treats the service workers worst’ -- and I am only one person running about to help just under eleven of you, all making rapid fire requests. So you’ll forgive me for not pulling the newspaper out of my own asshole just because you request it, but I’d just like to let you know that even if I could, I wouldn’t, because I’ve never had a guest who was less pleasant to be around and a greater disappointment of a person.”

By the end of her monologue, she knew, she was yelling. She just couldn’t help it. Two weeks of berating at the hands of someone she’d admired, someone who was regularly listed as one of the kindest celebrities in his tax bracket, and three days of those fucking university students (which, frankly, was enough). She was just so sick of being kind and amiable and patient with people who treated her like shit. From behind her, a throat cleared.

“Brought the paper up, Y/N. Nik rushed it since the boat was late, but I that didn’t really help,” Georgie said, voice torn between laughter and concern. Y/N turned around, snatched the paper out of her hands, and slapped it in front of Harry Styles so hard that the table shook.

“The Guardian, as per your request,” she snarled, and then she was gone.

---

Harry may have deserved it. “It” being the dressing down he got in front of two amused couples, four first year frat boys, and two lone guests at full volume at 9:10 in the morning. He knew he’d been pushing her, he supposed. But wow, had she gone off. Harry couldn’t help but be angry that she even looked good when she was screaming at him.

Still, it was a pretty shit way to start the day. He’d been unfair to her the entire time he was here, but again, Y/N could have let him know the ferry was running let. She didn’t have to make an ass of him. Although he supposed, again, that he hadn’t really given her the room to let him know. Whatever. Whatever, it had happened, and he planned to relax on the beach to soak it all off, since writing seemed as though it still wasn’t an option. (It was possible, he thought, that the persistent writer’s block was probably a big part of his shit attitude.)

It was only much later that evening, as Harry went to sit on the steps in the dying summer sun and read with ouzo and two small glasses (Helena had insisted, saying it would keep him from looking like an alcoholic), that he realized how different Y/N’s life really was.

There was a little landing in the stairs, just a storey below the resort itself, that had a pathway to the cellars. Harry knew from the chats he’d had with Helena in the courtyard that the little door on the side was rarely used thanks to the stairs from the kitchen, but now he could hear voices from where it was hanging ajar.

“... cannot believe you would ever speak to a customer that way! As a hotelier, you know better than that!” was the first thing Harry heard, Dee’s voice angrier than he had ever heard it. There were muffled sniffles in the background, and not for the first time, Harry felt like a proper asshole.

“I’m not a hotelier mom. I live in a hotel and I help, but I’m not a hotelier. That’s what you do. I’m just here. And I’m sick of being treated like it.” That was Y/N talking, so lowly that he could only barely hear it above the sound of the waves on the rocks below.

“Well while you’re here, a hotelier is what you will act like,” Dee responded, tone unforgiving.

“And how long is that mom?” Y/N was yelling back now, and Harry realized quietly that she had quite the temper on her. “How long am I here? Because I have begged until I was blue in the face to go to college, or Italy, or even Athens, and you’ve never let me! How long do I have to pretend like Kalokairi is all I’ll ever want when we both know it’s not?”

Harry held his breath. There was a long moment of silence.

“Y/N, you know that I don’t have the money for that --”

“I will take out loans for school. I will hitchhike, I will stay in hostels or camp illegally, I will sell everything I own, I don’t care. I just want to see -- fuck, something!” Y/N gasped, begging now. Another long moment.

“Y/N, I need you here. And I need you to do your job, the way I know you can. I’ve told you so many stories, dear. It’s not that much different out there compared to those,” Dee tried to be light in telling her story, but the tone was obviously clipped.

“Mom, I want to explore. I want to meet people, and see things. I want to make my own stories,” Y/N pleaded. Dee sighed.

“And you’ll have them, my rose. One day.”

“When?”

This time Dee didn’t respond. After another long period of quiet, Harry heard the sound of steps walking away, followed by harsh sobs.

Harry felt really, really awful. Here he’d been, so trapped by the weight of his job, that he’d forgotten how much it was that he got to do. Just like Y/N had said. So lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn’t realize that the door was opening on a tearful Y/N until they’d looked up and made eye contact. The anger he’d become so used to settled in on her face. Oh boy.

#harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #himagine

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b4kuch1n · 6 years

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Rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 10 followers you want to know better!

