winsomes

[winsomes]

HARRISON & SARAH:

Harrison could never quite pinpoint when he became so righteous within his own actions. Same with Sarah. They seemed to be coasting along the same line of dread but somehow, they were still miles and miles apart. If his mother were around, she’d say something about how they were avoiding the truth. She was always smart in that way and she had no problem plucking at anyone’s feathers when it came to their inner struggles or things they’d much rather avoid. It’s why he hasn’t contacted her about Dean’s death or what’s going on with Sarah. Hell, he never told her a damn thing to begin with, so why start now?

Probably because he’s desperate. That much was true though he does what he can to not make it obvious. There was another thing, when did he become so stubborn? Even now, he wants to stand and take Sarah by the shoulders and shake her. Maybe then all her worries would tumble to the ground and out of her pockets and they’d be okay to be there for one another. To be together. But, no, they were stuck within a cycle of guilt and vague possibility. Though, in truth, Harrison does fear that possibility of going away one day. It might have been why he’s held on for so long, the possibilty that maybe one day Sarah would show up to his home and confess her love. Then he’d spew his regrets and kiss her hard and the world would seem a little less bleak.

By the time Sarah speaks again, he notices he’s been digging his nails into the delicate palms of his hands. He releases, bright eyes looking down at the crescent moon shaped indents decorating the skin there. He was tense, another thing his mother would point out. You’re so tense, little lamb. Her voice comes in waves. You’re not still upset about that dead mother, are you? Harrison shakes his head to himself, attempting to rid of the voice. He looks to Sarah once more as if she’s a savior in the midst of his struggles. A lifeline. 

With one final, quick swig of his drink, Harrison stands. His large hands reach down to brush the front of his jeans before averting his gaze to the woman still seated before him. Fun. Harrison could do fun. Or he could at least try. The last time he did something fun and impulsive was the night him and Sarah had their brief, barely-there moment just beside Dean’s pristine hospital bed. It smelled like sterile wipes and crisp air and his friend was dying and Harrison just wanted to kiss his pretty wife. But when the moment came and gone in the blink of an eye, he went home in a bit of a haze. He dials a number and then another and then another. Somehow he ended up in bed with a woman who resembled Sarah. She had the same high cheekbones and dark, pointy brows. She had a different eye color, a dull shade of green. Sarah’s were a muddy brown, lighter at the center that he adored more than most things in this world. He looks into them now and sees they’ve begun to redden and sink into her face yet he’s still captivated by her. Despite being a woman scorned by family, then abandoned by her husband due to an illness she couldn’t cure. In sick and in health must have been a bunch of misplaced sentiments to her now. Harrison couldn’t even imagine. 

Harrison reaches his hand out for her, “Come on,” He says, forcing a quiet chuckle. By some miracle, it sounds sincere, shielding the nervousness that piles high just behind his eyes. Luckily, he has an idea of where to take her. Another miracle, he can thank his mother for this idea. “You want fun, fine. We’ll have fun. But let’s dial back on the getting drunk in the middle of the day.” The man says, eyebrows quirking upward. “We’ll save that for later tonight. Then, we can get completely wasted. Deal?”

He drank the last of his whiskey. Sarah’s hand immediately wrapped around the bottle, ready to top him up again. Harrison was already on his feet. Sarah looked him up and down. Leaned back in her chair, mildly intrigued. Shot her drink back until the glass was clean and empty. “Where are we going?” Sarah asked. Probably somewhere that required she wear a bra. She pulled her cardigan back up her arm. Glanced down at her chest. The cold from the open door was making her nipples stand out against her shirt. Sarah pushed away from the dining table. Crossed her arms, only a little embarrassed about it.

“I’ll be back.” She announced. Hastily turned back for the bottle of Jim Beam and took it with her to the bedroom. Alcohol only added to the fun, in her opinion. “Yeah, yeah.” She waved the bottle in his direction, shrugging it off. He clearly didn’t approve of her day drinking. She got through shift work without a drink. She could last the rest of the afternoon without any more, if she had to. “Deal.” Sarah said at the last minute, rounding the corner. “Later tonight, though! For sure.” The promise of more made her want to keep her promise.

She slipped a sweater on over a worn bra. Stuck her feet into some boots, lined with fur. Quickly painted her face with some make-up. Needed concealer to hide the exhaustion, the grief, from her features. Curled her eyelashes with a small amount of mascara, just because. Sarah snatched her handbag from the arm of her couch. Draped a coat over her shoulders. “Okay, let’s go.” She said, words only slightly slurring. Her shoes crunched the snow on the sidewalk, walking close together on the way to his car.

They stopped for gas on the way out of town. Sarah had her feet up on the dash, staring out the window when they pulled into the service station. “Jeez, where are you taking me? Canada?” Sarah joked. Leaned over him to get a glimpse of the speedometer. See how empty his tank was. “Do you want anything?” She asked, gesturing inside with a nod of her head. Probably should’ve went to the toilet before they left, but her head was a little fuzzy. Today more than usual. She had a pretty good excuse, at least. Grabbed them some snacks before she headed back out to the car. A bag or two of Dorito’s. Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. A packet of sour worms. Anything to soak up the alcohol. She eyed off a six-pack in the refrigerated aisle. And she didn’t even like beer. Not really.

