#this is like my fifth fucking essay about this thing . ive thought and said so much about it help

[oflgtfol]

i know the nuclear waste storage thing proliferated throughout tumblr but the conversations around it never really like, properly addressed WHY i personally find it so profound and meaningful lol

it’s just. the reason it’s written like that is because this is for long-term storage. not 100 years. not 200 years. literally tens of thousands of years, to the point where the commonly recognized symbols and languages of modern day will very likely not even exist anymore. we all know what a nuclear warning symbol looks like nowadays, but we have absolutely zero guarantee that the people of the year 20,000 will be able to recognize what it means and the danger it presents. we have no idea the what kind of scientific background they will have, if they will even know what nuclear waste IS - whether that's because science has degraded over time, or because it advanced so much that nuclear waste became obsolete, or whether they know what it is but have an entirely different understanding of it than we do nowadays, etc etc.

the report about this states that the best course of action is to continuously reaffirm our current methods. make sure that our current symbols remain in public conscience, continuously educate about this, continuously update current text warnings with language as it evolves over time. that is the best case scenario.

but science is not science unless you account for all cases - especially the worst case. so how do you communicate with a group of people that you have no shared language, no shared knowledge of warning symbols, no shared scientific knowledge with?

the text warning above is only one part of the general plan to warn away from storage sites. it also includes hostile architecture as a way to physically block people from reaching the storage site, as well as a visual symbol of you're not welcome here as a warning. there are also pictographic depictions of people's faces scrunched up in disgust, fear, anger, under the assumption that emotions and facial expressions will be a unifying factor where all other forms of communication fail. in a way, this text warning is the very last resort for keeping people away.

it's written in this utterly strange way that sounds nothing like the way people actually speak. but it's written like this because it's supposed to be easily translatable, both in the literal words and also in the general concepts, in order to account for linguistic changes over time as well as possible changes in scientific and cultural knowledge.

instead of saying "there is nuclear waste here. leave" it instead calls it some sort of "emanation of energy" and it describes the general geographic area using words like "center" and "below." these are easily translatable phrases. they may not have the words or even the concept of nuclear waste, but "emanation of energy" is probably the easiest description of radiation without getting into the jargony, untranslatable science of it. if this future people is aware of nuclear radiation, then it's enough to extrapolate what exactly we're talking about here, and if they aren't aware of nuclear radiation, then it's still enough to understand that there is something intangible, invisible, and dangerous. and the warning cannot describe where exactly the waste is located using modern terms, but "center" and "below" are pretty universal concepts that have existed long before us, and will presumably persist long after us.

but what i really want to pinpoint is how they focus on the harm it causes. they describe it as an emanation of energy but they don't call it "the energy." they call it the danger, and they say "The danger is to the body, and it can kill." body, kill, danger, these are all concepts that transcend time period. people have always had words for these concepts, and they are intimately understood regardless of when you are. above all else, these words can be translated, and they are the most important words in this entire message because of that.

we have no idea if humanity as a race will even exist on these time scales. every day it feels like we’re inching closer to our own demise. and so often when anyone talks about the future even 50 years from now, you’re met with jokes like “bold of you to assume we’ll still be alive then.” it’s such a bleak outlook on life, the assumption that we’ll be gone so soon, and with it comes this uncaring attitude about future generations. why put in the work and effort to preserve things when we'll be gone in the blink of an eye, and on a more callous level, why try to improve things when i won't be alive then anyway, etc etc.

so to dedicate so much thought towards warning people SO far in the future that we cannot even imagine the state of their language, their knowledge, their culture, is just so profound to me. it’s the ultimate sign of human compassion, of caretaking and helping others in need. thousands of generations will separate us from anyone who can come close to being the intended audience of these warnings, and yet we care so much about them that we’ll go to such lengths to protect them from this danger. we can so easily hand wave it, say oh but that’s in the far future, who cares, just keep using our current language and symbols, but no! we want to reach through time and make sure that people stay away for their own health

it especially hits me because this is the impact of our own poor decisions. nuclear waste is so toxic that even thousands upon thousands of years from now it will still be deadly. and we're literally burying it in the ground and leaving it for future generations to deal with. playing with such powers before we’re ready, before we know how to properly handle it, like we’re playing God with things powerful beyond our control. the sheer hubris of it all. and the nuclear waste and the danger it poses both now and in the future is reaping the consequences of it. but the people in the future did nothing to deserve it, it was not their generation who did this, yet they’re dealing with the consequences of what their ancestors did

and so i feel like, this message is both a warning and an APOLOGY. “This place is not a place of honor... no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here... nothing valued is here.” this phrase is there to signal that no, this isn’t buried treasure, this isn’t anything you want to be digging around in, even the people of its time were in danger from it. as always, it’s a warning. but the way it's worded feels like something else, too. this place is not a place of honor. all the scientific advancements and awards and medals of honor going towards the development of nuclear energy and weapons and all things nuclear - and yet, this place is not a place of honor. one of our most shining achievements is also our heaviest burden. because here we are, having to warn our descendants in the far far future of the danger it poses, entirely because we were messing with things before we had the proper capability to handle it safely and responsibly. it’s a warning, yes, but it's also an apology. a way of humbling ourselves. "We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture," and yet, "this place is best left shunned and left uninhabited."

and so taking the time to think these things through, of how to communicate to people tens of thousands of years in the future to keep them safe and healthy, feels like both a show of human compassion for the sake of compassion, and also yet another form of apology. because this isn’t some freak accident. this isn't a naturally occurring danger. this is directly caused by our current actions. if they fall sick or die because of exposure, that is because of us, because of what we did and then buried in the ground to hide and forget about, and so it’s really only right that we take responsibility for our actions and the unintended consequences and ensure that no one else is harmed by them

TL;DR, i love this message so much because it's an admittance of hubris and playing god. it's an apology, it's a show of regret, and it's humbling ourselves in dealing with the consequences. it's communication between generations and reaching through the ages to directly talk to our descendants. it's an extraordinary link over time, between vastly different peoples, and we use it to express basic compassion and humility. it's a message about humanity, with all of our worst, but also all of our best.

[boomerang109]

hi!! (god i hope the way i type doesnt rat me out skddk jesus at this point it might who even know i feel like its distinct but maybe thats just me idk) but!!! time to just Rant abt twwda, *sighs in the best way possible* ****this***** fic. man. the Very first thing it helped me (that was memorable to me) honestly was the whole acne thing where toph was like are you good looking and zuko’s like ‘well i have a scar and acne’ and toph’s like ‘acne’s a normal thing’ my hesrt just idk why but whenever i have a Bad day abt myself (or the parents are on my back abt it skdhdj i Hate that but thats Not what this rant is abt) im just like ‘its a normal thing’ and!!!! i got that from **your** fic!!! genuinely you Cannot understand how close twwda is to me as a person bc

the whole test anxiety? and zuko not telling his teachers he has trouble hearing? in the fifth grade i needed glasses Bad but i never told Anyone bc i felt Bad (still hold strong to this habit 😃) but God i just- i just *relate* and Finally.

the enby aang. ive been able yk even tell my irl ant me possibly being she/they (maybe even they/them) solely bc of your fic (i even told her that it was thanks to your fic and explained everything abt the whole enby aang!!!) ill seperate this mess into paragraphs skdhdk but!! please just know how Much you helped me

OH SHIT FUCK the whole a flower in shade can also grow in the sun. that Hit bc its like ‘you dont Need to suffer just bc you can survive in that condition, you deserve the basic necessities too’ and honestly when i read that i just sat there stunned like wow. so?? true??? i honestly just love you and your fic (okay bye sorry skdbdksk !!!!!)

thats my four paragraph essay for you boom <3

okay anon, it’s nearly 2:30 am (probably will be by the time i finish typing) so if im a bit incoherent i apologize. i just know im going to be busy tmrw and i didn’t want this to sit in my inbox (sorry to everybody else who didn’t get responses whoops)

(honestly idk who you are and i hope you feel comfy telling me at some point, but it’s okay if not!) (i do have a few guesses but i keep changing my mind so basically im clueless ahdhdjsks) (actually right after i typed that i noticed something that’s unique—i think—to you. the person i’m thinking of is absolutely lovely, but i’m not going to start guessing or anything cause if you don’t feel comfy having any identity connected to this, that’s okay! that’s what anon is for!! just do what makes you most comfy)

i love that the acne line resonated with you? i think you’re the second person to mention this and i 🥰! it’s such a throw away line but i always hate in fics when people make them high school age and then are like “except for his scar, zuko’s skin was smooth” or whatever the fuck. like no!!! high schoolers have acne!!! and obviously zuko is embarrassed of it, but sokka is just like dude. we all have it, im good looking and ive got acne so just don’t even worry. and that’s the energy im sending you (and your parents cause they better not be on your back about acne that’s dumb af) cause no one is judging your acne (they’re too busy worrying about their own) AND even if they were, that makes them a shitty person whose opinion doesn’t matter. you’re beautiful with acne

i want you to work on asking for help, like mx mak said, it’s not a limited resource! and often teachers/adults are happy to help you. (and often it’s their job/the law that they have to). but also? i wrote zuko missing shit in class being like “oh this is unrealistic if someone was missing what was being said in class they’d get notes from someone” and then i took a class where the prof spoke way too fast and my audio processing said NOPE and there would be days where my notes would just be question marks like zuko and i didn’t ask anyone for help. (i did start recording class which is literally illegal without permission but shhh it’s fine)

i’m so glad i was able to help you and please know i’m here to help in whatever capacity i can outside the fic as well. it’s kind of a joke that being trans is contagious but actually being able to hear about other people’s experiences is So Important. cause six months ago i could’ve confidently told you i was a cis girl and had been sure of that my whole life. but then i finally admitted to myself that my “thinking they/them pronouns were the coolest thing ever and kind of being jealous” thing was not very cis of me. and yeah, everyone’s experience is individual. but we can at least share our thoughts and what we learn to help each other. cause i wanna support you

you deserve MORE THAN basic necessities. you deserve so much more, but the necessities are a good place to start. treat yo self.

please don’t apologize!!! i appreciate this sm, i love you and your four paragraph essay <3

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty One, “Timing”

Find all chapters to this story here! 

