#wrong on both counts!!!! anyway this feedback was enough to depress me for days

[romanromulus]

experiencing a prey animal adrenaline spike over the idea of allowing my father to read my short story

[awkward-and-indecisive]

Pat Pat Thingy

Summary - You don’t feel good as soon as you wake up but your boyfriend makes it all better.

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Female!reader

Warnings - Angst, fluff, soft!Dean, anxiety, hints of depression, negative thoughts and feelings, and overthinking. Please let me know if I’m forgetting something!!

Word Count - 1324

A/N - I wrote this last night because I desperately needed this. Above gif is what I mean by pat pat thingy. This may have been written in the shortest time I’ve ever written anything.

This is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.

Please tell me what you think about it.

FEEDBACK IS HIGHLY APPRECIATED!!!!!

Happy Reading :)

*****

You were currently making your way to the room you shared with your boyfriend after taking a long shower. You and the boys had returned back to the bunker late last night after a series of exhausting hunts which meant that there would be none the next few days.

You, unusually, were the last one to wake up today morning and as soon as you woke up, you were hit with that heaviness you knew all too well. That persistent lump in the back of your throat, being on the verge of crying all day, that pit in the bottom of your stomach, the unending shaking of your hands, and the ceaseless negative thoughts. It had been months since you last felt like this and you didn't want it to come back. So you tried your best all day to ignore it, to will it away but it didn’t work. All your day was spent trying to push those thoughts away but like a wave on a beach, they came back rushing, making things worse. It felt like this time the heaviness was here to stay.

You hadn’t told Dean anything. You knew he would worry too much and you had thought that you could take care of that feeling on your own but when trying different things to make it go away for the whole day and showering didn’t work, you finally gave up.

You stopped in front of the door that said 11 and took a deep breath. You twisted the handle and entered the room. Dean was sitting on his side of the bed, his back resting on the headboard and legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He was watching the tv, looking comfortable in his navy blue henley and black sweatpants.

Closing the door behind you, you made your way towards the bed and took a seat, folding your legs and pressing them up against your chest, hugging them. You tried to focus on what Dean was watching, a movie if you had to guess, but failed. You needed him to hold you right now, so that you didn’t feel so broken. You wanted him to tell you it was okay, because he was the only one you could believe over the voice screaming at you in your mind.

“Dean?” You called out his name in a quiet voice. His face turned to you but his eyes were still on the screen. When you didn’t say anything back, his green eyes finally met yours.

“Can you do your pat pat thingy?” You whispered, looking down and feeling like an idiot to distract him from his movie.

“My what?” Dean asked, confusion making his brows furrowed and rise at the same time.

“You know, how you sometimes pat my back when we are cuddling or something?” You tried to explain but when his confusion didn’t go away, you sighed, “Never mind. It’s okay.”

“Hey, come here.” He said after a few minutes, opening his arm to invite you in his warm embrace.

You straight away shifted closer to him, your arms wrapped around his waist, head on his chest and legs tangled with his. One of Dean’s arms rested on your back and the other on your arm. He started patting your back lightly and it felt like you could finally breathe again.

“Is this what you were talking about?” He murmured in your hair and kissed your head when you nodded, resting his head on yours.

Minutes passed by like that and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help the tears that fell from your eyes, seeping into the soft and warm material of Dean’s henley. You tried your best to sniffle quietly and failed.

“Y/n, sweetheart, are you crying? What’s wrong?” Your boyfriend questioned, worry filling him in no time.

“I don’t know why I'm crying.” You sobbed into his chest, shaking your head.

His arms only got tighter around you, one hand still patting your back. You cried all you could, Dean shushing you, kissing the top of your head, and softly mumbling ‘it’s okay’, ‘you’re fine’, and ‘I’m here’ in your ear. Your sobs dissipated after a while, after you were all cried out, and left you hiccuping.

“Just a second.” Dean said, unwrapping himself from you.

You sat while he rounded the bed, picking up your bottle of water. He opened it and handed the bottle to you.

“Drink some for me, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a second, okay?” He said softly, nodding to the bottle.

You nodded and did what he asked, taking a few sips of the water. Dean left and was back in almost a second, a wet washcloth in his hands. He sat down in front of you, taking the bottle from you, screwing its cap back and placing it on your nightstand. He raised the washcloth to your face and gently began wiping your tears. When he was satisfied, he put the piece of wet cloth on your nose and said ‘blow’ in a hushed tone.

Tears welled in your eyes at his actions, the way he took care of you in the most gentle way, the way he knew what you needed every time, the way you didn’t need words to talk to him. You blew your covered nose and he lightly pinched it, folding the washcloth and throwing it beside your nightstand.

“Do you wanna watch something for a while or do you wanna sleep?” Dean sincerely asked, holding both of your hands in his and looking into your eyes.

What if he wants to watch and I say we sleep? Or he wants to sleep but I keep him up? He doesn’t get much sleep anyway. Your mind started working overtime to find the answer to his simple question. Dean saw the gears turning in your head.

“Hey-” he said, breaking your train of thought, “-let’s just watch something for a while and if you wanna sleep, we’ll just turn it off, okay?” You nodded, “Do you want something to eat?”

You shook your head slightly and he got up with an ��okay’. He turned off the light and took a seat, both of you reacquiring your previous position. He started patting your back again and you melted under his touch.

“You’re cold. Let’s get you warmed up.” Dean said to no one but himself and pulled the covers over the both of you. You nuzzled deeper into him and let out a quiet sigh.

You were feeling a million times better than you were before. The green eyed man had that effect on you. You felt light after crying your heart out, the heaviness seeming to dissolve. Your mind wasn’t racing a mile a minute anymore. You felt okay and that everything will be okay. Your arms got tighter around him, silently thanking him for just being here, for just existing. He kissed your head in reply, silently telling you that there’s no need to thank him, he’ll always be here to take care of you.

You lifted your head and pecked him on the lips, your eyes telling him you loved him. He stared at you with so much love in his eyes, like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, like he couldn’t believe you were his. He pecked your lips back, mumbling ‘I love you too’ on your lips.

A smile made its way on your face and you placed your head back on his chest. If you were being honest, he was the best thing that happened to you and you couldn’t believe he was yours. You couldn’t thank your lucky stars enough.

You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion dragging you to unconsciousness. You snuggled your face deeper and the last thing you felt, before sleep overtook you, was a pair of lips planting a kiss on your forehead.

*****

WHAT DID YOU THINK ABOUT IT?!

TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS PLEASE!!!

Tags - @agirlwithdemonblood @eevvvaa @msmarvelouswinchester

[joheun-saram]

alive (jjk)

Summary- Jungkook was the perfect boyfriend for two years, and then two months ago something changed. It was like a switch had been flipped and he’d gone from doting to distant. For the life of you, you could not figure out what happened, and you hated it

word count- 4.3k

pairing- nonidol!Jungkook x Reader (feat. Namjoon)

rating- R

genre- angst, smut

warnings- explicit smut (including fingering), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it friends), sad sex, talks of depression and anxiety, talks of therapy, character death, car accident

a.n- First off a huge thank you to the brilliant Tailia @namyoongles​ for the banner! Isn’t it beautiful. Second, this is part of @btswriterscollective​ secret santa project and I’m so excited to reveal that I’m indeed @therealmintedmango​‘s secret santa 🎅🏼I had such a great time getting to know you this month Mango and I really hope you enjoy all the angst in this fic! Happy holidays, love! 💕

As always feedback appreciated. Send me an ask! 💌

-

“Well if you can’t even talk to me, maybe we should just end this!” you screamed, your lungs aching as you looked at your boyfriend on the couch next to you, the room falling into a charged silence. It had been the same fight for months. The same constant back and forth. You would try to broach the topic but he would close off. Every time. His expression was neutral as he looked at you, his doe eyes betraying his defeat as he sighed.

Jungkook was the perfect boyfriend for two years, and then two months ago something changed. It was like a switch had been flipped and he’d gone from doting to distant. For the life of you, you could not figure out what happened, and you hated it. You hated how it seemed to bring all your insecurities to the surface and clawed at your emotions till they were raw. From the corner of your eye you saw Namjoon looking at you sadly, disappointed, before shaking his head at you and disappearing round the corner. You felt a tear roll down your cheek as you looked at your boyfriend, who sat in silence at your outburst.

Jungkook had always been quiet, introverted, and this cloud of mystery was one of the things that made him so unbelievably attractive, but now it was the worst thing about him. You didn’t expect this fight to escalate, you didn’t expect these words to come out, but now that they were you wanted him to react. Needed him to react. Needed just anything more than the stoic expression marring his features. 

“Maybe we should…” Jungkook spoke softly, after what seemed like hours. It wasn’t what you were expecting and it only caused your anger to flare. He was seriously going to just throw away everything? 

You looked at him next to you as he seemed to have moved further away. You’re not sure if he actually did or your mind was playing tricks on you again, but the seat cushion between you seemed to stretch for miles, Jungkook getting smaller in the horizon. 

“You’re not even going to fight for us? You’re going to walk away?” You didn’t care that you were raising your voice, and that the one tear from earlier was now a flood cascading down your features. Maybe it was your fate. You never thought you deserved happiness and this was just another nail in your ever growing collection. You had spent your life chasing after that elusive ray of joy, only for you to get too comfortable when you reached it and it disappeared as soon as it appeared, throwing you into the darkness once again. 

It figures that this happiness would vanish too. You wanted to reach out and shake Jungkook. Why did he have to change? Why did he have to do this to you? 

“What did I do? What happened?” you asked, your voice small, as you looked at him staring at his hands in his lap. His long wavy hair fell into his eyes, and the longer he sat there in silence, the louder your heart crumbled. “Say something!” you exclaimed, followed by a quieter “Please…”

“What do you want me to say Y/N? You’re the one who wants to end us.” Jungkook finally looks at you, his lips pressed together as his tongue pokes lightly to the inside of his cheek. You’d seen this look before, but never directed at you. It was cold and made your skin pebble, made fresh tears stream down your face.

“Because you changed! Because you hate me!” you yelled indignitedly as he sighs once again. He lifts his head slightly as he looks at you, his eyes glassy.

“I don’t hate you,” he whispers quietly, the words floating in the tension in the air.

“Then why are you avoiding me? Why haven’t you said a full sentence to me these past two months?”

“Because…” He looks away again staring straight ahead at the blank wall of his living room and you can’t help but move closer, wiping your eyes to see him clearer.

“No. You can’t do your stupid quiet guy shit right now! I need to know!” You pull at his shoulder to make him look at you and as he does, his hand finds yours, holding it gently. His eyes swim with the love you’ve come to expect from him but it's tinged with an overwhelming sadness, a sadness that droops his features even though he tries to school them into a small smile on your behalf.

“It’s not your fault, okay?” He is still whispering, his hand squeezing yours as the other fidgets with the untied string of his sweatpants.

“What’s not my fault? Please Kook. Please talk to me!” You remove your hand from his and cup his face in both of yours, needing more, anything to help clear the haze in your head.

“I can’t.” His voice louder, he pulls your hands away from his face as he goes to stand up and you grab at his legs to stop him.

“Why not?!”

“Because you’ve never loved me and I had to find out when you were drunk!” Jungkook yells. He never yells, not at you anyway, but it’s not his volume that stuns you, it’s the words echoing through the small studio apartment. Words that make you freeze, dropping your hands from him as you feel the breath knocked out of your lungs.

“What?”

“That night after the club. While I was taking care of you. Me!” He points at his chest, his eyes ablaze as he continues. “Making sure that you didn’t get puke on your hair or fall or get hurt, you looked at me and do you know what you asked me?” His shoulders fall as he quietens once again, sighing and running his hands through his hair. His face distorts into one of heartbreak as he says the next words, his tone even and calm. “‘Why don’t I love you as much as him?’ And here I was like an idiot believing you every time you said you loved me”

You stand at his words. That wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. You remember that night. Not most of it but you know yourself enough to know you would never say that to him, not after he had worked so hard to put you back together again. Jungkook wasn’t your soulmate, you didn’t believe in those anymore, but Jungkook was your rock, your best friend. He was there when you couldn’t get out of bed for days. He was there when you didn’t know how to stop crying. He was always there. And you loved him.

“I do love you. Jungkook, please!” You grab his hands, holding them tightly as if he would disappear too. You looked at him desperately, trying to convey your feelings through your gaze, but all you found in him was defeat. 

“I just can’t do this anymore. You’re right. I can’t compete with a ghost… not anymore.” He sighed again as his lip quivered. It stuttered your breath and you felt your chest tightened. You couldn’t lose him, not after Namjoon. As you felt the panic rising, the drunk haze of two months ago came into focus, spiking your adrenaline and paling your face.

You danced to the loud EDM pulsing through the club as neon lights flashed across your skin, setting your white dress aglow. Jungkook was pressed against your back as his lips ghosted the skin of your neck, his hands grazing your hips as he pulled you closer. You hadn’t felt this content in years, the tequila warming your veins in a sweet comfort as your boyfriend’s hips moved against yours, your arms around his neck, fingers playing with his hair.

You missed this. Missed going dancing and drinking because it was fun and not because you were trying to forget. Surrounded by your friends, you smiled as you opened your eyes, finally happy. Until you saw him and your heart dropped, making you freeze.

Namjoon smiled at you from the bar, the sweet dimpled smile that creased his eyes into crescents as he waved. How was he here? How was he back?

You felt your heart kickstart as you pushed Jungkook off you and raced to the bar. You’d apologize to him later, but you needed Namjoon right now. Needed to feel him in your arms, needed to smell his calming scent, and so like an addict you raced through the club looking for one more hit. When you reached the bar, he wasn’t there anymore and the sheer weight of disappointment made you sob. You felt a pair of strong arms surround you and the familiar smell of bergamot and vanilla encased your senses, pulling you closer into a firm chest.

“Baby what’s wrong?” A soft voice asked as you looked at Jungkook’s worry filled eyes. You hated that you were doing this again. It had been almost a year since this happened, and your mind felt numb as you grasped Jungkook’s black shirt.

“He was here! Kook he was here!” you exclaimed, your loud voice carrying over the music. You were sure you looked deranged, mascara running down your cheeks, lipstick smeared where it met Jungkook’s shirt, as you desperately cling to him. He looks at you sadly before pulling you into his chest once again, holding you tight, his fingers running soothingly on your scalp.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry.” He repeated that phrase as he stroked your back, trying to calm you down as you continued sobbing and onlookers peered at the two of you curiously.

The memory of the night jolts you as you grab onto Jungkook’s shirt the same way you did at the club, looking at him pleadingly. His face blurred behind your tears as you yelled.

“I was with him for five years and he fucking died!” There’s no volume behind your words, only the distraught behind the truth you felt you were never ready to face. You weakly punched at Jungkook’s chest trying to make him understand your agony. But you didn’t need to try, he already knew, had lived through it with you.

“Yeah Namjoon died! But I’m here! I’m alive!” His voice was broken as the tears finally escaped his eyes. He grabbed your hand from where it was knocking against his chest and held it there. “You feel this? That’s my heart racing for you! How it always does! Because I love you.”

“Kook-”

Before you can say anything else, he grabs your face and crashes your lips together desperately, wanting you to feel just an ounce of what he felt for you. Your sinuses full of tears, your lungs burn as you pull him closer. You want him to consume you, make you forget again as you taste the salt of his tears. The overwhelming guilt breaks you more as his fingers move from your face to your waist, digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

Three years ago you never thought you would love someone again. You didn’t deserve to not when it was your fault you could never see Namjoon’s face again. Your fault that the world would never know what difference he would have made to it. But when you stood outside the funeral his parents had banned you from attending, arm in a cast and stitches on your forehead, caving into yourself from grief, Jungkook found you. Held you tight enough to stop you from breaking and told you it wasn’t your fault, that there was no way to have known that the 14 wheeler would run a red. And he reminded you everyday till you believed him, till your dreams no longer weaved your memories into nightmares, till you no longer saw Namjoon everywhere you looked. Till you felt worthy to love Jungkook back. 

When the air in your lung runs out, you pull away, but Jungkook pulls you closer, trailing his lips from your jaw to down your neck. He kisses you with fervor, nibbling the skin and soothing it with his tongue till you're moaning. You grip his hair and pull him back to your lips, his tongue caressing yours as your tears give way to the passion. Your heart stutters as his hands move to the back of your thighs and he effortlessly lifts you without leaving your lips, walking towards his bed. 

Amidst the kisses, he bumps into the bookshelf that separates his bed from the living room causing a few books to fall to the floor, the loud thud breaking the silence in the room. He ignores it as he tosses you on the bed, climbing over you as you look up at him. There are still tears in his eyes as he slows down and presses his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he says softly but the sadness in his eyes never gives way to the usual warmth. It feels like a goodbye and you feel another wave of grief wash over you. Why did you have to be like this? Why couldn't you give him what he needed when he gave you so much?

You cup his damp face and he leans into your hands, closing his eyes as you kiss him tenderly, hoping to convey how much you needed him. You pull at the hem of his shirt, running your hands under it, feeling the light shudder that goes through him as his skin pebbles. He pulls the shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor as he kisses you again more urgently, his lips molding to yours, igniting a familiar fire in the pit of your stomach. He holds on to your face as if you would run away if he didn't.

You push gently against his chest and he looks up in alarm before you make him lie next to you and straddle his waist. You continue kissing him, trailing your lips over his neck, painting his golden chest red as the lump in your throat grows. Despite the tears still running steadily, you whisper 'I love you's, hoping he'd believe you, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself. 

He's right, you don't love him like you loved Namjoon. You don't think you can ever love anyone the way you loved him. Namjoon was your shelter amidst the rain, but Jungkook was the light amidst the darkness. It's different, it's incomparable. You never needed Namjoon the way you need Jungkook. Never woke up in the middle of the night relieved to find him still sleeping next to you. You had never depended on someone like you depended on Jungkook, and so, wasn't that love? Wasn't needing someone the same as you need oxygen, love? 

You trail your kisses lower, but before you could reach his waistband, he lifts your shirt pulling it off you, and with his arms circled tight around your waist he kisses you again. The two of you kiss for a while, relishing the feel of each other's skin, his grip tightening till you can't breathe. He's never like this, never this needy and your heart breaks as you realize that he still thinks he's competing.

You don't know if you're still crying, but you pull yourself up and stare at him. "Jungkook, I love you. I need you. Please-"

But before you can finish your sentence, he rolls the two of you over, pinning you under him as he pulls your shorts down your legs. You didn't mean this need, but you couldn't deny how wet his length hardened against you made you. He traces his fingers over your soaked panties, groaning into your mouth before pushing them aside and thrusting two fingers in. 

He swallows your moans as you arch into him. He sets a fast pace right from the start as his lips move to your chest. His mouth moves over your nipples, capturing one to tease it with his tongue, lapping at it furiously. He nips it lightly and you feel your whole body alight, leaving all your thoughts to tumble out of your head. All you see are the flashes of red behind your eyelids, all you hear is the sounds of his fingers thrusting in you, all you can feel is him as Jungkook does what he does best - make you forget.

“Want to make you forget. Want to make you mine,” he whispers against your chest, as he removes his fingers, pulling your panties off your legs as he takes his shorts and boxers off in a haze. You don’t know what’s going through his mind as he looks at you with a darkened gaze, his eyes roaming your body, before he kisses you again. It’s hard and rough, teeth clattering against each other, his tongue licking into you as you mewl.

His cock grinds against your clit as he kisses you and you can’t help the way your hips buck up against him. He looks up at that, a hand moving down to line himself up against you. “Please tell me you want me,” he pleads against your lips, and another tear rolls down your cheek as you nod vigorously before kissing him. Another wave of guilt rushes through you seeing your usually confident boyfriend pleading at you, and for the first time as he slowly sinks into you, you don’t think of Namjoon.

You gasp against his lips as he fully sheaths himself within you. “Jungkook… Kookie. Please… want you, need you.” He rewards your pleas by slowly pulling out and thrusting in again, gripping your waist tightly and bracing his knees against the bed to start rocking into you faster.

“I’m here. Me. Me. I’m the one here for you.” He repeats again and again, the mantra powering his thrusts, leaving you a moaning mess below him as he consistently hits the spot that makes you see stars. You wrap your legs around his waist, stuttering his name and holding tightly onto his forearms. You can feel your orgasm build up as you lose yourself in his touch, letting him move your body as he pulls you in each time his hips meet yours.

You tighten around him as you feel the high of your pleasure coursing through your veins. At the feeling, Jungkook moves forward, bracing his arms around your head, his forehead against yours as he commands you to open your eyes.

His eyes are glassy as he looks at you lost in pleasure like it’s the only thing he needs. He kisses you again, softly, a total juxtaposition to the hard movement of his hips that’s quickly tightening the coil in your stomach. His movements are sloppier now as he approaches his high as well, but he moves a hand down, fingers circling your clit.

“Cum for me, baby, please,” he moans as you lose yourself to the euphoria he provides. Jungkook watches your face contorted in pleasure as you writhe under him, finding his release soon after you.

You pull him closer, your arms tight around him, as he thrusts as deep as he can before stilling and filling you. He collapses on you right after, still buried inside you with his head in the crook of your shoulder, your pants echoing through the room.

He lays on top of you for a while, his crushing weight smothering you to the mattress, but you don’t move him, welcoming the intimacy after months of distance. You think he’s fallen asleep, but then you feel his shoulders shake, your neck getting damp as he sniffles next to you. The guilt returns as you stroke his back gently and let him cry, your own reservoir long empty. Without lifting his head, he grabs one of your hands, lacing your fingers together, as he holds it tightly.

“I’m sorry I’m not him.” He mumbles against you. You go to say his name but before you can he interrupts you. “I’m sorry I can’t make it hurt less. I’m sorry I can’t bring him back. I’m so, so sorry.”

You try to move his head to see him but he just nuzzles his face in deeper, his hair tickling your neck gently. Your mind feels heavy, like if you thought more your brain would simply shrivel up. You wish you were a different person, had a different life, made better decisions. You hate yourself for making Jungkook feel like he’s responsible for your happiness, responsible for putting you back together, but most of all you hate yourself for making him feel like he has to bring Namjoon back for you to feel happy.

Before Namjoon died, Jungkook was a different person. He was funny, energetic, competitive, but afterwards he just became quiet. Sure, he was introverted before, but he just lost the spark behind his eyes. It wasn’t surprising. Jungkook had known Namjoon even longer than you did. He grew up with him and looked up to him like a younger brother would. In the beginning of your relationship, you even felt that he thought he had some kind of responsibility to take care of you for him. He never pushed you, always relented to your requests. 

The first time you slept with him was only three months after the funeral, when in a drunken haze you begged him to make you forget. He wiped your tears and held you as he helped you forget. In the two years following he never asked you to do anything, except for one thing. One thing you were always too scared to do because to you it would be admitting that you were broken. As you laid with your arms tight around him, lamenting how you broke him worse, you decided to give it to him.

“I’ll go to therapy.” Your voice was low but firm, and it jolts Jungkook to move up and lean on his hands next to your head. The movement makes the two of you wince as he suddenly pulls out of you, dragging his release down your thighs. His red rimmed eyes roam your face looking for deceit.

“You will?”

 “I can’t expect you to fix me, Kook. I can’t put that on you.” You sigh, a hand reaching out to smooth the crease between his eyebrows. Your thumb brushes over his lower lip that juts out in a slight pout, and you can’t believe how lucky you are to have him in your life.

“You can. I’ll always be here for you, you know that right?” He whispers and it makes your heart ache when you think about how defeated he seemed earlier. 

“Kook… I love you… I really do.” Your eyes are glassy again and you wonder how it is that your body can keep producing tears. He hugs you at that, his arms going under your waist to gently lift you and scoot the two of you upwards, resting your head on the pillows. He lies next to you, a little distance between the two of you, your hands laced together as you both stare at the ceiling, the emotions of the night turning to exhaustion.

“I should’ve talked to you instead of trying to run away.” Jungkook speaks after a while, making you turn your head towards him.

“I didn’t mean what I said-”

“It’s okay if you did. I miss him. I wish he was here too.” He looks at you with a small smile.

“No. It’s not okay. You don’t deserve this. You could be with someone else and you’d be happy. You could be happy Kook. Don’t you want that? To be with someone who doesn’t imagine their dead ex all the time?” Your voice is firm, even when it wavers slightly towards the end, your grip around his hand getting tighter.

“No. I want to be with you.” His thumb caresses your hand as he turns on his side as he puts his arm around your waist. The warmth you missed these past months was back in his eyes, but instead of it raising butterflies, all it did was produce dread for when it would disappear as he continued. “I would’ve left a long time ago if I wanted to. If you don’t want me, I still can... if that’s what would make you happy.”

“I think you need to be with someone who you don’t have to put together again.” Your voice is small as he sighs again, letting go of your hand to pull you close to his body, cradling your head into his chest. On instinct, you wrap your arms and legs around him, nuzzling into his chest. The touch of his skin on yours never failed to comfort you.

“You’re not broken. I’m not putting you together. I just… I don’t want to lose you.” His voice reverberates through his chest as he holds you tighter, kissing the top of your head.

“But maybe you need to.” You want to be selfish, keep him for yourself but shouldn’t you let Jungkook go for his sake? Let him find someone with less work, no matter how much it hurts you? It was bad enough that your mental health was terrible, did his need to be too? You feel his heart pound under you and it causes yours to speed up as well, anticipating his words. You don’t know how you would react if he agreed.

“Tomorrow. Let’s talk about this tomorrow.” He says after quiet contemplation. “I love you. More than you’ll know.”

“And I love you. You. Jeon Jungkook. Even if I’m selfish and ruining you.”

He shushes you at that, stroking your hair as the two of you fall in a dreamless sleep. You didn’t know if your relationship would survive past the post-orgasmic endorphins, but you knew one thing for sure. You were in love with Jungkook and tomorrow you were going to set up your first therapy appointment to make sure you never made him feel like he lost again.

----

I hope you liked this angsty piece, for more fics of mine check out my masterlist

[sodacansculptures]

Hello, everyone!!

Just wanted to give an update on my life and my absence. It is a bit depressing, so feel free to skip the rest of this post. I am on mobile and do not know how to do a "read more", so I apologize.

The TL;DR version is that I have been struggling with unemployment for over a year (thanks, covid) and have become very discouraged in my efforts, and I am essentially in survival mode while battling depression. I do have a therapist and I know I will ultimately be okay--just not having a particularly good time at the moment.

The full version is that in 2018, finishing grad school became my top priority and was why I had to take a break from sculpting. I graduated in May of 2020 with my Master's, and I had a job lined up with a university, but it got withdrawn because the whole university shut down. As far as I know, the position was never re-offered or re-posted.

The industries for which my degrees qualify me and that I am pursuing were highly affected by budget cuts and project cancelations due to the pandemic, so they have many displaced workers seeking reentry into the field, resulting in unusually high numbers of applicants and competition for people such as myself. (USA Today actually interviewed me for my expertise on this topic.)

Lower-tier jobs pass over me because I am overqualified and they assume I will be pursuing other employment, leaving them with turnover, which is expensive to any agency. Higher-tier jobs are in high demand as they offer better wages and better working conditions, so they have a large crop of candidates from which to pick and elect someone with more experience than myself (and obviously I cannot gain more experience without employment). I am in a sort of impossible situation that has left everyone involved in my employment search with frustration.

Over the past year, I have enlisted the help of an employment training/retention program and multiple staffing agencies, and they have been extremely supportive of me and helped me expand my network. I have sought out much help, and I am endlessly grateful to have support, but unfortunately there is little they can do more than what I have already been doing for myself to gain employment.

I have a stellar resume, an awesome number of favorable and practical references, and I always study the agency and position to which I am applying so I can write an informed cover letter and have relevant talking points during interviews. I put a lot of time and effort into every opportunity, and when I inquire for feedback, employers repeatedly tell me that they admire my resourcefulness and work ethic and think I would be an extremely valuable worker, but another candidate just had a little more experience. It is heartbreaking to know I have done my best and interviewed excellently but ultimately end up back at square one. I honestly wish there was something I was doing wrong so that there was something tangible I could improve to fix my situation.

My effort feels invisible to the outside world and it seems the public assumes I am on a sort of easy vacation. In reality, every day for me is full of uncertainty, and every day, I wish I could be working. I get by utilizing my skills from high school robotics and self-instruction via the internet to repair, restore, and upgrade old electronics, but it is not stable work and not for what I went to school.

Additionally, I have been deemed not to qualify for Unemployment for a nonsensical rationalization. They ask for employment history in order to calculate how much to pay, but for some reason, student jobs do not count as jobs to them. So although they have me in their system as having been employed as a graduate assistant, they both demand to know from my previous employer what that wage was (and the institution would not forward that wage information to Unemployment because it is a student job and irrelevant to Unemployment's calculations), and would not consider that, anyway, in how much to pay me. So essentially, Unemployment could not figure out how much to pay me, so they just decided not to. I have opened appeals over the situation with them twice, and I have been rejected twice and had the case closed with no opportunity to reopen it. It is a huge slap in the face that even the social system put in place to help people such as myself has failed me and turned me away.

I would take a factory job or do some other physical labor since those are hiring, but I have plantar fasciitis and being on my feet for more than an hour or so at a time just is not feasible for me. I was receiving physical therapy for it at one point, but insurance stopped covering it because they decided I should have had enough visits by now to have recovered. I'm also struggling to get my insurance to cover things like treatment for GERD, which makes eating anything at all a nightmare to deal with.

I have been getting by mostly on pity from family and friends. I do not have unnecessary things like wifi, and I have a lot of expenses I had been putting off because I assumed I would have a job by now (such as a vacuum cleaner. Mine is broken). It kills me to ask for money because it's embarrassing for me that I can't provide for myself, and I got into the field of public administration because I want to be a servant to the people and help them have resources and money, not take money from them.

If you don't have a lot of money, please keep it for yourself. I'm not hurting that badly that I would want to put others in a precarious situation. But if you have a little change you'd like to spare for me (and absolutely no pressure. If I receive nothing, I will still be okay), my Venmo and my PayPal are each @asclw7643. Any little bit would help and I'd be greatly appreciative.

Finally, I did finish that project I was posting about last year in my previous post. I want to post a photo of it, but I can't seem to locate where I put it at the moment. It's Kicks from Animal Crossing. I wanted to do a series of wooden block sprites (mainly Pokemon) and I do still want to. I want to come back to soda can sculpting, as well, so I want to let you all know that I'm here, I'm alive, and I'll persist.

Thank you all for your patience. I promise it will be rewarded and I have a lot of ideas for new sculptures. =]

With love,

- Crystal

(or Cris. I go by either.)

[evermoreholland]

More Than Enough | Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Angst + fluff

Word Count: 1,820

A/n: This is part 2 to a fic a wrote a while ago called All Alone. This could be read on it’s own, though. I’m really proud of this so feedback is much appreciate. I hope you all enjoy! 

*Italics indicate flashbacks

--

You had never thought that you could feel so heartbroken. You just never thought you would be so broken by your best friend. You remember all of your amazing moments when you were kids, and you remember growing up together. You were Peter’s best friend, until he ruined it. He personally attacked you. The worst thing was, he didn’t care. It was up until the point where you told him to leave that he cared. You weren’t even sure that his love for you was true. How could he possibly say those words after our big blowout? Did he really even mean that or what he was just trying to get me to forgive him?

~

“Pick up, Y/n. Please,” Peter whispered as he tried calling your number for the tenth time that day. Peter felt extremely guilty for how he treated you. There were no excuses for his awful behavior. He didn’t know what had gotten into him today. He was upset about his breakup with MJ but that wasn’t an excuse for how he treated you. After the line went to voicemail, Peter dialed Ned’s number. Ned always had decent advice and maybe he could help Peter figure out a plan as to how to get his best friend back, maybe there was a way to fix the problem that he caused. 

