#which in space is knowing precisely how to get rid of waste without knocking them off-course via the expulsion. and being very good at

[quietwingsinthesky]

i bestow upon my oc the highest honor i can: janitor*

*in charge waste disposal on the ship

[wroteasongabouther]

can’t stand to see you lonely: part 1

a/n: oh my god guys it’s finally here!😬 i really hope i didn’t hype myself up too much and that you guys actually like it. overall i just wanted to put out a story that revolved around christmas and this is what i came up with! so without me babbling too much, i hope you enjoy part 1 of my new story and as always any feedback/reblogs are very much appreciated.

and of course, thank you to the lovely jess @arrogantstyles and jill @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this part for me and giving this rusty old writer the help i needed lol

word count: 17k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, some sexual tension, and an over consumption of starbucks holiday drinks.

fic page // let’s chat // cstsyl playlist 

“What floor?” Harry asks, eyes stuck on the many buttons in the elevator instead of seeing who had entered the small space with him. He can tell it’s a woman, and they smelt lovely.

“Six please,” her soft voice replies.

Harry looks over his shoulder in what he hopes is a smooth motion to get a quick peek at who was behind that sweet voice. Her eyes were squinting slightly as she smiles at him. She must be my new neighbour, he thinks as he hits the number six button and it lights up before the elevator begins to move. He steps back, standing in the opposite corner of the young woman. Harry assumes that she is maybe a few years younger than him, but one thing he knew for sure was that she was very pretty. He may even say she was stunning. She's all bundled up with a long coat and a thick scarf as he guesses she had just gone out for some shopping, judging by the few large white paper bags hanging off her arm.

“Did you just recently move in?” He questions, catching her eyes switching from gazing at the wall to his own instead.

She smiles again and nods, “yeah.”

“I thought I heard someone move in beside me,” he exclaims. He was certain that someone had moved in beside him. It caused him a bit of a headache hearing all the moving around. And then on top of that, his new neighbour had decided to get right to hammering in on the wall they shared. Little did he know, there was a determined and beautiful girl on the other side.  

“Oh you’re my neighbour then?” She says, bringing Harry back from his memory of a few days ago.

“Harry,” he introduces himself, reaching a hand out into the space between them. She switches her Starbucks holiday cup into her other hand in order to shake his. Her hand is warm from holding the drink and it causes Harry's stomach to erupt with little bitty butterflies.

“Y/N,” she says in the same gentle voice as before. He wanted to hear her talk more. There was something about the soft tone of her voice, like he could listen to her speak into the late hours and early mornings and never once get tired of it. He blinks a few times and drops her hand at his intimate thought.

Harry didn't believe in love at first sight per say, but he was known to develop an infatuation of sorts very quickly. A crush as some would call it. Well, to be precise, Mitch teases him the most of his little crushes. There was that one time that Harry fumbled over his words over and over again when they had gone for dinner and had a rather attractive waitress, having asked for her number at the end of the night too. Mitch mocked him for days about it, asking if she had ever texted him back - she didn’t. And Harry didn’t even want to think about the time he spilled an entire blended margarita on his white vans when a certain handsome lifeguard had winked at him during their trip in LA last summer. Mitch still doesn’t let that incident go either.

The elevator doors open, and Harry gives her a smile and motions with a hand for her to walk out before he does. His mom must’ve raised him well, Y/N thinks at her new neighbours mannerisms. First holding the elevator for her, then offering to press the elevator button, and now letting her exit first. Suppose it was just minor things, but growing up in this lovely city that is New York meant she was used to the rudeness of people and sadly the simplest of gestures can make her heart beat just a bit faster in her chest.

“If you uh,” Harry pauses as Y/N stops at her front door but looks back at him as he speaks. Harry slows his steps to keep eye contact with her. “If you ever need anything, don’t feel shy to knock on my door.”

Y/N smiles again, nodding at his offer while she twists her key in the lock and opens her front door. Harry's walking backwards now, just a few steps to that same door he’s saying she can knock on. His eye contact is intense, but addicting, like every word she had to say to him mattered. His eyes are green, just green, nothing crazy and yet she found them very endearing. Would it be cliche of her to say she swore she saw them sparkle?

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you,” she says and before she can say anything else, she steps into her new apartment and shuts the door behind her.

Y/N finds herself standing there for a moment, remembering every word Harry had spoken to her as she slips out of her shoes. She then remembers his facial features while undoing her coat and hanging it up along with her scarf. The bit of facial hair he was sporting, how it seemed like it may have taken a while to grow so he kept it minimal. Or that little mole by his mouth, she even took note of that in their short time together. He had a cute nose too, she thinks. Harry takes up every inch of space in her mind for over an hour before she’s brought out of whatever dream state fog she was in. She lets out a deep breath and shakes her head a little before going about wrapping the presents she had bought earlier in the day while sipping her Christmas Starbucks drink, falling back in love with the holidays all over again.

“No, no, no, no,” Y/N groans as she twists and turns the knobs for her shower, and yet, nothing happens. Only a few drops fall to the tiled floor causing her to let out another string of curses. “This can not be happening,” she says.

But it was. Y/N’s hair was a mess, beyond greasy and a bit matted from her sleep last night. Not to mention she smelt like sweat from bringing up the box that held her new fake christmas tree this morning. She had been tempted to walk down the hall and knock on Harry's door, but she didn’t want to be annoying and fall into the stereotypes of the helpless young female living on her own for the first time. So instead she grabbed a cable knit sweater, tugged on her old dirty ugg boots, and went down in the elevator to meet with the Amazon delivery person. Little did she know that the box was way too tall for the elevator. So, she ended up bringing it up herself. All six flights of stairs, Y/N pulled and dragged that box up to her floor which caused her to break quite the sweat. Thankfully, it wasn’t so heavy, but she couldn’t help but think that she went through all of this just so she could get her new fake christmas tree up. Freaking fake! Not even a real one because apparently that wasn't allowed at her apartment building. Oh, how she was going to miss the smell of a fresh christmas tree. And oh, how she wanted to get rid of this disgusting smell of sweat she embodied now.

“Why me?” She winces, looking up at the ceiling and letting the glass door for her shower close as she gave up on the water magically appearing.

Is this the most appropriate time to not be shy and knock on Harry's door? Suddenly, her Apple watch vibrates, and she brings her arm up to see the reminder she had set before to tell her of the tight schedule she’s on for the day. With only 45 minutes left to get ready, she needed to get moving quickly. Y/N curses herself for wasting the past fifteen minutes on her phone, reading over her newest Instagram comments and aimlessly scrolling through her feed. So she tugs both sides of her purple robe that she had changed into anticipating a shower in her own home. Y/N pulls it tighter and ties the belt around her waist into a bow, and before she can give it a second thought, she’s out the door of her own apartment and starting down the hallway.

Harry didn’t know when he thought Y/N would eventually knock on his door. A part of Harry was hoping that she would have knocked sooner than a week later. But nonetheless, when there was a frantic knock on his door, he didn’t miss how his heart skips in his chest as he imagined Y/N standing on the other side. Peering through the peephole in his door he saw her standing there - in a bathrobe? Harry's brows pull together in confusion as he unlocks the door and heaves the door open.

“Is your water working?” She asks, her voice sounding as panicked as her knocking had been. But before Harry can answer she starts talking a million miles an minute. “Cause mine’s not, like not a single drop and I need to shower. So badly. And I know it’s probably super weird and rude of me to just bang on your door and ask to use your shower. Honestly, I can’t even believe I am but I am in such a hurry and I have the busiest day ahead of me with work and going to the-”

“Y/N,” Harry cuts her off abruptly. Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth and blinks up at him. “You need to use my shower? Is that what you’re getting at?”

Harry is a bit thrown off, not once did he think she’d come knocking for this reason. He glances down the hall awkwardly. He hopes that that noisy neighbour of theirs across the hall wasn’t peeping into their conversation, or seeing Y/N in this bathrobe. Mr Matthers can be a bit of a creep, Harry thinks. At the thought he hears a creak come from behind the door that’s across the hall.

She nods, “I know it’s like super strange to ask but mine is not working and I don’t have time to figure it out.” When Harry looks back at her, he notices she’s staring down at the ground between them, her eyes blinking rapidly as if she’s realizing what she’s gotten herself into. Harry didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

“S’alright, really, come in,” Harry says while opening the door to his apartment wider.

Y/N gives him a smile of appreciation before stepping into his home. The layout of Harry’s apartment is really just the opposite of hers, but the interior design he’s gone with is a lot better.

He’s gone for the classic monochrome look with blacks, white and greys. But with pops of colour where it matters, like a blanket over the back of his large L-shaped couch that looked handmade. She wonders if a family member made it, quite liking the light blues and pinks blended together. He’s got the same hardwood flooring like her own apartment and the plain off white paint on the walls - but with a few very unique paintings hung up on them. There’s two tall shelves, full of vinyls and novels and some picture frames too, that are on either side of his large flat screen tv which he took the time to hook up on the wall. It’s got a TV show paused on the screen, in her quick glance she can’t tell what show he was watching before she knocked but it looked like a cooking show. The corners of her lips twitch up into a smile at the thought of Harry being into cooking or baking maybe. He’s got a matching chair to his couch in the living room too that looks like she could fall asleep in it within a second. Overall it simply seems more grown up than her apartment - more put together and clean, that’s for sure.

To give her some credit, she has just moved in while she’s sure Harry’s been here for a while. Harry steps away from the door after locking it again, taking a few steps in order to be in her line of sight. With an arm thrown up, finger pointing down the hall, he gives Y/N another smile. He can’t help it, she looks rather adorable in that purple bathrobe. Was that all she was wearing? He thought to himself. He clears his throat as his mind goes on to imagine what’s under that plush purple material she’s wearing.

“Bathroom’s the first on the left,” he states, “did you bring your own soap or anything?”

“Honestly, no, I just kind of ran out of my place in quite a hurry and didn’t think twice as I got the sudden nerve to come over here.”

“Well, lucky for you I care about hair care, so there’s some good shampoos and even a nice hair oil to put into your hair afterwards when it’s damp. It’s in a small clear bottle with a white and gold label, by my toothbrush,” Harry explains. Y/N nods and starts towards the bathroom. With each step further into Harry’s home, she realizes what exactly she’s done. She can’t believe it really - just asking a complete stranger to let her shower in their home. She could be a murderer for all Harry knew, and he just opened his home up so freely. She steps into the bathroom, switching on the lights and the fan, she shuts the door and sighs. Lifting her arm up her Apple watch lights up to show the time. She had twenty minutes tops to shower, that’s all.

The bathroom is clean, very clean actually. Y/N lets her gaze wander around the space for a moment. There’s matching hand towels and all his skin and hair care are placed neatly on the small counter space too. She assumes he’s a bit of a neat freak. Turning to the shower, she opens the glass door gently and instantly reaches for the silver knobs. As she turns them water falls from the showerhead above her.

“Thank God,” she whispers while looking up at the water.

Y/N adjusts it to her preferred temperature and then she works on untying the knot of her robe. Words can’t describe how grateful she is that it held together in front of Harry. Him seeing her in the robe and with her hair in the state it’s in is embarrassing enough. Honestly, she can’t believe she even knocked on his door in it, and without any clothes to change into afterwards too. Stupid, she thinks while opening the glass door once more and stepping into the shower.

As Harry had said, there’s many bottles littering the built in shelves of the shower. Her fingers lazily turn the bottles so the labels face her. They’re all scented lavender of some sorts, helping with curly hair and volume. Well that explains why his hair looks so lovely, Y/N thinks as she opens a bottle of shampoo and squeezes it till a good amount falls into her other hand. As she hums ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ she lathers up her hair and massages her scalp. Rinsing it out after and then doing the same with the conditioner. While she lets the conditioner sit in her hair she scans the few other bottles on the shelves for a body wash. She didn’t want to come out of the shower smelling like a pre-teen boy, but she also did not want to smell like sweat. Goats milk and lavender infused, Y/N reads the label of what looks to do a locally owned product. She can’t help but smile as she reaches for it and pours some into her hands before rubbing it over her skin. There’s something so sweet knowing that Harry supports local businesses. He really doesn’t seem like the guys that Y/N is used to.

Three sharp knocks on the door startle Y/N, bringing her out of her day dreams. She quickly brings her arms up to her chest, trying to save herself some modesty if Harry did walk in. Because of course she didn’t think to lock the door. God, what if Harry is a murderer? Y/N thinks. She doesn’t know him, he could very well walk in here with a large kitchen knife and stab her multiple times in the chest while the water begins to run red and she dies right here all because she thought his dimpled smile and green eyes were enduring. Didn’t she learn anything from the whole Ted Bundy thing? Hello, hot guy doesn’t immediately mean nice!

“Y/N?” Harry calls out from the other side of the door, raising his voice just slightly so she could hear it over the running water. She shakes her head from her ridiculous thought - no more Criminal Minds at night for her, she takes the quick mental note.

“Yes?” She responds.

“I just realized I didn’t give you a towel,” he says, his voice sounding strained as he closes his eyes and tries to not imagine his neighbour naked in his shower. Harry’s fist tightens around the towel as his mind ignores him and thinks of how the water is dripping down her skin.

“Oh, yeah,” she breathes out. Looking around the bathroom beyond the foggy glass. There weren't any towels that she could see. Maybe they were under the sink.

“So I uh, I grabbed one for you. I can just open the door really fast and drop it in, I wouldn’t look in I swear, I’d face the hallway and just reach through,” he clarifies, “wait, you locked the door didn’t you?”

“Actually, I didn’t,” Y/N says, “so yeah just drop it in, please and thank you,”

Harry nods, regardless of the fact Y/N can’t see him. He takes a deep breath before turning the doorknob and opening the door just a crack. The towel doesn’t quite fit through, so he opens it a bit more. His eyes are on the towel as he makes sure it gets into the bathroom. He notices the steam pillowing in the small space and just before he looks the other way, he sees Y/N’s purple bathrobe on the floor. Only her purple bathrobe. Harry swallows and drops the towel to the floor and quickly shuts the door again. Y/N jumps at the sudden slam of the door, her heart having been beating out of her chest as she stood under the warm stream of water and listened to Harry deliver the towel.

He spins around and walks away from the bathroom in a brisk walk, making it to his kitchen in record time. He takes a few breaths and blinks at the view from his kitchen window above the sink. It’s beginning to snow. Something tells him this will excite Y/N - just a feeling he has. He hardly knows the girl and he’s been conjuring up versions of her in his head these past seven days. He’d heard her play music through the walls Tuesday night, he recognized the artist after a few moments. Van Morrison, one of his favourites. What were the odds? He had thought. But then he quickly shut that thought down because many people liked Van Morrison, and just because his very cute neighbour liked the same music he did, that didn’t mean she was meant for him.

Then on Thursday in the middle of the day he had seen her running across the street from his apartment. One thing he loved about his apartment facing the front of the building is how he got to see people coming and going. That day it looked as though she was carrying a take out bag from his favourite restaurant. Again, what were the odds that she liked the same place? But again, he had another hard conversation with himself saying that it was a rather popular place in this area and lots of people liked to go there. Y/N was still a stranger to him. A naked and attractive stranger who was in his bathroom right now.

Harry breathes in deeply and leans both hands at either side of his sink as he watches the large snowflakes fall over New York City. He still couldn’t believe he lived here sometimes. Having grown up in a rather small town in Northern England, where the most exciting thing was the bakery he used to work in as a young teen or maybe the fun graffiti on some of the walls downtown, living in NYC always seemed a bit unrealistic to think of. But this was always a dream of his. To be in one of the biggest cities in the United States and doing what he loved the most.

“It’s snowing?” Y/N’s voice full of irritation catches Harry off guard. He turns around to see her standing in the threshold between his kitchen and living room. That purple robe, which would be making an appearance in his dreams he’s sure of, is back on her now clean body while the towel he had given her is wrapped around her hair atop of her head.

“You don’t like the snow?” Harry questions, both of his brows raised high at how off he was about his instinct of her loving the snow.

“No, I mean, yes I do,” she shakes her head slightly, “I just don't like driving it in. New York drivers already freaking suck and the moment snow starts falling it’s like they forget how to drive altogether.” Y/N explains, crossing her arms at her chest.

“It’s the same in London, nearly got into a few accidents in my early years of driving thanks to it,” Harry reveals. Y/N smiles at the knowledge about himself he had let slip, regardless of how irrelevant it is.

“Anyways,” she sighs, “thank you for letting me barge in here and use your shower.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Harry assures her.

“No seriously, you saved me a lot of trouble.”

Harry’s chest swells at her words, mirroring her smile as he stuffs his hands into the front pocket of his trousers and leans back against the edge of the counter. Y/N takes this time to look over Harry’s outfit. He’s got on a cream collared ribbed t-shirt, a beaded necklace adorning his neck, a pair of brown pants that flare out and nearly hid his white sock covered feet. He doesn't dress like the men Y/N sees day to day. It's different, kind of old school, but she likes it. Suits him, she thinks, despite the fact that she barely knows him.

“You’ve got to drive somewhere?” Harry questions, unsure if he’s prying.

“Yeah, JFK unfortunately,” she frowns.