Check out the character survey from Becky’s POV I did recently! :-)

Warnings: Very brief mention of IVs (needles)

Song Inspo: My My Love by Joshua Radin (Click to listen)

                                    Sneaky Peeeeeeeeeky!

“A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape.

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one inch mark.

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats.”

“No. W-what are you doing here?” I stutter, unable to control my words. Or my thoughts. Or my emotions.

At the drop of my words, Harry’s face falls. His eyebrows. The budding smile on his lips. And the brightness in his eyes. But he masks it quickly. And it escapes my mind when he crosses the distance between us. His black slacks, teal geometric-patterned button down, and curls are a blur in the seconds that follow. Suddenly, his arms are around me and pulling me into him. With sleep still clinging to my mind, and unsure of what to do, I freeze. 

“Please don’t tell me you left work to drive 3 hours to come to Madley,” I confess quietly into the damp shoulder of his black peacoat. Shivering, his fingers run trails up and down my back. 

“Shuddup, I ‘ave a case t’morrow nearby in Wolverhampton . . . Jus’ lemme do sumthin’ nice fer ya,” he says, his soft words drifting over the top of my head. 

“I-I’m sorry. I just woke up and you caught me off guard,” I apologize meekly, feeling myself relax. My arms wind around his waist and lace themselves together over his coat. 

“‘s okay,” he hums. His hands pause and I feel them brush my hair away. “I know ya hadda rough night- well couple o’ days,” Harry murmurs, his lips brushing against my hair. My lungs still and I wait, wondering if he’ll kiss my head. But it doesn’t come, and I try to will away the disappointment beginning inside of me. I’ve become so accustomed to it that it doesn’t want to leave this time. Then it’s joined by the happy disbelief appearing wet in my eyes. 

“Couldn’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, an’ figured I had t’ come up ‘ere t’morow mornin’ anyways. Wha’s an extra night hurt?” The first few words do it for me, and there I am spewing tears all over his shoulder. They’re not a waterfall, but the emotions growing inside of me feel that way. And they’re here, because he is. 

He holds me tighter against him, and I feel his cheek rest on my head. Holding on tight to his coat, I let myself and everything I’m feeling melt against him. “You don’t know what it means to me that you’re here,” I confess in a trembling voice interrupted by sniffling. 

“I think I do do, ‘coz you were there fer me tha day o’ tha funeral when I needed a friend. An’ at tha hospital. Ya showed up fer me, Becks, an’ I wanted t’ do tha same fer ya,” Harry reveals softly from above me. My lips bend into a happy smile amongst the tears that come harder at his words. “I brought dinna, ‘cuz I knew ya prolly hadn’t eaten. ‘s luck that I found ya atta vendin’ machine.”

His precious laugh greets my ears as his fingers tickle up my back. The bunches of fabric leave my hands, and I step away to search for those green eyes. After a few seconds, I find them staring down at me. They’re blurry behind the tears, but soon his smiling face sharpens. 

“No mo’ tears, ‘kay? Le’s go eat some dinna an’ find  sumthin’ good on tha telly,” Harry whispers, running the pad of his thumb along my cheeks. Nodding, his hand envelopes mine and we go to find a sitting area.

The halls are deserted besides a few nurses checking in on patients. Familiar medical-sounding beeps sound throughout the hallway. After guiding the way for Harry as I wipe my cheeks, we soon find our dining table. Or rather a sofa with a little table. 

“I hope fish an’ chips ‘s alright,” he says, doubt filling his words. 

“Of course they are. Did you get them from Maggie’s over on Fifth?”

“Yeah, I think so. Li’l shop with photos coverin’ tha walls?” he questions as he unpacks the brown paper bag. 

“Yep, that’s the one. They make the best fish and chips I’ve had. And I would know, because I grew up eating these ones my entire life.”

“Well I guess ya would know then,” Harry relents, shrugging his shoulders with a toothy smile. 

Whispered ‘thank yous’ float between us as we pass each other food and napkins. With two cups of water from the cooler a few steps away, we dig in. 

“No kiddin’, these are good. ‘s always tha family owned shops that make tha best ones, innit?” Harry mumbles with a mouth full of food. I reply with an ‘mmmhmm’, trying not to laugh at the crumbs speckling his chin. 

The crispy, buttery cod melts on my tongue. With my free hand, I grab hold of the gray remote sitting on the table beside me. 

“Hey, ‘s my turn t’ pick what we watch,” Harry whines, stealing the remote from me. 

“Rude!” I retort, but any words I had left to say collapse into laughter. Licking his thumb, he peeks over at me. A sly grin stuck to his lips. 

Shaking my head, I look away and pick up a chip from the paper tray in my hand. When my eyes return to him, a ketchup-covered chip sits in his hand. Meanwhile, his face is screwed up in concentration at the telly. I smile, and then notice his reflection in the dark window on the other side of him. Kicking his foot with my right, he turns to the left to look at me in confusion. 

“Just pick something!” I tell him, my palm turning up to help me talk. His dark curls dance atop his head as it goes from side to side. 

“Oh hush, you. Cantcha letta man think?” he quips before feeding the chip past his cherry lips. 

“No, not when it takes you an hour to pick what to watch,” I reply, yanking it from his hands. 

“Heeeey! I was jus’ gonna pick that episode o’ Friends!” 

“Wait, you like Friends?!” I nearly yell, my head snapping to look at him. 

“O’course! Who doesn’t? I grew up watchin’ that show with me mum an’ sista,” he answers. With those words, my heart does a somersault in my chest. Oh my fuck, I’m falling again. “Wha’? Do ya not like it?”

“No, I-I love it. I grew up watching it, too. It’s like my comfort show - I watch it when I’m happy, sad, mad, excited- you name it,” I reply slowly, engrossed in gathering ketchup onto my chip. When I hear his murmured ‘me too’ from a mouth full of food, the devil and angel inside of me go crazy. For once, they seem to root for the same team. 

“Favourite characta?” his words greet the air effortlessly. He licks the salt and grease from his thumb, and I suddenly regret looking up. The things you do to me, Styles. 

“On the count of 3?” I ask, and his chestnut ringlets bounce with a nod. 

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3.”

“Phoebe!” we both say in unison, sending us into fits of giggles. 

“There’s nuthin’ betta than her on dat show. She’s hilarious, plays guitar, ‘s a surrogate fer her bloody brotha, an’ ‘s gorgeous,” Harry explains, and I’m following with every word. And with each one, I feel the butterflies in my tummy flutter again. For possibly the tenth time already tonight. 

“All of the great jokes and catchphrases from the show are from her: Regina Phalange, Smelly Cat, Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, ‘I don’t even have a pla’, Gladys the framed doll, and that stupid taxi. She’s blunt and so funny, but she’s so sweet and would do anything for her friends,” I continue, watching him nod emphatically as he picks up another chip. 

“Couldn’ ‘ave said it betta meself. Oh I love dis episode where they’re stuck at tha beach house. Poor Phoebs findin’ out tha truth ‘bout her mum dat way, tho’,” Harry comments, his mouth falling into a delighted and then sad O. My eyes follow his to the screen of the telly where our attention is held for the next twenty minutes. 

My shoes only stop squeaking when I stop in front of the garbage bin. After tossing the greasy paper bag, I rub a pump of hand sanitizer into my hands. I wince at the awful sounds my shoes make as I try to walk quietly down the tiled hallway. The snoring greets my ears before I see him, but when I do, I smile. With careful steps, I pluck my backpack from the couch before leaving the room. 

“He still sleepin’?” Harry asks, looking up from the Friends marathon from the telly. We scored! 

“Yep,” I answer, plopping down onto the sofa beside him. 

“Good,” he answers, slumping down further into the gray cushions. My backpack drops with a thud to the floor after I got what I needed. “What’re ya doin’? ‘s eleven-thirty, love. Tha’s no time t’ be doin’ homework.”

“I know, but I need to submit an assignment before I forget. It’s due at midnight,” I answer, seeing his nod out of the corner of my eye. 

My laptop wakes with its usual jingle, and I watch my browser load. The audience laughter fills my ears at a humorous line from Chandler. Surprise, surprise. The maroon and navy blue colors of my uni’s website appear in front of me. Within a few moments, I’m on the web page for my course. 

“Wha’s tha assignment?” Harry inquires, his eyes never leaving the telly. A laugh creases his cheeks, making me smile. But I’m not very sad I missed what’s so funny, because he makes up for it. 

“Um, it’s an essay about Thomas Cromwell and his theories and stuff,” I reply, opening the page for assignments. 

“Ah, I see they ‘aven’t changed coursework much from my day. Cromwell ‘s bloody obvious when ya start talkin’ ‘bout British law.”

“I know, it’s like the professor didn’t even try when drafting this assignment,” I comment with a small titter. Relief washes over me when I get a message saying my submission was successful. And something else too from being able to talk to him about law so easily. Something akin to how a hot chocolate makes you feel on a winter’s day.