Tagged by @hydrachea (you think the gokaiger OP is catchy. oh boy. ooohhh boy. wait until I forcibly drag you into TOQger. also thanks for the tag ilu uwu)

Age: 19 or 20, depends on how you count it

Birthplace: Hanoi, Vietnam

Current time: 10:16 AM

Drink you last had: instant matcha milk tea this morning

Easiest person to talk to: the dude, the senpai, and internet friends

Favourite song: right now? probably Loki by Mikita P. I blame @crescentmoonrider for showing me Amatsuki leading to my coming across his cover of this song, killing me instantly

Grossest memory: got peed on by the little brother when he was like. two and I was seven. we havent seen eye to eye ever since and Im also afraid of holding babies

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor. my official Rowling-assigned Patronus is a rattlesnake tho which probably means I would either die before the story takes place and enter school lore of become the main character

In love: nah

Jealous of people: I think I beat that out of me in eighth grade, but recently I did suddenly get style envy exactly once. its like accidentally eating red meat after being a vegan for a decade, but like mentally. sucks man

Killed someone: maybe, if seeing someone on the road with their bike’s kickstand still down and not reminding them which leads to a fatal accident counts

Love at first sight or walk by again: look, man,

Middle name: Đan, but it doesnt work the way middle names in english does

No. Of siblings: one younger brother

One wish: to actually get shit done instead of laying in bed worrying about not getting that specific shit done

Person you last called: apparently my dad. remember none of that conversation. huh

Question you are asked most: people dont really ask me that many questions lmao. I look absolutely clueless and answer-less all the time

Song you last sung: Heartthrob by Superfruit. I. I think. I hum a lot of songs doing stuff

Time you woke up: 7:30 AM today. a week ago I kept waking up at six and couldnt go back to sleep. jetlags a bitch

Underwear colour: black

Vacation destination: I wanna go down south with a cousin this summer.

Worst habit: procastination. also does breaking one’s own sleep schedule count

X-rays: never. my everythings still here if a bit rotten

Favourite food: chocolate, apple, and sweet corn. Im like a horse with the taste for flesh replaced by a craving of chocolate

Tagging @crescentmoonrider (since I already mentioned you, might as well), @marimo-stuff, @owlsshadows, @cosbeans, @whatevsbla, @zoosa47, @crazyflyingspip, @lynslayer, @riseandshineinthewest, and @carriemebags. be brave stay wild

#long post #i mean the eye tagging thing still applies tbh #if ya wanna snatch this and overshare with us then go ahead!!#i just finished yumi's gift and am planning a comic #so idk if i would be able to post much for the next few days #ive been sitting on this idea for about three days now #i really need to get to it #anyway!! rach we needta watch something together soon i miss u #i havent stayed up late for two days now time to wreck it #uhhh have a good day guys!!#bakuspeech

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kazosa · 7 years

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We Were Just Friends, pt 4

Summary: Saturday at the convention. Reader and Briana chat about the night before. Reader and Rich meet for brunch and dinner.

Words: 3300 (whaaaat?!)

Warnings: language, super fluff

Tags: @aquivercactus @lefthologramdeer @byereallife @dragongirl420 @nobodys-baby-now @sorenmarie87 @soythedemonqueen @sumara62

Previous PART 3

Saturday was always the real test of your endurance. The con went non-stop, all day. Your wake-up call came far too quickly. Taking significant effort to actually pick up the phone, you grudgingly answered.

“’ello?” you answered.

“Get your ass up, bitch!” It was Briana.

Eyes still closed, you smiled, “You talk so sweet to me.”

“Meet me at the gym in 20, got it?” she ordered.

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” you answered. Briana was your con work-out partner. You helped each other keep to your workouts and routines. The jetlag could be terrible and, for some reason, working out helped to combat the effects.

Seventeen minutes later, you were walking into the gym and Briana was already there, waiting for you.

“You better tell me everything!” she said as soon as she saw you.

“Sure you wanna know?” you teased.

“Ugh, gross,” she got on the treadmill. “A little discretion, please.”

“I don’t know what happened. I still can’t believe it was real. I got on the elevator and he was there. Maybe he was coming to get me? He asked me to be his date for the night,” you said, Briana ‘awed’ and you started your treadmill. “I told him we could just do how we always do, ya know? Go as friends. He said we could do that if that was what I wanted, but he wanted it to be a date.” Briana was listening intently. “I agreed, and you saw us together. He held my hand and walked me back to my room. I’d teased him about a proper courtship, but I meant it, too… So,” your cheeks flushed remembering, “he kissed me goodnight. Said he’d better go and that he’d see me later.”

“Oh my god, (Y|N)!” she squealed. “Did he make your toes curl? Did he light up your vag? Oh my god! You guys are finally together!”