She glanced out the window, hesitant. Watched Harrison angled against the side of his car, pumping gas. There was something comforting about that. Homey. Familiar. Their eyes met for a moment, even a distance apart. Like he must’ve known she was staring. Admiring him. Like he’d felt it. Sarah stepped away from the aisle, guilty as charged. Opted for bottled water, instead, acting on her best behaviour. Bought one for Harry, too. He was designated driver; he needed to stay under the limit. Shake off the glass he’d downed at her place.

Back in the car, she dumped the plastic bag full of snacks into his lap. Shoved their bottled water into the cup holders. “See. I’m being good.” She said, pointedly. Almost like she needed his approval or validation. She tore the chip packet open with her teeth, buckling up her seatbelt. Held them out in his direction to take a handful. “So what’s the music situation?” Sarah fiddled with the radio dial. Landed on an Elvis Presley song. The Wonder of You. “This was our wedding song.” Sarah mumbled. Said it like Harry hadn’t been there, hadn’t witnessed it for himself. Sarah was quick to change stations. Settled for something more modern. Upbeat. Poppy. She looked out the window again. Laughed. “What a joke.”  

[winsomes]

HARRISON & SARAH:

How long was one meant to indulge in activities for the dead? Harrison had asked that question while turning into Dean and Sarah’s neighborhood. He pictured just him and Sarah on an afternoon in October, years from now. They were laughing over something on the television, maybe a movie Harrison picked with his eyes closed. They knew the date yet did nothing to make it concrete. No, they simply looked down at the little calendar hanging in the kitchen, smiled at the number 17, and went about their lives. 

The image of this makeshift dream subsides once Sarah speaks, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife through butter. It was strange to see her like this now. She seemed less like a human and more like a wounded animal you might find on the road. It’s not dead but it’s not quite alive either. Perhaps Sarah had been coasting along that middle ground too, teetering back and forth between good and bad and somewhere in the middle.

“I wouldn’t forget,” Harrison says and he can’t pinpoint whether that’s a lie or not. He did wake up this morning and then went right back to sleep knowing well enough that it was Dean’s birthday. The thought makes him swallow hard and he straightens his spine as some final attempt at seeming, well, adjusted. “Though, we are gonna need to get a cake now that his parents are out.” Harrison plays with the napkin holder before him, mostly to occupy his time and line of view. There were times where he realized that he couldn’t control himself around Sarah. Before Dean’s demise, the sight of her used to fill him with a specific brand of dread, envy, and desire. He burned for her, a blazing inferno. Now, it was all a little muddled. The glimmer of hope that makes a home inside his belly now also doesn’t exactly pair well with the guilt that threatens to override this newfound emotion. Your best friend is dead, his guilt mutters into the oblivion that was his body, and you’re hopeful that you may be able to screw his widowed wife? You need help.

Once again, he’s torn from his thoughts, though this time it’s by the sound of a new bottle being placed onto the dining room table. Now that he’s come to, he notices the place has begun to smell like an old dive bar. His bright eyes survey the label on the bottle of bourbon before allowing his gaze to rest upon Sarah for the first time since he’s walked through the door. She still looked the same, somehow, despite all this loss. Her eyebrows were dark and naturally arched sharply, her cheekbones were prominent against the lines on her skin. Dean once said that Sarah looked like if a Disney villiain had gone right. Harrison agreed. Silently, he was angry he didn’t come up with it first. 

With that, Harrison reaches out for the bottle once Sarah finishes pouring herself a drink. He fills the glass halfway which you could also categorize under the many, many attempts made by Harrison Sherman to seem more put together. The man takes a generous sip before speaking, “It’s going okay. My publisher’s been hounding me, so..” He shrugs. Now, this, this was a lie and he knew that without having to think about it. Harrison was not a writer and he certainly didn’t have a single idea to be okay about to begin with. His head was a carton of spilled milk with a framed photograph of Sarah just beside it. Harrison moves to rest his head in his palm. He wonders again when they were going to stop celebrating Dean’s birthday, even though it’s only been a year. He also wonders when they were going to stop saving face. The pads of his fingers then graze the skin of his cheek that she previously kissed. 

Oh, there it is. He wanted to kiss her.

“When’d you start drinking today?” Harrison asks on impulse, a breathy laugh lacing through his words. Dean died from cancer, Sarah might die from alcohol poisioning. Then, there was Harrison, who may die from either mediocrity or loving Sarah. Either way, what bliss. 

He said he wouldn’t forget. Sarah wished that she could.

Harrison had mentioned vanilla sheet cake. Sarah rolled her sleeves over her wrists. Scratched at the surface of the dining table. Their eyes still hadn’t met. “We can go to the store.” She wouldn’t mind restocking her liquor supply. Buying some candy corn or something else as equally bad and hard on her teeth. She noticed that she was clenching her jaw. Sarah took a swig of her glass to ease up on all the grinding.