I glance up and find Harry losing it with laughter. There’s a fleeting temptation to ask him to clue me in. But a laugh tingles on my lips when I find what he’s laughing at. Monica’s crying as she holds onto Chandler’s arm, an ocean scene in the background. 

“Can’ believe Joey actually peed on Monica.” The words leave Harry’s mouth in between chuckles rather sloppily. 

“He was just trying to help!” I comment, unable to stop laughing either. 

“But it doesn’t even help! They say it makes it worse even,” he laughs, rubbing his forehead.  

Shaking my head, my eyes fall to my laptop screen. After a few clicks, lines of text cloud my eyes. My eyes roll into the back of my head at their appearance. I find it nearly impossible to hold back a groan. 

“What’re you gripin’ ‘bout ova here?” Harry questions with teasing in his tone.

“I have to read the entire case of Haughton v. Smith for a test, and it’s so confusing. I mean, working with you brushed me up on a lot of legal mumbo jumbo. But still, a lot of it doesn’t make sense to me,” I huff, my chin falling into the palm of my hand.  

“Alright, lemme see what part yer at,” he says in a quiet voice. I try to ignore the regret budding inside of me at what I said about working at his firm. And how it makes me feel, and probably him, too. I don’t know why I ever bring it up, because sometimes it feels like when somebody else brings up the ex-boyfriend, or something. The sofa cushion dips as he closes the space between us. The angel and demon inside of me erupt into synonymous cheers when his arm goes around me. 

“God, did you forget your glasses or something, Grandpa?” my question sputters from my lips in a cackle, watching him squint at the screen.

“Oh shuddup, an’ I mean it,” Harry quips, looking away for a moment. When I see the reason why, instead of a laugh consuming my thoughts, something else does. For some fucking reason, my heart warms at the sight of him unfolding a pair of mottled brown Pantos glasses. He tucks the brown case into the inside of his blazer, his peacoat on a chair. “Ya ya, laugh all ya want at me an’ me readin’ glasses.” 

But when he looks down at me with them settled on his nose, I don’t laugh. “Why aren’t ya laughin’ anymo’, hmm?” he questions. 

“I think they look really nice on you. They make you look handsome and sophisticated,” I tell him slowly, and it’s undeniable the pink that pinches his cheeks. 

“Well ‘s ‘bout time fer dat t’ happen, only took me twenty-nine years,” he jokes, bringing a smile to my lips. My head goes from side to side as I close my eyes, my cheeks bunching from happiness painting my lips. Yeah, it’s about time for a lot of things right about now. “Alrigh’, lemme look what part yer at fer real now.”

I nod, trying to get comfortable on the sofa. Pitching my head back, I feel it bump into his arm. Nevermind my fucked neck, I return my eyes to the screen to try and forget that his arm is around me. But they immediately refuse and slowly trail to Harry, his face mere inches away from mine. 

Okay, no, stop thinking about his lips and what they could do, I tell the demon inside of my head. 

Becky, you could. You so know you could do it. 

Shut up! He’s just helping me with my homework, that’s all this is. 

Oh yeah? And when are you going to let yourself think about the real reason he’s here, huh?

I can’t do that right now. 

Yes, you can! Maybe if you think about it, you’ll realize how good of an idea it would be to let yourself kiss him. I’m sure he’s thinking about it too.

Just stop!

His thumb and forefinger knead his bottom lip. It bunches together in little waves as his eyes flit across the screen. Whiskers the shade of his curls are scattered across his face. They’re dense atop his upper lip and around his chin. And God, I can’t stop thinking about them. Wanting to touch them. Feel them on my face- okay stop it, Becky. 

“Well yer mostly at tha end, so wha’ doesn’t make sense t’ ya?” Harry finally says, turning his head ever so slightly to look at me. 

“I know, but I feel like I don’t know what I just read. And the verdict is contradicting to me,” I answer with a shrug of my shoulders. 

“Well maybe it’d make more sense t’ ya if ya weren’t lookin’ at it at almos’ midnigh’, love.”

“Yeah, well it’s kind of the only time I have lately with everything. I’m afraid to email my prof again saying I need an extension when it’s due tomorrow. I’ve needed a lot of them lately. I just wanna get it done,” I respond quietly, looking to the telly awkwardly. It’s always hard when the truth comes out, and the emotions that hang on to it. 

A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my left eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape. 

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one-inch mark. 

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats. 

“Kids used to make fun of it when I was little. They’d call it a worm under my eye, because of its shape. It used to be more pronounced and bigger when I was little, but it’s still pretty noticeable,” I answer, adding in an eye roll that he laughs at. 

“Aww, poor Becks. But if it counts, I don’ think it looks like a worm. ‘s cute on you,” he adds seriously, pinching my cheek. That makes me look over at him, and I already know that I’m blushing. 

A small ‘thanks’ leaves my lips before my eyes dip to my laptop. Close to a minute of silence grows between us before he breaks it. “‘Kay, so Haughton vs. Smith found that ya can’t commit tha crime o’ handlin’ stolen goods, if tha goods they’re talkin’ ‘bout weren’t actually stolen. ‘s an important case t’ know, cuz it was ‘ventually ovaturned by tha Criminal Attempts Act o’ ‘81. Ya’ll neva be able t’ forget tha connection between tha two, issa given. Ya don’ need t’ worry ‘bout that law now tho’, they basically mean tha same thing.” 

“Thanks for explaining it, I hope it’s enough to help me pass the test on it,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly. 

“Open tha test, an’ ‘ll help ya with it.”

The second my eyes land on Joey’s body covered in sand on the telly, they whip back to Harry. “Really, you’d help me?”

“‘Course I would. Tha’s what ‘m here fer. An’ it wouldn’t hurt t’ see if I still got it.”

“You’ve been a lawyer for years, and this is pre-law, so of course you do. And not to mention, ranked as one of the best in London,” I reply smiling, clicking open a new tab. I suspect how my words will make him feel, because they fill me with the same emotions. Pride. Happiness. Astonishment. And more pride. 

“Well, I do me best,” Harry titters proudly. A cocky hum leaves his lips as he brushes off his chest. A laugh sputters from my lips that I can’t contain. “Heeeey, don’ be laughin’ at me.”

“Sorry, I just can’t control myself when you start dropping dad jokes,” I respond nonchalantly, clicking on the tab labeled ‘Assessments.’

“Just pull tha bloody test up an’ le’s get it ova with,” he huffs, amusement still lacing through his words. 

“Awww, is it past your bedtime already?” I pout, turning my eyes to him. His lips smush together and I hear the smallest of squeaks get past them. “You know you like my grandpa jokes, don’t lie.”

“Shuddup, li’l one, an’ open tha goddamn test already,” he huffs. If anybody else heard him, they’d think he was mad at me. But even as my eyes cast over the column of tests from this course, I know different. I can hear it in his voice - the joking, the molasses, the affectionate teasing, and the friendship. 

Wow, nice choice of words there, Ms. Denial. 

Shut up, devil. 

“I am not little!” I retort in a high voice, making my two tabs appear as two windows on my screen. Side by side. Cheating time!

“Becks, yer like 5’5, if that.”

“No, I’m not! I’m 5’6, you liar!”

“Ya, cuz that one lousy inch really does a whole lot, doesn’t it?” Harry counters, his voice melting into a goofy one. I respond to it with a hearty laugh that is soon accompanied by his. “Yer still a li’l one t’ me, love.” 

“Fine, Grandpa Harry.”

+

The annoying sound of a laugh track pricks at my ears. Blinking hard, the room around me is blurry. But after a groggy minute of blinking, it begins to sharpen. I don’t remember the lights getting turned off, but the telly screen burns my eyes. Rubbing them, I moan from tiredness. Dropping my arm, I feel it hit something. Looking down, I’m confused. When I lift my head from whatever it was resting on, I find what I was laying on. And well, what was also laying on me. Still is. Her face scrunches adorably before relaxing, nuzzling her head against my shoulder once more. 

Becks. 

After combing my hair off of my forehead, the lock screen of my phone wakes me up a little more. Especially when I see that it reads 1:18 am. Fuck, I need to get to my hotel and go to bed. I have my case tomorrow. But when I hear a noise and find the culprit, all of those thoughts wash away. An incoherent sound runs off of her lips, ones that are so close to me. Fuck, again. But when my eyes scan the rest of my body, I realize that she’s all over me. Well, almost. Her right hand rests on my chest as she leans against the back of the sofa. But her pretty little head of dark hair is laying on my shoulder. My arm is around her, holding her close to me. I can feel her other arm tickling my side. 

Memories float to the surface, and suddenly I’m back at the hospital in London. In December. A phone call woke me from my slumber beside her on the sofa. The both of us curled up on opposite sides. Sleep clinging to my eyes and begging to me to return to it. Her shoulders rising with every soft snore, but it was the most daintiest one I’d ever heard. It felt like my heart was being squeezed tighter with every move I made to leave her. When I draped the second blanket over her. And how much it hurt to move the hair off of her face. To press a kiss to her unknowing head. But nothing compared to the anguish I felt grow with every step I put between us. 

Blinking hard, the dark room materializes around me again. Her precious snores welcome my return to the moment. A smile brings my lips upwards as I watch a crease grow between her eyebrows. She’s too goddamn adorable. And that’s why I came, isn’t it? Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t resist her. I can’t say no to Becky. When she called me crying and a mess worrying about her dad, I didn’t know what I was doing until I was putting the town of Madley into my GPS. I guess The Beatles were right with that one song, and plenty of others. She’s really got a hold on me. And before I could begin to stop myself, her skin is like velvet under my thumb. I rub the crease away with the pad of it, and suddenly my head dips. My lips barely brush her hair when she groans below me. 