“That’s going to be a nightmare,” Harry says.

“Thanks for the reminder, yeah,” Y/N teases him while fighting back the smile pulling at her mouth.

“Sorry, I just meant that it’s sort of a long drive and airport terminals are a pain, that's all.”

“I’m just bugging you. It most definitely is going to be a nightmare,” Y/N agrees with a chuckle, “and I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.” She adds while jabbing a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of her own apartment. Harry nods and notices how her robe’s a bit looser than before as she drops her arms and it falls a few inches down her shoulder - exposing more of her soft looking skin. Harry has to look away and walk towards his front door with Y/N before his imagination gets the best of him.

Harry unlocks the door and holds it open for Y/N to walk out of his home. He liked having her in his space. Harry internally curses himself for yet another intimate thought about his neighbour fogs up his mind. Just as she steps over the threshold of his apartment, Y/N spins on her heels quickly and reaches up with both hands to grab the twisted up towel around her hair. Harry nearly comes undone right then and there. The sight of her wet hair falling down effortlessly around her freshly washed face causes Harry’s mouth to feel dry suddenly. But as she makes the move to reach up, pulling it off of her head, and then holding out the towel in front of her, all of this causes her robe to fall even more off of her shoulders. Now both of her shoulders were fully exposed for him to see. Which Y/N notices right away and blushes, rushing to try and readjust herself, then only holding the towel with one hand while she bares her other arm over her chest to keep the robe from falling open completely.

“Nearly stole your towel,” Y/N breathes out.

She’s distracted by how her robe is slipping apart and how Harry’s eyes are falling with it. Harry clears his throat and takes the towel from her, giving her a chance to fix her robe, and he leans against his door for support as his head spins from the scene he has played out in his head. Her robe falling apart, seeing the swell of her breasts, how her nipples must look. He imagines they’re hard from the chill in the hallway, pebbling into little buds. Then he’s imagining how he’d pull her back into his apartment, kissing and touching all over her skin till she’s left breathless and begging for more.

“Thanks,” Harry says and drops his arm to hold the towel down at his side.

“I owe you one,” Y/N states, “for letting me use the shower,” she adds. She’s not sure what else he would think she’s talking about, but she just felt the need to clarify. And she really needed to get back to her own apartment and finish getting ready. “See you around, Harry,” she says with a smile before walking away and hurrying into her home.

Harry thinks of how he should've wished her a safe flight, or even said goodbye. But instead he heard her door shut and followed suit by closing his own. Harry walks into his living room - discarding the towel on the back of his large arm chair, before moving his acoustic guitar from where it was laying on his couch and taking a seat. He then reaches for his cell phone that was left on the coffee table. Opening his contact, he finds the building's maintenance number and calls them.

“Hey Phil, how are you doing?... Good, I’m good yeah, uh, I’m just calling because the water in 602 isn’t working...Yeah Y/N, she actually had to leave in a bit of a rush, so I just wanted to make sure someone got in there as soon as possible to check it out,” Harry explains the situation to the building’s head maintenance man. “I’m not entirely sure when she’ll be back home, maybe you could give her a quick call and double check... Just being a friendly neighbour, Phil… Thanks Phil, have a good day and say hi to Georgia and the kids for me… Bye.”

Harry hangs up the phone and sets it back down onto the table, looking at the open notebook beside it. He hadn’t written anything all morning. Just had a few good cords stuck in his head. Harry picks up the guitar once more and plays the cords.

“Tangled wet hair, soft silk skin, looking so good it should be a sin,” Harry sings softly. It’s not his best and it’s not even that good, if he’s honest with himself. But it seems that Y/N sparked some inspiration inside of him. He grabs his pen, and starts scribbling down the words that now flow through his mind. Finishing with writing ‘Plush Purple Robe’ in capital letters before dropping the pen and going back to strumming the guitar.

He wrote nearly an entire song, thanks to how Y/N looked in that damn bathrobe standing in his apartment, and he just knew this would result in some teasing words from his friends when he brought it into their studio session next week.

Y/N was tired and her third Starbucks of the day wasn’t helping her out at all. She brings a hand up to cover yet another yawn that escapes her. Her eyes feel heavy, drooping as she blinks slowly a few times at her screen. She feels as though she might doze off if it wasn’t for the loud bang of the mail cart smacking against the elevator doors signalling it’s arrival for the day. It jolts her upright once again and she takes another big gulp of coffee, and sends a prayer up above, before she begins clicking away again at her laptop trying to finalize her schedule for the upcoming month of December.

Fittings, photoshoots, buyers meetings, and more fittings, there was rarely any free time in the first two weeks of the month. But thankfully her boss isn’t a complete Grinch and gave her minimal work during the last two weeks. Plus Y/N really did love her job. She lived for the magic world of fashion. The way her bustling office just meant that the designer’s creations were coming to life as A list celebrities and New York's elite fell in love with the pieces she’s gone through lengths to get for them.

She also loved Christmas just as much, if not more, as her job. Even thinking about everything she was looking forward to this holiday season made her feel all giddy inside now. Growing up in the city meant she knew the thrill of skating in Central Park and seeing the Rockefeller Christmas tree being lit up. Her smile was as bright as the lights. She loved going to the annual Christmas markets that were held; walking around with hot chocolate in her hands as she browsed the many homemade soaps and ornaments, and even clothing too. Y/N even enjoyed shopping at the Macy’s down the street and gasping at their holiday displays, and found herself buying a few too many decorations for her home while there. Over the past few days - with any free time she had off work - she had gone into full blown decorating mode in her apartment. It was like Santa’s village and it filled her with so much joy as she set everything into its rightful place in her new home, smiling from ear to ear at the twinkling lights and tinsel lining the perimeter of every room.

“Earth to Y/N,” her co-worker, Sammy, sings while leaning back in his desk chair to try and make eye contact with her.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, zoning back into reality and turning her own chair away from her desk that was up against the large floor to ceiling windows.

“Daydreaming about that hot new neighbour of yours?” Sammy teases her with a smug look on his face. Y/N rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.

“No, I was not,” she says, “I’m regretting telling you about him already,” she adds. Sammy returns the eye roll.

“There’s no shame in having some eye candy as a neighbour you know,”

“Yeah there is when-“

“Y/N!” Her name suddenly being yelled across the room cuts her sentence off and makes Sammy and herself look over to where it came from. They both see their boss, Amanda, standing in the doorway of her office with both hands up in the air and a look of annoyance across her face. Y/N’s watch vibrates just on time to remind her of her meeting with Amanda. She’s always at least five minutes early; suppose daydreaming about the holidays - not her hot new neighbour - had put her behind schedule a bit.

“Better not keep her waiting,” Sammy says as he rolls his chair back over to his own desk while Y/N closes her laptop, taking it and a notebook with her quickly before slipping her feet back into her black heels. She always took them off when she sat at her desk to give her poor feet a break. As she broke into a speed walk across the office space, nearly avoiding the mail cart, she internally went over what today's meeting entailed.

“Sorry Amanda,” Y/N apologizes as she steps into the office, closing the glass door behind her quietly.

“It’s alright, you’re rarely even a few minutes behind that schedule of yours, so I was more surprised than anything,” Amanda states as she smooths her dress out and takes a seat at her desk. Y/N takes a seat in the chair across her desk, setting her laptop on her lap and then the notebook on top of it while she keeps her favourite pen in hand. It had a cheesy Christmas sweater snowflake pattern on it, which Y/N had bought a whole set for her and Sammy at Target last week.

“I wanted to quickly talk about your time with Miss Woods a couple days ago,” Amanda says, referring to one of the clients from North Carolina that had visited recently. “She said you showed her great hospitality and were a true New Yorker in her eyes, her words exactly.” Amanda gives Y/N a proud smile. “So, great job. She ended up purchasing those Gucci purses we had bought in hopes she’d like them even though she didn't ask for them. All thanks to you putting her in such a good mood, really.”

“Well she was a blast to be around, age really didn't slow her down,” Y/N and Amanda share a laugh. “She turned up my radio every time we got in my car, ordered doubles at dinner and brunch, and even talked about boy issues with me. It was a great time,” Y/N explains while adjusting herself in her seat and crossing a leg over the other casually.

“I think it’s your energy. Your love for this city can be infectious sometimes Y/N,” Amanda says. Y/N’s lips pull up into a smile at her words, they made her feel warm inside.

“Thank you,” she says softly with a nod.

“Now, onto what’s happening over this next week, let’s see how our schedules look,” Amanda starts as she opens her large planner than was always either on her desk or brought home in her large Louis Vuitton purse.

“I got an email from the lovely Mrs. Archibald this morning,” Y/N states. Amanda shakes her head as her face twists up at the mention of one of their bigger clients who happens to be married to the richest man in New York City. It’s just too bad she’s a real bitch sometimes because her attitude could make doing their job a bit harder at times. But Amanda and Y/N loved a challenge, and Mrs Archibald was just that. “She has a last minute dinner party tomorrow and she needs the newest item from Gucci that we can find immediately,” Y/N explains.

“Shit, our new stuff from Gucci doesn’t come in till next Monday,” Amanda curses, eyes roaming around her desk as if the answer to her problem would pop up somewhere.

“I know, which is why I went ahead and called Greg at the store on Fifth and Fiftieth, he said they just got a handful of exclusive holiday pieces early and would gladly have one of us pick a couple items up for Mrs Archibald,” Y/N says. Amanda’s sour look fades instantly and is replaced with a wide smile.

“What would I do without you, honestly!” Amanda exclaims. “Head over to Gucci after lunch today, and then we’ll get Mrs Archibald in first thing tomorrow.”

“Will do,” Y/N says while jotting down her after lunch plans onto a blank page in her notebook.

“How’s your influencer work going for you?” Amanda asks, her eyes on her planner in front of her instead.

“It’s been good, getting closer to five hundred thousand every day. I think the holidays will push me over the mark soon enough,” Y/N states.

“Great, make sure you’re getting close up shots of the dresses Greg shows you. Tease the people of what an exclusive holiday gown looks like,” Amanda suggests. Y/N smiles and jots down the note.

Having an audience was never the goal for Y/N. In fact, she thought of suspending her Instagram account all together once she got the promotion at work. She was worried that it would cause a conflict of interest, but Amanda and the rest of the team saw it as a plus. Having so many people follow Y/N’s life, being interested in what she’s interested in, wanting to get their hands on what she had, all lead to good publicity for the company. It even got them a few A list celebrities because of her account as they saw the company’s name in her bio, which led to contacting the company about setting some fittings up.

And with that set up, they settle into the rest of their itinerary for the week, making note of who needed to be involved with what, and who would be coming into their offices. Jennifer freaking Aniston was scheduled for a fitting this Friday and Y/N was praying she made it back from picking up an order of Louis Vuitton scarfs in time to see her in her custom grown that their team's seamstresses had been working tirelessly on with Prada’s team.

By the end of her and Amanda’s meeting, it was time for lunch. Sammy was waiting by her desk with his black Gucci backpack in hand that Y/N was sure held a Kardashian sized salad. Y/N was glad she meal-prepped teriyaki chicken and rice, so she didn’t have to eat yet another salad seeing as Sammy had gotten her into the over sized salad eating last month; she’s had enough of it.

“I’ve gotta head over to Gucci on Fifth Ave after,” Y/N states with a smile as her and Sammy walk into the conference room that they used for lunch sometimes, shielding themselves away from work a bit - even if the walls were glass and they could still see everyone working around them.

“Lucky bitch,” Sammy grumbles, “Greg always hooks you up with some free pieces when you go there, I swear.”

“Hey it’s only been a few items, nothing crazy,” Y/N defends herself before taking a bite of her lunch.

“Oh I’m sorry, two rings and a pair of tights are nothing crazy? Every other influencer would kill someone for those tights. Firstly, they’re so cute. And secondly, those rings cost my monthly rent.”

“I’m not complaining about any work perks. Maybe you could come with and get to know Greg a bit and get your own ring or two?”

Sammy chews his mouth full of salad, “no thanks, it’s so freaking cold out there. I’ll stay inside where it’s warm,” he says.

“Then don’t complain when I get another pair of tights and you don’t,” Y/N scowls playfully.

“I’d look so much better in those tights, you can’t even deny it,” Sammy says and pokes his fork at Y/N. She raises her hands up in surrender.

“Oh I wouldn’t dare to deny it, ever,” she smiles. They eat a few bites in silence. Y/N starts to feel a bit more energized by the protein she’s eating, thankfully. She now had a long journey to the Gucci store and back as well as a ton of emails to filter through too - which she’s sure will follow her home till the late hours of the night.

“What are you planning to wear for the Christmas office party?” Sammy chimes in, his eyes still on his phone.

“I don’t even know,” Y/N sighs and brings up her Pinterest app on her phone. “I found this outfit and am dying over it every day but I really should just find something in my closet and restyle it, I'm getting more broke by the day.”

“Blame your excessive christmas shopping habits,” Sammy deadpans while glancing at her phone screen.

“I’m aware of why I'm broke, thank you,” she deadpans back, narrowing her eyes at him. “Maybe Greg will have it in his heart to lend me a special piece for the party,” Y/N taunts Sammy with a smile on her face.

“Shut up,” he groans. Y/N laughs and is just about to shut her phone screen off when a phone call comes through from her apartment building maintenance.

“Hello?” She answers. “Hi Phil… Oh that’s awesome news thank you so much for getting it fixed so soon… Yes, I’m glad Harry called in about it right away too…” Y/N notices how her friend's eyebrows fly up at the mention of Harry’s name. “Lovely, thanks again Phil… Have a great day… Bye,” she hangs up the phone and sets it on the table in front of her.

“What did Harry do now?” Sammy questions without a second to spare. Y/N rolls her eyes, but can’t stop herself as she smiles.

“He called in about the water in my apartment like right after I made a mad dash out of his place to go pick up Mrs Woods in time. I hadn't even thought of calling about it and then I got a call on my way to the airport from the head maintenance guy saying Harry told him about it and asked for verbal permission to enter my apartment while I was out,” Y/N explains to him. She was still shocked by Harry’s kindness. Not only did he offer his shower to her, but he then got hers check out that same day. She probably wouldn't have called about it till the next day, if she was lucky to have any free time to stop by her house between entertaining Mrs Woods.

“What a neighbourly thing to do,” Sammy says smugly.

“Shut up, he’s just a nice guy.”

“Mhmm,” Sammy hums while stabbing his salad again for another bite.

The two of them continue to enjoy their lunch break and catch up on what’s been going on in the office. Their fellow associate Kate was trying to sleep with the mail cart boy. He seems freshly twenty one, if that. Just seven years younger than Kate, but she’s a well known cougar - it’s been a thing for, like, two years now. And Julianne was sick again, for the third time in two months. That was the extent of the office drama, sadly. Y/N packs up her bag with her left over lunch, notebook, and laptop before heading back to her desk with Sammy to get her coat and bundle up to brace the cold weather.

At least it wasn’t snowing.

The snow is coming down like a blizzard, making it hard for Harry to see in front of him. It was a colder day, his weather app had called for cloudy skies and a chance of some light flurries - but that all changed  in a split second and had Harry racing home from the coffee shop a few blocks away. He’s just praying his notebook full of new song ideas, based off his people watching this afternoon that’s now in his tote bag, doesn't get wet in the short trip he has to walk. Just as he’s about to turn left down the last block till his building, he sees a young woman struggling to walk along the sidewalk in her heels just in front of him. She’s carrying a large beige garment bag, having it folded over her arm as she tries to maneuver around the busy sidewalk and everyone is rushing to get out of the storm. Harry’s just behind her now, that’s when he recognizes the jacket and scarf.

“Y/N?” Harry says, trying to not startle her. But of course, as Y/N turns around to look behind her at whoever had just called out her name on the busy streets of New York, she slips.

“Oh my god!” She squeals, trying to keep the garment bag up so it doesn’t damage the dresses inside, but that means she doesn’t have any hands to throw out to catch herself. Harry sees her begin to fall and reaches out without hesitation. “The bag,” she says, trying to get Harry’s attention to saving the garment bag rather than her. But of course he manages to wrap his arms under hers and hold her upright, standing straight to get her back on her feet once more.

��Shit, I’m sorry, shouldn’t have scared you like that,” Harry says.

Y/N squints at him through the thick snowflakes, he’s standing so close though that she doesn’t have troubles staring into his enchanting eyes. She smiles, adjusting the dresses and her bag before motioning to their apartment building only a couple blocks away. “Let’s get out of this snow storm,” she suggests.

“Right,” Harry agrees and lets her start the walk - that way he can stick close behind in case those death heels of hers cause her to slip again.

Y/N regrets her decision of wearing heels so much right now. She’s sure her cheeks are still red from embarrassment of nearly falling on her ass in front of so many people. Harry’s seen in her purple bathrobe, which is already  embarrassing, but falling in heels in this snow storm would’ve only added to her list of making a fool of herself in front of him.

When she arrived at Gucci it was  just cloudy, but then after nearly two hours inside the store - mostly chatting with Greg and his associates, she walked outside into the blizzard. Her office was too far of a walk, she knew getting a cab or an Uber during the storm would just be a nightmare  and she didn’t want to wait around. There was no way she was going to risk taking the subway while carrying the garment bag that said Gucci right on it and have some lowlife steal thousands of dollars of designer clothes from her. So, she went with the most obvious option of getting these pieces out of the snow storm and headed  to her apartment building that was only a few blocks away, thankfully.