Writing was a bit of a sore subject. Bittersweet was the only way Sarah could think to describe how she felt about Harry’s career. The book. Not his or her husband’s. Just the book. “You don’t have to stay, y’know? If you’ve got somewhere else to be… or something else to do today…” The two of them didn’t make up much of a party. It was just like any other time he came over to keep her company. He could go to Dean’s parents’ house, instead. Celebrate for real. Sarah thought twice about making the suggestion. Mouthed the rim of her glass to keep herself quiet. Truthfully, she didn’t want him to leave. It wasn’t just about feeling lonely, okay? Sarah loved Harrison. Always used to joke about it to Dean. An inside joke, of sorts. Teasing and flirting. How Harry’d make a great second husband for her one day. She didn’t mean it. She didn’t mean it.

Well. Harry was kinda like a husband. In the same sort of way they depicted it on TV, or in the books she used to read when she used to have the time. No sex, a lack of affection—but he was always around. There when she really needed him to be. He was a constant figure in her life, which had to speak for something. All she had now was work and drinking. Bad Netflix documentaries. Harry. It was a solid routine, at least. Reliable. Sarah wasn’t so sure that love was in the cards for her. Not again—not after what happened. This had to be close enough to it. Sarah could live with that.

He’d only filled his glass halfway. Sarah snatched the bottle as soon as he set it back down on the table. Pointedly poured some more whiskey into his glass, so they had an even amount each. “A while ago.” Sarah replied, purposefully vague. She hadn’t exactly been keeping track of time. It was unspoken, but they both knew she’d had a head start. Harry needed to catch up. She topped his glass up a little more. Probably wasn’t the smartest idea after what happened the last time they got drunk together, but oh well. Sarah had nothing left to lose. What was another inebriated declaration of love, huh? She just pretended she couldn’t remember anything that happened the next day. Played up her hangover. Harry was none the wiser. It was best not to think about it.

It was nice to hear him laughing. It made her feel lighter. Put some colour in her cheeks. Hm. That might’ve been the alcohol kicking in. “I don’t know what else we’re meant to do to celebrate.” Sarah admitted. Lowered inhibitions, and all that. This was the first birthday without him. It was all new territory she wasn’t sure she could cover on her own. “My plans didn’t really extend beyond this bottle.” She gestured to the Jim Beam with a nod of her head. “Got any ideas?” The store could be good. It was cheaper than going to a bar and running up a tab. What else were they meant to do today? Now that she’d looked at him once, it was easier to do it again. “I can’t remember the last time I just… did something fun.” She was a prisoner to her guilt and her grief. Today, of all days, Sarah thought she deserved a get out of jail free card.

[winsomes]

HARRISON & SARAH:

STARTER FOR: @winsomes LOCATION: Gilbert Residence. SETTING: Afternoon.

October 17th, the screen of his phone reads, illuminating Harrison’s darkened bedroom. The curtains were closed, only a shred of light poking through. It cascades just along the side of his face. If he were a good man, he may assume it was Dean saying hello from the great beyond. That’s how they made it seem in movies and television. Loved ones would come to you in the shape of light and sound. Perhaps Dean would brush against his shoulder in the way ghosts do in movies. Or maybe he’ll push a lamp onto the ground, making it shatter to pieces against the hardwood. Harrison would jump from his skin, hand clutching his broad chest. Then, he’d smile, breathless. A sign from above. Dean.

But, Harrison was not a good man. He was somewhere in the middle, coasting the line. He was not good and Dean was in a box. A box that would soon wither and yellow while he rotted and collected little bugs and cobwebs like a forgotten antique. 

When he finally stirs awake for the second time, the room is even brighter. Light leaks from the bottom now, sunlight pouring in. Harrison releases a breathy groan, tossing his duvet from his body. He thinks to shower but doesn’t. What good would that do? It wouldn’t bring Dean back. It wouldn’t make this day subside and go by in a series of quick blinks. It wouldn’t give Harrison what he wanted. It wouldn’t give him Sarah.

He pads into the kitchen and reaches for the fridge. No milk. He’d take his coffee black today. When the digital clock above his stove reads twelve, he winces. He was late. He gets dressed as fast as he can. A plain dark grey sweater along with a basic pair of jeans. He slicks back his hair with a bit of gel, a lackluster attempt at seeming put together despite waking up at noon. Then he heads out. He counts the decorative pumpkins on each porch in his neighborhood before driving onto the main road.

“Sorry I’m late.” The man says upon arrival, “Are his parents coming?” Harrison asks as he sits across from Sarah at the dining room table. The image of the three of them laughing over a game of Scrabble flashes across his mind like a stroke of lightning. Like clockwork, the guilt arrives. “Sheila called me the other day. She wanted to bring a sheet cake. Vanilla.” Dean’s favorite, he thinks to say, but refrains.