“Harry?” she murmurs, lifting her head from my shoulder. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

She yawns, moving away to look around sleepily. But soon she returns back to my arms, cozying up to me once more. And I couldn’t be more thankful, or conflicted. The latter word drills into my mind as I rub a hand down her back, sleep trying to coax me back in, too. 

“We fell asleep,” she mumbles, her honey voice coated in that very word. Fuck, does it make me feel things. Things that I’d much rather not. 

“Yeah, ‘s one in tha mornin’.”

“Shitttt,” she sighs, sitting up fast. Her growing locks pour over her shoulders covered by a crewneck jumper. Faded pictures of balls from different sports are scattered across the heather gray fabric. Like something my dad wore when I was a tot. “You have your case tomorrow.”

“‘m fine, I already dropped me stuff off at tha hotel an’ got me key,” I tell her, missing the warmth of her against me. And I miss the fact in those words alone of what I’m missing. Her in my arms. “But ya should prolly get sum sleep, too. Seems like ya’ve been missin’ it lately.”

“I’m okay, just lots of homework,” Becky says, running her long fingers through her wavy hair. 

“‘d offa me hotel room, but ‘s half an hour ‘way in Wolverhampton. An’ there’s only tha one bed,” I tell her, unsure of why. I blame it on the sleepy brain. 

“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch in his room. It’s not too bad once you get used to it,” she assures me. Her arms crack as she stretches them toward the ceiling. I can’t help myself when the baggy jumper rides up, exposing the slightest of her milky white tummy. Fuck. But just like that, it’s gone in a flash. If only my feelings worked that way. 

It’s like she has some sixth sense that I’m thinking about her, because her eyes cast over to me. It’s hard to make out their ocean blue in this dark, but I know they’re there. I can picture them if I need to, because I do it all the time - trying to make myself remember what they look like. The exact shade. The speckles of darker blue amongst the color. 

“Yer welcome,” I return. The tired smile I get in return melts my insides like butter. But that’s how I feel when I’m around her, and that’s how much of a hold she’s got on me. 

Shocks of electricity dance across the back of my hand. I don’t need to look down to know her hand is on top of mine. And how it’s making me go crazy. She’s only a few inches away. I could do it. Before I stop myself, I begin to lean in, and she watches me do it. But with only a few seconds left, we jump apart at the sound of a ringtone. 

Embarrassment covers me like a dark cloud, among other nasty emotions. My head falls, hiding the heat rising to my cheeks. Pulling out my phone to distract myself, it doesn’t do that great of a job as I hear her talk to somebody on the phone. Dammit, I was so close. With a hand in my hair, I scroll through emails. Deleting some and saving others. 

“Sorry, that was Robbie. Just checking in, since I forgot to update him, I guess,” Becky tells me, lifting my head with her voice. 

My head only goes up and down, avoiding eye contact. Because I can’t muster it after what just happened, or what didn’t. 

“‘s late, ya should get sum rest,” I announce, getting to my feet. Picking up my coat, I slip it on before I dare to look at her.

She smiles shyly at me, sleep hanging around her eyes. Even rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her jumper is precious. And her legs jittering in her faded blue jeans. Vans the shade of her favorite color donning her feet. 

“Yeah, you too,” is all she has to say.

Suddenly, I don’t know what to do. For a mere second, I entertain the thought of trying again. But fuck it, she’s so far away right now, figuratively and literally. I can catch a hint of her scent sticking to me, and it makes me sad to realize. 

“Go get sum sleep, ‘kay?” Are the only words I can think of as I walk up to her and pat her arm. 

“Yeah, you too, Harry. Careful driving.”

“Thanks, Becks, I will. Sweet dreams, love,” I mutter, looking at her over my shoulder. 

And I keep walking, and leave her behind. Regrets coursing through my ears, and emotions tugging at my seams. The tiredness coating my every thought and action, only make it all the worse. I’m not sure if I want to wake up more for the car drive to the hotel, because then it will all feel even more real. And discouraging. 

“Harry?” stopping in my tracks, I hear her call my name. Spinning around, I feel her before I see her. Her arms surround around my waist and her head comes to lay against my chest. All within seconds. “Thank you . . . for coming.”

A pain sounds in my chest when I hear the emotion in her voice. And it takes all of me to not echo it, because I know I could. And that I would. Instead I say, “Yer welcome, Becks,” and I do at least one thing I wanted to do tonight. Dipping my head, I smooth down her hair and press my lips to her hair for more than a few seconds. 

The sweet smell of orange blossom greets me, and my smile is havoced by pain. Her warm breaths tickle the skin at my neck as my hands lace together at the small of her back. Her arms squeeze me around the middle before releasing, and she lets go of me. I think about trying again, but the thought is fleeting when she begins to walk away from me. 

And I let her do it. Once again. 

+

The burbling of the running water fills my ears. Well, besides the sound of the football match. Surprise, surprise. And the next sound. His cheering. It makes me smile as I wipe my hands with a paper towel. 

“What’s the score now?” I ask, walking back into the room. His eyes don’t go to me at the question, instead they remain on the screen. 

“Six-two. It doesn’t look too good for ‘em,” my dad replies snarkily, a devilish glint in his eyes. But it’s there, and that’s all that matters. It’s what makes the smile stick to my face. 

“Don’t let your food get cold,” I say, bending over to dig into my backpack. 

“I’m done eating. You can have the rest, Ree,” he replies just as I feel the smooth handle I’m searching for.

“I’m okay, thanks. I was probably going to check out the special in the cafe.”

“Oh so only I have to eat the hospital food?” my dad whines, pouting at me when I look at him. 

With a laugh, I remark, “I’m eating their food in the cafe too, you dork.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry, chemo brain,” he replies, tapping a finger against his head. A striped green hat keeping it warm. His arm returns to the white blanket pulled up to his waist. Light shines in his eyes and his arms lift into the air when they make yet another goal. 

Whoops and hollers leave his chapped lips. But this morning, they’re pinker. And so is his skin. If only in the slightest, I notice them. Running the brush through my knotted hair, I yawn as I watch him. A patterned hospital gown covers his upper half, with the sleeves just coming to above the IVs in his left arm. Fluids and meds. The antibiotics. Yippee. 

But the thoughts are mulled over when I look to his plate sitting on the moveable tray beside him. It was scrambled eggs, toast, applesauce, and milk this morning. And he ate nearly half of it, even if it took about half an hour. But I want to blame part of that on the football match his eyes are stuck to. 

“I’m going to see if I can find your doctor. I had a question,” I tell him, dropping my hairbrush back into my backpack. 

“Ree, don’t worry about it. He’ll come by later,” my dad insists, but I stand from my chair regardless of his answer. 

“It’s fine. I need to stretch my legs anyways.” 

He hums a reply I can’t decode, but I hear his teasing about blocking the telly when I walk by. Over my shoulder, he flashes me a small smile before returning to yelling lazily at the referees. Nurses and doctors pass me, going to and from rooms to the nearby nurse’s station. Tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear, I search for the shock of white hair of my dad’s doctor. 

But no such luck. 

As I approach the nurse’s station, sounds of beeping, call lights, and murmuring voices fill the air. But another sound stands out from the rest. And I hear my name, or well my last name. It takes me a second to locate where it’s coming from, but when I do there’s a flutter in my chest. And I know I’m in trouble, or maybe that I’m just realizing it now after all of this time. 

But I don’t save him right away, and instead I observe. Confusion sews his eyebrows together over those misty green eyes. One lone curl tickles his forehead, breaking free from his damp hair. His black peacoat is draped over his arm clad in a warm violet blazer. A dusty rose button down peeks out from its collar, and I smile. I don’t even know why. But as the seconds tick by watching him talk to the nurse, I think I know why. 

“Looking for me, Styles?” I pipe up, stepping forward with my hands hidden away in my hoodie.

Harry’s eyes fall from the nurse and pan over to me. A lazy smile works its way onto his face quickly, only interrupted to thank the nurse. 

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, turning to walk towards me. 

“What are you doing here? You have your case today, you said,” I respond, playing with the sleeve of my black hoodie. The cracked decal of Robbie’s old band covers the front. 

“Came t’ bring ya out t’ brekky. Me case doesn’t start ‘til tha aftanoon, bug,” he responds with half of a smile, pinching my arm affectionately. And there’s that nickname, again, I think as my insides turn to mush. “Well jus’ down t’ tha cafe if tha’s alright. I saw sumthin’ ‘bout biscuits ‘n gravy, an’ sumthin’ smelled mighty delicious when I came in.”

“That sounds great,” I say, a smile inching its way up my lips. The wet ends of my hair knock against each other, and my chin. “I’ll just let my dad know,” I tell him, turning around to walk away. 

But after only a few steps, a sudden thought brings me to halt. It wills my feet to turn around and look at Harry. “Would you like to meet him?” I ask tentatively in a meek voice. “He’s doing a little better this morning, but I think that’s thanks to the Arsenal match on the telly.”

With what appears to be a shaky smile, he replies, “‘d love t’. Hope ‘s not me Manchester United boys playin’ ‘gainst ‘em.”

Waving a hand towards me, he closes the distance between us. His leather boots squeak from the last bits of melting April snow. It’s only a few moments before I peek my head into his room, and low and behold, he’s still transfixed by the match. 

Rapping my knuckle against the door, I get his attention before saying, “Hey, can I steal you away from your precious game for a few? There’s a friend of mine I’d like you to meet.”

“Yeah, sure,” he responds, adjusting his blankets before the telly’s volume falls. Over my shoulder, I shoot Harry an encouraging smile. He returns it, but I can see the nerves showing through. 