“Hello?” Ned responded on the other line. Ned knew that Peter went to your house to tell you about the breakup, but he had no idea how it went over. 

“Ned, I fucked it up,” Peter said as he ran his fingers through his curls, a habit he did when he was stressed and upset. 

“What do you mean you fucked it up?” Ned asked, confused. He didn’t see how a simple conversation could end up so badly. You were always supportive of Peter, sometimes more than others, and Ned didn’t think that your conversation with him could end up that bad.

“I ruined our friendship,” Peter said and broke down. Tears began to flow from his brown eyes and he broke down on the phone with Ned. He cried for around ten minutes and then he finally calmed down a bit.

“Have you tried calling her since you got home?” Ned asked Peter. To be honest, Ned knew that you needed your space. You had been overwhelmed by Peter lately but he didn’t think it would go this far. 

“Around ten times,” Peter said. He sat on his bed and began fidgeting with a stuffed animal that you had given him in the sixth grade. He turned the teddy bear over to see the back. You had stitched a heart with both of your initials in the middle. He lightly smiled at the memory.

You had got home from school and you went to your desk to finish Peter’s bear for his twelfth birthday. You knew that giving your boy best friend a teddy bear would have been weird, but you couldn’t afford much and you’d known Peter would love it. You put your initials on the back of the bear to symbolize your forever friendship. 

You needed to finish the bear soon, Peter would be coming over anytime soon. Just as you finished stitching, someone knocked on your bedroom door.

“Y/n!” Peter exclaimed.

“Coming!” You shouted back and opened the door for your best friend. “Happy birthday, Peter!”

“Thank you, Y/n.” Peter said as he pulled you in for a hug. 

“I have a present for you,” you said and then Peter sat on the beanbag by your bed.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to,” you said and then handed him the teddy bear. Peter takes a look at it and turns around to see the pink heart with his and your initials on it.

“I love it, Y/n. I’m never letting it go.” He never wanted to let you go either. That was a promise he made for himself.

Ned sighed and said, “Peter, she probably needs her space. Just give her some time.”

“I don’t want to listen to you, but I know that you’re right,” Peter admitted.

“I always am,” Ned teased.

“Shut up.”

~

It had been a week since your fight with your best friend. You were hesitant about going to school after your fight. You didn’t want to face Peter yet. He had hurt you and you didn’t want to risk breaking down in front of him. You had most of your classes together, and you couldn’t bear to face him. Your parents forced you to go to school anyway. Your walk to school was weird without Peter by your side. You felt alone, but he was the one to make you feel that way in the first place. 

You got to school and then you went to your locker like usual. You got your books for chemistry, which you would usually walk to with Peter. You heard footsteps coming towards you and you immediately knew who it was. Peter.

“Y/n,” he said gently. You turned to face him and you were met with a very depressed looking Peter Parker. Dark circles were underneath his eyes and his eyes were bloodshot. A part of you felt bad for Peter but the other part of you chose not to forgive him that easily.

“Not now, Peter,” you said and started walking to class. Peter sighed, got his books and made his way to class.

~

Chemistry was absolutely boring. You were really glad that you chose Betty as your lab partner in the beginning of the year, though. 

“Y/n, can we please be lab partners? They’re finally letting us choose this year!” Peter exclaimed on your first day of chemistry class after the teacher said to pick your partners.

“Pete, you know when we’re partners we don’t get anything done, right?” You replied. You loved Peter and he was an absolute genius, but when you two were paired together it was hard to get anything done.

“But you’re so fun,” Peter protested.

“I’m going with Betty, but I’ll sit with you in every other class, alright?” You asked and then Peter nodded in defeat. You gave Peter a quick side hug and made your way to sit with Betty.

The next two classes after chemistry were boring. You had geometry with Ned and MJ, and then you had English with Peter. You kept looking at Peter when he wasn’t looking, wondering what you did wrong in the first place. Why was Peter so hurt by ending the friendship that he didn’t want anymore? Or did he want it?

You made your way to lunch and you were conflicted. Do you sit with your friends and have tension with Peter or do you just sit alone? Peter saw you standing and silently contemplating your decision.

“I can sit alone,” Peter said when he saw you.

“They’re your friends too,” you replied. You started walking to the table and Peter stayed still. You turned behind you and saw him. He looked awful. A part of you wanted to keep walking and not care, but you love him.

You grabbed Peter’s hand and said, “Sit with me.” You both made your way to your group’s lunch table and sat down next to each other, like usual. For the past week you ate outside by the football field so it was definitely weird sitting with everyone again, but at the same time, sitting with Peter felt normal. 

No one acknowledged the fight going on between Peter and you. You all ate lunch in silence with Betty occasionally talking to Ned. It was weird but you didn’t expect anything less.

~

After school, you went to stop by Delmar’s to get a sandwich. Your mother had texted you that she wouldn’t be home for dinner tonight so you went to get some food. After you picked up your sandwich, you made your way home. Once you entered your apartment, you were met with a sad Peter sitting on your bed. It wasn’t the first time you saw him like this.

“Y/n, I have something to tell you,” a nervous 15-year-old Peter Parker said as he made his way into your apartment.

“Petey, you look sad. What’s going on?” you asked as you sat down on your bed with him.

“Remember when I got bitten by a spider the other week?”

“Yeah…” you trailed on. Why was he mentioning this anyway?

“This may sound crazy, but I started sticking to stuff and now my body is changing... and I t-think I need to do something about this,” Peter said. It was obvious that he was scared about all of the changes in his life and you had to be there for him.

“I’ll be here for you, Peter. We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

You did make a promise to your best friend. 

“Peter.”

“Y/n,” Peter said, getting up from your bed to make his way towards you.

“I’m sorry. There is really no excuse for how I treated you. I haven’t been a good friend to you and I know you probably never want to speak to me again but I wanted to let you know that you have always been there for me and I can’t thank you enough. I haven’t thanked you enough. I’m really sorry.” As soon as Peter finished speaking, he broke down and fell into your arms. His sobs filled the room and tears began rolling down your eyes as well.

“Pete,” you said gently. He looked up at you with his bloodshot eyes and you saw his wet cheeks and began to pat them dried with your sleeve out of habit.

“Y-yeah?” He whispered. He was scared that you were going to tell him to leave. He was scared to lose you. 

“I love you, you know?” You said and Peter stood up and pulled you into him. You cried into his chest for a while. You listened to his rapid heartbeat and managed to calm down after a few minutes.

“I love you too, Y/n. I hate seeing you like this, especially knowing that I caused it,” Peter said as he cupped your cheeks, his thumbs stopping your tears from falling. 

“I felt so alone,” you mumbled. 

“And I’m so sorry for making you feel that way. I miss being your friend, and I haven’t been a good one lately,” Peter admitted. 

“I forgive you, because I know this was not like you at all.”

“I really love you, Y/n,” he said.

“I love you more, Peter. Just come and talk to me whenever something is wrong, okay? Please try not to lash out on me.”

“You have my word,” Peter promised, and you knew that was enough. He was more than enough. He was Peter, and you were lucky to have him in your life.

-- 

Tagging people who wanted this to happen/might be interested: @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @starlight-starks @bookwormmusiclover15 @awesomehritz @quxxnxfhxll @spidey-reids-2003 @namoreno @adriannajackson @nerdy-collector-festival @musicalkeys @osterfieldnholland

[random-mha-thoughts]

Name (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x fem!Reader

Anon asked: “suggestion for Todoroki angst : he got in an arranged marriage with S/O because of his dad who offered a large amount of money to her family for this. Indeed it’s not what they are both looking for but Todoroki really acts cold, is sharp, openly criticizes her (a bit OOC ik) ... S/O is hurt but is still trying to be a good wife around the house to make the best of the situation and hide her insecurities. It’s just an idea, if it does not inspire you I hope you will find something better!! xx

Genre: Angst. Just...angst. I’m so sorry in advance plz don’t hate me

Warnings: Grab your tissues, this is a long roller coaster that’s only going downhill OH GOD I’M SO SORRY

Word count: 3,059

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ 

a/n: (Submission 1/3 for my post asking for todo angst ideas!  Thanks for the ask anon!)

Um. This is...depressing.  Really depressing and really intense.  I didn’t expect it would turn out this way.  But it did.  I had 2 other endings, but I instinctively wrote this one.  I actually had to stop and cry for a few minutes because it was just really painful I mean, I know I said I was ready to but I didn’t actually mEAn it

I tried a different style for this, but I think it suits the story well.  It’s 3rd person limited because I wanted you to experience everyone’s feelings in this (gotta maximize on the angst yknow) and half past tense bc of reasons you’ll find out.

God I’m afraid to post this. Is it bad that I love it, I honestly spent so much time writing this, but it hurts sO mUch?? Y’all are gonna hate me, you’re gonna kill me, oh no, just read the thing already, I’m hiding.

Buy me a coffee?

Shoto didn't know how to react to the news.  It's not that he had his eye on anyone in particular, or that he was even interested in marriage for that matter.  But because he proposed it, the man who had spent his entire childhood controlling every aspect of his life, he refused to accept any other intrusions from the man he should call "father."

The strange man across from his father spoke those words so casually.  "So Endeavor, when are these two tying the knot?"

At first, he thought he had misheard or misunderstood.  And then his father responded just as casually, "The date is set for next month."

The normally calm and collected boy almost burst the entire room into flames.  He clenched the silverware so hard his knuckles turned white and his teeth ground together, but he couldn't say anything in front of his father's guest and his daughter for fear of shaming himself.  The girl across from him offered a sympathetic look, but he turned away, already preparing the earful he's going to give his father.

-

"I want nothing to do with this!" he whirled on Endeavor as soon as they were home.  "You've made my life a living hell controlling every single thing!  And now you even want to control my marriage?!"

"I'm doing this for you!" Endeavor bellowed right back.  "For the Todoroki name!  For your future!"

"This is all for you!  I want no part-!"

"If you don't agree, you'll never see your mother or the siblings again."

The calm threat was enough to drench Shoto's wrath into submissive fear.  The flaming monster in front of him proved once again that he hasn't an ounce of sympathy for his blood.  He's learned that family is the only thing keeping his son under his thumb and he still actively exploits that weakness.

All the boy can do is swallow and walk away, retreating to the outside world to escape his bitter reality even temporarily.  Shoto doesn't have outbursts often, but there are times when the straw finally breaks the camel's back, and this is one of them.  All he can do is run until he can't run anymore, reaching somewhere secluded enough where he can burst out in flames and ice without hurting anyone, finally getting to a forest where he can do exactly that and scream to his heart's content.  It's the only thing he can do that is under his own control.

In the month that followed up to the wedding, Shoto barely spoke a word to anyone, choosing to isolate himself.  He only came out when he absolutely had to show his face at functions to the bride's family and look presentable.  His mind was always absent, the time flying in a blur of colors and white.  Thankfully, his father did the preparations, so all he had to do was go along with everything.  Shoto was simply playing a role in a play or movie, he was an actor who deserved an award for being in character for a month.

The night of the wedding, he and his newly-wedded wife were whisked away to their new home, being alone for the first time together.  He didn't even know what she looked like nor did he care.  As soon as they walked through the door of their already-furnished house, he released a heavy breath, brushed past her, unbuttoned his tuxedo, and - cold as his ice quirk - instructed, "I'm going to bed.  Don't come up tonight."  It was the first time he had ever spoken directly to her.

His wife, through this entire ordeal, was patient with him.  She didn't want this arrangement either, but she figured they could at least talk and come to a mutual agreement.  The entire month, she never pushed him to speak to her.  She anticipated that he would be rational about this, as she was told by her family, and that they would be able to talk things over when they were finally alone.  Just as she was going to speak her mind the way she had rehearsed it many times, he dismissed her.  She was hurt, but she understood.  He's exhausted after a whole month of stress and preparations, she rationalized, He just wants to rest.  I wouldn't want to talk to a stranger after all that either.

Resolving to try again tomorrow morning, she undressed (with great difficulty), crept into the master bedroom for her clothes while Shoto showers, retrieved her pajamas quietly, and retreated back to the living room.  The girl searched all the closets for a thick enough blanket and settles down to sleep on a couch, the exhaustion putting her right to sleep.

The next morning, the new Mrs. Todoroki woke up bright and early to make breakfast for her husband as an olive branch.  She toiled away in the kitchen, somewhat making a racket even though she wanted to stay quiet so Shoto can sleep.  Just as she finished setting the table and had to face the question of how to wake him, the boy padded down from the room.

"Oh, morning!" she smiled brightly at him.

He murmured a greeting back only to be polite, his face devoid of any real emotions other than coldness.  He sat as far away from her a possible, thanking her for the meal halfheartedly and digging in without another word.

After waiting a few moments to let him satisfy his hunger, she cleared her throat.  "So, um-"

"Your tamagoyaki needs more soy sauce and butter," he stated bluntly.

She blinked at the harsh comment.  It was shocking he said anything to her at all, and the first thing he said was an insult.

"And the miso has no flavor," he continued in the same tone.

The girl finally gathered her wits.  "I'll do better tomorrow.  Thanks for the feedback, I guess?" she laughed nervously, trying to erase the immense tension Shoto bled into the atmosphere.  When he didn't respond, she tried again.  "I know this isn't something either of us wanted, but that doesn't mean we have to live here like enemies.  We could be friends, or even just roommates!"

"I'd rather be strangers," he interjected harshly.

It felt like a stab in the heart.  Here she was, trying to make their lives somewhat bearable together through their common misfortune, and all he wanted to do was live like ghosts in the same house.

Shoto placed his chopsticks down firmly, glaring her straight in the eyes with the iciest hatred she's ever seen.  "Just to be clear, I want no part of you.  You live your life and I live mine.  You can have the bedroom to sleep at night if you want, but it's mine when I come home to shower and prepare for bed.  We will not sleep, talk, or breathe near each other as long as we are in this house."

She dipped her head in defeat, unable to bear the weight of his stare.  "C-Can we at least have our meals together?" she asked feebly.

It's something he respected, coming from family values no matter how broken.  It's the only exception he made to their less-than relationship.

Months passed and she kept her end of the bargain through a suffocating routine.  At first, the girl was kind, trying to get him to open up to her somehow without overstepping her boundaries.  She made excuses for him constantly.  He's just tired.  The least I can do is leave him alone.  I can't comfort him anyway, I'm a stranger.  He's still upset about the whole thing, he'll come around.  She even begged her boss to let her leave a little early every day to make sure she had ample amount of time to get home, shower, and prepare dinner before Shoto returned.  When he did, he wordlessly showered, sat down to dinner, nitpicked at her cooking, finished eating, and went to sleep on the living room couch, all without even sparing her a glance.

But as every day passed, she grew more weary and worn in her efforts to please him.  She tried to fix every little complaint Shoto had about her cooking or the cleanliness of the house or the laundry, but nothing seemed to satisfy him.  She tried to hold onto the silver lining.  At least he never touched me wrong or took advantage of me, she would think bitterly.  He has the decency not to take his anger out on me.

Then the dark thoughts closed in as he continued ignoring her. Surely, Shoto's only disgusted with his father, he doesn't harbor hatred for her personally.  Then she would remember the hate and disgust in his mismatched eyes the first day of their marriage.  She realized no matter how desperately she tried, he wouldn't show her any signs of warmth or appreciation.  No more did she try to make conversation with him during meals or greet him when he came home.  There were days she thought, Why should I even try?  He wouldn't like it either way.  What's the point of getting up today?  Maybe he'll even criticize how I sleep.  But she still rose out of bed every morning and carried out her routine because it could always be worse.

A sliver of hope came in the form of Shoto's birthday.  The girl figured if she did something just a little special, he would acknowledge her even the tiniest bit.  She spent days beforehand researching and testing out the perfect cold soba recipe because she knew it was his favorite.  She lit some candles on the table and bought a small cake for them to share.

When he came home, she was sure he would notice and say something, but he didn't; he went straight up to the bathroom as he usually did without a word.  Though she felt the glimmer lessen in her heart, she didn't give up.  For the first time in a while, she verbalized her thoughts to him.

"I made your favorite for your birthday!" she chirped as he sat down, setting the plate and a cup of dipping sauce in front of him.  She was so eager for him to try it because she was confident she'd gotten it right this time.  If she were a dog, her tail would've wagged in anticipation as he slurped the noodles into his mouth.  She waited patiently for his feedback, leaning forward in excitement as he swallowed.

"The noodles are slightly overcooked.  And the dipping sauce is too strong, you didn't add enough water."

Her hopes came crashing to a halt.  She couldn't even muster anything else to say as he hastily finished his dinner and rose to leave.

She stood up, heart hammering in her chest.  "What about the cake?"  Anything, something!

"I don't want it."  He turned his back to her.

"I got it for you!"  It was the first time she explicitly stated her intentions, the first time she made herself vulnerable.

"You shouldn't have gotten it at all.  It was a waste of time.  Why did you even try?"  The calm and cold words stung her as he got up and left her in the dining room alone.

His words echoed against the empty walls of the dining room.  She looked down at the cake he disregarded, feeling cold and dizzy.  She took a shaky breath in and out before resting her head on the cold glass table to stabilize herself.  The voice stabs through her even as she closed her eyes to block them out.

It was then she felt bluntly in her mind.  He hates me.  

-

The girl feels nothing but numbing cold, both on her face and inside.  Rolling up to sit, her neck and back cry out in soreness from sleeping on the table, pale light greeting her from the nearby window.  Her face feels strange, and she trudges to the bathroom mirror to check why.  She knows she should be preparing for work, but what's the point?  Her reflection reveals lines across her cheek, probably from sleeping on the edge of the table.  She shuffles to the kitchen because she should probably start breakfast, but why should she?  Leaning against the counter, she can't bring herself to move anywhere.  Her brain buffers as she tries to force herself to think of what to do now.  She doesn't feel sick, but there's a dull, cool feeling in her limbs that she can't face.

The phone rings, catching her off guard.  Glancing at the number, she doesn't hesitate to answer.  "Hello?"

"Hi, baby.  It's me."

Her eyebrows relax, appreciating the sound of a familiar voice.  "Hey, Mom.  What's up?"  She knows her voice sounds weak, she's hoping the woman can't hear it.

"I'm just checking in, you haven't called in a while.  Is something up?  You don't sound good."

"I'm...fine," she stumbles over the word.  "How's dad?"

"He's doing well.  You sure you're not sick, sweetie?"

"I'm not."  She leans her back on the counter.

"Is Shoto there?  How is he?"

And just like that, she feels something dislodge in her throat.  "He's going to work, he probably left early."  She doesn't know, there hasn't been any rustling in the house.

Her mom is silent for a while.  "Tell me the truth.  What happened?"

The sound of her mother's stern voice moves something in her chest.  "It's nothing, I just made a mistake."

"Doing what?"

"I tried making Shoto's favorite dish for his birthday yesterday.  I put so much time and energy into perfecting it for him to enjoy it, but I fell short again."  She laughs bitterly, tears starting to fill her eyes.  "He didn't even want the cake I got for him, he said it was a waste.  I shouldn't have bothered with it."  She blinks and a tear slides down her face.  "I don't know why I was expecting something different to happen, I'm so stupid."

"Honey, where is this coming from?  What's going on?"

She wipes her face, but more spill out of her eyes as she slides down the cabinet onto the cold floor.  "It's just a little frustrating when you're sharing a house with someone you're married to and they barely acknowledge you.  I mean, I expected there to be problems at first given the circumstances, but I didn't expect this."  Her voice shakes with every word.  "God, what did I do to deserve this?  I've lived in this house for 5 months, and never has he even said 'thank you' to me.  Hasn't breathed a word of appreciation to me.  I do so much for him.  I've bent over backwards for him just to make everything done the way he wants it, I've worked my entire routine, my entire life in this house to cater to him, but all he does is complain!"  She sobs into the phone, curling up into a ball as tremors wrack through her body.  "I'm just so tired.  I don't know how much more I can take.  I've made so many excuses for him, but I just can't do anything right.  Why am I even still here?"

Her mother is silent on the other line.  "My baby, if I knew this would happen, I wouldn't have allowed this marriage.  I can't believe you're going through this."

The girl can't formulate words or think anything coherent.  She drops the phone out of her hand, wrapping her legs to her chest as the tremors continue in waves, muffled whimpers the only thing escaping her lips because she's afraid to cry out loud despite being in an empty, lonely house.

-

Shoto heard something he probably shouldn't have, but he definitely needed to hear.  It bothered him for the rest of the day.  It was a sobering slap in the face that made him feel shame and regret, a hard-to-swallow pill that sat in his stomach the entire day.

On his way back home, the sound of her sobs echoes in his mind.  He curses his behavior from the past few months.  At the very least, he made a lady cry, and at the most, he's been a complete asshole.  It's all his fault, that is something he's completely aware of and is ready to take full responsibility for.  All this time, he was stupidly neglecting her out of spite for his father, but he broke her in the process.  He's angry that he had to hear her crying to realize that.  The only thing he can do now is hurry home to profusely apologize for what he's done and hope they can start over new and she forgives him, which he's prepared for her not to do.

Honestly, he deserves all the hate from her that he's shown her.  After everything she's done for him and all the effort she's put into their imbalanced relationship, he wouldn't be surprised if she yelled at him and called him all sorts of names.

Shoto walks through the door, the atmosphere different.  The house is quiet as usual, but it's more eerie than he remembers, as if that means anything with how aloof he was.  He slips into the bedroom and changes quickly, returning back to the quiet dining room where his dinner waits for him at his place.

He tentatively sits and spares a quick glance at the girl who's supposed to be his wife.  Her eyes are still puffy and she's tugging at her sleeves.  It seems she's avoiding him and he was avoiding her before.  He questions how things should start.   When is the right time to speak his piece.  Would she listen to him now?  He decides to take a bite first and chews slowly.  I guess a 'thank you' is a good place to start-

"We're getting a divorce."

He stops suddenly, almost choking.

"You don't owe me anything, and I don't want anything from you."  She isn't looking at him, voice calm and collected.  "Besides, it's better this way since it's what you wanted."  She rises from her seat smoothly.  "I've already packed for the next few nights.  I'll have some workers come in the following weeks to clear out the rest, and the papers will be delivered promptly."  Her footsteps recede from the room.

Shoto turns around to call out to her, and his minds comes up blank.

He never even bothered to remember her name.

~

Sequel?

Sequel!

[awakenthereveal]

GAME OF CHESS — CHAPTER ONE

THE ARISTOCRATS

MASTERLIST

Word count: 1126 words

Aristocratic life seems like a dream to the regular villager in the kingdom of Moon. Riches, luxury, everything you can ever desire to own. There are many aristocrats in Moon Kingdom—12 if you wish to be exact. They are envied and admired by many despite the cocky aristocrats not even knowing.

However, aristocrat life is not how it is viewed in the eyes of the villager. Haknyeon can confirm that, his crippling mental health evidence. Pressure, toxicity, rivalry, it is all enough to drive someone insane, oh so insane, or drive them to commit suicide. It all depends on the situation.

In the kingdom of Moon, four houses are home to three aristocrats each, except for one. Lee Sangyeon, Jacob Bae and Kevin Moon live in the one on the south end. Eric Sohn, Kim Sunwoo and Choi Chanhee live in the one on the north end. Ji Changmin and Ju Haknyeon live in the one on the east end. Finally, Lee Juyeon, Lee Jaehyun and Kim Younghoon live in the one on the west end.

At Changmin and Haknyeon’s house, the boys prepare to practise their sword fighting, their favourite pastime in the mundane mansion. Both equipped with the correct requirements for a proper sword fight, they stand in front of one another, holding their expensive swords, with sharp shining blades and diamond-encrusted handles, to their faces.

As per the rules, they bow at one another before the form their selected stances and initiate the fight. The loud clanks of their heavy swords echo through the house, their panting following soon after. For a simple pastime fight, the two aristocrats are taking it extremely seriously, drawing small cuts on the other from time to time.

“And I win,” announces Changmin with a cocky smile, holding the tip of his sword dangerously close to Haknyeon’s stomach, close to stabbing if he wasn’t so close with him.

“Rather unsurprisingly,” Haknyeon deadpans, his voice as flat as the marble floor they stood upon. “I hardly put any effort into anything these days, I’ve lost interest.” He adds with a nonchalant shrug. Changmin throws his sword aside with a sigh.

“For God’s sake, can you not bring your depressive thoughts into our pastimes? It kills the mood,” Changmin complains, tilting his head to the left and flashing Haknyeon a subtle annoyed scowl. Once again, Haknyeon shrugs nonchalantly.

“It’s a little hard when the only thoughts that are going through your mind are lethargic thoughts added with the pressure of being the perfect aristocrat which you hide with flat sarcasm,” he quips flatly.

“God, you’re the biggest deadpan I have ever encountered,” Changmin remarks. Having heard this countless times, Haknyeon takes no offence, though Changmin never meant any offence with his statement.

“Thank you, I get that a lot,” Haknyeon says, confusing Changmin.

“You have friends other than me?” inquires Changmin. He doesn’t say it in a possessive manner, but rather he says it in a judgemental manner, considering Haknyeon’s extremely introverted personality.

“Oh, you misunderstood me, I was talking about a single person repeatedly telling me that I’m a deadpan that isn’t you,” Haknyeon corrects, laughing slightly at his incapability to ever get his point across.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Changmin points out.

“You’re not going to like hearing this one bit, but my friend is,” he pauses and bites his lip. “Lee Juyeon of the West.” He braces for Changmin’s wrath.

Changmin scoffs, his hands balling into fists. The sheer mention of Lee Juyeon of the West sends ungodly amounts of rage throughout his being. He hates that tall man with every nerve in his body; he hates him with a burning passion. He is grateful that he had disposed of his sword from his grip after he had beat Haknyeon, otherwise, he would have slashed Haknyeon’s chest. He hates Juyeon because Juyeon is the only thing that stands between him and his sole goal in life: royalty, power.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the kingdom, Lee Jaehyun, Kim Younghoon and Lee Juyeon sit around a three-leaved-clover-shaped chessboard. Jaehyun possesses the light brown chess pieces, Younghoon possessing the white and Juyeon possesses the black, akin to his personality.

They play the game of strategy in silence, each of them calculating their moves precisely to defeat one another. Three-way chess was always strange to play for it required a small process of elimination before the victor could proudly announce checkmate. The silence falls on them until Jaehyun, the one to lose first thanks to Younghoon, decides to break it.

“You both do know that we are to visit the palace to see who is to be announced king tomorrow, right?” He inquires, subtle eagerness on his soft face. Juyeon and Younghoon play their moves, Juyeon earning a bishop of Younghoon’s while Younghoon earns none of his pieces.

“Yes, I am very well aware of that,” Juyeon replies first. Younghoon simply hums in agreement with Juyeon’s reply.

“I personally feel like I’m going to be king, the royal adore me,” Younghoon boasts as he offers Juyeon to make his move. Sighing, Juyeon easily moves his piece in front of Younghoon’s and earns a scowl from the elder.

“Checkmate,” Juyeon announces. “That is what you deserve for being so overconfident and annoying Jaehyun and I.”

“Whatever, this is just a game of chess anyways,” scoffs Younghoon, his overflowing pride hurt.

“Oh, you’re simply burning with rage on the inside, I can smell the fire from here,” Jaehyun points at Younghoon, cheeky smile on his face and his eyes squinted slightly.

“Shut up, at least I’m not going around doing criminal shit,” Younghoon hisses. “Sleeping with girls only to kill them afterwards.” He exposes, though it is no surprise to Juyeon. Both of them are used to days where Jaehyun would return covered in blood and hickeys. It amuses Juyeon every time, but it annoys Younghoon greatly.

“I mean, double the pleasure,” Jaehyun shamelessly comments, making Younghoon scoff. Although it seems as if Younghoon has a moral compass, Juyeon knows that Younghoon’s moral compass is just as fucked as the other aristocrats’, excluding Sunwoo and Youngjae since they were young and innocent, not yet plagued with the endless greed that ruined an aristocrat’s moral compass.

“Oh, shut it, will you?” Juyeon sighs. “I’m getting a splitting headache and I’m already worried enough about the announcement of the royals tomorrow. I do hope that it isn’t Changmin--god, the mention of him makes me want to barf out my lunch.” He rants.

Little did any of the aristocrats -- the ones from the north, the ones from the south, the ones from the east, the ones from the west -- know the chaos they were destined to be drowned into with tomorrow’s events.

Someone tell me whether I got anything wrong coz we appreciate feedback in this household

[lillianfromaccounting]

This ended up being a very long post and I'm on mobile, so I'll fix the read more in the morning when I get on the computer.

TW: covid, depression, Thanksgiving, a lot of food talk

-----------

Today, we officially called off Thanksgiving with family (it had pretty much been decided but today we called the few people to confirm it).

Some background: my family only started celebrating Thanksgiving because I wanted to. We're Chinese, so growing up, it wasn't a thing for us, plus my mom wasn't fond of turkey.

At the age of 13, I picked up a bread baking recipe book at a Scholastic book drive. Up until that point, I had been baking stuff from box mixes, so making bread from scratch was a huge deal for me. Age 14, I told my parents I wanted to do Thanksgiving the American way. We qualified for a free turkey at our local supermarket anyway, so why not? To make it more palatable, I incorporated Chinese elements into the menu--various Chinese vegetables (choy) instead of green bean casserole, sticky rice (loh mai fan) stuffing--and i would bake fresh bread. There would always be white rice.

I have a huge extended family and on the weekends, my parents would have family and friends over to play mahjong, so Thanksgiving went over great because they loved trying all these new foods, and I loved trying new recipes. We always had a rotation of at least thirty people, so the food went. I think one year, I counted just over fifty people--it was like a revolving door at my parents' house, some people would pop in around lunch time and hang out until they had to go to their own family's Thanksgiving dinners, some came for dinner, and some came for dessert and coffee with a side of mahjong.

As the years went on, my menus got more and more elaborate, and I would enlist my younger siblings (I have three) to be my sous chefs. It was a THING. Thanksgiving was my thing.

The college I went to is very involved with the Macy's Thanksgiving parade balloons, and while it would have been an awesome experience, it required giving up your Wednesday night and most of Thanksgiving Thursday. That was a deal breaker for me. That's how much my Thanksgiving ritual meant to me.

Some of my favorite memories are waiting in line at DiPalo's (before they expanded, back when it was just the corner storefront) with my sister the weekend before Thanksgiving to get fresh mozzarella and ricotta and parmigiano (lasagna was a huge hit with my family). The longest we waited was three hours one year.

Another year, this was after I had graduated and moved out and was working. My work let us out early (around 2pm), but this asshat in another department ensured me that he needed these numbers so he can work over the weekend. I ended up running out to DiPalo's to pick up my order and going back to work, working to 9pm to get those numbers out, before going back to my parents' house to start cooking. The asshat didn't look at them that weekend (we get the Friday off too).

Mind you, it's not that I couldn't get the ingredients in Jersey, I just honestly had no idea where to go. My parents did the bulk of their grocery shopping in Chinatown and DiPalo's was right at the border of Chinatown and Little Italy.

As I said earlier, my menus got more elaborate over the years. Everyone kept eating the loaves of fresh bread for breakfast, so I made Thanksgiving an all day affair, with a breakfast, lunch, and dinner menu.

One year, the theme was fried foods (fried turkey legs, homemade mozzarella sticks, etc.). I always tried new recipes on Thanksgiving, because honestly, what I enjoyed most about it was the process, the production of creating something delicious.

My siblings started sending me recipes throughout the year. One year, I made a vegan raspberry cheesecake (the base was cashews and almonds).