“Thanks for saving me back there,” Y/N says with a sigh as Harry uses his key to let them into the building. They both brush the snow off themselves as they walk across the lobby and to the elevator. “I would've been dead if this fell into a puddle or something,” she states while lifting the garment bag.

“Does that say Gucci?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised as he looks at the label on the bag.

“Yeah, I just had to pick up a few things for work,” Y/N explains vaguely. Harry has followed Gucci on Instagram for years, he loves their pieces and finds what they make to be so wonderful. He wishes he had the money to spend on a shopping trip there and yet here is his neighbour - who he may or may not be crushing on - with a large garment bag with Gucci items inside. “I can’t even imagine what Mrs Archibald would've done if I messed these up, god she'd have a fit,” Y/N says with a chuckle, looking at the floors lighting up as the elevator moved.

“Your boss?” Harry questions.

“No, a client, super rich and super bitchy,” Y/N answers, emphasizing both times she says super to really get her point across. She moves the garment bag from one arm to the other, leaning back against the elevator wall.

“Client? What kind of work do you do?” Harry tries to ask casually, not trying to seem creepy or invading in any way.

Y/N smiles, “I’m a part of the, oh so lovely, fashion industry.”

“You don’t like it?” Harry questions, eyebrows furrowed together.

“No, I do,” she corrects him.

The elevator opens then, Harry motions for Y/N to exit first as he had before. She smiles and walks down the hall to her apartment. Just as she fishes her keys from her coat pocket she turns back and looks at Harry when he walks past her. “I owe you, again, for saving my ass, literally from falling,” she says. Harry stops walking and looks at her, she smiles and tilts her head to the side. “And for calling the maintenance guy for the issues with my water,” she adds. Seems Phil spilled the beans, Harry thinks.

“I um, I wasn’t sure how long your trip was, and I just thought it’d be the nice thing to do by making sure they could get it fixed as soon as they could,” Harry explains.

“I actually didn’t go on a trip, I just had to pick someone up from the airport. But regardless it was very nice to know you thought of it for me. So thank you, I owe you, Harry,” she says again, giving him yet another one of her dreamy smiles. Harry’s heart did a little pitter patter in his chest as he looked over her face, taking in how her wispy hairs were wet from the snow that had melted on her head and how her eyes seemed to sparkle under the dim lighting of the hallway. But her lips, he’s been imagining those lips for two days now. Along with that purple bathrobe being on his floor again - his bedroom instead of the bathroom though.

“How about dinner?” Harry blurts out. Y/N had turned back to her door, having it unlocked and open as he had fallen into one of his daydreams about her. She pauses mid step and looks back at where he had stood still, her eyebrows are furrowed together as she thinks he misheard him. Oh shit, abort! Abort! Backtrack and say nevermind before she flat out rejects you, Harry thinks while he waits for her response.

“I, uh, I,” Y/N stops her stuttering and closing her eyes for a moment. She lets out a sigh and opens her eyes again to meet his nervous stare. “I have to hang this up, and change these shoes first,” she says.

“Of course,” Harry nods.

Y/N ponders over it for a moment before coming to the realization that the weather outside was truly frightful and they shouldn’t go out anywhere. “Honestly we shouldn’t go back out there. What if I just ordered something in and you came over? You like pizza?”

“Love it,” Harry smiles. Y/N nods and opens her door further, stepping in to survey the state of her apartment. It’s not messy, thank God. She had time this morning to put away her clean laundry that had taken up her couch over the past few days. There’s a couple hoodies draped over the back of the couch though, a half full glass of water on the coffee table and her kitchen has a pile of dirty dishes beside the sink that she hadn’t gotten to putting in the dishwasher yet. She quickly bends down to put away the few pairs of shoes that were kicked off in whatever direction they went, and turns on the two light switches by the door to light up her living room and hallway.

“Well, come on in,” she says as she turns back to Harry. He smiles as she lets out a deep breath and opens her front door for him.

He should’ve guessed that it would look like Santa had thrown up in her apartment. It was traditional, which Harry loved opposed to the new all white or all gold themes some people went with, but there was a lot of it. A red and green checkered throw blanket over the back of her grey couch, a decent sized tree filled with lights and tinsel and ornaments that all matched, a family of snowmen in one corner of her living room, and many little vintage looking nicknacks along her tv stand, and few shelves around the space. Not to mention the priceless looking tiny christmas village that was set up on top of the desk by her front door, fake snow laid on top to really pull it all together. So much Christmas, and he was only looking in one room. He imagined this festive feeling went throughout her entire home.

“It kind of seems like a lot whenever someone new sees all of my Christmas crap,” Y/N says, breaking Harry’s stare away from her living room and back to her now. She had hung up the Gucci bag on the closet door to her left, and had slipped out of her shoes and was now undoing the buttons of her coat. Her eyes are on the decorations around them though, looking unsure as she takes it all in.

“It’s lovely, honestly, not crap at all,” Harry assures her. Y/N turns back to look at him and mirrors his smile.

“I just have a big soft spot for the holidays, I can’t help myself from buying four Christmas themed throw pillows if they make me feel all warm inside,” she explains, motioning to the couch that did in fact have four pillows on it.

“If it makes you happy, you don’t have to have any reason for buying ‘em.”

“I suppose so,” Y/N hums, finally taking off her coat and hanging it up.

Harry quickly takes his off too as she reaches for it, to hang it beside hers. He gives her a small thanks and then takes his shoes off, setting them beside hers . Y/N has walked into the threshold to the left that led to her kitchen. He notices the tinsel hanging from the beam and smiles before taking a quick peek into her kitchen. As he guessed, it’s all decked out in Christmas stuff too. Towels and nicknacks that seem to replace everyday things like salt and pepper shakers and her soap dispenser that was spaced like a snowman.

“I’ll order a pizza right away. Hopefully this weather won’t slow them down. Have you ever eaten at Sal’s down the street?” Y/N questions.

“Tons,” Harry says. He leans against the threshold to the kitchen and watches as Y/N sets her purse on her small kitchen table and fishes through it for her cell phone. She’s got this crease between her brows as she can’t seem to find it, but it instantly goes away and is replaced with a smile as the iPhone is in her hands.

“Do you like anything on your pizza?” She asks, eyes on her phone screen and she brings up the menu. She typically just gets a cheese, sometimes spices it up with a vegetarian pizza cause she likes the green peppers and red onions.

“I’m actually a vegetarian,” Harry states. “Well, I eat fish on occasion so I guess I’m a pescetarian.”

“Oh cool,” Y/N says, looking up to see Harry’s watching her from the space between her kitchen and living room. The way he’s leaning against the small space of wall, arms crossed at his chest and head tilted to the side - he looks good. He’s dressed in a pair of beige trousers, straight and baggy as his last ones were too, and has a white tank top tucked into the waistband while he layered with a fun patterned button up shirt. She can’t quite make out what is printed on the shirt, but the little squares seem to each have a picture in them.

“Where did you get that shirt?” Y/N can’t stop herself from asking, the fashion lover in her wanting to know.

Harry glances down at the short sleeved shirt on his body, then shrugs, “I think I thrifted it back home in England a few years back,” he says.

“I like it,” she says, then brings up one shoulder in a shrug to make it seem more casual. It’s not weird to compliment your neighbours clothing, Y/N thinks as she glances back down at her phone. “I’m going to order a cheese and they have a great vegetarian pizza too that I like,” she tells Harry while punching in her order on her delivery app.

“Yeah, I’ve had it before, it’s pretty great,” Harry agrees. Y/N can’t help as her body reacts to how low and slow Harry’s voice is. How she gets small chills throughout her body, as if threatening to pebble goosebumps along her arms, and how her mind feels foggy almost as she listens to him speak. She rolls her lips into her mouth and stuffs her phone into the pocket of her fitted black pants. He could tell her the most pointless story and she would let him, just to hear his voice and that accent that went with it. Moving to her fridge, she finds the bottle of red she had opened last night. It’s such a normal thing for her to have a glass or two after work that she doesn’t even think of her guest. He might not even like wine.

“Do you drink?” Y/N asks, looking over her shoulder to see Harry still in the same spot but his hands now in the front pocket of his trousers.

“What are we drinking?” He asks with a smile.

Y/N smiles back, as she always does, and reaches for the wine she had her eye on. “I opened this bottle of wine last night, it’s red. Would you be interested in a glass?” She asks, holding the bottle up for Harry to see.

“I’d love a glass, thanks.”

“Perfect,” Y/N nods and sets the bottle down on the counter beside her fridge. “You can get comfortable on the couch, I’ll bring our drinks in a moment.”

“Sounds good,” Harry nods. With one final glance up her body as she reaches high in her cupboard for two wine glasses for them, he shakes his head and turns around. He has to stop checking her out, he has no idea if she’s into him or not. She’s simply being a nice neighbour, and here he was, fancying her so much he’s checking her out like some horny teenager.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, walking around the back of the couch to take a seat on the corner furthest from where the Christmas tree lit up Y/N’s living room. He really did like all of her joy that she’s put into decorating her home. There’s no doubting her love for the holiday, not a single space feels like it was forgotten as she must have spent all day setting it up. He especially liked the framed photo on the side table to his right, where there was also a rather plain lamp and a Santa spaced coaster too. Inside the frame was a small child who he knew immediately was Y/N. There was no mistaking that smile of hers even at such a young age. She’s sitting on a man’s lap, a man dressed as Santa, but it’s truly the most realistic mall Santa he’s even seen. Harry thinks back to his home in that moment, imagining the many photos of him and his older sister with many variations of mall Santas that must be littering his mum’s house by now. Truthfully, many of them didn’t leave the shelves during the year.

“Here you go,” Y/N says as she holds out a wine glass nearly half full of red wine to Harry. He takes it from her, his fingers brushing hers for a moment and sending those childish tingles through his body.

“Thanks,” he nods and brings the glass to his lips to have a taste. If he wouldn’t be so infatuated by Y/N, he would have told her that he typically didn’t drink red wine. He typically doesn’t drink at all, except for the occasional night out with his mates. But he saw that look on her face that said ‘I need a glass or two’ and he couldn’t say no, knowing it’d make her feel awkward and  end up not having a glass herself.

Y/N lets out a long sigh as she takes a seat on the other side of the couch, relaxing alongside Harry as if they aren’t complete strangers. He liked that she felt comfortable around him. She did in fact enter his apartment the other day in a bathrobe and use his shower after all. After she takes another long sip of wine, she sets it down on a matching Santa coaster that sits on the coffee table - Harry notices now that she had brought the bottle of wine with her too.

“Long day?” He questions. Y/N nods, tucking her legs under her as she gets comfortable on the couch beside him. She clears her throat softly before answering him.

“Uh, yeah, work’s just been a lot lately and I’m actually looking forward to some time off,” Y/N says, running a hand through her hair, and then leans her arm on the back of the couch. Harry watches her movements, bringing his glass of wine to his lips to have a small sip, which he notices she watches him do. He likes her eyes on his lips, he thinks before turning his body slightly and setting his wine on the side table. When he turns back and looks her way he notices the slightly tint of pink flushing over her cheeks. Harry fights the tug at his lips to smile at how she seemed to catch on that he caught her staring at his lips.

“That’s always the worst, feeling as if you’re counting down till the days off,” Harry exclaims.

“I typically don’t, to be honest. I love my job,” Y/N states. “It’s my career so I better,” she adds with a chuckle.

“So you’ve already found your career at such a young age then, that’s awesome. Have you always known you wanted to be involved in the fashion industry?” Harry asks, his eyebrows pulled together as he does find himself very curious of how she herself a career so young.

“First off, twenty four is really starting to not feel young anymore so let's not label me as a youngster or anything alright-“

“Um, twenty four is young but okay,” Harry cuts her off with a playful look on his face. Y/N rolls her eyes and chooses to ignore his teasing. He’s always hung out around people older than him and typically dated women older too. But Y/N doesn't seem young. From what he’s seen from her, she doesn’t fit the mold of any twenty four year olds he’s known before - most being rather rude and partying their youth away while it’s obvious that Y/N worked hard during those years. Y/N looks as though she's got the whole world figured out already, and he admires that a lot.

“And secondly, yeah, I guess I sort of did know, not at first, of course, but it was always an interest of mine,” Y/N states, bringing Harry back to their conversation.

“What did you want to be when you were a youngster then?” He questions, using her choice of words back at her which makes Y/N chuckle. She shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling for a moment as she falls back into memories of her childhood. She remembers being emotionally attached to a pair of plastic pink princess slippers and how she slept in her matching tiara for nearly a year before her mom put a stop to her fantasy.

“I wanted to be a princess-“

“Me too,” Harry says.

“Stop interrupting me,” Y/N laughs and reaches across the couch to smack his arm. Harry's head feels light, his cheeks hurt from grinning at Y/N so much. He hasn’t felt like this in quite a while. Being able to have a light conversion with a pretty girl. How she makes him smile and laugh so easily too, it’s a really nice feeling.  “But you’d make a much prettier princess for sure-“

“Not at all,'' Harry disagrees, managing to cut her off yet again. She glares at him but can’t help the smile that's still on her face.

“Anyways, I wanted to be a princess and then I wanted to be one of Santa’s elves-”

Harry chuckles, “of course,” he says as he’s not so surprised to hear her say so - seeing as it looked like Santa’s village inside her apartment.

Y/N chooses to ignore his short interruption this time and continues on. “But then as I got older and got ahold of the internet, I wanted to be a model cause I thought it was the most glamorous thing, but I wasn't as beautiful or skinny as Candice Swanepoel so that was out of the question-“

“This is the last time I'll interrupt you I promise,” Harry says, Y/N presses her lips tight together and gives Harry another look as if to say yeah right. “But I cannot let you sit here and say you aren't pretty or skinny enough to be a model, Y/N, because you are one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen and your weight is nothing to ever question,” Harry pauses as he looks down at the sofa between them, realizing that he had said all that out loud. He was slightly embarrassed as he’s not sure how she’d take her neighbour saying all that to her.

My heart needs to calm down like now, Y/N thinks as she wets her lips and fidgets with her own hands as she watches Harry. “Y/N, don’t ever think less of yourself,” he adds in a gentle voice that sends chills down her spine.

Y/N doesn't respond right away, because honestly she's speechless. No one has ever said something so kind and so genuine to her. Sure, she’s gotten compliments from people, but the way Harry immediately stopped her from talking poorly of herself had made her stomach stir and her heart race. They had only just met, only had a few interactions - they were all good, great even - but Harry wasn’t like most people she’s met before and she’s beginning to realize that. She looks up to see Harry's watching her, his green eyes staring back at hers. Something switches in the air between them as Harry feels like he should lean in. Should he lean in? Would she want that? Does she want him?

“Thanks,” she smiles, bringing Harry back to their conversation. She clears her throat and sits up straight again, flipping her hair over her shoulders and snuggling into the couch some more. “If I ever feel down about myself again, I’ll be sure to knock on your door and demand you shower me in compliments,” Y/N teases.

“I’d be honoured to,” Harry says. There's another beat of silence, but it's not quiet inside his head. All he’s thinking about is how he should've made a move. She felt it too, right? Harry stops himself before he can go too far inside his head again while thinking about Y/N. “I won’t cut in again. Continue from the dreams of being a model - which you’d be a great model, by the way, don't count that one out just yet.”

Y/N smiles again, not even sure if she’s stopped smiling honestly. “Right, well, modeling led me into the world of fashion. Not that I hadn't known about Vogue or any of the high fashion houses since I did grow up in New York; fashion week had always been a highlight for me. But I actually started to look into the other sides of it. Designing wasn't an option, I just didn't feel original enough. So I did some personal assistant stuff during my high school years at fashion week, working behind the scenes at shows.”

Y/N pauses to lean forward and grabs her glass of wine again, needing liquid to coax her throat before she continued. Harry noticed that she was talking so passionately, probably not even realizing how much she was using her hands while speaking or how her eyes lit up at the world she painted for him. “And then I got a scholarship into FIT, the Fashion Institute of Technology. I was lucky enough to get an internship at my current workplace but quickly got offered a position on my graduation day, and now I'm one of our senior associates.”

“And what does your job really entitled to exactly?”

“We do a lot of things, but we’re really a personal shopper and stylist company. Working with many of New York's elite, even some of the east coast’s elite really, as well as celebrities too, which is always fun to see the dress you styled at the Met Gala or the Grammys. I just do a lot of running around, it feels like,” Y/N explains, “like how I had to rush to the Gucci store on Fifth Ave in order to get some pieces for Mrs. Achibald for tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds like a real tough job,” Harry taunts. Y/N returns his smug look and narrows her eyes at him playfully.

“Right, well what do you do then? You always seem to be home, I’m starting to think you don’t even have a job. Maybe you’ve just got a sugar daddy, hmm?” Y/N jokes. Harry lets out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. Y/N laughs with him before taking a sip of her wine that she had almost forgotten about.