Pushing open the door fully, I walk in and he follows from behind. 

“Dad, this is Harry Styles. My uh, former boss I’ve told you about,” I fumble for words, giving a magician-like wave to him. Well, the right words. “He stopped by last night and brought me dinner. He has a case today in Wolverhampton, and we’re going to get breakfast downstairs before.”

A weary smile curls at the corners of my dad’s lips. Nodding, his dusty pink lips part, “Ah, so this is the fella you were with until all hours last night,” he jests, pulling nervous laughter into the air. “Yes, it’s about time we met. I’ve heard a lot about you, son. Thanks for everything you’ve done for Becky, and for your well wishes. It’s meant a whole damn lot to me, and I know for her too.” 

Okay, dad, let’s not board the emotional bus yet. Or maybe, ever.  

Happy laughs float around the room as Harry steps forward, rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands. “‘s a pleasure t’ meet ya as well, sir,” he rasps, reaching out to shake my dad’s hand firmly. 

“Call me Chuck, Harry. I’m not that old yet, although sometimes it feels that way,” my dad jokes, widening the smiles on all of our faces.

“Yes, ‘course, Chuck. I’ve also heard loads ‘bout ya, all good things, so no worries. Ya’ve been in me prayers an’ thoughts ova tha last 7 months. Sure raised a great daughter, ya should know.” 

A permanent smile warms my cheeks as I shyly look over to Harry. He meets my eyes and smiles back at me. Winking, he shove his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Thank you, son. That’s mighty good to hear, although I’m not too sure about that son of mine sometimes,” he laughs, soon getting a scoff from me. 

“Oh I mean Robbie, too. I’ve only met tha bloke once or twice, but I was impressed. Certainly since I was surprised t’ find out Becky hadda twin,” Harry comments, his eyes burning a hole into my cheek. 

“Yes, I think I’ve heard that story. Their mother and I were pretty surprised to find there was two, also,” he chuckles. “But Ree likes to do that sometimes.”

Shaking my head, I look away and to the Spring sunshine. It seeps in through the cracks in between the window shades. Their soft laughs fill my ears before Harry’s voice does again. 

“Yeah she’s a spitfire, alright,” he comments, and finally I meet his smirking eyes before they return to my dad. “But ‘m glad t’ hear yer doin’ a bit betta. Hopefully they can get a good handle on dis soon, an’ you lot can go home.”

“Thank you. We hope so too,” my dad nods, running his thumb along the buttons of the tv remote. “I truly appreciate you taking the time to be here with Becky . . I know it means more than words to her.” 

Looking away to the floor, his words find the chink in my armor. I feel the lump rise in my throat along with memories of last night. Luckily, the tears stay away and I get away with it. 

“‘Course, ‘m glad I was able t’ come an’ be with her. Dunno if she told ya, but she was there fer me when my grandad was in tha hospital befo’ he passed. An’ well, I know how much it means t’ ‘ave sumbody there,” Harry murmurs, almost giving a reason for the tears to make an appearance. But they don’t, and I’m repeating ‘thank yous’ inside of my head. 

“I’m pretty proud of my little Rebecca Ann, and it only grows more every day,” my dad comments, flitting his eyes over to me. His words make my cheeks tingle with a new blush and because I know another pair are on me, too. 

“Yeah, she makes it ratha easy,” Harry agrees softly, pulling my attention to him. The gentlest smile sits atop his lips, and a sad sweetness twinkles in his eyes. 

“Well, we’ll let you get back to your match. We’re going to grab breakfast before everybody else gets the same idea,” I pipe in, unsure of when and how to sever the moment. But the look in Harry’s eyes does something to me, and I don’t know what to do with it. 

We exchange short goodbyes before I’m following Harry out of the room. The rising volume of the football announcers voices send us on our way. 

“Rebecca Ann, huh?” Harry smiles beside me, the nurse’s station in our rearview mirrors. 

“Go ahead and make jokes about it. It doesn’t even sound like my name, I don’t know. I’ve only ever went by that for forms, when I got in trouble, or like on the first day of school and graduation. And the Ann is just my middle name, I don’t have a two parter,” I explain hurriedly, surprising myself when I don’t hear one of his delightful giggles. Tearing my eyes away from the poster at the end of the hallway, I look to him. And he isn’t laughing, which confuses me. 

“There’s no jokes t’ be had. I think ‘s pretty, yer name. Figured ya were a Rebecca, but wasn’t sure. Nor did I know yer middle was Ann. Tha’s my mum’s name, ‘ve always loved it,” he tells me, coming to a stop in front of the gunmetal colored doors of the lift. The sickeningly sweet look on his face sends the butterflies in my tummy to flight. Again.

“Oh thanks,” I almost blurt, pressing the button to go down. But then as we step into the welcoming lift, more come to me. “It was my grandmother’s name. It always made me feel closer to her, like I always had a piece of her with me.”

“Tha’s nice. ‘ve always liked it when parents carry on family names like dat. It makes me think ‘d like t’ do tha same with me own kids one day,” Harry continues as I watch the doors shut, cutting us off from the rest of the world. If only for a few minutes. But still. 

“Me too.”

“So nobody ever calls ya Becca?” Harry inquires, catching my attention. 

“Eh, not really. Maybe Skye sometimes, and my grandma Ann did, but not much anymore.”

“Hmm maybe ‘ll hafta use it then,” he quips, but then he wears a confused smile he pulled out of thin air. “Eh I dunno, actually. Ya’ll always be me Becks,” he finishes, making my heart do a dance. And fueling the angel and demon having a party inside of my head. 

“Yeah, I agree. Anything else would sound weird.”

“Ya look like ‘im, ya know. Tha eyes, tha hair, and tha shape o’ yer face - bloody spitting image ya are. ‘Specially Robbie,” Harry acknowledges.

“We get that a lot, but thanks, I like to hear it. Sometimes I can’t see it, though,” I recall. “Which parent do you look like?”

“Um, dunno. I get comments ‘bout lookin’ like both o’ me parents. I guess I mostly ‘ave people say I look like me dad with sum o’ my mum’s features. Which sounds wild.”

“Yeah, I can relate with people saying I look like my dad. It’s like, oh thanks for saying I look like a boy,” I laugh. Turning to look at him on my left, a small one sputters from his smiling cherry lips. 

“I know, ‘s weird.”

“I can see it, though. How people think you look like him,” I tell him. When I watch his lips settle into a silent, straight line, I feel instant regret. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, ‘s okay. Jus’ hard hearin’ people say ya look like sumbody ya don’ like.”

A small ‘oh’ passes over my lips before I can stop it. My eyes leave him and go to the changing red number above my head. Words bubble up inside of me, and I tell them to stop. But then I can’t. 

“I think I know how you feel,” I murmur, daring to look over at him, her face flashing in my mind. His far away eyes lift from the floor and pan over to me. 

I try not to lose myself in their infinity of green, but it’s worthless. And soon I am, and thoughts of last night leak from my memories. 

I know it’s at the back of his mind too. That almost kiss. The one he tried to initiate, and the one I want so bad. Five months ago, I don’t know if I would’ve. But now in this moment and in this elevator, all alone with him, I couldn’t want something more. 

Or somebody. 

[smallerinfinities]

Gin and Juice: Part III

a/n: In which Reader lies, Shawn is gets kicked out of football practice, and the two of them arrange a meeting. 

This is a little bit of a setup chapter to get to Part IV...the italic block is a flashback.

|| PART I || PART II || MASTERLIST ||

warnings: none, really. maybe light anxiety? a cute sleeping giant?

You got back to your room just after daybreak. Trying to open the door as quietly as possible, you cracked it open and slowly pushed. Suddenly, the door flew backward out of your hand, putting you face-to-face with Caroline. Her eyes were crazed, bright and wide with exhaustion mixed with panic.

“Where. Have. You. Been?!” she shouted between deep breaths, exacerbating your pounding headache. “Shhh, Caroline, your voice is reverberating in my skull,” you whispered, holding your hands over your ears and squinting at her.

“No, no, no. No, ma’am. You don’t get to storm off in the middle of a huge party alone and then not show up to our room until the next morning,” she was still shouting, bordering on hysterical, “I thought you were coming back to the room! Needless to say, it was a surprise when I got back and you weren’t here!”

You gave her a moment to collect her breath. You started this conversation already frustrated because you had a hangover and you’d been silently reaching a boiling point while she screamed at you. Gritting your teeth, you gave her a serious death glare.

“Caroline, I respect and appreciate your concern, but if you’ll remember correctly, I wouldn’t have stormed off in the first place if you hadn’t been basically forcing alcohol into my hand.” Your voice was low, more menacing than it had ever been. How dare she be accusatory when she was in the wrong too?

She dipped her head, acknowledging that you had a point. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” she said, remorse hanging on every syllable, “I just wanted you to have a good time...and I really was worried when you weren’t here when I got back. Where did you go?”

You cringed internally. You knew she’d ask eventually but you hadn’t had time to come up with a good enough answer. “Uhm, I walked around campus for awhile and then I went to the library,” you waffled, coming up with the first round-the-clock open place you could think of.

“The library?” she quirked an eyebrow, voice dripping with disbelief, “really?”

You worked up your best fake indignant tone, “yes, Caroline, I happen to feel safe in the library. It’s quiet there and I can think, which is more than I can say about this dorm room with you!” Caroline’s eyes widened and immediately welled with tears. She really did care about you and you’d just hurt her on purpose. It stung harder than you thought it would, but you’d felt betrayed.