My siblings also said that they knew my now husband was a keeper because he had not only survived Thanksgiving at my parents' house, but he rolled with it (I'm pretty sure I put him to work too).

After we got married and bought our house, I claimed Thanksgiving for both sides of the family (there were no objections, because I didn't care about Christmas, so they had Christmas). My husband's family had been getting their Thanksgiving meals catered for a few years at this point, so they didn't mind not cooking.

But including his family meant I had to start making sacrifices to my process. One person only liked Stove Top stuffing (don't get me wrong, Stove Top chicken flavor is amazing, but so is a sausage stuffing from scratch). The year my second child was born, I think I was a bit burned out by everything, so we ended up ordering a whole pig (think spit roast, but Chinese style) and some roast ducks that year. We were told the next year that some people would prefer to have turkey. One year, we decided to smoke our turkey, and the feedback we had gotten was that some people really preferred oven roasted. So the following year, we did turkey three ways (roasted, smoked, and deep fried) and we started getting feedback that we were doing too much variety. This happened with the sides too. Heirloom vegetable recipes (guys, I used to watch the Food Network religiously) were reduced to sauteed green beans or asparagus. We were told to reduce the variety of things, so the only pasta dish that kept making it onto the menu was mac and cheese, because that was someone else's preference. And I couldn't even play around with the mac and cheese, because the family's recipe used Velveeta (yes, I know I sound like a food snob, and it's because I was back then).

But year after year, the creativity of the menu decreased and decreased, to the point where my husband and I felt it wasn't enjoyable anymore.

This morning, after we had called the family (it was really just my and his parents, whom we have been seeing during this whole time because we live close and do shopping for them, etc.), part of me was excited to finally make a menu and my husband and I agreed on a very small menu, because it's just us and our two kids.

And by the time I went to bed, I was excited again for Thanksgiving because we will be cooking things that we want. There are three, possibly four varieties of scones on the breakfast menu right now. I haven't mentioned this yet, but my menus are always too ambitious. I almost never get every single dish on the table, but the important ones get there. The experimental ones get ranked in order of what I want to taste.

After all these years, we have established staples. We always have bacon cheddar scones with breakfast. My sons requested chocolate chip and vanilla, respectively, and I want pumpkin. We'll see how many varieties actually get made. I always make fresh cranberry sauce for the sole reason of baking it into a crumb cake for Friday morning. We also eat the Ocean Spray jellied (with whole berries), and I serve it in slices. My husband is the mashed potato king, so he handles that. The King Arthur masala chai pumpkin pie recipe has been a hit year after year, so that is a staple now. I was excited to be able to cook what we wanted again.

It even inspired a Thanksgiving chapter in the fic I am writing. (I am so, so, so happy and excited for this chapter now.)

But as I was going to bed tonight, I was thinking about those memories at DiPalo's and cooking with my siblings, and pandemic sadness hit me like a ton of bricks. I cried hard. I miss my siblings. I miss the hospitality of it all. Just like my parents' house was a revolving door, when my husband and I took over Thanksgiving, it was an unspoken rule that extended friends and family were welcomed. My siblings' friends from high school and college would stop by. My one sister's friend would even ask to be on the menu distribution list (I usually drafted a menu and my family members would vote on which dishes they wanted, and that was partially how the menu was created) and invite himself over lol.

I miss that company--the people who understood my Thanksgiving--my family. I haven't seen (in person) one sister since January and the other since March. And while we're constantly talking to each other and do the occasional video chat, it's just not the same.

If you read this far, thank you for your time and energy.

I don't have a point to this post, except maybe wear a fucking mask and stay home, so we can eventually beat this pandemic and resume some semblance of pre-covid life.

And I know this post is very much a first world problem. We have enough to eat and a warm roof over our heads. I am very grateful for that. But I am allowed to be sad too. This year would have been my 25th anniversary with Thanksgiving.

Writing all this out really helped though.

[axwalker]

Tears in Heaven 4: Start Over

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is about to get married but memories of her old life are coming back to haunt her.

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Liam x MC, Drake x MC (TRR)

Warnings:  NO ONE UNDER 18 should read this story. This is an 18+ blog.

This story will deal with very dark subjects such as death, severe depression and suicide attempt (among others) if you’re triggered by any of those issues, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY

A/N: The story will go back and forth between three different periods of time (2010 / 2015 / 2020)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Word count: 5,010

Songs inspiration: Tears in heaven by Eric Clapton

THANKS TO:    @burnsoslow​  Thanks for beta reading and correcting so many mistakes. I love you!

And to    @pedudley​   your comments and feedback are the best. LOVE YOU BOTH! ❤️❤️❤️

March 2015

Bastien was extremely worried about Drake. He thought that some time and distance would help Drake heal, but he seemed to get more and more depressed every day. He spent his days on the couch or in the hammock looking at the sea with a bottle in his hand. His gaze was lost, empty.

The nights were even worse; he didn’t sleep, and the rare nights where he was able to close his eyes for more than a few hours, he woke up sweating with a nightmare - reliving that day, over and over again.

He had barely spoken since he had arrived in Spain. Andrea, Bastien’s wife, had convinced Bastien to try and reach Alexis in Cordonia, but Liam had told him that she was as destroyed as Drake was. Bastien suggested bringing them back together, maybe flying Alexis to Spain. He was convinced that seeing her would help Drake, and vice versa, but Liam had said that Alexis was too weak to travel.

“Son, you can’t keep going like this. You’re going to kill yourself,” Bastien said one night, tired of feeling useless.  

“What difference does it make?” Drake took a swig directly from the bottle. “Why should I live after … after what I did?” He felt empty; the guilt was eating him alive, and the only person that could have saved him hated him even more than he hated himself.

“Drake, I’m sure that if you reach out to her- “

“No! I told you already. Do not contact her! I’m not good for her.” He noticed that his bottle was empty, so he stood up and lurched into the kitchen. Bastien followed him. “I destroyed her life … I … destroyed everything ...” He opened the bottle and took a big gulp. “Everything I touch … it dies. My dad died, my mother left, and now T … T… Fuck! I can’t even say his name.”

Bastien placed his hand on his godson’s shoulder. “Son, it wasn’t your fault.”

Drake barked at him, “What the fuck do you know, Bastien? It was my fault, only my fault. I swore to her that I’d protect them. It was my job to keep them safe.” It hurt too much to even breathe. He laid on the hammock again. “Please leave me alone.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember them: his pure laughter and her beautiful face, his little hand gripping his or her soft body against his at night, all the Sunday mornings taking him to the forest and the spicy breakfast waiting for them at the cabin. Maybe if he focused hard enough, he could make time go back.

June 2010

Drake and Alexis had been living together for two days. After another horrible fight with her father, she had finally had enough, and, tired of the way he treated her, she had left to live with Drake at his cabin.

They spent their first 48 hours completely lost in each other. Their second night together, they were both wrapped under a blanket watching the stars on the terrace, when it hit him. All he wanted from life was already there in his arms. So he held her even tighter and, after only eight months since meeting her, he whispered the question in her ear. She couldn’t believe it at first - it was too soon, they were too young, there were a million reasons not to do it - but she was completely crazy about him, too. Her eyes watered before she screamed a loud “yes” into the night. He kissed her deeply and ran to get his grandmother’s emerald engagement ring. It suited her perfectly. It was meant to be.

The wedding preparations had been hectic. They didn’t see the point of a long engagement, so they had set the date for two months from then: the 18th of June, a Saturday.

“Are we completely crazy?” he asked her, grinning after they had gone to the town hall to register their marriage application.

She laughed. “Yeah, completely,” she said, snuggling against him as they walked, “but I love you so much.”

“Me too, baby.” He kissed the top of her head. He was the happiest man in the world.

They didn’t have a lot of money, so they were going to have a small wedding in the forest behind their cabin. All their friends had offered to cooperate, but Drake and Alexis were adamant: They were only going to accept manual labor as wedding gifts. Drake, Liam and Leo brought the tables and chairs for the ceremony and the reception. Bertrand helped them with all the wedding documents, Maxwell was in charge of the music, Savannah decorated the place with Alexis, and Olivia was paying her chef to make the wedding cake. Bastien was working on a special surprise in his woodshop and would be in charge of the BBQ for the big day.

One day before the wedding, Drake was preparing the salads for the BBQ while Alexis and Maxwell chose the songs for the party.

“Guys!” Maxwell said, panicked. “You don’t have a song?”

“Not really,” Alexis paused. “We danced for the first time to ‘She Will Be Loved,’ though.’”

Maxwell grimaced before speaking. “Really? Maroon 5, Blossom?”

“Hey! I love them!” She laughed.

“Don’t get me wrong, Lexie. Adam Levine is the sexiest man alive. But ‘She Will Be Loved’ is not a wedding song.”

Alexis was about to respond when Drake intervened, blushing. “I have one.”

Max and Alexis turned their heads in unison. “You have a wedding song?” Max arched his brows.

Drake shook his head, exasperated to be having this conversation with Maxwell. “It’s not a wedding song, Beaumont. It’s just a song I like.”

Alexis looked at Max meaningfully. “I think Bertrand was looking for you outside to help with the flower arrangements, Max.”

He winked. “Of course, Bertrand is looking for me, riiight.”

When he left, Alexis circled her arms around her future husband’s waist. “What’s the song, babe?”

He sighed, wondering when he had become such a damn softie. “Van Morrison, ‘Crazy Love.’ He looked into her bright eyes and smiled as he cupped her face. “Do you like it?”

“I love it; it’s one of the most romantic songs ever. Why do you like it?”

He smiled sheepishly. “One night after I dropped you off at your father’s house, I put the stereo on, and that song started playing. Listening to it I realized how well it suited you, us.”

That man was going to make her crazy. She crashed her lips against his as he grabbed the nape of her neck and deepened the kiss, letting his tongue meet hers. After a few seconds, he gripped her hips and lifted her to sit her on the counter. She straddled him, while his lips and teeth explored and bit her neck and her hands roamed over his back.

Max cleared his throat. “Fuck! Leo was right. I owe him $20.”

Leo entered the kitchen with a screwdriver in his hand. “Li and I set up the bar …” He stopped to see Alexis combing her hair with her hand. “I told you, Maxwell, you can’t leave these two alone - pay up.”

“Fuck off, Leo.” Drake exchanged a wink with Alexis and went with Leo to check on the improvised bar the brothers had set up in the garden.

The rehearsal was fast; after it, everyone went to sleep early as the preparations had left them exhausted.

The next day, Alexis woke up at Olivia’s apartment feeling giddy with happiness.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married today.”

“If you want to bail, I have the getaway car ready, darling.” Olivia was only half-joking.

Alexis shook her head before she warned her best friend, “You’ll understand one day, Liv. You’ll fall in love like we did, and all of this will make sense to you, I promise.”

“Shoot me if I ever get that sappy. You have my permission.”  Olivia opened the door and let a woman in. “This is Clara; she will do your hair and makeup.”

Alexis was about to protest, but Olivia raised her hand. “I know you said you didn’t want this kind of gift, but it’s your wedding day, and you deserve this, Alexis.” She looked at her friend through the mirror of the dresser as she talked. “I can’t cook a BBQ or build improvised bars, but please let me do this.”

Alexis understood what her friend was trying to say. “I love you too, Liv.”

Olivia waved her hand, smiling. “Shit, you’re going to be cheesier than usual today. God help us.” She squeezed Alexis’s shoulder. “Still no news about your father?”

Alexis shook her head. “Not yet. He said that if I married Drake, I was dead to him. He hates him only because he has no money. If he knew him better …” She sighed sadly. “Anyway, it'll all be okay; maybe he’ll show up at the cabin.”

Olivia disguised her sadness for her with a smile. “Maybe, darling. I’ll go change.” She called Drake the minute she left Alexis’ room. Olivia knew George O’Brien, and she was sure he wasn’t coming.

Alexis texted her father the address of the cabin; she was sure he’d regret his decision and would arrive at the last minute, or at least she hoped he would. She hadn’t asked anyone else to walk down the aisle with her.

Drake intercepted Bertrand when he arrived at the cabin.

“Alexis’s father won’t come; I know she was still hoping that he would, but that fucking asshole doesn’t give a damn about her.” Drake’s heart broke just thinking about her waiting for George. “Could you walk her down the aisle? Max is officiating the ceremony, but I know Lexie cares a lot about you, too.” Bertrand assured him that he was proud to accept.

Bastien had built a beautiful arch for the ceremony, and Liam and Leo had placed chairs all over the lawn for their 30 guests.

‘Here Comes the Sun' started to play. Drake waited at the end of the aisle with his heart beating as hard as it could without actually leaving his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, she appeared on Bertrand’s arm. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was; she was gorgeous. Her long white dress made her look like she was floating, her wide smile illuminated her whole face, her dark eyes were glistening with happy tears. Suddenly, he noticed his own eyes watering for the second time in his life, and he didn’t care. Her. All he cared about was her. He couldn’t wait to have her next to him.

Finally, they reached him, and he felt like his heart was going to burst with the smile she reserved only for him. He squeezed her hand, and they stood in front of Maxwell, who had gotten ordained on the internet for the ceremony.

Maxwell took his role very seriously. “As the great poet George Eliot once said:

What greater thing is there for two human souls

than to feel that they are joined together to strengthen

each other in all labor, to minister to each other in all sorrow,

to share with each other in all gladness,

to be one with each other in the

silent unspoken memories?”

Drake and Alexis exchanged a loving glance, as Maxwell proceeded with the ceremony until he reached the part where they had to share their vows.

“I think we’re all impatient to hear Drake’s vows, so let’s start with him.”

Drake turned to face Alexis, who was staring intently at him through her eyelashes. “Fuck, Lexie, stop looking at me like that or I won’t be able to say this.”

She beamed at him.

“I’m not good with words or feelings, so when you suggested that we should write our own vows, I almost choked.”

Their friends laughed.

Drake locked eyes with her. “But then I realized this wasn’t difficult at all. Because the truth is that I love you. I love your beautiful smile, your bright eyes, and the fire in them when you get angry.” Alexis shook her head, smiling through her tears. “I love how much you enjoy every single moment of your life.” He grinned at her. “I couldn’t live without smelling your cherry scent in our pillows or without you dancing all around the house.” He gently stroked her cheek. He was dying to kiss her, but he kept talking. “I love the light you have cast into my life since the second we met, and I swear I’ll always protect you, take care of you, and make sure that your beautiful light keeps on shining.” His voice betrayed his emotion, so he paused for a second. “I’m eager to start our lives together because I’m not sure about a lot of things, but I know without the shadow of a doubt that I’ll love you until the day I die.” He leaned and kissed her forehead.

“I love you too.” Alexis was crying. “Shit! I won’t be able to do this.” She took a deep breath as a grinning Drake gripped her hand reassuringly. “Every day I spend with you is the happiest day of my life. You’re strong, smart, and the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met, even when you try so hard to hide it. I love that smirk that is so you -” she caressed his face tenderly - “those crinkles around your eyes when you smile, your strong hands and your legendary stubbornness. I’ve never felt so safe and so loved before, and I want you to know that I love you with the same intensity, the same fierceness. I promise I’ll always be your partner, your best friend, your lover. I can’t wait to be your wife because I know I’ll love you until the day I die.” She smiled through her tears pronouncing the same words he had told her a few seconds ago.

Maxwell was crying, unable to proceed with the ceremony for a few minutes. “I don’t think I was the best person to do this. You’re so adorable, guys!”

Drake and Alexis laughed with the rest of the guests.

They exchanged their rings, visibly excited, promising to love and cherish each other for the rest of their lives. Finally, Maxwell declared them husband and wife.

“Drake, you may kiss the bride.”

He cupped her face and whispered so only she could hear him. “You have no idea how much I love you, baby.”

Before she could answer, he kissed her softly, slowly deepening the kiss until they heard Maxwell cheer with the rest of their friends.

“I’ve never been this happy, Drake.”

“Me neither, Lexie.”

The party was exactly what they wanted: stress-free and laid back. Bastien was in charge of the BBQ, and they had set up a salad buffet to go with it.  Fordessert, they would serve wedding cake and had set up a corner next to a bonfire where guests could prepare their own s’mores. Liv and Liam gave their toasts, and soon it was time for their first dance.  Maxwell gave Drake a knowing look before playing their song. Drake stood up and offered his hand to her; she grinned at him and followed him to the improvised dance floor Drake and Liam had set up.

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles

And the heavens open every time she smiles

And when I come to her that's where I belong

Yet I'm running to her like a river's song

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her against him, letting his eyes roam over her beautiful face as they danced. “You look so gorgeous, baby. I can’t wait to have you all to myself tonight.”

She bit her bottom lip, blushing. “You’re much better with words than you think, Drake.” She placed her head on his chest as he led her across the dance floor, the sandalwood invading her nostrils. “And me neither, I can’t wait.”

She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down

And when I come to her when the sun goes down

Take away my trouble, take away my grief

Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

He spun her around confidently. “Wow, I didn’t know you were such a smooth dancer, Walker.” She winked at him, making him laugh.

“I might’ve received a tip or two from Maxwell,” he admitted sheepishly.

He looked so adorable when he was flustered. “Fuck, Drake! I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.” He leaned down to her face and gave her a nose kiss before spinning her again.

Yes I want to throw my arms around her

Kiss her hug her kiss her hug her tight

And when I'm returning from so far away

She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day

Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole

Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul

With the last notes of the song, Drake asked h,er smirking, “Are you ready?”

She nodded, puzzled, and he elegantly dipped her at the end of the song, making her laugh with that throaty laugh he loved so much.

“I’m happy to see I can still surprise you, Mrs. Walker.”

She beamed at him. “I’ll never get tired of how good that sounds.”

April 2019

“Alexis.”

“Hello, Drake. We need to talk.”

He opened the door and gestured for her to come in.

When she entered the cabin, a hundred memories came flooding back: the day she had moved in, the nights they had spent stargazing, the day they had married, and so many others that she tried to avoid because they were too painful. She couldn’t avoid a quick glance to the floor upstairs, but turned her head fast, refusing to think about that room.

Drake watched her move around the cabin, without sitting, her eyes darting everywhere. She’s nervous.

Without a word, he went into the kitchen, took a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet, and poured two glasses.

He came back to the living room and saw Alexis still standing next to the door, like an uninvited guest in her own house. In her old house, Drake corrected himself. He gave her the glass and she gulped it.

“Thank you, I needed that.” She pointed upstairs. “Still the same?”

He took a sip of his whiskey and nodded, still silent. He fixed his piercing eyes on her; she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever met, but her beauty was different now, miles away from the lively, sunny girl he had met. Drake watched her bite her bottom lip as she always did when she was nervous. He knew that the next step would be to twist her ring … except it wasn’t his ring anymore. She was wearing a huge diamond engagement ring, and he immediately guessed the reason she was there. Savannah had warned him a few months back.

The faster they’d get to it, the faster she’d be out of his life again. For good this time. He gulped his own glass and asked her, “What are you doing here, Alexis?”

“Um …” Her heart was still racing; she didn’t want to cry, but being there brought back every painful memory she had in that cabin - every laugh, every look, every word. She swallowed hard and forced herself to talk. “I need the divorce papers; we never signed anything.”

“Of course,” he smiled bitterly; “you need to be divorced to get married again.”

She hugged herself, knowing how hard the situation was for both of them.

Drake poured himself another whiskey before adding contemptuously, “That’s a nice ring. I wonder when he bought it.” He downed the content of his glass in one gulp. “I wonder how long he had been waiting to make his move, to take you away from me.”

Alexis couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Do not speak of Liam like that! He was always a good, loyal friend to you and to me. He was the one here picking up the pieces when you left.” She hadn’t realized that she was almost yelling or that her eyes were full of tears. “You left and never once looked back!”

Her words infuriated him; he didn’t yell, but his voice was full of anger. “What the hell, Alexis? Did you just say that I left and didn’t come back? Me?”

She turned her back, angry - not only at him, at herself, too, at their damn fate that had played such a cruel, horrible joke on them.

He cut the distance between them and stood in front of her, making her face him. “I left?” he asked again. “And what about what you did?”

She recognized the pain in the eyes she had avoided looking at for so long, and the anger faded. “What if I say it’s my fault? What difference does it make? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Drake shook his head, frustrated; as much as it still hurt, as much as he hated to admit it, they didn’t belong together anymore. “You’re right, it doesn’t.” He sighed; he was eager to see her leave and take all the painful memories with her. “Did you bring the papers?”

She took a deep breath before speaking. “It’s more complicated than that. We never made our separation official, so as far as the law is concerned, we’re still together.” He kept staring at her with his arms folded over his chest. His gaze made her extremely nervous, but she forced herself to finish what she needed to say. “I spoke with Rashad, we need to file an application and set a date with a judge for a … meeting.” She put a strand of hair behind her ear.

Drake frowned. “What kind of meeting?”

“It’s called an “attempted conciliation” meeting. It’s mandatory in Cordonia if we want things to go faster. After the meeting, we only have to wait 15 days to sign the papers and everything will be over.”

She seemed cold and distant, talking about the life that they had shared together like it was a simple legal procedure. “Send me the date and I’ll be there, the sooner the better.” He watched her twist his ring again and couldn’t avoid the surge of anger. “This marriage was a fucking mistake anyway.” He regretted his words as soon as he said them, but it was too late.

She looked at him sadly; he had never shown her cruelty before. “Maybe it was a mistake for you.” She took her purse and walked to the door.

“Alexis!” he called before she left. “It might have been a huge mistake; I don’t know. But I don’t regret a single minute of it.” He fixed his chocolate eyes on hers; she seemed so vulnerable again that he had to actively stop himself from taking her into his arms.

She answered through her tears, “Me neither, Drake. I don’t regret anything.” She threw a last glance at the floor upstairs and left.

She drove for a few miles until she was forced to pull over. Her hands were shaking; she couldn’t drive anymore. Forcing herself to steady her voice, she immediately called Liam because she knew how worried he would be about her. She told him that she was all right and that he should go to his meeting with Bertrand and Francesco; she would see him later at her apartment.

When she hung up, she called Max. He arrived an hour later with Olivia, and they took her to Maxwell’s loft in the capital.

“Something to drink?” Maxwell asked.

“Whiskey, double.” She took off her coat, still shaking.

“Here, Blossom.” She gulped it fast.

“Now, tell us everything, Alexis,” Olivia said while she prepared a vodka martini.

“It was so surreal to see him again. He looked …” she sighed, “older, obviously, but still very handsome.” She couldn’t avoid the sorrow in her eyes. “He hates me.”

Olivia arched her brow and simply stated, “Liam.”

She nodded. “Yes, partly,” she shrugged, “but he’s also angry about the last time we saw each other.” Her eyes watered, but she rubbed them hard. “I’m not going to cry. Liam is in the middle of some intense negotiations for the duchy; he doesn’t need to worry about me, too.”

“You can be so fucking frustrating, Alexis.” Olivia looked at her, exasperated.

Maxwell shook his head. “Bravo, Olivia, subtle.”

“I don’t give a damn if I’m subtle or not. Alexis, you need to stop worrying about Liam, or Drake, or anyone else, for that matter. How do you feel? What did you feel when you saw Walker?”

She stared back at her best friend, twisting her ring. “Nothing. I mean, I felt sad for us, and going back to the cabin, to the last place I saw Tho- … him was extremely hard. But I feel absolutely nothing for Drake anymore.”

Olivia squinted at her. “Please, Alexis. You saw Drake again. The man that we know you loved like crazy, who you shared your life with for five years, and you pretend that you didn’t feel anything? You’re shaking, for Christ’s sake. You need to talk, darling.”

Alexis turned to Maxwell for support, but he shrugged. “I don’t approve of her brutal interrogation techniques, but I agree with her; you had to feel something, Lexie. That doesn’t mean you’re being disloyal to Li.”

She dropped the glass on the table and stood up, angrily looking for her coat and purse. “I have no feelings for him anymore. Nothing. He left me without a fucking regret.”

Maxwell shook his head. “You know that’s not exactly true, Blossom. You know why he left.”

Alexis was furious. “I can’t even believe what I’m hearing. If you’ll excuse me, the man that loves me, that I love, is worried sick waiting for me. Have a good night.”  

She left, slamming the door.

Liam spent the afternoon working in his office in Cordonia. He was very satisfied with the deal he had made with Francesco and the Italian government. He had already succeeded in making Valtoria the richest duchy in Cordonia, and his new goal was to transform it into the most successful business center on the Mediterranean coast.

While he was searching for the contracts, he came across the invitation Bertrand had given him for his fifth wedding anniversary party. He was in quite a conundrum; on the one hand, it would be inappropriate for them not to show up. Bertrand was his number two, his closest employee. On the other hand, Drake was back in Cordonia, and he was surely going to go too; after all, Savannah was his sister.

His memory drifted back to that day at the clinic. He had been so confident that it was the right thing to do that he hadn’t doubted his actions, but now he wasn’t so sure about it. Drake’s grief still haunted him. He wondered how their “reunion” had gone. He decided to cut his day short and go check on Alexis.

Her job as a freelance translator allowed her to work from wherever she wanted, but she spent most of her time in her city’s loft. Liam hoped she would easily accept her new role as the duchess of Valtoria when the time came, but he was aware that it was going to be a tough adjustment. As much as she tried to hide it, the weekly royal etiquette lessons she took with Regina were torture for her.

She was already in her room when he got home. He undressed and went to join her in bed. When she sensed his presence, she turned around and laid her head on his chest.  

He caressed her face with the back of his hand. “How did it go, my love?” he asked softly.

“As bad as expected, but I don’t want to talk about it, Li.” She looked for his lips, and he immediately kissed her back.

He needed to claim her as much as she needed to forget. He took off her silky robe and made love to her passionately and lovingly, trying to make her forget about everything else.

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

Drake sat in front of the fireplace with Savannah's invitation in his hand. He refused to go back to those days where alcohol was the only thing he used to numb the pain. He let himself get lost in the flames while he thought about them, about all the nights they had spent exploring each other in front of that same fireplace. About all the stories she had read to him while she snuggled on his lap. And now that life was gone, and she was with Liam.

With Liam.

When Savannah had called him all those months ago, he had refused to believe it, but then she had sent him their picture in an email, and everything had fallen into place. Especially that last day at her clinic.

Well, if she could move on, he could do it too. He had a new life, a new job, and was dating someone new.

He had come back to Cordonia determined to get a semblance of a life back. He knew himself well enough to realize that he would never love again, or at least never with the same force, with the same intensity,  but if he was going to fulfill the promise he had made at his grave, he needed a new life.

The job he had gotten at Ezequiel’s clinic was the first step; dating Kiara was step two. He wondered if he would truly forget her one day if one day he would wake up to realize she didn’t occupy his every thought. He certainly hoped so; she was marrying Liam soon.

A new family or kids weren’t even a possibility. He might forget Alexis one day, but he would never forget about Tom.

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[jawritter]

Broken Me...

Ch. 4

Summery: The Dallas Convention couldn't have come at a worse time for Jensen. His world fell apart earlier that morning, but was expected to just act like everything was normal. You and a friend were at the convention for her birthday. Life hasn't been that great for you either, but a forced meeting on stage changes two worlds. Will you be able to put this broken man back together again...

Series Warings: Cheating, shitty marriage, Danneel is a bitch, I unfortunately have to put that as a warning because some people tend to get turnt up about it if you don’t... Smut, Crying, Suiside Attempt, brief discription of suicide attempt and recovery, depression, hints of self loathing, language. I think that’s it... Suicide Trigger warnings will be placed over each chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Language, sad Jensen, touch starved, angst, fluff if you squint.. I think that’s it for this chapter...

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2265

A/N: BINGE READ TIME!! As always all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold!! Hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want More? Check out my masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST****

“Jensen?” You hiss, looking up and down the hall, and then back at your sleeping friend before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind you..

Jensen stepped back a little in the narrow hallway, not wanting to crowd you, shifting his feet a little uncomfortably before looking back up at you with an almost a shy expression covering his face.. 

"Hey." 

You more than a little dumb founded, of all the people you expected to see standing in outside your motel room door in the middle of the night, Jensen was not one of those people...

You couldn't tell if he was angry or not. Personally you felt like everything was your fault. 

You didn't know why, but there it was... 

He and Danneel had obviously separated before he got here... 

Still you couldn't help the guilty feeling in the pit of your stomach... 

So you stood there examining your feet... Waiting for him to say something else...

"Hey." You echoed him.. Needing desperately to break the silence that had fallen between you. 

"Let's go grab a coffee down stairs, I think I owe you an explanation." He finally said after what felt like forever. 

You still couldn't look up at him for some reason, a strange feeling crossed between shame and confusion from all the drama making you feel more than a little stressed to even be seen with him in public right now..

"I'm a little underdressed." 

You were wearing an oversized, faded black shirt  that had Stewie from a Family Guy holding a bazooka on it that said 'I don't play well with others', and a pair of pink, purple, and black plaid pajama pants and ankle socks.

Jensen laughed slightly. 

"You look fine sweetheart, and besides, I'm not much better off."

Curiosity got the best of you at that point, making you really look at him for the first time since he knocked on your door..

He was wearing a plain white T-shirt, red and black pajama pants, and flip flops. His hair was sticking up at cute random angles, and his face was a little redder than normal, his eyes had an unnatural red tent to them, and looked as if he’d either had a little too much to drink earlier, or he had been crying.. It was hard to tell which...

"It's like 3 am, nobody is gonna be down there." He said, shifting his feet uncomfortably on the floor, and looking around the hall... 

He was a mess....but he still looked attractive as ever…

He hadn't shaved all day, so he had a nice five o'clock shadow going, and even though he looked like he'd just rolled out of bed after a long night out he still looked beautiful. 

There was a look in his deep green eyes… One you didn’t quite understand that just wouldn’t let you turn him away...

"Fine, let me grab my wallet." 

You turn to open the door to your room, but he quickly stops you as if you go into the room, you will just leave him hanging in the hallway... 

"I'll pay." He said, reaching out and grabbing your hand in his, then quickly letting it go as if he’d crossed some unseen line. 

"Okay." 

You silently followed him to the elevators and watched as he pushed the button to the bottom floor, both of you riding in silence, not saying anything until you both had your coffee ordered from the tired looking girl behind the counter, and found a booth in the very back of the kitchen/ eating area of the hotel..

There was nobody in sight. Just the desk clerk, and the girl working for the coffee shop. The hotel was almost eerie quiet compared to all the cayos and movement of earlier today with fans and vendors working throughout the hotel, now it was all but deserted...

"I'm sorry about what Danneel did." He finally said almost in a whisper, staring at his untouched coffee cup that was sitting in front of him. "You didn't do anything wrong, and you didn't deserve that. She was just pissed, and was attacking me. Still you shouldn't have been caught in the crossfire." 

He looked exhausted when he brought his hands up to his face, rubbing it harshly, and you just wanted to reach out and hug him..

"You can't control what she does Jensen. Don't worry about it. It's not that big of a deal." You tell him, not wanting him to feel like he owed you anything.

You definitely didn’t want him to feel like he owed you any sort of apology or pity..

"I read the comments." He said, staring you down now, his eyes are cold and hard, emotionless, and that’s just not like him at all. From what you’ve seen online anyway.

"It is a big deal. She was trying to make me look bad. Like I was the one who did wrong, and I didn't do shit." He said flatly, clenching his fist on the table in front of him. 

"I came home early from Vancouver. I was going to surprise her. When I came through the door I found her fucking a cashier from our brewery in our living room." He said, still staring you down.. 

You didn't realize your mouth was hanging open until he smirked at you.

"Yeah that was pretty much my reaction too." He gave you a hollow laugh under his breath. "I stormed out and drove here. When I got here I called her and in so many words told her it was over. I was filing for divorce." 