“Definitely not a sugar baby, although that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, totally,” Y/N nods in agreement. They both chuckle again. Harry reaches for his wine to take a sip before answering her question for real this time. Blame the wine, he thinks, for any longing looks or laughing too much at her jokes just blame the red wine in his glass.

“I’m actually in the music industry, kind of,” Harry states.

“How are you kind of in the music industry?” Y/N questions curiously, her brows pulled together as she takes another sip of wine.

“I am a studio rat, as people in the industry would call it,” Harry says, Y/N’s face scrunches up at his words utterly confused at the term. “I pretty much live in music studios most of the year. Most of my time is taken up by writing. So I guess I’m a songwriter, but I also make demos for my songs with a few people I’ve grown close with in my studio, so I end up doing some instruments for artists' studio versions of songs. I do a bit of producing too, but I mostly leave that to my buddy, Tom.”

“Wow, that sounds like a really cool job. And here I was jabbering on about my job when you’re a songwriter? That’s so cool,” Y/N repeats, another sip of wine going down her throat as she stares at Harry. His cheeks are starting to turn red, eyes avoiding hers as he fidgets with his rings. “Have you written any songs I’d know?” She asks, trying to get more information out of him.

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs.

“You’re not going to tell me?” Y/N asks, brows pulled together.

“Nope,” Harry shakes his head.

“Shouldn’t you be proud of your work?”

“Of course I am,” Harry says, bringing a crooked finger up to his nose before rubbing it twice. “I just know that my music might not be everyone's favourite.”

Since the beginning of his freelance songwriting career, Harry's always been nervous to show people what he’s poured his heart and soul into, especially to people he’s friends with, or people he likes. What if they hated it? He couldn’t bear listening to the fake “it's great” with an even faker smile. Although he knows people do like his songs, those people were mainly artists that bought his songs and their fans, of course, along with his fellow colleagues. He just doesn't want Y/N to hate his work.

“Well, I'm sure it's brilliant,” Y/N says. “And maybe one day you’ll show me.” She adds with a smile, not wanting to force the subject, over the rim of her wine glass before taking another sip and finishing off the red liquid in one small gulp. She frowns at the empty glass and sets it down on the Santa coaster on the coffee table. “Do you write all the time then?” Y/N asks, bringing her gaze back to Harry’s.

“Pretty much, although I’m in the studio less in December due to it being so close to the holidays. I’ve actually got my last session with my mates just in a few days.”

“Counting down the days till you have some time off?” She asks, referring to what he had said earlier to her.

“Not particularly,” Harry says.

Y/N is about to ask why, but then her phone bings from her pocket. It’s then that she realizes she hadn’t thought of looking at her phone once since sitting down with Harry. She had been so engrossed with their conversation, and feeling a light buzz that she managed to forget about the pizza she ordered. The notification on her screen read that her pizza had arrived at the building, and the delivery person would be here any second. Then her phone starts ringing.

“Hello,” Y/N answers the phone in a sweet voice. Harry has to stop himself from staring, instead finding himself grabbing the red wine that he wasn’t too fond of, and has a few sips as he listens to Y/N talk to, what he assumes, is the pizza delivery. She buzzes them up with one tap on her phone before the call ends. “Our dinner is finally here,” she tells Harry, even though he had gathered as much, but he still smiles in response. She stands from the couch and adjusts her pants by pulling them up slightly. They fit her so bloody well, Harry thinks. “And we are both nearly done with a glass of wine each before we’ve even eaten,” Y/N chuckles as she walks past Harry and to the kitchen to her purse.

While Y/N pays for their food, Harry takes it upon himself to top off her glass of wine. He was content with his last few sips between bites. Y/N sets the two pizza boxes on the coffee table before rushing into the kitchen to grab two plates and some napkins for them. They work together in a comfortable silence to get things set up; both boxes open and Y/N settles back onto the couch before they dig into the large New York slices.

Y/N brings a piece straight from the box to her mouth, once she bites into the greasy food she moans around her mouthful of cheesy pizza. Harry is just about to take his first bite as well but stops just short at the sounds that come from Y/N. He dares to glance her way, throat bobbing as he takes her in. Both eyes closed, her head hanging back and lips turned up into a smile as she chews her food. He watches her swallow, utterly mesmerized by her soft skin moving just slightly. Dear god, Styles, get it together, he thinks as he imagines her swallowing something else.

Y/N opens her eyes at the sound of Harry clearing his throat, turning her gaze to him and seeing him lift his piece of pizza to her in a ‘cheers’ manner. “Thanks again for the meal,” Harry says. There his voice does it again, sounding all low and throaty as it makes chills go down her spine.

“No problem,” Y/N nods. She tries to focus back on eating her food, willing the thoughts in her head to go away. But she can’t stop them from entering her dreams later that night after Harry and her had said their goodbye - Harry noticed her yawn a few times and began to clean up their plates and empty wine glasses while he continued to tell Y/N about his time in school before he was writing songs full time on his way to the kitchen. Y/N watched him from her spot on the couch, smiling at how he didn’t think twice on cleaning up after them. She was pretty sure that’s how her dream started too, but then it led to Harry’s voice whispering in her ear, asking if she’s been naughty or nice this year while they laid in bed. Y/N blames the large glass of wine. One hundred percent she blames the wine.

There wasn’t a more perfect day in the year, Y/N was sure of it, as she sat on a bench in Central Park. It was t-minus three weeks before Christmas Day and she had just gotten off work. The sun was slowly setting in the horizon as she stared at the sparkling snow that covered the ground and trees around her.

“Y/N?”

She turns her gaze away from the skating rink in the distance to see who had called out her name. A smile tugs at her lips as she sees Harry a few feet away. He’s dressed in a long dark coat that reaches to his knees, one which was exposed from a rip in his loose fitting jeans. With his outfit he wore a pair of chelsea boots upon his feet that trudged through the snow. Y/N noticed that he was bundled up with a grey scarf around his neck and a matching beanie upon his head too. She liked how his hair flipped up at the ends, sticking out of the beanie.

It has been almost a week since their pizza night together, and thankfully, those wine induced dreams had stopped after that one night, which to be fair were rather innocent compared to some other dreams she had thanks to too much tequila - regardless, it’s making it much less awkward to face him now.  

“Hey,” she greets him as she meets his eyes once more. Harry stops by the bench, motioning at the open space to her left.

“Mind if I sit with you?” He asks. Y/N shakes her head and moves to her right just a bit to make more room for him. “Was going for a stroll, thought I was imagining you sitting here by yourself to be honest.” Harry states.

“New York City can seem rather small some days,” Y/N says with a smile.

“Some days, yeah,” Harry nods. “What brings you out to this lonesome bench in Central Park?” Harry asks, looking out at the scenery before them.

“This,” Y/N answers with a hand out to the park.

“It's rather pretty.”

“Very, and calming. And after my day at the office today, I desperately needed to just sit here by myself and disconnect from the world for a moment.”

“Oh,'' Harry says, bringing Y/N’s gaze away from the couple holding hands across the pond and to him instead. “I'm- I'm sorry if I barged in. I just thought it’d be weird if I didn’t say hi.”

“Oh no, it’s totally okay,” Y/N assures him. “I’ve been out here for a good while now.” As if her body realizes at the same time, she shivers beside Harry.

“Did you want to head home?”

“Not particularly,” Y/N hums. Her eyes falling back to the sights before her. The sky is becoming a soft hue of pinks and oranges before their eyes. It warms her heart despite her entire body is cold.

“How about a cup of hot cocoa?” Harry suggests as he sees the cart serving hot drinks just to their right. An older couple and, what seems to be, their grandchildren are being served steaming cups and candy canes too. That seems like something Y/N would like, Harry thinks as he stands from the bench. He's about to offer his hand but thinks twice about it, sticking both his hands into his coat pockets before he can make a fool of himself. “My treat,” Harry adds with a smile.

“I would love that,” Y/N beams while standing from the bench and falling into step with him.

Harry orders for the two of them as they step up to the small cart. Y/N discreetly takes out her phone and opens her Instagram app, swiping to the right to open her camera before she’s bombarded with notifications. She holds down on her screen to begin filming her pointed Versace boots that she had been gifted from work this winter; they had become a staple as the weather grew colder and the snow kept coming down since they had the thickest heel of all the shoes in her closet. Holding the phone up, she catches half of Harry’s body as she films the hot chocolate cart. His back is to the camera, his large coat and beanie covering any angle she did get of him so she’s not afraid to post the story after adding a quick filter to it and typing ‘pro tip: always get a hot chocolate when you’re feeling chilly in central park’ tagging her location as well before hitting post to her story and feeding her nearly five hundred thousand followers with some content for the first time all day.

“Thank you,” Y/N says softly as Harry hands her a to-go cup without a lid since there’s an abundance of whipped cream on top. Her smile turns into a grin as he also reveals he bought her a candy cane. She gasps and is quick to unwrap it and stick it into her mouth.

“Woah, you’re like a toddler itching for a sugar rush, huh?” Harry teases as they begin walking along the path and away from the cart.

“Candy canes are my weakness,” Y/N states as she pushes it to the left side of her mouth in order to talk more clearly.

“Good to know,” Harry smiles over the rim of his cup before opening his mouth and licking off some of the whipped cream. Y/N has to look away as she’s brought back to her dream.

Shaking her head slightly, she brings her phone back up to her face and it unlocks for her. Since it’s still open on the Instagram camera, she holds out her heaping cup of whipped cream and attempts to take a picture as they walk. The first two turn out blurry, then she stops walking, in hopes it’ll turn out nice before Harry can notice she stopped. Only it doesn’t of course, so she ends up furrowing her brows and sucks harder on the candy cane in her mouth before trying three more times to take the perfect snap.

Suddenly, Harry’s hand is in her shot, a blur over her whipped cream. She gasps and looks up to see his forefinger in his mouth, obviously licking off the bit of whipped cream he managed to steal. She’s surprised he did it, and she can tell he is a bit too, but then she huffs out a short chuckle while her mouth is still agape, which makes Harry grin. He doesn’t think twice as he reaches out to swipes his finger over the sweet cream again.

“Stop stealing my whipped cream!” Y/N glares at Harry as he licks his finger clean once more.

“It’s gonna melt anyways, you're taking so bloody long to drink any of it.”

“I'm busy enjoying my candy cane, jeez,” Y/N rolls her eyes and takes the candy out of her mouth, having forgotten about the picture, her phone screen turns blank. Harry shrugs and reaches forward again to steal more. Y/N is faster this time, and moves her cup away from him while bringing her candy cane up and pointing towards him. “Do it again and I'll stab you,” She warns. Harry throws his free hand up in surrender, but both of his cheeks have those deep dimples showing. I’m beginning to really like those dimples, Y/N thinks.

“You get rather hostile over your holiday treats, hm?” Harry questions, raising a brow before slowly retreating his hand to hold his own hot chocolate with his other. He brings the cup to his mouth with both hands and takes a sip.

“Yes, in fact, I do,” Y/N mutters, looking down at her own cup and notices that the whipped cream is nearly gone now. Suppose Harry was right, she missed her chance to enjoy the extra sweetness.

She takes a few sips as they continue to walk together through Central Park. The sky is beautiful as the sunset is in its full glory with dreamy pinks and purples littering the skies. Y/N debates taking a photo but decides against it as she slips her phone into her pocket. Just as she’s about to return the candy cane back to her mouth, she glances over at Harry and notices just as he brings down his own hot chocolate from his mouth that he’s made a bit of a mess.

She chuckles before saying, “you’ve got a little,” Y/N points to her upper lip, “uh, a whipped cream moustache.” She giggles as Harry pokes the tip of his tongue out and swipes it over his top lip. Y/N chuckles some more and offers him her napkin.

“Thanks,” Harry says before wiping it across his mouth, looking back to her to ask, “did I get it all?”

Y/N finds herself staring at Harry for a few moments longer than it would take to give a simple answer if his face was clean or not. She’s never felt so comfortable around someone before, not even her childhood friends or Sammy honestly. There’s this ease around Harry the few times they’ve been around one another, and it makes her heart swell up in her chest. She rolls her lips into her mouth and inhales deeply through her nose, breaking her gaze away from his face and to the ground. In order to not seem weird or awkward, she looks back up and finds his eyes on her while she nods her head.

“Yeah, you’re good,” she tells him. They start their walk through Central Park once more, heading towards home at a slow pace. Y/N has her candy cane back in her mouth, alternating between it and her hot chocolate before it got too cold. She could live off them both one hundred percent; two of the best things ever invented.

“So, tell me about your day,” Harry says, bringing Y/N out of her own thoughts and meeting his gaze again.

“It was a pretty good day, I guess,” she sighs, “we just have a lot of clients that like to do last minute shopping during the holidays and have some pretty crazy demands, but we want to deliver for them so we bend over backwards to do so.”

“I’m sure that can cause you to be rather exhausted then, yeah?”

“Very,” Y/N nods, “but I’m sure your day was much more interesting than mine, so tell me what kind of songs you wrote today?” Y/N asks with a smile.

Harry chuckles and lets Y/N lead the way to their left on the path home, he wasn’t the most confident with getting around sometimes since he usually stuck to the few places in the city that he was familiar with. While he has learned that Y/N is a New York City Native, he trusts her way direction over his, that’s for sure. He thinks back on what he had done today, including a quick run on the treadmill in the gym in their building that ended sooner than he thought as he got a burst of lyrical inspiration out of nowhere.

“I was in my apartment for most of the morning and a bit of the afternoon, then got in a bit of a rut after writing a new song about love, of course. Then I decided I needed to get out of the house and hope for some inspiration from people watching, which I have done a lot since living here,” Harry explains. Y/N takes a big gulp of her nearly cold drink, leaning to her left to get to the garbage they are passing in order to throw out the empty cup. Harry takes the chance to throw his empty cup out too.

“Do you always write about love?” Y/N asks, not thinking twice if it may be a bit too personal of a question. Harry is taken back at first by how that’s all she got from what he had said, but he only clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets now that they are free.

“Mostly, yeah,” he nods, “most relatable thing in life, I suppose.”

“Sometimes, I guess it can be,” Y/N agrees and goes back to sucking on her candy cane. She wonders how many times he’s been in love? How many times has she really been in love? Y/N sighs internally and focuses on her steps, avoiding a puddle by having to step closer to Harry. She sniffles from the cold at the same time and is hit with Harry’s scent - lavender, as it always seems to be how he smells. She still thinks it’s lovely.

The two of them make more casual conversation on their fifteen minute walk home through the busy streets. Harry tells her about an elderly couple he had seen just before seeing her, maybe in their 80s, and looking more in love than he’s ever seen before. He wrote a few things about how they looked before going on his way. Y/N tells him about how her grandparents used to go on walks through the park when she was younger, which then brings them into the topic of grandparents in general. Harry tells her about how his grandpa refuses to retire and how his grandma ends up bugging his mom because of how lonely she is. Y/N is smiling the whole time, loving how he must feel comfortable around her too as he’s able to talk about his family like this. Y/N also yawns many times in their short walk. She’s tempted to invite Harry into her apartment for some wine and pizza again but decides against it and simply gives him a smile and soft goodbye at her door, deciding to get into her night routine earlier than normal due to how she can’t stop yawning.

After hanging up her coat, double checking her door was locked, and slipping out of her boots, Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket to check out what text she missed while on her walk home. She liked how she wanted to feel so present around Harry, having no want to look at her phone but instead being more interested in his little stories about his grandparents. Her face ID unlocks as she looks at the screen. It’s still on the photo she last tried to take for her Instagram. Harry’s hand was a bit of a blur as he stole her whipped cream off the top of her hot chocolate. There was no way to not know it was Harry’s hand, though, his rings being so unique and noticeable in the photo as well - her favourite being his initials wrapped around his fingers in gold. Some would think it’s maybe a bit narcissistic, but Y/N thought it looked good and really there’s no harm in being a narcissist sometimes right?

Y/N saves the photo but doesn’t post it, deciding to simply keep it for herself instead of letting her many followers see into a small yet sweet moment between her and her newest friend. She could call him that right? They were friends? Y/N did hope that Harry thought of her as a new friend too because she was enjoying this time with him a lot, maybe even a little too much.

It had been another day spent at the cafe down the street for Harry. Marking only one last day off till his final studio time this year, he was itching to get to work in a couple days and see his mates too. Over the almost two weeks, he’s written more than he had expected himself to and he knew he could thank a certain new neighbour, or I guess, a new friend, Harry thinks to himself as he turns towards his apartment building. There was no denying the feeling he got around Y/N. He wanted to become more than friends, eventually, no rush of course - but he couldn’t ignore the feeling he got around her; the butterflies and heart racing nearly every moment together. And he couldn’t forget the constant smiling, which he was doing right now just thinking about her.

Harry walks up to the main doors of his apartment building and notices a man beside the main doors. Harry furrows his brows at him. He didn’t look like some strange man trying to find warmth during the beginning of the evening here in the city that had fallen to freezing temperatures as the first week of December came to an end. In fact, he had a brand new iPhone in his hand and rather expensive looking clothes keeping him warm.