And more than that, you had to protect what really happened last night. You had decided that no one needed to know. No one could know. Your future depended on it. Hell, you weren’t even sure if Shawn would know, he’d been so drunk. He said he loved the blackout. Even if he did remember, he wouldn’t want to acknowledge it, right?

You were really starting to regret leaving your number.

It was still dark outside when you woke up drooling, the strong scent of gin filling your nose. Your face was pressed against his firm, expansive chest and you could tell the alcohol was still making its way out of his system, practically oozing out of his pores. His soft exhale tickled the back of your neck. At some point during the few hours you slept, Shawn had draped his arm around your back and curled into you. If anyone had walked in, it would have looked like a couple’s embrace.

Oh God. You needed to get out of here. No one could know about this. Not just because one of the university’s most precious assets had come perilously close to admitting he was an alcoholic, but because you needed to protect yourself. Getting an education. Getting a good job. Involving yourself in a college football scandal was not a part of that plan.

You slowly, carefully wiggled out of his arm and crawled to a sitting position beside him. He slumped slightly, but remained a sleeping giant. You studied him for a moment.

He looked so peaceful, so different from the boy she walked in on, passed out in search of escape. His brow was relaxed, but there was just a hint of that charm he used as a shield even in his sleep, a sign that his demons ran deep. Even though you’d never met him before tonight, you’d seen a glimpse of who he might be underneath all the pressure and the anxiety. That person just wanted to play the game that he loved uninhibited—perhaps not without pressure, but free of overwhelming expectation from every person in his life. You hoped he found that balance.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, you gently pulled yourself off the floor, moving to unlock the door. You stilled at the door knob and looked back at him. A thousand scenarios ran through your head, but the most vivid one stuck out—Shawn keeping everything he told you bottled up alone; Shawn at the next party with the next gin bottle; Shawn passed out in the next bathroom; Shawn submerged in the blackness for longer than a few hours, for longer than a night.

You pulled a pen from your pocket, glad you always kept one on you, and crouched down next to him. Taking his hand in yours, you softly scratched a message onto his skin.

* * * * * * * * * *  

“MENDES,” Coach Bradford shouted from across the field, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”

Shawn had just overthrown his fourth pass in practice. He was still hungover, his head still fuzzy from the night before. Hustling over to his coach, he braced for the ass-kicking he was about to receive. Coach grabbed his facemask and jerked his head down to eye-level.

“GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS, BOY,” he screamed, mere inches from your face, “YOU THINK I CAN’T SMELL THE ALCOHOL FROM LAST NIGHT ON YOU?��� Shawn’s face flamed. Most of the guys at practice had been at the party last night, but their asses weren’t getting chewed. Admittedly, he wasn’t doing such a great job at hiding the fact that he’d been shit-faced. He knew his eyes were practically black from exhaustion and his skin was a little sunken. His head was still pounding, a fact that his coach was clearly exploiting. He closed his eyes against the barrage of sound, Coach still yelling indiscriminate obscenities at him.

“GET YOUR SHIT AND GET OFF MY FIELD,” he finished, pushing Shawn’s facemask away from him in disgust, “I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN UNTIL YOU'RE SOBER.” He called the backup quarterback from the bench, a fifth-year senior who had started before Shawn was recruited. They exchanged death glares as Shawn jogged off the field, hanging his head and feeling all the disappointed eyes of his teammates follow him off the field.

He ripped off his helmet when he entered the locker room, slamming it into the nearest bench. The sound of hard plastic hitting metal reverberated in his skull. He shook out his curls, soaked with sweat, and silently fumed. He’d never been kicked out of practice before. No matter how drunk he’d gotten the night before.

Stripping off his shirt and throwing himself onto a couch in the athlete’s lounge, Shawn roughly scrubbed his face and tried to clear his mind. In truth, it wasn’t the headache or the exhaustion that was distracting him. He’d dealt with those things before every time he drank. This time was different. This time, there was  a cryptic message and a phone number burning in his failed memory. He had never wanted to remember what had happened during those lost hours in his life until now. The neat, loopy handwriting suggested a girl. What would he want to talk about with her? What did he already talk about with her?

Normally, he would write it off to a drunken one-night stand, but he definitely remembered entering that bathroom and he just had a feeling that he hadn’t left it until he woke up this morning. There were no outward signs of sex. His clothes had been exactly as he remembered them the night before. Plus, with the girls he’d dealt with before, there would be scare quotes around “talk,” because talking was always the last thing they had on their minds.

Who was this girl?

He guessed he could just text her. Whatever they did, she could piece it together for him. If she was a jersey chaser, that would likely make itself apparent rather quickly—they usually screamed when they saw him—a signal to make a quick exit. Though he couldn’t remember exactly what happened last night, he knew that he would never say anything remotely genuine to a girl just looking to use him as a trophy.

He took his phone out of his practice bag next to his locker and quickly memorized the number off of the picture he’d taken of his hand that morning. Typing it in, his pulse quickened. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. It was probably nothing. But, the fact that he couldn’t remember had set off panic alarms like he’d never had before. It was almost like his subconscious was trying to tell him what his brain wanted him to forget. Like it wasn't a hook-up or a superficial encounter. Like he might have told her something real, something he doesn't tell just anyone.

Hey, it’s Shawn.

* * * * * * * * * *

You stared at your phone for five minutes before putting it face down on your desk. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t actually text you less than six hours after you left him in that bathroom. Didn’t he have practice? Didn’t he have a hangover? Didn’t he shower and not notice your note before it washed off?

You picked it up again, hoping you’d had a hallucination, but the screen lit up and there it was:

Hey, it’s Shawn.

You put it down again and went back to your American Literature essay that was due next week. This Great Gatsby essay was much more important. Getting an education. That was part one of the plan. Remember the plan. The plan didn’t include or accommodate distractions like a drop-dead gorgeous star athlete with substance abuse problems.

Your phone vibrated against the desk, startling you, and you scrambled to pick it up again:

Err, Mendes. It's Shawn Mendes.

The corner of your mouth quirked up. Like you needed the clarification after last night. That endearing charm was immediately there, and as much as you wished it wasn’t his armor, you had to admit it was cute.

Uhh, you know you have read receipts on, right?

Shit! You put on read receipts for your mom last night and forgot to take them off! Scrambling to your settings, you turned them off. But, you’d been caught. You had to answer now.

You: You caught me.

Shawn: She speaks.

You: She does.

You: How are you feeling?

Shawn: Like shit haha you?

You: Surprisingly well, but I didn’t drink an entire bottle of gin like someone in this conversation ;)

Shawn: Touché.

Shawn: Listen, you said to text you if I wanted to talk.

You: I did.

Shawn: Well, do you think we could talk in person?

You: (...)

A sinking sense of panic filled your lungs. This wasn’t what you meant when you left your number. Texting kept a safe distance between the two of you. You never had to worry about people seeing you—watching you—with him. He talked about the girls that followed him around and you couldn’t imagine the kind of attention he drew on campus, even among people who didn’t want to sleep with him.

Shawn: I’m on pins and needles here.

You: (...)

You: It’s no offense to you, but I just don’t want to be seen with you on campus.

Shawn: Ouch. That felt like offense.

You: No, no. It’s me. I get nervous when I feel like people are watching me.

Shawn: What if there was a place we could talk where I promise no one would be watching?

You: (...)

Was he about to invite you to his apartment?

Shawn: I’m not inviting you over or anything weird.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

You: Okay, then where?

Shawn: The library. I have connections.

The library. You felt the chains around your heart rattle, straining around emotions you’d tried really hard to keep under control for a long time. What was this boy doing to you?

You: Tell me when.

to be continued...

Next time: A secret library meeting. 

Leave me some feedback! I want to hear how you’re feeling about this! Oh, and let me know if I should start a taglist! 

[grasslandgirl]

bookstore, knitting, and cozy for the cozy asks!!!

jj ILY and im SO SORRY im only JUST getting to this sbfjks im terrible!!!!!!

OK SO

bookstore: favorite childhood book?

hm. i guess this depends on like what u qualify as childhood book?? ill give three from three different eras of Childhood

Goodnight Moon, Margaret Wise Brown- this was the baby book my parents read to me almost nightly when i was a baby, and my mom can probably recite it by memory at this point..... its so sweet and gentle

Nate the Great Saves the King of Sweden, Marjorie Weinman Sharmat, Marc Simont: I counted this as my first “real chapter book” that I read by myself as a kid, and as such was my self professed favorite book for many years on sentimentality alone. I don’t remember much of the plot anymore, but to the best of my recollection it was about a young aspiring detective (Nate) who happened to discover the king of Sweden hidden in a basement cupboard at his friend’s after she gets back from vacation.......... or something

The Last Olympian, Rick Riordan: to absolutely no one’s surprise, i was a HUGE percy jackson stan in elementary and middle school, and this (the fifth and final book in the percy jackson and the olympians series) held and will always hold a special place in my heart. that being said, I’m due for an all encompassing reread of a like 15 book series. most of which i already own. I have no shame.

knitting: what’s a hobby that you would like to start?

tbh not to be ironic but i’d love to learn how to knit- it seems to practical and fun and relaxing and i really love scarves and sweaters and gloves SO

but also i REALLY want to learn to play a musical instrument; ideally and predictably guitar, piano, ukulele, or drums 

uhhh i did martial arts for like 6 years in middle/high school and kind of miss that though im REALLY out of practice

and the sentimental artist in me loves ballet and misses it from when i danced when i was like 8 but like... that’s never going to happen so

cozy: favorite gift you’ve ever received?

hm. 

a target basket

ok story time bkdjvbkfjvb

so i did theatre in high school- like a LOT of theatre- and the theatre teacher/ artistic director/ director of shows was, as most theater teachers are, Quirky. 