She’d never been one to indulge in vices. Addiction ran in her family. Her biology. Her adoptive parents, too. Nature versus nurture, and all that. Bio-social model. It didn’t really matter. She ended up at the bottom of a bottle, anyway. The drinking started when Dean got sick. When they gave him medical marijuana to cope with all the chemo. It was the smell of it that she couldn’t stand. Like every whiff transported her back to her childhood home in Connecticut. Sarah tried burning it away with scented candles. Perfume spritzed on the scarf she always wore, so she had something to bury her face in when Dean lit one up. The smell of it stuck to everything. The curtains, the sheets. Tequila smelled better. Cleaner. And when she got drunk enough, none of it even mattered.

Maybe it wasn’t just about the stench. Might’ve had something to do with not being able to cope, or falling on bad habits. Living up to her DNA. Maybe Sarah just wanted to be as fucked up as her husband was when he was high and coughing and barely able to move. She wasn’t sure what her excuse for it now was. Grief? Depression? Sarah had no excuse. She kept doing it, anyway.

He’d been gone for nine months. The amount of time it would’ve taken them to have the baby they never did. That deserved a cheers, right? Sarah only got in a couple hours of sleep after her double at the hospital. Woke up early to crack open the new bottle of Sierra she’d bought the last time she went to the grocery store. She liked the sombrero hat. It made it fun. Sarah washed it down with some Frosted Flakes and milk, just to balance things out. Dean had loved his breakfast cereals. October 17th, Sarah noted, swirling her food around in her mouth. It would’ve been his birthday today. That deserved a cheers, too.

October in Denver wasn’t exactly warm, but Sarah didn’t mind letting the cold in. She kept her front door open. The first snow of the season was starting to fall. She watched it out the screen door, cuddled in a cardigan and a blanket at the dining table. They’d had to downgrade houses when Dean first got his diagnosis. The medical bills made it hard to pay the mortgage. Between her work and his treatments, Sarah spent most of the time at the hospital, anyway. By the end of it all, Sarah never left. Took a sabbatical from work and still spent all her time at Saint Joseph’s. She stayed in the house even after Dean died. The place was small: a kitchen and living room and dining table all crammed into the one space off the entryway. One bedroom, one bathroom. Like a bachelor pad. It kind of was, at this point. Sarah was a bachelorette now. A widow. 

The screen door squeaked when Harrison came through. Snow had melted in his hair. He tracked mud from the front yard into the room. Sarah had always been a messy person, so it didn’t really bother her. Especially not today. “I thought you might’ve forgotten.” Sarah said, fingers tapping on the edge of her empty glass. Harry was a big time author now. She was surprised he could make the time for her. Or her dead husband. “Nah, plans changed. They’re seeing him at the cemetery and doing something for dinner at their place, instead." She mumbled, hand waving around to explain away her empty living room. “I probably won’t go.” Sarah picked up her glass and moved to the other side of the table to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Habit. 

Her socks dragged on the floorboards on her way to the kitchen. She pulled a bottle of Jim Beam out of the cupboard and an extra glass. Sure, it was only lunch time, but her body clock ran on a rotating roster because of work. And she'd had her first drink at 8am, anyway. Sarah was practically a textbook alcoholic now. Harry didn’t have to have one if he didn’t want to. “Fuck the cake! We’ve got dessert right here.” She set the glasses and the bottle of bourbon whiskey on the dining table. Started to pour one out for herself. “How’s the writing going, Harry?” 

[winsomes]

(click here for template)

[winsomes]

MY FAVOURITE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS → Tara Weisz (born 11/15/88)

[winsomes]

He pushed his fingers lightly through her hair, attempting to get it out of her face from all the wind. “I’m gonna kiss you, now.” He didn’t know why he said it - maybe he’d wanted to say something else, but that was only thing on his mind. He said it, and he was a man of action and a man of his word. He shifted just that little bit closer to her and pressed his lips to hers, soft, at first. She deserved soft.

[winsomes]

JAVI & TARA:

Their lips met and it felt like time stopped. Like electricity jolted between them. It sounded impossibly corny and like something out of a telenovela his mother used to watch. Javier had never been one for romance, his lifestyle didn’t make room for those luxuries - and, as far as he’d always been concerned, it was a hindrance. Other bikers were quick to swoop in on distractions and it gave everyone else too much power over him if he had something he couldn’t stand to lose. He didn’t want to put Tara in the cross hairs like that - didn’t want to put a target on her back by association with him and with his club.

He pulled back ever so slightly, prepared to warn Tara off like he was a villain in some young adult novel. Instead, she climbed into his lap, resuming the kiss that he’d momentarily broken and all thoughts of sending her away were pushed out of his head. Those ten year disappeared and melted away and they’d picked up right where they’d left off. Nobody to walk in on them, nobody to interrupt them - except maybe a wayward cop or two. But fuck the cops, his club greased their palms enough to get them to look the other way. If they could ignore the drugs moving through the city, they could certainly ignore the two people getting busy at the overlook.

