#then ten years later i see him playing HIS first ever stadium show!!!

[fruitylouis]

i couldn’t be happier to have been a part of his first stadium show <3

[cuddlesslut]

Part FOUR : Chance Encounters

Atsumu x fem reader, Suna x fem reader, Hinata x fem reader

Tags: slight NSFW, Heavy Angst.

A/N: so this will NOT be the last chapter there will be more. Just like there are more choices now lol, don’t be shy to tell me who you route for. Also let me know if y’all want more NSFW I’m chill with writing it . ALSO slight canon divergence the timing on when Hinata comes back from Brazil is different, obviously in the Manga he’s only gone for two years. In this story it is longer. Hinata isn’t on MSBY yet. Also we are only caught up on 5 months since the dreaded birthday.

Part Three: Memories

Part Five: Friends

You spent your birthday in some hotel room. Sitting on the plush bed still in your dress not bothering to change your curl in to a fetal position as sobs raked through you. Your whole world crashed down on you everything you knew was a lie. Your phone lit up with one last birthday message from some distant relative. You see the time it’s now one in the morning you’ve been laying here for hours you can’t understand how you have any liquid in your body left to cry but still tears trail down your cheeks as you look at your lock screen. It’s a photo from three Christmas’s ago. Atsumu held you close from behind as you pose in front of a festive Christmas tree. Your eyes are shut tight from laughter as the setter places a kiss to your cheek bone, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. This was your favorite photo of the two of you, it always showed the realness in this candid shot. You remember laughing so hard from some cheesy joke he had just whispered in your ear. Your heart twists at the photo, a moment of anger slices through you. Was any of it real? You fling your phone at the wall effectively shattering the screen. You scream into the pillow. You wish you could feel numb to all of the emotions. But no ones that lucky. You aren’t sure when you feel asleep but you wake to find the remnants of tears stuck to your face. You move to the bathroom. You look like death. Your face is pale and eyes swollen and red. Your body aches from the fitful sleep you had. You grab a quick shower before putting on your comfiest pajamas and lay back down. All the energy is drained you look for your phone before remembering your fit of rage last night groan. You switch on the TV for some form of distraction but the gods must really hate you as it opens to a sports channel and you see him in all of his intensity standing on the volleyball court. Part of your brain pleads to change the channel but you must be a masochist as you watch him in all his usual glory. He commands the stadium as he goes up to serve. He looks perfectly fine like you hadn’t just walked out of his life. Like he hadn’t just ripped your world to shreds. You're finally turning the television off sitting in the silence thinking of the memories of your home. You ordered some takeout trying to settle the ache in your stomach. The food tasted bland, everything has lost its edge. The bed offers no comfort. The sunlight offers no warmth. It’s not long before you fall into another depression nap.

Waking up late in the evening you can’t stop your mind from making a stupid decision. But you miss him. You just want to see him. That’s how you end up outside of the door that leads to the home you shared with him. Trying to work up the courage to enter. His car was in his usual spot so you know he's here. A bitter thought run through you at the thought that while you were here he couldn’t be bothered to be home before two am at the earliest, yet the first night gone and here he is at home at ten o’clock. Silently you open the door. It was a mistake. You don’t make it even completely through the threshold before you hear the obnoxious moan and grunts, the sound of skin slapping. It makes you sick “OH Miya-San!” You hear some woman bellow out. You feel nauseous. You hurry out the door trying you best not to cause any noise to interrupt the activities in the house. You bend over you feel as though you’ll throw up right there on the spot. After calming yourself you make a way to a convenience store picking up a bottle of wine before heading back to you hotel room. There’s no way you’ll make it through the night sober.

The next morning you clean your self up before heading to the bank and clear out your joint account. Normally you’d feel bad taking the money but this cash was saved for your wedding and that would never happen now. You stopped by the phone store getting your own account not wanting anymore strings attached to the player. You spend the rest of your morning looking for a small affordable apartment. Luckily you were able to find one with in distance of your school and a reasonable price. It’s now the afternoon and you have to rush not wanting to be late for your class. Although it probably wouldn’t have made a difference if you had missed today, you barely pay attention. You find yourself back with the hotel walls.

You feel completely and utterly alone. You want nothing more to call your best friend or stop by Samu’s shop and cry on his shoulder while you eat some comfort food. But there is hesitation Suna was Atsumu's friend before he was yours, and you'll probably break down in tears just looking at Osamu he was his damn twin for heavens sake. What were you to them you wonder. You only got close to them because of the setter. Part of you wanted to believe that they cared about you and all of those friendships would still be there but you couldn’t. How could they want you around. You really question your place in their lives. It’s hard to trust in anything you had also believed Atsumu loved you and would never hurt you, yet that much was proven untrue. It's hard to trust in anything you feel or know. Another reason is your afraid of all of the memories you shared with them Atsumu ever present in those moments. You don’t want to think about him any more. You don’t want any remnants of that man In your life. While you want to believe Suna would be there for you, that he’d choose you. It was not a risk you were ready to take. You don’t think you could survive another heartbreak. It’s better to leave things as is, to cherish the good memories and not risk tainting them with pain.

It’s been two months since your birthday. You’ve moved into a quaint apartment. You got a job working at a little cafe to pay for rent. Between work and studying for your degree you try to keep yourself busy. It’s hard being on your own. You try to distract yourself with the things that brought you joy. Some days are better than others but all in all everything still hurts. Graduation is only a couple of months away so at least there’s something to look forward too. There are moments that come quite often that you miss your friends but you can’t bring yourself to reach out still untrusting. You look back sometimes and wonder where the lies stopped. You avoid everything that has to do his Atsumu Miya. Even the sight of a simple volleyball brings distress.

Three and half months later the cosmos played another prank on you. It was just another Friday afternoon and you were working in the cafe. You had just helped a young beautiful woman at the counter. She seemed so familiar but you couldn’t quit place it. You could see a puzzled look on her face. Then it hit you. You knew exactly who this woman was. She was the one with your ex fiancé at the restaurant that fateful night. The realization must have struck her too. Her eyes grew wide with worry. Although you weren’t expecting what she did next.

“I AM SO SORRY,” she basically yelling as she bows in front of you. “ I’m so sorry for the part I played in your pain.” She continues. You can tell she is really distressed. You coworkers and a few costumers look at the spectacle. Hating all of the attention now directed toward the both, you beg her to please stand.

“I need you to understand I had no idea, I would never have gone for a taken man.”

You sighed and sent a look to your coworker that you were going to take a quick break. “Would you like a cup of coffee,” you ask her. You never thought That you’d be sitting having coffee with the mistress of the only man you ever loved yet here you are. There’s an awkward silence for a moment. You don’t rush things you can see she’s also having a hard time trying to figure out where to start. You take a sip of your coffee as she finally speaks.

“My names Yuki,” she states.

“YN ,” you offer back.

“Well, umm YN I just want to say I am so sorry for wh-” you cut her off holding up your hand.

“You said you didn’t know, correct?” You send a glance at her raising your eyebrow. She nods.

“Are you still with him?” She sits up straight.

“Absolutely not,” she states with conviction “after you left I asked him what just happed and he explained who you were and I left.. well not with out dumping my drink in face" she gave a little giggle.

“Ha! Oh I wish I could have seen that,” you laughed picturing him drenched in the restaurant. “In that case you have nothing to apologize for, you are a victim of Atsumu’s selfishness as well. I’m sorry he put you through that.” She gave a sad smile you could see she was hurt too. The two of you spent a few more moments in each other’s comfort discussing the facts of his affair. It hurts to know that he had a legitimate relationship with Yuki but a part of you was glad to know. It was a small piece of closure to know how deep his transgressions ran, knowing it wasn’t just sex hurt even more. But it furthered your stance that he didn’t love you and if he had at one point the love had faded on his part some time ago. You spent the rest of your shift plagued with thoughts of you past.

After your shift you went home to change before heading out to your local bar. In your time alone you had taken solace in drinking with strangers. After dressing in an appealing yet comfortable outfit you headed out. You wanted to feel comfy and relaxed but that didn’t stop you from wanting to look nice. In your past visits it wasn’t uncommon for men to try and talk you up and while you did indulge in the compliments none had succeeded in getting you to return home with them. There had yet to be a guy who fully kept your attention away from your former lover.

You found your favorite spot at the bar, just far enough from the blaring music and smokers. You smiled at the bartender before ordering your usual. You sat there letting the liquor relax you as you listened to what music the DJ was playing tonight. Normally you stick to just drinks but after the day you had you need something to take the edge off. After downing a shot of tequila you notice a presence next to you.

“Is this seat taken,” the man smiled at you. You had never seen him here before and you know damn well you would have noticed him before. Although he wasn’t a giant like most of the men you knew in your life, he wasn’t excessively short either you could tell he’d still stand taller than you. You couldn’t lie the man was extremely defined and muscular, you swear his tanned thighs that you saw peeking from under his khaki shorts were bigger than your face. His skin was tanned you can tell from pleanty of time in the sun. He had strong jaw line but his most prominent feature was this bright mop of orange hair he tried to hide under a ball cap. He had a bright smile that reached his alluring brown eyes. It was safe to say he was very handsome. He tilts his head to the side a little smirk reaching his lips. It then you realized you had never responded and just been sitting here gawking.

“Um no it’s not uhh go ahead,” you stammered out feeling a blush creep on to your cheeks at your response. What is this feeling why are you acting like a school girl.

He takes the seat next to you ordering a beer then turning to you reaching out his hand. “ Shoyo Hinata,” he states.

You accept his hand giving it a light shake. “ YN LN,” you responded. “ I’ve never seen you here before Hinata-San,” you prod wanting to know about the stranger.

“Just Shoyo is fine,”he gives you another dazzling smile. “I actually just moved back to Japan,” he states “this is my first time at this bar , but with customers as beautiful as you I’ll definitely have to come more often.” Ohh hes smooth you think. You let out a light chuckle at his compliment although it’s fairly simple compared to some of lines you’ve heard it definitely has the desired affect on you.

“Well then Shoyo where are you traveling from?” Question not wanting the convo to stop.

“I just got back from Brazil,” he mused that signature smile never far from his face.

“Wow Brazil! That’s so far was it hard to be so far from home?”you questioned.

The conversation with Hinata flowed effortlessly. Pleanty of laughes shared as he told you countless stories of his time in South America. Being in conversation with him is like talking to the sun it’s so bright and happy. He does eventually mention playing beach volleyball and for a moment you mind thinks of your ex but it then you realized it was the first time since Sho made his appearance that you had thought of the setter. It felt nice to finally have your mind clearing from the twin. As of recent at any mention of volleyball you would have ended the convo making an excuse to leave, yet you didn’t want to, plus beach volleyball is completely different than regular volleyball you reason.

Time passes by as well do several drinks. You are by no means drunk just a little tipsy. Over the course of your talking the space between Hinata started to narrow. Right now you were so close you could smell his cologne and the slight minty scent of his breath. His hand caressed your elbow. Your breath hitched when he finally leaned in “do wanna get out of here?,” you can see his iris’s darken ever so slightly. “We can go back to my place,” he continued.

Several thoughts ran threw your mind in that moment. One, you were nervous, you hadnt been with anyone other than Atsumu. Two, you were sure you weren’t ready for a relationship but it was just sex it’s not like he’s asking on a romantic vacation. And three you wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against yours. “Absolutely.”

That’s how you got to where you are now. You barely made it through the threshold before Hinata had you pinned to the door. You were locked in a searing kiss. It was like he was stealing the air from your lungs. His hands roamed your figure before slipping under your blouse. “You are absolutely gorgeous,” he breaths before pressing a kiss under your jaw trailing down you neck. You place you hands on his shoulders trying to ground yourself. You let out a loud moan as he gives a bite to your shoulder while grabbing a hand full of you breast. He smiled into you neck with pleasure from the sounds you made. The two of you stumbled a bit as you started making your way to his room shedding clothes left and right. The door closed to the bedroom and you were ready for a mindblowing night.

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[chilly-me-softly]

fluff alphabet for jordan (henderson)

This is my first alphabet so hope I did it right and that you like it! x

A - APRON

Jordan wasn't the best cook in the world, he kept it simple and always made the same recipes sure that the result was more than acceptable. And you loved to see him in action, from the moment he put on his apron until he got to the cooker, his expression always focused as if he were in the middle of a surgical operation. And then his eagerness to know if it was good, the smile on his face when you complimented him, him enormously pleased with himself.

B - BALL

Of course he always has a ball between his feet, many times urging you to play with him. And you're not a professional player at his level, but you certainly manage to distract him in other ways...

C - CUDDLE

After a day of practice what better thing than holding you in his arms while you tell him what happened while he was gone or anything else that comes to mind. Your voice is better than any relaxing drink, so much so that many times he has closed his eyes without even noticing.

But it's the little circles you draw on his arm, the light kisses you leave on his chin from time to time that make his night. Because no matter how much he likes being around the boys, no one pampers him like you do.

D - DINOSAUR

The little dinosaur is supposed to be for your son, but ever since it was given to you, it keeps you company when you're alone. Or even to annoy Jordan as he often complains that you spend more time hugging that soft toy than he does.

"I swear, as soon as he's born, I'll let him have it"

"If you say so" Jordan strokes your eight month old baby bump with a smile on his face, "did you hear mommy? She'll leave you her toys" he leaves a light kiss on your belly as you gasp hitting him with the dinosaur head.

"You're really mean Jordan, go away I never want to see you again" you put on a fake pout as he looks at you softly getting up to be at your height.

"How about you keep this dinosaur, and our son gets another one? You can match"

"I don't need a stuffed animal, I'm a big girl now" but you don't believe it either, him raising an eyebrow clearly amused and you hitting him with the dinosaur again.

E - EXERCISE

Even on his days off Jordan had to work out, the home gym built for the occasion. And he loves showing off for you, when you go to sit on a bench and your gaze settles on his toned, sweaty body.

"Like what you see?" he sneers, gently passing the towel over his face and then laying it on your shoulders, you rolling your eyes faking nonchalance.

"Please my lover is in better shape"

"Oh yeah?" Jordan walks over trapping your legs against the bench and starting to lie on top of you.

"No Jordan you're sticky" you try to desist but he's already on your lips. So you draw him to you by the neck, the thin layer of clothing separating you starting to get annoying.

F - FAMILY PHOTO

Jordan literally loves family photos, a big one of you just on the fireplace. He claims that every year you have to redo it because you all change so much, especially the little ones. Plus that year there is a new member of the family so it has to be redone.

You smile, arranging the ribbon around the baby's head in your arms as a three-year-old runs past your side almost tripping.

"Careful" you sigh, "Come on come over here next to us so we can take the picture and then you can go play" you don't know how he hasn't gotten dirty in some way yet. Jordan and the light shirt obsession. It's cute but totally not appropriate for a vulcano like your kid.

Finally Jordan arrives after talking to the photographer about the shots, wrapping an arm around you briefly. He places a kiss on your temple and the forehead of the little one in your arms before stopping the baby who was about to run away again.

"Just two minutes okay?" he smiles, crouching down and resting his hands on the kid's shoulders, smoothing down his jacket and adjusting his little bow tie before guiding him back to his seat.

And at the end of the week all you have to do is choose the best photo.

G - GETAWAY

Especially in summer you used to disappear to spend some time alone away from schedules, appointments, dinners to attend, families. Nothing was better than disconnecting, just you and Jordan relaxing in a secluded place or being tourists in some unknown location. You did everything you could to keep your mind off your troubles for even a couple of nights and it was always worth it.

H - HUG

All you had to do was say that word and Jordan would drop what he was doing, his arms gently around your body. Sometimes you did it just for the sake of it, but most of the time you just felt the need to be held and he was almost always there to satisfy you.

I - ILL

Sick Jordan was absolutely something. His unkempt state, his bright eyes and his drawling smile made him so cute in your eyes even though he felt like crap.

"Stop looking at me like that" he complains as he always does trying to hide his head somewhere while you smile.

"I'm not doing anything"

"You're looking at me" his voice comes muffled from under the pillow as you try to take it off, stroking his slightly damp hair. You liked taking care of him for once, even if it meant he wasn't at his best. He always seemed so strong, always available for you and that was one of the few times you could somehow return the favour.

He got annoying but you couldn't really take it out on him, could you?!

J - JORDAN

You didn't use nicknames, his name was good like that and you didn't need to change it or not use it at all. And he loved to hear his name coming from you. With hilarity when you were having fun; with sweetness in intimate moments; and yet angry, joking, alarmed, every possible nuance brought a smile to his face.

K - KEY

You were having breakfast one morning, you were enjoying your bowl of cereal while his had become un-eatable by now as he kept throwing you glances not caring about it.

He continues to twist something between the fingers of the hand he has hidden from your view when suddenly Jordan reaches across the table, sliding something towards you. A key.

"This is the house key. I wanted to... well give it to you but don't feel pressured in any way" he doesn't know exactly what he's nervous about, many times he's left you his keys to get in or when he was out of town for emergencies. But you looking at him motionless certainly doesn't help him. Has he made a mistake?

"You're giving me the key to your house?" your gaze on that object, incredulous, not touching it as if it might shock you. "Really?" you always had his keys on loan, having your own meant he trusted you enough to let you into his space even unannounced, or that you wouldn't lose it and risk someone else finding it. It was a really great gesture.

"Yeah I mean I thought you could have your own copy, and use it even when I'm here" a huge smile breaks across your face as you stand up going to sit on Jordan's lap, him scooting his chair further back to allow you to be more comfortable.

"That's...I have no words. Just thank you"

"I like the idea of coming home to find you already comfortable"

"Oh I surely will" you chuckle as you finally take that key in your hands, snapping to your feet causing a confused expression to appear on Jordan's face as you leave for the door.

"I forgot something" you walk back inside using the key and going straight to leave a kiss on his lips as he stands up immediately wrapping his arms around your body. "Are you crazy? It's so cold out there"

"I have a key now" you state with satisfaction as you cling to him.

L - LAUGH

Definitely his trademark, you can recognise it even with your eyes closed. You couldn't be more different than that, you always trying to be as quiet as possible while he was always so loud. But you couldn't help but be mesmerised by his face when he laughed, from his squinted eyes to his head thrown back.

"If I were to lose my memory, I'm sure your laugh would make me remember you" a soft smile on your face as you looked up at him slightly from below lying on his chest as he raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Why would you lose your memory?"

"I said if, it's a scenario" you roll your eyes pouting, him quickly running his thumb over your lips to remove it.

"Why do you always have to be so tragic?"

"Ugh Jordan it was a compliment, it's not my fault you don't get it" and that laugh is always there to fill your heart.

M - MATCHDAY

Every home game Jordan is sure to have you at the stadium cheering for him. Over the years that has never changed, only skipping games when you weren't feeling well or when you were really pregnant and Jordan would be more concerned about you and your safety than the outcome of the game.

A little unspoken routine between you, him always leaving home early no matter the kick off time to review tactics and you sending him a text to wish him luck with a picture of you - and later a picture of you and the kids - wearing his jersey.

After the match regardless of the result and after he has done any interviews, here you are together sharing a short but sweet moment. You remind him how proud you are of him, the children want to go and play on the pitch.

N - NOSE

His nose brushes your neck as he snuggles up against you to rest; his nose brushes yours gently in an Eskimo kiss before he makes your lips connect; his nose brushes your skin after you have just stepped out of the shower. You often teased him by saying he looked like a tracker but you liked that little attention, the build up to what came next.

O - OLD

You always tease him by claiming he's getting old, sprawled out on the couch after spending half an hour chasing his son completely out of energy while the kid would happily take another ten thousand steps in the backyard.

"If I'm old then so are you, you know that don't you?"

"Yeah" you shrug, "but I'm still younger than you"

P - PIXEL

It's no secret that Jordan travels a lot during the year, your pixilated face seen more times than he'd like. But you don't hold it against him, besides being work it's his dream and moving around so much means he's living it to the fullest; that he's required and indispensable to the team besides being its captain of course.

You have learned to live the moments when you are together, to cheer and not waste it. And every time he stops to look at you while you're sleeping by his side or even just at any other time, he can't stop remembering how much those pixels don't really do you justice.

R - RING

It was a normal day in your life when you realised as a teenager that you had a thing for guys' hands, and if they had rings for some reason it was a bonus.

And many times you'd literally froze as you stared at Jordan's hands moving as he talked or wrote or cooked, the addition of that ring after your wedding didn't help the cause. You were brought back down to earth by his laughter because it was always surprising how one minute you were actively participating in the conversation and the next you were like in trance.

S - SAFE

You don't think you've ever told him verbally but you were lucky enough to have met him. Jordan makes you feel safe and you don't talk about the need to be defended from the bad. You know that with Jordan you can talk about whatever is on your mind without fear of being judged, you know he will always be there for you no matter what. You're immediately heartened by the reminder that he's by your side because any moment is less hard if the right person is by your side.

T - TOMORROW

It is something you often talk about, tomorrow. Everything is unpredictable, you never wanted to make long-term plans because you never know what might happen but only one thing you know for sure that you want Jordan by your side. And your idea matches his.

"You are my tomorrow and as long as I wake up with you by my side I will have a reason to smile"

U - UNIVERSE

"You are my universe"

"Stop it"

"But you are, why wouldn't I tell you" he chuckles as you hit him trying to hide your face.

You are one who is always on the move, always available for others but at the same time doesn't know how to react to compliments. You do what you do not to be praised or anything else but just because you feel like it and every time after a compliment of any kind any word would seem unnecessary, making you stand in front of that person smiling embarrassed making you feel uncomfortable. There, if you had to find a word to describe it you could say that compliments make you uncomfortable.

And Jordan knows this very well, but every now and then when you're alone he starts showering you with compliments and sweet phrases for the sake of it. But the truth is that he likes it when you blush, your cheeks turning red as you do your best not to look him in the eye or hide your face in your hands.

V - VOWS

It seemed years away, but your wedding day had arrived overwhelmingly. You couldn't wait to experience that day and those emotions to the fullest. The thing that had been most challenging for you was the vows, so many things to say without finding the right words. Everything seemed already said, obvious, not perfect and several times you had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown for that small detail.

But on your wedding day, no one around you exists anymore. There's just you and Jordan and your hearts full of love for each other, his thumb caressing the back of your hand for support. You almost forget what you've been struggling to write over those last few months, the words that come easily from your lips just by looking into his eyes.

W - WINNER

Winner takes it all. Jordan watches from afar as you joke with some of his teammates and the only thing he can think about is how that year just ended was one of the most amazing of his life so far, both professionally and in his personal life. He had achieved extraordinary goals with the team, broken records and set new ones. And then he had you who had given him a child a few months earlier and he felt like a winner.

Y - YUMMY

"Yeah that's yummy" Jordan watches his baby close his mouth around the spoon and then bring his thumb to his mouth getting messy with his own food.

"Why do you do that hm? Why?" his tone of voice only makes the child laugh as he waits for another bite clapping his hands on the high chair. Jordan quickly satisfies him seeing the same scene repeat itself, the little hands that have now become sticky and are getting everything they touch dirty like they always do at feeding time.

Z - ZOOM

His professionalism never fails to amaze you as you watch him from afar managing to handle questions in front of a computer. It will be the third interview in which he's asked the same things over and over again and you have never seen him make any gesture of tiredness or annoyance. And you are waiting for him to finally get up from that chair to wrap him in your arm and give him the right amount of pampering he needs to clear his head of everything.

[wandsandwheezes]

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH2

one //

Warnings | Mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, other chapters include smut 18+

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London's best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

creds to @vogueweasley​ for the moodboard<3

The warmth on your skin as George's arm lazily draped over your side, truly was a feeling you could get used to. Shamelessly it was your fourth night in a row you'd spent in his bed, a part of you longed for you to wake up in his arms every morning. George was not a heavy sleeper, easily disrupted by anyone and anything, perhaps the only way he'd ever sleep through the night was when he'd passed out drunk. Having seen just how affectionate he gets after a few too many shots, you were glad you hadn't been at the fire whisky fuelled celebrations. 

Sneaking around with George was much easier at Hogwarts, no cameras, no fame, no interruptions; just kisses and evenings together. Part of the reason you and George had such a good time together in Muggle London was that more often than not, you were just a normal couple, free to kiss and hold each other in front of everyone. He pulled you from bed early that morning to take you on a surprise trip before your training that evening. 

He'd gotten you to wrap up warm and comfy in an attempt to block out the freezing British winter winds. The ten minute walk from your home to the Embankment was full of conversations about all of the gorgeous Christmas displays, you even begged him to let you put up the Christmas tree early in the house, giving in when you looked at him with your puppy dog eyes, "I'm so whipped, aren't I?" he laughed, fingers interlocking with yours as you walked. His eyes trailed across the river before an Idea popped into his head, he nodded towards the London Eye, sat proudly across the river in all of its glory. "What do you say, Princess? Fancy heading up there for a bit?" 

Your eyes were beaming the minute the wheel started spinning. You'd managed to get a pod all to yourselves, a rare opportunity, but one you grasped with two hands, laughing as he picked you up and spun you round and around. "We should run." you spoke softly, hand running through his hair gently as you looked into his eyes. "For you, I would." he murmured, catching your lips for a long kiss, it wasn't quick or fiery, just a deep, long passionate kiss. He took his time with you because he had it, there wasn't any rush here, no chance of being caught or stopped. His kiss said a thousand words about the way he loved you.

Looking out over London's bustling city with your head in George's chest made you realise just how perfect a life with him was. When there were no cameras, no press, no fakery and especially no Cherry in sight, It was easy to feel every beat of his heart, as they synced together beating as one. You were tracing circles on the back of his hand taking in every curve of his knuckles and the beauty of every sporadic freckle. Only you could differentiate the touch of your lover so distinctly, you felt him in the way he curled his fingertips up when he cupped your jaw, or how his arm would wrap around your waist with enough strength that made you feel protected. 

"Where would we go if we ran?" You mumbled softly, your small fingers slotting through the gaps between his own. "Remote Indonesia…" he joked, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "I'd go anywhere with you, My Love, one day we won't have to run, I Just wish eighteen year old me had enough balls to say he loved you and then we wouldn't be in this mess." you shook your head, pulling his arms around you tighter as you snuggled into his hold, "Don't you dare, George, It's you and me forever, no matter what, right?" he hummed contently, pulling your hand up to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles, trailing kisses up your arm to your neck between every word. "Forever, and ever, and ever, and ever…"

 //

You'd just stumbled your way into your dorm, arm still in a sling after a pretty nasty accident, a bludger to the ribcage never did a girl any good. A box of chocolates lay on your bed, as well as a note. 

Words aren't enough to tell you how sorry I am, I'll make it up to you, I promise . Get well soon, Y/N <3

-G

Locking eyes with George from across the great hall as you sat with your friends and he with his, he was looking at you with pleading, guilty glances. It really wasn't George's fault that the bludger hit you, sure he hit it, but you were on rival teams and that was the danger of the game. If the fact that he was the first at your side when you struck the floor should've made it obvious, but the fact that you were struggling to breathe and you couldn't move much really over shone the moment. 