You knew your face was bright red, but if anyone asked, you were going to blame it on the treadmill. Briana was still walking and looking at you, waiting for you to answer her questions.

“Oh god, B…” you could barely keep the giggles away, “he’s such a good kisser. Not gonna lie, my vag approved.”

“Holy shit, babe!” she said. “You gonna make him wait? Hell, it’s Rich, make him wait.”

“I promised myself I wasn’t going to chase men anymore, so when the time is right, it’ll happen.”

“Do us all a favor, just keep traveling with us. It’ll happen. That man has been a miserable piece of shit without you.”

You threw a look of disbelief at her.

“I’m not even exaggerating. Sad-sack city,” she went on. “It’s not just him though. We always miss the people that can’t come or whatever.”

Briana didn’t like to get gushy about feelings and neither did you. You knew what she meant, you’d missed them all, too.

“I got to hang out with Gil and Matt a few times, so it wasn’t all bad. I missed my Supernatural loves, though. …Matt and Gil sure are dirty fuckers. God, I love you guys.”

“Good, cuz you’re stuck with us, especially if you and Dick are a thing,” she winked at you. “I’ll talk to the powers that be if I have to. So, did you guys make plans for later? Are you going to dinner with us before SNS?”

“Yeah, I said he could take me to dinner, just us, and we could meet everyone later for drinks,” you said.

“I’m happy for you, baby,” she said sincerely. “Glad you’re back, too.”

If you didn’t go get Rich for brunch, he’d probably be late and have to rush to get something to eat. To spare Rob a little torment that Rich would surely inflict, you text him that you were on your way to Rich’s room to get him moving.

“You owe me two months, but I forgive you. See you soon,” he text back. Poor guy, they could be relentless on each other.

Standing outside Rich’s door, you banged on it as hard as you could and quickly stepped to the side, so he couldn’t see you through the peephole. There was a thump from inside the room and muffled cuss words met your ears. You banged on the door again, just as it opened.

“Who the fu…” he opened the door.

You leaned on your shoulder against the wall, snickering.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” you giggled.

He turned to see you. Clearly, he’d just rolled out of bed. His hair was a mess, he didn’t have on his glasses, and was missing a shirt. From what you could see, you were unsure if he was wearing anything at all.

“You decent?” you asked, still smiling.

“Shit,” he said disappearing inside. “Just one sec.”

You chuckled and stuck your foot in the door, waiting for his “okay.”

“Okay,” he called. As you stepped inside, he said, “How late am I?”

You looked at your watch quickly. “Not too bad,” you told him.

He was wearing a pair of shorts, which surprised you that he even had any. You’d only ever seen him wear pants. He was bustling about his room gathering clothes and toiletries, so he could get ready.

“Time for a shower?” he asked.

“Haul balls, Dick,” you told him.

He was gonna give you a hard time when he realized you’d actually gotten to him early. Rich liked to get his sleep and was a bit of a night owl, like you. Waking up earlier than was absolutely necessary was not something he liked to do. The bathroom door closed, and you heard the shower start right after.

While he was in the bathroom, you took a seat in the open desk chair and surveyed his room. The desk was filled with the chaos that was his life. It reflected how his mind worked. It never failed to amaze you how on the surface, he looked cool as a cucumber, but on the inside, his mind was working at a million miles a minute. He was constantly working and by what he had laid out, it looked like he was going to direct a Supernatural episode again soon.

The bed wasn’t a disaster, but you did note that he’d spread out overnight. You’d rousted him from his room before, but you’d never really paid much attention to the inside. Usually, when you got to his door, he was mostly ready to go.

About ten minutes later, he was out of the bathroom, nearly ready. He was fastening his watch and reached for his coat.

“You about ready, gorgeous?” he asked. “Always waiting on you.”

“I’ve been ready, ass,” you answered, getting up from your chair.

Rich opened the door for you, “Honestly, woman.”

You pointed at his chest, “So.” tap “Mouthy.” tap

He grabbed your hand and let the door close as he pulled you to him.

“Missed you,” he breathed out as his demeanor changed.

Your bodies were pressed together as he held you. Leaning back a little, your hand went to his longer strands of hair that fell behind his ear, your fingertips gliding through his hair.

He went on, “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You were a little confused but feeling playful, “But you were being a proper gentleman.”

“I didn’t mean last night,” he clarified. “I should never have left your house.”

He was talking about leaving your house when he stayed in your guest room for a week after finding out about Jaci and Brady. How was it that he could always give you butterflies?