She took his hands and guided them under her shirt, up to the silky fabric of her bra. His fingers caught on the lace of the cup and he rubbed it between his fingers - touching her but not really touching her. Fighting every instinct in his body not to overstep or get rough. Javier wouldn’t normally be gentle or easy with a woman he brought to bed. But Tara wasn’t just a woman, she was Tara. Different. Special. Important. And he didn’t want to push her any farther than she was willing to go. Didn’t want to risk doing anything to chase her away - funny, coming from the guy who was just prepared to warn her away from him. He was a changed man…from five minutes ago.

Pushed her bra down so that he could feel the skin underneath the fabric and he moved his hands around to her back, fingers finding the metal clasps. Released them so that he could better touch her, the garment looser around her body. Put his hands back on her chest, rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, the soft hem of her shirt rubbing against his forearms. Her hips rocked in his lap and he could feel his body react to her, his tight pants getting even tighter. His chest was starting to burn a little bit, all of his air in Tara’s mouth.

After a few more moments, where he started to feel a little bit dizzy, she pulled back and he took a couple deep breaths, pulling air into his aching lungs. He was still a little bit light-headed and wasn’t entirely sure he had heard her correctly. “Ya sure, nena?” He asked, voice a little broken. “We ain’t exactly secluded out here.” Still, his fingers traveled down to the button on her jeans anyway, fingers digging underneath her waistband to pop the button out of its hole.

She no longer felt sick, that was for sure. Every bad feeling she’d ever felt before in her entire life was suddenly forgotten with a single kiss. Nothing else seemed to matter, or exist—tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth. Tara was all about wholehearted participation: she completely threw herself into everything she did. Let it consume her. She was one-minded about everything and this was nothing different. Determined and impatient and passionately relentless. She couldn’t remember why she was here, back home in the first place, or what she was meant to be doing. Lost all direction. The only thing that made any sort of sense was Javi.

He unclasped her bra under her shirt, quick to navigate. The bra slipped down her torso and Javi’s hand found her chest, teasing her nipple between his fingertips. She gasped at the touch, mouth open against his. Rocked into his lap again. Insistent and desperate. 

“So?” She squeezed out with a rough exhale. Places like this were made for exactly these types of moments. Nobody went to a lookout for the city view. Tara knew that for a fact. Surprised they’d never come here when they were kids, to be honest. It might’ve worked out better than being caught by his mother half-naked together in his childhood bedroom. Tara felt like she was rushing through the motions, now; like they were running out of time. They’d already lost so much time. They could’ve had ten whole years of this. She didn’t care about the cold desert air, or being exposed, or getting caught. They’d already been caught before. She didn’t care if it happened again, as long as they went through with it this time. Tara couldn’t wait any longer—there was no way in hell she’d last the time it took to get back to his house, so they could pick up exactly where they left things off in his bedroom a decade ago. This might’ve felt like moving incredibly fast, given the fact she’d only been back in town for a total of an hour, but not when the last ten years were taken into account. This felt right. This felt long overdue.

While Javi worked on undoing the button on her jeans, Tara lifted her cotton shirt up and over her head. Tossed her bra over the chair and into the front seat of the car, so it was well out of the way. A drawing of a hummingbird stretched out across her sternum. She was a blank canvas, especially next to Javi, but she had a couple of tattoos. Easily hidden, so she looked professional at work. Her other tattoo, a palm tree on the outside of her wrist, was usually obscured by a watch or a chunky bracelet. He probably didn’t even notice it, but the bird was pretty hard to miss—nestled directly under her breasts. She couldn’t keep track of his eyeline in the dark, or when she leaned forward to kiss him again. “I want this.” She mumbled against his skin the next time she pulled back to breathe. Just in case he needed a verbal cue to continue. She had wanted this for so long. Longer than anything she’d ever wanted in her entire life. 

Her nipples were hard in the cold of night, even if her skin felt on fire wherever Javi touched her. She didn’t want to stop straddling him, but they were in an awkward position to get her pants off. Tara eased herself down onto the back seats of the car, clenching a fistful of Javi’s shirt to pull him on top of her. Keeping them close contact, keeping their kissing going. Tara lifted her hips off the seat so Javi could yank the jeans off her body. Swiftly unzipped his pants and cupped him with a hand through the slit in his boxers, just in case he needed any further motivation. 

[winsomes]

LUKAS & STELLA:

He had been trying to avoid beating around the bush and dragging this out longer than it needed to - fifteen minutes! - but perhaps he’d been too blunt. She nearly choked on her drink and that was the last thing he needed to do wrong today. Sorry, paying audience, he accidentally killed the star. That wold be fun to explain in the Playbill. He was surprised he wasn’t being booed already. He deserved to be hit with rotten tomatoes.

She was avoiding his eye, he could tell. Brushing her hair out, fixing her makeup and, honestly, seriously, life should not imitate art this closely!