You were sat in the room of requirement, in front of the roaring fire, staring directly at each other. You were only a month into the relationship and It wasn't awkward, just unfamiliar, he wasn't sure if he could touch you or hold you, let alone kiss the pain away. Instead he settled for holding your hand, thumb brushing over the back of it comfortably. 

"You need to stop blaming yourself George," 

"But I hurt you, and I-" 

"Shh, baby, the massive Iron ball hurt me… It’s all part of the game." You had now leant forward to crawl onto your knees, kneeling before him, you pressed your lips to his, making him forget about his bewitching thoughts, now only focused on you. 

"I'm going to protect you." George stated so matter-of-factly, that it made you recoil slightly. It was tough words from a 16 year old. He caught your expression, "I'm serious. It's going to be me and you, Forever." You were blushing, he made you feel like the only girl in the world. 

"No matter what?" You questioned. 

"Forever, no matter what."

//

After your impromptu date, George made his way to the shop and you went back to his to grab your phone, and get ready for practice. You'd left it there, the time away from the pinging and buzzing from Cherry's latest update

 or her next best opportunity. You were unsurprised by the 30 odd messages from your Publicist rambling on, but one stuck out like a sore thumb. Fred. 'shit' you thought, 'I've gone and missed something.' hesitantly opening the message to see just one message. 

>> are you gonna head by the shop today? No worries if not, I know you're busy x

<< I’ll try and pop in before practice, if not… coffee tomorrow? :)

You contemplated how your reply sounded while you stripped from your clothes to pull on your branded activewear, a picture caught your eye, the Gryffindor quidditch team, captained by Oliver Wood in Harry’s first year. They all looked so young and eager to get out onto the field. A devilish idea crept into your mind and you found yourself rooting through George’s drawers, finding exactly what you had set out for. You pulled on the old Gryffindor quidditch sweater, observing yourself in the mirror, It was odd to see yourself in the deep maroon and orange after years of donning the silver and green. You picked up your phone, sending George a quick text. 

<< Meet me down the alley by B&B… I need to show you something. I’ll be 5 x

>> I won’t ask ;) x

You wrapped your coat around your shoulders, slinging your duffel over your arm before grabbing your wand, apperating just up Knockturn Alley. you checked over your shoulder, hoping not to be caught, you passed Bourgin and Burkes, spotting the boy with fiery red hair standing down the secluded alley. 

“What did you need to show me then, trouble?” he joked leaning against the wall, steam billowing from his lips from the bitter cold. You smirked, unzipping your coat to show him the knitted sweater. “Is that-” you cut him off with a nod, fingertips reaching to zip your jacket back up, but his strong hands catch your wrists, pinning you against the wall. “Take it off or I’ll rip it off.” he was half joking, smirking down at you as you rolled your eyes. He caught your lips in a hurried kiss, his hand leaving your wrist to cup the side of your face. 

Even with your eyes closed you noticed the bright flash, a flash you knew all too well. You’d been caught. Thinking quickly on your toes, you put on your signature giggle, pushing George’s chest away while whispering a soft ‘play along’, as your eyes caught his, you bat your eyelashes. “Freddie, stop it will you?” he tried his hardest not to laugh, as he backed up holding his hands up in defeat. “I can’t hold my girl from her practice any longer.” the small group of paparazzi were begging for another kiss, or at least more interaction, you dragged George away from the scene, “show’s over I’m afraid folks!” the cameras continued to rapidly flash as you  quickly apperated him away from the scene to his office. 

“That’s gonna be the front page tomorrow,” you sighed as you slumped into his desk chair, throwing your bag to the floor, “Cheryl is going to murder me in broad daylight,” He was gently rubbing your shoulder, before he leaned down pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll fix it, baby.” he reassured you, tilting your chin up to look at him. “Forever.” the word that quickly became your ‘I love you’. You stood and pulled off the jumper, as well as your jacket, handing him back what was his. “Make sure to take it home will you? We can have some fun later with it,” you smirked, picking up your bag and sending him a wink before apperating to practice. 

Cherry’s deep red car was outside of the stadium, you dreaded the conversation that was about to happen, contemplating just bolting out of there. ‘Better to face her head on than piss her off’ you thought, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down before opening up the door and climbing into the passenger seat with a smile. “You should’ve said you were swinging by and I would’ve showered, I feel bad stinking up your car!” you joked, trying your best to sound surprised by her visit as you pulled your duffel onto your lap. 

“Good news, You’ll be the front cover of the prophet tomorrow.” you gasped, a smile on your lips, “I am?” she laughed, tapping away on her phone, pulling up a picture, “Yeah it’s you and Fred… locking lips. Care to explain what happened to the ‘no kissing’ rule” You took the phone thrust into your face by your publicist, looking at the picture snapped just a few hours prior. You had to admit George did look pretty sexy in the position he was caught in, you looked over at her with pleading eyes. “I’d love to congratulate you, but that’s not Fred you’re kissing, is it?”

You cocked your eyebrow at her, “Who else would it be? Of course it’s Freddi- wait you don’t think that’s George do you?” you laughed, pressing your lips together, to stop the full laugh erupting. “Don’t let Fred hear you say that, he gets funny about people mistaking him for George, you know.” she looked back at you blankly, clearly unappreciative of your laughter. “Come on Cherry, what reason would I have to be kissing George?” you tried to think of a reason around the ‘no kissing rule’ “The only reason I don’t like kissing Fred at events is because I don’t want it to seem fake, I’m obviously not adverse to kissing him, I just like to do it in private, He is an attractive man after all.”  Cheryl was now squinting at you, she sighed however, pulling her phone back out of your hands. 

“You’re right, why would It be George?” she adds, pulling the car out of it’s parking space, “Here, I’ll drop you home, you need a shower desperately.” you laughed pulling out your phone, seeing a text from both of the twins. 

>> Let me know when you’re on your way home, I’ll stick the shower on for us ;) x

>> Coffee tomorrow it is! :) 

When you jump out of the car, Cherry rolls down her window, to speak to you. “I want a nice kiss like that for the product launch.” you go to protest but she cuts you off. “Make it happen.” and with that she was away in the wind.

Today was a close call, almost too close for comfort. You and George needed to be more careful, and harder yet, you had to keep that copy of the Daily Prophet out of Fred’s eyeshot. 

// TO BE CONTINUED // Chapter Three >>>>>

taglist //  @starlightweasley​ @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @vogueweasley @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @rip-us @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke @loony-loopy-lupinn​ @pigwidgexn​@starkidpotty​ @mrmoonyy​ @mackaywhore​ @softlyqoos​ @colorfulprofessornickelangel​ @fandomscombine​ @satellitespidey​ @txtdreamss​ @aaannabbanana​ @kaylahmarie​

[personasintro]

My Tiny Secret | 22; Look At Us Now (FINAL)

𝑴𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 22; Look At Us Now (FINAL)

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut, fluff, mistress au, unexpected pregnancy au

⏤𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: strong language

⏤> 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙

a/n: this was supposed to be posted on my birthday, as my gift for you but unfortunately I wasn't able to finish it in time. anyway, hope you'll enjoy this! all I wanted to say is written at the end of the chapter!

His back meets the backrest of the black leather chair as he stretches his arms above his head, a sigh of satisfaction fills the empty office from the feeling of his tensed muscles finally relaxing. When he opens his eyes, realizing he closed them in the first place, he's met with the frame picture decorating the glass desk. Just a few seconds staring at it, and his lips twitch into a small smile.

The sight of his son holding a football ball, enveloping it with his delicate arms, is enough to make his day and night lighter, no matter how many times he has found himself staring at it. It's been there for at least year, remembering that day clearly.

He took Yoojin and you to a huge football stadium, after finding out his son's interest in the typical boyish sport. It's quite funny because when Seokjin was little, he used to love football. Unfortunately, he had no one to take him to football stadium or even a single football pitch. At least not until he was old enough to go to the nearest football pitch where he found a few friends.

But even with those sad memories of his failed childhood, it makes him want to do all those things for his son. He doesn't want him to feel lonely, left out and unloved. It's something he felt ever since he has seen him through the hospital glass, wrapped in a white blanket, without properly realizing or acknowledging it.

His trail of thoughts is interrupted by his phone beeping with an incoming call, your name flashing on the screen. Not wasting a second, he reaches towards the device, swiping his thumb across the screen before he accepts the call.

“Hey,” he breathes out, making himself known as he hears Yoojin on the other line, telling you something as you shush him.

“Pumpkin, wait a minute, I need to speak to daddy,” you tell your son, while Seokjin's ears perk up in interest but he doesn't hear anything coming from Yoojin in response. “Sorry about that. He's being wild today.” you chuckle, a faint sound of television going on can be heard.

“Is he giving you a trouble?” he asks, chuckling at the idea of the three year old making your day adventurous.

“Nah, nothing I can't handle.” you grin, and it's not something Seokjin can see from the other line of the call, but he can hear it in your voice.

“I don't doubt it.” he jokes, grinning as he licks his lips.

“I've handled his father, I think I can handle him just fine.” you tease, earning another set of chuckles from Seokjin who finds your remark rather amusing.

He knows you're just teasing, he got used to it after such a long time of the two of you spending time together. He allows himself to laugh, finding your teasing and jokes funny, even though sometimes, it annoys him to the point his brows start to twitch. But it only makes you laugh even more and fuck, he never thought someone's laugh could be so pleasant to his ears.

“Hmm, I'm sure about it.” he hums, biting into his lower lip to hide the smile that's settled on his face.

If you were here and saw him, you'd tease him about it until the tip of his ears get red. It's one of your specialties to annoy him, often leading him to whine like a little boy.

A little cough coming from your mouth shakes off his thoughts, fully focusing on your voice.

The rustling sound is followed with your voice, as you speak once again. “Are you still coming tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. I told you I would, didn't I?” he says, checking the time on his silver watch. If he wants to be on time, he should head to your place any minute.

“You did,” He can hear the smile in your voice, “But if you're busy or tired, maybe I could call Hobi and ask him if he can babysit. I totally understand if you want your Friday evening free.”

“Y/N,” he sighs, shutting you up straight away. “I told you I don't have any issue with babysitting Yoojin. I'm heading now, be there in ten.” he says, dismissing your idea right away.

He is tired, of course he is. But he barely got to spend some time with Yoojin this week, he misses the little guy so much.

“Okay.” you murmur, responding before he clicks on the red button, canceling the call.

The ride to your apartment building is quiet and peaceful, escorted with the beautiful lights of numerous buildings. It's a random thought, but he finally gets the appreciation of Seoul's nighttime appearance. He remembers seeing you fascinated by it every time he drove you home, or maybe it was your need to stare out of the window rather than him seeing the side of your face. Whenever you were upset about something he did, you'd shut him off completely and ignored him.

He was pretty subtle with the observing, especially when it involved you.

However, as soon as he stands up in front of your front door – the key you gave him itching in his pocket but he decides not to use it – and knocks firmly enough for you to hear, he's not hiding his observing eyes. How can he, when you look completely dress up in burgundy thigh dress with an off-shoulder neckline, showing off your collarbones. Your hair is darker than it used to be when he met you, but he likes it. It brings out the color of your eyes just perfect. Your make-up is soft, nothing too fancy or too eye-catching, just enough to make your eyes pop better.

Grabbing the doorknob tightly, you set your lips into a tight smile, when you see him eyeing you. Is it too much?

He stares at the silver necklace with a 'Y' letter that lays between your collarbones, before he manages to breathe out a brief greeting. You greet him back, inviting him in as you make your way into the living room. He can't help but stare at you, even as he's taking off his shoes and suit jacket, hanging it on the rack.

All he can see is you, slowly following you into the warmth of your home, hearing a distant sounds of a cartoon that's playing on TV.

“Daddy!”

He whips his head to the sound of cheerful Yoojin that runs towards him, ready to jump into his father's arms. He manages to catch him just in time, met with the scent of fabric softener that you use. It sets a feeling of peace and relax inside of you, because it smells like home.

“Hey, pumpkin.” he greets him, meeting his son's cheerful eyes as his small arms are wrapped around Seokjin's neck, staring at him.

He giggles at the nickname, even more when Seokjin pokes his cheek.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees you pacing around the room, a purse clutched in your arms as you place your phone inside of it.

Looking around the room, you make sure you don't forget anything important, until you're met with Seokjin's dark brown eyes staring right back at you. Yoojin starts to blabber about his day, mentioning something about his new friend in the kindergarten and fuck, he feels like the worst father for not listening to him. All he can see is you, tucking a strand of hair that's styled in a huge wave behind your ear. He gulps, averting his sight on Yoojin instead, who just runs towards the couch and plops himself there.

“Do I look okay?” you ask sheepishly, staring down at yourself as if to check yourself, but the only reason behind that is, that you don't have to stare into Seokjin's eyes.

They're too intense to look at, especially when your heart hammers dangerously fast.

“You look good,” he coughs, “Any special occasion?” He can't help but ask, knowing what your answer might be.

He babysat Yoojin couple of times, it's nothing new. It was usually just you working later than usual, or you meeting some of your friends and colleagues in the evenings. It wasn't anything often, not that he minded babysitting his own son. Not at alone. He loves spending his free time with him, especially when he's not living with the two of you. It all makes it more precious, even though you've told him multiple times he can come around anytime he wants, or take Yoojin somewhere.

He has never said it out loud, but he's glad you're hanging out with your friends. Knowing how much of your time you had dedicated to raise Yoojin and fully dedicated yourself into the role of mother – to the point you barely hung out with anyone – he knows you deserve it.

“Just a date.” you respond, chuckling as he raises his brows in surprise.

The curiosity kicks right in, a fair amount of questions about your date invades his mind, but he swallows it down with a weird twitch of his lips. It's weird how awkward the atmosphere just got, even though there's nothing wrong with you going on a date.

There's nothing romantic going on between you two, since you and him have decided to focus on raising Yoojin together, even though there were a lot of times of intense staring or need to touch each other. No matter how this need is powerful and annoying, there's no love in that. Some part of you loves him, of course you do. He's your son's father but you're not sure whether you fell in love with him. You don't think so, you would know.

The same thing happens to him.

There will always be some part of him that wants you to himself, but he knows it's not healthy. It's just a greedy feeling caused by the connection he feels towards you. You're not his and he's not yours. Shockingly, he's not as surprised as someone would've guessed. He knew this would happen one day but still, he can't believe it's happening now.

“I should go,” you murmur, walking towards him as he still keeps hovering over you, even though you're wearing a pair of heels. “If anything happens, just text me. I've got my phone with me.” you inform him, like every time he's about to look after Yoojin.

You're aware that he'll manage, knowing he's reliable, but you still feel the need to tell him that.

He chuckles, thinking the same thing like you. “We'll be alright.” he assures you, causing you to nod but you don't walk away just yet.

Cocking his head at you in confusion, you nibble on your bottom lip.

“Why does this feel so weird?” you almost whisper, looking down to the floor, not having the courage to look him in the eyes.

Slowly, he cups your chin with his fingers before he tilts your head up, your eyes meeting right away. “What? Going on a date?” he chuckles again, although there's nothing amusing about it.

You hesitate before he gets a slow nod from you. Cupping your cheek, you lean into the warmth of his palm automatically, growing embarrassed but you don't move away.

“Just be yourself,” he decides to say, gently caressing your cheekbones. “Maybe don't have an attitude and sharp tongue on your first date.” he says, his tone light and teasing as you roll your eyes before you nudge his firm chest.

He refers to the first time he met you. It brings nostalgia almost right away but you still find his remark amusing as you laugh. His hand falls from your cheek, cold replacing the warmth he left there, while you try not to show your disappointment too much. He doesn't want to cross any lines, keeping his distance after the moment of weakness, and you respect that. That's what the two of you settled on.

Deciding it's time to go, you walk up to Yoojin who's completely unaware of situation, eyes staring at the cartoon he chose to watch.

“Pumpkin, give mummy a kiss. Daddy will put you to bed, okay?”

He only nods, eyes still boring into the huge screen, even as he messily kisses you into the corner of your mouth, causing you to snort.

The way to the front door, with Seokjin trailing behind you, while you tell him all the instructions about his bed time. You know no matter how many times you tell him he shouldn't be watching cartoons past his bedtime, you're aware of Seokjin letting him to do so anyway. He's just too soft whenever it comes to Yoojin. For the tenth time, he assures you that he knows and opens the door from you, as you wave at him for the last time.

When he sees your back, heels clicking against the marble floor in the hallway, he finally closes the door and goes back to Yoojin. Plopping onto the couch, he ruffles his hair but the kid barely reacts.

“Mummy looked pretty, didn't she?” he asks, not particularly waiting for any response.

“So pretty.” Yoojin says, looking at his father which manages to muster a gentle smile, wondering if the little boy can see right through him.

But he giggles before he pays attention to the television again, laughing at some funny scene. He keeps staring at him, seeing nothing but the resemblance between you and him. He has your smile and as he keeps looking at his son, he sees nothing but you. Shaking his head, he focuses his attention to Toy Story playing on the television, a cartoon Yoojin has seen hundred times.

But even then, his mind still drifts to you, no matter how loud Yoojin's laugh is.

It's weird.

Being out without Yoojin, not experiencing his wild giggles or tantrums. It feels weirdly calm, not having to check on him every few seconds but still, you miss him. But that's not the only thing that makes you feel out of place.

It's been a long time since you were on a date.

The only man you've spent your free time with was Seokjin, when the two of you were hooking up. Is that even the right term? Anyway, that can be hardly said as a date.

“Was the food good?” Your date asks, staring at you with big eyes.

It makes you smile at him, appreciating how thoughtful and caring he has been for the whole night, before you assure him the food was perfect. He carefully chose one of the best restaurants nearby, your eyes nearly popped out at the prices. No matter how many times you've assured him you're fine with whatever he plans, he still wanted to show you he doesn't care about money. It's cheesy, yet thoughtful of him.

“I didn't know where to take you. I remember you mentioning something about loving steaks, so I found this place on the internet. I don't usually go to fancy restaurants, but I like it here.” he explains, reaching for the glass of water.

He's the driver tonight, making sure he's the one taking you home instead of calling you a cab. You wish you could drink champagne together, maybe it'd help with his nervous fidgeting every now and then. It's cute. He's cute for acting so nervous, even though he knows you. You've never seen him being so shy, yet manly and attentive.

“I like it here. But you didn't have to spend so much money.” you tell him softly, seeing him already waving his hand at you.

“I know, but you deserve it.” he says, smirking when he sees you shyly reaching for the glass of champagne as you hide your grin.

“Thank you,” you smile, “I never thought you liked me. Well, at least not this way. I thought you were always just friendly.”

“I did and I was, but before I had the courage to ask you out, you were snatched by that rich man.” he fakes irritation, teasing tone in his voice as you laugh.

“Taehyung!” you scold him, laughing right after.

He joins you, grinning at you.

Your meeting was completely unplanned and funnily enough, it happened in the coffee shop you both worked at. You decided to grab a coffee when you took Yoojin to a nearby playground, knowing you'll need some caffeine. The shock when your name left Taehyung's mouth is still clear to this day. The first sight of him, after such a long time of not seeing him, you were left speechless. He has that effect on you right now.

His shoulders got broader and he looks more masculine, but he still remained that handsome and funny man you remember. You're not an idiot, you've noticed the stares of women he was receiving when you walked towards your table.

When you were getting a coffee, he noticed Yoojin straight away as he stood next to you. He talked to him and surprisingly, Yoojin was very talkative. He giggled, talked to Taehyung about the most random stuff and they instantly clicked off. Which again, is a surprise because Yoojin tends to be very cautious with strangers. A few innocent moments of getting a coffee and random hangouts at kids' playground, Taehyung had the guts to ask you out. And here you are.

It's different and weird, but nice.

When dessert time comes, your phone blinks with a notification and you apologize for the sudden interruption, even though you were just enjoying the dessert. Taehyung just waves you off with a soft smile, silently telling you it's absolutely okay. He knows the reason behind your phone placed on the table is purely because of Yoojin.

[9:41pm] hobi: how's the date??

You almost snort at the message, knowing Hoseok just can't wait to call you and make you spill all the details about your date. He even called you before Seokjin came to your place, making sure he FaceTimed you to check your outfit and make-up.

[9:42pm] great!

His message comes right away.

[9:42pm] hobi: that's it? care to elaborate??

[9:42pm] i'm on a date hobi, talk to you later

[9:43pm] hobi: fine, use protection this time

You almost choke, cheeks burning at his message before you lock your phone. Taehyung notices your flashed face, asking you if you're alright and you quickly assure him Hoseok is just being inappropriate. He laughs, not questioning his messages but from the little smirk, you can see he gets the picture.

When your phone beeps with another notification, you groan and pick up your phone again, ready to tell your best friend to kindly fuck off. But the message isn't from Hoseok, other than laughing emojis he sent you. It's Seokjin who sent you a picture and when you open it, you smile right away. It's photo of them, laying on the couch. Yoojin is showing his teeth, grinning at the camera while he holds his plushy of soccer ball that Seokjin got him. His father simply smiles at the camera, but you find yourself staring at his dark eyes longer than you should.

[9:46pm] miss you

You text him, a word 'read' on the screen pops right away. Bubbles appear, signaling he's texting you back.

[9:46pm] seokjin: both of us?

Your heart flatters as soon as you read his message, your toes curling with a weird feeling in your chest. Biting your lower lip, you glance at Taehyung who seems to be busy eating his dessert to notice your sudden change of expression.

Thank fuck.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a few seconds before you start typing.

[9:47pm] yes

It's a simple word, yet it leaves you excited and nervous at the same time. If you weren't in a restaurant, you'd probably squeal out loud.

[9:48 pm] seokjin: then come home

It leaves you guilty, torn between what you should do. If you leave right now, you'd feel bad for Taehyung because he doesn't deserve it and you're enjoying your date. At the same time, it doesn't feel fair towards him. You're on a date, texting with the father of your child that you miss him.

Locking the phone, you chat with Taehyung for a few minutes until you're both done eating.

“Wanna go home?” he asks, paying the bill before the two of you walk out of the restaurant.

“Yes, please.” you answer, probably too quickly for your liking but thankfully, Taehyung just chuckles and opens the car's door for you.

He doesn't kiss you when he drives you home, but he gives you a very warm hug and soft kiss into your hair. He smells nice and you enjoy his hug, feeling sad when he pulls away. After he makes sure you're inside of your apartment building, you watch him driving off through the glass door before you make your way home.

There's darkness, a muffled sound of television in the background which creates the only illumination in the living room. When you take off your heels you go there, following the sounds and lightening. Seokjin's laying on the couch, eyes staring at the screen but you notice him drifting off before he notices you.

“Hey,” he rasps out, looking at you as you greet him back.

“Hi,” you smile, “Where's Yoojin?”

“Sleepin'.” he responds, pointing towards the door of his bedroom.

He informs you he fell asleep quite early, they watched a few cartoons and played some games before he went to sleep.

Staring at Seokjin, your hands twitch at your sides as you nibble on your bottom lip. As if Seokjin could read your mind, he chuckles and makes some space for you.

“Come here.” he calls out to you, and you don't hesitate, laying next to him.

He pulls you closer, arm carefully placed above your head as he tries not to overstep any boundaries. This is not the first time the two of you are in this position. You're cuddling, barely touching each other with your hands, but just feeling his presence and warmth is enough for you.

“How was the date?” he asks silently as you plop your hands over your stomach.

“Good, he is very nice.” you murmur.

“That's... good,” you hear him swallow, “You deserve someone who's going to cherish you.”

It's almost funny how your heart skips a beat, although you've heard him being this direct and honest a few times. He opens up much more these days, saying stuff that makes your head spin and heart flutter with each word, even though he's not swooning all over you. Maybe that's what you want for him. Well, not to swoon over you but add a little bit more feelings to his words. He says it as a fact and a friend.

“Thanks.” That's all you can say. You fear he's going to hear the tremble in your voice.

“I know I wasn't treating you right, not the way you deserved. I was harsh all the time.”

You've had this conversation a couple of months ago. The night when Yoojin fell asleep after a long day and you opened a bottle of red wine. You didn't get drunk, not when there's your son sleeping in the next room. But the red liquid brought much more honest and intimate conversation than you've ever expected.

Because you can already hear the regret in his voice, you decide to stop him.

“Seokjin--”

“And I hope someone else can treat you better.”

“I wasn't innocent in that too, you know that,” You ignore his previous word, focusing on the topic that doesn't involve someone else in your life.

There are so many things, fucked up things, you both did. He needs to know that. And as many times as you told him that, he still blames himself for everything. He bursts sometimes, spitting remarks when he's frustrated but the difference this time is, that he apologizes right after. You can always see the regret in his eyes, voice filled with apology.

Before he can react, a soft whisper comes out of your mouth.

“I hope you'll find someone who's going to love you.”

You've no idea why it hurts when you say that. You want him to find someone, someone who will bring the light inside of him. It'd be interesting to see him being in love.

“Yeah,” he breathes out a chuckle, almost amused and sarcastic.

“Maybe you'll have another baby. It wouldn't be with your fling this time.” you try to joke, breathing in relief when he chuckles in a response.

“I don't think so. No more babies.”

“Why? You're amazing father to Yoojin.” you laugh, silencing yourself since you don't want to wake up your son.

“Maybe, if you'll be the one who carries them.” he teases, nudging you with his shoulder.

This time, you're glad for the lack of lightening in the room as you blush but giggle at his words. He's joking, you know that. He has mentioned not wanting to have more kids couple of times.

Yawning, Seokjin looks at you as you sheepishly grin at him.

“I'm gonna head to the bed. Argh, I'm too lazy to take a shower.” you groan, slowly sitting up. He sits up as well, rubbing his eyes as he yawns too.

“Are you staying?” you ask quietly, slowly poking your inner cheek with a tongue.

“I don't know.” he answers.

You can hear the uncertainty in his voice, like every night he's about to stay over. He has his huge condo he bought after he divorced his ex wife, yet he mostly spends his time here. Not that you mind it. You enjoy his presence, his stack of shirts and boxers in one of your drawers are the perfect proof of it.

“Come on, my bed is big enough for the both of us.”

It should be weird for the two of you sleeping in the same bed, but it's not. It's not unfamiliar, even though it doesn't happen that often.

“Are you sure?” He sounds unsure, cocking his head to the side.

The right side of his hair is rustled and you bite onto your lower lip to prevent a giggle escaping your lips.

“Or you can stay on the couch. But I know it's not as comfortable as my bed is. Your choice.” you tell him, turning around as you make your way towards the bathroom.

When you're done with taking a shower, you walk into your bedroom just to find him laying in your bad. On the same left side like he always does, causing you to smile.

You lay on the bed, wondering if he is asleep since there's barely any sound indicating that he might be awake. Your back is turned to him, pushing away the urge to cuddle up to him, even though you've never properly cuddled.

Just as your eyes are slowly closing, mind already drifting away before you hear his soft but raspy voice.

“Goodnight.”

You smile into your pillow, opening your mouth.

“Goodnight.”