He wasn't looking at you anymore, just rambling like he needed to get all this off his chest. 

"She said it was my fault she was cheating on me...... Said she was lonely, and I was never home...." He broke his sentence looking down at his lap taking deep breaths to steady himself. The unshed tears forming in his eyes was enough to make your heart want to stop beating.

Reflexively you reach across the table, and touch his hand, he stiffened, but didn't pull away. 

"None of that is your fault. You didn't do anything to deserve what she did. As far as the post to the internet... You're the one that has to get up there in front of a room full of people to answer their......question." You tell him, but he's still just staring you down coldly…

But he hasn't moved his hand... 

The man was hard as stone... 

You could tell this had cut him deep... 

It's not something he would just get over or be okay with in a month or two, this was going to take him some time to get past everything she’d done to him, and you had a feeling it didn’t start today with the cheating, but he had been manipulating him and using him for awhile now..

"You don't even know me.......why are you being nice to me right now........ Is it because I'm famous.... I have money..... What, what's the reason you didn't tell me to go fuck myself like you rightfully should have? I pulled you on stage. I'm the reason there was even a video for her to post." 

You hadn't noticed until he'd stopped speaking he had laced his fingers in yours. 

It shocked you.....

His words were hard, but it was like he was doing all he could to seek affection and comfort from someone..

"You didn't do anything wrong. She's the bitch that made a post out of a damn cell phone video." You tell him, becoming a little distracted by his thumb making little circles on the back of your hand. 

"I don't care about your money, you can keep it. I don't care about you being famous. If you were a UPS driver or somebody flipping burgers at Burger King you still deserve to have better than what she’s done to you. 'Cause you were gone a lot and they were lonely.' That's the biggest bullshit statement I've ever heard, and definitely not a valid excuse for someone to be unfaithful." 

He was looking down, jaw clenched, so you decided to stop talking. Not knowing if you were pissing him off, or if he was just tired of talking about it because it was still pretty fresh.

"She wasn't the only one that was lonely." He said, one hand spinning his untouched coffee on the table. "She at least had the kids. I had nobody." 

You sit watching as his walls slowly start to come down, walls you didn’t even know were there until they started to crumble.. 

"I came home a little early cause I wanted some time alone with her... You're not human if you don't crave intimacy from someone, and I’m not talking about sex... Just to have someone to hold while you sleep... Someone when you wake up in the middle of the night you can roll over, and wrap up with so you don't feel so alone......so empty...... I just wanted to be able to be in contact with another person... Just for a little while before I had to be alone again." He still had a grip on your hand, but he still wouldn’t look at you, not directly. Like he was a little ashamed of his own confession.

You were pretty pissed at Danneel before you got down here, but now, now you were even more pissed. 

It wasn't fair what she did to him, she didn’t deserve someone like Jensen.... You wished someone would crave you like that, just to be near you… Yet she threw it all away...Then tried to blame him for her fuck up... 

"I wish I didn't feel so alone." He said, taking his hand from yours. You already missed his warm hand wrapped around yours. Your skin is still tingling where he’d been touching you.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just dumped all that on you. Come on I'll walk you back to your room. It's 4:30 in the morning, we both need to get some sleep." He said abruptly, standing and waiting for you to do the same. Walls firmly back in place..

The elevator ride to the 5th floor was a quiet one, and the walk to your room was just as quiet. You both stop in front of the door, facing each other. 

There was a look on his face you didn't recognize, pain, fear, loneliness maybe…

"Well I'd say goodnight, but... It's kinda already morning." You say, putting your hand in the door. 

Without saying anything Jensen pulls you by your waist into his chest, and for a moment you were too shocked to move, until you hear him take a very unsteady breath. The both of you just stood there holding onto each other for the longest. 

Finally, when you looked up at him, his eyes were unfocused, his mind somewhere else. Reaching up in a moment of boldness you touch the side of his face, bringing him back down to reality...

"Where is your room?" You asked, he looks at you confused. 

"Very end of the hall." He said, jerking his head in that direction. 

You break away from him and grab his hand, you lead him that way. He followed alone behind you, quiet and confused.. When you stopped at the last room he unlocked the door, still confused, but he held it open for you to come in.

Stopping just inside the door he turns to face you, his face guilty, and pained. 

"I'm sorry I can't do this." He breathed out, but before he could get too carried away you reached up again touching the side of his face. He leans into your hand without realizing what he was doing.. Or maybe he did… He was a hard person to read when he was acting, and this was no different...

"We're not going to do anything." You tell him, grabbing his hand leading him to the side of the bed. 

"I just couldn't stand the thought of you alone again tonight." 

Understand hit him hard, and the walls around him broke again, this time like a dam, letting loose a flood of tears in their wake. 

Lifting the cover he crawled into the bed. Holding the cover up for you to climb in too..

You climbed in the bed next to him, and he wrapped his arms and legs light around you. Taking another deep shaking breath. 

"Thank you." He finally whispers once he gets control of his emotions some...

"Let's get some sleep. You got a lot of people waiting on you in a few hours." You say, running your fingers through his hair, hoping you weren’t pushing him too far.. He was so hurt.. So broken... 

You don't know what gave you the boldness to do this. 

You just could leave him alone. 

Not like that..

Not that hurt. 

Not that alone. 

He didn't deserve what she did. He deserves to be treated like a damn God as hard as he worked for his family. 

Not to be cheated on and lied to.

After only 10 minutes you felt him relax, and his breaths deepen, finally falling into a deep sleep. You drifting off to your own deep sleep wrapped up in the arms of someone you'd had a crush on for almost 15 years. It wasn't even about that at this point though. You Couldn't stand how broken he looked. 

You just wanted to put him back together.

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[boyfriend-cal]

Hold On - Calum Hood

Description: based on the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet. You and Calum broke up about a month ago, but you send him a text when you need help.

Warnings: mention of a break-up, panic attacks, depression.  Word Count: 1.5k

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++

Calum stepped over the threshold of the door. They had been recording and filming for the Apple Music documentary, and he was tired, ready to go home. He’d convinced them to let him take a smoke break, so that’s exactly what he was doing. 

It was a habit he had picked up after you. Your break-up was fairly recent, it had only been a month, but you were always on his mind. Anytime he pulled out his phone, he expected a text from you telling him about something funny you saw while you were out that day, but those stopped a while ago. 

He didn’t expect it to be any different when he lit his cigarette and then pulled his phone out of his pocket, but it was. There was a text from you. It wasn’t lighthearted, it was the exact opposite.

cal I know it’s been a while, and you don’t want or need me anymore, but I can’t do it. I can’t let go of you. please help me.

It was alarming, to say the least. He knew your past of struggling with anxiety and depression, so his mind automatically went to the worst-case scenario. The cigarette between his lips fell to the ground as he shoved the door open. Calum ran through the hallways of the studio, frantic to find his car keys and tell the boys he was leaving. He feared that he was wasting precious time. He knew he was probably overreacting, but something was wrong either way. 

“I’ve got to go, Y/N needs me, and I’m sorry.” Calum throws the door open, and the words rush out of his mouth as he grabs his keys and jacket. No one has time to reply before the storm that is Calum passes, and the door is shut again. Ashton and Luke exchange worried glances as their producer groans. They cancel the rest of filming for that day.

 Calum breaks all the laws he can think of and probably more on his way over to your house. The last conversation you two ever had was playing through his head. You two had fought like you had so many times, but this time it was bad enough to make you both realize that what your relationship had turned into something neither of you wanted to be a part of. 

You were, in short, the best thing that ever happened to Calum. Sure, even though you two fought, he wouldn’t trade the good moments for anything. He couldn’t imagine living without you, and that was a big reason why this last month had been so hard for him. 

He was also wondering why you’d assumed he didn’t want or need you anymore. The two of you hadn’t talked since the long heartfelt conversation that lead to the breakup, so where would you have gotten that idea? 

Then he remembers, and his blood runs cold. The band had a song that was specific to a breakup and moving on, but Calum hadn’t written it. He mistakenly said in an interview that it wasn’t relevant when the album came out, but it was now. She must’ve believed him, but he hadn’t meant for her to hear it. He didn’t think she kept up with the band.

Calum punches the steering wheel out of anger, pressing his foot down on the gas pedal even further and feeling like this is the longest car ride he’s ever had to endure. When he gets to your apartment complex, he is in such a hurry that he doesn’t pull the keys out of the ignition after turning the car off. 

He races up the stairs, wondering if you still keep a key magnetized to the door under the wreath. You kept it there because it meant you’d always have a spare. You didn’t have any family in the area to give one to just in case you lost yours. Calum used to have his own, but he wondered what you’d done with it now. 

Finally, he reaches your door, and he finds the key. He knows the door is picky and doesn’t always open the first time you try. He wants to scream, but instead, he steps back and sighs. He has to calm down. When he gets the door open, he automatically calls out your name. 

You don’t answer. You’re curled up on the floor behind the locked bathroom door. Your thoughts are too loud to hear Calum anyway. It was one of the worst panic attacks you’d ever experienced. It was made worse after you irrationally sent the text to Calum. He’d think something terrible had happened to you, but you needed him. 

Calum quickly located the sounds of your cries but cursed when he realized the door was locked. He knocked, calling your name a couple more times. When the only response he got was muffled sobs, he quickly moved to your bedroom where he found a hairpin on the dresser. His hands shake as he tries to pick the lock. 

He honestly didn’t expect it to work, so when he hears the lock click, he has to take a second to compose himself. Then he opens the door. You’re sitting against the cabinet, breathing heavily and rapidly as you cry into your hands. Your legs are extended in front of you, so he steps over one and kneels in front. 

“Y/N? Baby, I’m here. I’m so sorry I made you think I wouldn’t be.” He hadn’t realized that he’d started crying until he felt a tear hit his knee. He reached out to gently pull your hands away from your face. 

Your red, bloodshot eyes and trembling lips make Calum’s heart shatter. “Hi Angel, I’m here. It’s okay.” 

The familiar pet name he used to call you seems to echo in your mind, but a new wave of tears hit you as you realize he’s probably only here because you sent him a text, not because he cares. Of course, he’d come, you didn’t have any family in this city. 

You pull your hands away from his as you begin to calm down. It’s like just his presence automatically grounds you, but the hurt that flashes across his face as you pull away almost sends you back over the edge. He doesn’t reach for you again or try to say anything else, he just sits back against the wall opposite of you. 

“You didn’t have to come.” You say finally, pulling your knees to your chest. 

“Of course, I did. I thought something terrible had happened.” Calum sits up a little more as if to let you know he’s serious. 

“And now that we’ve established that I’m fine, you can go.” You motion to the door, but instead of getting up, he shakes his head. 

“I do still need you, Y/N. I still want you. I know I said some things to the press that made it seem like I don’t, but I do. Do you think we made a mistake?” 

As he looks into your eyes, you feel like even if you lie, he’ll know. He was always the best at being able to tell how you really feel. “Everything in me is telling me it’s a bad idea because we broke up for a reason, but I don’t want to listen.” 

“I don’t want you to listen either. Come here.” Calum reaches his arms out, and you hesitate for only a second before you crawl over to him. You nuzzle yourself into him, feeling so warm from the familiarity. 

“We can do it, Angel. We both want things to change so we’ll both work on it together. It’s going to be okay.” You feel his throat vibrating as he runs his fingers through your hair. 

“I missed you, Cal. I’m sorry for making you worry, did I pull you away from something important?” You pull away from him just enough to actually see his face. 

“No,” He shakes his head, “Nothings more important than you.” 

You feel the automatic reflex to roll your eyes, and he smiles at you. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

“Oh stop it, we both know I look like a mess.” You move to hit his chest, but he catches your hand and intertwines your fingers. 

“I hope you weren’t lying about being pulled away from anything important because I really don’t want to leave this spot for a while.” You say, laying your head back on his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, I’m never leaving.”

---

the more I think about this, the more I realize this isn’t really anything like the song, but it’s what I thought of when I listened to it so I guess that counts

reblog/like if you enjoyed it or want to save it! feedback is always appreciated💕

taglist:  @calumsnatchedmyheart @cthoodsthetic @calssunflower @aulxna @sebastian-sunshine-stan @mikeyglifford @fluffsshawn @lustingfor5sos @bodaciousbonzi1996 @calum-booo

[lolitaxxis]

My therapist recently told me that I needed to write a letter to help me clarify my feelings, so here we go.

I guess I want to start about where my purpose used to be. For literally all of my life my identity was a student with a dream of being a therapist. I wanted to help people. I wanted to know that I COULD help people. This was a safe purgatory time of my life where I felt like all decisions I made were “safe” because they “didn’t count yet”. I guess you could say this is the period of my life where I was really starting to shape myself. I felt free to explore very obvious mistakes because I was young. It was a backwards type of learning; I was finding out exactly what I wanted and who I was by experiencing exactly what I didn’t want and figuring out who I wasn’t.

Things became more focused when I got into grad-school. For the first time in my life, and I mean the VERY first, this was a challenge that I signed up for for MYSELF and not for anyone else. This is also when I met the absolute love my life; subsequently, my love sparked his addiction and my entire world was flipped upside down. I was left shattered with everything I thought I “knew” about myself suddenly meaning absolutely nothing. 

My purpose at this time was: Throw yourself into school, make sure he doesn’t die, and drown yourself in literally all of the booze.

Turns out, he was not the love of my life. I am.

The rest of grad-school my purpose was learning how to love myself. That my mistakes didn’t determine my worth, no matter how small. I’m still working on this one. Much like my youth, this was a trial and error process. My biggest error, however, was finding purpose in how much I could be loved by others. By you. 

My purpose was to love you as perfectly as I could. To be the best girlfriend. My purpose was to prove to myself that I was worth love. Worth YOUR love because you made me feel like I wasn’t. 

For 3 years I searched for love, your love, and I never, ever, found it. And then I started my job. I found my purpose. My perceptive changed. I didn’t need your love, because I had mine. I had enough love for both of us.

At least I thought I did.

My job is hard. My job is like, really really fucking hard. Every time I tell someone this, they always combat it with how hard *their* job is in comparison. I acknowledge that most jobs are difficult, but I don’t think people understand. 

Let start with the shifts. 12 hour shifts are inhumane, but I take it anyway because I enjoy having 4 days off. That doesn’t make the 8th, 9th, 10th...11th....hour any easier, though. The duties are nothing extensive, but certainly tedious. A few groups a day, a few individual sessions, a lot of notes, treatment plans, updates, discharges, ect. This is where I have to practice the most self compassion because this is where I get the most feedback and I internalize criticism in a way that determines my credibility. I recently found out this is called Imposter Syndrome... or debilitating perfectionism. 

Now lets look at the atmosphere. I am surrounded, constantly, by 160 *newly* sober addicts. For an introvert, that is a nightmare. For an empath, this is literal agony. It is an actual emotional ambush by people who are seemingly in constant anguish. Anxiety, anger, despair, shame, resentment, anger, sadness. You name it, they feel it, and then I hold it for them. Most times I don’t give it back either. I just hold it. I hold it for them because I fucking care, and that is the problem. But that is also my purpose.  

For the first time in my life, I was putting my time, effort, heart and soul into my WORK and it surmounted to much more than I could ever imagine. You see, before I had put all of this energy into YOU and I never got anything back. You said you loved me, but I didn’t see it. You said you loved me, but I never felt it. I just heard it. For a long while, you actually had me believing that this inability to consume your love was because I needed too much and was not acknowledging what you were offering.  

What did you offer me, truly? For 8 months, I was not even acknowledge as someone you took pride it or even took seriously. For the 8 months to follow that, I was still living in the shadow of the “monster” who preceded me. Whilst all of this was happening, you kept your options open. I was focused on you. Cue the first betrayal. The worst part what that you filled my heart with so much anger and resentment toward another women who did. nothing. wrong. But you lied. As you do, so I learned..  You know you weren’t even the one to reach out to try to fix that? I did. I fixed it. It was not my responsibility to fix. The betrayals didn’t stop there. Always small, as far as I knew. But your attention wandered and your heart was still not invested. Or you were “scared”. Still, my love did not waiver. Finally you gave me a little. The smallest part of you. Forced by me, but still there. Finally. Finally. Finally. I am worth this mans love. I am worthy.

Fuck. YOU.

I had my own life to manage now, not just yours. But I stood to the plate. Do you know that I would go grocery shopping for your house AND my house? Do you need anything from the store? I think you’re out of toothpaste. Look I got us matching loofas! 

I would work all day long, go to YOUR house, and then cook YOU dinner because *you* were tired and wanted to play video games. The constant digital divide. All I wanted was you. I wanted your love. I wanted to feel love by you. I wanted it so bad, i would literally ask for it.

You told me you didn’t know how to give me what I wanted.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

And yet, I persisted. Resilience, stubbornness, you pick. 

But then I started my new job.  This is why my rant about my job is so important: I learned to stop giving energy to areas of my life that did not give me the same amount of purpose that I felt at work. 

These were complete strangers, most of which I can hardly remember their names, that left me with such passion and drive, that I finally realized what I had been missing my entire life and, most importantly, in my relationships.  Strangers I had just met showed me immense gratitude for being in their life.

You took me for granted, every day.

So finally, I got tired of it. I got tired of trying all of the time. I got tired for asking to be treated well, to be adored. I got tired of you coming to my recharge place and you being checked out the entire time. I got tired of going to your house and being left alone all night while you were getting loaded with your friends. I got tired of sacrificing my time and energy to have it completely shit on. I got tired of being lied to. Even when I gave you another chance, you couldn’t bare to tell me the truth - so you lost me, again. You wanted to feel better about yourself. I wanted to be cherished. And now I had perceptive.

I did it wrong, though. Not at first. I had the right to leave. I had the right to leave and stay gone, and I should have honored that. But, I loved you. I need you to understand how much I loved you. I wanted to see it work. I had a story in my head about how I wanted things to be. I completed ignored the reality in front of me how things actually were. So i tried again. This was were I went wrong. I was drained. You do not understand how drained I was. I was drained for all of the reasons our relationship was so hard to begin with. I was drained because my job is, like I said, really really hard and insanely emotionally taxing. I was drained because we were in the beginning of a pandemic and I could not make sense of what the world was. I was drained because I was stuck at home with myself and my thoughts and my feelings. You know, the stuff that was always there responding to my reality but I could never acknowledge because I was stuck in what I *wanted* to believe about us. 

I never lied when I said I wanted to be alone. I still always want to be alone. I am riddled with anxiety constantly. And not just my normal “generalized anxiety”. This is about to puke, chest pain, cant stop moving, why cant I pay attention or catch my breath, I think I am going to die, anxiety. Plus, I am still managing my depression, which leaves me longing for non-judgmental safety of my bed. I can’t spend time with friends long before my body begins to ache and my skin begins to crawl. This wasn’t just with you. It’s everyone. I’m struggling right now and I’m doing my best to not let it take over my life. You never understood, you just gave it space and then fucked your roommate  my friend. 

And then I met someone. I made a friend who knew nothing of me, but wanted to know everything about me. I made a friend who felt like I got to step outside of reality for a bit with. I made a friend who didn’t make me feel pressured to be attentive or seductive. Someone just wanted to know me and make me smile. And that was that. That is what I have needed this entire time.

I grew.

[teresaneele]

Summary: On top of a depressive episode, Ben and you break up. Still caring for you, he wants to help you to get better. And maybe there’s even a second chance for you? Word count: ~2k Warnings: Angst, depression, tiny mention of something that could be read as (possible) self-harm, break up A/N: I don’t even know what this is. The last week had me dealing with depression. So this is a therapeutic piece of writing first and an imagine second (which kinda explains the abrupt ending). It’s also the most personal thing I’ve ever published and probably ever will publish. And once again, although this has some humour in it if you squint, this is pretty angsty, so please be careful. And to anyone who knows the feeling of depression - I’m proud of you, if that counts for something. (Title is a lyric from “Without You” by Annaca ft Ursine Vulpine, they make beautiful music, go listen to them later) Comments/reblogs/any kind of feedback are of course always much appreciated!

You still have no idea why exactly it had happened.

The depression had hit you a few days ago, out of nowhere. Having been dating for a while, Ben had known immediately what was happening with you. And granted – it maybe hadn't been fair of you to say “I love you“ for the first time, being in that state. But you had been just so thankful for him caring about you and as your depression shouldn't dictate his timing of living, it shouldn't dictate your timing of living as well. Which was why you hadn't thought twice about it. He surely would have gotten the hints anway, wouldn't he? You had been completely unaware of the fact that this would lead to the end. That it would lead to him not saying anything for a moment. Until he had given a speech about how you meant a lot to him, how you really did and how much he cared for you. But not like you wanted him to. Not like you cared for him. You had had no idea that those three little words would lead to you asking him what went wrong. If he was panicking, because it had been too much at once. If he was thinking that it wouldn't work out because of the distance that obviously was there because of his job. Ben had replied how sorry he was. And that despite him being an actor he knew that there weren't such things as Hollywood endings. That you were just at different places in your relationship and it would be an unnecessary risk to keep going. To try and make the walls he had built around him coming down. He had asked you if you still wanted him in your life. You know he had phrased it that way because he had been avoiding the term “friends“, which you wouldn't have wanted to hear. “Of course I want you in my life,“ you had replied, giving him one last hug before watching him leave. It's only the next day when you're discussing your depression via a video chat. A stupid idea you both had together. As if seeing the other person suffering would magically solve all problems in the world.

“I'm sorry I'm letting you go through this,“ you say. “I shouldn't bother you with this, I don't even know what's wrong with me, like yes – what happened between us is part of this, but it feels like it's only the last nail in the coffin, you know? But it's...I don't know. All I do know is that I'm making you unhappy with this, I'm sorry. I'm so sor-“

- “Stop,“ he interrupts you. “Don't apologize for talking to me. Don't apologize for being who you are. I know I can't cure you and you know it too, but if me talking to you is helping even in the tiniest way, I'll gladly do it. You know I love you. I love you so much, just not in the way...not in the way...“

“The way I want you to love me. Got that, Ben.“ It should have been more obvious that the conversation would lead this way. You have to hold yourself back from lifting up your hand, trying to wipe away the tears from his face. The cold screen of your computer is all you would touch anyway.

- “It's unfair,“ he whispers.

“That's what feelings are,“ you reply.

- “Maybe in the next life?“ He suggests.

“Maybe then, yes,“ you confirm.

- “I really wish I could love you the way I should. The way you love me. You know that, right?“

All you manage to give as a reply, is a short nod. Silence falls over you. You're looking everywhere, just not at the screen in front of you, unaware of the fact that Ben is doing exactly the same thing. He's not able to see you being hurt any longer, just as you aren't able to see him that way. The time that passes feels like an eternity, until you finally decide to break the quietness. “Ben?“

- “Yes?“ There is almost something like hope in his voice. Like he's thinking you might have the solution for all of it.

“I- nothing. Goodnight. Thank you for everything.“ You barely hear his reply, so quickly you make sure to close the chat. “Nothing“ was probably one of the biggest lies you had ever told. You desperately want to tell him how him wanting to love you in a certain way, was an indicator of him actually already loving you exactly that way. Just like you trying not to love him any longer meant that you wouldn't be able to stop. You also want to tell him how you didn't want to wait for the next life, because you were living in this life. How you wanted to be worth the risk, because he definitely was. How you'd rather regret trying something and failing instead of not trying and never knowing at all. Instead, you swallow it all. It would be better for him if you never tell him your thoughts behind this little word, nothing, wouldn't it? You grab your phone. “I'm sorry,“ you text him, although you're not even sure what exactly you are apologizing for. The reply appears on your screen almost as soon as you had sent your message; as if he had typed it already, knowing what you would write. “Don't be.“

 The night somehow goes by in a strange mix of not being able to sleep and then not being able to wake up in the morning. You don't know how you're doing it, but after a while you manage to sit up. In fact you can never quite grasp how you manage to do things when you feel the way you're feeling – but in the end, you always survive. No matter how many times Ben, or a friend, maybe a family member or even yourself – no matter how many times they had to get you away from something you were bashing some part of your body against; no matter how bad you felt, you always survived. Interestingly, the thought of always surviving is exactly what brings you to not giving up in the first place. You take a look at your phone. “How are you?“ Ben. You witness somebody letting out a snort, needing a moment to notice that it was yourself who did it. “Terrible,“ you send back, deciding to be honest. If it wasn't so sad, it would be almost funny – how on earth should you feel? You know you would get back to a normal, a good state at some point – but that would take days. Weeks maybe. And the breakup? Perhaps even longer. You stare at the screen for a while, waiting if he's going to reply. Of course he doesn't. You're having a few days off, not him. You toss the phone aside. And pick it up again. It's a game you're playing until it's suddenly afternoon. A friend picks you up a bit later, taking you out for a walk that you're spending with thinking about if it makes you feel better or not. In the evening you find yourself sitting on the couch, doing nothing but staring at your surroundings. Until your phone rings. “Hi Ben,“ you say. - “I'm sorry you're not feeling any better,“ he says. “At least not feeling good means I'm still feeling.“ You shrug even though you know he can't see it. - “What are you doing?“ He asks. You almost reply with “surviving“, but decide that it sounds too dramatic. Instead you say, “Nothing, to be honest. I'm terribly bored, but I can't find the motivation to do anything about it.“ He would know that already of course. There had been more than enough occassions when he just had joined you sitting in the dark, doing nothing. If somebody had asked you before, you would have said it wouldn't make any difference if you were alone during this sessions or not. The truth is different though. Ben's voice brings you back into the moment. “It will pass.“ It sounds like a promise. “Is there anything I can do to help?“ - “I don't think so,“ you reply. “But you wanting to help is already some kind of help. Does that make sense?“ “Maybe. I'm always there for you, okay?“ - “I know. Goodbye, Ben.“ “Get well soon.“ It indeed once again passes. It's passing together with the days. It's passing with every smile you give because you want to give it and not because you feel like you have to. The pain of missing Ben stays – obviously. It never had been there because of your illness, it had just been the icing on the cake that nobody wanted to eat. The two of you had stopped talking on the phone; all your conversations are taking place through text messages now. This doesn't mean the disctance is growing between you – of course it doesn't, the written word is not worth less than the spoken one. It's just easier to take the time with replying. To convince yourself that there's nothing unsaid behind every sentence. That there is no meaning behind it like it had been when you had lied with saying ”nothing“. It's only when Ben texts you that he's glad you are feeling good again that you snap. “I don't feel 'good' again,“ you type with putting unneccesary much pressure onto the keyboard. “I'm out of the depression, but I still love you, so obviously I don't feel good.“ You regret it as soon as you have send the message. “I'm sorry,“ you send directly after. Ben ignores the last message, probably because he knows you are aware of the fact that you are apologizing too much. “I don't feel good either, if that helps“ - “As if that would help“ You're still typing too furiously. “I wish there was something that would help though“

- “Guess there isn't“

He's not sending anything back and in this moment you don't make much of it. What else would there be to say than maybe, “Hm“? To type that would fall under wasted energy for Ben, so it's no wonder that he's not doing it.

When he still hasn't written anything back the evening after, you catch yourself being worried. In fact you have to admit that you had been worried in the afternoon already, which is why you had sent him a simple “Hope you had a nice day so far“.

“Maybe he's just having a lot to do. Or he's hanging out with friends,“ you tell yourself, refraining from sending him another “I'm sorry“. Sorry for what even? For everything. You shake your head. The only thing that's taking a bigger place in the whole situation than being sad, is being annoyed about being sad. But still – you can't stop yourself from wanting to hear just something from him. Whatever it would be. It's just that you need to be reminded that you exist. And that he knows it. Your thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of your door bell. Somehow you don't follow your first impulse of wanting to play dead but open the door. To your own surprise the first thing you're saying when you see him is, “What the hell, Ben?“ in a completely flat tone. - “There is something that can help us,“ he says. It's all happening automatically. You pulling him inside, him grabbing your face and starting to kiss you, you kissing him back. His walls starting to crumble. Putting all of the things you have to talk about later into that one kiss. Realizing when his tongue is finding yours, that Hollywood endings maybe just don't exist because people don't even bother trying to make them happen. And knowing that it maybe not has to be the next life when's he's wiping away the tears from your cheeks. Maybe it can be this one after all.

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary's Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Hello dear people! It’s been a while since the last part part of The Clinic was uploaded, which has mainly to do with the fact that my original blog of six years was deteled by Tumblr without any sign or warning, and they would not react to any mails so I had to start all over; and two weeks into waiting for them to reply my laptop broke down and I had to take it back to the store. They said it would take 3-4 days to fix it but it took 18 so that was great! However, I now have my laptop back, and I have a new blog (with basically the same name but different dashes). Please feel free to talk to me and shoot me messages! I’m feeling kind of lonely on my new blog still :s

Anyway! The good news is that I finished Part 16 on an alternative laptop, and Part 17 will be finished before the end of the week also, and will follow suit! 

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

‘We’ll see you tomorrow, then, in doctor Imholz’ office. Try and fill in as much of this paperwork already, and make sure to be on time.’

With that, a stack of files, and a handshake from each of the individuals present in the dusty but surprisingly spacious staff meeting room, Brian was given permission to leave the room, and he all but stumbled outside. When he closed the door behind him, he could not help but lean against it with his back, close his eyes, and take a deep breath - something he felt like he had been unable to do for the past two hours. 

After having announced to Nolan and doctor Imholz the evening before that he intended to file for a reassessment to try and be dismissed from Queen Mary’s for the sake of being able to support John when he was released, his mentor had called together what they had called a crisis meeting in which staff discussed the viability of Brian’s wish to be released before. It had been a long and stressful meeting, one in which Brian had largely been left to sit back and let people he’d never been aware were responsible for his progress throw technical terms and mental jargon at each other. He had hardly been asked to explain his reasons for wanting to leave Queen Mary’s so soon, but the overall consensus in the end was that they would grant his wish for a reassessment. That was - he had been at Queen Mary’s for at least three months; had never perpetrated any acts of disobedience, vandalism, violence, and the like; had never skipped any meetings with his superiors; had always displayed what Nolan had called ‘proper and respectable behaviour towards staff and patients’, and, borderline or not, he was deemed capable enough to make his own decisions and understanding the consequences of them. 

Thank God. At least they still treated him as human despite the label they had stuck on him.

‘How’d it go?’

Brian recognised the voice of the speaker sooner than he saw him, even though he should have been able to see him from - as a matter of speaking - miles away. Being one of the few patients with long blond hair, Roger always stood out a bit; but now that he was the only one to be seen in the otherwise empty hallway, let alone that he was leaning against the wall right across from Brian, really made hi unmistakeable to Brian, even now that his mind was spinning like a whirlwind. 

‘Eh… I think it went alright?’ Brian said somewhat hesitantly. ‘They said I meet the, uh, qualifications to apply for a reassessment.’

‘And?’ Roger asked, eyes brightening with hope but still a bit cautious, as he, of course, had no idea what had been discussed in his absence. 

‘They said they’ll make a phone call to the board right this afternoon to formally open the process of reassessment.’

‘No way! That’s great news! You’ll get to leave!’ Roger all but shouted across the hallway, and before Brian could prepare for it, he was tackled in a hug so sudden and so tight that he almost dropped the stack of papers he had been clutching against his chest. To be fair, he was still clutching them against his chest; now that Roger had enveloped him in a nearly reckless embrace, there was no other place for him to put his arms other than squeezing them tight against his body. It was uncomfortable for a bit, mainly because Brian wasn’t so outgoing himself, and wasn’t used to Roger behaving this way either. However, as Roger continued to hold him tight and seemed to try and rock him encouragingly by skipping from one leg to the other, all while unintelligible but nonetheless encouraging sounds escaped him, Brian could not help but smile. It was good to see Roger, who he had seen so down and helpless during multiple relapses into whatever drugs he could find himself, be in such a positive mindset again. Of course, nothing was set in stone yet, and Brian realised all too well that chances were that incriminating information against him could be found during his trial, that the psychiatrist who would be called in to examine him could vote against him leaving, and that the jury might deem him unable of returning to society as of yet. But if the official start of his procedure to try and be acquitted from Queen Mary’s brought his friend so much hope and joy, then who was Brian to bring him down?