“Look. You don’t owe me anything.” They were just co-workers, after all. Co-workers who had to aggressively make out on a nightly basis, yes, but co-workers nonetheless. He may cry over her pretend-dead corpse every day, but that didn’t make them, like, a thing. She didn’t have to tell him anything that went on her life, much less with her job. “And if you think moving on is best for you, then it is what it is. I’m just giving you my two cents.” She was right, it was important. 

And she may be right - if Waitress (pft, Waitress) wanted her bad enough to be the ones to reach out…shit, that meant a lot. And he understood her angst and confusion. But in the theatre world, Moulin Rouge was still an infant. Everyone settled more into their roles and now was about the time members of the ensemble left and new ones joined, but… But.

“I’m hardly seasoned. I haven’t been on stage in three years.” Sure, sure, Hamilton. The show took over the world for a good couple of years (if he had to hear one more joke about how even the actors couldn’t get tickets to the show…) but it had still been a long time since he’d been on stage. It was hardly a bad thing by any means, but his seasoning was light, as it were. “Opportunity is gonna knock whether you take this deal or not. When you’re good, you’re good. People recognize that in this community.” Nobody and nothing went unnoticed in this town, especially as the principal actor in literally one of the biggest roles in the show. Even for as much as he believed that, theatre could be brutal. There was always someone newer and shinier waiting - and neither of them were white, to make matters better (oh, the internet loved that when the cast was first announced. Boy, did they ever). Sure, things may never be more than this, but Lukas didn’t like that thought. There may not be something right around the corner, but that didn’t mean it would never be there.

Hell, if nothing else, Lukas recognized Stella’s talent. And if he had to knock down every door to get everyone else to realize that too, he would.

“I just think it would be a shame for you to leave so soon.” Hell, they helped build this thing from the ground up. From taking it through the workshop, through Boston and to Broadway…Moulin Rouge was as much their child as the creative team’s. “We could still do incredible things here. And where else can you sparkle so much.” He was genuinely jealous of how many sparkly costumes Stella got to wear. He gestured dramatically to the sequins on his coat, shaking his shoulders so they would catch in the light. Yeah, speaking of costumes…he should get the coat back before someone got really upset. 

They had time. But first, Stella.

“It’s okay. It’s a lot to think about and I mean it, you don’t owe me anything.” Hey, it wasn’t her fault he had no idea how to stand on his own two feet.

“That’s not true.” She twisted around in her chair to face him, fishnet stockings peeking out from under her robe. Stella crossed her ankles. Leaned her chin on the back of her seat to look up and over at him. “You’re my partner in all this.” And when that sounded too serious and presumptuous, Stella grasped at something else to say. “We’re a team.” It didn’t sound any better. She uncrossed her legs. Straightened her posture. “You’re my friend. This decision affects you, too.” Somehow, that sounded even more presumptuous. Cocky, almost. Like Stella not being Luke’s Satine, or a constant figure in his life, meant something. Like it’d have a lasting impact on Lukas, if she were to leave. Or his job, at the very least.

She didn’t want to move on. The sole reason she was even considering taking the Waitress gig was so she didn’t have to stop performing. So she never had to move on; only up. So she could still be a star. Counterproductive, in a way—she knew that. She wasn’t sure how to explain it to him, though. Not any more than she already had. And she wasn’t sure how he could possibly understand or relate. He was Lukas Maddox. He was an award-winning actor. In comparison, Stella was nobody. And she was wildly afraid of that… of being nobody and losing the very thing that made her feel special and worthy and alive. “Your opinion is important to me.”

Not telling Lukas hadn’t been intentional. Everything had been so crazy that it hadn’t even crossed her mind. Maybe she would’ve told him after the show tonight, before they stage-doored and went their separate ways ‘til tomorrow. If Stella had the chance to map it all out in her head, act it out, it definitely would not have happened before a performance. It would not have happened like this. Like it was some big secret she was trying to keep from him. She would’ve asked for his advice. She would’ve wanted him to ask her to stay.

“Luke, you literally have a Tony.” A fucking Tony award. ‘Seasoned’ might not have been the right word choice—she knew his credits, knew four shows wasn’t that many compared to other actors, but he was accomplished. Successful. Someone Stella had admired long before stepping centre stage herself.

When the cast for the show was announced online, not many were impressed. Mostly because they weren’t white, like Ewan or Nicole, but also because Stella was virtually a nobody. A nobody taking on an iconic role. And she’d proved them all wrong, of course, but lightning never struck the same place twice. Stella was scared, okay? Lukas might have thought of her as good, but she wanted to be great. She needed to be on his level or at least on par with everybody else in the district.

This is your chance to rise, maybe the last one you’ll ever get... Now show me the sparkling diamond... There was another scene in the show, near the end of the first act, that came to mind. The Duke might be my last way out. Judge me for that if you will, but you haven’t lived my life. And so it seemed that Waitress was her Duke, right now. Not exactly a healthy option, or something that she wanted, but a necessary evil to keep her going. When art imitated life—threefold, in this case—so closely, it should’ve made everything feel less confusing and complicated. It should’ve made all of this easier.