“Hey, did you need inside?” Harry asks the man standing by the intercom system. The man looks up at Harry, eyes narrowing at him. He seems Harry’s age, maybe even a few years older judging by the lines around his eyes. He’s got dark eyebrows which makes Harry think he must have dark hair under the beanie he wore under the hood of his thick winter coat. Harry waits for an answer, staring back into the stranger’s brown eyes.

“Yeah, girlfriends not answering and I know she’s inside,” his voice is low and gruff, he then lifts a Starbucks hot cup up - Harry recognizes the holiday pattern anywhere now since Y/N seems to always have one on her even in quick passing in or out of the building. “Even got me to pick her up this stupid drink on my way too, her fault if it’s cold now I guess.”

“Guess so,” Harry mumbles, kind of put off by the man’s attitude. He decides to give him the benefit of the doubt and holds the door open for it. The man walks in without so much of a thank you. You’re welcome, Harry sarcastically thinks to himself.

They walk together to the elevator in an awkward silence. Once the doors open Harry steps up to the buttons and hits the sixth one, not bothering to ask the man what floor he needs as he steps away. The stranger gives the lit up button a brief look before he’s staring down at his phone. As the elevator moves Harry’s mind wanders off to how he’d assert himself into Y/N’s evening today. Maybe he could make her dinner, then ask if she’d like to walk over to Central Park after because he knows how much she enjoys it there, and when they decide to take a break from walking and find a bench he’d finally get the nerve to make a move - maybe reach for her hand during the walk even. One thing was for sure, he liked Y/N and he needed to buck up and do something about it.

He’s still deep in thought about Y/N when the elevator doors open. The man he let into the building steps out first without even glance at Harry. Typical New Yorker, he thinks. Harry finds himself looking at where Y/N’s apartment door is over the man's shoulder as they walk down the hall, he’s debating just walking right up and asking her to hang out right away. But then the man stops in front of the door that reads 602 - Y/N’s door.

Y/N hears the knock on her front door and blinks rapidly at her laptop screen, unfocusing from her long email that she was to send to her boss, Amanda, within the hour with an update on how the first week of December had gone. She glances at the time and sees it’s nearly four in the afternoon. Took him long enough, she thinks while rolling her eyes and standing from the couch. Just as she’s a few steps away there’s another knock on the door. She sighs and unlocks it, quickly throwing the door open to reveal Mark standing on the other side.

“You are home,” he says, that attitude she knows so well is thick in his voice already. Y/N opens her mouth, about to sass him back, but then she notices a certain tall figure with a mess of brown hair walking behind Mark.

“Harry,” Y/N breathes out, hoping he didn’t even hear it honestly. But he slows his steps and gives her a tight lipped smile once facing her. It’s one she was not familiar with and makes her stomach feel as though it was full of rocks.

“Hey,” he says with a small three finger wave.

“You know this guy?” Mark, her boyfriend, questions. Bringing her eyes from Harry’s green ones and to his brown ones instead. “He was nice enough to let me into this place since you were too busy,” he states.

Y/N tucks her lips into her mouth and looks away from Mark and back to Harry. She knows he’s questioning everything by the look in his eyes. She tried. Well, maybe not hard enough, but she wanted to tell him about Mark, even just casually and quickly. Y/N didn’t intend to give Harry any sort of mixed signals during their times together, she really was just being polite and ended up enjoying being around him so much that she thought there was no harm in making a new friend. But she’d be an idiot to try and deny she felt something more than friendship with Harry.

“Yeah, uh,” she clears her throat and waves a hand between the two young men, “Mark, this is Harry my uh, my neighbour. Harry this is Mark, my boyfriend.”

Well shit, that’s not ideal, Harry thinks as he looks into Y/N’s eyes and prays he heard her wrong. But he knows he didn’t. So, he just takes a deep breath and forces a smile to stay on his face while holding a hand out to Mark, even though it hurt him to be polite to the guy that was dating the girl he’s been crushing on for nearly two weeks now.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry says as Mark grasps his hand and shakes it lazily. Shit handshake, he thinks. “I would love to stay and chat but I’ve got some work to get to,” he says quickly after taking his hand out of Mark’s and backing away from the situation towards his own apartment.

Y/N opens her mouth, but the words don’t come out. She just watches as Harry turns on his heels and his posture hunches as he gets to his door and tries to unlock it quickly. Mark is suddenly pushing past Y/N, saying something but she’s too focused remembering the look on Harry’s face just moments ago. She steps back into her apartment and doesn’t look over to where Harry is shutting his own door before closing her own gently.

Really fucked this up didn’t you, Y/N? She thinks as she turns the lock on her door and listens to Mark complain about his day while flinging his belongings around her living room. What is she going to do? What is she going to say? If Harry ever talks to her again, that is. She sighs and closes her eyes before making her way towards where her boyfriend was lounging on her couch, giving him a small smile as he opened his arms for her to sit with him.

“I did miss you these past few weeks while I was away,” Mark says, planting a quick kiss to her hair as she leans into his body - praying he doesn’t question why her heart is beating so fast. She’s sure he wouldn’t enjoy knowing it’s because of her growing feelings for her new neighbour, and seeing the realization in Harry’s face at the fact she wasn’t single kind of hurt to see.

“Missed you too,” she mumbles, lying. Y/N hadn’t thought about her boyfriend all that much these past, almost, three weeks that he was away for a business trip.

“Do much without me?” Mark asks.

Y/N shakes her head, “no, not much at all,” her soft voice replies while she begins to zone out on the wall that was between her and Harry’s apartments, noticing how it made her feel more separated from him now more than ever. 

>> part two <<

thanks for reading, please reblog/leave some feedback if you enjoyed it! until next week 😘

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[lins-fandom-hub]

a friend’s demise

Boring title, I know.

@dat-silvers-girl​ and I talked through a potential alternate storyline in my MC’s multiverse, which I decided to write out in hopes of serving her character justice. Hearing about both of her game plays being banned by JC made me seriously angry, and there’s nothing more I would want to do than at least put out there how angry and empty I felt. But at the same time she had the idea and brought it up to me, so it’s perfect.

So this is for her.

This story takes place in Rowan Khanna’s POV.

---

The explosion still rang in my ears amidst the present solemn silence.

I glanced through dry eyes at my best friend wounding a long piece of pale lilac ribbon through her fingers, twisting it tightly to the thinness of a thread, relaxing the material when the strain was too tight. Through the fuggy film of her glasses I could see her red puffy eyes, the spark of life and joy now absent. Her ponytail, messily done in the morning before the funeral, now dangled limply near the end of her black hair—and I knew I couldn’t blame her for looking like a cold, empty zombie. No one would have known how quickly they would lose a friend.

“She didn’t have to go,” Clara muttered thickly, clearing her throat to rid it of the phlegm. “She had no reason to.”

I didn’t know the deceased as well as she did, and I could only imagine how she was feeling right now. I only remember tutoring her a few times in Potions and Transfiguration when she was struggling for the past few years. I’ve seen her with Clara a few times, though. They even played against each other in Quidditch once or twice overall—Clara as a Chaser for Gryffindor, and she as a Beater for Hufflepuff.

Sarahi Silvers. That was the name I caught on the jersey; that was also the name I caught on her gravestone.

“I don’t understand, Rowan,” Clara finally said, dropping her hands and turning to me. “All my plans were solely for Ben and Merula’s ears—how did you even remotely catch wind of what we were up to? And why did you follow me? Why did she follow me?”

It hurt to see the hurt in her eyes, the anger flashing in the tears that boiled at the brim, and I shook my head numbly.

“I hope you don’t get mad at me,” I murmured after another long stretch of awkward tense silence. “But I had a good reason for following you—I just can’t explain about her—”

“At least tell me why you did what you did first. I only kept ‘R’ a secret from you so that you would be safe!” Clara shouted. “The lesser people involved, the better off we all will be, right?”

“Remember that day at the train station, Clara? The day we went to get love potion ingredients so you could make the trade for an invisibility cloak?” I reminded her. “I told you that I wanted to do the right thing, and worrying about you and caring about you was the right thing. So when Charlie ended up telling me everything about ‘R’, I had to know that you weren’t getting into anything that would cost you your life.”

“But you’re not invincible either, Rowan! If anything, you could have been killed last night!”

“I know. You have every right to be mad at me right now, but you should know that we all do care about you. And you can’t blame Sarahi for doing what she did last night, either…”

The cold mist settled over my ankles like a blanket of frost, but I knew any sign of movement would give me away. I knew Clara only wanted to keep this between herself, Ben, and Merula, but I knew of their plan before they even stepped foot out of the castle. From a single black quill sitting innocently in Jacob’s room, with a transfigured message from ‘R’ asking him to meet them in the Forest Grove, they figured out that not only was Jacob in danger, but the rest of the school potentially could fall under defenceless mercy. I had no idea what they did to prepare, but they seemed prepared to go after ‘R’—at least, Merula was ready to go after Rakepick for the brutal Cruciatus Curse she cast on her in the Buried Vault.

I watched from behind the tree as Clara knelt by a bush and lifted up the low branches, eyes widening as they registered on something on the ground I could not see.

“Ben, Merula, I found something!” she called out.

“What—” Merula ran over to Clara immediately, flinching when she saw what Clara was looking at. “No, don’t touch that! It’s cursed!”

“What do you mean, that necklace is cursed?” Ben inquired, heading over to the two girls now. So that was what was under the bush—a piece of cursed jewelry that might have been of no use to Rakepick.

“That necklace is one of Rakepick’s dark artefacts. She showed it to me once,” Merula added upon seeing Clara’s confused face. “You can touch it if you don’t believe me, see what happens when you do.”

“No, I believe you,” Clara replied hastily. “It’s just…Dumbledore told me he had Rakepick’s Dark Artefacts stored at the Ministry of Magic. If she infiltrated even the one place that has greatest security measures…”

The cool night air suddenly plunged into a deep freeze, and I winced as the bark beneath my fingers began to gather a fine layer of ice.

“Then we’re in deep trouble.”

“No kidding, Lin!” Merula jerked her head at the fluttering black cloaks that surrounded the group. “Look!”

I have never seen them before in the flesh, but I would recognize them anywhere—Dementors, evil beings that sucked the happiness out of any specimen that could express even a sliver of happiness. Hovering in midair like nightmares that haunted the living daylight out of any of us, they closed in on the trio, forming a tight ring around them, obscuring them from view.

From behind me, I thought I could hear a twig snap, but I didn’t want to look back.

“Dementors! They’re surrounding us!”

“Too many!”

“Expecto Patronum!”

I watched with wide eyes as a silver unicorn emerged from Clara’s wand, cantering towards the nearest Dementor with its head bowed and goring it through with its horn. Silently, I applauded her. At least she had a powerful happy memory to fuel her powerful defence.

But even her strength had its limits. Too soon, they were wearing out, and yet the Dementor's ranks seemed to replenish with each attack.

“I can’t keep this up anymore,” I could hear Clara wheeze. “My Patronus…not powerful.”

“And when you drive one back, another takes its place,” Ben noted quietly.

“We’re screwed. Now what?!” Merula cried.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A silver lioness appeared out of nowhere, leaping towards the trio and roaring to the skies, driving every Dementor away with an ever-growing shield as thin as a bubble.

“What the…who was that?” I heard Clara ask.

Imagine everyone’s surprise when out of the shadows stepped none other than Madam Patricia Rakepick. Her fiery red hair gleamed under what little moonlight remained, her symbol of Ra polished to a shine. She towered over them like the Dementors did, save for the fact that she was robed in scarlet instead of obsidian black.

“YOU!” Merula screeched—but barely had she raised her wand when Rakepick knocked it aside, blowing her down with a simple non-verbal spell.

Non-verbal spells…they were hard to execute with as much precision as spoken incantations. How in the world could Rakepick exercise this kind of advantage against the rest of us? Either way, it was clear that the confrontation with the Dementors had completely worn the trio out, and Rakepick eventually struck them down like flies, or severely incapacitated them to the point where they were limping to face her.

At least, Ben was still standing and wincing with pain racking his body where countless blows struck.

“That will teach you a lesson!” he said.

“Take this lesson to your grave!” Rakepick countered, raising her wand. “Avada—”

“NO!”

My eyes barely registered a blur of black, yellow, and white running past me—and before I knew it, a girl about my age had lunged toward Rakepick with an almighty yell, tackling her to the ground.

“Ben!” I shouted then, running toward him as fast as my numbed legs would take me. “Clara, Merula…”

It was then when the trio saw me for the first time—Clara in shock, Ben in anger, and Merula with disgust.

“And here I thought Copper was the Crup puppy sticking around,” Merula drawled. “What are you doing here, Khanna?”

“DUCK!”

TWANG!

The point of a throwing knife sank deep into a tree near Clara’s head, and she didn’t emerge from it entirely unscathed—she cupped a hand to her ear, where the point of the blade nicked her skin.

“You—” Rakepick growled as she tried to throw the girl off her back. “Who are you? What do you want?”

That was when I saw the girl in a better light. Black hair splayed wildly over her brown eyes and pale wheatish skin in the fray, one fist curled around the curse-breaker’s gleaming red hair and the other holding another small knife like the one embedded in the tree.

“Sarahi?!” Clara exclaimed. “What are you doing here?!”

Sarahi did not answer her friend for a few seconds as she landed a roundhouse kick at Rakepick’s spine, sending her flying away from the group. Then she turned to her.

“I told you I could help with any physical fight, didn’t I?” Sarahi responded, pushing the hair out of her eyes. “You helped me find a place here at Hogwarts without making me feel like a waste of space. Now it’s my turn to return the favour.”

“Wait—that’s not—I didn’t—”

“Expulso!”

Somehow, given the harsh impact of the kick, Rakepick still managed to pick herself up, aiming her wand at Sarahi who ducked as the spell flew past her ear, blasting another tree to smithereens.

“Sarahi, you have to get out of here!” Clara shouted as best as her hoarse throat could manage, but she might as well have been screaming into an empty void. Everyone watched with wide eyes as Sarahi grabbed Rakepick’s arm with her free hand, pivoted her feet, and threw her with all her might to the ground, knocking all the wind out of Rakepick with a loud thud. 

“Run!” Sarahi screamed back at us. “All of you—go!”

“No!” Ben shouted. “This was my fight! I was supposed to protect you!”

“No one’s going to protect anyone if we end up dead, Copper!” Merula snapped.

“Aahhh!” Sarahi suddenly exclaimed as Rakepick’s hand closed around her ankle, sweeping her clean off her feet as she landed hard on her butt.

Physical fighting was not unheard of in the Muggle world, but in the wizarding world…one would only rely on such means of combat if they were left with no other choice. Anyone who didn’t have a wand would end up delivering a good punch in the nose, but what good would a bleeding nose be against the deadliest of all Unforgivable Curses? Yet there she was, scratching at Rakepick like a cat at a scratching pole with her free hand while the knife trembled in her tightened grip while Rakepick grabbed at her hair to slow her down.

I have never seen a stranger fight.

“Is this even allowed?” Ben inquired. “I would have loved to see Clara defeat a dragon this way.”

“This is not the time for commentary!” I hissed at him. “We need to get her out of here!”

Just as the words flew out of my mouth, though, I saw the blade plunge downward into Rakepick’s arm, the point sinking deep into flesh rewarded with the sinful scarlet fluid.

“You—” Rakepick growled again, pointing her wand at Sarahi who attempted now to choke her with her bare hands.

“Sarahi, forget her!” Clara screamed. “You have to go now!”

“NO! YOU GO!” Sarahi cried. “All of you go!”

Clara looked just about ready to argue, but I could tell she was in no shape to fight any more. I eventually dragged Clara by the arm while Merula took Ben, but just as we began to head back to Hogwarts I saw Rakepick raise her wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of green light enveloped the girl who was in the midst of drawing another knife from her robes; the force blasted her away, and for a moment I thought I saw her mouth morph into a silent scream before her body landed limply on the hard-packed earth, the knife she had just unsheathed sliding off in another direction. At the same time, I saw a scarlet bottle of something fly through the air, landing on the girl where it exploded with a loud BOOM on contact.

I thought I would never hear the end of Clara’s howl of pain after Rakepick Disapparated without another word.

“No, Sarahi can’t be blamed,” Clara realized after a while. “She must have followed you for the same reason you followed me. She...wanted to protect me too."

"And you're sure Sarahi knew nothing about 'R'?" I asked her.

"Positive. The only time I ever mentioned anything even remotely related to this was when I told her Merula had the mindset of a killing machine."

"Well, whatever the case, she must have seen you as someone very important, just like everyone else is," I remarked hollowly. "She must have looked up to you, too."

"Did you know her well?"

I shook my head. "I only tutored her once in a while in Potions and Transfiguration for the last few years. But I had no idea she knew you. She must have known that we were best friends, though."

"Who wouldn't? It's always been us since the beginning. Even the most unwary of students would know," Clara pointed out with a nod, glancing down at the ribbon still crumpled in her hands. "I just wish I could have given her more than just a few words and a simple birthday present. I mean, I could tell she liked it but…"

"You wish you had more time with her?"

"Mhmm. There's so much about her I still don't know."