‘Oh my God, and you’ll be able to leave Queen Mary’s and live happily ever after with John far away from this clown academy!‘ Roger continued to mumble against Brian’s shoulder, and Brian snorted. 

‘That’s a name for Queen Mary’s I haven’t heard before.’

‘Am I wrong though?’ Roger asked, looking up at him in all seriousness. His blue eyes shone brighter than they had done in ages, and Brian couldn’t help but wish that Roger could always be like this, bright and bubbly and alert and happy. 

‘You’re not. But if you don’t stop crushing me now, this clown will have to be admitted into the infirmary with a pair of broken ribs.’

Roger let go of him with a sigh. ‘Don’t think I will leave clown academy alive if John finds out I broke your ribcage.’

Brian felt his heart skip a beat at the mentioning of the name of his partner. John, who had gone through a dreadful night filled with tearful wake-ups and nightmares, and who unfortunately had been least comforted by the idea that Brian was filing for a reassessment among the four of them. Brian had hoped that making that promise to John would alleviate his worries, but it hadn’t quite been the miracle cure he had hoped for. Looking back at it, he should have known better than to think that John’s grey skies would turn to blue at the mere mentioning of the option of reassessment. Despite the fact that John’s depression turned every good news bleak, it was also not at all guaranteed yet that he’d actually be allowed to leave. After this morning’s meeting they had clarity at least to the extent that Brian could be filed for a reassessment, but this of course did not mean his case would be approved of, or how long it would take for his psychiatrists to come to a conclusion. It might take months for all he knew - months of time he simply did not have. 

‘How is he?’ Brian asked carefully. 

‘Very quiet ever since you left for that meeting. We couldn’t persuade him to go out with us to play, so we stayed with him in our dorm.’

‘Thanks,’ Brian said. ‘That you didn’t- didn’t go off without him.’

‘Of course not. We know he’s not very stable at the moment, and he might do things that he’d…’ Roger’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right words to express what they both knew was possible but which neither of them was particularly eager to speak out loud. ‘Either way, he’ll be glad to hear you’ve been approved for reassessment.’

‘Yes, we should go tell him,’ Brian said, trying to oppress the hint of excitement he felt; after all, he had no idea how or even if John was going to react to this spark of good news. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the canteen with Freddie. Can you imagine how confused I was to see Freddie having to drag John to the canteen instead of the other way around?’ Brian, who could not picture the scene at all, shook his head. ‘Come on, I’ll take you there. Lunch started about ten minutes ago but I’m sure they saved us a plate. I’m bloody starving.’

Brian again nodded in agreement - that was, to the part where Roger said they would head back to the canteen. He was not exactly hungry, and would not mind at all if John, in his current state of depression, and Freddie, with his current solitary task of keeping an eye on John, hadn’t thrown some mediocre sandwiches and milk cartons together for their missing friends. Roger might mind a little more, though; he had gone without heroin for quite some days now, and as a result of this was starting to get food cravings. The evening before he had eaten more than all of his roommates together, and breakfast this morning had followed the same pattern. Freddie had looked at him with a glance of horror and Brian could swear he could see Freddie counting up the number of calories and the grams of fat in his head as Roger was making his way through his third serving of milk and honey loops. Personally Brian didn’t think of it as a problem at all. Roger was skin and bone after years of heroin dependency, so if this sudden food /sprawl/ would result in a few extra pounds, it would probably be for the better.

Brian followed Roger through the hallway, half-heartedly listening to his talk of the constant headaches and cold shivers that he experienced now that it had been numerous days without heroin or any other addictive. He nodded and said ‘yes’ and ‘amen’ when appropriate, but it wasn’t until Roger shouted at him to watch his step that he was taken out of the depth of his own mind.

‘Is it Tuesday today? I hope it’s Tuesday, it’s when they sometimes have croissants at lunch. If so, I hope Freddie saved me some, because I’m seriously craving some croissants with jam right now- watch your step!’

A strong hand around his wrist tugged him to the side, and Brian almost lost his balance. His first instinct was to scold Roger for catching him off guard all of a sudden, but when he looked down at the floor below him, his flurry of anger disappeared at once. Half leaning against the wall, half sprawled across the floor was a young man, whose closed eyes and pale face at once struck Brian as a corpse. 

‘Oh my God, Oh my God, Roger-’ Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered a few steps back, staring in pure disbelief at his friend, who somehow remained completely calm and unbothered as he crouched down next to the body.

‘It’s okay. It’s nothing,’ Roger told him. ‘Or well, nothing- just some drugs. He’s still breathing and I can feel a pulse,’ Roger said, his hand around the man’s wrist. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’  

‘You know this guy?’ Brian asked, still keeping at least a six feet distance between him and the guy who seemed more dead than alive.  

‘Of course. We’re in counseling together every morning. Group therapy or whatever it’s called,’ Roger said nonchalantly. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’ he repeated - and then, when the guy again did not reply, a sharp slap to his left cheek made Brian shriek and Alexej groan and open one tired eye.

‘Roger!’ Brian whimpered.

‘Don’t worry. I’m in this scene, I know what I’m doing,’ Roger replied without looking up, and Brian was unsure if this answer should console him or stress him out even more. ‘Alex, say something.’

‘Hnn… I feel fuckin’… awful, man,’ the guy said under his breath, but Brian was still able to hear, besides the Slavic accent, the slur in his voice. He had no idea how Roger stayed calm in the midst of this, but then again - Freddie had also always remained calm and collected whenever Roger messed up his clean streak again and was found lying on the dorm room floor with a syringe lodging in his elbow. It was something some people could apparently get used to, but Brian had known right from the start that he was not among these ‘happy few’, or whatever one wanted to call them. 

‘Bet you do. Now, listen. Did you do this yourself?’ Roger asked him. Alexej nodded slowly, and Roger did so too. ‘How much?’

‘Wha?’ Alexej opened one eye again.

‘How many grams?’

His eye fell shut again. ‘Don’t… recall.’

‘Right. Well, sit still, I’m taking this syringe out of you.’ With trained expertise, Roger pulled the needle out of the man’s elbow. It was only when the object had been removed that Brian could see how bruised the skin in and around the addict’s elbow was. The image of it made him queasy, even though he had beheld similar sights on Roger’s arms time and time again. 

Alexej grunted when the tip of the needle was removed from his skin, and a drop of blood trickled down from the small puncture. Roger wiped it away and held the syringe up in the air to inspect the item at close quarters. Brian could not have determined anything from the injection, but Roger, an expert of the field, shook his head condemningly.

‘The filler area is still half full, and there are particles in it. Where’d you get this trash?’

‘Geoff sold it to me.’

‘Of course he did,’ Roger rolled his eyes. ‘Listen, don’t buy his shit again. If this is baking soda or whatever it can cause serious problems,’ he lectured, as if doing heroin wasn’t dangerous enough on its own. Brian would have snorted if the entire situation wouldn’t have been so pathetic. ‘It can clog your blood vessels or even arteries, and you can die from that. I know life in here is shit but it’s not worth dying for. You’re with me?’

‘Got it,’ Alexej grumbled.

Roger nodded, then held the injection up in the air again. ‘This syringe must be rather new. The needle is still very sharp - you don’t see that often in here,’ he said, lightly jabbing the tip of it against his forefinger, which made Brian more than a little nervous. ‘You don’t mind if I keep this as a reward for helping you, Alex, do you?’ he asked, and brought the injection up to the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Roger!’ Brian hissed, and his friend looked up with an innocent expression that definitely was completely unfit for the current situation.

‘What?’ Roger asked.

‘Put that back!’ Brian told him, and Roger, bringing up the syringe again, stared at the object, then at the source of it, and then back at Brian.

‘You mean like this?’ he asked, and Brian couldn’t prevent a gasp of horror when he saw the tip of the needle disappear into the bruised inner area of Alexej’s elbow - quite literally the place it came from indeed.

‘Roger! Stop that!’ he whimpered.

‘Just joking,’ grinned Roger, who then showed that he’d slid the needle right past Alexej’s arm, but which from Brian’s viewing angle made it look as if he’d jammed the injection right back into his arm.

‘Not funny,’ Brian all but pouted, unsure if his heart rate would recover from this stunt of Roger’s anywhere soon. 

‘It was hilarious and you know it,’ Roger said before turning to the person still on the floor. ‘Now, let’s get you on your legs and to the infirmary,’ Roger concluded and placed his hands under Alexej’s armpits, but his patient moved away from him with the little strength he could still muster.

‘No,’ he protested. ‘No infirmary. Been there. Isolation…’ From these half-sentences Roger and Brian were able to conclude that Alexej didn’t want to be sent to the infirmary out of fear that they’d put him in isolation to sober him up, but Roger clearly thought this objection was irrelevant.

‘I’m not gonna have you die on me, Alex,’ he said, gesturing for Brian to come over and help him haul the man off the floor. Brian cautiously stepped closer and positioned himself at the other side of his body, and hesitantly followed Roger’s example of placing his arm under Alexej’s armpit.

‘Won’t… just… no nurses,’ their companion said, struggling to try and keep himself on the floor when Brian’s and Roger’s joint power tried putting him back on his feet. Roger and Alexej argued back and forth, until Roger eventually told his groupmate that he could go if he’d be able to climb the stairs up to the dorm rooms himself. Having made this deal, Alexej allowed Brian and Roger to pick him up beneath the armpits and escort him through the hallway and towards the stairs, on the way of which they fortunately did not come across any staff members who might notice that something was off.

It took some time, persistence, and Roger’s threat of calling in the nurse after all to get Alexej upstairs and in bed. Brian judged that he looked somewhat better than he had done before, and after having gotten him a glass of water and Roger promising him he’d drop by later that afternoon to check up on him, the two men left the room behind to finally go to lunch and meet their friends. Roger was a little disgruntled at having missed the largest share of lunchtime, as he was still ‘hungry enough to eat an entire horse,’ and Brian was anxious to see John and bring him the news. They skipped downstairs, paced towards the canteen, and Brian had Roger somewhat begrudgingly throw the syringe he’d gotten from the encounter with Alexej in the bin before they entered the canteen. They found their friends at the usual spot at the back of the canteen, and Brian all but ran towards them. Somehow Roger was still faster than he was - presumably because he saw a plate loaded with croissants in the middle of the table, the promise of which seemed to make him forget about the syringe he’d just had to throw away on Brian’s watch. 

Once they reached the table, Roger was the first to slump down on the chair next to Freddie, and Brian sat down across from him on the vacant chair next to John. John did not look up at either of them, which made Brian’s heart sink a bit - but the smallest of a smile appeared on his partner’s face when he put his hand over those John had placed in his lap.

Roger was the one to do the talking once he’d settled down and grabbed a croissant from the plate. ‘Sorry we’re late. Had to patch up someone of my drugs group again.’

‘Henry again?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, Alexej. The Latvian guy,’ Roger mumbled between two bites of croissant.

‘Don’t think I know a Latvian guy around here,’ Freddie frowned. ‘But what do I care! How did the meeting go, Brian? Please tell me you’ve got some good news.’

Brian smiled at him, which was really all he had to do; the mere curling of his lips made Freddie squeal in delight.

‘You were approved for reassessment! Oh my God!’ Freddie flashed the biggest smile he’d ever seen him do, and even John looked up with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. ‘You’ll get to leave with Deaky!’

‘I’ve merely been approved, Freddie,’ said Brian, who - despite loving Freddie’s enthusiasm - knew he had to remain realistic. However, now that he had seen John smile at the good news, he allowed himself to share some positivity between the four of them. ‘But they’ve gone to my records and found nothing against me. No drugs smuggling or violence or being disrespectful towards the staff or anything, so the process can go ahead.’

‘Darling, that’s amazing news,’ Freddie said. ‘So what happens now? When will you have meetings with your psychiatrist and such?’

‘I’ll be assigned a new psychiatrist to evaluate me. Someone neutral, they said. I’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning,’ Brian said.

‘What’s his name?’ Freddie asked.

‘You probably don’t know him - he’s coming from an external mental hospital. They have to make sure he doesn’t know a thing about me yet and can’t be prejudiced in any way. Even Sarah and Jasper and doctor Imholz don’t know him,’ Brian said. ‘But his name is Fisher. I hope he’s alright.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be alright. And even if he’s dumb, all you’ll have to do is keep up with him for what, two sessions or so?’ Roger said, grasping the second croissant of the plate.

‘Five sessions,’ Brian corrected him. ‘I’ll see him once every day starting tomorrow until the end of the week. Then he’ll make a judgement about whether I’m ready to leave or not, and if he approves, he’ll vouch in favour of my request at the final hearing.’

‘Final hearing?’

‘Yes, in like three, three and a half weeks my case will go to a kind of court that will decide what to do. You know, two people from the board that rule this and other mental hospitals across the country will hear my case, and make a final decision. Those and - and my former psychiatrist.’ Brian could hear his own voice fall when he mentioned this past member of the jury. He had repressed every memory of professor Sumner for the past few days, even though he knew that once he’d go for a reassessment he would be standing eye to eye with him sooner or later. The thought of it was enough to make him shiver, which John seemed to realise, too. Somewhere along the line of the conversation, Brian had retreated the hand he’d placed on top of John’s hand to be able to awkwardly pluck at his own nails, but now he felt John putting his hand on his upper leg and gently stroking him as a form of wordless comfort. They shared a sideways glance with each other and smiled, which was enough to make Brian realise that his partner’s happiness was worth having to deal with Sumner again a thousand times over. 

Roger, still, was unimpressed with the entire procedure. ‘I think just skipping over the barbed wire would be easier than going through all of this crap. But I’ve gotta admit that I’m pleasantly surprised. I never would have thought Queen Mary’s would be able to pull off an actual protocol like this.’

‘Well, we don’t know that yet,’ Brian said. ‘They called someone in to evaluate me, is all they’ve done so far. And handing me two threes worth of paperwork to fill out.’ He nodded at the pile of papers he had dragged along from the meeting, and Freddie was the first one to pick up the documents lying on top to have a look.

‘Code of conduct. Mental health statement. Mental health history. Family background. Plan for return to society,’ Freddie read out loud. ‘It’s as if you’re to become the British ambassador to Saudi Arabia or something.’

‘I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me,’ Brian said, massaging his temples with his fingertips. Nolan had quickly gone over many of the papers he’d have to fill out in the following weeks, but the amount of them had been so staggering that Brian had felt himself drift off after half a minute. He knew he’d have to bring himself around to fill everything out as well as possible, but the idea of it seemed so daunting. It was so weird, so final, to know that this could be his way out of Queen Mary’s. That within a month he could be free again, free to go and do as he pleased, instead of being locked behind the barred windows and the barbed fences of a mental health institution. It was as if he had been at Queen Mary’s for years, yet at the same time he felt like it had been just yesterday when he had handed over his suitcase and said goodbye to his parents. He wanted nothing more than to leave, especially for the sake of John, but he was nervous. What if he wasn’t ready for it yet? His depression was nowhere near cured, and since no one so far really seemed to know what caused and what could alleviate borderline, he doubted he was very much cured in that area. What if he was to leave Queen Mary’s only to have a breakdown, and be shipped right back in? What would become of John if Brian proved to be unable to deal with the mental mess he still found himself dealing with?

‘When is all of this due?’ asked Freddie as he piled up the lot of papers again.

‘The first papers for tomorrow. Not all of it, but… quite some, I think,’ Brian said. A mere look at the stack of paper was enough to make him feel nervous. 

Roger whistled shortly. ‘I was gonna invite you to go outside and play some music, but I’m afraid you won’t have time for that then?’ 

‘I’m afraid not, no,’ Brian answered. ‘This is, eh, kind of more important at the moment. I need to get this done as much as I can.’

‘I’ll come with you. I’ll help you fill them out,’ John said resolutely, and Brian felt his heart swell.

‘Thank you. I’d love that,’ he whispered at his partner, who smiled at him a little shyly. 

‘Marvellous. Do you want us to help you, too, or should we make way for you to get down to paperwork?’ Freddie asked. Normally Brian would have been too nervous to tell them off, but now that so much was at stake and four people working on the same task would probably just distract him, Brian politely told them John and he would manage on their own - something that, much to his relief, went down well with Freddie.

‘Great. But first the two of you got to eat. Both of you haven’t had any lunch yet, and the canteen is closing in like five minutes. Can you believe that I’ve actually gone through an entire croissant while you weren’t here?’

‘An entire croissant?’ asked an obviously surprised Roger, who never would have expected his boyfriend to eat something like that if not directly faced with the threat of being dragged into the infirmary if he would not budge and eat the calorie bomb.

‘Don’t get too excited, dear. I was merely trying to persuade John to eat,’ Freddie said, which, Brian decided, sounded a lot more like something he would do.

‘You haven’t had anything yet, then?’ Brian asked John, who shrugged.

‘No. Not really hungry.’

‘Even not now that Brian’s come back with such good news?’ Roger asked, but the answer remained no. ‘Come on, Deaks, you have to eat something. Or do you need me to use my techniques for Freddie on you for a change?’ 

John now grimaced, and picked up a croissant from the plate, from which he slowly started plucking strips of bread. Roger, Freddie, and Brian enthusiastically spoke of the progress Brian’s case might be making and what to say to doctor Fisher when he would be standing eye in eye with him - whether to be all upbeat or to be sincere about his emotional condition. Brian, in the meantime, could not really get a hold on what John was feeling. On the one hand he did nod and smile every now and then, and answered without a problem when he was asked a question by one of his friends. Still, his heart did not seem in it, and when the lunch lady came over to tell them lunchtime was over, he had only munched down about half of the croissant, and seemed relieved he was now able to toss the remains of it back on the plate. It was Brian who tried to see if there would be some leeway that would allow them to take some food up to their room.

‘Could we maybe just finish these last croissants upstairs?’ he asked the middle-aged woman, who scanned him and his friends over for a few seconds. ‘It’s just that we had a special meeting with our psychiatrist and only got here five minutes ago,’ Brian tried, which seemed to make the lady think.

‘You know that officially I can’t allow that. It’s against policy,’ she said.

‘Please? John here has barely had anything yet,’ Brian added.

‘It’s okay,’ John said. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a cup of tea and we’ll go back to our room,’ he said, giving a nod into the direction of the vendor at the other side of the canteen.

‘I’m afraid that won’t do,’ the woman said. 

‘Are you in that much of a hurry to close off the canteen?’ Brian asked. He knew staff had been given orders from above to close off the canteen right after mealtimes, but did that really leave no room for someone to grab a drink before leaving? 

‘Darlings, have you been living underneath a stone?’ Freddie asked. ‘The coffee and tea vendor has been dismantled.’

‘The coffee vendor- why?’ Brian asked with genuine surprise.

‘Because last week Drew threw a cup of burning coffee in Clyde’s face, and he had to be taken to the local hospital for who knows what sort of degree facial burns,’ Roger said with an equal amount of amusement as irritation in his voice. 

‘I don’t even know why this sort of thing surprises me any longer,’ said Brian, lowering his face into his hands. If anything, it should surprise him that none of the masterminds they were surrounded by had come up with the idea of pulling off this prank earlier.

‘This is why we can’t have nice things, I suppose,’ John sighed, the legs of his chair scratching over the floor as he stood up.

‘You know, just take your croissant. You don’t strike me as the trouble-making kind,’ the woman said, which made Freddie grin mischievously, telling Brian that something undoubtedly inappropriate was about to leave his lips.

‘Obviously you haven’t met cold turkey Roger before his seven o’clock shower blowjob yet,’ Freddie said with one arm sneaking around Roger’s waist, but it was quickly batted away by his less than amused boyfriend. 

‘Thank you. We’ll be on our way,’ Brian said to the woman who now looked at them as if she saw water burning. He caught Roger’s lower arm to drag him along and make sure he would not stay behind to say anything in reply to Freddie’s comment that could make the situation even worse than it was already. John understood the hint and followed right behind with the stack of papers Brian had left on the table, and Freddie, probably out of fear of being left to explain himself to a now traumatised lunch lady, wasted no time in following suit. 

Brian all but ushered the couple out of the canteen, and only let go of Roger when his friend was done threatening Freddie that he would take revenge on him one way or another. By the time this happened, they had reached their bedroom already; John opened the door and practically burst into their safe haven. Putting the paperwork on Brian’s nightstand, he flopped down on his own bed, covering his face in his hands. 

Brian was not too sure what to make of this behaviour. John had always seemed relieved to be back in their room after a long morning of group therapy and two shared mealtimes, but his relief to be able to crawl back into seclusion again for the upcoming hours seemed to consist of something more this time. John was still stressed out and feeling down regarding the judgement which had been made concerning his more or less forced removal from Queen Mary’s in a month, and the steps Brian had undertaken to try and be admitted in time with him had so far done little to ease his nerves. He wished he could do something for John to help him ease out of the whirlwind of worries and depressive thoughts, but for the time being, there was little he could do. Promising John he would be right there with him on the day he would be acquitted would be too risky; after all, even though things looked good for him so far, he could not guarantee that his case would be approved of by the jury of mental health experts he would have to appeal to at the end of this trial. Even if it was, he did not know when he would be set free from Queen Mary’s. The judgement date had been set at approximately three and a half weeks from now, meaning that he’d get to hear the decision a few days before John’s expulsion date. He doubted however if Queen Mary’s would let go of him right away, or if - just like in the case of John - they’d allow another month between the judgement and the date of dismission, to allow for a month of transition time. John was currently in the dismission period, which meant he had sessions with social workers who tried to help him establish a routine for when he’s got to leave and return to his old life.

Not that there was much left of his old life, in all honesty. Both his mother and the aunt and uncle he had lived with had thrown him out, and he had no other addresses to return to. The address Brian and he had discussed was that they’d go and live with Brian’s parents for the first few months, before finding an apartment on their own somewhere in the city - which was a plan Brian’s parents had approved of once they had overcome the shock of hearing that Brian was going for a reassessment to leave Queen Mary’s less than six months after he had been sent to it. The counsellors John had spoken too, however, were less convinced of this plan - mainly because it was of yet unsure if Brian would be released at all, or when exactly this would be. They were busy trying to set John up with guided community housing for people just released from hospital, prison, or mental institutions like the one he came from, taking no note of the fact that it would make John miserable to live in a community setting with around the clock guidance and interference. Brian knew that these social workers meant well, but he thought it really rather objectionable that they refused to listen to John’s opinion on being sent to a housing group, and kept pushing forward their vision regardless of the wishes of the one they worked for. The inability of the counsellors and John to see eye to eye on the question of where he was to go after Queen Mary’s would deliver him back into society made John cooperative to the counselling sessions, and brought stress and tension to his days and nights. Brian wished he could drag the counsellors over the desk by their ties and tell them what he thought of their method of ‘helping’ his partner, but since the sessions were closed to John and his mentor only, there was little he could do. All that was within his power was trying to convince his partner that they’d work their way around it, that his parents were willing to let him in even if Brian would not have been set free yet, and pray that his case would be approved of as soon as possible.

‘I’ll just grab my lyrics book and then Roger and I will be on our way,’ Freddie said as he dug through the stack of notebooks in the drawer of his nightstand. ‘Is there anything we can do for you before you leave?’

Apart from a handful of witty comments in the style of ‘burn down Queen Mary’s’ and ‘bribing the judges to make sure they approve of Brian’s case’ John and Brian had little serious matters to ask for, so Freddie and Roger left them with the promise that they’d be gone for a few hours so that the other couple could have lots of time to get down to the paperwork. They left with a handful of pens and a few notebooks, and before they knew it, Brian and John had the entire room to themselves.

‘Well then,’ said John, who by now had removed his hands from his face and reached out for the bunch of papers. ‘Shall we get going, then?’

Brian, in all honesty, was a tad disappointed by John’s offer to get right down to business. He would have preferred to first take a moment to talk about how John was doing today, with the eye on his partner’s reassessment case and the idea of having to leave sooner or later, but he could tell that John had brought up the idea of doing straight to the paperwork that needed to be tackled just so they would not have to talk about how he felt. Brian was not entirely sure if this was the right way to deal with one’s emotions, but after recent events, he knew better than to push John into talking when his boyfriend clearly did not want to. 

‘Alright,’ Brian said, taking a seat on his own bed. ‘What’ve you got there?’

John skimmed through the papers. ‘Family background and Code of Conduct. What do you wanna start with?’

‘I’ll have Code of Conduct. If I’m not mistaken that’s just the way I’m supposed to behave after I leave Queen Mary’s,’ Brian said, holding out his hand for John to give him the papers. Their beds had moved close enough to be at an arm’s length from each other, and Brian suspected it would not take long before they’d permanently shove their beds together just like Freddie and Roger did. 

‘I’ll have a look at the family background. See if there’s anything weird in there,’ John said, to which Brian nodded. For a moment or so they both quietly read through their assigned papers, the only sound being that of flicking papers and that of John’s humming. Though it distracted Brian from reading a little, he had never heard his partner hum before, and decided to let it be - it was cute, after all, and a sign that John felt comfortable. 

‘It says here I’m not supposed to spread overly negative opinions about Queen Mary’s,’ Brian eventually said. ‘And that I’m not allowed to reach out to the press to share negative experiences anonymously.’

‘So does that mean you can share negative experiences un-anonymously?’ John asked.

‘I guess so. Maybe because they can trace me down and beat me up then,’ Brian said.

‘They would if they’d have staff they could miss,’ John grinned.

Brian flicked the page, and read in comfortable silence until a question popped up in his mind. ‘Have you had similar papers to sign? You know, since you’ll be leaving soon?’

‘Yeah, these things sound kind of familiar,’ John said. ‘I just never paid much attention to them.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Not after I asked if they would keep me if I refused to sign, and they said I’d be let go of regardless,’ John said, and Brian felt a pang of hurt when he was reminded once again that John did not really want to leave this place that was the only home he’d known for these past two years. ‘These papers are just a formality.’

‘Oh. Should I just sign then regardless?’

‘I don’t think you’ll be approved of if you refuse to sign their dumb codes of conduct, I’m afraid,’ John judged. ‘Besides, spilling the beans on Queen Mary’s doesn’t seem like something you’d do anyway.’

‘Probably not, no. Let me just get a pen,’ Brian said, leaning over to open the drawer of his nightstand, then his pencil case, and fish out one of the only two pens he possessed at the moment. Given that Queen Mary’s had a strict no-sharp-objects-policy, getting to keep two pens was a luxury that Brian had come to cherish and a right he wished to protect. With the ballpoint pen in his hand he skimmed through the last paragraphs - something about keeping confidential information confidential and not slandering the names of any of the staff or his fellow patients - he went to put a somewhat shaky signature on the dotted line at the end of the handout. Just as he was halfway through adding the date and location of signing to the document, John caught him by surprise with a business-like question.

‘What is the gross yearly income of your father?’

Brian blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Not for my interest. It’s one of the questions they ask you to answer in this family background. Along with your parents’ work experiences since the age of eighteen, and their involvement with law enforcement for the past twenty-five years, including petty crimes like parking fines and speeding tickets and such.’

Brian took a few seconds to reflect before replying. ‘It really is as if I’m becoming the ambassador of Saudi Arabia,’ he eventually mumbled. ‘Seriously though, how am I supposed to know whether my father was ever fined for driving through a red light before I was even born?’

‘Guess we’ll have to cross-examine him when we see him this weekend,’ John shrugged, straightening out the paper. ‘Both of your parents are coming, right?’

‘Yeah, they should be,’ Brian said. ‘At least that’s what mum said on the phone.’ He could sense John looking at him, but he did not have the courage to look him in the eyes at the moment, so he focussed his attention on the pen he now rolled between his thumb and forefinger. 

‘Are you nervous about seeing them again? Now that- well, since you broke the news to them yesterday?’

Brian hadn’t expected John to ask this question. He wasn’t usually the one to talk about emotions, let alone to bring up the topic if he was not coaxed into doing so. However, even though Brian wasn’t sure if he was quite in the mood to talk about it, he supposed he owed John something of an explanation at this point. He had told John that he had broken the news of trying to leave to his parents, and that they agreed to his request of letting them move in until they’d get an apartment for themselves, but other than that, he had been rather quiet about the whole matter. Part of it was because John hadn’t been very talkative about his reassessment either, but his parents’ emotional reaction had also been weighing in. This was something he had not told John, but he had a feeling that his boyfriend had been able to sense it - and now that he directly addressed the matter, it seemed best to Brian to break it to him.

‘A bit, I guess. My dad wasn’t happy, and my mom - well, eh, she cried. Said I was wasting my chance of healing by getting away from Queen Mary’s before they could complete their job,’ Brian mumbled, and he could feel John’s empathetic eyes on him. ‘But she said that if it was really what I wanted, then she would support me,’ he shrugged it off, even though he still had not completely overcome his mother’s reaction. It was weird in a way, because he had heard her cry a lot over the past six months - the days prior of his admission, the day of his admission, upon saying goodbye, the first few times they had telephoned, the first visit his parents had paid to him at Queen Mary’s - but this seemed different for some reason. Different, perhaps because now she cried not because she missed him, but because she felt so powerless now that he was leaving Queen Mary’s before his treatment was over - she might even be afraid of what was to become of him now that he might soon be out and about in society again. Because she was disappointed in him, or at least with his decision - which was incredibly hard to stomach for Brian. 

‘I’m sure she will support you,’ said John, who reached out a hand to put on Brian’s shoulder. ‘And your father will also come around sooner or later. He always does, you told me once, right? This will be no different.’

‘Probably, yeah,’ Brian said somewhat vaguely. ‘I mean, he’s got little choice - my mum already said yes to our plans, and regardless of what my dad might think, it’s my mum who wears the pants around the house,’ Brian chuckled, but his amusement faded when something else came to mind. ‘She was also the one to send me here, now that I think about it.’

‘She did that because she cares about you, sweetie,’ John said in the softest, most tender voice - one Brian would only get to hear when John tried to comfort him. ‘She couldn’t know it would be such a shitshow in here. She did what she thought would be best for you.’

‘It was, in a way,’ Brian sighed. ‘I never would have met you and those other clowns if I hadn’t been sent here.’

John pulled a face. ‘Out of all possible nicknames you could have called me, clown would be the one I personally never would have used. I’ve never said anything funny in my life.’

Brian begged to differ. ‘You called this place a shitshow like three seconds ago. And Roger called Queen Mary’s a clown academy just this morning.’

‘Sounds like him,’ John snorted before he pulled his hand away from Brian’s shoulder and tucked it under his head, taking in the sight of the ceiling for a moment before he said: ‘I’ll miss him when I’ll have to leave. You know, despite all the drama with his addiction and his vulgar comments and his annoying- annoying everything, I’ll still miss him. And Freddie, of course. I’ll miss him and his stupid enthusiasm about everything.’

Brian smiled at John’s way of appreciating their roommates, who overtime had become so much more than that. ‘I know. I’ll miss them too if I do get to leave. We’ve become such a team overtime.’

‘I never would have thought so before you got here,’ John admitted. ‘When I’d been assigned to a room with Freddie and Roger about a year ago, I thought I’d lose my mind. They were so… loud and intense and dramatic. I didn’t talk to my psychiatrist for a week when he refused to have me switch to another room. But I got used to them, and then you came around… And it just fit. You brought balance between all of us. You’re like… I don’t know. Some kind of glue that stuck us together.’