“Do you think we could just do the show forever?” Stella roughly exhaled, tone light. That would solve everything, honestly. If that was the opportunity presented to her, she’d take it without a second thought. She loved her character and her company and her Christian.

Lukas showed off his sparkly, sequined blue jacket. Stella broke out into a grin. He loved this costume. So did Stella. He looked good in blue. He looked good in everything. “You’re right.” Her dress was already hung up on her rack. She needed to start readying herself for the end of intermission. After a beat, after the distraction had faded, Stella took another swig of her lemon water. “Just… just so you know, I would’ve told you about the offer. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you.” Despite what Lukas said, Stella owed him that much. “I don’t want things to be, like, weird or awkward now. I…” The very, very last thing that she wanted was for this Waitress offer to ruin anything. Especially their relationship, no matter what came to pass. 

Stella got to her feet. Stretched out her toes and clapped her hands together. “Wanna do a very late and very quick warm up? It doesn’t feel right going back out there without it.”

[winsomes]

LUKAS & STELLA:

Stella was usually so on the ball and, well…well, that didn’t help separation anxiety Lukas already felt. She hadn’t even left yet, and he already started to dream up the scenario where he’d be without her every day - twice on Thursdays and Saturdays, not to mention! - and he didn’t like it, put it simply. He’d done this for a long time, or what was a long time in the theatre world, and casts swaps always went to negative results. At least for a little while. He grinned up at her, a little sheepish, when she asked what was wrong. How could he mention what he’d heard, when it was clear that Stella hadn’t wanted to tell him. He couldn’t butt his clearly unwanted opinions into the situation. 

He’ll do great. Hah. That boat had sailed after the first chord in Lady Marmalade. Gestured vaguely with his hands, trying to maintain eye contact as the swing went up into the air. He had to give her credit for one thing - that swing scared the shit out of him, he wouldn’t want to be up there every day. “Break a leg,” he said, because what else could he say? He didn’t even know where he was at the moment. Moulin Rouge what? He’d never heard of that, it sounded fake.

The one and only Satine. He’d worked with a lot of talented women, some of which he’d had to kiss and pretend to be in love with on a daily basis. He’d maintained friendly relationships with all of them offstage, that just made life easier on stage. And he was an easy-going guy! A people person, as it were. The one and only. As far as he was concerned, Zidler had it right. He’d never had a costar quite like Stella. She brought out the best of him, the very best, and he hoped that he did the same with her. At its core, this show was a pretty intense love story. It required intense emotions and it was incredibly easy to let that spill over into real life.

Not that something like that had happened, of course. That would be silly.

If anything, he was glad he got to sit for a few minutes during Sparkling Diamond. He couldn’t cause any damage to anything while he sat firmly in a chair. Besides that, he liked to sit and watch mama work, in the words of Satine herself. Got to experience what the audience did, watching her nail the hell out of that medley, the only time he got to sit back and admire without needing to perform himself. Never had to fake or exaggerate Christian’s absolute awe and infatuation over Satine - Lukas very much felt that, every time. It would never get old or stale. Every time felt like that first show in Boston.

Eventually he did need to get up and engage; much to Lukas’ humiliation, Sahr held his arm on the way down the steps. If his mic wasn’t on, he would’ve made a jab at the guy walking around with a limp and a cane, even if fake. “She’s a little out of my league, pal!” Said it with more force, tonight, because wow did he feel that. He rarely had doubts in his own abilities, but found himself wondering whether he was part of the reason that she wanted to leave. Ridiculous as it may seem. Genius has no league, perhaps, but Lukas was no genius - just a theatre kid with too much time to think. With Stella opposite him, he found his rhythm a little more than he had before; sure, he nearly slipped off that damn diamond prop, but that was something he’d done before. He’d mentioned that there was not nearly enough surface area to stand on, especially when they were supposed to dance around on top of it. But that was another discussion for another day, again.

Had a much better time once Your Song came around, with just him and Stella on stage. Where he was really in his element. No other outside factors, just him and this one of a kind woman, doing what they did best. Her presence seemed to take over the entire stage, surround him and take him over, and it all culminated when Satine pulled Christian in for that sudden and very long kiss. It felt…different.

We could be lovers. We can’t do that. Lukas couldn’t help but think that Satine had some things right about life. She was a cynical, jaded prostitute and Lukas, this upbeat and friendly actor related to her. Maybe he just couldn’t relate to Christian’s love of love; not if Stella was about to leave him and head across the district. It wasn’t like he’d never see her again in that case. But it would be different, to not have her on the stage every night. And that was a big deal.

He was thinking about meeting her in her dressing room throughout the entirety of the Elephant Love Medley. Life just should not imitate art that closely. But he finally got Christian’s awkward nervousness, being invited back to the dressing room of someone he was in awe of. Put a little more oomph behind the dip at the end of the first act, entirely thankful that he didn’t throw her directly onto the stage. Small miracles.