Your hand brushed his cheek. “It’s okay, though,” you assured him. “Things have worked out.”

It had been harder staying away from Rich as much as you had in the last year than it had been going through the divorce from Brady. Not seeing Rich between conventions, not spending all of your free time with him at the conventions…it was best for the divorce proceedings, but it had sucked, bad. Talking on the phone, when you weren’t with him, was tough, too, it wasn’t the same as going to each other’s houses to hang out. Cutting yourself off from your best friend, when you needed him most, was gut-wrenching. The last thing you wanted to do was rush him, but your impatient side wanted him to love you the way you loved him, right now. Loving him as long as you had, it was getting tiring carrying the torch on your own.

“Things would be so much better now,” he was regretful.

You smoothed back his hair again. He looked so handsome in his scruffy beard and new glasses. You’d helped him pick them out during a video chat call.

“Hey,” you said softly, “none of that. This was how it had to be. We’re here now. Our timing was always off, but we’re finally on the same track, right?”

“I guess we should go eat,” he suggested.

Brunch with your friends went as it usually did, lots of chatter, good food, and friendly ribbing on all sides. Once you’d all eaten, you had to go your separate ways and Rich made you promise that you’d come by the green room to see him whenever you could get away. You always tried, but you liked to tell your convention stories from the point of view of the spectator, which meant you were all over the place. Your convention days, like Saturday, were spent watching the panels, taking notes and pictures of the guests and interviewing convention goers. You were planning to try something different for SNS, though, and Rich had nearly discovered your plan.

The idea to surprise Rich at SNS by going out on stage to sing with everyone on the last song had come to you at your last convention. It was no big deal. You just didn’t want to embarrass yourself. You’d had dinner with Jensen after a practice session with him and Jason at Jason’s house. You knew you couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, and if anyone could help you sing better, it was Jason and Jensen. Jensen had borrowed Jason’s car to take you out to dinner. He had to go to Vancouver the next day and needed to get back to Jason’s house, so he dropped you at Rich’s house without going inside. Rich, of course, had seen Jensen pulling out of the driveway and that had started the green monster showing up.

There was a three-hour break before the SNS and you were going to get the most out of it. You went back to your room and started picking out our clothes that you were going to wear for your date with Rich. He was going to “pick you up” from your room and from there, you didn’t know what was going to happen, but you prepared for… whatever may happen. You zipped your clothes into a garment bag for later and waited for Rich to get you.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait too long. Your nerves didn’t have a chance to get to you. Telling yourself that it was just a normal dinner and that there was nothing to be nervous about was actually helping, right up until you heard the knock on the door. Fairly well springing up from your spot in front of the TV, you had to make yourself slow down as you went to answer the door.

Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and saw your best friend smiling back at you.

“Hey gorgeous,” he grinned. “Might I take you to dinner?”

There were those damned butterflies again… “Um, yes, just let me grab my garment bag.”

“Garment bag?” he followed you just inside the door.

“Yeah, I want to wear something special tonight and I don’t want to ruin it by slopping food on it. Thought I could change in your room and we could go to the show together.”

“Oh, great. Perfect. I’ll take it. Ready?” he said.

You smiled at him. He was so wonderful, in your eyes. He spoke fast like that when he was nervous or being a smart-alec. You handed him the garment bag and took his arm once you got outside your room. He led you toward the elevator bank and pushed the ‘up’ button.

“Wouldn’t it be something if a little scout and an old man with a walker were in the elevator,” he asked.

Catching his reference, you said, “I’d be more impressed if it were Ellie and Carl. I mean, clearly, you’re Carl, but I’m definitely not Russell, though the age difference is there.”

“Ouch,” he said, feigning hurt. There was a small moment of quiet between you as you waited for the elevator to arrive. “Nah, you’re my Ellie.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened for you. You caught your beaming reflection in the elevator walls as he pulled you inside with him. He laid the garment bag on the floor of the elevator before pulling you to him for a kiss. Your knees felt like they might not be able to hold you up any longer as his tongue swirled with yours, lighting you up, once again. Eventually, he had to let you go.

“Wanted to do that all day,” he mumbled as he picked up the garment bag and the elevator stopped on his floor. “C’mon gorgeous.”

Still trying to recover, the doors almost closed before you came to your senses.

“Where are we going?” you asked as he led you to his room.

“By strange coincidence, we are going to chez Dick this evening,” he carded his door and opened it for you to step inside.

“Awfully presumptuous, don’t you think, Dick?” you said.