‘You’re so sweet,’ Brian smiled. ‘I’m sure Freddie and Roger will miss you just as much. I already overheard their plans of jumping on you for the longest hug you’ve ever had in your life on the day you leave here.’

John, contrary to what Brian had expected, did not pull a face but smiled back at him. ‘And you’re just letting them have that record?’

‘You know you can tell me if you need a cuddle,’ said Brian as he dragged himself up from his own bed in order to join John on his.

‘I can’t. Too antisocial to ask for physical intimacy,’ John said, although he did stretch out his arms to invite Brian into his bed and, more importantly, into his embrace. 

‘Physical intimacy, you say?’ Brian wiggled his eyebrows at John.  

‘This sort of thing is the reason why I’m antisocial in the first place,’ John sighed, but he leaned into the touch of his boyfriend anyway.

‘But you’ve made great progress,’ Brian remarked, tucking a loose strand of John’s hair behind his ear. ‘You talk during group therapy sessions, you go out and have fun with us and even with other people sometimes, like that time in the gym. You’re even allowed to leave because you’re doing so much better socially.’

‘Forced to, more like,’ John muttered. ‘I don’t want to leave.’

Brian, who felt like this might be a gateway to talking about John’s emotions concerning leaving Queen Mary’s in more depth, asked: ‘Even not if I go with you?’ 

‘That’s better, of course, a lot better. But I’m still - afraid. You know, what if I’m just a burden to your parents? What if they send me away just like… like everyone else?’

This was something Brian heard for the first time, and something that caught him by surprise, even though perhaps it shouldn’t have. John had seemed relieved when Brian had told him that they could live with his parents when they would first be dismissed from Queen Mary’s, but every place he’d ever lived had eventually kicked him out - his family home, his aunt and uncle’s place, and now Queen Mary’s. His fear of being expulsed again was reasonable, but Brian wished to tackle it. ‘What? They’d never send you away, honey. Trust me, they’re not that kind of people.’

‘But what if they don’t like me?’ John asked.

‘Why would they dislike you? You’re sweet and quiet and respectful. My parents will adore-’

‘Because I’m the reason you’re leaving prematurely,’ John burst in. ‘I’m the one who- you know, took away your chance at healing if all of this goes through.’

Oh, Lord. That was an aspect Brian hadn’t considered yet, but when John mentioned it, it hit him like a brick. Of course John worried about the effect he’d have on Brian now that his partner was trying to leave Queen Mary’s for his sake, and of course he worried about what Brian’s parents would think of him if this was to be one of his first impression on them. It explained John’s recent quietness and reticence, and Brian could hit himself in the face for not having seen it earlier.

‘Oh darling, is that why you’ve been so quiet about my reassessment?’

‘Maybe,’ John shrugged. ‘I just feel guilty.’

Brian, cuddling closer up to John said: ‘Never feel guilty. I never could have healed at this place of - of what exactly? Of staff members getting bitten in their arms when they try to break up a fight? Of dismantled coffee machines because the risk of people throwing hot coffee in each other’s faces is too high? Of secret isolation cells in the basement for if staff can’t handle the patients anymore and is not allowed to call the police out of management’s fear for inspection?’ Brian summed up. ‘I never could have healed here, John, and neither can you. This place is in the best interest of neither of us.’

‘I know,’ John gritted. ‘But that’s the thing - I want what’s best for you. And I’m not always sure that that’s me. Especially now that you’re about to be set free from Queen Mary’s, I’ve been wondering if I- if I should also set you free,’ John said with a sniff that Brian had a feeling preluded tears. It broke his heart seeing his partner like this, hearing how he felt about the influence he had on Brian, and his brain was working overtime trying to figure out something to say to show him that he had it all wrong - that being with him had made Brian feel infinitely better, and that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him, especially while here at Queen Mary’s. 

‘John- John, listen, honey. You are what’s best for me. I could never have imagined having come this far again, to the extent where I’m able to see that life is out there, and that I want to go back to it again. That’s all thanks to you,’ Brian said, cupping John’s face in his hands when his partner tried to shy away from his eyes. ‘Not because of Sarah’s endless chatter or Jasper’s enthusiastic but bloody annoying ‘thought schemes’ or whatever he calls them, but because of you. If it wasn’t for you, I would have stayed here, biding my time, waiting until they would either admit me back to my parent’s place again, or would ship me off to a long stay clinic. It’s thanks to you that I want to leave this place, go back to school, be back in touch with my friends and family, make a life again, together with you. Because you’re the one who showed me love again,’ Brian whispered, and he could swear he could see the tears in John’s eyes by now - and if those had just been an illusion, they were definitely there when he added: ‘I never thought I’d experience love again until I found you.’

‘Fuck, Brian,’ John choked out, using the back of his sleeve to wipe away his tears. ‘You can’t just… make speeches like that on a regular afternoon and expect me to be okay.’

‘It’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.’

‘I know. I just still have to get used to like… emotions and stuff,’ John said. ‘Fuck, this is unbelievable. They really think they can put me back and have me be a functional member of society? This place honestly doesn’t know what they’re doing,’ he said, desperately trying to wipe out another line of tears, but the smile that shone through underneath told Brian that he was happy despite it all. 

‘Maybe they don’t, but we do,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll go out there, sort ourselves out, get a nice studio apartment, buy some cheap pots and pans and floral furniture you wouldn’t want to be found dead on at a second-hand store, go back to school or work or whatever we want to do. We’ll visit Freddie and Roger until they’ll be let go of. We’ll play music until the neighbours knock on the walls, and drink lukewarm tea from a dysfunctional hand-me-down kettle that already seemed too good to be true.’ John’s smile grew a little wider, and Brian added: ‘And we’ll have one of those weird spider plants that grow all over the place if you don’t watch it. We’ll adopt a scrawny old cat that sleeps in our bed and hangs in the curtains at least twice a week. Your turn.’ 

John blinked for a bit. ‘Oh, eh… Well, I’ll ruin at least three shirts because I can’t iron for the life of me. We’ll have instruments and strings and guitar picks all over the place.’

‘We’ll have to accept ugly knitted pillow cases and crocheted tablecloths from our mums, which we’ll only bring out when they come around to visit,’ Brian followed up.

‘We’ll have an old radio or TV which keeps buzzing regardless of how well you tune it, and we’ll hit the screen with a rolled-up newspaper if we’re frustrated, as if that will make things better.’

‘We’ll have joined showers because there’ll be too little hot water for the both of us to shower separately. And I only want biscuit tins that actually contain biscuits in the house. No needlework or lightbulbs or clothing pins or the like.’

John, who by now seemed to get the hang of the game, said: ‘We’ll spend all of our excess money on records, and hang sleeves up on the wall as decoration.’

‘We’ll dump out that dumb kettle and buy a decent one, and we’ll try out weird tea flavours all day. Pineapple tea, cotton candy, or tomato-broccoli flavour or so.’

John pulled a face. ‘And I’d dump it right into the plant pots when you’re not looking. That might make those weird spider plants stop growing.’

Brian snorted. ‘And then I’d buy a cactus, and we’ll be known as the first couple ever to manage to kill a cactus. I also want a bed with at least twenty pillows and five different sorts of blankets and duvets on it so we can roll around all night. All as mismatched as possible - really kitschy.’

‘We’ll play guitar in bed until late, until I fall asleep with my bass pics still in hand. And when we wake up in the morning you’ll make your nasty tea and I’ll put on a record on the record player next to the bed so we can stay in late and listen to the Beatles, and we’ll be happy.’

Those last words were the most meaningful Brian had heard John say concerning their upcoming freedom - whether Brian would be released at the end of this reassessment trial or whether he would have to sit out his time at Queen Mary’s until the end, they would stay together, and they would be happy. They’d overcome the turbulence of their youth, the problems of the past, the battles with themselves - they’d be together, united, and they’d be happy together. They’d have each other even if the world around them would crumble, and catch each other if they would fall.

Brian tightened his arms around John’s torso, and pulled him in for a chaste but meaningful kiss on the lips.

‘And we’ll be happy.’

# # # 

Unfortunately for the pair of them, John’s new-found positive outlook on Brian’s reassessment and leaving Queen Mary’s behind did not last long. A mere few hours after Brian and he had signed paperwork and reunited with Freddie and Roger for a game of mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, a bomb threat from an anonymous culprit - most likely to be an ex-patient or relative to a patient of Queen Mary’s - destroyed whatever had been left of the atmosphere as the entire populace was escorted into the basement while police flocked around the building. Nothing was found, but the threat and the stress of hours spent in suspense waiting for the police report had put a permanent strain on all four of the members of Room 41, and none of them slept well during the night that followed. The usual drill of incident-filled mealtimes and hostility in the hallways and activity rooms took their toll on John, who was further discouraged from the forced acquittal process through another string of meetings with counsellors who tried arranging help he didn’t want and resources he didn’t need. 

Brian tried to keep John somewhat upbeat by reminding him of the upcoming visit of his parents, which he hoped John would see as a safe haven to stay after Queen Mary’s, but it seemed to have the polar opposite effect on John. Instead of taking comfort in the fact that there would be a family waiting to take him in when he would be released, the mere idea of moving in with people he did not know and living at their expense seemed to freak John out, and no amount of reassurance from Brian that his parents would not mind and would love to take him in could convince him otherwise - to the point where on the day of the scheduled meeting, John hardly dared to come out of his bed.

‘Come on, lovie,’ said Brian, who had seated himself on the bed next to John. His partner, currently lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, tried hard to ignore him. ‘Nolan will be here in a few minutes. You have to get up.’

‘Don’t wanna,’ John murmured into his pillow. 

‘I know, but you’re going to do great.’ When John ignored this comment, Brian sighed, running a hand over John’s back. ‘What are you most afraid of?’

John huffed. ‘Everything.’

Well, that was not exactly a conclusive answer, but Brian knew what he meant. John feared meeting his parents, their reaction to him, the paperwork they’d have to sign, and most of all, the finality of his time at Queen Mary’s the meeting would signify. They would talk of plans for the future and questions would be asked regarding his background, his mental situation, his ideas for the upcoming years - the mere idea of which Brian knew freaked John out. Still, he remained hopeful that he could convince his boyfriend to get up, brave his fears, and go out there; it was important that John would get to see his parents at least once before permanently moving in with them, regardless of whether Brian would be joining him right away or not. Especially if Brian’s request of reassessment would be denied it would be important that John at least knew who his parents were, given that he’d then go to live with them without having Brian there to be his rock in an otherwise unknown environment. 

‘You shouldn’t be. My parents won’t think anything negative about you, believe me.’

‘I’m sure they’re thrilled to find that their only son came home with a suicidal college dropout who was disowned by his own family,’ John said, and Brian felt his heart sink in. He hated having to hear his partner talk about himself in this manner, and was determined to make him feel more secure about himself - especially in the light of the upcoming visit.

‘Everyone in here is a dropout of some sort. Does that mean we’re all failures? Does that mean Roger, Freddie, and I are failures?’ Brian knew it was a bit cruel to put John on the spot like this, but his words seemed to have some effect on his partner.

‘Of course you’re not. You have plans to go back to school and make something of your life.’

‘And you don’t?’ Brian asked him. ‘You don’t want to go back to college at some point in time?’

John shrugged. ‘I guess.’

Knowing that this was likely to be the most he was going to get out of John at this point in time, Brian said: ‘You will. We’re going to get out of here, take some time to readjust, go back to school, find ourselves an apartment. I’ll finish my degree and you’ll finish yours, or find a job you enjoy, or- or whatever makes you happy. I’ll support you regardless of what you choose to do.’

John now turned around to lie on his back and looked at him, and it looked like he wanted to say something - a word of thanks, or an affirmation that he’d do the same for Brian - but he ended up just looking at Brian until his gaze was eventually pulled away from his boyfriend when a knock on the door distracted his attention.

‘I’ll go get it, dears,’ said Freddie as he bounced off the bed with a bit too much enthusiasm for his emaciated body, but he nevertheless made it to the door without too much visible trouble. The door was opened and Freddie enthusiastically exclaimed that Nolan had arrived (a useless statement really, given that no one else but their mentor would ever approach their ‘stink cave,’ as Roger had taken to calling their room as of late) but neither of his friends reacted to the announcement. They just sat there, each on their own side of the bed, looking at each other; Brian with a glimpse of hope and John with a look of desolation on his face. Brian knew John would have given it all he owned to be able to skip this meeting, which gave Brian all the more reason to try his best and pick his boyfriend up from the depth of the mental rabbit hole he had dug himself into.

‘Come, let’s get up. Nolan is waiting for us,’ Brian said. He deliberately let out the fact that his parents must be waiting on them, too - the mere mentioning of the presence of his mum and dad was enough to make John slide back into desolation. Brian had never seen anyone as anxious about a meeting as John was at that given moment, and he was running out of things to say to comfort him.

‘Baby, you know you won’t be alone there. I’ll be with you the entire time, and so is Nolan,’ Brian said. John didn’t react. ‘Do you need anyone else there? Maybe Freddie or Roger…?’ he said with a hesitant look towards the other side of the room, but he was luckily met with smiles and nods.

‘Of course!’ Roger said, the overly enthusiastic tone of his reply quickly explained when he added: ‘I’ll have to miss my counselling for once, but I don’t think that will matter too much.’

‘No, I’m fine. Just Brian and Nolan will do,’ John said, much to the relief of everyone apart from the proposer himself.

‘Well, Nolan and I are ready whenever you are,’ Brian told him, then corrected himself when he realised the vast liberty this statement would grant his partner to stay in their room for the remainder of the day. ‘Nolan and I are ready, and we’d like to go. There’s a lot to discuss and they’ve planned an hour for this meeting,’ he said, careful to address the discussion of future plans with his parents as neutral as possible.

‘Hm-hmm,’ John hummed as a form of answer, but his eyes were empty, and he made no movements that indicated he was planning on getting up from the bed anywhere soon. Brian thus took matters into his own hands and stood up from the bed, taking a few steps to the left so he could stand in front of John.

‘Come on, honey. Time to go. We have to take care of this sooner or later.’ Brian reached out a hand towards his partner to help him get up from the bed, but John merely stared at it. Brian heard the soft murmur of Freddie’s and Nolan’s voices behind him, and he sighed deeply before crouching down to John’s level.

‘Listen, darling. I know you’re not very comfortable about meeting my parents and talking about what to do when you have to leave Queen Mary’s, but you’re only making it harder on yourself by not cooperating. You’ll have to leave in about three weeks, and we can’t change that. The best thing we can do is arrange something so we can stay together and support each other.’

John blinked, then finally spoke. ‘But what if you won’t be allowed to leave?’ 

‘Then I want to make sure you’ll be in the best place possible until I’ll be dismissed. And that place is going to be at my parents’ house. Please, John, give this a chance. I know you’re nervous, and you don’t want things to change, but things will change, and we’re gonna have to deal with that in the best way possible.’ Brian’s voice was a bit more insistent than he would have liked for it to be, but it at last seemed to have an effect on John.

‘Promise me you won’t leave me alone in there,’ John whispered - pleaded, nearly.

‘I promise. You just have to say the word to let me know you’re no comfortable. And you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer, in case anyone might ask them,’ Brian vowed. ‘Come with me?’ he asked. He stretched his hand towards John again, and this time John took it.

John was still visibly nervous - the smile he gave Nolan when they came face to face with him in the hallway looked tensed rather than sincere, and he kept his head down as they walked through the hallways, past the canteen and the staff rooms and into the corridor leading to the visiting area. Brian had only been to the place a few times before, but he remained uneasy each time a guard opened the multiple barred doors they crossed on their way. 

‘Your parents have already arrived, I’ve been told,’ Nolan said to Brian. ‘They’ve also signed the paperwork in which they vow to take in John and you, or just John in case of- well, in that case,’ Nolan cut himself off when Brian shot him a look. Brian was glad that his mentor understood the hint - right as John was heading for the meeting he’d been dreading since the very moment it had been planned was not exactly the right moment to bring up all that could still go wrong in Brian’s process. The string of meetings with Professor Fisher, the independent psychiatrists who had been assigned to supervise the case and oversee Brian’s ability to return to society, had gone well, and the professor had given his blessing to Brian’s appeal. It had been a victory for Brian and all those around him - apart from John. Every time an obstacle was removed from Brian’s path towards accelerated freedom, all John seemed to be able to see were the new mountains showing up on the way. 

To some extent, John had a point. Even though he had managed to push his appeal for freedom past the internal staff of Queen Mary’s and an outsider in the form of a psychiatrist, Brian had no guarantees that the eventual jury he’d have to beat up to would grant him leave. Especially the presence of his former psychiatrist Doctor Sumner did not sit comfortably with him, but he refused to let this prospect weigh him down; he had a task in front of him, and he was going to give it all he could. Nothing, not John’s negativity nor his own nerves, and most of all not Doctor Sumner’s preening eyes and tight-lipped smile were going to hold him back.

Nolan babbled on about the contact he’d had with Brian’s parents over the phone - something Brian had been unaware of, and something he did not know whether to appreciate or to be wary of - but it was only when they reached the last door that separated the three of them from his parents that Brian really felt his attention resurfacing to the presence. The guard who had walked them all the way over searched their pockets for forbidden items and had a small fit over the shaving cream bottle cap Brian had forgotten he’d put in his back pocket that morning for no particular reason other than not knowing where to leave it as he was shaving. Nolan managed to convince the guy that it was nothing, so the item was confiscated and they were given leave to enter the heavy iron door.

‘Alright, folks. Are you ready?’ Nolan asked with his usual upbeat expression on his face as he stepped over the threshold of the door. Brian was ready to do the same, but one look at John was all he needed to know that John needed a few more words of encouragement.

‘One second, Nole,’ Brian said, not realising he just called his mentor by the nickname Freddie sometimes used to refer to him in private. He stepped into the direction of John, who was still standing next to the guard - and who slipped back a few steps when Brian approached him.

‘John…’ Brian said quietly.

‘I- I can’t do this,’ John told him. ‘I need more time. I can’t do this now.’

‘But there isn’t more time,’ Brian said. Then, stepping close quickly enough to make it impossible for John to back away from him any further, he placed his hands on either of his boyfriend’s shoulders and said: ‘Listen, John. I wish I could give you all the time in the world, but we don’t have that luxury. We have to step up now to make the best out of the situation; we’ll regret it if we let Queen Mary’s rehabilitation services figure out our future for us,’ Brian said. ‘And I know you think you’re expected to go out there and put on your brightest smile and act like the perfect foster child or whatever for my parents to take you into their house, but you don’t. You don’t have to live up to any expectations. You don’t have to be perfectly sociable and nice - it’s not a competition where the winner takes it all and the loser is left behind. There is no losing here, you see?’ Brian took a second to take a break from his monologue, but picked it up again before John could disagree with him. ‘You’re going to get out of his Godawful place and move into a home where people will care for you, regardless of whether I’ll be released right away or a few months later. My parents already signed the papers and they promised to take you in and take care of you for as long as needed. And you don’t have to worry about them liking you or not, because they will.’

John had remained perfectly blank throughout the soliloquy, but he snorted at those last words. ‘They won’t. I’m a disappointment.’

‘You’re perfect and they’re gonna love you. You’re smart and funny and polite - if you choose to be so - and perfect company. My parents have always wanted to have a second child, and getting one at the age of twenty doesn’t mean they’ll be any less enthusiastic,’ Brian said with a little smile, and he could see that John’s face copied his despite his lover trying to look away from him. ‘And as for you… You could do with a family after all these years. A real family.’

At the mentioning of these words, John turned his face away from him even further, but this did not prevent Brian from seeing that tears were brimming his eyes. The idea of having a family, a house to come home to every night, a space where he did not have to feel like an outsider, a burden, an unwanted alien - Brian could tell that it touched John, and he knew that this was the right moment to usher him through the door before either of them could think better of it.

‘Come on. Let’s go in,’ Brian whispered with a soft yet steady hand on the small of John’s back. He heard John smother a sob and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes, but once this had been taken care of, he allowed Brian to gently usher him towards the door through which Nolan had just disappeared. John halted for a second when they neared the threshold - his hand seemed to be seeking Brian’s, and the guitarist placed his hand on John’s and squeezed it shortly. 

‘I’m right here with you.’

‘I know,’ John whispered. With that, he stepped over the threshold; Brian followed him, and then the guard closed the iron door behind them, leaving no way back until the end of the meeting. It was a thought that Brian knew should freak John out, but personally he was rather relieved to know that there was no other way for John than to follow him to his parents.

The meeting room seemed a lot larger than the last time to Brian - which was probably at least partially to blame to the fact that it had been filled with patients and their family members and at least a handful of guards and other supervisors the few times he’d visited so far. This time, however, his eyes darted around the room without seeing more than a single guard flicking through a leaflet in the corner of the room. There was one single occupied table at the other end of the room, towards which Nolan was currently making his way. He could make out the figures of his parents, who were standing up from their chairs as the stranger approached them. He could see his mum shove her handbag into her husband’s hands as the mentor reached a hand towards her.

‘Good morning, folks!’ Brian could hear Nolan say with a perfect mixture of politeness and informality. ‘I’m Nolan Ferrier - we’ve spoken on the phone.’ Brian watched as first his mother’s and then his father’s hand was pulled into a strong handshake from Nolan’s side. They seemed to share a few more quiet words, and Brian suddenly realised that Jon and he had not moved on any further than perhaps three feet away from the door. 

‘Come, let’s go over there. I’ll go first.’ Without awaiting John’s reply as to avoid giving him the opportunity to protest, Brian walked past the first row of empty tables. He heard the sound of John’s shoes clicking on the floor behind him confirming that his partner was following him. He then changed his walking pace to a more rapid one - he did not want to waste any time that could be used for coming to agreements for when either John came to live with them, either on his own or with him straight away.

The second his parents caught sight of him, the polite discussion of some sort they had been following with Nolan was wrapped up; hands were detached and excuses were made, and they turned to walk into his direction. He could hear his mother call his name - first softly, then louder - and his smile brightened. He hadn’t seen his parents since the last family visit, which had been at least three weeks ago at least. Their enthusiasm for seeing him, however, never seemed to subside; they were as happy and emotional as they came to him now as they had been the very first time they’d been granted entrance into the visiting room of Queen Mary’s to come see their son. Brian could already hear his mother’s first sobs before they had even gotten towards each other, although it was only a second or so later that they met in the middle. Brian was caught in the surprisingly strong grip of his mother’s arms, followed by those of his father. Being embraced by his parents always felt so secure, so safe - it was like coming home regardless of how far away he was from his paternal house.

‘Oh, Brian, my love! How are you?’ The voice of his mother was high and shrill so close to his ear, but it did not seem to Brian that this was an appropriate moment to say something about it.

‘I’m fine, mum. You know you don’t have to worry about me,’ he mumbled against the shoulder of his father. This time there were no guards telling them to break up and sit down - just the three of them getting a moment to express their love for each other through touch rather than through words. Not that that stopped Brian’s mother from blabbering on, though…

‘But you know I do,’ his mother sighed. ‘A reassessment! I didn’t even know what it was! Or that it was possible! And that you were already working on it-‘

‘Don’t wind yourself up too much, dear,’ Harold interrupted the stream of words flowing from his wife’s mouth. ‘Mister Ferrier will tell us all about it in a moment, I’m sure.’

Brian opened his eyes at the mentioning of his mentor, whom he had completely ignored since the moment he had met eyes with his parents. Much to his relief he saw Nolan smiling at him lazily, but the same, he assumed, could not be said about John. His boyfriend, who remained standing a few feet behind him, could hardly be comfortable around the family scene he was currently witnessing. Brian thus pulled himself away from the arms of his parents, and took a step back to line up next to the person he’d momentarily neglected.

‘Mum, Dad, this is John, my friend and roommate.’ Brian felt himself beam with pride as he introduced the boy around whom he’d centred his life for the past few months, and his parents seemed equally eager to meet him and exchange some words with the person their son had been unable to shut up about lately.

‘Oh, John! How good to finally meet you!’ his mother all but cooed, extending a hand towards him. ‘I’m Ruth May - Brian’s mother.’ John followed her example and shook hands with her and introduced himself somewhat awkwardly.

‘Er, it’s great to see you too. I’m John Deacon.’ He forced a small smile and withdrew his hand as quickly as possible; Brian hoped his mum would take no offence. He had told them during their last phone call that John was incredibly nervous - and that his antisocial personality disorder meant that he was not one to enjoy himself in social situations - so that they should be a bit lenient on him. Knowing his parents, they would behave just so; but Brian did feel that a lot of questions concerning John would be coming up as soon as his boyfriend would be out of their sight, especially when his father took his turn to introduce himself.

‘John, I’m Harold May,’ Brian’s father told him as he took John’s hand in his own. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you.’

Brian saw the smile wash off John’s face. ‘Is that an, uh, good or a bad sign?’ he asked with a renewed fake smile and a hint of humour, but Brian knew that it was really the joke which John tried to play it off yet. His mother laughed her typical, high-pitched laugh, and said she loved his humour, and his father was chuckling still when he disclaimed it had been a pretty good picture that had been painted of him by their son. Neither of this worked, though - and it was only when Brian put an arm around him that his tensed body relaxed a little.

‘A good sign, Deaky. Do you think I’d tell them bad stories about you? Do you think I even have bad stories to tell about you?’

John looked at him thoroughly at first, as if he was deciding whether Brian was playing with him or not, but eventually the slightest of a smile broke through. The somewhat awkward silence, however, by then had already prompted Nolan to speak up.

‘Shall we sit down and go over the arrangements? We’ve got quite a bit to discuss.’

John seemed to be most enthusiastic about following Nolan’s proposal. He agreed whole-heartedly and paced towards the table on which Brian’s parents had been sitting before. Nolan, who - as usual - seemed to sense exactly what he was feeling, made sure to sit next to him on the one side, and made Brian sit down on the other. Harold and Ruth sat across from them and waited for Nolan to bring out the papers he’d brought with him in a dark red folder with Brian’s name and patient number printed on the front. Brian saw John getting fidgety with the hem of his shirt while Nolan looked for the right papers, and placed a hand on John’s leg underneath the table.

‘Alright,’ Nolan eventually declared when he’d found the papers he had been looking for, and closed the folder to put it aside. ‘What we’re here for today is to go over the agreements which have been made for John’s rehabilitation into society, and that of Brian in case that his reassessment will be approved. I’m first just going to go through some formalities,’ Nolan announced. ‘Is it correct that you are Harold and Ruth May, parents of Brian May?’

‘Correct,’ Harold said.

‘So far so good,’ Nolan smiled. ‘And you were the ones who applied for your son to be admitted into Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital, together with his psychiatrist Doctor L. J. Sumner?’ Brian felt his stomach turn at the mere mention of the name of his previous psychiatrist, but he buckled up for the sake of everyone around him. His father once again confirmed, together with the date on which they had filled out the application and the date of approval.

‘Then, according to this file right here…’ Nolan’s voice trailed down near the end of the sentence as he searched for the right paper. ‘Ah, here. According to this, you handed Brian over to the care of Queen Mary’s on March fifteen, nineteen seventy-one, by bringing him over and seeing to it that he was taken in.’

‘Yes. Wasn’t it you that took him in?’ Ruth asked. Nolan nodded with a small smile.

‘It was. It’s just that the protocol tells me to have you confirm all these details - because, as the next point tells me, you volunteered and were approved to take Brian back under your roof and carry parental responsibility for his well-being and further recovery when he would be released from Queen Mary’s?’

‘We are. And we still stand by that,’ said Harold, which preceded the next question Nolan was to read out loud. They were reminded of what it meant to be the guardians of Brian in a mental health context, and of which people to inform and turn to in case things went downhill again. That, if Brian had a fallback, he could be reported and taken back into Queen Mary’s, but that this would first need investigation, and could not happen overnight. This point seemed to make his mother more than just a little nervous - but, upon Brian ensuring her that chances of this happening were small, and Nolan telling her that help would always be available in case of acute danger, she eventually agreed. A few more such questions were answered and considered before Nolan placed down the papers and started looking for another set.

‘Now, as we all know, these arrangements will be critical in case Brian gets released after his reassessment trial. We cannot guarantee when or if that will happen, but what we do know is that John will be released in three weeks,’ Nolan said, and Brian saw John’s jaw clenching. The soothing hand stroking John’s leg seemed to be able to do little to soothe him when Nolan spoke on. ‘John Richard Deacon, taken in on September three, nineteen sixty-nine at age eighteen, after his foster guardians Alec Baldwin and Molly Baldwin-Forester signed him up to be taken into Queen Mary’s when they could no longer deal with his mental problems.’

‘Foster guardians?’ Ruth sounded surprised, if not a little afraid. Nolan looked at John as to find out whether he was allowed to tell them what happened, or if he should tell them that John would tell them later. Brian remembered having told his parents at one point during this past week’s phone calls and conversations that John could not return to the aunt and uncle with whom he had lived before being taken into Queen Mary’s, but he was afraid that his mother at the moment failed to see that the foster guardians which Nolan referred to were nothing more than John’s aunt and uncle. He knew the official documents referred to them as his foster guardians, but he understood how different, how dramatic this sounded - as if John had been a problematic child who had gone through multiple sets of foster parents over the years, the last pair of which had sent him away to a mental institution. It was far from the truth, but Brian could hardly blame his parents for getting an idea like this in their head.

To his utter surprise, John hardly blinked when he offered an explanation to Brian’s parents. ‘I was taken in by my aunt and uncle after my mum could no longer combine the care of my disabled sister with taking care of me,’ he said, which Brian had to admit was not a lie - just a very polished version of what he had actually gone through with his entire family locking him out. Brian could not blame him, though, for John only telling part of the truth to his parents. He doubted he would have been able to disclose more about his terrific past to a pair of strangers upon first meeting them - especially in John’s current state of being.

‘Disabled sister-’ Brian heard his father mumble, but he effectively managed to shut him up by giving the man, who was sitting across from him at the table, a light kick against the shin. His father’s face retorted, but he did not protest; he seemed to understand that this was not the right time or place to discuss the ins and outs of John’s life. Besides, Brian had clearly instructed them not to pry into John’s personal business; he would tell them what he wanted them to know as soon as he felt comfortable around them.

Nolan, like the hero he was, continued his story. ‘Alec and Molly Baldwin thus handed John over to the care of Queen Mary’s, but while our staff has reached out to them to tell them their nephew will soon be released and to ask them if they are willing to take him in again, they have declined their responsibility, and do not wish to be involved in backing John up in his rehabilitation process whatsoever, as they stated in a formal letter we received the other day.’ A light brown envelope was brought up and put in the middle of the table. Four pairs of eyes stared at it, but no one seemed to dare make a move or say a word. ‘John’s mother has also been informed, but she- she declared herself to be unfit of taking care of John again, referring to- her daily task of taking care of-’

‘Of my sister, yes. I expected so,’ John finished the sentence of Nolan, of whom both Brian and he was currently making up a more socially acceptable answer to refuse to take in a son again than what she really had told the staff upon being contacted. Brian wondered if she had yelled, if she had cursed her son, if she had laughed viciously and asked if they were out of their mind to ask her to take back the person who she deemed the one to have ruined her life. Brian guessed he would never know, and perhaps it was better like that - especially if John would also be spared from the probably /scalding/ reply his mother had made to the request.

‘Your sister, yes. Your mother sees herself currently unfit to combine, eh, her care with that of you,’ Nolan said. ‘Other family members we unfortunately could not reach. So that…’ he stressed while looking at the couple sitting across from him, ‘is where the pair of you come in’. 