She eventually fixed her ponytail and tied the ribbon over the elastic, where it now gleamed on her head with a few creases like a tin foil crown. Then she wiped her glasses and sighed, her hands balling into fists.

"They did it, then," Clara finally remarked bitterly. "'R' successfully took a friend's life. But we will take what should have been theirs, had there been no enemy in the way of defying them."

"What are you saying, Clara?"

Clara looked over at me, a storm gathering in her eyes, and for a moment I thought I saw lightning flash in the clouds that formed in her irises.

"We will avenge her in our own way. And once we do, there will be no stopping the storm."

[roseate7]

Any words of consolation about what’s probably going to happen tonight? It hurts so much and it hasn’t even happened yet. You seem to have good perspective and I could use some.

I’ll answer this one because it’s very sweet and must’ve come in right before I switched anon off.

I can very easily and confidently say to you that this indeed shall pass, because unlike many a swift rout in which a team and fanbase must cast about in bewilderment for what went wrong, the enemy has shown himself and it is within. For all that the superstars were gassed with overwork by the time the playoffs arrived, and for all that the eventual lineup were too bewildered to pull out a cohesive performance by the end, the man responsible for all of this - and I mean all - is Jim Rutherford.

A lot of folks understandably held out on my level of bolshiness toward him this year, but from day one of this playoffs series the truth of the entire season’s mess and muddle and hasty plastering-over had shown itself in rapidly coming undone beneath playoffs pressure. And he’d done the same botched jobs before in Carolina.

I know most folks don’t agree with me on this point especially but the Hags trade set the tone of Rutherford losing the team’s confidence in him entirely. The bulk of the work was done then. His “point was made” but the point was both a misfire and an eventual backfire. But whatever difficulties the Pens had at the start of the season, we only ever got to see them just beginning to repair the longer the team got to bond and gel… only for trigger-happy-trader Jim to come and throw it all into disarray again.

There’s no way of ever knowing which of the trades were truly any better because there was no time the crucial identity to be formed with any of them. He lucked the fuck out with the Florida trade, but what good are two solid players in isolation on a disjointed team they barely know and may not even stay with past the summer? Where is the hunger and fight for them? To lift a Cup with men they’ve known a matter of months? They’re not Black Aces, they’re key players who felt rushed in and did their best which is honestly a waste of talent in the end. Certainly no way to form that team identity. All it did was help keep the Pens on life support.

That’s the theme of Rutherford losing this season: what good are solid players in isolation? Do they make a defense? Do they create goals? Do they give his superstars space to work while leaving the speed up to the younger and lighter, or even just faster…. oh yeah those are all gone. So, no. No they don’t. They add up to a first round sweep and have done ever since the late fall.

It might seem like strange comfort to know that the season was ultimately jeapordized by a man who we can only see the back of if pressure mounts outside and in, but ironically when you look at all of the good that he has wasted in either neglect or over-work, it is reassurance.

Because it’s very good to know that the Pens have a core on the other side of thirty who are hitting and breaking franchise and league records and are still able to overcome major mid-season injury and reignite the team’s playoffs hopes. They’re not the Hawks or the Kings. Their core leave ample cap space in their salaries and more importantly, the problems aren’t scattered all over the locker room and the coaching and the management. It’s down to one man getting into a job using more talented colleagues and then reverting to type once left to his own devices. Hell, even Sully being out-coached wouldn’t have led to a first round exit if the team had formed the kind of identity and drive that it should have. 87/71 can lead a motley crew of a roster to the second round just fine, so long as they can get to know them before March.

And 87/71 being what they are - an isolated and rare organism - and having veteran status, none of the past two seasons will be allowed to remain when they return to Pittsburgh in the fall. They’ve proven how fearless they are in doing what is right for their team and that they’ll run up against any level of front office to fight for glory again. Hell, just look at Geno’s post-games after tonight! He is already planning on the upturn of all they’ve settled into that doesn’t work. I truly do not think Rutherford has the clout, especially after these past two years on his own, to stand up to what those two want. They’ve got the ear of the owners far more than he has. I doubt he’ll be gotten rid of, but his workload could easily become much ‘lighter’ and the purse strings taken out of his hands.

From my hockey perspective, this exit honestly feels like a logical turn in direction for a team who have needed to be wrestled out of the jaws of victory rather than the other way round for most of one dynasty. The years between 2009 and 2016 were such twists and turns, and they’ve all faded into normal and natural lows and suffering that happen to absolutely every club - especially to ones who have had success so frequently. The past two seasons aren’t at all unusual for a much older club whose legs have largely never bounced back from a gruelling back-to-back and an unbroken succession of playoff appearances.

All of Rutherford’s botched work needs to be either undone or removed. I’m sorry folks, I know it’s extremely unlikely and most don’t agree with me but getting Hags back would restore heart and identity to a team that couldn’t bear to have lost it in the first place. But even if not him, then a team assembled and left to actually find itself next season. I’m also not convinced that dropping Horny makes sense, it feels way too much like the overly-reactionary trades of the entire season and yet more loss of identity. Bringing in youth and speed is doable without disintegrating the core even more. We all love Olli but he’s sadly become disposable (I don’t really know why) and I say it’s far wiser to shift a younger player who is already showing signs of slowing than a teammate who brings much needed heart to the locker room.

Anyway, all of this can be done. There is now time, room and with intelligence there can be money. Geno will rest and clear his head and be Russian and Miamian for a while, Sid will go off with trainers like last summer, and they’ll both return of one mind: to never, ever allow their ship to be steered so wildly off course ever again.

So when it comes to the pain, the bitterness, the feeling of desolation and confusion of tonight I really can promise you this will be a kinder loss in the long run. It didn’t drag on, it was against a team who had the jump and the desperation on the Pens, and there were no cruel twists of the knife to age-old wounds. The Isles were better and wanted the win more and they won. It’s clean, if still gutting.

I can say all of this because I was baptised by fire and blood into hockey. I saw Bloody Wednesday and I had seen the previous season’s lead-up to it, all of which is told best by Kris Draper himself. I saw hatred and cold-bloodedness and rage that transcended ‘just hockey’ between the Avs and Wings of those days. I can safely say that no one will ever experience transcendent agony and ecstasy of the like ever again because the sport is now more about... well, the sport, rather than the spectacle.

And as I soon realised, all that gnashing of teeth from the players represented the most pathetic side of a game that was already on it’s way to losing it’s audience precisely for a lack of substance. It all stopped being satisfying when the enforcers were no longer made invisible in their traumatized retirement and the gladiatorial was proven to be ultimately almost as fatal and cruel as the old coliseums. We all got sick of games halting for the latest wild man to do his bit and to have teams hoarding up talent in ways that even refs could tilt the balance in their favor so well. The rivalries are boring younger fans now that testosterone flare-ups no longer run the show, and instead look like weak distractions - or downright dangerous in ways that are no longer considered acceptable - from letting your hockey speak for itself.

And well, as Draper and Nick Lidstrom proved to me many years later when they both went belly-aching that a 21 year-old Sidney Crosby wasn’t prompt enough to shake Lidstrom’s hand after the 2009 final. I will always respect those guys as players, but hoo boy the irony of their childish sore loser attitude in calling Sid immature and unprofessional still looks terrible for two men who won four Cups in their time. Same with the fans and journalists who saw fit to bemoan this perceived slight from Sid due to nothing but sour grapes over the fair loss of yet another trophy to add to their groaning coffers. Especially targeting a kid charged with rescuing his sport and his franchise, who had returned to the Joe after a bitter disappointment the previous season, and at last gained the achievement that had been expected of him since he was between fourteen and sixteen.

For shame on two men I had witness do battle and perform so valiantly, even after some of the glory of their days had begun to tarnish, to gang up on a boy because their days of domination were fading. I still love those first seasons I watched, but I am glad the days are gone of two men knocking forty launching a PR campaign to damage the image of a kid only just realising the dream they had many times repeated themselves before he was even in the draft combine.

Why did I take that trip down memory lane, you could well ask if you’re still even reading this, anon???

Because while players like the 90s Red Wings represent the last of the old dynasties, the post-2004/5 lockout effects on hockey haven’t been felt in full effect really until the Penguins back-to-backs. You know, the team who won using speed and cohesion? The team who set the standard which all other teams were not-so-secretly rushing to copy? That was a core of existing champs who dictated their own identity and who had two leaders with their eyes wisely on the future-present style of hockey.

The Kings and Hawks days of glory had one foot very much in the past. They are both in different stages of trying to work out the puzzle of a league whose playing style has been flipped even more on it’s head in just the past three drafts. Forget McDavid: how does Mitch Marner weigh what he weighs and do what he does and bounce back up every time old-style defense tries to knock him down? How do you get more of those little nuggets of your own to find gaps and evade muscle and create chances? That’s the question the Pens already know they have to get back to answering as they had before.

But Jim Rutherford has fumbled his two years unsupervised, this is resoundingly true, and his old ‘grit and size’ tendencies are coming up against a Pens core who have far more knowledge of what it takes to return their team to being champions because they have seen the sea changes taking place in their franchise from day one.

Ol’ Jim’s can come and go. But Crosby and Malkin are neither petulant veterans who would moon about over their losses and angrily deflect onto the youngsters who beat them, nor are they superstars existing in a bubble and bemoaning the slow decline of their team after each short or non-existent post-season. Neither of them will mind handing over some depth work to speedier youngsters. Neither of them will mind adjusting their roles to accommodate the next generation of Pens, because it’s what they’ve been doing for a good few years now. No clashing of egos or sense of grudge over age and perceived superiority to stop these two from doing whatever it takes to keep the club on the right path.

The Pens will always have a shot at being champions so long as Sid and Geno are on the thrones in Pittsburgh. And the more they come into their age and embrace their sway over a franchise that knows it owes it’s existence to them both (even if fucking nobody else seems to remember that Geno’s throne sits in every way equal to Sid’s) the more chance there is for more Cups.

At the very least, and it’s still a wonderful least, seasons like this one will stand as nothing but a stark but isolated reminder of how close to disaster their ship has ever sailed.

I have absolutely no doubt that they know what to do in the wake of it, and I have no doubt that they would gladly fly in the face of front office if it meant a more harmonious locker room.

They’re two heroes who won’t complain about the young bucks coming in and the league changing around them, and trust me when I say Pens fans should take endless comfort in that, even in the toughest years. And the natural order of things in hockey absolutely dictates that you’ve gotta at least have some of those.

[superduperfandomgirl]

Utterly, Illogically In Love

This is for the @sides-of-quotes-contest!  Thank you for inspiring me to write this, and I’m sorry this is so close to the deadline! :D

Based on the following misquote:

Pairing: Logicality

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Logan has a problem.  A huge problem.  A massive, enormous, overwhelming problem.  He’s having... dare he say it... feelings.  Ew.

Word Count: 2.7k

Logic, otherwise known as Logan, is the most functional of all the traits of Thomas’ personality. He organizes and follows his schedule in a precise and efficient manner; he takes care of Thomas’ health while all the other sides are too distracted with other, more trivial matters; and he even keeps the other sides’ unrestrained creativity in check by pointing out their errors and doing research, instead of simply making things up.

 His most important trick to being so focused and sharp: He has no heart.

 It is true, no matter how much other *coughing fit* Patton *coughing fit* sides try to deny it. Love is for fools, and Logic is never going to be made a fool.  He is, as his vocab card would say, a Badass BrainTM who don’t need no man in his life…no, wait, he doesn’t need a man in his life.  Why do the “hip” teenagers always insist on speaking in such a grammatically incorrect way?

 This is all to say that when Patton giggled about something over breakfast, Logan’s brain certainly did not momentarily freeze and think something along the lines of, “Well, fuck.  He’s cute.”

 Logan doesn’t find things attractive (except Newton’s laws), and he is especially not attracted to another side.  To Patton.

 That is why Logan would never stand outside the door of one headache-inducing prince, seeking advice.

 “Logan,” Roman sighed as he opened the door. “A pleasure, as always.  How can I help you today?”  The fanciful side flourished his arms, before dropping them and regarding Logan with a sour face.

 Logan cleared his throat and readjusted his glasses. “I have recently had an incident in which I experienced uncomfortable feelings, and since you are one of the more emotional sides, I was hoping you could help me get rid of them.”

 “What?  You felt something?” Roman laughed heartily, until he saw Logan’s glare. “Oh, you’re not kidding?  Well, then.” Roman’s eyes lit up in an alarming way that always meant the prince had a nasty plan in mind, typically having to do with make-up or something else Logan detested.

 “No,” Logan warned preemptively, but it was too late.  The cogs of Roman’s brain were already turning.

 “So, who’s the lucky man?” Roman asked.

 Logan nearly choked on air.  How had he guessed?  Damn the stupid, overdramatic prep!

 Instead of saying that, however, Logan simply readjusted his glasses again and sniffed. “No one is. I merely experienced a moment in which I felt…” Logan struggled for a moment on what to say instead of the truth and came up blank.  And he didn’t want Deceit popping up, as he always did when Thomas or the sides lied. “…all right, fine.  I experienced…a mild attraction to someone.  Just tell me how to get rid of it, please.”

 Roman grinned. “Fine, Nerd Squad.  I’ll help.” Without warning, he grabbed Logan’s arm and hauled the logical side into his room.

 Logan gagged reflexively; he’d forgotten how stifling Roman’s room was.  It was positively filled to the brim with the feeling of heroism and pride, with ornate tapestries hanging on every wall and a ghastly (and obviously) self-painted portrait hanging above Roman’s fancy bed.

 “Can we make this quick?” Logan asked, groaning internally at the sheer number of trophies that littered the room’s shelves.

 “Of course!” Roman gestured to a chair with far too many flowers stitched into it, which Logan unhappily took a seat in.  Roman dragged a throne-like chair over so he could sit across from Logan.  He whipped out a pen and paper from seemingly nowhere and adopted a calm, “open” expression.

 “So, Logan,” he began in a voice that sounded a bit like a therapist, “what seems to be your problem today?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You know perfectly well what my issue is, Roman, let’s get to the point. How do I rid myself of these distracting emotions?”

Roman huffed and poofed away his pen and paper, leaning back into his chair. “I see what Patton means now.  You’re no fun!”

 Logan started to stand. “This was a waste of ti-”

 “Nope, you’re staying, Mr. Roboto!” Roman pushed Logan back into his chair firmly and jumped back into his own.  “All right, look.  I can’t, under good conscience, bereave a lonely soul such as yours of romantic connection-”

“Then I will be taking my leave,” Logan began to get up again, but Roman continued.

 “However, I can help you…er…deal with your emotions.  So, while we’re in this space, do you promise to at least consider the propositions I make to you, knowing that I would not lead you astray when it comes to love?”

 Logan considered it for a moment.  Roman did say he just had to evaluate the points being made, not actually act on them. What was the worst that could happen from just hearing Roman out?  Plus, he was a little desperate to end these accursed afflictions before they sucked away any more of his brain power.  Might as well get it over with.

 “Fine.”

“Perfect!” Roman’s grin, combined with his excited hand clap, made Logan want to rethink his answer. “Now, let’s get to the basics: you are in love with one of the other sides, right?”

 “I wouldn’t call it love, so much as feeling…more emotions than usual in the side’s presence,” Logan corrected.

 “Do you feel a deep, unrelenting urge to be by their side no matter what for the rest of time?” Roman’s voice grew until he was loudly and dramatically proclaiming the words.   Aaand there was the migraine.

 “No, I’ve already told you-”

 “It was a rhetorical question, Nerd Who Will Forever Be Solo,” Roman said, “You’re definitely in love, whether you’ll admit it or not.  Which one is it, may I ask?  Patton or Virgil?  Or is it-” Roman grumbled in disgust before spitting out, “- one of the Dark Sides?”

 “I can’t tell you,” Logan shook his head, before adding, “Although it isn’t one of the Dark Sides.”

 “Good.  They’re nasty little buggers,” Roman huffed, “You’re making this more difficult, you know, by not telling me.”

 “The result will be the same either way.  You’ll make me lose my ‘crush’ on this side, and I’ll move on with my day,” Logan reasoned, putting airquotes around the childish term.

 “Weeeell, while a crush can fade over time, I don’t think you can just ignore your own feelings, Logan.”

 “Why not?  I’ve been doing it quite adeptly for many years.”

 “All I’m saying, Microsoft Word, is that maybe you should consider actually telling this side how you feel and seeing if they like you, too.  Who knows, maybe you can actually increase your productivity by falling in love and heightening your dopamine levels.  Not to mention it would increase the likelihood of the two of you coming to a compromise in any given argument, thus resolving more of Thomas’ internal fights.”  By the time Roman was done, Logan was almost speechless.  He would have been, in fact, if he hadn’t been Logan.

 “Are you feeling all right, Roman?  You just made genuinely logical points,” Logan pointed out, his shock fading into slight annoyance.  Logical points were his thing.

 “I know!  I feel kind of weird, like you’re rubbing off on me,” Roman grimaced, dusting his hands off as if trying to get rid of Logan’s influence through the physical motion.  Oh good, he was still an idiot.

 “Still, I’ll have to consider what you’ve said.” Logan stood and hesitated before adding, “Thank you, I suppose.”