one of her (many) quirks was that she would carry all of her things everyday in a Harris Teeter grocery basket (for the followers who aren’t from south eastern USA/ areas where harris teeters don’t exist- they’re pretty standard grocery stores (owned by Kroger now) and the baskets are the green rectangular plastic ones youre supposed to use in the store if you’re only picking up a few items, but you’re NOT supposed to bring home) 

but yeah she carried all her shit in a plastic basket- her purse, keys, water bottle, laptop, food, script, etc. Everything!! and there were always a couple other baskets floating around the classroom and the auditorium- especially during a show- that had scripts and other assorted shit stored in them. it was just a staple of life in the department and no one knew WHY she had them or why she used them or how she got them. it just was

so my senior year roles around and as a senior theatre student im lucky enough to get the opportunity to assistant direct our spring musical- the sound of music!- alongside my teacher, the chorus teacher, and another student (PLEASE dm me about questions about this, it was one of the best experiences of my life and i will literally never shut up about it if given the chance) 

and about halfway through rehearsals, a friend of mine (we’ll call her Sarah for anonymity’s sake) joked that i was acting like a mini version of our teacher; which, while accurate, was annoying in the way it is when someone say’s youre acting like your mom. like “yeah OK fine!! you dont have to Say It” bc in a lot of ways our theatre teacher was like our school mom. in the good ways and the bad ways. 

and so Sarah joked that i was just like her, and all i was missing was her infamous basket

and i swear i saw the idea enter her brain

Sarah: I’m going to steal you a harris teeter basket for closing night gifts*!!

me: wtf no don’t do that

s: yes only no i know i’ll steal you a TARGET one bc youre a CLASSY bitch

m: literally Do Not steal me a basket

s: too bad!!!

[*- closing night gifts are when designers/technicians/stage managers get gifts for the production team (directors, musical director, SMs, etc) as a Thank You gift, Sarah took them Incredibly Seriously]

so flash forward like another month, and it’s closing night of the show, and im emo af and trying not to show it, bc im a senior and this show was my baby in a lot of ways, and this was the last show i was going to be working in the auditorium at my school, like, ever, and it was the last show i would ever work with a lot of my friends, so yeah. so, obviously, i was running around backstage like a chicken with it’s head cut off, putting out fires and trying to be useful

and it’s like an hour, maybe, before the show starts and Sarah walks into the green room (a room backstage where actors stay when they’re not in the dressing rooms/ backstage/ onstage, and bc its an hour before closing night, its a mad house) 

and im talking to somebody in the greenroom, and at this point i haven’t forgotten her threat that she was going to steal me a basket, but we haven’t talked about it since the original discussion, and ive been hoping that SHE’S forgotten about it. and so bc im working and talking to someone, at first i don’t really see Sarah come in, i notice her out of the corner of my eye, and i don’t really realize what i see at first, and then my head whips around and there she is.

grinning all smug like the cat that ate the canary.

and she’s holding a target basket, of course.

and at that point its all too much and like a combination of the love i have for the show and all the grief that it’s ending and like im so Touched that she put in the thought and work and energy to get me this gift and im also like irritated just a little bc i told her Not To and OF COURSE she does it anyway and as a combination of everything i just kind of crumple to the ground in a combination of laughing and crying and i dont even know which im doing or which i did first 

and im sure half the cast thought i lost my fucking mind bc i was just kneeling on the greenroom floor like cradling a target basket and laughing hysterically and sobbing

and then we had to do the show!

but all jokes aside, it’s surprisingly functional and useful and i use it pretty regularly

and as a bonus people are always confused by it bc im carrying around a target basket in random places, so that’s a bonus

jj ilysm thank for the ask im sorry this was an ESSAY

send me a cozy ask!!

[5hfanfiction]

coming out (six) ⇾ camren

Authors Note: HI GUYS! I’m really sorry for being so shitty in keeping up with this book, a lot has been happening lately. My fiancée’s father died about two weeks after New Years and she’s been really torn about that because we are still arranging dates for our wedding and she was really excited for him to walk her down the aisle and be the first daughter of his to get married but everything happened so fast.

He had a seizure at dinner, ambulance and everything came, it was very sudden. Basically at the hospital they tell us that he has a basically inoperable brain tumor which none of us knew of. He’s been complaining about sharp pains and headaches for basically all of 2016 and we’ve all been urging him to go and have it checked out but he hates hospital more than anything and absolutely refused. The tumor was intact cancerous. He was placed in the hospital overnight for many nights and it basically got worse and worse each day. He had a series of seizures the night he died.

I’ve taken a break from writing to be there not only for my fiancée and her family, but for myself as well. Her dad was pretty much my dad in my eyes. If you haven’t already known, I’ve been in and out foster care systems for a big portion of my life because both parents had died due to drug addiction. I was in fact adopted later on in my life and I have the worlds best adoptive parents who are pretty much my own parents even if we don’t have the same blood but her father was there for me when my adoptive father wasn’t. He travels a lot and was gone for so much that i pretty much only had my adoptive mother to rely on as a parent figure until I met my fiancée and her dad. So when he died, it took a toll on me as well.

I focused mainly on reading and kind of chose to forget writing for a little while. This week my fiancée is in Canada going over funeral arrangements with her mother and other extended family and I’m home alone basically so I’ve found some spare time and decided to start this series up again considering it doesn’t have many chapters left since it is a short series. Its basically a one shot with many parts so I decided to give it a go again.

I’m really sorry though for being so M.I.A. I promise to update as much as I can, as I said before I’m ready to start some new fanfics and I can’t wait to share those with you.

I’m not usually one to share all my personal problems for fear of coming off attention seeking but you know what, fuck it. I kind of feel like you guys deserve an explanation. I’ve gotten many dms asking me to continue so here I am.

Also, TODAY IS MY 20TH BIRTHDAY! Its also the one year anniversary of me asking my fiancée to be my fiancée lmao. Hopefully we can get married for real though this fall when everything simmers down. But wow, I am no longer in my teens. I’m an adult dammit. Lmfao.

Anyways, enjoy this chapter and thank you for those of you who didn’t remove this story from your library.

Camila|

Watching Lauren walk away from her was almost harder than feeling herself walk away from Lauren. Her chest felt tight as her eyes sprang with tears. If only she’d let me explain…

Sighing softly to herself, she retreated back to find Lola as her attempt to slowly begin to mend things with her former band mate had failed miserably.

Coming to a stop in front of her girlfriend, Camila sighed. Her head throbbed the minute the girl had opened her mouth, “Why’d you chase after her?” Lola asked immediately.

“I just wanted to see how she was doing Lo-” she cut herself off. Lo was Lauren’s nickname. “Lola.”

The hazel eyed girl huffed as she pouted her lips slightly, “You don’t still have that stupid… Camren thing with her, right?” She asked. “I mean, I’m not really sure why that was even a thing. You’re way out of her league. She’s like a negative two hundred on the scale,” she scoffed.

Camila ground her teeth together as she looked down. Lola really knew how to piss someone off. “Lets go home,” she mumbled. She didn’t have time to deal with her shit.

Lauren|

Its been two days since she last ran into Camila. Its been two days since she was reminded of all that went wrong in her life. Seeing the successful singer made Lauren’s blood boil but heart throb all at once. She didn’t understand anything her body was telling her. All that was the least bit comprehendible was that Camila was bad news and Lauren stayed away from bad news no matter what.

She sighed softly to herself as she stood from her and Lucy’s bed. Lucy had gone off for coffee with an old friend Lauren didn’t know of until about a week ago but she didn’t question it. Lucy wasn’t obligated to share everything with her.

She has the day off and wasn’t really sure what to do with it. Normally she’d be spending it with Lucy but that was clearly out of the picture.

She stretched, hearing her back pop with several satisfying cracks before making her way up to her dresser to check her phone. She had the usual several too many text messages from friends but the unknown number caught her eye. She raised an eyebrow as she read the message. It was a simple “hey” to which she replied with a “Who is this” she grabbed her phone as she made her way into the kitchen, reading over the rest of her messages and replying to a few every now and then, being sure not to open the ones she didn’t want to reply to.

The moment she entered the kitchen, her phone vibrated in her hand. The unknown number. Her stomach dropped at the next words, “it’s Camila” she thought she may have misread as she blinked a few times. Seconds later, the bubble with three dots appeared indicating her former bandmate was typing.

C: dinah gave me this number

L: What the hell do you want Camila

Her blood boiled and heart pounded as Camila began typing. Didn’t she get the memo the last time they ran into each other? She wants nothing to do with her! She tapped her fingernails impatiently on the kitchen counter as she waited for the next message. Her anxiety was going through the roof. What was she writing? A college essay?

C: i dont want to fight with you lauren. I just want to explain. ive explained to everyone but you. please just give me the chance to tell you things my way and if it still isn’t enough, i’ll leave you alone forever. i promise.

Lauren reread the message over and over, her eyes burning from never blinking. This couldn’t be real. A small chuckle of annoyance fell from her lips as she began typing out her simple reply.

L: You can shove your explanation up your ass.

Her heart twitched as she hit send. She ignored the guilt from her sudden outburst of harshness and forced herself to prepare for anything Camila threw at her when the three dots in a bubble popped back up. What she read next shocked her. She expected old Camila. She expected Camila to be a bitch back at her. But she wasn’t.

C: okay. but if you happen to change your mind, i’ll be doing a little fundraiser for women’s right and lgbt rights in Miami Beach from 10am-6pm. ive invited the girls. mani, dinah and ally will be there. i heard you were with lucy, feel free to invite her as well. im really sorry for everything lo and i hope you can forgive me someday. have a good rest of the day.