Silence for a moment while Ruth and Harold looked at each other. Brian could see the doubt and uncertainty in their eyes. He realised he had sort of convinced them overnight to have both him and his secret boyfriend come back to live under the same roof as them over the past few days; after all, there had not been more than about a week between the first moment he had rung them to tell them about his plans of getting a reassessment, and this meeting which had been scheduled last-minute as his psychiatrist had approved him for the first round of his trial. He knew his parents were hesitant people in general, and the fact that they both did not know John and that they realised he suffered from mental problems wasn’t making it easy on them. Learning now that he came from a troubled family background also wasn’t making matters any less complicated for his parents, but Brian refused to let their fear of the unknown ruin his opportunity to escape Queen Mary’s with John - and, much more importantly, John’s chances of a stable future to make up for all the pain he had gone through in the past decade. 

‘Yes. Mum and Dad are willing to take in both John and me when we are released,’ Brian said in what he liked to consider a helping hand, but which his parents obviously had a different opinion about. 

‘We- yes. We are certainly willing,’ his father said, straightening his tie. ‘But, er, there are certain… uncertainties that will need to be clarified first.’

‘Of course,’ Nolan said in the most understanding of tones. ‘Of course. We have come to understand that, as far as we have been informed, you have no experience with caring for foster children - foster patients, in this case,’ Nolan said. Brian hated the word foster patient already. 

‘Exactly.’ Ruth shook her head vehemently, glad that Nolan understood they had reservations about the case now that everything was starting to get so real so quickly. ‘We have no prior experience with taking people in, and especially not young people.’

‘You’ve dealt with me for twenty-four years,’ Brian reminded them, but this unfortunately was not what they meant.

‘Of course it feels strange to let someone into your house at first - especially when it is someone you are not related to,’ Nolan admitted. ‘But experience leans that guardians and subjects, as they are commonly referred to, usually get into a good flow quickly, and can grow tight bonds.’

‘I see,’ Ruth said, obviously still doubting. Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

‘You do not have to worry about finances either - as John is under twenty-one, one can appeal to the state for subvention. After he turns twenty-one, you can still get subvention for taking care of someone with mental health issues. We can help you fill out the application,’ Nolan said in what seemed like another attempt to convince Harold and Ruth not to come back on their promise to take John in. Brian appreciated it, but unfortunately his parents did not take the bait. 

‘Oh, the finances I’m not too worried about. But is there any sort of - aftercare after Queen Mary’s?’ Ruth asked. ‘To make sure John won’t… slip back into old habits?’ Brian was not entirely pleased about his mother using the word habits when referring to John’s depression and anti-social spells, but he was given no time to protest.

‘Naturally,’ Nolan assured her. ‘Queen Mary’s has an extensive programme, which consists of weekly meetups with either a patient’s psychiatrist before coming here, during their stay, or one that specifically works in our aftercare programme. Furthermore every ex-patient will also enroll in a programme to help them either find a job or go back to school, and help them build up their future.’

‘I would love to go back to college,’ John broke in shyly but confidently. ‘I want to finish my studies. I used to do electrical engineering at Chelsea College in London. It’s a- uh, College of Advanced Technology. Known as one of the best around the country,’ John said in what sounded to Brian like a helpless plead to make himself desirable to his parents. Brian felt a knot form in his stomach by merely listening to it - it was disheartening that his parents were being so distant and doubtful all of a sudden, especially right in John’s face. John, the person he loved with all his heart; the person who deserved the world and more, especially after continuously having been held down from it. The person for whom Brian hoped for a good ending to this entire mental health drama more than he did for himself or anyone else in the world. Seeing him being denied by his parents was one of the most painful things he had ever witnessed, and he had gone through quite some disheartening situations at Queen Mary’s.

Harold, either not seeing or ignoring his son’s deadly glares, nodded slowly. ‘Electrical engineering. A fine subject. You’ll never be out of work with a solid degree like that.’

‘Absolutely,’ Nolan agreed. ‘It will give him something to focus on - make sure he keeps himself busy. Studies show that people recovering from mental illness are three times more successful when they have a job or studies to focus on.’

‘I can also find a weekend job on top of that,’ John offered. ‘So you won’t have me hanging around the house, you know.’

‘Oh, that is not- not at all what we’re worried about, John,’ Harold said. Then, clearing his throat, he finally said the thing Brian had been fearing for the entire meeting. Putting his hand on that of his wife’s, he brought up to Nolan: ‘An issue I feel that my wife and I are currently facing, is that we are not… we are not mental health experts. We were not trained to deal with depression, and borderline, and-‘ he paused for a second as he looked at John, and eventually concluded his sentence with the words: -‘similar issues.’

‘Dad!’ Brian hissed at him, but this only made matters worse.

‘Your father is right, dear,’ his mother intervened. ‘We do not know how to deal with mental health issues. We don’t know John and his… his mental situation, or how to deal with it. You know what happened when you were at your worst…’

‘But he’s not at his worst anymore, and neither am I. John is being released because he’s doing so well,’ Brian said - which was not entirely the truth, but which he decided his parents did not need to know that it was either being let go of or getting locked up into long-stay facilities - ‘and I am the first person to qualify for a reassessment in years. Right, Nolan?’ Brian said, turning to his mentor sharply. ‘Right?’

‘Er, yes,’ Nolan said, clearly taken aback somewhat by Brian’s sudden fierceness. ‘You are the first in years to qualify, and John is doing well enough to leave Queen Mary’s.’ Again, this was only technically the truth, but Brian was grateful to his mentor for helping both John and Him. Nolan probably realised just as well as he did that this was the best chance John had to make a head start and not to end up in some shabby rehabilitation home and programme focussed on substance abusers and victims of domestic violence rather than on his antisocial personality disorder, and have his life spiral down even further than it had before. 

‘See? There will be no problem, Dad. I promise,’ Brian said with as much confidence he could muster. 

‘I am sure that John will behave well, and that chances of problems arising will be slim,’ his father tried to hush him. ‘But his - what was it, asocial personality?’

‘Antisocial personality disorder,’ Brian grumbled.

‘His antisocial personality - I fear it works just like your depression and borderline. Things can go well for a while, but when you had fallbacks, we could do absolutely nothing to help you. You were either unattainable, or overly emotional, or unreasonably angry and depressed - and that was just borderline, as to say so. What if John ends up in one of his antisocial spells? What are we supposed to do with that?’

‘You will be given guidance prior to taking John in, mister May,’ Nolan tried, but Brian was not as calm as his mentor was.

‘Then you leave him be! He’ll manage, and he’ll come back to himself in due time! Being antisocial in essence just means having moments of not wanting to interact with anyone and wanting to be left alone - a whole lot easier than dealing with my troubles, let me tell you.’

‘Brian…’ John called his name carefully. 

‘We understand, dear,’ Ruth said. ‘But we know you - we know what to expect of you.’

‘Yes, you knew what to expect,’ Brian said dryly. ‘That’s why you sent me away to Queen Mary’s, right? Because you knew exactly how to handle me.’

‘Brian.’ His name was called again, but this time in a more threatening fashion, coming from his father. ‘You’re our child - we’ve known you all your life. We do not know John, do not know his illness, his family, his background, his life story…’ 

‘So that’s a reason not to take him in and help him? Because you can’t verify that his parents are a decent middle-class couple with a husband working nine-to-five-hours at a company of national importance, and a happy housewife who has dinner ready at precisely six o’clock each day?’

‘Of course not,’ Harold objected. ‘You’re being ridiculous now.’

‘No, you’re being ridiculous!’ Brian said. He could hear Nolan telling him not to talk to his parents like that, but could not move himself to care about what anyone thought of him telling his parents some home truths. ‘You promised to help John, to take him in and give him a chance! And if you care to know his background so much - John came from a perfectly fine family, including nine-to-five job holder and happy housewife, until his parents lost a son, his sister was left severely disabled after an accident, and within the same year, his father died. Are you happy now?’

Brian could hear John take in a sharp breath of air beside him, and somewhere deep inside, he felt bad for having told half of history so casually to his parents for the sake of making a case against their hesitation to take someone they didn’t know under their wing. However, his frustration and determination to fulfil John’s promise of letting him move in with his family and building a stable background where he would be loved, accepted, part of a larger community, left him unable o do much more than put his hand on John’s shoulder and staring at his parents with cold eyes.

Harold was the first to break the silence when he coughed and shifted in his chair. Turning to Nolan, he said: ‘Gentlemen, could you give us a moment? A word between my wife and me and our son?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Nolan, who seemed almost eager to remove himself and John from the battlefield the discussion had turned into. ‘John and I will be just around the door. Call us when you need us again - because, and I don’t want to put pressure on anyone, but the papers will have to be signed today. Both to strengthen Brian’s case for his reassessment, and for John - because if he cannot stay with your family, our staff will have to arrange a place for him in a communal home.’

Brian could feel John’s eyes turning to him, wild and panicky, and he had to count to three before allowing himself to look at John out of fear that he might either start crying or start yelling if he did so right away. He was hurt, frustrated, angry, humiliated, betrayed - all of those both on his own account but mostly on that of John, who he had promised that he’d be allowed to live with his family upon being released from Queen Mary’s. His parents had promised him so, after all. They had been inviting and understanding and tolerant when speaking of the matter mere days ago, but now that things were starting to get real, they seemed to be getting cold feet. It made Brian feel sick and disgusted - it made him feel ashamed of being their son. 

‘It’s okay,’ he gritted when he eventually gathered the self-control to calmly look John in the eyes. ‘I’ll fix this, I promise.’

The legs of Nolan’s chair scraped along the floor when he stood up. ‘You coming, John? I think the May family needs some time to discuss.’

John looked at Brian with a sense of desperation, but nodded stiffly and stood up also. Brian put his hand on John’s briefly in passing, but John did not look up; he simply followed Nolan towards the exit of the room, leaving Brian with a taste of bitterness in his mouth and the feeling of his cold, thin fingers on his own. 

Brian found himself curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and tensed them until the knuckles grew white and the back of his hand pale and veiny. He stared at it in a determined mission to avoid any sort of contact with his parents until the heavy iron door of the visiting hall fell shut behind John and Nolan. 

His father was the first to talk between the three of them. ‘Look, Brian, we understand that you’re angry, but we need some time to process everything we’ve been told today,’ Harold said. ‘It’s not nothing to take in someone new, and to be responsible for them and live with them under the same roof for the upcoming God knows how long.’ Brian knew his father was looking straight at him as he spoke, but he refused to look back or acknowledge his presence in any other way.

‘Besides, what do we know about his condition? What if his anti… antisocial behaviour comes up again when he lives with us? Or worse, perhaps, if his trauma comes up?’ Despite himself, Brian looked up to face his mother as she mentioned the word trauma. He immediately regretted it as it seemed to give her the idea that she had made a point she ought to elaborate. ‘Everything we heard today about his father’s death, his sister’s disability, living with his aunt and uncle until they sent him away… It’s a lot to carry. Both for him and for us.’

Brian leaned back in his chair when his mother had finished her part of the monologue. So that’s what they were afraid of - that John would bring his trauma, his troubles, his history, into their lives. That having to live with someone who’d gone through a rough childhood would be hard on them, and not on the person who actually had to pick up his life again after having taken such a terrible start to it. It hardly surprised Brian to hear that his parents, two painfully average lower-middle-class citizens leading a painfully average life in their painfully average semi-detached suburban three bedroom-house, were opposed to take someone in from a less fortunate background out of fear that it would inconvenience their perfectly shallow little lives. It was shallow and embarrassing, and Brian did not have the words to properly tell his parents what he thought about their attitude. 

‘So that’s what you want, then?’ he eventually ended up saying after having chewed the inside of his cheek raw. ‘To break your promise and have John be sent off to a bloody communal home? My best friend, with whom I’ve spent the past half a year here? An anxious twenty-year-old with a traumatic family background and the remains of a depression, living with a bunch of crackheads in a filthy communal home in East End London?’

‘We never promised-’ his father calmly intervened, but he was interrupted just as quickly as he had taken the floor. 

‘But you did!’ Brian said, voice louder now. ‘You said you’d take both of us in, or him first and then me if I wouldn’t be released after this fucking trial, and allow us to build up a life again until we could stand on our own two feet! You promised!’ He was close to tears now - tears of anger and frustration and sheer humiliation that these liars called themselves his parents. The two people across the table shared a look that Brian couldn’t quite make out with his blurry tearstained view, but he knew they realised he was not going to take this breach of trust sitting down. 

‘I know, Brian,’ his father eventually said. ‘I know we did that. But that was before we knew the circumstances.’

Brian huffed out a laugh despite himself. ‘Circumstances? I told you about John, and his antisocial personality disorder, and that his sister was disabled, his father was dead, and that he used to live with his aunt and uncle before being sent here! You knew that all along, half of this even before there was even talk of either him or me being released. And now you’re changing your mind because of it? I’m calling bullshit.’

‘Brian!’

The person addressed ignored his mother’s admonitory calling of his name. ‘It’s bullshit. You’re just using it against John because you’re too lame to help him. To help us! I thought you cared about me!’ Brian realised that especially this last sentence was a petty low shot, but he was willing to steep down to whatever level it took to either convince, threaten, or sabotage his parents into letting John come home with him as they had promised him. 

‘It’s not that easy, Brian. It’s just- it’s very hard to take someone you’ve only known from stories, with a troubled background, into your house and just see what happens,’ Harold said. ‘Your mother and I have had a very rough time while you were away. We don’t know if we could handle having someone else in our house right now. Besides you, of course,’ was added quickly - something Brian didn’t know made matters better or worse. 

‘Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s been very hard on you,’ Brian said cynically, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘It must have been very hard, sitting around at home living your normal life while we tried to survive at Queen Mary’s. Saw people drugging themselves down at the daily. Fights in the canteen and people ending up at the infirmary with broken bones. Someone knocked John to the floor and tried to stab my eye out. Someone was murdered while we were in there, Goddamnit, and you talk about having had a hard time because you didn’t have someone to share boring stories about your nine to five job or the coffee visit to the neighbours with during dinnertime!’ Brian realised he was shouting now, and saw the guard stepping a few steps closer to their table from the corner of his eyes. He wondered if Nolan and John could hear him from the other side, but eventually decided that the iron walls and doors probably had been designed so as to not let through any noise. He did not particularly care so much about Nolan or the guards outside the visiting hall overhearing him, but he’d rather not upset John by having him hear his lack of emotional control in the given situation.

‘They tried- your eye? Someone was murdered?’

Brian should have known that breaking the news of the recent gang wars, the almost daily injuries, and Jimmy’s death-bordering-on-murder to his parents would not be something they’d take lightly. They of course expected their son to be safe at Queen Mary’s; this had been the entire reason they had sent him there rather than keeping him at home to see where his mental problems would take him. However, as he was in the mood to shock and make a statement rather than to comfort his parents about his safety at Queen Mary’s, he raised his voice again.

‘Yes, that’s the place you sent me off to! That’s the place I’ll have to stay in for even longer if they won’t let me go. That’s where’s John’s been in for two years, and the place you’ll send him off to again if you let him be taken into a fucking council house full of drug addicts and criminals and other people he shouldn’t have to deal with! Because unlike me,’ Brian breathed with an index finger prodding into his own chest, ‘unlike me, he doesn’t have a backup plan, or family to take him in! He’ll be left to the government, or a resocialisation programme for criminals and other freaks he doesn’t belong to, or simply to- to the streets!’ Brian could hear his own voice faltering and eventually breaking, so he cut himself off before real cracks would appear in either his voice or his iron facial expression. He knew that Nolan had spoken of a rehabilitation plan hosted by Queen Mary’s, but what this really meant was that people who did not have any family, were disowned by them, or did not want to return to them, were sent to join resocialisation programmes that hardly ever tailored to people recovering from mental illness. They often ended up addicted to drugs, in prison for dealing or robbery, or worse than that. It made his heart ache to even think of the possibility that John might be exposed to scenes like those if he would not be given a proper foundation upon leaving Queen Mary’s - a foundation it seemed that, for the lack of connections and resources of his own, only Brian’s family could provide at the moment. 

‘Oh, darling…’ 

A tissue, produced from his mother’s handbag, was pushed over to his side of the table. Brian hadn’t previously noticed that he had been crying, but moving the back of his hand over his right cheek once proved that he indeed had been doing to. He grabbed the tissue and pressed it against his eyes in an attempt to smother his tears - without much luck, that was. They kept coming and coming and wouldn’t stop, and Brian had no other choice than to give in to them,

‘Brian, my darling...’ The familiar voice of his mother was soft and soothing, but it did not give him any comfort - and neither did the words she spoke, even though Brian knew they were meant to bring him peace of mind. ‘We’ll find a way, okay? I promise we’ll find a way.’

‘What if I was in his place?’ Brian then asked, crumpling the soaked tissue into a ball in his hand. ‘If you- you couldn’t take care of me because you w-were occupied or dead, wouldn’t you want someone else to take me in to recover?’ he asked, now looking directly at his parents with eyes blurred with tears. ‘Or would you rather have me discarded to the streets and venture for- for myself? Would you?’ 

‘We wouldn’t,’ his father said. ‘Of course we wouldn’t. We’ll work this out, Brian,’ he said, but the words didn’t quite land on Brian, who was so far gone into the image of John being expulsed from any sort of society and having to roam the streets at night to find a place to sleep, that the words of his parents didn’t reach him any longer.

‘John is so sweet and good-natured and… and he deserves better than this. So much better than this. Please, you have- you have to help him!’ Sobs now properly overtook Brian’s body, and he rested his face on his hands on the table top. Sounds of chairs scratching the floor and heels clicking on the tiles approached, and then there was an arm around his shoulders and a hand stroking his hair and indistinguishable voices soothing him. It was as if he was five years old again and had screamed for his parents with all of his might after waking up from a dreadful nightmare. He was unsure whether it was a comfort or plain sadness that his parents still came running towards him to soothe him, but it at least felt good to have them at his side again instead of just having them look at him from a distance and staring at him with that weird, empty glance, trying to figure out what on earth was going on in his mind. 

‘It’s okay; everything will be okay.’ His mother stroked his cheek, and Brian thought he felt her press a kiss against his unruly hair. ‘We’re gonna help John. He’s- we’re going to take him in.’

We’re going to take him in. Brian looked up at his mother through teary eyes when these words, the ones that had once been promised and then denied him again, were spoken. Like a magic spell, he was drawn to them, and through a choked sob he whispered: ‘Really?’

His mother exchanged glanced with his dad first, but then pulled away her glance from that of her husband and nodded. ‘Really. We made a promise, after all.’

Brian felt a wave of relief flooding through his veins; one that allowed the muscles throughout his entire body to unclench and his mind to untangle. ‘Thank- thank you,’ he managed to squeak out. His mother smiled a sad smile - one not so much of happiness but one of acceptance - and stepped away from Brian. His father followed her example.

‘Come, dry your tears and come down to yourself,’ she said while handing him another tissue. Surprisingly enough, it was actually feasible for Brian to carry out these instructions now that he had been comforted about the fate of his partner. He wiped his face clean of tears, and by the time he was able to stifle most of the last remaining sobs, he could look his parents in the eyes again.

‘So you promise you’ll let John in? And you… won’t come back on it again?’ Brian asked, just to be sure. After all, he had been let down once before, and he did not know if he could take it to have all of his hopes shatter just like that again.

‘We promise for real this time,’ his father answered without skipping a beat, which Brian took as a good sign. ‘Your mother and I are just overwhelmed, is all. Within a week we got to hear that you would be going for a reassessment, that you wanted to have your new best friend move in with us because he can’t go home, then all these people called us and we received forms to fill out through the mail concerning our responsibilities when you’d be released and all the people and institutes we’d have to be in touch with still… So we just…. Went with it all hoping to be able to talk things over today, but we arrive in a storm of more papers and receptionists and mentors telling us to sign more documents, and then there’s John with this- excuse my languages but… problematic background, and I think we just- didn’t know how to handle it anymore.’

‘But then you should have said so. You should have told Nolan and us you needed more explanation or more time or more guidance, instead of taking ten steps back and breaking your promise to John and me. I haven’t seen him so- so hurt in a long time,’ Brian said. His saliva felt heavy and tough when he swallowed. ‘I told you how nervous John was to meet you over the phone just the other day. I spent a week to convince him to even come along to this meeting; he was too afraid to say or do something that would make you reject him. And then you go and… attack him and push him away for the reasons he can help least? His trauma following the death of his father, and the accident of his sister? His having to live with family because his mum couldn’t take care of him anymore in the depth of his depression? That was- that was plain low, dad. And you too, mum. Really, really low.’

It was only when Brian had uttered this entire soliloquy that he realised when he had said - and he immediately regretted it, despite having meant every single word of it. He knew his parents were not going to take kindly to being lectured by him about what they should and what they shouldn’t do. However, just as he expected to be told off for reprimanding his parents for behaving the way they did, the glance of his father’s face softened.

‘You are right. We were wrong to treat John like that,’ Harold said. Not seeming to know what he was to say afterward, he turned to his wife for support.

‘We will say sorry to John in a minute. I hope we can make him feel welcome still,’ Ruth told Brian, who nodded slowly, thankfully, at his parents.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘That means a lot to the both of us.’

‘It’s just… I know it’s no excuse, and I know that Queen Mary’s must have been a lot harder for you than it was for us,’ his father acknowledged. ‘But I think I speak for both your mum and myself when I say that I’ve been lying awake during the last few nights, wondering if this is really what you want.’

Brian frowned. ‘Whether what is what I want?’

‘This… all of this. To leave Queen Mary’s before your time’s due,’ his dad said.

‘My time is due,’ Brian said with some insistence. ‘I go where John goes, and he goes where I go.’

‘I know,’ his father said. ‘I know- and that’s what I’ve been worried about. That you’re not thinking about your own sanity and well-being, but about John’s only. You understand me?’

‘I do, but-’

‘Doctor Sumner worked hard to give you a spot here at Queen Mary’s, and despite the… circumstances we’ve heard about, we know that trained people do all they can,’ his mother interrupted. ‘Are you sure you want to put all of that aside?’

‘Absolutely positive,’ Brian answered. ‘I’d put everything aside for John - and not just because I… care about him so much, but because I know John is the best help I could possibly have.’

‘But what about your therapy, then?’ his mum asked.

‘He is a better help to me than any of the therapists I’ve spoken to so far, and any therapist I will ever meet in my life,’ Brian said. His father opened his mouth as to say something, but Brian held up his hand to summon him to be quiet. To his own surprise, it seemed to work. ‘John supports me through everything in a way not a single medical professional could ever do. He is always there for me, always tries to cheer me up and cheer me on with everything I do. He’s my rock in a way that no one else could ever be. He’s been my real help at Queen Mary’s, and the real reason why I’m in a much better place now.’ 

By the time Brian had finished this monologue, he noticed his parents really had fallen quiet, and simply blinked at him as to take in all they had just been told. It was at this point also that he realised he was a little out of breath, and, upon placing his hand on his cheek, he found that it was warm and glowing. My God, I must look like an idiot right now, Brian thought to himself. Fortunately for him, though, this was not the message his parents had taken away from the scene he had put himself in.

‘You really care about him, don’t you?’ There was a small smile on his mother’s face as she asked this.

‘Yes,’ Brian sighed. ‘More than about anything or anyone in the world.’

‘Well… It really seems like the only way to help you right now is to help John,’ his father remarked, which Brian realised summarised the current state of affairs pretty well. ‘So that’s what we’re going to do, then.’

Even though this decision had already been secured beforehand, it still made a wave of relief flow through Brian’s veins now that it was reinstigated. They were going to allow John to come live with them; John would have a place to go to; and, sooner or later, depending on the outcome of the reassessment, Brian would be there to live with John and his family again. They’d be together, just the two of them, without any of the disorder and the violence and the overall chaos of Queen Mary’s that currently formed the framework of all they did and said, and they would be happy.

‘We will do that exactly,’ Ruth confirmed, then, turning to her husband, she said: ‘Why don’t you go and fetch John and Nolan, dear, and let me have a second to talk to my boy alone.’ Despite the innocent smile on her face, Brian knew that his mother had something on her mind. His father must have realised this too, for his glance lingered between his wife and his son for a little too long to be just casual, but he then nodded and took his leave either way. 

Ruth waited until her husband was out of earshot, and then turned around to face her son again. 

‘Brian?’ She leant in a bit closer to him, as she would do when she had something serious or confidential to share with him.

‘Yes, mum?’ Brian said, hoping she would not notice how tight his voice sounded already.

‘About John… He’s not just your roommate, or your friend, now is he? He’s more than that.’

Oh, Lord. That was a lot quicker and a lot more to the point than Brian had expected it to be. Of course, he had foreseen the likeliness of his parents expecting something sooner or later once they’d live under the same roof with his parents. He’d thought of the possibility of his mum wondering out loud why they insisted on sleeping in the same room, or his dad remarking that they never left each other’s side. The way they would look at each other, smile at each other, sit a bit too close whenever they got the chance - he had thought of what to say when such matters would be raised. He had not, however, prepared himself for something as straightforward as this question, and in the heat of the moment, he did not trust himself to lie and tell a more socially acceptable answer. Besides, his mother looked at him with such a kind and comforting expression on her face that Brian was positive he could have discarded of a body on her behalf if she would have asked him.

Therefore, he nodded nearly invisibly in response. ‘He is. He’s… We are… everything to each other,’ Brian whispered. ‘I just… need him like I’ve never needed anyone before.’ A smile broke through on his face, but no matter how badly he would have liked for it to have been one of happiness or pride, it would be incorrect to say so. It was a long-hidden feeling of insecurity towards the future, of what people would think of them - of embarrassment and a feeling of failure. Not for loving John, but for breaking the illusion his parents had had of him for so long. An illusion he had had of himself for so long - one that never might have come to the surface if it hadn’t been for John and him crossing paths. Meeting John had changed the entire road of life he had always had in sight for himself, and the realisation that moulding his life around John and what they were together was going to be a reality, in all of its good and bad points, suddenly struck him. Tears filled his eyes, and when his mother did not respond to any he had said and simply looked at him, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ she asked gently.

‘For- not being what you thought I was,’ he managed. ‘For not coming home with a girl.’

‘Darling…’ Brian knew that voice, and he could feel his mother’s hand reaching out to place itself on top of his own hand before she even completed the action, as a matter of speaking. ‘I don’t care who or what you come home with - whether they’re male or female, or Catholic or Anglican, or black or white or purple with yellow dots. What I care for is that you come home as you, alive and well, unlike - unlike some of the stories you hear sometimes,’ she said, leaving Brian unsure if she meant stories from mental health clinics in general, or the ones he had witnessed and shared with her. ‘I want you to come home happy again, and I can tell that he makes you happy.’

‘He does,’ Brian smiled despite himself. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been.’

‘I know, and that’s what matters to us,’ his mum said. ‘Listen, Brian. Your dad and I wanted for you to come home happy again - that’s what we sent you to Queen Mary’s for. The first few nights after we’d taken you here I could do nothing but crying and praying that sending you here would make you feel better, happier, regardless of how this happiness came about. And God must have heard my prayers.’

‘John is a gift from above,’ Brian smiled. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been, or ever could have imagined being.’

‘That’s settled then.’

‘Really?’ Brian asked, not having thought his mother would be so quick to deal with the fact that her only son came home with a guy. ‘But what about- you, or dad, or grandma, or the rest of the family? Especially dad. He’s- he’s always talked about how he can’t wait till my wedding day, and to see his grandchildren…’

‘I know. He’ll have to readjust his expectations, then,’ his mother shrugged. ‘This isn’t about him or me or anyone else apart from John and you.’

‘Thank you,’ Brian smiled broadly at the recognition he had not ever even hoped to get from his family so soon. Then, a less pleasant thought dawned upon him. ‘Mum, will you tell him?’

His mother did not need any context to know what and who he meant. ‘Do you want me to tell him?’

Brian thought for a second. On the one hand it felt liberating to tell the truth, to tell his parents where he and John really stood – but on the other hand, after already having told them more than he had already planned to do and without John’s permission, he decided against the plan in the end. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to discuss it with John. It’s not something that concerns me only, you know.’

‘Of course. It’s not just you on your own anymore from now off,’ his mother said with a small smile. ‘It’s going to be you and your better half.’ Brian felt himself glow at the mentioning of these words. John really was his better half – and his mother was accepting of the position John played in his life. Maybe things were finally looking up for him. 

Things definitely seemed like they were heading in the right direction when the iron door burst open to reveal John, who skipped his way through the visiting room on his mission to find Brian. Brian heard and saw him coming from what seemed to him like miles away – he pushed his chair backward with more force than necessary, almost tripped over his mother’s bag, but did not let this stop himself from dashing towards John and catching his boyfriend into his embrace hallway down the room. When he squeezed John into a hug – and was similarly squeezed into one by John from the other side of things – his partner’s body felt warm and vibrant and alive; so much more alive than Brian had seen him in ages, or perhaps ever before. The grip of John’s fingers on the back of his grey uniform shirt was tight, like he wanted to avoid ever being separated from him in his life; as if Brian was going to allow anyone to come between the pair of them when John looked at him with the most appreciative and loving eyes he had ever been looked at with.

‘They’ll let me in,’ John squeaked in a voice squeezed with happiness and relief. ‘I’ll be allowed to stay and- and live with your family and- and with you.’ The arms around his back moved on to be placed above his shoulders, and Brian could not oppress the urge to put his own hands below John’s armpits and lift him off the floor for a spin. John squealed at first and then laughed, and when his feet were safely planted back on the floor, he threw his body against Brian’s so tightly that it took all of Brian’s strength to not lift up his chin and kiss him right there and then in the middle of the visiting room. He contained himself, though, and made a mental note to shower John in a thousand kisses once they’d get back to their room; a room which they might, with a bit of luck, exchange for Brian’s real bedroom, inside his real house before too long. 

‘Of course they will. I told you they were going to love you,’ Brian replied with the biggest smile. A side glance towards his smiling mother revealed that she really did approve of this statement of his.

Harold and Nolan caught up with them, and Nolan, obviously content and relieved with the turn-out of the meeting, was quick to produce the required paperwork that needed to be signed. Brian held his breath until the moment his father had put his signature on both the file ruling that he’d take his own son back in and on the file ensuring John would be placed under their care also. It was then that he knew there was going to be no return, a thought that made mellow happiness spread through his body as he rested his hand on John’s shoulder when his boyfriend signed the paperwork with a shaky but determined hand.

The formalities then having been taken care of and the time planned for the meeting being almost up, Nolan started shaking hands and speaking of next steps to be taken – financial compensation and guidance for family of what was clumsily referred to as ‘the mentally afflicted’ and other matters Brian could not find himself caring for at the time being. All he cared about was that they were one step closer to completing their plan of escaping Queen Mary’s before the place would turn either one or the both of them out of their minds, or possibly worse. 

Brian stepped forward to hug his dad and kiss his mum as a form of goodbye, and received some more words of comfort – that they would be there for his trial in a few weeks, and that John really would be welcome in their house regardless of how matters turned out for Brian. If Brian remained somewhat skeptical to that point, the last traces of doubt left his mind when he saw John willingly letting himself be captured in an embrace by both of his parents and receiving words of welcome, comfort, and encouragement. John managed little more than a series of ‘thank yous’ and ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am’,  but Brian could tell by the radiant look in his eyes when he broke away from his family-to-be that he was finally, after all this time, gathering some hope for the future – for their future.

‘We’ll see you soon, Brian. And you too, John. We’re looking forward to it,’ Brian’s mother said when Nolan turned to lead his patients out of the same door they had come from an hour ago. John turned around once more to flash them a smile, and give them a wave; Brian followed his example, then placed his hand on John’s back and guided him through the door.

‘Phew. That was a wild ride,’ said Nolan, who pretended to wipe the sweat off his forehead. The iron door fell shut behind him, and he started moving towards the exit at the other side of the hall. Brian and John followed close behind. ‘For a moment I was afraid that – you know…’ They all knew what it was that Nolan was referring to, but no one was particularly keep on speaking the words out loud. ‘But I’m glad they turned around, Brian. That whatever you said worked, and that John won’t have to worry anymore.’ John smiled for a bit, but Brian could tell it wasn’t genuine. 