With the peaceful silence and having that someone next to you, falling asleep is easier and quicker than ever before. Your mind and dreams are already filled with two men, with no idea how your heart truly feels about them.

No matter what, you need to figure it out.

author's note: Wow. Can you believe this? The end. The actual end of My Tiny Secret, a drabble series that were supposed to be a small drabble I randomly came up with. Then I wrote the second part which could've been read separately. But the reactions were so supportive and amazing, that I've decided to make it into a full drabble series. To be honest, I've never thought it'd have 22 chapters in total, I was thinking more of like maybe 10 chapters. But as I was writing it, a lot of ideas came up to my mind and all your amazing responses helped so much! I had to stop myself couple of times from creating another 'drama' or lead the storyline to a complete different level, because I had so much content to work with. I had to remind myself that this is supposed to be small/ less complicated than my other series. However, I love how we could see the characters' development and realistic scenarios. Reading all your theories, thoughts and reviews have brought so many smiles on my face and it's safe to say, that MTS became this big because of you! Your constant sweet messages motivated me so much that I never wanted it to end. But every story ends and I know so many of you wanted the ending to be them ending together or the complete opposite. I don't even know when I realized and knew what ending I want, but during writing their story it came to the point that I knew I wanted it to be them co-parenting. I knew it from the beginning that they won't stay together. There is a really thin line between love or simple attraction. No matter what the ending is, I hope you've enjoyed this journey with me. Thank you everyone for reading & being so supportive as always. I'm definitely going to miss my inbox being full of MTS asks, but I can't wait for you to read the rest of my stories I'm preparing for you! Again, thank you & I love you. Can't wait to read all your thoughts/asks about MTS for the last time!

[hidden-otaku-stuff]

Reunion

Reunion Word count: 2k Genre: fluff! Pairing: Terushima x reader 

A/N: I just KNOW Terushima has a fluffy, soft side despite his flirtatious/fuckboy vibe and I am ALL FOR IT 🥵 (also whoops my daichi bias is showing 🥴) 

You tapped your foot anxiously. Kiyoko said that she was going to go back and double-check to see whether or not the team had forgotten anything, but she’s been gone for ten minutes now and you hoped that she wasn’t in trouble. You sighed, looking at Daichi besides you. “I’m going to go check on her,” you throw over your shoulder, as you jog back into the stadium, your black track jacket blowing with the wind. You make your way back up to the second level where you had eaten your lunch only to see Kiyoko being interrogated by two volleyball players. Your eyes widened, focusing on her discomfort as you stormed over, “Hey, leave her alone! She already said she wasn’t going to give you her number, so buzz off.” You glared at both guys, as they took a step back from Kiyoko, startled by your sudden appearance.

“Oh, you guys have two beautiful managers!” Bobata gasped, turning towards you. “You’ve got some fire, can I get your number instead?” He offered, stepping closer to you. You ignored him, looking back at Kiyoko.

“Kiyoko-san, let’s go, everyone’s waiting for us.” You grasped her by the hand, leading her away. The blonde stared at the back of your track jacket, struck to silence. 

Bobata turned back to him, noticing his peculiar facial expression. “Yuuji? What’s up?”

“Oh nothing, just a blast from the past,” Terushima chuckled, as they made their way back out. 

You and Kiyoko make your way back to your team. “Are you okay?” You glance at her, releasing her hand.

“Yes, thank you (Y/N)-chan, they were very persistent.” You nod at her, giving her a small smile as you run into Hinata in the hallway running towards you. 

“I’m so sorry, that’s my lunchbox!” Hinata yelled, bowing in apology several times. 

“It’s a cute wrap.”

“That’s my sister’s,” Hinata defended quickly, shaking his head in denial as you both laugh.

“Whatever you say Hinata,” you nod at him. “Let’s head back before the rest of the team starts to worry.” You were about to leave the hall when the two trouble-makers from earlier happened to step into the hall. 

“Oi, Karasuno! You defeated the 6’7” guy!” Hinata turned back looking at them. You tilted your head at him, looking closely as he looked somewhat familiar. The boys have a brief discussion about his volleyball team and the taller, blonde-haired one patted Hinata on the head before they walked away. 

“Did you find anything left behind?”  

“Yes, a cutely wrapped--” Kiyoko began before Hinata cut her off yelling about it. You just shook your head, laughing at them before you headed back to the school for the meeting. Sitting at the front next to Kiyoko, the sounds of heavy breathing filled the air from the exhausted players. You glanced back, seeing the other manager, Yachi, sitting in the back with Kageyama and Hinata. “Is everything okay?” You turned to face the eldest manager, grey eyes piercing yours. 

A nod as a sigh left your lips. “The games today went well, but it’s only going to get harder from here on out.” 

“We’ve worked too hard to be stopped,” she assured you. “They’ve grown and faced harder. I think they’ll make it.” 

“I think so too.”

****

Kiyoko called your name, coming to stand beside you as you handed water bottles to the second years. You turned, raising an eyebrow at her. “Do you know their captain?” She tilted her head in the direction of Johzenji, your eyes trailing in that direction. 

(E/C) eyes narrowed as you considered it, hand on your hips. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?” 

“He’s been staring at you ever since warm-ups began.” 

You shrugged, turning back to look at your boys. They had begun with serving drills. “Maybe he’s thinking about yesterday? He seems like the persistent type.” A ball flew towards you, and your hands automatically reacted, grabbing it mid-air. A yellow jersey made its way towards you.

“Nice catch, (Y/N)!” You smiled at the praise from Tanaka, turning towards the opposing player. 

“Is this punishment for interrupting you yesterday?” Speak of the devil, and he’ll appear. The player in question had raced up to you, smirking as he reached out for the ball. 

“Not at all, just a misplaced serve. Though, you can make-up for that by giving me your number,” he winked. 

“Maybe, but that depends on you.”     

Eyebrows quipped up, a flicker of shock crossed his face as he composed himself, a hand propped against his hip. “On me?” 

You nodded. “If I like what I see on the court, maybe I’ll consider giving you my number.” You poked your tongue out at him, as a hand rested on your shoulder. You turned to see Daichi standing there. “Well hello there Cap’n!” 

“Is there any trouble here, (Y/N)-chan?” 

You waved your hand, “none at all, Daichi. We were just having a...chat.” A brilliant smile left your face as you turned back to the other player. “Good luck today, you’ll need it!” 

“Oh don’t worry, I plan on winning.” With another smirk, he made his way back to the other court, one hand resting behind his head while the other held the ball against his hip. 

You turned back towards Daichi, “you better win today Sawamura,” you threatened teasingly.

He chuckled, holding his arms out. “What about my good luck hug?” You threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly as his hands settled on your waist. 

“I’ll do you one better,” you whispered, pressing your lips against his cheek. You pulled away, ignoring the red tint that crossed his face and missing the widened eyes and dropped jaw of the opponent. “Now you definitely have to win!” You cheered, heading back towards the rest of the group as you wish everyone good luck. Daichi smiled at your retreating back, walking towards the rest of the third-years. You joined Yachi next to the door leading out, about to head up. Only Kiyoko was allowed to remain on the floor. 

“Karasuno, fight!” Daichi yelled, rallying the boys as they cheered in unison. 

“C’mon Yachi, let’s go to the stands. This seems like it’ll be an interesting game.”

****

Interesting was saying the least. Johzenji had kept Karasuno on their toes, and it made some semblance of sense as to why they’d made it so far in the last tournament. The other team seemed to be a jumbled mess kept together by how all extremely athletic they were. You couldn’t help but eye the captain as he played. The team was disorganized, but they all played so passionately you couldn’t help the smile that came onto your face. Of course, your boys were all playing extremely well too. “Damn,” you muttered under your breath as the game progressed.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)-san?” You glanced to your side at Yachi.

“I’m not sure why, but I really feel like I’ve seen that boy before,” you replied, tapping on your chin. The whistle blew as a time-out took place. 

“The scary looking one?” Her eyes widened as you both looked at the Johzenji captain. “You mean before today?”

“Well, we met yesterday here too, but yes, before this tournament.” Your eyes widened as you remembered. “Oh my god.” 

“What?”

“This just got even more interesting.”

“(Y/N)-chan! You can’t come over and not play with me!” A volleyball dropped to your feet as you looked up from your book. Your best friend, Tersuhima Yuuji stood in front of you, hands on his hips as he glared at the book. “Stop reading, I wanna spend time with you,” he pouted. 

“We have to do the summer reading!” You argued, smiling at him. “Otherwise we’ll get in trouble with sensei when school starts.” 

“We still have a whole month to do that,” he protested, squatting down so that he was eye-level with you.

“Maybe some of us want to get our work done early so that we don’t cram it all the week before school starts,” you taunt. The male pouted, crossing his arms. 

His face brightened as he realized something. “How about you take a break and just toss me a few balls? I’ll leave you alone after!” His lip quivered as he turned his puppy-eyes to you. 

“Promise?” You held your hand out, pinky extended. His face split into a grin as he hooked his pinkie with yours. Tucking the bookmark in, you placed the book bag into the bag as you stood. Crossing the yard to the makeshift volleyball net, you bounced the ball off the ground for a few times before you spun it in your hands. “Only a few times,” you threatened, glaring at the boy playfully before you tossed the ball. He leapt, spiking it down and as he landed, he spun to reveal a bright grin. 

Another ball tossed up. “Kids, come in for lunch!” 

“Just a minute Mom!” He whirled back at you. “One more toss,” he begged and you complied.

Mrs. Terushima stood in the door, a wide smile on her face. Mr. Terushima joined her, peering over her shoulder. “Now hurry up and wash your hands.” She laughed as both of you ran into the kitchen. He shoved you out of the way as he tried to wash his hands first. “One of these days, you’ll end up together,” she teased, “and I can’t wait for you to officially join the family, (Y/N).”

“Eww, Mom we’re just friends!” Yuuji protested. Your nose wrinkled.

“Yeah, that’d be like dating my brother!” 

Mrs. Terushima just laughed. “You say that now, but mark my words, things will change!”

Months later...

“Do you have to go?” 

You sighed, leaning against the desk as you stopped packing for a second. “Yeah. My mom got a new job so we have to move.”

“I’ll miss you.” He sat up from his position on your bed, standing up. 

“I’ll miss you too.” Your (e/c) eyes turned to him, squeezing them shut to control the water that threatened to flow. He took another step forward, an arm reaching out for your waist. 

“Can...Can I try something?” A tongue swiped at his bottom lip as he ran a hand nervously through his hair. You turned, placing your hands on his chest as you blinked up at him. A nervous nod as you bit your bottom lip. With hesitant movements, he brought his hand to your cheek, cupping it. Eyes searched yours for any form of uncertainty as he leaned forward. Your eyes fluttered shut as his breath warmed your lips. Another second before soft lips pressed down to meet yours. “Consider my first kiss my gift goodbye,” he whispered, leaning his forehead down to touch yours. “Don’t forget about me, okay?” Soft giggles and whispers of promises filled the air as lips met each other over and over again in the fading summer light. 

****

The match had ended, and Karasuno had won. Racing downstairs to meet the team with Yachi, your legs bounced eagerly as you stood outside peeking in. The Johzenji team looked disappointed, the manager in tears as they headed out. “Yuuji!” Before you knew it, your legs were already moving and you were jumping towards the boy. Legs wrapped around his waist as he hoisted you up, hugging you tightly. Hands cupped his face as you leaned down, soft lips brushing against his in a fervent kiss. “I missed you,” you breathed against him, forehead against his. Brown eyes blinked warmly at you before he pulled you into another kiss, letting the piercing run across your lips. You kiss as if it was the last time you would be seeing each other. “So I guess your parents were right about us.” You whispered against his lips, causing him to pull back and laugh loudly.

He brushed your hair out of your face. “Y’know, I always had a thing for you back then.”

“Good, otherwise this would’ve been real awkward.” 

“Does that mean I can get that number now?”

[tommodirection]

She’s Not Afraid

Louis Tomlinson x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: swearing, a lil bit of angst, not proofread (I’ll do it one day guys)

A/N: Heylo! I don’t know what’s come over me honestly! I should be writing for my next chapter on my other account, but these ideas just keeps coming to me! I really should be writing for the other boys too, but it’s really hard when you have a favorite, although I do have some other stuff planned for the other boys! I hope you enjoy this, and sorry if it’s bad! Thank you, and have a nice day!❤️💕🥰

—

You really hadn’t intended for him to see you. You weren’t sure if he even wanted to see you.

But when you buy front row tickets at a One Direction concert, the possibility of them seeing you definitely crosses your mind.

You had talked your best friend, Kate, into going with you. She told you it wasn’t the smartest idea, but you chose to ignore it.

So here you were, sitting in the front row of your ex’s show.

It had been about an hour, you were singing along to each song, smiling as you watched Louis crossing the stage.

You had been together for three years, right before the band hit big.

Of course, being the girlfriend of a celebrity, you were always under constant pressure and surveillance, but you didn’t mind.

Neither of you really cared about the paparazzi, you’d just do your best to ignore them. However, it did make you laugh when he would tell them off.

But it all had to come crashing down eventually.

He had told you that he loved you, something you had both said thousands of times before, but that wasn’t the problem. He had started talking about your future together. Up until then you had both lived in the moment, doing what made you happy and running wild. You hadn’t thought about the future.

It scared you, so you ran away. You regretted it every day. You were only twenty one at the time. It’d been a year since you broke up.

It was astounding to watch the way he moved across the stage. He was enjoying himself so much, it almost made you regret coming. You didn’t want him to spot you and ruin the concert for everyone else.

You were about to tell Kate that you had to leave, but then you heard the opening notes. The song he wrote about you, well, the one you thought he wrote about you. She’s Not Afraid.

You held your cup a little tighter, and took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. You’d be fine. You’d listen to this song, and leave. It’d be over.

Kate must’ve realized what song it was and put her hand on your shoulder, trying to yell above the crowd. “Y/N! Are you alright? Should we go?”

You shook your head lightly, “I’m fine!” You yelled back, “let’s just enjoy the show!”

She nodded, and turned her attention back to the stage. Meanwhile, your eyes continued following Louis. He counted them in and Harry began singing, but your eyes never left Louis.

“Maybe all her friends have told her, don’t get closer, he’ll just break your heart,” Louis sang and you saw Kate cringe and look down guiltily. He wasn’t wrong.

She hadn’t meant any harm, only telling you that it was inevitable that he’d leave. She didn’t see a big pop star like him settling down. Kate was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a liar, or a dreamer. She was a realist, and she had gotten to you a little bit. She had apologized for her behavior after what happened and you had made up, but her words still echoed in your head sometimes.

You put a hand on her elbow, showing her it was alright.

Niall’s second solo and he and Louis stood back to back, nodding. When Niall sang “so hard,” he looked down at his crotch and Louis pointed to it as well, making you laugh. He really hadn’t changed.

For the rest of the song, he and Niall danced around the edge of the stage, running around and waving to all the fans, occasionally throwing in their harmonies.

You felt your heartbeat quicken as he and Niall neared you. Kate could sense your panic and put her hand on your back.

“Y/N, maybe we should leave,” she suggested and gestured towards the aisle.

You shook your head, “No, I can’t keep running away forever. He’ll just pass over us and continue on, he might even realize it’s me,” you said the last part to yourself, more wishful thinking than anything else.

He and Niall were a few feet away now, your heart clenching in your chest.

He and Niall were laughing at some fans next to you, holding a sign with their faces when the band first started.

They moved to you, expecting to see another screaming fan, but instead saw you. You weren’t screaming or crying, well, not yet. You were simply standing, looking up at them with a small smile on your face.

Louis saw you first. He waved and kept walking, but furrowing his eyebrows and did a double-take. He recognized you. Of course he would, you dated for three fucking years.

Niall was still laughing at the fan, and bumped into Louis. He looked at him confused for a moment and followed his gaze, seeing you.

“Y/N?” You saw Louis say, the stadium being too loud to hear anything.

You waved at the two, suddenly too nervous to even move.

Louis blinked a few times, trying to process what he was seeing. He mumbled something to Niall, and you watched Niall pinch his arm seconds later.

You let out a small laugh, and you felt tears pricking your eyes, threatening to spill over.

Neither of you moved for a few moments, both Niall and Kate glancing nervously between you two, all while the band continued playing.

Without any warning, Louis jumped down into the pit in front of the stage, the security guards groaning in protest.

The crowd went wild, most only seeing him disappear into the pit.

He immediately stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, holding you by the back of the head. You both tried your best to ignore the rail in between you.

The girls around you began screaming and clawing at you and Louis, trying to get his attention. You admired everything they’d ever done, but sometimes his fans were a bit… aggressive.

He felt the people clawing and scratching at you, and you yelped as he lifted you over the railing, nearly bringing you over his head.

He carefully put you back on the ground and gave you a proper hug, no rail and no scratching. You were so wrapped up in him, that you had forgotten about Kate.

“Wait! Kate!” You yelled in Louis’ ear and he nodded, grabbing the attention of a security guard and pointing to Kate, whispering something to him. He immediately pulled you back into his arms, placing his head in your shoulder.

Next thing you knew, Kate was over the rail, leaning against the stage as she watched you two.

“I missed you,” Louis said into your ear, talking over the roaring crowd.

You felt a few tears slip out, “I missed you so much, so fucking much,” you cried out and he held you closer.

The song ended, and the boys spotted you two hugging, looking at each other quickly.

“Well…” Harry began, “Uh, how about I tell some jokes?” He gave a cheeky grin and the audience erupted.

Louis pulled himself up on stage, sitting on the edge and lifting you up. Niall helped Kate on stage and Louis grabbed your hand.

He reached Liam, and Liam gave you a polite, but hesitant, smile.

“Listen, I’m going backstage for a bit, keep the audience entertained, if I’m not back in ten minutes,” he paused, glancing at Kate, “have her sing for me, she’ll do good,” he added and you laughed, quite loudly.

Liam glanced over at Kate, who was currently being dragged into Harry’s comedy show.

“Sounds good,” Liam said, holding his fist out for a bump. Louis lazily hit his fist and Liam nodded at you, “Long time no see, Y/N,” he smirked and you chuckled.

“I know Liam,” you gave him a nod, and he ran to the front of the stage, joining Harry and Kate. Niall was currently jig dancing to no music.

Louis led you backstage, making his way to his dressing room, his hand never leaving yours.

He opened the door, allowing you inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

You sat on a small futon, rubbing your hands on your jeans, your nerves finally settling in.

“Hi,” he said, sitting next to you, barely leaving any room.

“Hey,” you smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

You both sat in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say.

“So, Uhm, how’ve ya been?” Louis asked, breaking to silence.

“I’ve been okay, how about you?” You asked both of you very stiff. He was about to answer but you collapsed. “Oh god, Louis, I’m so so sorry!” You put your head in your hands, Louis’ hand on your back almost immediately.

He didn’t say it was alright, which was something you were grateful for, you wanted him to be honest.

“I reacted horribly. I don’t know why I did it, there’s no excuse! You started talking about getting married one day, and having kids, and I freaked out! I knew you didn’t mean anytime soon, but I hadn’t even thought about any of that! I didn’t think that you were, and it really, really scared me,” you admitted, picking at your sleeve.

He inhaled deeply, and went over to his vanity, opening a drawer and scourging for a bit. He found what he was looking for and turned around. It was a little black believer box. You stopped breathing.

He fidgeted with the box for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip. “I bought this for you about a year after we started dating. I wasn’t going to propose anytime soon, but I knew you were the one for me. I remembered that we went to the mall one day and you insisted on stopping at a jewelry store, you said you needed to buy something for Kate. I remember that you saw this ring and you fell in love with it, you didn’t even need a second glance.

“The guy who was behind the counter told it was an engagement ring, and you got really embarrassed and walked away, I think you went to look at the necklaces. I told the guy to hold it for me when you walked away. I came back that day when you went for lunch with your mum, and I bought it for you. I knew it was the ring that you’d want. I knew there wasn’t another chance of me getting it. I was going to wait a few more years, wait until we were both ready. Well, until you were. I was ready the second out first date ended,” he laughed and ran his fingers along the edge of the box.

At this point, the tears were freely falling down your face, you didn’t care anymore. “Lou…” you whispered and he shook his head.

“I don’t know why I started talking about that stuff, I guess I was just thinking about my mum, and I just imagined what our kids would be like, and how you’d be a great mum, and I just got too excited,” he wiped a stray tear from his cheek.

You loved how he thought he always needed to act tough, you found it adorable. You stood up, making your way over to him.

“Lou, I always wanted that stuff with you, I just hadn’t really thought about it, and I guess the future kind of hit hard. I started getting anxious about it, I was worried I wasn’t going to be good enough for you, that I wasn’t going to be able to fit into your future, so I ran. It’s the worst mistake of my life,” you slowly wrapped your arms around his wait, glancing at the box he still held.

“Why did you come tonight?” He asked, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

You hesitated before answering. “Kate got engaged to Eli. It hurt because it reminded me of you, of these things we both wanted but I wasn’t ready to commit to. It made me realize how much I missed you, and I heard you were doing a show here, so I made the decision, I just wanted to see you,” you finished, avoiding his eyes.

He gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. You both had tears building up in your eyes. He leaned closer to you, stuffing the box in his pocket. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Your lips met his, after a year of not kissing him, you were surprisingly calm.

You molded against each other, fitting together better than you did before. It wasn’t needy or desperate, it was passionate, slow. You were trying to show him how much you loved him, and missed him, you assumed he was doing the same thing.

You both pulled away, resting your foreheads against each other. You let out a content sigh, unable to stop the grin from forming on your face.

“Let’s do this for real this time, alright?” Louis rasped, “No more games, no more lies, just honesty. We’ll let each other know when something bothers us, okay?” He asked, rubbing small circles on your back.

“Yes, of course Louis, of course,” you quickly agreed and he gave you a chaste kiss.

“Would you mind waiting backstage for me? I need to get back out there so I don’t get fired,” he joked and you shook your head.

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

—

You both were backstage now, he was about to go back out, but he insisted on one more hug, so you were holding onto each other. You didn’t want to let go.

Alas, he pulled back and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to get back out there, I’ll send Kate back,” he explained, and you nodded.

He reluctantly walked away, throwing his arms up when he stepped onto the stage. He brought his mic down to his mouth. “I’m back!” He shouted and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

He sent Kaye backstage, and she ran into you, giving you a hug.

“How’d it go?” She asked, you nodded, looking down at the ground.

“Well, I’ll have a date for your wedding now,” you smirked and she gave a small squeal, wrapping you in another hug.

“If he talks about your future again what are you going to do?” She asked.

“I’m going to listen.”

—

A few months later, you were stood backstage with Kate again, this time joined by Eli.

You attended all of his concerts now, staying backstage to greet him when he was done. The boys were a bit hesitant around you at first, but after a few weeks, they welcomed you back, things being like before.

Conveniently, the last show was on the day of your anniversary, well, your first one. The boys had one more song before they finished the tour. She’s Not Afraid.

“Now, before we begin this next song, we have a special guest for you!” Harry announced. You looked at Kate. She shrugged, a small smirk on her face.

“Y/N, love, can you come out here?” Louis asked, and your eyes widened in shock. You glanced over at Kate. And she ushered you out.

You stepped out onto the stage bashfully waving at the audience.

You walked over and stood next to Louis, grabbing his arm and leaning over to whisper in his ear, “What are you doing?”

“Just trust me!” He said back and you sighed.

Louis counted them in and grabbed your hands, spinning you around the stage, stopping and spinning you with one hand when had to sing.

Towards the end, he just grabbed your hands, smiling as he looked into your eyes. The rest of the boys finished the last verse, and Louis got down on one knee, fishing for something in his pocket.

You squinted at him for a moment, confused as to what he was doing until he pulled out a familiar velvet box.

You gasped and put your hands over your mouth, the crowd roaring in your ears. “Lou,” you whispered and he opened the box, revealing the ring you had first spotted in the jewelry store years ago.

“Y/N, I love you,” he said, and he gestured to the crowd. You understood, he couldn’t say much when they were screaming over everything. “Will you marry me?” He asked.

You began nodding furiously, “Yes, yes I will Lou, of course I will!” You yelled and he quickly stood up, placing the ring on your finger. The second it was on, he picked you up and spun you around.

And for once in your life, you were sure everything was going to be alright.

A/N: Let me know if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist! Just send an ask or a message!

Permanent Taglist: @everything-is-alrightt

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way. 

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl. 

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway. 

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby. 

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens.  Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail. 

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name. 

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.” 

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns. 

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message. 

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there. 

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits. 

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”  

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her. 

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take. 

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door. 

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee. 

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out. 

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.” 

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t  know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden. 

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected,  and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry. 

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden. 

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning. 

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag. 

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue. 

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set. 

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song. 

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.  

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords. 

Meet me in the hallway 

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway 

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom 

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine 

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt? 

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction. 

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly. 

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already?  She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way. 

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in. 

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt? 

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different. 

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written. 

“I should go back,” 

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.” 

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets. 

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said. 

I walked the streets all day 

Running with the thieves 

‘Cause you left me in the hallway 

Just take my pain away 

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on. 

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing? 

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face. 

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow. 

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

 “Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile. 

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart. 

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly. 

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return. 

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him. 

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping. 

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie. 

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her. 

She nods and he takes a step back. 

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases. 

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway. 

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits. 

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside. 

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?” 

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning. 

“No,”  he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,” 

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed. 

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten. 

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees. 

“What’s it called?” she questions. 

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues. 

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go. 

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her. 

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space. 

If you’re gonna let me down 

Let me down gently don’t pretend 

That you don’t want me 

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors. 

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors. 

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues. 

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.” 

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside. 

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them. 

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up. 

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long. 

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously. 

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” 

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,” 

“I was,” 

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,” 

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words. 

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.” 

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home. 

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh. 

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically. 

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,” 

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,” 

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,” 

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,” 

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying. 

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,” 

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts. 

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?” 

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears. 

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back. 

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat. 

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.  

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over. 

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond. 

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw. 

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound. 

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch. 

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it. 

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces. 

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,” 

 “M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring. 

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks. 

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue. 

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak. 

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches. 

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go. 

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?” 

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her. 

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,” 

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow. 

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs  her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back. 

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes. 

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris. 

We don’t know where we’re going 

But we know where we belong 

And oh we started 

Two hearts in one home 

It’s hard when we argue 

We’re both stubborn 

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature 

Wherever I go, you bring me home 

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road 

You bring me home

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @doilycoffin donated $100, and requested Liam & Cordell Walker. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

One of Liam's earliest memories is the time Cordell dropped him on his head. Not actually accurate at all to the way it went but that's how it's told in the family mythology. He was really little, three maybe or four—for some reason that part's indeterminate—and Cordell was climbing the stable and playing adventurer, or maybe just showing off and the adventurer part was a good excuse. Liam was following Cordell around like he always did and he tried to climb up, too, on the fence that kept in the horses when they were let out for their run, and Cordell told him no and that he was too little but Liam was determined to try. Cordell climbed back down and tried to steady him where he'd made it up to the top rung of the fence, and Liam lost his balance anyway, and fell straight backwards and landed headfirst on the dirt. There was a little rock and then a lot of blood, and then stitches, and Mama fussing and their dad ripping Cordi a new one—Liam doesn't even remember that it hurt—but the part that sticks it as a memory is how they all rode together in the truck back and forth from the doctor and Cordell held his hand in the backseat and he was crying, the whole way home, a silent seeping kind of crying that made his face a shiny mess. Liam thinks about that weirdly often. Cordi looking out the window and crying.