 For all the effort that had taken to force that out, Roman didn’t even seem to hear him, too absorbed in frowning and muttering quietly about how horrible it was to be logical. Logan sighed and sank out of the room, reappearing in his own, much more comfortably exact one.  He had a lot to consider.

                                                    ~~~***~~~

 Three hours later, and Logan hadn’t yet come to a definite conclusion.  On one hand, acting on his feelings could result in more distractions (especially considering Patton’s usual style) in his everyday life.  On the other hand, it might increase his and Thomas’ productivity by making Logan happier.  Plus, a tiny, niggling part of his brain couldn’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to act on his internal desire to hug Patton and kiss him and make him feel loved and…

 Holy Crofter’s Jam!  Roman was indeed right – he was in love.  With Patton.  Fuuuuck.

But what to do about it?

 Standing up from his desk, he decided to ask the only other person that might be able to help him. Five seconds later, he was knocking on Virgil’s door.

 “What?” a voice called from inside.

“Virgil, can I speak with you for a minute?” Logan called.  There was no reply for a couple moments.

 Finally, the tired-sounding voice echoed out, “What do you want, Logan?”

 “I have a…dilemma. I was wondering if you could help me figure out what I should do.”

Silence.  Then, the sound of footsteps, and the door creaked open to reveal Virgil, purple headphones around his neck and hair tousled like he’d just been napping.  Which, in all honesty, he probably had.  Oops.

 “What kind of dilemma?” he asked, yawning slightly.

 “I am…in love with one of the other sides,” Logan admitted, steeling himself for Virgil’s reaction.

 It was underwhelming, to say the least.  Virgil merely shrugged and opened the door wider so Logan could step in.  Once inside, Virgil flopped back onto his bed and asked, “Patton, right?”

 Logan’s jaw dropped open, and he sputtered, “W-Well, er, yes.  How did you know?”

Virgil fixed Logan with a look that made him clamp his mouth shut again. “It’s pretty obvious.”

 “Roman didn’t figure it out,” Logan protested.

 “Yes, well, Roman is Roman.  He’s great at the big picture, not so much for the details,” Virgil sighed, “So, what’s the big deal?  Are you worried he doesn’t have feelings for you?”

 “No,” Logan frowned. That somehow hadn’t been an option he’d addressed.  What if after all of this, Logan decided to tell Patton and he got rejected?  What would he do then?  Pretend everything was normal?  But then Patton would know Logan had feelings for him, and it would be awkward, and he would wind up trying to ignore Patton, which would further degrade the situation and make Patton upset.  Maybe he just shouldn’t tell Patton.

 “Now I am,” he admitted.

 “Relax, Specs, he likes you,” Virgil reassured in a slightly softer tone than usual.

“How do you-?”

 “I just know, okay,” Virgil replied, waving a dismissive hand, “What’s the issue, then?”

 “I just don’t know whether I should act on my feelings or not.  After all, it could lead to decreased productivity because I would have to spend more time on our relationship,” Logan explained, “But, on the pro side, it could increase my productivity by increasing my dopamine production.”

 “I know I’m not one to say this, but I think you’re overthinking this,” Virgil said, “Just tell him how you feel.  Trust me, it’ll be better than obsessing over it.”  Virgil trailed off and averted his gaze as he said the last part.  Logan frowned but chose not to comment.  Virgil would tell him if and when he felt like it.

 “Are you sure that’s the best course of action?” Logan asked instead, restlessly tapping a pattern out on his knee.

 “Yeah, I think so,” Virgil responded, “It sounds like you really like him, if your overanalyzation weirdness is anything to go by.  Just make sure he’s happy, okay?  And stop with that whole putting down his puns thing, that’s not cool.”

 Logan wanted to say that Virgil sounded like Patton’s dad, but he decided to make the smart decision and not mention it.

 “And also stop worrying about your productivity or whatever.  That’s just weird.  If you want a relationship, go for it.  If not, don’t.  Plain and simple,” Virgil continued.  Logan nodded, his brow furrowing.  Virgil was right; for once, ironically, he needed to follow his heart.  Ugh.

 “By the way, this is super off-topic, but do you think I’m doing okay in the videos now?” Virgil asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“Of course.  I think your input has helped solve many of Thomas’ problems, including the Deceit debacle, and your demeanor is not at all unpleasant to be around.  In fact, you are quite popular with the fans,” Logan responded, glad to finally be back on safe, logical ground again.  He whipped out a histogram with four colored sections to illustrate his point. “Here is a diagram of all the sides’ popularity levels.  As you can see-”

 “Wow, okay, you’ve been in here too long,” Virgil groaned, quickly ushering Logan out of the room.

 “Go talk to him and try not to screw it up,” Virgil muttered, before he slammed the door in Logan’s face.

 “Reassuring,” Logan said sarcastically.  He turned toward the kitchen, from which the enticing smell of cookies was floating up. Patton would most likely be there, probably doing that thing where he put one cookie on the rack for every cookie he put in his mouth.  Logan always chided him for it because this method often resulted in a large quantity of cookies being consumed by Patton, but he couldn’t deny that he also found it oddly endearing.

This was it.  The ultimate decision: mind versus heart.  Would he pretend his feelings didn’t exist until they eventually stopped existing or would he confront Patton about it?

 His feet were taking him down the stairs before he even fully processed his choice.

                                                       ~~~***~~~

 Sure enough, Patton was in the kitchen, intermittently stacking cookies into his mouth and onto the rack.  Logan cleared his throat, and Patton whirled around, guiltily shoving the cookie he was holding behind his back.

 “Logan!  How you doing, buddy?” he cried, grinning that adorable, twinkling grin of his that seemed to light up the entire room. Goddamnit, this was going to be harder than Logan thought.

 “Patton, I, er, need to talk to you about something.” Logan tried to ignore his word stumble and forged ahead, “You see, recently I’ve realized I have…well, I seem to have grown…you are…”

 “Yes?” Patton stepped forward, directly into Logan’s personal space.  This was decidedly not helpful.  His smile had slid away to be replaced by a small, confused frown, presumably caused by Logan’s uncharacteristic loss for words.

 “I like you,” Logan finished eloquently.

 Patton’s eyebrows shot up, but he smiled and gave Logan a thumbs-up, “I like you, too, Logan!”

 “No,” Logan sighed in exasperation.  Why had he signed up for this?  Feelings weren’t worth this stress.  “I like like you.  As in…I…I think I love you, Patton.  No, I know I love you.  And I understand that maybe you don’t feel the same, but if you do, then please let me know because I have talked to both Roman and Virgil today inside of their own rooms, and it has honestly been stressing me out so-”

 He was cut off by Patton sweeping him into a bone-crushing hug.  His mind short-circuited, and by the time he had rebooted, he realized they had just been standing like that for a full minute. It wasn’t bad, though.  Actually, it was quite the opposite, but it hadn’t answered Logan’s question.

 “So…is that a ‘yes’?” Logan asked hesitantly, his arms coming up to awkwardly hug Patton back.

 Patton pulled away, giggling. “Yes, silly!  After all, why did the proton blush?  It was positively attracted to the electron!”

 Logan put his head in his hands, but he couldn’t hold back a bemused smile.  What had he gotten himself into?

 A sound caught Logan’s attention, and he turned around.  He didn’t see anything, but he could have sworn he heard hands slapping together.  Shaking his head, he turned back to Patton and let his smile grow.  It may have taken a lot to get here, but here he was, the Mind finally allowing himself to feel something – for the Heart, no less.  How poetic (is what Roman would probably tell Logan when he found out).

 “Can I kiss you?” The question was out before Logan could clap a hand over his everflapping gobtalker.  Patton’s mesmerizing smile widened spectacularly, and he nodded silently.  A blush turned his cheeks an adorable shade of pink, and Logan knew he too was probably as red as a solanum lycopersicum.

 Logan leaned in, nervous and excited and utterly petrified.  But then he was kissing Patton softly, and for just a moment, he swore all the clichés were right: It truly felt like fireworks.

 Maybe emotions weren’t so bad after all.  Maybe he could be a Badass BrainTM with a man in his life.

Quick Note: You can thank the Internet for supplying me with the fun proton/electron pun. ;)  Anyway, hope you all enjoyed! <3

[dxmedstudent]

I’m not familiar with the UK, but I know that understaffing is a very general problem with the healthcare field. What do you think drives this besides the overwhelming stress causing people to leave voluntarily? Is it just lack of interest in the health profession itself? The competition of schools/ programs for the number of people wanting to get into medicine? The gov’t? Where do you see the problem stemming from and what can be done to help? Thank you so much.

That’s an interesting question, though I suspect that given the complexity of the answer, it remains without an easy fix. You’re right to suggest stress plays a huge part. Understaffing, dissatisfaction with lifestyle, pay, progression and training can all play a part. The rise of litigation culture is another key factor; we’re receiving a lot more complaints than we used to, as patients and relatives expect more, sometimes to unrealistic or unfeasible degrees. I know your question suggests glossing over this bit, but I really think this is the crux of the matter; the working conditions in healthcare are probably, in a lot of systems, where the problem arises. Getting into medicine is competitive in I imagine every country. Because it’s thought of as a good job; secure, well-respected. Relatively well-paid. Lately in the past few years, doctors and nurses have been in the press more than usual, and usually for negative reasons. Recent contract disputes, protests, strikes etc have played a role, as have all sorts of high profile cases which are poorly understood by the public at large.  Although still voted the most trusted professions, that position comes at a price; people expect a lot of us, and when you’re put on a pedestal it’s very easy to be knocked off it. If any doctor or nurse is thought poorly of, that can have a knock on effect on the whole profession, even if the reasons aren’t entirely justified. It extends  I don’t think there’s a lack of interest in healthcare, though I suspect that interest could be higher. Now that going to university is much more expensive. In the UK; it’s gone up from being free about 10 years before I went to university.  Tuition was £1000 per year the year before I started university. In my time at university it was £3,000 a year, now it’s over £9,000 a year. That change happened in the space of about ten or so years. The government didn’t even wait a couple of years to see if my generation, the first with fees of £3K, could even afford to pay that back. Students are going to have to think more carefully about what they choose to study, and how to shape their career. By getting rid of the nursing bursary, I do think that some people were put off studying nursing; applicant numbers are objectively down. I don’t know if increasing the number of places available to study nursing would even help, becase I’m not sure that all the current places are being filled. Nursing and medicine also suffer from the reality that though there will almost always be work of some sort, it may not be where you want to go. Jobs are sprinkled throughout the UK, through cities and towns right down to small villages. Whilst working in and around London remains competitive, relatively few people want to uproot themselves to a village on the other side of the UK; therefore the most likely people who’d want to work there might be locals, or foreign-trained staff who are starting afresh with few friends and family anyway and are happy to work there. A lot of people who are from the UK already have roots; they might not want to uproot themselves to a village on the other end of the UK, and that’s OK. But it leaves a situation where some places will always have less people applying because they are remote. The foundation training system combats this by forcing us as junior doctors to rank EVERY possible part of the UK; do badly and you could get sent to the outer Hebrides or Northern Ireland or wherever your last choice was. You can choose to refuse that job, but then you’ll have to wait months, maybe a year, to reapply. But you can’t do that throughout training; after foundation training we have the choice of where we apply and if we continue at all. In reality, a lot of systems are probably propped up by foreign labour; the fact that there will always be lots of people willing to move to Western countries to fill the gap. This is usually advantageous for the receiving country; they take none of the cost of training highly skilled staff and receive a ready-made workforce. However, it’s a huge burden on the training country; their system will have to pay to train more people, only to find that probably more of them will flee abroad. Unfortunately, in the long run this isn’t an ethical situatioin; we shouldn’t be causing a ‘brain drain’ on other nations in order to staff our healthcare service. We, as the NHS rely a LOT on foreign labour; on people trained abroad. On doctors from Pakistan, nurses from the Philippines and Ireland, and on both doctors and nurses (and let’s be honest, domestic staff, catering staff etc) coming from the EU in recent years. This wasn’t usually a problem, but now the government have started making it harder for even people offered good jobs (because those posts were lying empty) even as doctors and nurses, to be allowed visas to work here. Many recent stories suggest that government policies are trying to make it fundamentaly harder for anyone to come here, or to remain if they are already here. I have friends whose choices were complicated by whether the government would let them stay to work as doctors, and know people who had to leave because their visas would not be extended, despite having secured a job and paying taxes. The government may want to show its more conservative voters smaller immigration numbers, but at what cost if we’re making it impossible for the health service to hire the people it needs? As the government make it harder and harder for overseas doctors and nurses to be employed, staffing will drop further. And there’s evidence to suggest that more of our staff who came from the EU are leaving. Create a culture of hostility towards foreign workers, and they will feel unwelcome and decide to go somewhere else. When it comes to med schools, I used to get the impression that the number of graduates are enough; there used to be a good chance of getting an FY1 post when you applied, even despite a number of foreign applicants. I think that’s still probably true. If we don’t have enough FY1s, then yes, increasing the number of places to study medicine would be helpful. However, for further up the ladder it gets… more complex. Medicine is heirarchal and based on years of experience. So if you are short of SHOs or registars, having lots of FY1s won’t help you in the near future (though it might help you in the long term). And if you increase the number of trainees in general, you’ll have to make sure you increase the number of FY1, FY2 etc posts all the way up. You can’t just ‘find’ ready made GPs or consultants, or even registrars; either you get them from abroad, or else you have to train them ALL the way up. Otherwise, you’d be dooming a bunch of people to pay £9K for 5-6 years through med school only to tell them that there aren’t enough places for them to start working as a doctor, I feel that would be unfair. Granted, they might well find work elsewhere, but it’d waste both our money as students and as a society to do that, given that studies are subsidised by the government. So you need a balance.In all honesty, it’s always going to be difficult if you’ve got a leaky pipeline; the system may be set up to deal with a certain amount of staff lost but if the pressure is too high, you’re still probably going to lose too many people. And the people we are losing, they aren’t comparable to the shiny new graduates med schools pop out; it’ll take years for them to be comparable in experience to the SHOs and registrars we are losing. The doctors in the middle; worn down by the system and realising life is just too short to be miserable. Many of these people really wanted to be doctors, and many would probably have remained if conditions were different. Whilst some of us realise that we just weren’t cut out to be in healthcare, or that perhaps what we want and need has changed, I feel that many struggle with leaving precisely because some part of them loves medicine, even if it is making them ill. Occasionally, some smartass politician suggests tying in doctors to work in the NHS for a set number of years, but I don’t think this’d be either helpful or desirable. Medicine, due to the pressures and situations faced, is a field with a higher than normal rate of mental illness and suicide. It’s a risky field with significant effects on our health as a group. I’d go so far as to suggest than anyone who forces those who feel they need to leave, to stay against their will would soon have blood on their hands. The people I know who left medicine did so for their mental health, and if they were not allowed to leave, I’d be very concerned that they might risk a more… final way of leaving. I don’t believe anyone should be bound to a job they can’t stand or which makes them ill. I also think that it would do the field more harm than good; rather than showing medicine to be a desirable job, it would suggest that it is so bad that you have to force everyone to stay. With prospects like that, who would want to join? When you could be a vet, be a dentist, be any number of things where you aren’t forced to do it against your will. The key is to improve conditions so that people want to stay, and can stay without destroying their health and mental wellbeing. So that people feel valued, and respected, and feel that their issues with the health service have been taken on board. That those who are running the service understand the issues we raise and the problems we face That, for me, is the only real longterm solution. but I fear that it might be too expensive, and that few would care enough to try.

[enmseolmae]

‹ nine lives ›

Court lady Park screamed her name loud enough for the entire building to hear.

Seolmae’s stomach hallowed out of any confidence she had before. She shivered from the inside out. There was no way they could’ve known. No way they could’ve found the truth. She wrung the top layer of her dress in her hands. She had to answer the call even if she wanted to run away.

“Seolmae,” she bellowed again.

Her head dropped down as she scurried towards the voice. “Yes, Court lady?” 

Court Lady Park’s fingers dug into her shoulder. She still didn’t lift her head. It was easier to hide her winces this way. 

“Look at me, child.”

The quiver in her gut returned. She lifted her gaze slowly, carefully. Court lady Park’s gaze had a frenzy that pushed her pupil to the size of pin pricks. Seolmae couldn’t look away. People who looked away when the pressure was on were the ones got caught lying. She couldn’t be caught.

“I told you to pick anybody else to serve. Why did you not heed my warning?”

Seolmae gulped. “My parents wanted me to be safe with Prince Yeonghwan. I had to follow their orders.”

The grip on her shoulders tightened. “And how safe are you now? That traitor cannot protect you now. She’s gone. Do you understand?”

“I-I have done nothing wrong. I have nothing to fear.” Every breath left her body in order to support the lies she spouted, and make them sound more sturdy.

“What does it matter at this point? They’re coming to get you,” Court lady Park’s voice died down to a harsh hiss.

Seolmae’s mouth hung. Every muscle went limp and lifeless. Her hands dangled by her side. She fell forward but Court lady Park held onto her. 

“Court lady. I didn’t do anything. Court lady Han didn’t commit anything–”

Court lady Park continued to look at her with pity in her eyes.