“Well, we don’t have time to go out, and I didn’t want to rush dinner. I thought we could have a nice time here,” he said.

It was then that you looked around his room and realized that it was very neat and tidy. All of his notes and computer were put away. In the middle of his suite, the table was set up with a white cloth, a small bundle of flowers in a vase, and two candles.

“Oh Rich,” your voice barely more than a whisper.

He hung your garment bag in the wardrobe that was near the bathroom and gently moved you closer to the table. He pulled out your chair for you and got you seated.

“In the interest of saving time, I took the liberty of ordering for you. I hope you don’t mind,” he said.

Who was this man? Did all men do this, or had you just won the lottery? Brady took you out to dinner, but he never did anything like this. Rich had even gotten flowers in your favorite color. Had he done that knowing or was it just luck? And he ordered for you?

“What did you order?” you asked.

“Don’t you trust me, (Y|N)?” he teased. “I think after all this time, if anyone is going to know you, it’s me.”

You couldn’t deny that. “This is all very nice, Rich. I gotta say, I’m impressed.”

The two of you talked and discussed what the set list looked like for the show until the knock at the door came from room service. Rich excused himself to get the door for the hotel staff. Your mind briefly flashed to that Kings of Con episode and a fantastic day for you on set. When the staff member took the cover off the dishes, you laughed at Rich’s choice for you. He was spot on, it was your favorite, go-to meal. You waited for him to sit back down before you dug in.

“So, how’d I do?” he wanted to know, his eyebrow cocked at you, a knowing smirk on his face.

“I think maybe you do know me,” you assented and took a bite.

After that dinner went smoothly and before you even realized, your food was gone, and Rich’s alarm to get going sounded. Rich didn’t have much to do as far as getting ready for the show. All he really did was change his shirt. You, however, grabbed the garment bag from the wardrobe and went into the bathroom to change. It didn’t take you long to get into your outfit, but you did need help. Stepping out of the bathroom, you looked for Rich to help you.

He didn’t know what he expected, but he hoped like hell that the night wouldn’t be a total disaster. He’d kissed her the night before and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. All day, he’d seen her flitting about, talking to people, taking pictures. She’d come by and give him a quick hug, not anything too out of the ordinary. All he’d wanted to do all day was to see if the kiss the night before had been a fluke. He’d taken his opportunity in the elevator and he found out that it was even better the second time around. He thought for sure that it would be weird, but it wasn’t, it was fantastic.

Just like always, dinner had been great. He’d gotten her favorite food and drink for dinner and the conversation was just as easy as it usually was. It had been a huge relief, for both of them, he suspected. He was riding pretty high as he went to change his shirt. (Y|N) was next to change and she grabbed her garment bag to head into the bathroom. He had no idea what she had in there, but when she stepped out of the bathroom there was nothing in the world that could have prepared him for what he saw. Only one time, in the ten years he’d known her, had he ever seen her in a dress, and that was on her wedding day. She stepped out of the bathroom wearing a black dress, like what Audrey Hepburn would wear. He was staring, and he didn’t care.

“Rich?” she said. “Will you button me up? I can’t reach all of the buttons.”

She went over to where he sat in one of the arm chairs, sitting on his lap, her bare back open to him.

“You’re killing me here, gorgeous,” he said, not trusting his hands to stay PG.

“Are the buttons too small?” she asked, seemingly unaware of the torture she was putting him through.

His fingertips brushed her warm skin as he fastened the buttons. What he really wanted to do was feel all of her skin, soft and warm under his touch and to let her know the sweet torture she was unleashing on him. The buttons finally done, she got up from his lap like nothing had happened. “Mother of Christ,” he thought. “This is not just a fluke.”

By the time she had put on a delicate silver necklace and earrings, he’d calmed down enough to not embarrass himself and stood up from the armchair. (Y|N) was smoothing her dress and checking herself in the mirror. Why he had never seen the way she lit up when she saw him? How had he never noticed? Maybe he had and told himself it wasn’t real. He went to stand behind her in the mirror, when she saw him there, her eyes lit up again and she smiled at his reflection.

“How do I look?” she asked.

He put his arms around her waist from behind, kissing her shoulder, “Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.”

She put her hands on top of his and any qualms about them being together completely melted away. He had no doubts left.

“We better get going,” he grudgingly said.

She turned and gave him a quick kiss, “I can’t wait for tonight.”

Part 5

#Richard Speight Jr #Richard speight jr x reader #reader insert #real person fiction #rpf #rich x reader #briana buckmaster #we were just friends #kazosa

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