When the story gets retold for new friends, or the kids, or Cordell's buddies from the Rangers come around for coffee and Mama's pecan pie, they tell it that Cordell's so clumsy he dropped his baby brother on his head. Liam sort of hates it, every time. Cordell laughs and does the aw shucks routine he's so good at, relaxed with his beer and shrugging embarrassed apology. When Liam was about to head off to college, his eighteenth birthday dinner, Daddy told the story again as a kind of miracle survival, and Liam got up from the table real fast and went out onto the porch, annoyed for some reason beyond measure. It was Cordi who got up and came after him and said, a little cautious, "What's up, Stinker?" and Liam said to him, mad, "Why don't you ever tell people it was me? I was the one climbing up after you. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Cordell just blinked at him. "What does it matter?" he said. "You were the baby and I was a dumbass kid. So what?" He hooked his arm around Liam's neck and he smelled like sweat and Old Spice and that laundry detergent Emily bought that wasn't anything like the one they used at home. Liam pushed at his side but didn't try hard to get away. Not that it would've worked. "It's how we figured out how hard that head was, right? Come on. Mama's gonna wonder if you didn't like the brisket."

Liam let himself be dragged back into the house, and Cordi pushed him down into his chair right between him and Emily, and Emily smiled at him easy, and passed him the potatoes. "One month 'til the dorms," she said, very quiet so no one else could hear under Cordell telling some awful lie about Liam having gas, and Liam laughed, surprised, and it just happened that it was the same time everyone else laughed so that was okay. He always liked Emily. Cordell punched his thigh lightly on his other side, and gave him a warmer more real smile, and Liam dropped it, and he didn't complain about the story again.

*

Seven years between them. Liam always wondered if he was an accident, even if Mama said that with Cordell going to school she was ready to have another baby around the house. Cordell was always the one who was getting into trouble. Rambunctious, loud, falling headfirst into things and getting dragged out covered in mud. Liam learned from his example what not to do. Do not: run along the bleachers at the football stadium and vault the handrails until your foot gets caught and you fall and snap your wrist clean in two. Do not: get caught drinking beer with your high school girlfriend behind the horsebarn, and make Daddy give the most mortifying sex talk in the world afterward. Do not: make friends with the most delinquent-ass kid in the whole hill country and wind up explaining every other week why, really, he wasn't that bad, give him a chance—

Somehow even then he was the golden child. Not the best grades, not the most obedient. That wasn't what their dad cared about. Cordell was good on a horse, good on his feet. Respectful when it mattered and devil-may-care when it didn't. In high school he was the quarterback, of course he was, and Liam was right there in the stands with their parents every Friday night, cheering his lungs out. Weirdly boastful with his fourth-grade friends: his older brother was the star of the football team. His older brother could ride a bull for ten seconds and get off hardly winded. Bookish, kind of short, he needed the borrowed glory of Cordell's success to be proud of. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it got him pushed over on the soccer field while some bigger boy went, gawd, William, who cares?

Liam never got in trouble. Never broke a bone. After bringing Cordell back from the hospital with a fresh new cast on his ankle and a dopey slightly-drugged smile on his face, Mama settled him in bed with Liam's help and turned off the light and then, in the kitchen, sighed and said, "Liam, you are a real relief to the mind, do you know that?" He was proud of that, too, in that moment. It wasn't until later that it nagged at him. A therapist asked him, much later in a sleek Manhattan office that smelled faintly of sage, "Do you think your predilection for being contrarian results from that time?" He went home annoyed with her, and was more annoyed when he told Bret the story and Bret didn't even turn around from the carbonara he was making and said, "Babe, you're the most contrary person I know."

He wasn't. He didn't—think he was. He… was, he realized, after a week of sitting with it, and a week after that it made sense. He didn't pick fights, and he didn't make waves. His rebellion was quiet. His hard head, forcing him to make his own space in the world. Not able to live up to Cordell and knowing instinctively that it would be awful even to try—and so taking the opposite turn, every time. It was better than being compared, even if he knew there was no chance but to be compared.

He studied hard. He read, all the time. He liked math and literature equally and did equally well in both. He hated P.E. but he did what he could there, too, and he learned to ride even if he didn't actually love horses the way the rest of the family did, and when Daddy asked if he wanted to join up with the little league baseball Liam asked to play soccer, instead, and Daddy frowned but Mama said, "Why not, I've seen enough boys drop foul balls for a lifetime." So, soccer, and most of his games were during the day or on Saturday mornings, but Cordi came to a lot of them anyway, and when Liam's team won Cordi would jump down onto the field and grab him up by the waist and crow David Beckham, right here! Little David Beckham for sale! Liam would struggle and then he'd be slung headfirst over Cordell's shoulder like a potato sack and his face would get so red from laughing that it hurt.

*

On September 12, 2001, Mama and Daddy were gone from the house when Liam got home from school and he was glad for it. That was a Wednesday. He was in sixth grade. The teachers weren't even trying to hold normal lessons and everyone was talking about what had happened the day before. Melissa Kettering was out that day and the rumor was that her dad had been on a business trip in New York. Liam had raised his hand and asked the social studies teacher if there was going to be a war, like there was after Pearl Harbor, and she sat down on her desk and shook her head and didn't answer.

He was trying to read his book for English when the phone rang. Cordell, calling from his apartment in town. Hey, buddy, he said, over the line, and Liam sat down on the floor by the phone table and closed his eyes, unaccountably almost about to cry. Is Daddy there? Liam told him he was home alone. Lucky, Cordi said, you can totally throw a rager, and Liam didn't laugh, and neither did Cordell, even though he always laughed at his own stupid jokes. Hey, um. I shouldn't—I don't know if I should tell you this but I've gotta tell someone, and Em's in class, and I just have to—I did something, and I need to—

He interrupted himself and Liam could hear him breathing over the line. He didn't want Cordell to say anything. If he didn't say anything then Liam could pretend that he was going to tell a story about some party they'd gone to at Emily's sorority, or that Hoyt had come back into town and they'd seen a show at ACL, or that he was gonna come stay that weekend, and maybe he and Liam would go riding. Anything but what he was about to say. Liam could hear it, in his head. He could hear it like it had already been said and it was echoing, now, inside, like a verse from a song he'd always, always remember.

Cordell graduated from the Marine boot camp on a Saturday in the middle of December. Liam went along even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual ceremony and Daddy complained about the cost of the plane tickets until Mama told him to shut up. Liam sat between them on the flight and it was the first time he was ever in the air. Over the top of Mama's crossword book he watched the clouds go by over New Mexico, Arizona, with complete wonder. San Diego, then, different to Austin—palm trees, and the air so wet, and even the parking lot at their hotel smelling like warm flowers.

Mama gave him fifty dollars before they left for the graduation. They were bringing Cordell back, after, because they got one night with him before they had to give him back to the military. "Order a pizza," she said, "at 4:30 exactly, and we should get back at the same time the pizza comes so we can all eat together." Liam watched American Pie on the hotel tv while he waited, something he would never have been allowed at home. He made the call when he was supposed to, and when the girl on the phone asked him what toppings his mind went completely blank because he was never allowed to make that decision. Cordi liked ham and pineapple and none of the rest of them did. Liam ordered it with extra pineapple.

When a knock came on the hotel room door Liam jumped up to open it, cash in hand. The one holding the pizzas was Cordell, grinning at him with Mama and Daddy standing behind. "Pizza delivery," Cordell said, and Liam crashed into him for a hug so hard that Cordi almost dropped the boxes and said whoa, Stinker, soft and laughing.

His hair was cut off, an inch on top and shorter on the sides, so he looked like those pictures of their grandpa when he was in Korea. He was skinny, too, which Liam didn't get, because he thought boot camp was all about building up muscles. "Mostly running," Cordi said. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes. He was stretched out on one bed with his strange starched blue pants and the awful khaki shirt that made him look washed-out pale even if he'd been running around San Diego for thirteen weeks, and Mama was sat next to him squeezing his arm like he'd evaporate if she looked away for a minute, and even Daddy was hovering. Proud but worried. Liam sat by Cordell's boots and tugged on the laces, wanting to ask more questions but not daring to.

Cordi fell asleep before six o'clock. Daddy turned on the television real quiet to the news. More stuff about the invasion. Liam hoped it'd be all over by the time Cordi got there. Mama boxed up the remaining pizza, shaking her head. "Don't know why you picked pineapple, kiddo," she said, and Liam shrugged, sitting at the table, watching Cordell's face, turned away a little on the pillow. Liam wanted to shake him awake but of course he didn't. For his whole life, after, he gets a little sick to his stomach when he smells pineapple.

While Cordell was in Afghanistan Mama and Daddy had Emily over to the house a lot. She was sweet. Respectful of Mama, calling her ma'am half the time, and charming to their dad even though Liam knew that she and Daddy probably disagreed on more than things than not. She liked that Liam played soccer and asked if he ever watched the Premiere League. Liam didn't even know what that was. She helped Mama cook supper and went out and took pictures of the horses which made Daddy smile, and one time when Liam went outside after dinner to read she was there crying, on the porch, quiet with her hand over her mouth, and Liam hung back and didn't know what to say. "Sorry," she said, dashing at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She licked her lips and nodded at his book, sniffing. "That's a good one. You should read the sequel, too." He did, and told her about it, and she smiled like a sunrise, the way she always did, and he felt like—he didn't even know, what he felt like.

Liam was the best man at their wedding. He felt and looked ridiculous. Fifteen in a tux and he didn't know how to tie a bow-tie, but Cordi didn't either, so Daddy had to do it for both of them, grumbling the whole time that they should've learned this by now. "Not a lot of bowties in Kandahar, Daddy," Cordell said, winking at Liam, and Liam—blushed. Ridiculous, and embarrassing, the way the whole affair and the lead-up had felt, but Cordell didn't seem to care or notice, so—there was Liam, blushing in a bowtie.

Cordell had only been back for a year and somehow things were off. He was serving the rest of his contract out in the reserves but he wasn't finishing up his degree like he'd told Mama he would. He'd entered the training program for the state troopers and was set up to be a highway cop, of all things. He'd rented a house in Austin with Emily and they lived together the whole year before the wedding—an argument with Daddy about that one, which Liam listened to from the hallway with his heart pounding—and they weren't even going to be married in the church because Emily didn't want a wedding mass and, Liam suspected, Cordell didn't either. Daddy lost that argument, too.

The wedding was tiny. Liam the best man, Geri the maid of honor. Emily's aunt that raised her on one side and Daddy and Mama on the other, and a handful of Cordell and Emily's friends making up the numbers in the little rented hall. Afterward they had a bigger barbecue out at the ranch and in front of the crowd Emily fed Cordell a dainty forkful of the lemon cake and Cordell responded by dotting a tiny bit of frosting on her nose and kissing it off, and Mama's best friend Sue-Ellen sighed and said to Mama, where Liam could hear, "Well, Abilene, maybe they're atheists but I daresay you raised that boy right every other way," and Mama said something dry back but Liam was watching how Cordell cupped Emily's cheek in his hand, smiling down at her like she hung the moon, and he thought, yeah. Yeah, Cordell was just about perfect, wasn't he.

"High school in the fall, right?" Emily's aunt said, later. "Emily says you play soccer. Going to try out for the team?"

Cordell and Emily were dancing, swaying in the grass, the bonfire leaping up behind them. His hand still on her cheek. "I'm quitting soccer," Liam said, without even realizing he was going to. "I'm going to try out for wrestling, instead."

*

He figured out he was gay relatively early. His friends at school got hold of a Playboy in fifth grade and didn't really know what to do with it beyond blustering. This was before anyone but nerds was on the internet, and Liam was a nerd but did a decent job of hiding it. Scott beckoned Liam over while they were waiting for the buses and showed him the top of the magazine, the bold logo and the girl with her boobs pushing up out of her bra—the group of them snickering, saying how hot she was—and that they were going to look at it at Scott's house later if Liam wanted to come over—and Liam said, "No, my mom's making me go to the store with her." The lie came out effortlessly.

They did have a computer at home, and dial-up internet it had been very, very hard to argue Daddy into. He hardly knew how to find anything but he did some careful searches while Daddy was out with the horses and Mama was cooking, singing bad over the stove like she tended to. Made Liam's face hot to see some of what he was seeing. Hoyt came over, once, while Cordi was away in the war, and he helped Liam and Mama dig out a bunch of tomatoes that hadn't grown in right, and afterward they sat on the porch drinking lemonade while Mama asked Hoyt all about the oil field he said he'd been working in and Liam watched how Hoyt's legs sprawled out on the porch, how his jeans hugged up against his calf muscle and how the sweat had made his white shirt nearly transparent, and he had to sit very careful on the bench with his knees drawn up to hide the effect it had on him.

When Cordell came home from Afghanistan they threw a huge party. Everyone came, Daddy's friends and Mama's, and Emily and their friends from college, and even Hoyt, magicked up out of somewhere (for the promise of free beer, Daddy said), and then Liam, the youngest person there, watching from the corner of the porch as always. Cordi was very tan and finally bulky with muscle and his hair had grown out, just a little, from that military buzz, and he barely detached himself from Emily the whole time, his arm always around her shoulders or hers around his waist, and when they did step apart his eyes followed her and she watched him right back, smiling at the most random times. Liam was fourteen and a little more aware of the world and he wondered abruptly if they'd had sex yet. Cordi had only been home one day and he'd slept at the ranch and not at Emily's apartment. How would they have found the time?

He was chewing his thumbnail over it when a sweaty weight crashed down on his shoulders, arms trapping his in. Hoyt. "Hey there, Stinker," Hoyt said, and Liam shrugged fretfully and said, "Don't call me that," and Hoyt laughed at him but stood up and ruffled Liam's hair completely backwards instead.

"Still pretty shrimpy," he said. He was grinning, like he had some big secret. "You planning on growing up anytime soon, champ?"

"Don't you have a sketchy job to get to?" Liam said, annoyed. He tried to fix his hair and gave it up as a lost cause the second Hoyt's grin got bigger. Asshole.

Hoyt sipped his beer. Twenty-one—he was allowed, although Liam had noticed that Mama was being a little free with handing out drinks to Emily's college friends. "Glad big bro's home, I bet," Hoyt said.

Liam didn't dignify that with a response. Hoyt laughed, under his breath, and held out the beer for Liam to take, which he did because he didn't know what else to do. "Go on," Hoyt said, nodding at it. "I won't tell your mama. Not fair that everyone else gets to celebrate while little Liam's sober. And boring."

"I'm not boring," Liam said, although he knew he was because half the kids at school clearly thought so. He took a sip of the beer, anyway, not knowing if Hoyt would snatch it away. Nasty, and he made a face that made Hoyt hoot, and then he took a bigger gulp, determined at least to get something out of it.

"There he goes," Hoyt said, weirdly delighted, and he clapped Liam on the shoulder the same way he would Cordi when they were in high school, and the bit of warm in Liam's belly went lower. "That's a welcome home."

Liam kept the beer, curled against his chest. He felt dumb holding it and also weirdly adult. "He's not even here," he said. Sort of scoffing. "Doesn't matter."

Hoyt curled his arm around Liam's shoulders again and ignored how he went stiff, and nodded out at the party. Music playing from a radio Daddy had set up on a truck-bed. Emily and Cordell, dancing in the firelight. Same as it would be for the wedding reception a year from then, although of course Liam didn't know that at the time. "Aw, he's here," Hoyt said. He squeezed Liam's shoulders. He smelled strange, like—skunk, and Mama's compost bin. It was gross but also kind of appealing and Liam shifted, hoping his dumb body wouldn't react. "He's just with his girl, and who could blame him. No call for getting jealous."

He wasn't jealous. Not—exactly. That night after Mama and Daddy went to bed the party kept on, and Liam went to his room and watched from the dark window, the bonfire still going and all the college kids still going, too. When he finally fell asleep he had a strange, blurry dream about Hoyt—building a bonfire together, and Hoyt smiling at him and being a jackass and then touching his face, the same way Cordell touched Emily's face, and then Hoyt touching his stomach, low—and then the dream shifted, the weird way dreams shift, and it was Cordell, touching his stomach, and smiling at him, and leaning in close—with his hair longer like it was before he enlisted—but wearing for some reason the dumb khaki shirt of his uniform—and then Cordell's hand—

When he woke up he was soaked and it was bright morning. He washed his underwear out in the sink, feeling like his head was screwed on to someone else's body, and then he hid the underwear in the hamper, and showered, and tried not to think about it. He had that dream or one like it on and off for years, until he finally lost his virginity to Michael in college and it went away. He never told his therapist about it, or Bret, or anyone. He could rationalize it but he couldn't ever acknowledge it out loud because of what it—felt like, to think about it. To make it real in a place that wasn't just his stupid, crazy, dreaming head.

He had the dream again the night before he came out to his parents. January 2nd, trying out his new year's resolution of honesty. He figured in a ruthless sort of way that if his parents kicked him out or hated him or tried to change him then at least he had early acceptance at UT for the fall and a full scholarship and it was just eight months where his life would be completely over.

Cordell was at home on the ranch and Liam figured that's what triggered it. A couple days of vacation, since he'd worked over Christmas, and he and Emily and baby Stella had stayed up for ringing in the new year, and everyone had taken turns kissing Stella's forehead when midnight struck. Liam had been allowed a glass of champagne, Mama not even fussing about it since it was a holiday and the house was full—so he had two glasses—and when he went to bed he could still hear Cordell laughing from the front room, telling Daddy some story about a bust on the highway, something about stolen Santa suits, something light.

He dreamed they were swimming, up at the lake, and Cordell was naked. Laughing, that same too-loud booming laugh, but just because he was happy and not like he was making fun. Being kind to Liam. Holding him from behind with his arms around Liam's chest, their legs slipping together in the water. Liam could imagine what it would be like for a man to do something to him, he'd seen porn by that point, and he'd seen Cordell naked too because of the vagaries of living in an old house without a lock on the bathroom door, but somehow there was still a disconnect in his head. He was turned on beyond belief but nothing—happened, just the vagueness of Cordell behind him. His big hands.

Mama took Emily and the baby in to town, that day, for shopping. Daddy said they'd just bought half of Macy's and Mama shushed him so Daddy was up at the barn, checking over the new foal. Liam sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched birds come to the new feeder Mama had got from Emily and he tried to rehearse it, in his head. What to say. He'd seen it in movies but it didn't feel possible to come out of his mouth.

Cordell sat by him, on the bench swing. "Since when do you drink coffee?" he said. Then, less casual: "Is that my mug?"

"Yes," Liam said, and didn't protest when Cordell took it out of his hands. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He had a hard time talking to Cordi after he had one of those dreams and so it was a relief that most of the time Cordell wasn't around, that he was in town at the house he shared with his wife. With his wife, Liam reminded himself, as though that could help. Another thing to make Liam different. Wrestling instead of football, reading books instead of riding, and now—this, on top of everything.

"Whatever's going on," Cordell said. Liam blinked, came back to the world. The cold, and the swing barely rocking from how Cordi had set his boot on the porch and pushed, and Cordell looking at him very steadily. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Liam swallowed. "Even if it's—" Bad is what came to his mouth and he shook his head. He prayed about this, he resolved. It's not bad. "Weird?"

"If it weren't weird you probably wouldn't be being so weird about it," Cordi said, frank, and Liam shoved his shoulder. The dream dissipated just like that. How could he possibly be crushing on his brother when his brother is this much of a jerk. Cordell swayed, grinning, letting Liam push him even if Cordell outweighed him then by fifty pounds, but then he set his hand on the back of Liam's neck, more serious. "Whatever it is. We can figure it out."

Liam licked his lips, and nodded. He knew then that was going to tell Cordell the one secret, if not the whole of it, before they left the porch that morning, and Cordi would—back him up, with Mama and Daddy, even if he didn't get it. "Give me back the coffee," he said, and Cordell raised his eyebrows but passed it back, so Liam could take a gulp. The caffeine probably wouldn't help but maybe it wouldn't hurt, and it felt nice to hold the mug. "Promise you won't freak," Liam said then, even if he was—mostly, ninety percent, pretty sure—and Cordell said, immediately, "I promise," and Liam believed him. That was the thing, with Cordell, in those days. It was easy to believe him.

*

It's Mama who calls, when Emily dies. Liam's already in bed because he's got court in the morning and Bret shoves at his shoulder, says, "Oh my god answer it and then change your ringtone, I hate that song," and Liam's still fuzzy from sleep and doesn't quite process that there's no good reason Mama would be calling him after nine o'clock in Texas because she always thought that was bad manners, it had been drilled into him all his life, and he says, mumbly, still waking up, "Hey, Mama," and there's a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line before she says, Honey, I'm sorry, but I have real bad news.

He flies out the next day. Bret tries to dissuade him. "There's nothing you can do right now," he says, as though that's the point. JFK to Austin-Bergstrom is four and a half hours and he spends the whole time with his chest this weird achy knot. It doesn't feel real but it is. He texted Mama his flight plan and she says that Daddy will pick him up at the airport, and when he gets into the truck Daddy shakes his head and says, "Good to see you, son," but without any truth to it. Liam doesn't take it personally.

Cordell's not at the ranch when they get there but the kids are. "Hi, Uncle Liam," Stella says, remarkably clear, until he hugs her, and then she curls his hands into his shirt and cries silently, her shoulders shaking. August doesn't get up from the couch, sitting there with one arm crossed over his chest and the other over his mouth, and he looks—Liam's always shocked by it—so exactly like his mother. Stella's a copy of her grandmother, to the point that Mama set her prom picture side by side with Stella's first dance photo and the only real difference was the dress—but Auggie always took after Emily, from coloring to temperament to those long straight eyebrows, that mouth that curves up into a wide, easy smile. Not smiling now, and not for a while, and when Stella pulls away and wipes her eyes Liam sits down next to Auggie and sets his hand on the back of his neck and Auggie just folds over, quiet, like whatever was holding him up just isn't there anymore.

"Where is he?" Liam asks Mama, in the kitchen later. The sun's going down. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

Mama's eyes are red-rimmed. "Where do you think?" she says.

Liam takes the truck. Lady Bird Lake is officially closed at night but of course that makes no difference. He parks and walks, up to the lookout, and Cordell doesn't hear him coming. He's sitting on the steps to the gazebo, his elbows braced on his knees. The light hitting his hair. Long again. Liam doesn't know how he's always skirting regs and getting away with it, except of course Cordi gets away with everything. Golden child.

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. "Cordi," he says, and Cordell looks up in complete surprise. Liam smiles at him, as much as he can, and comes and sits on the step. He tries to think of what to say and can't come up with anything.

"Aren't you in court tomorrow?" Cordell says, after they sit there for thirty seconds. His voice sounds thick and distant.

Liam shakes his head. "Today," he says, and Cordell nods and huffs and says, "Right," and then looks down at his hands again. They're twisted together, his thumb rubbing hard and repeatedly at the mount of his other palm. Liam reaches over and puts his hand over the knot of Cordell's fingers and Cordell's jaw flexes but he lets Liam do it. "I'm sorry," Liam says.

"Everyone is," Cordell says, halfway bitter. Liam squeezes his hands and Cordell makes a rough low noise, some sound Liam has never heard him make. "Jesus. They won't let me go in to work."

"Of course they won't," Liam says, and Cordell pulls his hands away, pushes them into his hair. "Cordi, they have to—they're going to be looking for who did it and it has to be by the books so it'll stick. They're not going to risk screwing it up."

"I just want to—" Cordell cuts himself off but Liam can imagine what goes there. He touches Cordell's back instead and the muscle flinches. Set to fly off the handle any second. Fight or flight, but Cordell never used to run from anything and Liam can't imagine he's going to start now.

He stands up. "Wrestle me," he says.

Cordell looks up. "What?"

Genuine surprise. At least it's not misery. "Come on," Liam says. "See if you can pin me." These jeans are nice, were a gift from Bret, but he'll sacrifice them. He holds out a hand and Cordell lets himself be pulled upright, and it's a shock like it always is when Liam's been too long away, how much taller Cordi still is. Liam always was the shrimp. He pushes Cordell's chest, lightly, and Cordell slaps his hands away. "Cordi," Liam says, coaxing, and pulls at Cordell's wrist. "Let me take your mind off it."

Stupid thing to say and he knows it as soon as he says it. Cordell gives him an ugly look and shoves him for real. "Take my mind off it?" he says, while Liam's staggering backwards. Liam sets his boots in the dirt and braces, and when Cordell pushes him again Liam grapples, and they are wrestling, then. It's sloppy, bad holds, both of them in too-slick boots for this ground. Liam manages to swing Cordell around and get his back on the ground but Cordi's always been stronger and shoves him off, and then they're just—flat-out scrambling, Liam's hand sinking into a patch of mud and both of them breathing hard, Cordell twisting out of his grip and getting an arm over his chest, tight, before Liam eels over and flips them—gets Cordell on his back on the dirt—his leg over Cordell's—and then Cordi drops his head back against the ground and taps out, panting.

"You been practicing?" Cordell says. His eyes are closed.

Liam sits up, says, "Class at my gym." Cordi nods and Liam gets off him, kneels next to him in the dirt. The gazebo's bright and the skyline's pretty, on the other side of the lake. Liam looks at that instead of at his brother, so he won't have to see the tears seeping down Cordell's temples, wetting his hair.

"It's not okay," Liam says. He sets a hand on Cordell's chest. At the DA's office in Manhattan he's comforted widows, widowers, orphans. Some of them seeking justice but most of them knowing it won't really be found. Cordell, he thinks, is one of the latter type, but Liam tries out the lines he's learned anyway. "It's not okay and it's not fair. I can't pretend I know what you're going through but I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat trying to close without his say-so. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Cordi."

"Yeah," Cordell says, rough, and grips Liam's wrist. When Liam looks down Cordell's eyes are still closed. They stay there for a while, by the lake, long past when it's uncomfortable.

When they finally get up, Liam's knees creak like an old man's but Cordell doesn't make the joke he should. He leaves Cordell's truck and drives them both back into town, and gets drive-through Whataburger that Cordell picks at instead of eating, and says, "Do you want to go back to the ranch?" and isn't surprised when Cordell shakes his head, no. They get a hotel instead, two queens and a respectable mini-bar, and Liam calls Mama from next to the ice machine in the hall and says that he's got Cordell, and they're fine, and they'll be back in the morning. She clearly wants to object but doesn't know how and Liam hangs up before she can figure it out.