Seolmae’s voice broke, “I didn’t do anything. Please help me. Help me, Court lady. Please help me. Court lady, please.” She grabbed onto the hems of Court lady Park’s sleeves. Even her fingers lacked strength to fully curl around the smooth fabric.

“My child. You must listen to me,” she held Seolmae’s face in her hands. “You have one chance. It’s slim but I think it’s all you have left.”

“Please help me, Court lady,” she begged.

“When they ask you for the culprit… You must not protect Court lady Han or Prince Yeonghwan.” 

She jerked away upon reflex. “What are you saying…?”

“Do not be prideful. To save yourself you have to start thinking about yourself. Do you hear me? They are as good as dead.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” Seolmae shook her head defiantly.

“If you don’t, then you’ll die too.”

Knocks came from the main door. 

Eunuch Gong’s voice pierced through the tense atmosphere. “Royal decree from the Queen. We have come to collect handmaiden Seolmae.”

(/WARNING AHEAD: graphic description of torture)

It had been three days of no food or water. They were tired of this, she guessed. She was too. With every chance she got, she told them. She had nothing to do with Court lady Han’s disappearance. She didn’t know where the lady was now. 

The last thing she remembered hearing was “Start Juri. Then she’ll talk.”

After that all filled the air were her screams. 

It was quiet before that point, but even the silence was menacing. They restrained her to a chair, tied her ankles together, and stuck too wooden rods at a cross between her legs.

“Where is Court lady Han?” The magistrate asked.

By giving them the same reply as before, she knew she signed her death sentence. 

The eunuch by the magistrate’s side nodded to signal the guards. In the split moment where nothing happened, she felt a premature relief rush into her chest. And then the two guards started pressing down on the rods. It felt dull at first but the pain grew quickly. 

“Did Court lady Han kill His former Highness as a ploy to put her son on the throne?”

The rods crushed her thighs. Her reflex to stand up to run away worked against her. The more she tried to get up, the more she pressed her legs against the rod. Her legs were going to be ripped out of her hips; she could feel the joints barely holding on.

She grew up being soft spoken but at that time, she heard so much of her voice fill the space. The screams sounded like they were being ripped out of her. They were raw and coarse around the edges.

The eunuch raised his hand. 

The guards stopped and removed the rods.away.

The throbbing sensation pooled to the areas where the rods pressed down on her. Specks of blood seeped through her white garments. The bruising must had gotten really bad already. 

She stopped her sobbing enough to say, “No.” 

“Tell the truth,” the magistrate said. “You shouldn’t protect someone who put our country at risk. She is gone which means that she was guilty.”

“Please,” she pleaded with tears running down her face. “I don’t know anything about the assassination.” 

He sighed and the eunuch dropped his hand again. 

Out the corners of her eyes she saw the guards shift into positions again. 

“No. No. Please, I am telling the tru–”

The areas were still tender. The rods were jammed precisely into the same spots of her legs again, and she stopped breathing. The aching in her bones told her they were going to snap. If it meant that she wouldn’t feel this pain anymore, then she wished for her legs to break too. Her eyes shut tightly together. She didn’t want to see the guards flexing and sweating from all the work they put into this. She didn’t want to see the magistrate and his eunuch’s smug faces.

“Do you know where Court lady Han is?” 

She wasn’t screaming any longer. Each sound that rolled from her mouth were sobs. Her hips were on fire, and the flames of that pain caught onto every part of her body. She didn’t understand how her legs weren’t dislocated yet. 

The eunuch raised his hands.

The garments were dark red now. 

 “I don’t…” Her breath and her words were weak. “I don’t know.”

The magistrate stepped forward. He grabbed Seolmae drooping head and lifted it. 

Blood dribbled out the corner of her lips. Her tongue felt numb from how hard she bit into it by accident. 

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” he clicked his tongue. “Such a lovely girl. You’re going to give your life up like this?” 

Court lady Park’s voice entered her head. ‘ When they ask you for the culprit… You must not protect Court lady Han or Prince Yeonghwan. ’ 

“Court… Court lady Han…”

The magistrate smiled. “Yes, handmaiden? I’m listening.”

“…Didn’t tell me anything…” 

He flung his hand away so hard that her head snapped along with the motion. She wished in the depths of her core that it had killed her. 

The guards moved into place again. This was going to be the one, she thought. This was the one that would bring her peace (she prayed). She owed Court lady Han. The debt was hers to pay and she had to do her part. Seolmae was neither a Han or a Wang, but her life was sworn to aid and protect the prince. The oath extended to his mother as well.

The torture resumed.

A steward ran into the prison. He saw Seolmae’s condition and flinched. She gritted her teeth and held onto the chair handles. Her fingertips smashed into the edges as she tried to endure.

“What?” The magistrate raised his voice over Seolmae’s.

The steward tried to pass his message once more.

“What?!” The magistrate yelled again.

The eunuch raised his hand so Seolmae would shut up. She couldn’t though. Even without the screams there were still the pants. The sobs. The quiet pleading for everything to stop.

“Court lady Han’s handkerchief. Was. Found. In. Handmaiden. Chun. Hwa’s. Room!” The steward carefully enunciated each word. 

“Isn’t this wench the one who served Han?” He pointed his grubby finger at Seolmae.

“Y-yes,” the steward hesitated. “But the handkerchief was found elsewhere.”

The magistrate groaned as if this ordeal was most taxing on him. “Wasting my time…” he muttered. “Release her. Bring me Chunhwa. If this one doesn’t pick herself up and return to her duties, then get rid of her. The palace has no place for worthless people.”

She knew. She knew Chunhwa would know nothing about Court lady Han. People stole from the rooms all the time. Borrowing from the Court ladies wasn’t unheard of either. If they brought her in, she’d be in the same position as Seolmae… 

And yet Seolmae did not speak up. 

Whether she ran out of stamina to do much anything else, or she simply didn’t want to, she did not speak in Chunhwa’s defense. She remembered Court lady Park’s advice.

‘ To save yourself you have to start thinking about yourself. ‘

It was time for her to start thinking of herself.

(/Video reference for what Juri is. Warning for blood and violence.)

[abutterflyobsession]

Doctor Who AU: Part 18

prelude/one/two/three/four/five/six/seven/eight/nine/ten/eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen/sixteen/seventeen/ao3

“My mom!”

A layer of dead leaves crunched under Bog's feet like he had just jumped down and landed in the middle of the forest. The moment he found himself back in the database he realized that the plant army was minutes away from ransacking the city.

The city where his mom lived.

“We've got to warn her before they start--”

The ground tilted up sharply, knocking Bog off his feet and sending him tumbling off into the branches of the trees, smashing through the canopy and falling into the sky. There was nothing to hold onto, he was just falling upwards, the blue of the atmosphere thinning and giving away to the dark of space. Everything was black except for the stars, that burned steady and did not twinkle here in the emptiness.

One star did flicker, though. It flickered orange and red and Bog fell toward it, or was pulled toward it. Something in it called to him. The star got closer and closer until it filled up every corner of Bog's vision and the sky was red, fire rained down and the ruins of a city, a broken wall moving with fire and shadows, the stone of it etched with the words, no more.

A stretch of empty sand.

A red button.

A hard choice.

An impossible choice.

The star started shrinking down again, but into a rectangle instead of a circle.

I have to warn them! I have to warn them to get out before--!

A woman stood in a dark room before an open door that cut a rectangle of fire into the blackness. When she looked over her shoulder at the dark room the red light showed her profile and the collar of a worn leather jacket.

“Or maybe they should all burn. No exceptions.”

It was the Doctor's second face.

But she was old. Her dark face deeply lined, her thick, black eyebrows sunk low over a pair of weary black eyes. Eyes that were full of sorrow and resignation, and yet were still younger than the eyes of the Doctor that Bog knew.

“You can't do this!”

The Doctor's eyes had been turned toward Bog but were looking past him and he followed her gaze to . . . Roland.

Roland with wild, desperate eyes, his clothes worn and covered in dust, reaching out and begging, “You can't! All of them, our whole world! Your parents, your sister--”

“Our world is ripping apart the universe! It's shredding history! There are no innocents here, this war is not justified, there's only blood and corruption! No more, Roland, no more!”

“Love, please,” Roland approached her and gently took her face in his hands, “Please, look at me. Say you won't do this. If you love me, say you won’t do this.”

The Doctor pulled away, looking out at the red sky, holding her gaze steady on it, refusing to turn back and look at Roland.

“It's got to end,” She whispered, “No more.”

“Oh, darlin',” Roland stepped up behind her, tracing his fingers across her neck and tucking a strand of black hair back in a gesture of genuine affection, “I can't let you do that.”

A knife, already dyed red in the light of the burning sky, was raised . . .

A hard slap across Bog's face knocked away the dark room, the red sky, the sudden burst of golden light. Instead he was back in the forest, knocked down into the damp moss.

“I said don't. Don't let your thoughts wander. Why does nobody ever listen when I say don't wander off?

Holding his throbbing cheek, Bog stared at the Doctor, “He stabbed you!”

“He wasn't entirely unjustified.”

“He stabbed you in the back! You—you trusted him and he--”

“Psychic feedback. Trace memories. It happened a long time ago.”

“You were going to—he tried to stop you from--”

“Enough,” the Doctor stood over Bog, “No more letting your mind wander. In here you're in charge and if you're not careful we could get caught up reliving the past. Focus on what we're here to do: override Roland's program.”

“Yeah,” Bog said, wanting to ask a dozen questions and forcing himself to push them all aside, “but we're calling my mother the second we get out of here.”

“This isn't even going to take a minute of real time, so relax.”

“Fine,” Bog pushed himself off the damp ground, “Where do we start—hey! I'm normal again!”

“What a boring thing to be happy about. It's not real.”

“In my head, I know,” Bog looked at his hands, his hands which had fingernails again, “It's still nice to look normal again. Not feel like I'm dying. How long is going to take to really fix me, when this is done?”

“Hard to say. Especially if we don't hurry up and get this done.”

“So sorry for wasting a fraction of a second discussing my future wellbeing. Fine, we do we need to do?”

“Get rid of that.”

Bog turned around to look where the Doctor was pointing and found himself looking at a twisted wreckage of machinery wrapped around a tree. More than that, it had sent out metal tendrils to choke the other trees, a messy criss-crossing of shiny metal weaving a cage around the small section of forest Bog and the Doctor were standing in. They were trapped there.

“He didn't exactly go for precision,” the Doctor remarked, waving her screwdriver over the machine, “he just smashed it in here. Which—as he probably knew—will make it harder to extract. It's damaged the pendants programming even more and replaced random sections of it.”

“What do we do? Scan for viruses?”

“We hack out the big pieces, burn the rest, then see if we can reset the program without erasing the data,” the Doctor reached into her pocket and pulled out an ax.

“Did you seriously have an ax in your pocket?”

“This is all in your head. Think creatively,” the Doctor tossed him the ax, “if you can chop out the main program we should be able to slip through and regain access to stop the plant army. We can clean up the rest later.”

Bog caught the ax and inspected the machine embedded in the tree, “We're going to have to take this whole tree down. And, hey, there's something else in here . . .”

With the edge of the ax's blade Bog scraped away a layer of moss and bark to reveal a globe of amber the size of his head. He rubbed his thumb over it, feeling the texture, trying to clean it enough to see if it had any bugs or leaves trapped inside.

“Wait,” the doctor touched the amber with her fingertips, “It's . . . it's part of the AI program. Or something that was install at the same time. It's trying to say something.”

“Say something? It's a piece of fossilized tree sap.”

“It's a mental representation of an ancient alien program! Ask it a question. It should recognize you enough to give you information.”

“Okay. Hey, amber, what are you?”

A tint of red fell over the forest and Bog started to step back and see what was causing it.

The Doctor slammed her hand over his and held it to the amber, “No, it's answering the question. Just wait.”

Fire was crackling in the sky.

“Isn't this one of yours?” Bog asked, looking sideways at the Doctor, “because I totally wasn't letting my thoughts wander.”

“No, it isn't mine. Look, the trees are on fire, too. The forest is burning. This is the past. Your people's past, four hundred years ago when the Time War cracked time and burned throughout the universe. It came here to earth—it went everywhere.”

The forest was truly on fire, the glow of fire barely visible in the thick, black smoke. There were bodies burning on the ground, turning into ashes like logs of wood. The remains of faces looked up at Bog and he saw they were Cheem.

“But this is Germany. The Black Forest,” Bog protested, surprised at being able to breathe when smoke was choking the air, “It never burned down.”

“Sh!” the Doctor pointed to their right and they saw a Cheem woman coming through the smoke. She was carrying a pink stone the shape of a seed.

Around her was a clear bubble of air and she walked through the flames with her head high, glancing neither right nor left, and never down at the bodies she stepped over. Tears streamed down her face. Her face was ragged and gray, patches of smooth white showing through where the bark had peeled off, like a poplar tree. It was hard to tell with a person whose face was covered in tree bark, but Bog thought she looked young, no more than twenty or so.

The Cheem woman was walking toward a gapping hole in the forest where the fire had exhausted its supply of trees to burn and lingered in embers beneath the ashes and smoke. Above it was a hole in the sky.

“What?” Bog asked, glancing back at the Doctor.

“The Time War,” she said, her hand trembling slightly where it lay on top of Bog's, “It's torn through the sky and embers of the war blew out into the forest. I think she's going to try to close it.”

“Even four hundred years ago . . . somebody would have mentioned this in the history books!”

“Not if it never happened.”

The Doctor watched, face impassive, while the Cheem woman expanded the bubble of protection around herself, pushing it toward the sky. The Doctor didn't even flinch as the woman dropped to her knees with the effort of her task with the seed still raised above her head.

The Doctor's hand was squeezing Bog's so tight his bones were grinding painfully together and he put his other hand on top of hers. She looked quickly down at their hands, for a second, then back to the scene unfolding before them. Their backs against the tree, hands on the amber.

The fire was pushed back toward the hole in the sky. Bog's breath was caught in his throat as he watched the excruciatingly slow process of pushing back the fire, taking back the forest inch by inch, the force of it pushing the Cheem woman down so that she struggled to lift her head.

The primrose stone burned bright in her hands.

So bright, so hot, that Bog could see smoke coming from the woman's hands as they clasped the gem still harder.

Clasped the gem, held it aloft, pushed back the fire, protected her home.

Until the gem cracked.

The primrose broke in pieces and the protection failed, and fire consumed the woman as she screamed.

“God!” Bog looked away.

The Doctor didn't.

She watched throughout with her impassive face, but when Bog looked away from the burning Cheem woman he could see the brightness of pain in the Doctor's eyes.

He took her hand in his, pulling away from the amber, letting the nightmare around them slip away and the cool dark of the forest return.

“You stopped that,” He said, “You sacrificed everything to stop that.”

“I didn't stop it soon enough. I sacrificed nothing. I lived. My sister lived. And it was a long time ago. It doesn't matter. But the Time War ended and history tried to heal but there were scars. The Cheem lived here, but their forest, their kingdom is forgotten, never really was, the memory of it broken with the primrose seed. Are you going to give me my hand back?”

Bog dropped her hand, “Ah. Sorry.”

“It's fine,” the Doctor hunched her shoulders and looked at the amber.

“The yellow stone,” Bog said, “it's Cheem blood bound into one of the shards of the primrose seed. To keep all the pieces together.”

“That makes sense,” the Doctor nodded, “also good to know. Even fragmented, the pendant is reinforced by Cheem blood. That should give you enough power to override this thing. Forget hacking it up.”

“Darn.”

“We use the amber to overpower it. Hands back on that amber, see if you can get the AI program to show you what the plant army is doing.”

“Yeah, right, because that sound so simple,” Bog put his hands on the amber and thought of the park. Thought of it catching on fire the way that the forest of the Cheem had, “Oh, okay, I think we're in real time again.”

“What?”

“I can see—I'm looking through the eyes of the plant soldiers and—this is really confusing because I think I'm seeing through a whole lot of eyes at once--”

“What's happening?”

“They've, uh, uprooted themselves. They're going—no!”

Bog was leaping through multiple points of view and he was dizzy from the choppy barrage of images, but when he saw blood he managed to hold onto that point of view and see what was happening.

“It's stabbed a man!”

“Make it stop!”

“I don't know how!”

“Just do it! You're in control here! Tell it to stop!”

Bog could feel the plant soldier, almost like he were inhabiting its body, but at the same time he could feel the amber in his hands and see the Doctor out of the corner of his eye.

He could feel the wooden spike on his—the soldier's arm.

Feel warm blood on it.

“No!”

He saw a small body laying on the dusty ground in another country, bleeding out from the bullet wound in his chest. Staring dumbly at the blood, gun still in his hands.

Bog did something. He had no idea what, except that it was definitely something. The wooden spike snapped off the soldier's arm, leaving it embedded in the man's shoulder. The soldier caught the man and guided his fall to the ground.

Somebody was shouting and Bog turned the soldier's head just in time to see someone swinging a shovel toward him.

The soldier's eyes went dark and Bog was completely back in the forest, only still standing because the Doctor had caught him as he reeled back, arms around his waist, trying to keep up upright even though she was half his size.

“Good,” the Doctor patted his back, “Very good. Do more of that, please.”