‘What’s wrong? Aren’t you relieved?’

‘I am,’ John confirmed. ‘But I still worry. What if you don’t get out, or if your parents change their minds on me…’

‘They won’t,’ Brian said before the thought could properly settle in John’s mind. ‘They’re not going to change their minds. And as for me – I’m gonna give it all I’ve got during the final hearing or whatever they call that. And if that’s not enough, I’ll… I’ll find a way to be out of here as soon as possible, honey. I’ll show the best of behaviour and cooperation they’ve ever seen in the history of this place, or try another reassessment. I’ll find a way to leave, I promise.’ John looked skeptical still, but luckily Nolan came to Brian’s rescue. 

‘You won’t have to open a second reassessment. Jasper and Sarah and others are all on your side of the case – and with such strong support and all the effort and dedication you’ve shown in filling out the paperwork, attending sessions with the new psych, keeping up your mental diary your diary, and your exemplary behaviour at Queen Mary’s, there’s not a single objection I think they can make against your case. I can see no grounded reason for them to turn your appeal down.’

‘See?’ Brian said to John, pretending to be not in the least surprised by this claim of Nolan’s that his admission was almost a fact already. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘But Doctor Sumner will be there,’ John muttered. ‘He’ll find a way to let you stay.’

Having arrived at the other side of the hallway, Nolan held open the door for them; but Brian halted his step the second John brought up the name of Doctor Sumner.

‘Sorry, who are we speaking of?’ Nolan asked innocently. Brian was sure he must have read the name of his former psychiatrist in one of the papers concerning the trial, but how could Nolan know the evil intentions of the man behind the name?

‘Thank you, Nolan. We’ll see you in a bit,’ Brian said with what he knew for a fact was the fakest smile he’d ever produced. He could tell his mentor was confused by their sudden secretiveness, but – God bless him – he nodded politely and disappeared through the door. Brian waited until the door fell shut again before he looked John in the face.

‘You know Doctor Sumner is going to be there,’ John stated, more firmly this time.

‘I know,’ Brian gritted. ‘I just hoped you had forgotten about him.’

John snorted. ‘As if.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ Brian sighed. The truth of the matter was that Doctor Sumner had also crossed his mind more than just incidentally lately. Ever since Nolan had informed him of the fact that one was to be judged by a panel of three psychiatrists, one of which would be one’s former psychiatrist or another mental health expert who could testify to one’s character and mental illness, he had feared the possibility of Doctor Sumner disapproving of his being released out of fear he would speak up about the injustice his former psych had pulled him through. He had repressed these fears as much as he could, however, and had hoped that John would have forgotten about Doctor Sumner completely. It seemed like there was no such luck for him though; the handful of times he had brought up the nightmare of a psych during trips to Queen Mary’s garden had obviously stuck in John’s mind, and he himself remained unsure of his destiny with Doctor Sumner playing a role in it.

‘Look. I know the situation is hardly ideal, but Nolan is probably right. Sumner has no valid grounds to restrain me to Queen Mary’s without revealing his fear that he used me for his experiments to get his breakthrough in the medical world or whatever. And if he doesn’t remember so, I might just have to remind him of it.’

John’s ears seemed to prick up at the hint of such a bold thing to do. ‘You’re thinking of doing that?’

Brian, not wanting to admit that he devised this plan literally a split second ago, turned to open the door and let his lover pass through it. ‘Perhaps. If he leaves me no choice – if he’s the one to make me stay I guess I might have to bring it up. It’s not like I’ll have anything to lose in that case anyway,’ Brian grinned. ‘But I’m sure it won’t come to that point – as Nolan said, the judges have no valid grounds to keep me here for, so they’ll probably let me go. And if Sumner is the only one who disagrees… Well, I’ll just say it’s suspicious and ask him if there’s anything from our shared past that might hold him back, and leave the ball in his goal from that point.’

‘Stone cold but clever,’ John snickered. ‘You know, when you first got here, I never thought you’d have it in you to be like that.’

‘Your talents must have rubbed off on me,’ Brian shrugged.

‘My talents were not the only things that rubbed off on you.’

‘John!’ Brian called out in surprise, turning to the side to see his grinning lover catch up with him. ‘Cheeky! You did not get that from me!’

‘No, that must have been Freddie’s doing,’ John contemplated. ‘Having lived with him for a year or so has taken its toll on me.’

Brian stopped for a second. ‘Has it really been that long for Freddie?’

John nodded. ‘Same for Roger - he arrived only a month or so later, if not less. It’s kind of surreal when you think about it.’

‘It’s so weird - day to day life here passes so slowly, and yet in the grand scheme of things-’

‘May.’

Brian halted his sentence when he heard his last name being called out quite loudly in the otherwise empty seeming main hallway. It was early in the afternoon, and with no mealtimes, therapy groups, or other activities running - and a ban on residing in the canteen outside of meal hours out of a fear for fights and confrontation - there was little more than the occasional lone patient passing by.

‘Did you also hear…’ he turned to John, but was not given the time to await an answer.

‘Yes, you there. Brian.’

Brian could now no longer deny the presence of someone calling out for him, but it came as quite a shock to find that the source of the sound was no one other than Drew. Drew, the bully and murderer of Jimmy; the one who had threatened to cut his eye out, who had belittled and teased and pushed Freddie and Roger on multiple accounts, who had knocked John over and given him the biggest black eye Brian had ever witnessed - that Drew was now leaning against the matte glass wall of the canteen, with his arms crossed over his chest, a - strictly forbidden - toothpick between his lips, and for some reason a ground for calling Brian to him.

Brian could see John take a step back behind him, but then step forward again in what seemed like an attempt to show Drew that he was not going to back away. It made little impression on either one of them, for they all knew that despite the tough attitude John tried to keep up, and despite having stood up to Drew and having embarrassed him in front of all of his followers and enemies not too long ago, John did not feel comfortable around him. Hell, no one at Queen Mary’s felt comfortable around the brute of a guy; he was violent, unthinking, remorseless, and had shown on multiple occasions that he was capable of releasing the entire institution into chaos by planting his fists into the face of someone from the other side of things. Luckily he was on his own right now, but Brian nevertheless felt awkward and unsafe around him. Moreover, he could tell that John was feeling unsafe - and whatever Drew wanted from him, was not something he was going to burden John with. 

‘I’ll deal with this,’ he mumbled to the man standing beside him. ‘You can go to our room if you want to - I’ll catch up.’

‘No,’ John answered softly yet resolutely. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’ 

Brian was unsure whether he should be grateful for Jon’s determination to stay at his side or worried that whatever Drew wanted to get back at him for would now be shared with John also. But, like always seemed to be the case when anything happened for which he would like to be given time to think about and ponder the consequences, he was given absolutely no more than a split second before he had to act and speak up.

‘Brian May,’ Drew repeated his name. The look on his face was intense, as if he was trying to figure out Brian’s blood type with the help of nothing with his eyes. He remained exactly where he was and made no attempts at moving closer, as he was usually prone to do when trying to intimidate someone, but Brian still was not comfortable.

‘Drew Myers.’ Brian hoped the shiver in his voice wasn’t too audible - and that the last name he had picked up in the canteen a while back actually belonged to Drew. Drew at any rate did not comment on it being incorrect - in fact, he made no derogatory comments or showed otherwise unpleasant behaviour at all. 

‘Heard you’re going for a reassessment in a week,’ he said coolly. The little wooden toothpick between his lips switched to the other side of his mouth.

For a second Brian wanted to ask him how he got to possess this piece of information, but he realised soon enough that the news of the only successful attempt at leaving Queen Mary’s early must have spread like wildfire among its patients and staff. ‘You heard right,’ he therefore said just as coolly. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he crossed them in front of him in the same fashion as Drew did - which, he realised, must not have looked as cool on him and his 6’3, 130 pound body as it did on Drew’s be it somewhat shorter but a lot broader and more muscular one. Fortunately for him, Drew did not seem intended on calling him out today.

‘I’ll cross my thumbs for you. Hope you’ll get through.’

Brian was caught by surprise by this unexpectedly kind comment. He could feel John turning to look at him, but in his moment of surprise he could not unlock his eyes from Drew’s face. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Drew said without a hint of doubt. ‘You deserve better than this.’

‘Er, thanks,’ Brian uttered after having shared a short glance with John despite it all. ‘We’re, eh, hoping to leave and pick up our lives again.’ He did not know why he said this, why he tried to make conversation with someone who had basically threatened to take their lives on multiple accounts, and who had done worse besides that. But Drew didn’t show a sign of violence or malice now; he seemed calm and reasonable and perhaps even civil, and Brian found himself unable to treat Drew the exact same way in his place. 

‘As you should,’ Drew nodded. ‘You never did seem to belong here, you know. Neither did you, John.’ His hands unfolded to give a quick little point at John, who swallowed a little painfully but remained constant otherwise as Drew’s attention turned to him. ‘Way too good for a place like this. You two are better than the whole bunch of us together.’

Brian had never expected Drew to say something so kind to them.

He had also never expected that Drew saying something kind to them would simultaneously be the last thing they’d ever hear him say. A mere three days after their unexpected meetup, Drew was stabbed between the ribs with a kitchen knife one of his newly admitted rivals had acquired during a secret trip to the staff kitchen and dining room. Nolan and Derek had given CPR, an ambulance had been called, but Drew had, as the story went, been pronounced dead upon his arrival at the hospital.  

Another life wasted. 

All Brian could do was hope his case would indeed be approved, or else he feared that the name of the person he loved most in the entire world might soon also have to be added to the list of victims Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution had produced. 

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed - feel free to send me PMs or messages or anons about your opinions and suggestions for The Clinic, or just to come talk for a bit. I love and appreciate you all! <3

[lifeoftheparty74]

“Please tell me he’s lying.”

A/N: I got stuck so many times writing this, but I’m still happy with the outcome. Reminder that I love feedback and/or constructive citicism!

Pairing(s): ShawnxReader

Word count: 2561

Warnings: Angst. A whole lot of it. Contains mentions of cheating.

I regret that night.

So much.

When one had Shawn Mendes as a boyfriend, not only the definition of hotness and cuteness but also the most polite and caring human being you'd ever met, one wouldn't ever think of cheating on him. Right?

I thought so too.

I don't know what drove me to do it: the fact that I had not seen him in months and was getting horny, or maybe the eleventh shot I'd taken that took me beyond tipsy,  or the guy with brown curls of whom it wasn't so difficult to imagine my boyfriend instead of him.

Neither of those were any excuse though. I'd fucked up.

Shawn and I had been together for three years. Our love story is kind of boring, we met through mutual friend, went on a couple of dates, and he became my boyfriend. We really love each other, and even though he's away for so much of our time, he treats me better than anyone else ever could.

Lately we have been talking about our future a lot. We know we both want kids, but that neither of us will be ready until a couple of years from now, given the stress from his career, being a college student, and both not having settled down yet. We both want to get married, and I am actually expecting a proposal soon.

But now, tonight, he was coming home. I know I have to tell him, but there's a welcome home party for him. I'll tell him tomorrow, when we are alone and have the whole day to ourselves.

Shawn will be home in two hours, giving us exactly one and a half hour before we have to leave. Usually we'd fuck as soon as we saw each other and were alone, but not today. I can't do that until I've told him, it'd just be unfair.

I'm wearing a black dress, knee length, that had short sleeves and is tight around my torso, and looses up a little underneath my waist. My shoulders are partly open and it has a v-neck, accentuating the necklace I'm wearing that Shawn gave me. I know he loves this outfit on me, it looks good without being inappropriate enough for him to get turned on. (I hope of course, we haven't seen each other in months, you never know)

One more hour until he gets here.

I can do this.

I just have to put on a brave face for tonight, just be his girlfriend for one more night.

Yes, I don't want to be together with him. I'm a cheater. He doesn't deserve this.

Shawn is so loving, and caring, and perfect. He'd never, ever, do anything to hurt me. And he deserves someone that can do the same for him. Someone that doesn't get tempted after a few drinks, or a few lonely months. And clearly I can't be that.

I love him so fucking much, and I know the feeling is returned, but that's why I will break up with him, though he'll probably do that himself. He loves me so much, would do anything for me. And to have a person you care about so much throw you away so easily is probably the thing that hurts most. If I love him so much, and am capable of causing this upon him, what kind of terrible human am I than? To do this to the only person that loves me unconditionally?

Something else that scares me is how he'll take a breakup. I know that I myself will fall into a depression, but I don't care. I deserve it. He doesn't.

Shawn's been struggling with anxiety for so long, in a lot of things. His music, his personal life, his ability as partner. I know what me doing this to him will cause his mind to do: Overthink. He'll think it was his fault, that he made a mistake, or didn't show me he loved me enough. And it would ruin any future relationship he has any chance of having.

I hope that through this mess, I'll be able to tell him that. He should never blame himself, or his actions, for my disloyalty. Only I was to blame. He's so perfect, and I am such an idiot for ever letting him go, let alone hurt such a precious human in the worst way possible.

I hate myself.

"Hun? Where are you?" He sounds so exited. I can do this.

"Here!" I call out, bouncing down the stairs, as he picks me up and twirls me around in the air, my legs wrapping around his waist. My hands tangle in his long and soft curls, and I press my nose against them.

He smells so good.

He puts me down, locking his sparkling eyes with mine, and then pressing his lips to mine enthusiastic.

His lips are so soft, feel so good against mine.

His hands feel huge and warm and familiar on my hips.

"I missed you so much." He whispers against my neck, pressing kisses to it repeatedly.

"I missed you too." My voice sounds croaky. Did I really?

Of course I did.

He moves us over to the couch, setting me on his lap.

"Tell me about tour. I want to know everything, stuff you haven't told me yet and that you've told me a thousand times. Tell me everything."

And he does. Words spill from his mouth, talking faster and faster, his excitement about each city and all the fans and the music and crazy tour life showing in his sparkling eyes, his touchy hands, and lips that couldn't help but stop every few seconds to kiss me.

He looks so good like this, pink hoodie and denim jacket, light blue denim pants and black boots.

God, I love him so much.

"I love you." I blurt out.

"So much." He mumbles into my hair, and I smile at the familiar tickle it gives.

"You look gorgeous, baby. New skincare routine?"

"Maybe." I giggle.

I love the way he notices stuff like that.

I love him.

"So, what have you been up to?"

Besides fucking a guy that isn't you, you mean?

"It's nearly time. We should go. I'll tell you tomorrow, mkay?"

"'Okay baby. I love you."

"I love you too. Now lets go."

***

We get to the party in Shawn's Jeep, which hasn't been touched in months. I don't like driving it, since I'm too scared I'll crash it. On tour the guys just take taxis and metros to get around, so they never really need a car.

The party is hosted by his parents, and they have completely transformed their house into a Grammy-worthy area. All their furniture has been moved, creating a huge free space in the middle of the room. All the tables and flat surfaces that can be found are stacked with food and drinks. Fancy hired lamps are hung all over the ceiling and walls, soft music (including Shawn's) plays from Manny's phone, behind the muffins.

Karen had truly outdone herself. The place was magnificent.

"Shawn!" The guys he hadn't seen for a while pounced on him instantly. I left him to engage with them for a sec, while I went to Aaliyah.

"Hey hun, how are you?" This would probably become the last conversation I had with her while she wouldn't look at me with hatred. I couldn't blame her for that, but I really wanted to make the best of it while I still could.

"I'm great, there's this new guy on my hockey team and he's really cute!"

"Tell me!"

As we sat down and she gushed about this blonde guy with grey eyes, my eye caught Shawn's a couple of times. He winked every time, and I blushed every time. I tried to cherish this as much as I could.

The group of guys that were hanging around Shawn seemed to grow more and more by the second: People wanting to speak to him, or welcome him home after months of being on the road.

I noticed one guy in particular that got closer and closer to him.

The guy was tall, around six feet I think, and had a mop of messy dark brown curls on top of his head. Sharp jawline, dimples when he laughed, and dark eyebrows.

Looked like my boyfriend, with some imagination.

Or some drinks.

I vaguely remembered his name: Jacob.

What was he doing here?

I didn't know he knew the Mendes family, and I hoped he didn't know Shawn.

I don't know why I did it, but I excused myself from the conversation with Aaliyah and walked up to them.

By the time I had made my way through the crowd, Shawn and Jacob already seemed to be in a deep conversation.

"Hey baby, come here! Meet Jacob, I just met him, he's a son of one of my mom's friends. Jacob, this is my girlfriend, Y/n." Shawn spotted me first, and pulled me into his side instantly.

I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders, praying to god Jacob will act along.

"Yeah, we've met before."

God no.

"Y/n, can I talk to you for a sec?" Before I had time to reply, Jacob is grabbing my upper arm and pulling me along with him, rounding the corner to the bathroom.

"What the fuck? You're dating him? You have a boyfriend? What's wrong with you?"

"Jacob, please don't tell him. I promise, I am going to tell him tonight, just let me-"

"You cheated on him! Sorry, but that's something I can't support. I'm going to tell him."

"No, Jacob, please..." I grab his arm, his hand, his t-shirt, anything to try and stop him from going back and telling him.

Jacob is fast however, and before I know it, he's made his way through the guests and is standing in front of Shawn, his mouth moving so fast I can barely follow it and then Shawn's face falls, his shoulders slump, he puts his drink down and his hands relax, and finally, he looks up and meets my gaze.

He looks utterly broken.

His eyes already start to water, and I'm frozen in my spot as I watch the man I love fall apart in front of me.

I step forward, reaching out my hand, and even though he is about five meters away, he steps back.

In just a second he has turned, and is now running out of the house.

"Shawn! Wait, please!"

Other guests look at me, wondering what is going on, but I couldn't care less.

All I care about is the man I did this horrible thing to.

I hate myself.

I run outside, after him, but he is way faster than I am and has already made it to his car. By the time I reach him he has already started the engine and is about to drive away. It's almost completely dark outside, so I am blinded by the headlights, but jump in front of the car anyway in hopes of stopping him.

He does.

I run around to the passenger side, pulling open the door, begging him.

"Please Shawn, just hear me out. Let's talk about it. Please baby, just let me in."

Besides a slight nod, he doesn't reply. I sigh in relief, thankful for his always calm and kind nature, and step in, fiddling with my bracelet.

"Thank you."

He just turns the car around and drives home.

Home.

The drive is awkward and silent, and neither of us look in each other's direction. The hour that usually ticks by easily with our conversations and music, feels distant and cold for the first time ever.

It gives me time to think: What am I going to say? I spend the hour figuring out what to say, what not to say, and how to bring it.

Not that I'm nearly ready when the car suddenly comes to a stop and Shawn is out of the door in the blink of an eye.

I am following him sheepishly out of the Jeep through our front door and into the hall.

For what could be the last time.

He stops once he reaches the living room, not turning around to face me, and I just keep my stance a couple of steps behind him.

"Tell me he's lying. Please." His voice sound croaky, breaking every other word, and his head hangs low, shoulders slumping in await of my answer.

I breathe in deeply and swallow some tears to prepare myself. "I'm sorry. I can't."

The second the words leave my mouth, he drops to his knees, shoulders shaking, hiding his face in his hand, and he sobs and sobs and I don't think I have ever heard a sound so terrible as that one.

I crouch down onto my knees next to him, not caring that I'm ruining my pretty dress, and reach my arms out to wrap around his upper body.

He shakes me off at first, but after multiple attempts he finally gives in and rests himself against my body and sobs rake though his body, pain and devastation sounding through them.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper against his perfect curls, "I'm so sorry. I love you."

"No," He shakes his head rapidly, "I'm sorry. This is my fault, if I hadn't left, if I'd shown you more that-"

"Don't you dare make this about you. This is all me."

"But-"

"No."

So we just sit there, in each other's arms, both of us sobbing heavily.

"You- You know I can't stay, right?"

"Shawn, I'd never ask you to. You don't deserve someone like me. You deserve someone who treats you like the perfect person you are, someone that loves you unconditionally, someone that doesn't get temped to... To-"

"Cheat on me."

"Hhmmm."

"But I just want you." He wheezes, clinging to by body as if he's afraid I'm going to disappear as soon as he lets go. My heart breaks more at every sob, every sniffle, he lets out.

"I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you,"

"But you did." The shakes in his shoulders become less frequent, but neither of us seem to be doing better. "Why?"

"I don't know. I really don't know, I'm so sorry baby."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay."

So we just sit there. I don't know for how long, it could be seconds, minutes, hours. All I know is that after quite some time Shawn removes himself from my embrace and stands up.

"I'm going to go... pack my stuff."

I'm frozen, can't move, can't stop him from walking up the stairs. I hear him moving, hear closet doors slamming and clothes folding.

And I can't get up. I can't stop him.

He comes back downstairs, and looks at me sitting on the ground like a statue.

Shawn bends down, nuzzling his face i to my neck, and I ruffle his curls, both of us taking in each other's scent.

For the last time.

"I'm sorry." I whimper. "I love you."

"I love you too," he sobs. He picks me up, laying me on our- my couch, and then suddenly, his keys clatter on the counter, his legs carrying him out the condo. The door slams behind him.

He's gone.

[farfanfiction]

At Last

Pairing: Jacob Seed x Reader

AUs: Soulmates

Warnings: Fluff, angst, cursing, mentions of abuse, blood, mentions of cannibalism, starvation, knives, a happy ending for once

Word Count: 2,487

A/N: I’ve been in a really Jacob-y mood and I need some sort of fluff with him before I write the next chapter of Loyalty To The Pack. This type of Soulmate AU involves both soulmates feeling each others pain, in case you didn’t know. Thank you all for sticking with me through this journey and enjoy some Jake fluff and just tell me if I did Jake any justice. And like always, give me some feedback on what I could do better or what I did alright, where you wanna see this whole mess go, or something you just don’t understand. The gif is not mine.

   Soulmates were a blessing. That’s what your mother would always say when she was attending to the various scratches and bruises littering your body. You always wondered why she held soulmates in such high regards when all they caused was pain. Physical and emotion pain plagued you all your life. Most of the time, the pain wasn’t caused by something you did. It was caused by the fucker that seemed to get attacked almost every day. That starved almost every day causing you to eat everything in your fridge in order to sedate the squizzing pain in your stomach.

   You always cursed the people that would brag about their own soulmate. Ether getting a mear scratch on their cheek or was sad for a single day. Those people complained about getting a simple scratch when it felt like fire was eating at your skin or bullets were piercing through your chest. It got so bad that your mom had to take you to the hospital and they prescribed you with suppressants that would simply get rid of the pain altogether. When you first took that pill all you could feel was utter relief. You curled yourself into your parents’ couch and gave a long, heavy sigh. It was over, you were finally fucking free! No more burning, no more depression. No more pain.

   The only downside to the drug was the loneliness. You couldn’t feel your soulmate and your soulmate couldn’t feel you. It felt like a piece of you had been ripped out and you couldn’t imagine what your soulmate was feeling at the moment. Not being able to feel you after almost twenty years of pain and suffering together. But that was ok, you wouldn’t meet anyway. It was rare to meet your soulmate.

   How wrong you were when you said you would never fucking meet. When you became a Junior Deputy for Hope County, you thought nothing of it. You had your suppressants, nothing could distract you from your duty. Not even the crazy cult that moved in a few years back. Your parents had moved to Florida when the cult moved in, excuse me, Project at Eden’s Gate. A group of just bad Seeds, literally.

   Your job was just to leave them alone and if they did something serious, then you would do something. So all you did was sit at your little desk and scroll through the countless complaints from Hope County citizens about the Seeds. They're stealing my land this and they’re buying guns that. Everyone in this fucking county has guns, it doesn’t matter if a group of organized Georgian preppers have them or not.

   In this group, it wasn’t the leader that scared you. He was just a religious hipster compared to his older brother. Jacob, you think his name was. Big and burly was the best way to describe him. He always stood with his huge arms crossed as his blue eyes held nothing but utter boredom and an “I honestly don’t give a shit” attitude. He was the most intimidating compared to the hipster and the weasel. John just freaked you the fuck out, but Jacob truly scared the shit out of you.  

   When you went to arrest Joseph with the help of an ass Federal Marshall, you got to get up close and personal with Jacob. “(Y/N), cuff this son of a bitch”, the Marshall’s words echoed in your head as you faced Joseph, but you were looking clear at Jacob for once as you noticed the bright red rashes along his cheeks. You were born with the same rashes down your face and arms and they never went away, but always burned.

   “(Y/N), put the cuffs on him!” This snapped you out of your trance as you looked around you. You looked down to see Joseph’s arms held out to you as if he wanted you to grab them. You trembled as you stared at his inked palms and the metal cuffs that jingled in your hands like bells.

   You slowly, but surely latched the cuffs onto his wrist and Joseph watched as a small tear fell from your (e/c) eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whispered not to Joseph, but to Jacob. You looked at Jacob in the eyes and you gently grabbed his brother's shoulder and led him to the door. Yet, you stopped for only a second. Was this the right thing to do? Where you really going to take away your soulmate’s brother? Were you going to cause him even more pain? You just stood there and watched both Sheriff Whitehorse and the Marshall walk out of the door of the church. You were alone with the Seeds and there is no way you were going to leave this church alive. Not with Jacob staring holes into your back with his cold, blue eyes.

   Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to have you wheezing for air. You slowly let your hands drop from Joseph’s shoulders and John came up to take off his handcuffs. The Father slowly turned to look at you and smiled. “It is ok, my child. You are safe, no one will hurt you now. Faith, please.” His hand slowly cradled your cheeks as the rough hand grabbing your neck loosened their grip.

   The sister, Faith slowly walked into your field of vision. She let out tiny, happy giggles as she removed a small vile of green dust from her dress pocket. Joseph moved out of the way as she came closer, opening the vile and pouring its contents onto the soft palm of her hand. “I have always wanted a sister.” She giggled out again as she blew the dust into your face. Your (e/c) eyes slowly began to droop as you turned to look behind you. Jacob was the last thing you saw before passing out.

   “Get up. Come on pup, I don’t have all damn day.” Dirt was kicked at your face as you slowly woke up. Rusted bars blocked you from seeing the dirty combat boots that kicked piles of dirt at your face. You slowly rubbed your eyes and looked up. Jacob stood in front of the cage, his arms crossed as he stared down at you.

   “It’s about fucking time. I was about to go in there and get you myself.” You just simply looked at him as he mocked you from outside the cage. You hoped to God you were the only one captured, but you knew there was no possible way everyone got away scot-free.

   “Where, where is everyone?” It was a stupid question that would have an equally stupid answer. Jacob held back a smirk. He was definitely going to have fun playing with you.

   “Shipped off to my other siblings, doing whatever, I honestly couldn’t give a shit if they’re dead or alive, but you. You are what I want, pup.” The mear thought of your coworkers being held captive or worse sent shivers down your spine.

   “Speaking of what I want, I believe this is what you want.” Jacob reached into a pocket of his dirty jeans and pulled out a small tablet of white pills. Your suppressants... How the fuck did he get those!?

   “Please, please give them back!” You knew you looked so desperate at the moment, but honestly, you couldn’t give a fuck. Jacob’s smirk got bigger as you pleaded. He knew exactly what he was doing, there was no possible way he didn’t know you were both soulmates. He wasn’t that stupid. Hell, he brainwashes wolves for a living. Wolves of all things!

   “Ah ah ah, not so fast. These suppressants have made you weak and we all know the weak have their purpose.” He slowly drew out each syllable with finesse as he took the tablet and dropped it on the ground. Without even thinking, you reached through the bars of the cage and tried to grab the tablet, but Jacob’s dirty combat boot got there first. He crushed the pills with his heel and dug it into the dirt. The crunch of the pills alone made you go into a cold sweat.

   “And you understand your purpose now, don’t you pup?” He said it in such a teasing manner as if he found this to be the most hilarious thing in the world. He grabbed the dirty tablet from the ground and threw it into your cage. “I’m gonna make your life in here a living hell.” That’s all you could remember before scrambling to the pile and looking for any whole pills. There had to be one, just one. You weren’t going to let this bastard win.

   There was the only one left that was covered in dirt, but it would have to do. You swallowed it down immediately and glared at where Jacob just stood. If he wants a battle you’ll give him a war.

   The past few weeks in that dirty cage were utter hell. You screamed for food and water just like the other prisoners. You reached your shaky hands through the bars and tried to touch anyone that passed by. You were going to die in this cage like an animal and it was all your soulmates fault. A fucking blessing my ass.

   The only good thing about being in that cage for that long was the fact that you weren’t brainwashed with that damn music box yet. Jacob had threatened it, walking around each cage with the box and watching as each and every prisoner except you scurried in fear to the corner of their cages.

   The time not being brainwashed had you focus on an escape plan. There was no plan, there was no way of getting out. You had even debated giving into Jacob once or twice like he wanted. The suppressants helped with that. It had been a week since you took the last one and the effects were starting to wear off.

   Feeling his pain after years of resisting had you on edge. The squeezing feeling in your chest would not go away no matter how much you cried or screamed inside the cage. It only got stronger and stronger until all you could feel was the pain. This is what you deserved. This was God’s punishment for you after ignoring Jacob for your own selfish reasons. Sometimes you even believed this, it was beginning to drill itself into your head. Imprint itself into your very memory.

   With Jacob’s emotional pain came the physical pain as well. The red rashes you had all over your body were beginning to burn again. A smoldering heat burning into your skin. He would no doubt you were his soulmate if he saw those rashes from under the dirt and makeup you wore to cover them.

   “Well, you look like utter shit, pup.” You blinked back tears as you watched Jacob approach your cage. He knelt down beside your tired body and gave a slight smirk at your pained expression.

   “It was wondering when those suppressants would be flushed out of your system. This is for your own good, pup. Those pills made you weak, misdirected you from your purpose. Without them, you can be truly strong.” He slowly took out his army knife as he spoke, the blade shining in the light of the full moon. A perfect night for a perfect Alpha like him.

   “You see this, pup? This is a military grade knife, given to marines as part of their uniform. When I got this knife, I thought nothing of it. I’ve been defending my brothers from my old man with my bare fists, why would I need a knife? But, I finally understood what it was for when I hauled my ass to the nearest base with just this knife and a member of my unit dead in the dirt. I understood my purpose when I cut open Miller with this knife. Pain is purpose. You just can’t seem to grasp that.” He got closer and closer until you could feel his breath on your dirty face.

   “So, I’m gonna show you your purpose, pup.” He then took the knife and made a nice, clean slice down his forearm. Despite bright blood dripping from the deep wound, his face remained calm and collected. Jacob just watched as you grasped your own bloody forearm. Tears slipped from your (e/c) eyes and Jacob just watched with a look of utter satisfaction.

   “This is your purpose, it was only you. You were meant for me and you can’t deny that. Not when you have my marks to prove it.” Jacob reached through the bars of the cage and held your cheek with a gentleness you didn’t know he could possess. You could feel the pain begin to dull as he brushed away the dirt and makeup with his thumb and revealed the red rashes that covered you (s/c) skin.

   With the way he touched you, it was no surprise that you fell asleep. He held you with such love and kindness it was unreal. Was he trying to get you to trust him in order to use you later? Did you have a different purpose? It was hard to tell with him.

   You woke up slowly the next day, the sun coming from a window hurting your eyes. Wait, window? Yes, there across from you was a small window and a very large man. Jacob was watching you from a chair far too big for his size. His bright blue eyes never wavering from you.

   “Go back to sleep, pup. I got ya, I promise.” He gave a small smirk unlike no other and watched you fall asleep once again. No more pain. You were with your soulmate at last.