He gets back, with the ice. Cordell's sitting on the end of the bed watching the news like it's the Superbowl. "I was thinking about the funeral," Cordell says, when the door closes behind Liam. "I have to plan the funeral and I don't even have her body."

Liam sets the bucket on the bar and sits on the other bed. "We'll help," Liam says. Cordell's cheek sucks in on one side. "You don't have to do any of this alone."

"Yeah," Cordell says, remote, and Liam looks at him. Weird hollowness in his stomach and he realizes only after a second why: it's the first time, all his life, that he can remember Cordell lying to him.

*

The Rodeo Kings operation is supposed to be quick. Three months, is the estimate: to get in, to learn the operation, to get out. They need an agent who can be convincingly skilled as a traveling rider, who knows a ranch operation, who can act. There's a depressingly short list and one name at the top of it. Everyone thinks it's a bad idea except for Graves, and Cordell.

"It'll give me something to think about that's not this," Cordell says, when Liam's trying to talk him out of it. They're on the back patio of his and Emily's house in town. The kids are still staying out at the ranch. It's two weeks after the funeral and they haven't gone back to school. Cordell hasn't shaved in a few days and the sound as he scratches his jaw is loud. There's no music playing from the kitchen window, like there used to be. The plants out here are already dying. Liam wants to grip Cordell's shoulders, get in his face and yell, but doesn't dare to. He gets a deep sigh, instead, and Cordell flipping a poker chip between his fingers like a restless card shark, and then a smile, fake as fake. "Anyway, who do you know who can ride a bull better than me?"

"No one," Liam says, and Cordell nods, like damn straight, and in the morning Liam goes in to the Travis County DA and announces he'd like to transfer offices, due to a family emergency that's going to keep him here in Texas, and it's only afterward when some calls are made and the paperwork's signed that he calls Bret, back in Manhattan, and leaves a voicemail that he's going to be staying a lot longer than he thought.

It isn't three months. As the operation drags on, Liam sweet-talks his way into being one of the assistant attorneys on the case and he tries to alleviate how Graves is getting more and more suspicious. Cordell's old partner James gets promoted to captain, six months in, and he vouches for Cordell, too, not that it seems to matter either way. Cordell's the one who's embedded with the rodeo and he'll either finish the job or he won't. They don't have another agent to send in, not without compromising the work that's been done so far, and nothing else will do but to wait.

The kids ask Liam for updates every week when he comes for dinner at the ranch. "I can't tell you everything," he says, like he does every time, and Daddy's quiet at the head of the table, and Mama quieter on the opposite side. Cordell has a rendezvous every Monday when the rodeo takes the day off with a burner cell phone and an agent waiting impatiently for his call, and his reports are terse: still trying to get them to trust me. They're suspicious of newcomers. The ring seems really tight and I can't figure out an opening. Give me time. He's allowed to call Liam the same day and Liam answers every unknown number on Mondays, giving hope to spam callers nationwide. Cordell usually sounds tired but he still calls and they have a dumb, simple conversation—about how the Rangers beat the Angels, how he's breaking in some new boots and has a blister the size of Indiana, how he's craving, inexplicably, sushi. "Sushi?" Liam asks, trying to imagine when Cordell ever tried it, and Cordi says, with rare humor, "Hey, I'm not a big fancy New York lawyer but I've had my share of raw fish," and when Liam hands the phone over to the kids they lean over the speakerphone and talk over the top of each other about a class project Stella did, and a history paper Auggie got an A+ on, and Liam watches with his hand over his mouth for the moment when Cordell has to interrupt and say, tired-sounding still, "Sorry, guys, I have to go," and the goodbyes have to be quick, and then that's it, for another week.

The first time Liam sees him when he's Duke it's a shock to the system. Seven months in and the reporting agent says that Walker missed his check-in. Walker—that's what they all call him, even when Liam's in the room with them. There's a small frenzy in the operation office. Graves calls for Cordell's head, predictably at this point. James, trying again to calm her down, but looking a little like he agrees. Liam leaves the office unnoticed and walks outside to feel cold air on his face and feel less—how he feels—and there's a text, on his phone, from an unknown number. The Alibi, Driskill ST, thirty minutes. Come alone.

Ridiculously illicit. Liam takes off his suit-jacket and tie and ruffles his hair into something unprofessional and goes. It's hard to park—Monday night football—and inside is the opposite of his scene but he finds a seat at the bar. A girl in a too-tight orange t-shirt gives him a once-over and he smiles tightly, ignores her, drinks a watery beer, and almost exactly on the thirty-minute mark someone sits down next to him and it's—not his brother.

Duke Culpepper was the fake name they picked. Originally from Texas but had some misdemeanors that made Texas unfriendly so he'd been hiding out in Tucson for a few years, working the rodeo there. Not dangerous but willing to get up to something that was, and he looks the part. He smells like sweat and horse manure and hay and some shitty, awful aftershave, and there's a bruise on his jaw like someone suckerpunched him, and he doesn't look at Liam but smiles sweet at the bartender and says, with a fake low drawl, "Darlin', I wouldn't mind a shot of bourbon, when you have a chance."

Jesus, Liam thinks. The bartender has an expression like Cordell slid a hand down the front of her jeans and made her the happiest woman alive—the shot takes about ten seconds to arrive, when Liam's been waiting for a second beer for five minutes. Cordell knocks it back in one motion and says, "Again, and—" and he turns, like he noticed Liam for the first time, "another round for my friend, here. We're celebratin'."

She blinks, notices Liam's empty glass. While the next round's being prepared Liam raises his eyebrows and plays his part. "What are we celebrating?"

"Got a new job," Cordell says—but no—it's Duke, who's saying it, Duke who's drawling lazy and has his hat cocked at an off-angle and who's got a bandana tied around his wrist which for some goddamn reason is working the whole, hot-ass look.

"Congrats," the bartender says, and Duke grins wide and winks at her and downs the second shot, letting out a little whoop. "Another?"

"Better make it a double this time, sweetheart," Duke says, and Liam puts his hand on the warm lean stretch of thigh knocking against his under the bar and squeezes, very lightly, a warning, and sees Cordell's eyes tighten just slightly, and sees how his shoulders round out, like he's ready to get in a fight. Cordell takes a deep breath and toasts the bartender, but turns to look at Liam, face a grinning glad mask. "Got a new girl, too. Real pretty."

The bartender's disappointment would be funny, any other time. "Your lucky day, then, huh?" Liam says. Cordell's knee presses hard into his under the bar. "Girl got a name?"

"Miss Twyla Jean," Cordell says, almost crooning it, and Liam raises his eyebrows��he thought they had embarrassing Texas names—and then Cordell downs the double-shot, grimacing at the sting, and then says, much quieter so that only Liam can hear: "All it took was me making it eleven seconds on a bull and she took me straight to bed."

Liam takes a deep breath. Cordell's jaw flexes, in the silence, and he puts the empty shot glass on the bar. "Thanks for celebrating with me," he says, and slides off the barstool, backwards. He grips Liam's shoulder so hard that it actually hurts. "Gotta get back. Job won't do itself."

"Godspeed," Liam says, toasting with his beer, and Cordell gives him a tight smile and tugs his cap and walks out of the bar, taking with him the smell of the stables and his too-tight jeans and this sensation under Liam's gut that's murky and dangerous, unsettled. His shoulder hurts. It's only after he's written down Twyla Jean's name and texted it to James, and gone home to the apartment where Bret's still bitching about the décor, and taken a shower, and pressed his forehead against the cold tile, that he realizes that Cordell was wearing a fucking Texas Rangers cap. The absolute bastard.

*

The night he hears from Cordell again he has a fight with Bret. The same fight, worked over the same way. Bret hates Texas. He hates being away from his friends. He hates the politics and the food and how Liam's always with his family. He doesn't want to go to family dinner at the ranch because he's sure Liam's dad hates him. "He doesn't hate you," Liam says, for the fifth time, but to be honest he's not sure. Daddy never seems to like Bret that much, either. Cordi's never met him and Liam wonders, like he's wondered many times, if they'd get along, at all. Wonders if that'd be a dealbreaker and then wonders, washing dishes while Bret watches MSNBC in chilly silence, if the fact that he's wondering if it would be a dealbreaker makes it a dealbreaker, after all.

The text comes as a relief. Annunziata's. He dresses down more carefully than the first time. It's a weird spot, on the outskirts of town where it feels less like Austin than like a suburb. Karaoke and Italian food and mostly-fake cowboys slapping their knees to the absolutely horrific song being sung—very suburb. And there, at a table right by what passes for a stage: Cordell. But, no: Duke, Duke Culpepper, with his arm slung around the shoulders of Twyla Jean and his lips on her ear, grinning, wild. It catches Liam's breath like it did the first time. Duke, confident in his body and happy and having a good time, easy. Hot. Jesus, Liam doesn't get how it's so hot.

He waits in the backroom and watches Cordell shoves his face into the water. It's disturbing how panicked he is, once he's Cordell again and not Duke. "You have to," he's saying—babbling—"You have to tell them, they're going to kill people, you can't let them go through with it—" but of course that's not either of their decision and Liam can't help. It's awful, an awful awful feeling. His big brother looking to him for an answer he can't give. Cordell pushes his hair back from his face and puts his hat back on and looks miserable but he goes back, he sits right back down with that girl and lets her slide her hand down his thigh up the inseam of his jeans and Liam watches from the corner of the bar, where he won't be seen, drinking a beer he doesn't want, seeing his brother be someone who's not his brother. Maybe someone his brother could have been. They're going to sleep together, tonight. Liam knows it. They've been fucking for three months. Is it easy, he wonders. It shouldn't be, for Cordell, but maybe for Duke it is.

He goes home to Bret and wakes him up, and apologizes for the earlier fight, and kisses him, and gets Bret on his belly, and fucks him that way, a little hard, kissing the back of his neck, making Bret gasp and flinch and groan, delighted. "Where did that come from," Bret says, lazy and satisfied, and when he falls asleep Liam takes a shower and then only then calls James, from the hall outside their apartment door, leaning with his forehead against the wall. The bank location has been obvious since Cordell reported about Twyla Jean; the only thing that wasn't certain was the time. It'll be fine, James says, firm, and hangs up on Liam to coordinate with the rest of the team now that Agent Walker has finally come back in from the cold, and Liam stands there with his eyes closed in the hall and thinks, yes. Yes, it'll be fine.

After the bank—after the clean-up—Graves debriefs Cordell for a long time. It borders on unlawful interrogation at a certain point but Liam doesn't dare intervene when she's this furious—he can't risk being taken off the case. It takes James making a call to her supervisor at the field office, who then calls her and pulls her out of the room, for Cordell to be given a reprieve, and Liam goes in to the conference room and finds Cordell still in the stupid black hoodie stained with Crystal West's blood, his head in his hands, breathing with his mouth open like he can't get enough air.

"Cordi," Liam says, and Cordell shakes his head. Liam licks his lips and checks the hall. No one's guarding them—they wouldn't, because Walker's one of their own—and he says, "Get up." Cordell looks up at him, finally. "Come on, quick before she gets back. Come with me."

Cordell follows him. Down the hall, left to go through the atrium instead of the bullpen, then through the glass doors to the hall to, at last, the men's room, and Cordell stands in the middle of the tile blinking until Liam nods at the sinks and says, "Do it."

He's sloppier about it, this time. His hair hangs dripping in front of his face. He pushes it off his forehead and looks up at himself, in the mirror, panting a little. Water drips off his nose.

Liam brings him paper towels and he dries his face. "You should take that off," Liam says, and Cordell looks down at his clothes like he has no idea what he's wearing and only just realized, and tears off the hoodie in an awkward tangle. Underneath his t-shirt is black so Liam can't tell if it's stained. The big silver cross swings from his neck.

"What happened," Cordell says. A croak.

"Graves didn't tell you?" Liam says, and then bites his tongue. Obviously not. "Clint and Crystal are both dead. Clint at the bank. Crystal crashed the car. They think she passed out. Blood loss." Cordell nods, tight, looking away. These are his friends, Liam reminds himself. These are the people he knew, the only people he really talked to, for almost a year. "Two more people died at the bank. Twyla wasn't there and we don't have information to tie her to the job. I don't know where Jaxon is but we have people looking. They're still trying to recover the stolen money."

"Graves did tell me that much," Cordell says, and turns around, leaning his ass against the sink. It's slowly draining, behind him. "I think she wants to arrest me since she can't arrest them."

"I think so, too," Liam says, and Cordell smiles a little. He looks like he hasn't slept all year. "You did your job. It's over."

"It's not over," Cordell says, immediately. He drags his hand through his hair. "Graves made that clear. The money's still missing and Twyla and Jax are in the wind."

"And Duke's being sent to jail," Liam says. "So his part in the Rodeo Kings gang is over."

Cordell wipes his fingers over his mouth. He's still wearing that bandana around his wrist. Liam wants to take it off of him. Throw it away, burn it. "Duke Culpepper, common criminal," Cordell says, drawling it a little.

"Never liked him anyway," Liam says, and Cordell smiles, dropping his head. Liam touches his shoulder, grips his neck. "Hey. Means you get to come home. The kids will be over the moon."

"Yeah," Cordell says. He brackets a loose hand around Liam's wrist and nods. "Yeah. Can't wait."

His smile faded, as soon as Liam said it. Liam thinks about that, for that whole night, and for the whole next day, after, when James tells him that Cordell put in for one week's leave. "You talked to him?" Liam says, and James shakes his head, says, "He called Connie. I think he still doesn't even know I'm the captain."

He tells Mama and Daddy that Cordell will be home next Wednesday. Stella's frowning, not eating her dinner. "I saw that bank robbery on the news," she says. Auggie's big-eyed, watching, next to her. "Was that Dad's big case?"

"It was," Liam says, and Auggie's eyes get bigger. "But there's a debriefing period. We need to make sure his undercover identity doesn't have any loose ends that'll tie him back to his real one."

Daddy's eyes narrow and Mama's quiet. Liam got pretty good at lying, over the years, but he never was quite able to fool them.

He calls Cordell the next day. "Tell me where you are," he says, and Cordell doesn't answer for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out over the cell line. Liam considers it a victory that he even answered the phone.

He has a room at the Fairmont, on the fifteenth floor. Liam knocks and it's a minute before the door opens. Cordell's in bare feet, jeans, an ACL t-shirt. Liam follows him in and the room is—nicer than Liam's current apartment, that's for sure. King bed, outstanding view. "Wow," Liam says, and Cordell says, "Better than the Super 8 in Kermit," sort of sarcastic, and then sits down on the bed like he can't stand up anymore.

Liam doesn't sit. He doesn't think he's really invited, even if Cordell let him in the door. "I told them next Wednesday," he said. "Mom and Dad, and the kids. A week. Do you think that'll be enough time?"

"Honestly?" Cordell says, and doesn't elaborate.

There's a table, with four chairs, like a dining area. On it a box, like one of the evidence boxes from the office. Liam walks over and tips back the lid and: there's Duke Culpepper. The striped shirt he wore when Liam met him at Annunziata's. That was—god, only three days ago. A plastic bottle of aftershave. The cross necklace. The gun. Liam picks it up and checks the revolving chamber—that one bullet, still ready. It makes him nauseous just like it did the first time.

"I know you're probably not okay," Liam says. Understatement, he thinks, of the century. He closes the box and pushes it away, toward the center of the table. When he turns around Cordell's holding the beer in one hand and playing with a poker chip, in the other. "I know you're going to need some time. But when you're done, we need you back. The kids, and Mom and Dad. And me."

"C'mon, you don't need anybody, Stinker," Cordell says, with the barest thread of levity. "You climb right up to the top of the barn all by yourself, when no one's around to stop you."

Liam pauses, confused by the subject change. Surprised, then. "You were there for that?" he says, and Cordell shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting.

When Liam was eleven, and Cordell was at college, and the world hadn't yet turned over on its head. It was early August and his school hadn't started, and Daddy and Mama had gone over to the feed store to pick up a truckload for the horses. He was bored, and tired of reading, and he'd gone out to the barn and looked up at it and thought about how Cordell had done it, at his age or maybe even younger, and if Cordell could then Liam could, too, if he set his mind to it. It wasn't even all that hard, once he was looking careful for the places to set his feet. He sat down on the top of the barn and looked out over the ranch—and further, over the where the road into the ranch pushed out into the hills, down toward the town. He wondered how far he could really see, to the horizon.

"Swung by to pick up my football stuff," Cordell says, now. "Em parked on the other side of the house and I didn't think anyone was home, until I looked out the back. You were up there just—taller than anything." He shrugs. "See? Didn't need my help after all."

"I wouldn't have climbed it if you hadn't dropped me on my head," Liam says, and Cordell snorts, shakes his head. Liam bites the inside of his cheek and crouches, and Cordell's forced to look at him or be ridiculous and so Cordell looks at him. Liam reaches out and gets his hand, the hand with the poker chip, and squeezes it, and Cordell swallows and squeezes back. The edges of the plastic bite into Liam's hand. "Come back," he says.

Cordell takes a deep breath. "I will," he says. "I promise, Liam."

Liam stands up and hugs him, around the shoulders, and walks out of the room. He takes the elevator back to the lobby and steps out into the sunshine, and takes a deep breath, and calls Bret to arrange lunch. Cordell's promises.  Fifty-fifty, anymore, that it ends up being true. Liam decides to believe him. He's hardheaded. He might as well be hardheaded and optimistic about it.

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Civic Auditorium Arena in Omaha, NE, USA - September 13, 1980

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Fan Stories

“I don't know if anyone has ever been able to appreciate a rock concert as much as I did when I saw Queen at age 7. I knew the order the songs were supposed to be in, the way the stage was supposed to look, and what the band was supposed to do. And everything happened perfectly. Except for that damn mustache. Late summer 1980, I was pestering my mom to take me into town to get candy. She said, "Do you really want to get candy, or would you rather get tickets to see Queen?" I stopped in my tracks and started being the nicest boy you could imagine. I thought maybe she was kidding, but knew she wouldn't kid me about something like that. I guess my dad had already OKd it too. Like Axl Rose once said about Queen: "They meant everything to me." We drove all the way to Omaha to get tickets: they were $9 in advance, or $11 the day of the show if still available (though now I'm not sure how they weren't sold out immediately). I'm still not quite sure why Queen was playing smaller arenas at that point, since I think they had already begun playing stadiums. Finally, September 13 arrived. I was in 2nd grade. Ads had been all over the radio for this concert. One of my baby-sitters and two of her friends rode up with us also, and they went off on their own when we got there. The show was one of those infamous "general admission" things, so our seats depended solely on how early we arrived. I think we got to the arena at about 9 am... almost a full 12 hours before the show actually started (much longer in 7-year-old hours). A single word, "QUEEN", was boldly displayed on the marquee above the many doors where small lines were beginning to form. Excited bands of people were running/gathering everywhere. Queen was one of the biggest five bands in the world at that time: "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" was on the charts, The Game had just been released, and "Another One Bites the Dust" was soon-to-be released as a single. We picked one of the lines and got ready for what was indeed halfway dangerous: the growing mob of people ready to run in when the doors would open. This was a big issue of the time, as it was the year before that 11 people were crushed to death at the turnstiles of a Who concert. (An episode of the TV show W.K.R.P. in Cincinnati even focused on this.) People were starting to press onto the transparent doors trying to look inside, when suddenly there was the sound of tires screeching from the street: a white limousine honked twice and sped around the corner toward the other side of the arena, and was gone within seconds. The "big kids" screamed and ran after it; I was too small to do this, but we got better places in line! When everyone came back, they said they actually saw Freddie and John get out of it and be scuffled into the building before getting attacked by the mob of people. In the meantime, others around us were starting to talk to my mom. Two of them were a man and a lady who were apparently on date, and they ended up even staying by and sitting by us through the show. Some other people also offered to kind of stay around my mom and I to make sure I'd be safe on the way in. A couple of times, a big fat drunk guy yelled out, "Who's your favorite group?" and of course everyone yelled "Queen!"

Now people were beginning to bang on the doors of the entrance. I think the doors finally opened at around 11 am. When they did, we and other people from several sides of the arena moved in, towards those coming in from other doors on opposite sides: within seconds, everyone had funneled from outside to stopping cold in the lobby, having basically run into each other. This is exactly where everyone stayed for the next two hours. A human shield of several people were intact around my mom and I preventing my being crushed... and all I could see for two hours were a bunch of butts! Once in awhile someone would try and lift me up to see all the people. From the distance, the drunk guy again repeated the "Who's your favorite band?" line a couple of times, realizing that more people could hear him now that he was indoors and echoing, and everyone gave the appropriate response. By the fifth time, only the drunk people were responding to him, and by the tenth time people were laughing and moaning. Every so often, some loud music would come out of the arena like a band was tuning-up, but it wasn't Queen music so everyone figured it was just the opening act. At 1 pm, the turnstiles were finally opened. I was kind of keeping my guard around me as everyone pressed forward, and everything was moving faster the closer we got, but by surveying the area I thought I'd be safe. I had my ticket in my hand. The guy from the couple was going to try and enter first, then me, and then my mom. When I got to the turnstiles, my mom and the guy grabbed my arms on both sides and completely hoisted me over. A surprised old man tore my ticket while I was in mid-air. Suddenly, we were standing relatively calmly inside: the difficult part was over, and we were at least safe from here on out. People were still running everywhere and screaming, but the hallways were pretty big so it wasn't too dangerous as long as we stayed toward the edge. Most people were still outside, since we were somewhat early. An older 12-year-old tore around the corner, then his '70s-style tennis shoes screeched against the floor and he fell down for a second as he decided to which way to go. We knew we were sort of on a mission to walk fast toward a balcony and just get seats instead of wandering around indecisively like others. We went straight up toward the second level balcony, as others ran the opposite way down to the main floor. My mom and I and the people we'd befriended walked right next to the wall, and I pressed against it while just a few feet away scattered groups of people would sometimes run by full-speed. I would have wanted to be on the main floor, but my mom had previously explained to me how, unless we were in the balcony, we would have to actually stand through the whole show (there weren't any chairs on the main floor) and would hardly be able to see anything. Plus, along with the horror stories of people running in at the beginning of a rock concert, I had also heard how people supposedly got crushed to death against the stage... so sitting in the balcony was just fine with me. We got two seats in the front of the second balcony, just by the railing to the balcony below. We were on the right side of the arena, about halfway back, so we couldn't complain. Now, I knew this was the beginning of the biggest wait: sitting in the same spot from 1 in the afternoon to about 9 at night.

The main parts of the stage I liked (from viewing the pictures in my Live Killers album) were intact: the steps were lined with lights under Roger's drums, and middle of the main stage had a small plank stage that stuck out for Freddie to walk on, where the crowd could touch him but not too easily. Most of the instruments, and all of Roger's drum set, were covered in giant sheets of plastic. I'd never seen such big speakers; I had a flashback when I saw the black and white photo to the right because that's what they looked like with the house lights up. Throughout the afternoon, the lights in the arena would go out, then come back on... like we were being teased. Finally when it was about time for the opening band, the lights went off longer than usual and the band took the stage. The opening band was someone we had never heard of, and my mom and I both can't even remember who it was now (two people have e-mailed me saying it was a band called "Dakota"). I don't think they had any hits, and then apparently disappeared soon after. The crowd tolerated the first two or three songs. Then, every song ended with "Just one more song!" much to the audience's vocal dismay. I went on a trip to the bathroom, and they were still playing when I came back. Then they left. Ten minutes later, they came back and said "Just one more song!" and I think they played three. People were yelling, "We want Queen!" People were getting harsh to the point it was just uncomfortable even seeing the band on the stage. Everyone cheered when they left. The lights came back on. Another two hours. Just seeing them walk across the stage would have been enough for me, so at that age I really couldn't comprehend being in their presence for a whole two-hour concert. This wait was easier though because every second we knew the show could start. Seeing Queen still seemed like it was too good to be true, like some act of God would occur just before the show to prevent it. Then, the lights went out. There's no feeling like the wait in total darkness just before a Queen concert. It was 10 minutes of black and the loudest screaming I'd ever heard. I remember it was "scary" and so I think Brian might have also been playing the weeping guitar sound like the beginning of the We Will Rock You concert video. It was a good scary feeling though, like going up the first hill of a roller coaster. After several minutes of intense darkness and the crowd screaming, when I felt like my ears didn't have room for any more sound to enter (though I loved it), the even louder sound of thunder clapped across the arena with an incredibly blinding light. I could see everyone on the main floor have to turn completely around in unison toward the back of the arena because the lights were so bright. I kept trying to glance at the stage to see what was happening, but it was too bright to see anything... plus, in between the flashes, it was too dark to see anything. It was sort of an unnerving state, being totally blinded in that big of a place with that many people, and coming to the realizaton that it would be unthinkable to actually move around and that we were basically helpless. I was holding my mom's hand. Queen had the whole crowd paralyzed in their tracks before the show even began.

I'm not sure if the lights all rose up like in the We Will Rock You video or not (since we couldn't see), or if they were already raised because of the opening band. Eventually the thunder and noise turned to music. Finally, through my wincing, Freddie Mercury was suddenly in front of my own little eyes on the front extended stage in all the smoke. I'd never even seen a celebrity in person before, much less my idol at the time. I didn't think they would open with the fast version of "We Will Rock You" for some reason, since that's at the beginning of the Live Killers album and I thought they would want to do something different, but was surprised that they opened with a non-Queen song: "Jailhouse Rock". The stage looked similar to that in the We Will Rock You concert video, with the smaller panels of lights replacing the single giant panel from previous tours; however, I'm certain there was at least another entire, higher level of moving lights (not only from seeing them at the concert, but also looking at the pictures for years afterwards). The lights in the We Will Rock You video seem extremely cut-back. Instead of one row of panels of lights across the back of the stage, the panels were all over the place and the ones above the band moved straight up and down on poles and tilted back and forth. There were also little men somehow sitting amongst the panels who manually operated at least a dozen spotlights, and more guys doing this from a small section hanging down from the ceiling at the middle of the arena. Since the spotlights were directed from the top of the arena, there wasn't a big bulky spotlight booth in the middle of the main floor taking up space, and the audio booth was placed along the right side of the arena (down not to far from us) so it wasn't in anyone's way. In the darkness between a lot of the songs, flashlights darted around the stage... we couldn't figure out if it was the band or engineers setting things up. Thankfully, no one came out on stage before the show to announce the band (I've always thought this is really cheesy). Freddie had on those red leather pants with the blue knee-pads... and, unfortunately, that ugly mustache! "What do you think about my new mustache?" Freddie asked. (Mixed applause.) "Some people don't like it, but I just say 'fu** 'em.'" (Crowd goes wild.). Freddie drank some water, then tossed the rest out onto the crowd along with his cup. He tossed his tambourine out later, and I couldn't imagine what it would actually be like to touch it. Freddie also had that long silver microphone stand that he always danced around with in the videos. He was running all over the place; one second he was on the plank at our side of the arena, the next at the other side. The three high school girls who rode up with us were excited because when he went to the end of one of the planks he ended up level and close to them in the balcony (but upset because, had one not been on crutches, they would have stayed on the main floor where Freddie tossed his tambourine!). Once or twice I remember looking into the middle of the arena and some kind of explosion occurred in mid-air (apparently launched from the lighting duct at the top of the arena). There weren't that many lighters in the audience, but instead everyone was using those green glow-sticks that come out around Halloween (I think these were new at the time). The audience kept throwing their green glow sticks up on the stage until at times it was covered, and more than once Brian kicked off some back into the audience (and I think he might have been getting upset but I'm not sure!).