Camila|

She willed the tears to go away as she hit send and threw her phone across the table. She never knew why even the thought of Lauren brought so much emotion into her. She could feel her ex bandmate’s eyes on her. It was silent for awhile before Dinah reached across from her to pick up the disregarded phone. Camila sat in silence as she read over the short conversation.

“She’ll come,” she finally said.

Camila looked up, a long sigh escaping her lips as she struggled to compose herself. “I doubt it,” she mumbled quietly.

Dinah shook her head, “She’ll come. Deep down, under all that hate and hurt, she still cares Mila. I promise,” the blonde haired girl sent her best friend a small smile.

Camila nodded, her face contorting into weird different expressions as she tried not to cry. She’s been doing that a lot lately and she wasn’t up for ruining her makeup the fourth time that week.

“So how are things with Lola?” Dinah asked.

Camila laughed, shaking her head. She didn’t even know what to say as she rolled her eyes over and over. She probably looked possessed. “I don’t even know why I’m dating her anymore Dinah,” she said truthfully.

“Just dump her,”

“I can’t,”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like hurting people,”

“You had a fine job doing that when you left the group,” silence fell upon them. Camila looked down at her lap, Dinah shaking her head. The blonde sighed softly, “I didn’t mean that Mi-”

“Its fine,” Camila said as she cut her off. “Lets just, lets just get ready for the fundraiser.”

***

Disappointment. That’s what Camila felt as she watched the last man pack up their belongings for the fundraiser. It was going on 8pm, it had gone a little over time with how many people had showed up, Camila was truly amazed. She loved every minute of it, meeting fans all while helping spread awareness on both women rights and LGBT rights but she couldn’t help the overall sadness as it came to an end. Lauren didn’t show up. She even had two guards waiting up front in case she did show up to escort her over. Nothing happened.

It was really hard for her to be happy in such an amazing environment when the one person she was hoping with everything in her to show up, didn’t show up.

Lauren|

“Babe you should go,” Lucy encouraged as she sat up slightly from the couch.

Lauren shook her head, walking over to her girlfriend a bowl of warm soup. “You’re not feeling well. I don’t have to go to the stupid fundraiser,” she mumbled.

Lucy gave Lauren a look as she accepted the soup, “First of all, you love fundraisers that tie down to those specific matters and you know it. Just last week you were saying how you wished it happened more often. Plus Fifth Harmony will basically be reuniting for the first time as a group in a while.”

Rolling her eyes, Lauren plopped down next to Lucy. Playing with the ring on her thumb she sighed loudly, “Why do you even care so much? You do know Camila invited me, right? You don’t really like her,” pausing she glanced at her girlfriend. “Besides, who’ll take care of you while I’m gone? The stupid thing is over anyways. She said it ended at 6 PM. Its like 7:45 now.”

“I don’t not like her. I just wasn’t fond of what she had done to the group,” Lucy shrugged. “And so? Weren’t you the one social media stalking her and saw she was spamming on Snapchat with videos just from like five minutes ago?” Lucy raised a knowing eyebrow at her girlfriend. “I can invite Kandee over if it’ll make you feel better about who’ll take care of me.” Kandee was Lucy’s longtime friend Lauren had recently learned about.

She sighed to herself as she thought over it, “What if it goes bad?” She mumbled quietly.

“She’s just asking you to hear her out, right? If you don’t like what she has to say, just leave,” Lucy reached over to rub her finger tips up and down her girlfriends arm, “It’ll all go good baby. I promise.”

***

This was a mistake. Lauren could feel it as she approached the empty area. I bet she’s gone. God I’m such an idiot. It was around 8 PM and the place was pretty much a ghost land. She saw a few people left but that was it. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stopped in front of the location Camila had texted her.

There stood a man who had his back turned toward her with “SECURITY” writing in big white letters on his black T-Shirt.

Clearing her throats softly, she proceeded to tap him on the shoulder. The man sighed before turning around. “Ma'am this even is over please-” the man paused himself before eyes widening. “I am so sorry Miss. Follow me this way,” Lauren felt confusion settle within her as she followed the man through the black curtains. Something in her told her not to, it could be a trap but she ignored it. She was always unnecessarily paranoid. “Miss Cabello!” The man shouted.

The ashy brown haired woman turned around, along with three other obviously familiar faces. A sense of nervousness washed over Lauren as the room went silent for a few seconds before an overly excited Ally ran straight toward her former bandmate along with Dinah and Normani. She felt overwhelmed with happiness as the three women bombarded her with questions and hugs. A couple years escaped her eyes. It felt so good to be in their presence again. But everything went just as fast as it came.

Suddenly they all realized the reasoning behind them all being there and a silent Camila. Pulling apart from each other, Normani spoke first. “We’ll give you guys some space.”

By then, the security guard had already left and the three ladies had found their way out. Lauren’s heart pounded as she took in Camila’s overall presence. The whole situation felt even more overwhelming as her former bandmate directed her toward a set of chairs to sit down. It was silent between them for quite some time, neither really knowing how to start off.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” Camila breathed out, deciding to speak first.

Lauren pursed her lips, looking down for a second then back up with a small head nod. “I wasn’t,” she answered honestly. “Lucy made me.”

She didn’t miss the small twinge of hurt in Camila’s features but tried her best to brush it all off. “You look nice,” Camila then said.

Lauren sighed, rolling her eyes. “Thank you but I didn’t exactly come to be complimented. I’m here for my explain so I can be on my way back to my perfectly unproblematic life,” she didn’t mean to come off so harsh. It kind of just happened and she did regret it when Camila paused and every feature in her face twisted into one of pain before looking down and clearing her throat.

“Okay,” she croaked. “Where do you want me to start?”

“The beginning. Why you left, why you feel I should pity you in anyway, etc.”

Camila clenched her jaw, “I don’t need your pity Lauren, that’s one,” sighing, she looked down as she attempted to collect her currently scattered thoughts.

“I left because I couldn’t do it anymore,” she started. “It was a decision I had already planned for months before the day I left. I left mainly because of you though,” she kept her eyes down as she felt herself relive those few earlier months. “You weren’t happy with me in the group. I could feel it, the fans could feel it, everyone could. It was like days that I wasn’t there, you shined the most. You seemed the happiest and most carefree. Obviously me being there was taking that away. My intentions weren’t to break the group as a whole, no. I was hoping if things played out well, you guys would continue as a foursome. I didn’t mean to fuck up everyone’s lives, I swear Lauren.”

“I couldn’t do it anymore. Not even just with you, I was taking away everyone else’s happiness. Normani wouldn’t, hell couldn’t even look at me off camera. Ally was always torn on who to side with, at one point she even hated me. I was breaking Dinah’s relationship with everyone in the group because I’d always make her feel obligated to be on my side. I was fucking it all up. I wasn’t happy anymore in it… you guys weren’t happy anymore with me in it. My solo music started to take off, everything was screaming at me to get out. So I did.”

“I didn’t mean for everything to go downhill so fast. I didn’t want you guys to find out the way you found out. But life has a fucked up way of playing out for you-”

“That doesn’t answer shit Camila. So basically you’re new skit is, you left the group for our happiness? My god you are full of so much shit,” Lauren laughed humorlessly as she stood up. “You left because you’re a selfish self absorbed idiotic fucking cunt who cared more about fame than the actual fucking gr-”

“I left because I was in love with you! Okay, I fucking left because I was in love with you Lauren!”

Everything went silent, Lauren stopped, Camila stopped, the girls who were eavesdropping behind the curtain even stopped. The atmosphere suddenly felt thick and heart to breathe in. Lauren sat back down and stared at Camila in disbelief.

Camila gulped harshly as the tears started to come, “I couldn’t take it anymore Lauren. I couldn’t. I couldn’t take knowing every fucking day you hated me, our friendship would never ever be the same. I could handle you not feeling the same, I could handle keeping it a secret forever. But I couldn’t handle knowing you hated me so fucking much. I couldn’t handle it. When you came out, and I was a complete bitch to you about it, it was like everything got worse. Your hate for me grew, everything was just a mess. Imagine… being head over heels in love with someone who hates you more than life itself but you have to work with them every fucking day. Imagine it.”

“I wasn’t fucking happy. I was sad, everyday, every night. My life was just sadness. And I hated that, because I loved what we did so fucking much. I loved making music with my best friends. I loved the fans. I loved everyone and everything. So basically feeling trapped and miserable was the worst thing ever for me. I’m sorry Lauren, I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me as a friend, I’m sorry for putting a stupid solo career before our friendship, I’m sorry for putting anyone and everyone before you. My intentions were never to hurt you. You’ve always been one of my closest friends and to watch you grow such an intense amount of hate for me killed me. I wanted out, I needed out.”

She finished with a face full of tears and a shocked and frozen Lauren just staring back at her. Neither women knew what to say as the tension got thicker and thicker.

All Camila could think about was how she possibly fucked things up the most in this moment and there was no ever going back.

***

a/n: wow i actually cried writing this last part. damn. lol, im so sorry i did not edit. im really tired and im about to go out with friends for my birthday but i hope you enjoyed this over due chapter. i love you lots and thanks so much for reading.

to my tumblr readers, make sure to check out my wattpad @wthbello for faster updates and overall better reading format lmao. thanks so much for reading as well.

have an amazing night/day/afternoon, etc. wherever you are. make sure to always be kind to yourselves and always love yourselves because if you don’t, i can assure you no one else will. no one can love you better than you can love you. with that being said, i hope you enjoyed this chapter lmao.

ellianna (elli), xxxxxxxxxxxx