There were numerous parts of the show I knew had to be there... and they all were. The first was the "scary" sound effects and section of "Get Down, Make Love", where Queen showed off their lights. (At that age, I thought the erotic sound effects were simply supposed to represent the monster breaking-in on the cover of News of the World). Smoke shrouded the band, as the panels of lights took over and moved around to the audience's ooohs and aaahs. My mom and I were trying to figure out what was on Roger's bass drum, since it didn't look like an album cover; it turned out to be the white "face" design, also in the We Will Rock You video. Back then, concerts didn't have big video screens, so we just had to use the binoculars that we'd brought. Some spotlights were gathering on Freddie and Brian as they went to sit on two stools toward the right of the stage, and my mom got excited because we knew "Love of My Life" was coming. Freddie announced, "This is our first time in Omaha... " as the song started, and got the crowd to sing along like on the Live Killers album. Meanwhile, I had become a source of info for those around who wanted to know what the songs were; every time a new song would start, people would ask me what it was! I really don't know if anyone has ever actually been able to appreciate a concert as much as I did that night: I was only 7, but had every album except the first two, and knew every song they played except maybe two or three. But what's interesting is how fans often wish they could experience how a "classic" band was 20 years prior... and this is strangely how I felt I was experiencing the show, because at my age it seemed like Queen had been around 20 years. There were parts of the show, including the stage design, that were "legendary" to me, but were only 2-3 years old in reality. Now, 20 years later, they're legendary to everyone else. Periodically, the guy next to me changed the tape in his "hidden" tape recorder. We knew the show was close to the end when "Bohemian Rhapsody" began. Everyone clapped to the pre-recorded opera section, and as the Live Killers liner notes say: "The audience and the lights take care of the rest." The crowd went nuts when Roger hit the famous gong at the end.

I think there were two or three more songs, and then everything went black for about 10 minutes. Could it be that they were actually not going to play the standard "We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions/God Save the Queen" closing? The house lights may have even come on for awhile, then went back off. A few people were starting to leave, and I kept telling my mom that they had to end the concert that way, because that's the only way a Queen concert ends... but then even I was having doubts. Finally, the yellow lights around the gong all turned on, pointing directly on Roger, who started the drums of "We Will Rock You" and everyone stomped their feet and clapped. Of course "We Are the Champions" was next, and Freddie shook some of the hands flailing in front of the stage while singing it. I remember there was one hand jumping up and down that never got shook! Freddie bent his neck way back when he sang "... of the world!" at the very end like I knew he was supposed to from videos on TV, and we hoped for another song but knew that was probably going to be it. A grand finale of Queen's famous pyrotechnics began shooting everywhere from the stage, the lights were all moving around, and everyone was jumping all over in the aisles. Soon the pre-recorded Night at the Opera version of "God Save the Queen" did begin playing...but, nobody really sang to it since this is America and no one knows the words! At this point, I tried to make sure I was truly fathoming what it was like to actually see the band members in front of me since they'd be gone soon. Freddie was still dancing around and danced out a little door behind the drums, and the rest of the band followed one-by-one, with John being last as he waved to everybody one last time. The lights flickered and moved some more to the rest of the song, slowly going dark along with the rest of the arena, with the final rise of the crowd's applause. Perfect. Except for that damn mustache. We walked down what seemed like endless spiraling stairs on the way out...extremely slowly this time. My ears had that weird "ringing" feeling like everyone said I'd have, but that I'd never experienced before. Spotlights were panning the sky outside. We said goodbye to the couple we'd been with during the show. A guy in his late 20s started talking to us on the long way out; he laughed and told me how he'd also had to argue with his mom who said Queen would never come to Omaha. My mom asked him if he thought I'd even remember the whole thing since I was so little. He looked down at me, saw my grin from ear-to-ear, and said, "He'll never forget this."” - Jim

[jvdes]

david? it’s gretchen. i’m just returning your call about your niece.

alternatively titled: we’re all here for a fucking reason, you know. you don’t get sent some place like this for no fucking reason.

tw: violence, abuse, alcohol, vomit

it’s october 23rd, 2020, and it’s not like she’s not trying. you can say what you want about jude - a liberty nobody’s been willing to pass up before - but she is trying. contrary to popular belief, jude doesn’t, like, get off on being in a lousy fucking mood. she doesn’t like being miserable, it’s definitely not her big fucking goal. it’s just, misery seems to love her. but she’s a fighter, and she’s not gonna lay down and take it - she’s not gonna let it swallow her whole. not without a struggle, at least. 

so, it’s the anniversary of her mom’s death, but she’s making an effort, you know? and at 8:30 pm, she’s sober, she’s made it to the weekend without getting in trouble at school, and she’s pretty dead set on pretending that nothing is as fucked up as it is, or she’ll at least die trying. 

she’s even - get this - displaying a little bit of school spirit. 

2:07 pm

“are you going to the football game?” clara wilkerson had asked in sixth period chem lab, and jude tried not to laugh. it was important that she didn’t laugh, because clara, her chem lab partner, was pretty damn hot. she was smarter than jude, a pretty brunette with big green eyes, and she seemed to think jude wasn’t a total waste of space, so, you know. big win for jude, who was hoping that, sooner or later, she might be able to get in clara’s pants.

“i dunno if that’s my thing,” jude had shrugged. she had nothing against sports, and she had nothing against standing around outside at night, but it still wasn’t an activity she’d ever been dying to partake in. 

“what?” clara feigned shock. “watching the eleven meanest guys in our school homoerotically tackle the eleven meanest guys from our rival school while sipping watered-down hot chocolate that burns off your taste buds? what’s not to like?” 

“well, when you put it like that,” jude laughed. 

“exactly. it’ll be fun, you’ll see. here, give me your hand,” she instructed, and jude handed it over with a skeptical look. clara proceeded to write her address on jude’s hand, which was maybe some kind of weird power play and/or mating ritual, since clara had jude’s number, and could have absolutely just texted it to her. “so, you’ll pick me up at 6:45?” clara asked. and jude, to her credit, agreed. 

10:38 pm

it’s not like it was easy, pretending that it wasn’t the day that it was, that there wasn’t that heat beneath jude’s skin. pretending that she was distracted, like it was okay. nothing’s ever easy, right? and it wasn’t okay, not exactly - there was the clipped tone of some of her jokes, a little too high, a little too thin. something inside of her chest at the center, aching a little. 

but it was almost okay, or she could almost pretend that it was almost okay, and it was really nice to not be at home. it was nice to have someone to laugh at her jokes, nice to be standing around in the cold autumn night under the too-bright stadium lights. 

and now, as she braces herself against the wind, walking through the parking lot hand-in-hand with clara, she thinks that maybe she almost had fun. “you’re smiling!” clara announces gleefully, and jude looks over at her. “told you it’d be cool. like i said - what’s not to like? you, me, a bunch of screaming teenagers around us; it was fun.”

jude grins over at her. the parking lot is busy, now, hoards of kids moving en masse from the bleachers, body heat between them in the sharp, cold breeze. “oh, sure,” jude agreed. “i’m all about football now. you’ve converted me.” 

so it’s kind of nice. except - well. they’re walking, and there’s this plane overhead. and it’s such a small thing, jude knows that, but her smile fades all the same, because it’s like this bitter fucking reminder. like the world is mocking her for being stupid enough to think that she’d ever be okay, that she’d ever be able to make it through a night without spiraling, least of all tonight. for being stupid enough to think she deserved that much in the first place. 

without thinking much of anything at all, she turns to kiss clara then, under the distant whirr of the plane, as if maybe the noise of their breathing will be enough to drown it out. it’s their first kiss, jude’s hands on clara’s hips, like blood on blood alone will be enough to ground jude, enough to let her forget. like if she couldn’t just say it ( any of it, what plagues her ), then being touched can be enough to anchor her to the ground. always a valiant effort with her, right?

but then they’re standing in a flood of light, a truck full of boys stopped in front of them. the boys in the back whistle at them, and the one driving hangs his head out of the window, face an ugly sneer. jude recognizes him, of course - just some asshole, like all the boys are, but she knows him; he beat the shit out of her at a party for talking to his ex, and jude had ended up in the hospital with 47 stitches. “moved on from your regular sluts, bright?” he says, and jude pulls away from clara. clara rolls her eyes, but jude, she squares her shoulders and flips them off, squinting in the light. 

“they’re just being jerks,” clara said quietly, “let’s go.” jude’s car isn’t that far away. they could just go. they could just walk away. but when was jude ever going to leave well enough alone? that heat, that raw anger pulsing beneath her skin, barely contained all day, waiting for any excuse to slither out of her like a sickness. just give me a fucking reason. isn’t that what she’s always thinking?

“the fuck did you just say?” jude challenges, and clara tenses beside her, gripping jude’s arm through her jacket. 

“just surprised you found someone willing to be out in public with you,” he said, opening the door and approaching them. he moved toward them in that quick, confident way that boys seem to always have about them. he was close to them now, so close, and fucking with them. fucking with them just because he could, just because he saw them, because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and boys love seeing if they can scare girls. “not that i meant to interrupt,” he adds, skeezy, gross. “go on. go ahead, i’m happy to watch. we can all have a little fun here, right? after party, yunno,” he continues, and jude can smell the alcohol on his breath, that’s how close he is to her. 

she doesn’t stand down, though, not even as clara’s nails bare into her skin even through her jacket. it’s that wicked, wild heat inside of her, that vicious anger. ( you’re like a feral fucking dog, clara will yell at her in a few minutes, once it’s all been said and done. ) “he’s not worth it,” clara whispers, “we can just walk away.”

jude does not just walk away. “get back in your shitty fucking truck, and get the fuck away from me, or i’ll kick your ass,” she says, trying to feel taller than she really is. he has at least five inches on her, maybe more, but she crosses her arms anyways. 

( she must know by now, though, that there’s no way this is going to end well, right? maybe she had been trying, maybe she had been sober and not in any trouble so far, but she must know now that the choice to not walk away is the fatal one, right? which just goes to show, she knows: anything that happens next is deserved. anything that happens next is just her doing it to herself. )

“oh, yeah. ‘cause we all remember how well that worked out last time,” the boy says, and that’s enough. 

“jude,” clara says, “walk the fuck away.”

the high school parking lot hasn’t been redone since 1976, and the concrete parking blocks are falling apart, crumbling where they stand, chunks of concrete strewn around the parking lot. maybe, if anybody’d cared enough to try and fix up the parking lot any time in the last 20 years, there wouldn’t have been a chunk of concrete at jude’s feet. and without a chunk of concrete at her feet, she certainly wouldn’t have sent it flying through the windshield of the truck. but there was, and she did, and so the cop that parked in the high school parking lot during school events came over, and jude wound up being driven home in a cop car. 

but she’d tried, you know? 

11:21 pm

not that it mattered. not that she’d say so to her uncle, who dragged her inside by the collar, a hand on her neck she could just not shrug off. “what in the everloving fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, as soon as the door was shut behind them, closing out the cool autumn air and leaving room for only guilt. 

it was a question that she was uninterested in answering, so she raised a middle finger behind her as she climbed the stairs. she moved to slip into her bedroom, but he followed her like a shadow, gripping her by the arm before she could manage. she whipped around, and she wanted so desperately to be calm, but she wasn’t. “have you got any idea how fucking lucky you are, jude? that they’re not pressing charges, that you’re here right now, and not in a fucking cell? jesus christ! and you’re looking at me like you’re pissed off. who the fuck do you think you are?”

jude glared up at him, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild. what a miserable fucking question. “i think,” she began flatly, “that i’m a future player for the Mets.” there was that vein on his neck again, and she knew, of course, that she was only making things worse for herself. that’s what she does best, but it’s okay, everyone - she’s going to get what she deserves. “it was a good throw,” she added, “you should have seen it. you would have been proud.”

“did you think of that on the way home?” he asked quietly. he, too, was trying to pretend he was calm, and doing a shitty job at it. “how long did that one take you, jude? ten minutes? twenty?”

“i thought of it on the fly, actually,” she answered, and he laughed - an unpleasant, humorless, bitter little laugh in the quiet, airless space of the house. “it’s a talent. a calling, even.”

“your calling is being a destructive piece of shit. good for fucking nothing, i swear. have you ever taken responsibility for a single thing in your goddamn life? no. everything is always somebody else’s fault, right, jude? just like your fucking mother. you’re not a future player for the Mets. I’ll tell you where you’ll be in two years, jude. you’ll be dead, or you’ll be in jail. you wanna talk about being proud? your mother, she was no prize, but even she would be so fucking ashamed of you.” it’s the way his voice bleeds into a vocal fry when he’s angry, the way his eyes burn.

she closed the door to her room behind her, and david let her. she allowed herself a minute or two to get herself together, shaking on her bed, before she slipped out of her bedroom window, into the cold night. 

12:12 am

she’d tried, right? but that had gotten her nowhere, so obviously, it was a total waste of time. that’s what she was thinking as she sipped shitty vodka from the little bottle she’d pocketed from the skeezy liquor store down the street: what a waste of fucking time. 

tonight was always going to end this way, wasn’t it? there was no reality where she drove clara home and kissed her goodnight; jude didn’t deserve that. there was only now, here, leaning over the railing of the overpass, vision drunk and swimming, thinking about what a waste of fucking space she was. she polished off the bottle, then flung the bottle into the street, closing her eyes and listening for the cracking noise of glass meeting asphalt. 

maybe i’ll go get high, she thought, then turned around and started walking against the wind.

2:08 am

david bright stood around the corner of the wall, a metal baseball bat in his hands. it was the anniversary of his sister’s death - or had been, until midnight - and somebody had broken into his fucking house. well, broken in was a strong word to use, since he’d forgotten to lock the deadbolt in lieu of who had greeted him at the door the last time he’d opened it, so a bobby pin or a credit card was enough to jimmy it open.  still - he could hear the culprit moving around in the dark, and from where he stood, he could see the front door, still wide open, swinging lazily on it’s hinges, letting in a draft, an open square of darkness in the wall like a missing tooth. 

he was going to handle it, though. he’d had a bit to drink, but you don’t play piano for years without learning some hand-eye coordination, and whoever it was that was stumbling around his house after leaving the door wide open behind them, he could handle them. he was a man who handled things, wasn’t he?

he could see their shadow, swaying in the night, in the moonlight, and he turned the corner, swinging the bat as he did, proud of himself for catching the intruder off guard. 

jude swore as the bat hit her shoulder, and, far from sober, that one hit was enough to send her slipping to the ground, landing on her ass. 

david saw her, then - that flash of red hair, the wide, frightened eyes, the jacket that had belonged to his sister. he’d deny it, of course, even to himself - he’d thought she was an intruder, right?

( of course, maybe he always knew it was her, even before he grabbed the bat, even before the first swing. why else would he not call the police? )

he’d heard her voice, though, after he’d hit her for the first time, but he swung again anyways, like it was a movie he was watching, like things were already in motion, like they were outside of his control. so he swung again, his position readjusted to hit her in her new space on the floor, and there was that loud, sick and vicious sound of metal hitting skull. a horrific thud. 

instinctively, slowly, a wounded animal, jude curled into a ball, arms above her head in defense, and he swung a final time, leaving an angry red mark on the soft flesh of her skin. “stop!” she slurred in the darkness, tasting blood. 

jude saw, even through her swimming vision, that single flash on his face, that crack in the facade; an expression so familiar it made her feel sick. that horror. what have i done? anger that’s gotten the best of you. a burning under your skin. some things run in the family, she thought dizzily, terribly, and then, it was like it had never happened, and despite what had all just transpired in no time at all, despite the smell of alcohol coming so strongly from the both of them, he was calm again.

“you forgot your key,” he said, maybe as a question or maybe as a statement, and he took a shuddering breath. they stayed there, jude gazing up at him.

to david, her glassy, dilated eyes seemed to look right through him, a fever-bright stare that seemed to burn into his skin like a brand. ( had she always looked that much like delilah? with those fucking eyes, so fucking green? jesus. )

it was quiet for a long time before he finally said, “something needs to change, jude.” jude laughed, so quiet and so weak it was almost a rasp. and how. 

without saying any more, he turned around, disappearing into the hall with footsteps that echoed in jude’s mind, making her head ache furiously. she sat there as he left her behind, body aching like one complete wound. 

shame and anger spun in dizzy circles around her head, and it was a long time before she thought she’d be able to make it upstairs to her bedroom. she dragged herself up, eyes closed, her only true sense the metallic taste of blood. he’s going to kill me, she thought, as she closed her bedroom door behind her. he’s going to kill me one day, and i’m going to let him. and that will be on me. 

she wants to break something. she wants to break. she wants the room to stop spinning, she wants the pain to stop, for the pain to get worse. FUCK! this is something she owes to herself. letting men do what they want to her - since when is that her? and her uncle was right, she knows; her mom would be so fucking ashamed. jude is so fucking ashamed.

something needs to change. she barely stifles a sob. i am so fucking spineless. holy shit. 

she barely made it to the bathroom, but she did, vomiting vodka and stomach acid as she clung to the porcelain. please let me black out, she thought. please let me black out. i don’t wanna remember this. please let me just forget this. 

she did black out. when she finally managed to stand on two feet, to crawl out of bed and drag herself into the bathroom to vomit again, she saw her reflection in the mirror, the skin of the right side of her face an angry swell of black and red, and she thought to herself, i must have been in a fight at a party or something. just a fight, or something like that. some stupid fight. 

[lonelyreputation]

Caught

A/N:  Hello hello! Here’s some (more) fluff!! Who am I? But anyway, I wrote this from this sensory request and it was actually the first request I GOT ON THIS BLOG (!!!) so I'm so sorry that it’s coming so late!! But I’ll always remember this request bc it was the first🥺 

Anywaayyyy thank you all so much for reading, sending me the nicest messages, reblog-ing, and requesting prompts!! I get so much motivation from you all it’s insane!! Thank you!! I appreciate every single one of you!!

PROMPT: Licking your fingers while eating Cheetos

Chat Chat Chat | MASTERLIST

Warnings: One (1) swear word & a bit of a heated make out session😶

Word Count: 3.9K

Being a twenty-year-old and playing sold out shows in stadiums around the world was abnormal.  But what was more abnormal was that the twenty-year-old who spent most of his time on a tour bus than in his own apartment was your boyfriend.  Not many people could say that their boyfriend was in Amsterdam one day and then Paris the next.  

Shawn had spent spring in Europe on a tourbus and hotel rooms, and his summer wasn’t much different, except for the fact that he was on his North American leg of the tour.  He had convinced you to come traveling across America; it was more in your budget and convenient with your university schedule.

Every now and then, Shawn would have some down time, but it wasn’t very often.  He kept apologizing whenever he was pulled away and promised to spend time with you more.  But you didn’t mind.  Shawn had given you a front seat to his career and everything it entails.  And it was fascinating.  You would be in one city and everyone would already be advancing for a show that was two weeks away.  The precision and detail of obscure jobs that some crew had gone over your head in the past, but seeing all the mechanics of everything that goes on for the show to happen…it made you appreciate Shawn’s performances even more.

You had gotten fairly close with Shawn’s head of tour merchandiser, Dane, and often found yourself helping him set up the merchandise stands when Shawn was off at a meet and greet, sound check, or wherever Andrew had pulled him away to.  

“Are you playing in the little soccer match they have going on later today?” You asked Dane as you carried over a large brown cardboard box. 

He held up a finger to you as he finished up his count in of tour posters and typed it on a tour merchandise app on his phone, “Yeah, you?”

You shook your head as you used a key to tear through the sealed box.  Once the tape that held the box together was ripped, you opened the four flaps and saw that you were counting in some sweatshirts.  Silently, you counted ten sweatshirts, put them in a pile on the side with a sticky note on top with a number ten circled and then counted out another ten sweatshirts. 

“I’ve never been good with hand eye coordination,” you didn’t look up at him as you continued to count ten sweatshirts, “I’ve always been better at cheering people on from the sides.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

You had just finished circling a ten on a neon green sticky note as you capped the sharpie and looked at Dane, “You’ve noticed?”

Dane nodded with a smile on his face as he hung up a piece of paper with a blown up image of a keychain; he stuck a large sticker with the price of the keychain on the corner of the paper.  He hung it up on the black tapestry so that way fans would be able to see it before they got up to the front of the merchandise line.

“You’re always there for Shawn when he walks on and off stage.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go to the bathroom when he’s performing.”

You blushed as you finished counting the last of the sweatshirts in the box you carried in, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“He loves it,” Dane took a t-shirt and clipped the sleeves of it to the top of the tapestry, “The week before you came he literally wouldn’t shut up––Y/n’s coming next week, did you know?  I just love her so much!  I miss her so much!”

You bunched up a t-shirt and threw it at Dane as he miserably failed at impersonating Shawn’s voice, “He didn’t say that.”

“Ask him yourself.”

“Oh, I––“

“Ask who yourself?”

You spun your head around and came face to face with your boyfriend.  You smiled at him and threw another balled up shirt at Dane.

“Hey!  That’s merchandise we’re selling tonight!”

You waved Dane off and rested your hands on your hips, “Before I came on tour were you non-stop going around telling people I was coming and saying how much you love me and saying how much you missed me?”

Shawn still had a slight smile on his face as he gazed at you.  His facial expression hadn’t changed since he walked up behind you, so you thought you had proved Dane wrong, but that wasn’t the case when Shawn spoke up.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, why?” He spoke as if it that information was public knowledge.

Before you had the chance to say anything, you felt a soft material collide with the back of your head.  Your head slightly jerked forward from the contact of the t-shirt that was just thrown at you.  You quickly picked the shirt off the dusty ground and glared at Dane, “This is merchandise that you’re selling tonight.”

Dane barked out a laugh as he finished setting up the merchandise display.  He stood back and admired his work for a few seconds before informing Shawn he was going to check on the other stands and make sure everyone else on the merchandise team had completed their count in.  They did some sort of bro handshake, before telling one another that they’d see each other shortly for the soccer game.

Shawn walked up to your side and threw an arm over your shoulder.  You leaned your head back on his shoulder and looked up at him, “Excited for the match?”

“Yeah, just wish you were playing.”  

Your eyes closed as Shawn lightly traced circles on your upper arm with the tips of his fingers.  Shivers ran down your spine as you closed your eyes, “You’ve seen me play.”

Shawn let out a laugh as he started walking, guiding you around the main floor of the arena, “Even though it is probably a good idea that you’re not playing, it still would’ve been fun to be on the same team.”

You let out a snort as you snaked a hand around his back to pinch his hip.  Shawn lightly jerked away from you before he tickled your shoulder in retaliation, “I’d make sure we’d be on separate teams.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed in response and let the conversation die down.  Whenever a crew member passed, you offered a smile and Shawn greeted them by name.  Seeing the dynamic he had with his crew was heartwarming because you had read of horror stories of main acts being absolute divas to their crew members.

Shawn led you backstage as the two of you wandered into his dressing room.  You sat on the couch as he went over to a little duffle bag he packed just for the soccer game.  Carefully, you watched him as he bent over, staring at how his shoulder blades could be seen through his white t-shirt as he rummaged through the bag.  

Swiftly, he tore his white shirt off and you were graced with a second of seeing your boyfriend’s muscles.  The sight didn’t last long because Shawn threw his t-shirt at your face.  You scrunched your nose up at the slightly sweaty smell mixed in with his signature scent. 

“Hey!”

It only took you a second to throw the shirt off your face, but it was a second too long because Shawn was already in a vintage t-shirt and sliding on a pair of athletic shorts up past his thighs.

“That’s not fair,” you whined.

Shawn threw his head back in laughter as he picked up his sneakers.  He walked over to where you sat on the couch, picked up your legs without any hesitation, and as he sat down on the couch, he rested your calves on his thighs.

He hunched over your legs as you watched him slide his sneakers on and tie them up. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, but he managed to get his sneakers on without complaining for you to move your legs.  And you weren’t complaining about the physical contact your legs had with his thighs.

Once he was done tying his shoes, he sat up and stretched his back, a few pops emitted from his body and you flinched, not liking the sounds of bones cracking together.

Shawn rested his hands on your knees as he leaned his head on top of the couch cushion, eyes closed he said, “I don’t wanna play.”

A small chuckle left your lips, “That’s a lie.”

He turned his head slightly towards you and opened one eye, “Yeah, I do wanna play,” he let out a sigh, “but sitting here with you is so nice.”

A loud laugh escaped your lips as you looked over at him, both of his eyes now opened and intently staring at you with adoration.

“We’re literally doing nothing.”

“As long as I’m with you,” he lifted his shoulders up in a shrug, “I don’t care what we’re doing.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.  Truth is, you loved doing nothing with him.  You savored the days when all Shawn wanted to do was spend all day tangled in your bedsheets.  You adored the days when you would sit on your couch reading a book––in a similar position to how you were sitting now––and Shawn would be hunched over scribbling lyrics down in a journal, using your legs as a writing surface.

You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Too sweet.”

“Uh huh,” Shawn grumbled as he pointed to his lips with his index finger, “I want a real kiss.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before swinging a leg over his lap, adjusting your knees on either side as you straddled him.  Shawn’s hands instantly moved with your body as they landed on your waist.  Unlike your hands that were pressed flat on his chest, Shawn’s hands slowly rubbed your lower back and come back around to your waist.

The only thing more heavenly than his touch was the feeling of his kiss.

Shawn craned his neck up to reach your teasing smile and captured your lips in a sweet kiss.  Your smile was slow to disappear; being in Shawn’s presence was a reason for you to  smile in itself, but once he pinched your hips silently telling you to focus on kissing him, you thought that was a good enough reason to stop smiling.

Your hands trailed up Shawn’s chest until they rounded his neck.  He hummed as he pulled you closer to his chest and your fingers began to play with the small curls on the nape of his neck.  He tilted his head to deepen the kiss at the same time his hands tightly balled up the bottom of your shirt.  He lifted your shirt at a painstakingly slow pace to the point where you wanted to rip it off yourself.

Shawn had the shirt bunched up right under your bra.  Breaking the kiss, you leaned back, untangled your arms from around his neck and raised them over your head to aid Shawn in taking your shirt off.  Once the shirt was off, he carelessly threw it somewhere behind you, and without any hesitation, Shawn reattached his lips to yours as you felt a magnetic pull bring you closer to him.

His calloused fingertips were hot on your bare skin as they danced around.  

Just as you lowered your body to grind against his, a loud single knock, followed by a Shawn, caused both of your heads to snap toward the door.  Shawn practically threw you off him as he looked for your shirt––for anything––to cover up your exposed chest.  

You were leaning back against the arm rest of the couch, trying to calm down your erratic breathing, as you watched Shawn’s eyes widened as the door handle rattled.  It looked as if Shawn threw every ounce of common sense out the window as he threw a pillow that hit you in the face.

You clutched the pillow in your hands as you briefly looked down at it, and then back to Shawn, realizing what he wanted you to do with it, “I’m not––“

“Use it, Y/n––“

“Shawn!”

Your harsh whispers were cut off when Dane walked carelessly into the room.  The pillow was still limp in your hands; in shock that Dane came into the room with little announcement.  Shawn took notice of your chest still out for Dane to see––if he hadn’t seen it already––and with panicked eyes, he flung himself from the other end of the couch to lay on top of you.

You let out an oof as you felt Shawn’s full body weight collapsed on you; the pillow nestled between your stomachs.  You had never complained about Shawn being on top of you, but with this position, the arm of the couch was digging into your back and you and causing you to cramp up.  

“Shawn,” Dane said his name again as he continued to walk further into the dressing room, “Are you gonna come and warm up? The game starts in–––Oh.”

You tried to peak over Shawn’s shoulder to gauge Dane’s facial expression, but with the way Shawn was pressed up against you, you couldn’t see him.  But from the suggestive tone of his voice, you knew that teasing would be soon to follow.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You squeaked out a not at all as Shawn let out a frustrated of fucking course.

You smacked Shawn’s back with his hand at his crude response.

Dane let out a bellowing laugh, “How ya feeling down there, y/n?”  You heard his footsteps come closer and your hands clutched the fabric of Shawn’s shirt out of nervousness, “This is pure gold.  Andrew has said that he’s never caught you two in the middle of doing something––I, of course, called total bull on that––and I’m so happy to have caught you two.”

“Dane,” You said as you drug out the vowels in his name.

His laughter rumbled through the room.  Even though Dane was the person you were closest to on Shawn’s crew, it was still embarrassing to have been caught in a compromising position with your boyfriend.  It felt like you were fifteen.

“I’ll be out in ten,” Shawn answered.

Dane’s laughter died down as you heard his footsteps carry themselves back over towards the door, “I’ll put a timer on, Oh, and Y/n––“ you could hear the smirk on his lips, “––I hope to see you on the sidelines, preferably with a shirt on.”

You dug your head into the crook of Shawn’s neck as you felt all of the blood rush to your face.  Your hands were still tightly hanging onto the back of Shawn’s shirt for the next few minutes as he stayed in his position on top of you.

“At least it was Dane?”

At his weak attempt of lightening up the mood, you pushed him off and sat up on the couch, “At least?! He saw me without a shirt!”

“I covered you up!”

You shot a glare toward his direction as you got up from the couch and searched for your shirt.  It was crumpled up in a ball on the coffee table.  You let out a deep sigh, of course your shirt was thrown somewhere that was obvious.  Lifting the shirt up by the sleeves, you frowned as you examined all of the wrinkles.

“Here,” Shawn was already walking over to his duffle bag, “You can wear my shirt––“

“I’m––No,” you answered him as you tugged on your shirt, “I’d rather wear a wrinkled shirt than have Dane point out that I’m in one of your shirts.”

“But––“

“Let’s go,” you were a few steps away from the door as you held your hand out for him to take, “I want to pick a snack from the vending machine before the game.”

Shawn let out a sigh and grumbled something about how he loved seeing you in his shirts, but he still took ahold of your hand. The two of you walked out the dressing room as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.  A small smile overtook his face.

The two of you walked toward the backstage part of the arena where the vending machines were held.  You brought up a finger to your chin, debating on what snack to pick, as the vending machine lights illuminated your face.  Once you decided what snack you wanted, you pressed a knuckle to the letter L and then to the number 3.

You watched with excitement as the circular black rings slowly pushed your snack forward.  And then as it was finally tipping over the edge, you smiled as the bag fell with a soft fmmp as it reached the bottom of the machine.  You let go of Shawn’s hand to retrieve your snack from under the plastic black flap.

“Cheetos?” Shawn questioned just as you stood up and opened up the bag with a loud crinkle, “If I’d known you’d want Cheetos, I could’ve like added it to my rider and it would’ve been in the dressing room for you.”

You shrugged your shoulders as you held out the bag, offering your Cheetos to Shawn.  He dug his hand into the bag and took one out.  He popped it into his mouth with a loud crunch as he closed his eyes, “God, it’s been forever since I’ve had these.”

Shawn led you out of the vending machine room as you continued to share your Cheetos with him, “I remember having them as a snack after soccer games,” you shared, “You know how parents would sign up to bring snacks after games? I feel like every parent would buy that big value size pack of like twenty-four different chips, and I––“ you licked your fingers that were covered in Cheeto dust, “––Always picked Cheetos.”

Shawn tilted his head back in laughter as he pushed open a back exit door and held it open for you to walk through, “I was always more of a Fritos guy.”

You scrunched your nose up, “Fritos?”

“They’re good!” Shawn defended himself as the people from the tour crew, who were playing in the soccer match, came into view, “Don’t knock ‘em ’til you try ‘em.”

You scoffed, “There are literally dozens of other chips you could chose from,” you stopped walking when you and Shawn came up to the sideline his ‘team’ was on, “Doritos, Lays, Chex Mix––“

“Hey, Y/n!” Your eyes widened as you heard Dane yell out your name.  His feet hit the pavement hard as he ran over, “Glad you could make it––fully clothed.”  While he was talking in a calm soft voice, not raising it to cause suspicion, it still made Andrew’s head perk up.

“You caught them?” Andrew looked up from tying his shoes at Dane.

You blushed as Shawn’s manager looked between the two of you and then back at Dane as you tried to defend yourself, “He didn’t really see anything––“

“See any of what?” Brian had jogged over and started to stretch, lunging on his left leg as he reached down to touch the toes on his right foot.

“It was nothing––“

“Just Shawn and Y/n going at it in the dressing room,” Dane shrugged as he gave you a wink, “Boyfriend, girlfriend stuff.”

Andrew’s shoulders slumped as he reached over to his bag and pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to Dane, “I’m his day-to-day,” Andrew grumbled, “Can’t believe it was the merchandise manager who caught you two first.”

You stood there dumfounded, hand frozen in your bag of Cheetos.  You and Shawn kept your relationship as private as possible––private from the media, your social medias, and made sure to keep your PDA to a minimum when you visited him on tour.  So it was a bit comical to see how intrigued Andrew and Dane were in catching the two of you.

Brian straightened up from his stretching and held a fist out toward Shawn, “Sweet, man––Just like Denver last tour?”

Your bag of Cheetos dropped to the ground, the little you had left of your snack spilled, covering the pavement with an artificial orange color.  You felt the heat of your oncoming blush rise up to your cheeks.  With Brian being Shawn’s best friend, you had an inclination that he knew some––if not most––of your sexual relationship with Shawn.  Which you were fine with because you told your best friend almost everything.

But it was always a topic you never discussed between the two of you.  It was mutually understood that while you talked to your best friend’s about each other, you would never talk about it directly to each other.  Shawn talked to Brian about you; You talked to your best friend about Shawn.  But never would your best friend bring it up in front of Shawn.  And never––did you think––Brian would bring it up in front of you.

The same thought seemed to be stirring within Shawn’s head as his eyes widened for a second.  He was only shocked for a split second more before he let out a chuckle and returned the fist bump to Brian and chose to ignore his comment about what happened Denver, “Thanks, man.” 

“Thanks man?!” You turned to face Shawn who had an amused smirk on his face.  

You weren’t mad at the display of masculinity in front of you, in fact, you saw the humor in it, but it was still embarrassing having your boyfriend be congratulated in front of you for hooking up.

The sound of a high pitch whistle echoed off the pavement.  With the sound of the start whistle, and players heading toward the makeshift field, it took away any chance you had of laying into Shawn more.  

Brian ran away laughing, escaping the choice words you had for him, which just left you with Shawn.  You crossed your arms over your chest stubbornly and tore your head away from Shawn as he lifted a finger under your chin to try and get you to look at him.

“Good luck kiss?”

With a playful sigh, you leaned up on your tip toes to press a peck to Shawn’s smile.  His eyes were still closed when you pulled away and his smile grew wider, “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you said as you couldn’t fight Shawn’s contagious smile, “I love you a lot.”

Shawn let out a laugh as a few people hollered at him to come over, “How unfortunate for me,” he pressed another quick kiss to your lips before he started to walk backwards toward the game that had started without him, “Are you free tonight?”

You leaned your weight on your left leg as you tapped a finger on your cheek, “Hm…I’m watching my boyfriend sing at a little show,” Shawn stopped walking backwards, his full attention on you, and showed all his teeth in a grin, “But I’m free after.”

“It’s a date,” Shawn said before he spun around and ran toward the soccer ball.

[calacuspr]

PR lessons from the European Super League announcement

Fans were allowed back to watch football in person for the first time this year at the weekend when the FA Cup semi-finals took place at Wembley Stadium.

In normal times, that would be something to celebrate and a key story dominating the sports headlines.

But when news broke on social media of the breakaway European Super League (ESL), fans and media alike could talk of nothing else.

Clearly some senior sports news journalists had been briefed, based on the accuracy of the financial information that they shared.

Many of the revelations, which were subsequently confirmed, suggested a tone deafness on the part of those clubs involved, some of whom have instigated redundancies, player pay cuts and even applied for staff furlough grants from the UK government, while millions have struggled during the pandemic.

The story also showed serious communications errors by the organisers and lessons that all sports organisations can learn from when it comes to issues and crises.

TIMING

The news of the proposed European Super League broke on Sunday afternoon but it was not for some hours until the official statement was released to the public.

This gave plenty of time for the news to be digested by media, fans and players alike, who almost universally expressed outrage and fury at the perceived greed and senselessness of the proposals.

Governing bodies, fan groups and politicians were united in their anger and opposition.

A plan should have been in place to ensure that a comprehensive statement was made available at a pre-agreed time to put the ESL’s views across at the point when the story was expected to break.

As it was, the official release was published late at night, ignoring one of the basic tenets of PR that you don’t leave others to fill the void with negativity when controversial developments take place.

NARRATIVE

Whether fans like to admit it or not, they love to see the top stars of world football playing for or against their team.

In the past week, seeing Neymar and Kylian Mbappe going toe-to toe with the might of Bayern Munich’s array of stars, for instance, provided a mouth-watering and engrossing tie that had everyone salivating at its spectacle.

But the Covid-19 pandemic has seen clubs lose tens if not hundreds of millions in lost revenue from ticketing, merchandise and food and beverage which have presented all sorts of financial challenges for clubs, particularly at the top of the game where salaries are sky high.

While some of this could be recovered once fans are allowed back into stadia, UEFA’s own new Champions League proposals appeared not to have convinced the 12 ESL clubs enough to gain their support when it came to it.

The initial ESL statement included: “The formation of the Super League comes at a time when the global pandemic has accelerated the instability in the existing European football economic model.

“The pandemic has shown that a strategic vision and a sustainable commercial approach are required to enhance value and support for the benefit of the entire European football pyramid.”

Given the parlous financial situation most clubs find themselves in, particularly the giants in Spain and Italy, claims that this is motivated by anything other than money lack credibility.

Florentino Pérez admitted as much when he finally spoke to a Spanish news organisation more than 24 hours after the story first broke, citing the need to recover lost earnings caused by the pandemic.

The ESL did not focus on the challenges facing the clubs and the reasons why the UEFA proposals did not make sense.

In doing so, they handed the moral high ground to their critics and rivals who themselves have not always taken into account the views of fans, players or clubs when making their decisions.

LEADERSHIP

The ESL statement quoted just three ESL executives, Real Madrid’s Florentino Pérez, Manchester United’s Joel Glazer and Andrea Agnelli, Chairman of Juventus.

When the press release was published on each club’s website, there were no individual quotes from executives of those clubs (even if they were not included in the original statement) with the curiosity of United’s Glazer even quoted on the website of arch-rivals Liverpool and Manchester City, something that would previously have been considered unthinkable.

With such considerable financial backing, why were the executives of each club not guided on the key messaging so that they could engage with fans and media who are interested in their specific perspectives the day after the announcement?

If their executives really believe in the proposals they are seeking to implement, why not have the confidence to put the ESL case forward in person?

With no Video News Release or interview opportunities – remember that Zoom has been used in these socially-distanced times to great effect – the organisation gave the impression of arrogance and hiding behind its corporate backers at a time when the clubs’ fans are confused, angry and in need of direct engagement.

ENGAGEMENT

Talking of engagement, the late, great Sir Matt Busby, who led Manchester United to the title and European Cup as it then was, once said “Football is nothing without fans.”

What the Covid-19 pandemic has confirmed is that football’s global appeal has not waned in empty stadia, despite the clear lack of atmosphere without fans cheering on their heroes.

The scheduling of matches over the past few years has made the loyal, died-in-the-wool match-going fans feel disengaged and ignored, with long journeys at inconvenient times required to accommodate television schedules in lucrative overseas markets.

Is it any wonder that in his statement, Perez said: “Football is the only global sport in the world, with more than four billion fans.” Hardly a ringing endorsement of those in Madrid who live and breathe their club and undermining his later comments that audiences were falling.

While football tourists make up an increasing number of those who attend matches in person, clubs used to rely on a loyal, mainly local fanbase, whose traditions and rituals are the fabric of the atmosphere and intensity which makes top level football such a spectacle.

Granted, fans have never been an integral part of the decision-making process for clubs and football administrators, but so many of the leaders of the ESL clubs rarely, if ever, give media interviews or talk directly to the stakeholders who should matter most.

No wonder the scenes at Chelsea’s Stamford Bridge were so dramatic, with former goalkeeper and now Technical Director Petr Cech having to plead with fans who were peacefully protesting and blocking the route for team coaches to enter the stadium car park.

The fact that fans from each of the six English clubs came together in a combined effort to thwart the ESL plans and even hold a Zoom call with UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson showed the depth of feeling and the importance fans have in the game.

Coaches of the English ESL clubs claimed not to have known anything about the plans until they were revealed at the weekend. Liverpool coach Jurgen Klopp, forced to speak ahead of the Leeds United game when his club’s owners had not yet faced the media, said: “People are not happy with it, I can understand it. I can't say a lot more because we were not involved in the process - not the players, not me - we didn't know about it. We will have to wait how it develops.”

What of the players? Threatened with the prospect of being excluded from international competitions, how would they feel about these developments that they have had no opportunity to discuss before they were seemingly confirmed?

Liverpool captain Jordan Henderson reportedly led a captains’ call before a co-ordinated campaign by him and his team-mates to express their displeasure on social media.

Liverpool sponsor Tribus pulled out of their deal before the ESL project collapsed. Time will tell how other club sponsors feel given the negative feedback towards their partners.

VISION

Football is all about entertainment, rivalry, and the jeopardy that can see a club win a trophy and be relegated in quick succession.

There is an argument that top clubs playing against top clubs in a closed format without relegation may lose its novelty, but even without engagement, the initial communications did nothing to excite and inspire the fans who loyally follow their teams home and away.

At a time when the football family should be working together to support all levels of the game from grassroots to elite level, these developments showed how little club owners care about their traditional fanbase.

The prospect of shorter games and other rule changes to suit a younger audience whose attention spans are supposedly limited added to the uproar and underlined the lack of understanding of the fundamentals that make football great.

As Adam Crafton, from The Athletic, put it: “It’s amazing. I just spent 48 hours thinking ‘surely there’s more to this? Surely they have a plan to articulate the vision?’ And then you realise, there really isn’t.”

It has been said that football clubs have been brands for some time, and if you subscribe to that train of thought, how much damage has been done to those brands and how will they recover?

***

When clubs started pulling out of the ESL on Tuesday evening, it did not take long for more to follow and forced the ESL to make a second, late statement which was so rushed, it did not even go out on headed notepaper.

Tellingly, almost 24 hours later, the ESL had not been updated to include the latest developments.

The ESL debacle raises further questions about the importance of club owners as custodians of these great institutions rather than simply using them as income-generating playthings with no consideration for culture and tradition.

While there has been widespread criticism and this has continued to be handled poorly from a communications perspective, too many organisations have been sleep walking to the point where this has now happened.

And as a result of that apathy, football’s reputation has been tarnished and it will take a long time to repair it.

[maybedancanwrite]

Here’s my first fic for the Harry Potter fandom. Hinny Fic.

A one-shot behind my art. For more, visit my Instagram art page: @dan.artchive

Read here: FFnet or AO3

It was a warm and sunny Friday that shone through the streets of Diagon Alley. Two Aurors wearing their dark red Auror robes were casually walking through the crowd of shoppers. The first Auror appeared to be average in height that had brown hair, tanned skin, and bright grey eyes. The second one was a tall, stocky, strawberry blonde bloke with pale skin and piercing blue eyes. One would think that the pair were normal wizards walking through the famous Wizarding shop in London but the two of them were under a charm to look different. If Alastor “Mad-eye” Moody was alive, he would have seen right through the charm with his eerie magical eye, hence, the moniker, “Mad-eye”.

 Apparently, the second Auror was on the verge of nervousness the entire day playing out the worst scenarios possible in his head that could happen on what he was about to do that afternoon. The first Auror found it amusing that the man, who saved the Wizarding World, was worrying over a huge question that could be answered by a yes or no. They strode to the lone jewelry shop in magical London to obtain the thing.

 “Okay, here we go,” huffed Harry Potter, the second Auror in disguise. He opened the door and the bell above it rang, signaling the store keeper that someone has arrived.

 “Relax, mate, I’m sure she would say yes. You’ve been dating for almost four years now,” said Ron Weasley, the first Auror in disguise for the nth time, assuring him again and again that nothing would go wrong. They had this conversation over a month ago when Harry asked for Ginny’s hand from all the Weasley family members, in secret, of course. If Ginny knew, she would have thrown a fit stating that no one gets to decide to who she marries. 

Harry only nodded to the words of comfort coming from Ron. He greeted the store keeper a good day and asked for the ring that he requested to be made a week ago. The store keeper, named Jane, asked for his magical signature (a receipt in the Muggle world) for security and clarity purposes. Upon seeing the signature, Jane’s eye widened in shock and confusion. Who wouldn’t be confused if the magical signature (designed to be forge-proof) of Harry Potter were to appear but the man before her was completely different from the famous Harry Potter? Nevertheless, she kept her confused thoughts to herself and headed to the back of the shop to obtain said requested ring.

It took about two to three minutes before Jane arrived bringing the velvet box. Harry gingerly grabbed and opened it to see a beautiful engagement ring perfect for his beloved girlfriend. The ring was a beautiful silver band encrusted with diamonds around it with the peridot gemstone, her birthstone, on top of it all. It was perfect. Perfect ring for his perfect love of his life. Harry thanked her and requested to keep it a secret for now, because Harry realized that sooner or later, the press will know and would have published it in numerous papers with exaggerated headlines.

********************************

It was now four in the afternoon when Harry realized that Ginny will be off from practice in an hour. Somehow excited yet nervous, Harry fumbled the velvet box silently praying to the heavens that she would say yes. Harry, who took half a day off with Ron, was lounging in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place after they went to retrieve the ring from the shop. Ron, who stayed with Harry after, was still snoring on the couch sometimes murmuring Hermione’s name.

 Harry aroused Ron from his sleep telling him that they need to go to Holyhead in ten minutes to finally ask the question. Ron, internalizing Harry’s word, was now fully awake and as excited as Harry. The pair then groomed themselves decently, especially Harry.

Ten minutes and a crack of noise later, the pair of Aurors, now not disguised, were sauntering along the grounds of the Holyhead Harpies’ stadium after some security checks and asking their purpose of visit. Harry told Ron to wear his invisibility cloak only to remove it until after the proposal, after she says yes, that is if she says yes, and snap a surprise photo.

The pair strode down to the stadium’s Quidditch pitch stands just in time to see the Harpies in the middle of their cool down routines. Harry roamed his eyes to a sea of women in green robes to locate where his girlfriend was. After a moment or so, he located her. There she was, looking so hot and sexy even in her current state; hair a mess, flushed cheeks and sweaty. 

 Thirty minutes later, the captain-slash-coach, Gwenog Jones, was now giving post-practice announcement, one of them was a two-day break much to the delight of the Harpies. Afterwards, the Harpies, who were now heading to their locker rooms, saw Harry approaching the team fumbling something under his robes. The ladies greeted Harry with a wave of hand, some nods, some saying “Wotcher, Potter”, and some pointing to their lead chaser, Ginny Weasley. 

 Harry returned their greetings and then walked to the center of the pitch with Ron behind, still under the invisibility cloak. He saw Ginny starting to remove her protective gears on her legs. He walked to her and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek only to be swatted by her small adorable hands pointing out that she was sweaty as hell. The two of them giggling while a hidden Ron was fake gagging. She was about to remove her protective arm gears when Harry took hand and donned his serious, loving and passionate face.

 “Gin, I-I don’t know how to start this but…,” started Harry, rubbing his thumb along her hand. Ginny, who knows her boyfriend really well, noticed how rubbing his thumb along any surface, this time her hand, is a sign of him being nervous of some sort.

 Ginny was about to speak out her thoughts when Harry gently asked her to let him finish.

 “Gin, the past years has been my absolute happiest moments. Living like a normal person, no mad dark wizard after me every year, no life threatening activities ever since – well, except for the raids and field missions,” he said, chuckling at the last part.

 “What I’m trying to say is…,” continued Harry, hoping the next words that will come out of his mouth would be not be too much for her. “I don’t want you to be my girlfriend anymore.”

 Ginny’s jaw drop every slightly with tears now starting to roll down her flushed cheeks. She was too frozen to remove her hand from his. The thing she was scared the most was now slowly happening. The thought of Harry leaving her for someone better than her was always at the back of her mind. 

 Unbeknownst to Ginny and Harry, Ron was fuming. This was not what Harry told him. This was not the scene he pictured out when Harry told Ron that he was asking his only sister to be his wife. Ron was about to pull the invisibility cloak when Harry went down on one knee, his other hand trembling as he held the velvet box. The box opened itself knowing that Harry had probably cast a non-verbal spell. The box, to Ron and Ginny’s surprise, was not the ring but a golden snitch.

 “Ginevra Molly Weasley, my love, my dear Gin, I’m sorry for shocking you like that. I love you and I don’t think that I can go on in this life without you in it. I may be a prat, a git, or whatever do you call me sometimes when you’re annoyed, but this prat loves you with all my heart,” he said, professing his love for her. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks, all flustered. “Would you let me be the happiest man and be my wife? Will you marry me?” asked Harry, gently taking the snitch from the box and caressing it softly along her hand revealing the peridot ring. 

 “Y-yes! Of course I will marry you, you prat,” said Ginny, hitting Harry square in the chest. “That’s for scaring me like that, Potter.”

 Harry slid the ring to her ring finger and kissed her. “I love you so much, soon-to-be Mrs Potter,” confessed Harry, hugging her so tightly.

“I love you, too,” replied Ginny, inhaling his fiancé’s lovely scent that she loves so much. When the couple pulled apart, Ginny asked about the snitch in question.          

 “The snitch…It’s the snitch I caught from my fifth year, isn’t it?” 

 Harry nods. “I got it from Madam Hooch. It seems that she has been keeping all snitches that won every House finals. Took me a lot of time convincing her but at the end she caved in,” he chuckled.  

Suddenly, a bright flash interrupted the couple’s sweet moment. Ron had finally removed the cloak and took a photo of the newly engaged couple, much to Ginny’s chagrin. Ginny was supposed to be mad at him for interrupting their moment but she noticed that his eyes were slightly puffed so instead of being mad at him, she hugged her brother. 

 “Alright, you,” said Ron, slowly pulling himself from his sister, trying to discreetly sniff and not to sound hoarse. “Go to your future husband and I’ll snap a photo of you.”

Ginny obliged and went to Harry for their first proper photo of their engagement. Harry, in his Auror robes, held her by her waist while pressing a kiss on her head and inhaling her flowery smell despite the sweat. Ginny leaned against Harry, her puffed eyes showing nothing but love and happiness with her bright and wide smile. She showed her ring to the camera while pointing at it. The snitch hovering close by. 

Harry was over the moon, the girl he pined for most of his sixth year, who then became his girlfriend for almost four years, was now about to become his wife. At the prime age of twenty two, he was at his happiest.

[jonathanvik]

Starlight Dream - Chapter 1

The slop squelched onto Seina's plate. Pieces of her dinner splashed onto her plain blue dress, staining it. Not that the server cared, glaring at her to keep moving. The workers only had two twenty-minute breaks in their thirteen-hour day. The servers tolerated no dillydallying, especially from rambunctious young girls like her.

Seina kept her head down and kept moving, else she draw more attention to herself. She'd have to spend some time before bed cleaning it. By rule, the higher-ups allowed the workers only one outfit.

Her parents waved her over, and Seina joined them. Before the darkness, her father had worked at an insurance firm as a salaryman. Years of hard labor and ill nutrition had left him gaunt and bony, losing most of his hair during the process. Despite this, he kept a positive attitude. Her father never stopped smiling, always saying there was a silver lining behind anything. Seina wasn't sure what silver lining existed to a life with a 78-hour workweek of menial labor, and being fed food even dogs would be reluctant to eat. Still, she appreciated the encouragement.

"Oh dear, did you receive a stain, Seina?" Seina's mother said as she approached the grimy rusty table her family sat around. While somewhat plain, the matronly woman wore a face people instinctively trusted. "I'll ask around to see if I can get an extra detergent ration. Can't have the taskmasters seeing my daughter walk around in soiled clothes." Like her father, her mother was also always smiling. It made Seina feel guilty for being miserable most days.

Not that they really had days anymore. Thick smoke covered the sky, making even the sunniest days hazy and ugly. The masters' power had ensured the sun would never shine again.

Seina gave the nearest taskmaster a nervous sideways glance. Pointed teeth glistened from under his lips, marking him as the monster he was. She gave him a respectful nod, not showing an ounce of disrespect. She'd seen people staked for less. Their boss enjoyed twisting people into grotesque art pieces to mock their human workers. For the majority of Seina's ten-year existence, vampires had dominated the world.

Somehow, Seina got her stomach to agree with the slop they'd served her. Her parents weren't as picky, happily sipping away at their meal. After another tentative bite, an interruption caught her attention, making her blood turn cold. A high-ranking vampire had entered their eating area, a black silk cape flowing behind him. They were never a good sign.

"Attention. The Dark Lord is looking for volunteers for tonight's entertainment, and you're the lucky bunch, 2-B!" The man gave them a cruel smile. "Come this way. I'd advise not to keep Master Lothaire waiting."

Fear rooted Seina's feet in place, knowing the likely fate which awaited them. She'd seen it often enough. Master Lothaire loved making them watch his entertainments. Her father put a comforting hand on her shoulder, wearing a bright smile.

"Don't worry dear. Most groups come back alive afterward. They can't afford to kill entire scores of us. They'll pick a few and leave the rest alone."

Her mother nodded in agreement, also wearing a wide, encouraging smile. "He's right, Seina. I better take care of that stain. Have to look our best for the vampire lord! How's my hair look?"

"Just smashing honey!" Her father replied. "You'll knock them dead!"

Her mother blushed. "Stop it!"

While not as optimistic, Seina got her feet moving. She joined the others in her workgroup towards Master Lothaire's favorite colosseum, allowing the head vampire to shackle her.

"What a dreary place!" Colten said, examining the strange new world he'd found himself in. He flew high into the smoky area, examining everything with interest. What a terrible place to find himself. The people looked shabby, dressed in rags. Their living conditions seemed little better. Most buildings were either dilapidated or empty. The fear behind the human's eyes broke his tiny heart. Something terrible had happened here.

As he scanned his surroundings, something caught his eye. Were those people in chains? Dark creatures were guiding their captives towards one of the few well-maintained buildings in the city. It was a massive dome-like building and, unlike most structures, had bright flashing lights. From the captive's expressions, most believed they were going to die. It shocked him to see children among them.

Colten screamed in frustration. What could he do? His power was limited, drained from his trip, and he was only a tiny fairy. Dark energy spilled from the people's captors. They were powerful creatures of pure darkness. The evil intensified when he looked towards the shining dome. He sensed great malice there.

"Darn it!" He looked towards the scared people again and made a decision. Moments later, he flew towards the colosseum, praying he could do something.

People packed the stadium. They bumped and jostled Seina as she attempted to walk through them. Master Lothaire must have called everyone in the Osaka district to attend his games. The vampire elite were jeering and having fun, watching the helpless, terrified humans with amusement. One grabbed a random passerby, and Seina looked away, not wishing to see what happened next. She'd heard and seen enough to know the rest.

The entire building was a testament to the master of humanity's power. Statues of people wearing expressions of agonizing pain decorated the walls. Rumors said they were actual people, turned to stone through a vampire's power during their death throes and maybe even still suffering. The details on them gave some unsettling credence to this theory.

Soon they reached a large circular room with countless bleachers, each occupied by a vampire eager for tonight's festivities. Master Lothaire himself sat on a throne of ivory, looking down upon his domain from the balcony. The vampire lord was handsome beyond words, taking Seina's breath away, despite knowing his true monstrous nature. The proof hung around his neck. He wore a necklace of skulls, each of a world leader he'd killed after taking their country for his own. In the throne beside him sat Lilha, his queen. She also shared her husband's inhuman beauty, only her eyes betrayed her lack of humanity, and Seina shivered when they shared a glance. She was only a toy Lilha would enjoy before throwing away.

"Welcome, friends!" Master Lothaire said. Despite not raising his voice, Seina could hear him despite the distance. "Tonight marks the fifth anniversary of my conquest of the world. In honor of that victory, I've provided entertainment and games for all to enjoy. Eat, drink, and be merry! For this kingdom will last a thousand years and beyond!" The vampire crowd broke into uproarious cheering and applause.

Seina's legs shook. This was worse than she'd first suspected. The odds of survival seemed almost impossible. She calmed down somewhat when her father put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, we'll get through this." Her father said, wearing a warm smile.

"Our first entertainment will be a favorite of mine, a battle to the death!" Master Lothaire said, continuing. "Against your favorite and mine, Dreven the Unkillable!"

Bar doors opened in the fighter's pit, revealing a shirtless vampire. Unlike most of his kind, this vampire had a powerfully built body, seeming more alive than his undead kin. He played to the crowd, who gave him cheers and tossed him decayed flowers.

_Wow, Dreven the Unkillable. I feel sorry for anyone who's going to face him. He's never lost a fight, ever. _Wasn't his win count eight thousand to zero or something?

"And his opponent will be a volunteer from worker group 2-B!" Master Lothaire said, surprising Seina out of her pondering.

_This is so bad! _That meant someone she'd know for most of her life would soon die. It was too horrible to even consider. The girls in her division openingly wept, almost terrified beyond reason. Uncle Kenji offered brave words, but they fell on deaf ears.

"No need to rush." A vampire dressed like a cheesy announcer, complete with a tacky polka-dot bow tie, said. "But if you don't volunteer soon, there will be consequences."

The captive humans remained silent, too frightened to do anything. The vampire announcer's annoyance grew by the moment.

"Still no response? Oh well." The announcer shrugged. "I'll make it easier for you. The fighter will come from chapter D. That simplifies things. You better choose quickly, or you will all die in one minute."

D? That was Seina's division. No, please no. Anything but that. Usually, divisions had five people, but 2-B was missing two. One died of exhaustion last week, and the other suffered a terrible mining accident.

It was too horrible to consider. Would this mean that... Seina yelped in surprise as someone pushed her forward, howling in pain as she landed face-first on the fighter's pit floor. She spat after getting some dirt into her mouth.

"Well, well! Looks like we have a volunteer!" The announcer said. The crowd burst into laughter.

"What? No!" Seina's eyes widened in horror. What had just happened? Who pushed her? She looked up to see her father with a hand extended outward.

"Dad?" Seina said, too stunned for words.

"Sorry honey, but it was either you or us!" Her father replied.

"Don't worry, Seina. We'll always remember you!" Her mother added.

"W-what?"

"We'll be sorry to see you go. But don't worry, we'll have a new daughter in your honor!" Her father continued.

Her mother gave an emphatic nod. "Yes, Seina is a beautiful name. I'm sure she'll love it!"

Seina just stared, unable to believe what just happened. The crowd broke into more laughter and cheers, and the vampire king gave a nod of approval.

"Silly child," Lothaire said. "Haven't you listened to my teachings? In this world, it's kill or be killed. Love is only a weakness. Your parents were right to sacrifice you."

"Yep, sorry dear, but he's right!" Her father said, nodding in agreement. "You should have known."

"Hopefully, the new Seina will be smarter." Her mother added.

"Bring out the weapons. This should be entertaining." Lothaire said.

"What?" The shock of her parents' betrayal still hadn't left her. Seina had trouble adjusting to the concept that they expected her to fight for life. "But I'm only a ten-year-old girl!"

Dreven smirked and shrugged. "Them's the breaks, kid." From the audience's expression, they would enjoy seeing her torn limb from limb. The humans, except her parents, looked away, not wishing to watch Seina's gruesome fate.

A vampire pulled a wide variety of weapons into the fighter's pit. They ranged from swords to guns. None looked light enough for a ten-year-old to wield. Seina broke into tears, beyond terrified, unable to even stand straight. She didn't want to die. How could this happen?

With an exaggerated swagger, Dreven walked over to the weapon rack and withdrew a sword larger than Seina's entire body. With his vampiric strength, it seemed like a toy in his hands.

Since fighting back was pointless, Seina closed her eyes, preparing for the end. She prayed it wouldn't be too painful.

"Please don't cry! Be strong!" A kind voice said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Seina blinked through watery eyes, looking towards the kind stranger who comforted her in her final moments. She gasped in shock when she got a good look at them.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves, you jerks! You're the worst of the worst!" The strange creature said, berating the vampire horde.

Her rescuer was the purest white she'd ever seen. His head was bulbous, larger than his torso. The face somewhat resembled a cat, but with longer ears. Puffs of fur popped out from his enormous ears. Somehow, tiny wings supported the creature's weight, allowing him to fly around. He was also the cutest thing Seina had ever seen.

"What are you?" Seina asked in amazement, wondering if she was dreaming, or if the recent events had shattered her sanity.

"My name's Colten. And I refuse to allow this farce to continue any further!" The cat creature puffed out his chest.

"And what are you supposed to be?" Dreven said, pointing his enormous sword at the intruder.

"Um, just a fairy here to help." Despite his obvious fear, Colten refused to back down.

"A creature of good?" Lothaire snorted in derision. "How ridiculous. Another fool rushing to their death."

"He's right! You'll only get yourself killed!" Seina refused to allow someone else to die for her sake.

"No way!" Colten shook his enormous head only to scream in pain a few seconds later as Dreven struck him with the blunt edge of his enormous sword.

"Colten!" Seina rushed to her fallen friend's side. Thankfully, he only seemed bruised and not dead. A wing looked damaged, though. It seemed unlikely he could fly anytime soon.

"How adorable. Wanting to die together, I see." Dreven turned towards the announcer. "Hey, is it alright if the fairy joins the girl's side?"

The announcer gave a thumbs up. "Sounds like a plan!"

"Looks like we're in this together." Colten gave Seina a weak smile as she cradled him in her arms.

"Yeah." Tears dropped onto Colten's little head as Seina broke down.

She'd just made a friend, and he was now dying for her sake. Seina hugged him, holding him tight and began sobbing. The vampire crowd broke into mocking laughter, enjoying seeing this helpless girl suffer. Seina didn't care or even notice, focusing on her new friend instead. She supposed at least she wouldn't die alone. Seina held one of the fairy's legs as they waited for the end. Somehow, despite everything, some happiness bloomed in her heart. Seina was glad she'd met someone as wonderful as Colten.

"You're lucky, little girl. Two on one is much fairer odds." The vampire warrior broke into uproarious laughter. "Start the round already. I'm ready for some carnage!"

_This is it. _Seina cried out in pain and surprise as bright light blinded her, almost dropping Colten. The light faded, leaving a very confused Seina.

"What was that?"

"No way!" Colten said.

"What is it?" Colten's expression surprised Seina. Was that hope on his tiny face?

"Look down!" Colten pointed towards a strange object that hadn't been there before. Seina grabbed it without even thinking, turning it around in her hand. It was a pink-colored diamond-encrusted brooch.

"It's so pretty." Seina had seen nothing so beautiful in her life. It made the splendor the vampire lord surrounded himself with seem dull in comparison.

"You're a magical girl, Seina? I don't believe it! I'd thought only a special few could become one!" Colten was ranting, speaking at speeds almost impossible to understand. "This is amazing, spectacular!"

"What? Magical girl? What are you talking about?"

The tiny fairy's expression turned smug. "It means we can wipe the floor with these vampire creeps!"

Dreven snorted in derision. "Really?"

"I'm not following." Seina was beyond lost. How could a brooch allow her to fight? Blind the vampire to death?

"Hold you brooch up into the air and yell, Change Change, Magical Love Dress Up!"

"Okay." While certain it would make her appear ridiculous, she'd try anything at this point.

Seina stood up and gave Dreven a determined glare. She sent another one towards the vampire king himself. If this gave her power, she'd put an end to this nightmare herself. "Change Change, Magical Love Dress Up!"

Bright light engulfed Seina, and her entire body glowed a transparent blue. In a flash, everything about her body changed. Her short black hair extended into two long, luxurious braids. The bland rags she wore transformed into a pink frilly dress with a short skirt. The elaborate new costume gave Seina the vague impression of the long-dead lotus flower she'd seen in old books. A large yellow bow was across her chest, and her brooch stood in its center.

Colten laughed. "I knew it! You are a magical girl!"

"Huh?" Seina blinked and looked down at herself, both amazed and baffled.

"That's the terrible power that will destroy us all?" Dreven broke into mocking laughter, and the other vampires joined him. Lothaire chuckled, sipping at his wine. His wife only looked confused.

"That was disappointing. I was hoping for something more exciting!" Seina's mom pipped it.

"How am I meant to fight with this?" Seina gestured to herself. Except for her new pretty outfit, she didn't feel any different. How could a simple dress protect her from bloodthirsty monsters?

"What do you mean? You can totally floor him now!" Colten argued back with far more confidence than she felt. "Hold out your hand and focus. You can summon your special weapon that way."

_A special weapon! That might change this situation around! _Seina did as instructed, and a long staff appeared in her hand. Attached to its end, was a bubble blower?

Dreven snorted. "That's your great weapon?"

"Yeah! What the heck!" This magical girl deal was a rip-off!

"Well, with that mighty weapon, I better switch to something more dangerous." Dreven threw aside his sword and withdrew a pistol from the weapon rack. "Start the fight already. I'm curious what this magical girl can do."

"Don't worry, you got this," Colten said with the utmost confidence.

"What are you talking about! I have a bubble blower, and he's got a freaking gun! This isn't even remotely fair!"

"Alright. The battle will begin..." Before the announcer could finish his pronouncement, the sound of the gunshot echoed through the stadium, and Seina toppled over.

"What?" Colten said in shocked outrage. "You can't do that!"

"I'm a vampire. I don't fight fair," Dreven replied, and the crowd broke into mocking laughter. They berated the magical girl who believed anyone could defeat the ruthless, unstoppable vampires.

"Seems the fight's over with, folks! The winner is Dreven!" The announcer said, not caring about the vampire warrior breaking the rules.

"Um, actually I'm fine!" Seina stood up, shaking the dust from her dress. "It just startled me."

Much to her amazement, the bullet hadn't even scratched her skin despite striking her right in the forehead. It amused her to see the vampires shocked at her survival. Maybe victory wasn't impossible after all?

Dreven, however, didn't seem that impressed. "You survived, so what? A vampire can survive much worse." He threw away his gun and took back his sword. Without waiting for the announcer to begin the fight, he charged forward with blinding speed, sword raised to sever his opponent's head.

The colosseum's roof exploded as Dreven crashed through it, exposing the building to the chilly night air. Vampires screamed in fear and surprise as pieces of the roof collapsed on top of them. Seina stared at her extended arm in amazement.

"Wow." Seina couldn't believe her strength. She could have sworn she'd only tapped the vampire.

"Um, Seina. Your bubble blower is meant for casting spells, not a blunt weapon." Colten said. "But that works too I guess."

"Oops." Seina blushed with embarrassment.

"She won." Lilha, the vampire queen, said in the dead shocked silence.

"She has some power, I suppose." Lothaire didn't seem too impressed despite Seina's astounding display of strength.

A strange thought popped into her head. "Does this mean I win? The announcer didn't actually start the fight."

"I guess so. Congratulations!" Colten patted her on the leg.

"I'm not finished yet!" Dreven tossed people out of his path as he stomped back towards the fighting pit. The vampire warrior was soaking wet and pieces of seaweed latched to his body. Had Seina knocked him to the ocean? That was miles away.

"Oh, you're back. Ready for another butt-kicking?" Colten said. Seina nodded, not sure why the vampire had returned after she'd beaten him with little difficulty.

Dreven broke into a disturbingly wide smile. His grin stretched out unnaturally, cackling while doing so. "Foolish girl. You think you can beat me?"

The vampire warrior extended a hand and drove it into his chest. Much to Seina's horror and shock, he withdrew something red and beating. Had Dreven just torn out his own heart? Clenching his fist, he crushed it. Gore and blood oozed down his hand. Dreven's grin extended as the hole he'd torn into his chest vanished like it never existed.

"I'm not like other vampires. Destroying my heart can't kill me. Nothing can! As long as a single atom of my body exists, I can't die!"

"Okay, but was that really necessary?" Seina's stomach felt queasy, horrified by the display. He could have just told her.

The vampires in the crowd broke into mocking, jeering laughter. They sent praises towards their champion and insults towards his magical girl opponent. Lothaire gave them a tilt of his head in respect.

"Hold on!" An irritating realization struck Seina. "Why are you fighting in a colosseum if you literally can't die? That doesn't seem fair at all!"

"We've vampires, kiddo. We don't play fair." Dreven said in a purr.

"No, you're just being a jerk," Colten replied.

"So, shall we begin our game again?" Dreven withdrew a nasty-looking rusty spiked mace from the weapon's rack.

Seina, however, was unimpressed. Already, she'd grown tired of the vampire's nonsense. An idea popped into her head, and her lips curled into a small smile. Yes, that would solve her problem nicely.

"Ha! You'll find Seina not so easy to beat!" Colten said. "Use your magical bubble blower to finish this fool!"

"I can't agree more." Seina walked up to her opponent, who watched her in bemusement. She gripped her staff tight, adjusted her aim, and swung with all her strength. Dreven screamed in pain and terror as the magical girl launched his body high into the air, flying the hole in the ceiling. Seina watched as the vampire flew higher into the sky, bursting a hole through the smoke cover and disappearing into the starry night sky.

"There, he won't cause anyone any more trouble!" Seina said, proud of herself. "If he can heal himself forever, fine. But that doesn't matter if he's stuck floating in space!" It amazed her that the plan worked. Just how powerful was she now? The entire audience broke into another stunned silence.

"Seina, that isn't what I mean at all," Colten said.

"Sorry?"

"I meant for you to use your magical powers to obliterate him."

"I can do that?" Seina blushed with embarrassment.

"Yes, you're a magical girl. It's in the name." Colten sighed, then shrugged. "Well I guess a victory's a victory." A clap interrupted their conversation.

"Very amusing," Lothaire said, standing from his throne. "It appears you have some power."

"Lord Lothaire, are you going to face this child?" The vampire lord's wife asked. "Surely it's beneath you. Let me handle her. I'd love to punish a misbehaving child."

"No, this girl represents something that I can't allow to stand. The pathetic scum down there must learn that no such thing remains." Lothaire gestured to the humans, watching the scene. Seina saw what the vampire lord meant. They stared at Seina with awe, their eyes sparkling with an emotion she'd rarely seen in her short life. It created a strange bubbling feeling in her stomach.

"It looks like we're fighting the big boss guy now," Colten said. "Good, that saves time."

"Understand this, child," Lothaire said. "Dreven was the weakest of our number. A vampire of lesser capabilities. I won't be such an easy opponent."

Seina gulped and her hand trembled, not doubting the vampire king's pronouncement for a moment. When humanity fought against him, no weapon could stop him. Even a barrage of nuclear weapons had proven useless. Rumors whispered that his vampiric power made him invincible.

"Smart girl. You understand the trouble you're in. You won't even lay a hand on my husband." Lilha said. "You will die, not even realizing it until it is too late."

Lord Lothaire stared down at his opponent. His expression was unreadable, but his confidence was undeniable.

"Did you know, no weapon has ever even touched Lord Lothaire?" Lilha said, continuing her boast. "They can't. He has utter mastery of eternity."

Colten, however, seemed unperturbed. "So what? Seina will kick his pointy teeth in."

"Understand this, little fairy," Lilha said, her tone superior. "My husband's power allows him to control time. Any timeline he doesn't care for, he discards like trash."

"Time control?" Alarm had crept into Colten's face. Seina's hand trembled, realizing how much trouble they were in. What a fool she'd been thinking anyone could defeat the masters.

"He sifts through the possibilities until the one he desires comes into fruition." Lilha extended a hand, gesturing to everything around her. "Nothing ever happens unless Lord Lothaire wills it!"

Seina put her hands into her face. With some difficulty, she fought back tears, refusing to cry again in front of these monsters. So much for hope. Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

"That's not good." While Colten's confidence had faded somewhat, he continued putting up a brave face.

The entire crowd of vampires broke into applause, and Lilha soaked in their admiration. Lothaire continued to stay where he stood, impassive.

"Give us a good show, magical girl. It should be quite entertaining. Wouldn't you agree, my husband?"

Lothaire continued to stay where he stood, unresponsive. Seina blinked in confusion. Why was he just standing there, motionless? Why wasn't he bragging and jeering, as usual?

"Husband?" Lilha asked in concern.

Lothaire's body jerked uncontrollably, foam gathering around his mouth. He stumbled forward, each step clumsy and awkward. With a strangled gurgle, the vampire king toppled forwards, landing in the fighter's pit. His body jerked several more times before stopping to a halt. Dead.

"No, has he overused his power?" Lilha's voice barely rose above a whisper. Her eyes were wide in horror and disbelief.

Siena blinked. "Eh?”

[hermannsthumb]

Newt, being the New England trash that he is, insists on taking Hermann to a baseball game that’s totally not a date...

secret baseball fan newt is so fun. i made the opposing team my team because we may be bad but gotta represent and they can win in my fantasies 😔 also will newt starting college when he's like 12 ever not be funny to me? no

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“It’s the great American past time,” Newton says. “Like--I don’t know. Cricket for you. Right? A cultural thing. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Technically speaking, Newton,” Hermann says, feeling very much like he does understand, and that he is very much on the right side of the argument here, “you’re not American either.”

Newton laughs. “And thank fuck for that! Okay, these are our seats.”

Their seats are--perhaps predictably--stiff, uncomfortable, and grimy, though Hermann’s thankful Newton was conscientious enough to book them ones designed for disability access. But Newton stops him with a hand to his chest before he can so much as take a step towards it and begins digging around in his tote bag. “What is it?” Hermann says.

“One second,” Newton says, and then--pulling a large, thin something out--laughs triumphantly. “Cushion! For you. More comfortable.”

Hermann takes it. It’s torn in one spot, its white padding poking out, and looks as if it’s seen better days. “‘MIT Dad’?”

“I played Little League in college,” Newt explains with a shrug. “I wasn’t really good, though. The pitchers always threw the ball over my head. Come on, sit, sit.”

The MIT Dad stadium cushion is placed over Hermann’s seat, Hermann’s cane is tucked comfortably to the side, and they sit down. Newton immediately begins digging in his bag once more. “Oh, I almost forgot! You need one of these.”

He presents Hermann with a Red Sox cap that matches his own. Hermann takes it gingerly. “Are we rooting for the same team, then?”

“Obviously,” Newton says. “I’d have to stop speaking to you if we weren’t. Kidding!”

He gives a loud, fake laugh, one that makes it clear to Hermann that he was not, in fact, kidding. The only thing that Newton takes a fraction as seriously his work is baseball: Hermann doesn't think Newton ever missed listening to a Red Sox game on the tiny, cannibalized radio they kept in their laboratory. “Thank you,” Hermann says, a bit awkwardly, and slips the cap on. It’s too big.

Newton insisted they show up abysmally early, so early they were the first in their entire section, and they watch Newton’s team practice as other spectators finally begin to file in. Newton is already fidgeting. “Should I get us beer now? Or later? I have peanuts in my bag--”

“Peanuts?” Hermann says. 

“Tradition,” Newton says. He suddenly stands up. “Okay. Okay, I’ll get us beer and see if I can snag you a score card from somewhere. It’s a lot of, like--paying attention to numbers, and addition, you’ll love it.”

He scurries out of their aisle and past two men wearing the opposing team’s colors, though he stops--briefly--to scowl at them. They scowl back. Hermann desperately hopes a repeat of the last World Cup Germany played in isn’t in store for tonight: Newton became so excitable that he got into a shouting match with a j-tech and ended up with a rather furious black eye. Potential injury aside, Hermann really just doesn’t fancy holding an ice pack to Newton’s face for hours on end again. “Be quick!” Hermann calls after him.

The two men in orange and black sit further down Newton and Hermann’s row. They give Hermann a dirty look, too. Right--the hat.

Hermann will admit that this is not how he expected the weekend to go. A brief stopover in Newton’s hometown between speaking engagements--surely (Hermann thought) that meant an awkward dinner with Newton’s father, Geiszler family photo albums dug out of storage and presented to Hermann proudly, perhaps a tour of Newton’s old campus. But all Newton wanted to do was go to a bloody baseball game, his first in a decade--and he wanted to go with Hermann. Hermann couldn’t really begrudge him the request.

“Got the beer,” Newton declares proudly. He hands one large plastic cup to Hermann, then digs around in his pocket and produces the promised scorecard and a golf pencil. He’s penciled in the team names: Red Sox, surrounded by exclamation marks and underlined thrice, and Orioles, with a frowning face to the left of it. 

“Don’t you think I ought to pick a side independent of your bias?” Hermann says, staring down at it.

“It's not a bias if I’m right,” Newton says.

“But the other mascot is much more interesting than yours,” Hermann says, casting a glance down at the opposing fans Newton had a run-in with earlier. A little cartoonish oriole smiles back at him from their own caps. “It’s a bird, not--someone’s laundry.”

Newton’s expression darkens. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that for the sake of our friendship. Peanut?” He holds a plastic bag out to Hermann. Hermann shakes his head; though, secretly, he can’t help but feel a bit pleased Newton implied they were friends. “I can get you other food if you want? They have big hot dogs and stuff. I’ll pay for anything you want.”

“I’m fine,” Hermann says.

“Anything. I’m serious.”

“I’m fine,” Hermann repeats.

He takes a large sip of beer so Newton will stop scrutinizing him. It’s not exactly to his taste: Newton prefers the lighter sort, IPAs and the like, and can never seem to understand that someone (in this situation, Hermann) might prefer something else. Though it's not as if any American beer is up to Hermann’s standards, to be frank. “You have a foam mustache,” Newton says, and wipes off Hermann’s upper lip with the cuff of his sleeve.

Hermann blinks at him. “Ah,” he says. “Thank you, Newton?”

They share a few seconds of strangely tense eye contact. Then Newton shakes his head. “Laundry,” he grumbles. “Unbelievable. Wait, it’s starting! Shut up!” 

It turns out Newton’s behavior during baseball games is far, far worse than his behavior during the World Cup. He shouts and cheers himself hoarse; he holds one-sided arguments with the umpire; he boos so obnoxiously someone two rows back throws a peanut at him to shut him up; he grabs Hermann’s arm after every mildly interesting play, wrings it, and excitedly recaps it with commentary, as if Hermann himself hadn’t witnessed it only seconds prior. Hermann must admit Newton was right about his being amused by the scorecard, however, and after the fifth inning (when the Red Sox are leading by two runs) a high-spirited Newton treats him to a second beer he actually enjoys. Not even an awkward singling out by the kiss cam--in which they stay motionless, Newton blushing so furiously he looks like a freckled tomato, and Hermann avoiding eye contact so intently his eyes begin to sting--could put a damper on things, nor even Hermann inadvertently catching a fly ball while Newton--who’s been trying, fruitlessly, the entire game--is out getting him that second beer.

It goes downhill after the sixth inning.

“That was the worst playing I’ve seen in my life!” Newton hollers as they wait by their T stop a few hours later. He’s long since ripped off his hat in disgust, and Hermann saw him eyeing the trash bins contemplatively with it in hand on their way out of the stadium. “Fucking ridiculous! Can you believe it, Hermann?”

“Mm,” Hermann agrees.

“I shell out a fortune for these tickets,” Newton says, “and--we fly all the way from fucking Hong Kong to watch them lose!”

“We flew here because we were asked to give several guest lectures,” Hermann reminds him.

“Whatever,” Newton says. “Ugh. This is the worst! My first game in over ten years--”

Perhaps it’s because the sensation of Newton gently brushing foam off his lip lingers even now, hours later, or perhaps it’s because he can’t stop thinking of what could’ve happened if they hadn’t botched up the kiss cam, or perhaps it’s merely because he wants Newton to shut up, but (in a fit of desperation) Hermann suddenly finds himself seizing Newton by the collar of his oversized Red Sox t-shirt and kissing him until his shocked, undignified squeaks turn pleased. Even then, Hermann kisses him a bit more.

Newton’s eyes are as wide as saucers when Hermann finally pulls away. “There, now,” he says, and pats Newton’s cheek. “The night wasn’t all so terrible, was it?”

Newton shakes his head. He does seem remarkably cheered up.

“I might even go as far as to say I had fun.”

“Oh,” Newton squeaks. “Good.”