Skipped the costume change during the intermission - he had a solid fifteen minutes, and didn’t have as complicated a costume as the rest of the cast. Besides, he liked this blue, sparkly coat. It was extravagant and over the top, and that was something Lukas could get behind. Tried to sneakily slip into Stella’s dressing room. Didn’t want to seem obvious, didn’t want to spark any awkward rumors backstage. Wouldn’t that just be the last thing they needed. “Okay, I’ll just come out with it - I heard what you said to Rodrigo.” Might as well get straight to the point, before she could even say anything to him. Didn’t want to let that awkward air linger for too long. “And I just want to tell you that I don’t think you should leave. That’s all.”

Stella practically choked on her lemon water. Swirled the glass around in her hand and tried her best to recover. This was not how she imagined intermission panning out. She’d prepared to apologise to him for missing the opening numbers and their pre-show ritual. Was going to offer to do a warm up--better late than never!--with The Fox already open and ready to play on her cellphone. No way that could happen now. Lukas knew. He knew about the Waitress offer. Stella had been foolish to break the news so early, so casually, in front of who knows backstage. Luke wasn’t meant to find out--at least not like this, not now, right before a performance. His fumbling made a bit of sense to her, now. Multiple factors throwing him off his game. 

She’d read the tweets on the nights she couldn’t go on. Her understudy wasn’t bad, per say, but she lacked the chemistry and emotional range that Stella had (not her words! She could attribute that to @MoulinRougeFan01). Stella wasn’t vain enough to think that the production would fall apart without her, no, but the connection Stella and Lukas shared always seemed to be a selling point for reviewers and the Broadway bloggers. If she left, her understudy would probably only be a temporary replacement. They’d have to find someone else who could match Luke’s talent and voice as well as Stella did. Maybe even find someone better. Thinking on it, for a moment, Stella decided she wasn’t okay with that. Something like jealousy, or the feeling of possessiveness, flaring up in her chest. 

Lukas Maddox was her Christian. Stella was his Satine.

“I haven’t made a decision yet.” Stella said, after a beat. Turned away from him to face her reflection in the mirror. Ran a brush through the ends of her hair. Dipped her head back to quickly check her nose for any blood from her earlier episode. They didn’t have time for this, for Stella to be flouncing around, but she needed to gather herself. Figure out what exactly to say next. I don’t think you should leave. She gulped down another sip of her drink. Locked her phone, took an exaggerated breath. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Sounded like a good start. Stella spun in her chair to face him again. Wrapped her robe closer around her body. She felt the need to explain herself before going into the second act of the show. The first half was already somewhat of a mess and, if it were possible, they needed to resolve this now to end the performance on a good note. That and Stella couldn’t bare to handle any backstage angst with her favourite colleague and partner. They needed to leave all that on the stage, okay? This was already mirroring too much of the show as is. No matter her feelings for Lukas, they needed to be professional. Stella hadn’t come this far and worked this hard for it all to fall apart like this. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. This is... this is important. I’m only at the very start of my career. This offer just proves that I’m not a one-trick pony--that I have prospects outside of this show.” Even if she didn’t accept the role, it didn’t hurt to know that she was wanted, that she was a star. A little ambitious, maybe, but Stella had been striving for this ever since she was a little girl. “I want to be a seasoned performer, just... Just like you, Luke.” Glanced up at him, a piece of her hair caught in her false eyelashes. “I don’t want to leave.” It was the first time she’d said it out loud in the last thirty-two hours. Gosh. “But I might not get another chance like this again.” Stupid, really, when she thought about it. Stella was living her dream eight times a week, over and over and over again. She just never wanted it to end. Taking the Waitress offer might be her best bet at a long and successful career. She was looking too far into the future and letting it completely consume her present. 

She was trying to cram as much conversation as possible into a limited amount of time. The show must go on and all, but Stella refused to leave intermission without having talked this through with him. “I only got the offer yesterday. I’ve been in my head ever since. That’s why I missed our warm up. I’m sorry, babe. There’s no excuse.” Sorry was a little too late. Stella had to try. She meant it, it was genuine. 

[winsomes]

LUKAS & STELLA:

Theatre people were tiny creatures of habit. Routine was god and any little discrepancy meant the entire world ended. Sure, Lukas liked to pretend he was high above it all, but he was just as superstitious as the next actor. It was just a thing. He had his preshow routine: send his baby sister some goofy picture during hair and makeup (after nearly ten years and four noteworthy shows, Natalie often made fun, but deep down he knew she loved it); drink his large iced tea as he put on his first costume of the night and slipped into character; and meet up with Stella and warm up singing that stupid meme song with the fox. Stupid, yet it had become oddly endearing; Stella had started singing it at him as a joke, to break the ice during one of their first rehearsals together. It had just ended up sticking after the third or fourth time she’d done it.

He’d done two of the three things this particular night: Natalie received an extremely flattering picture of him and the stylist pulling faces in the mirror - she called them a nerd and told him to break a leg. He polished off his tea while one of the ensemble dancers live-streamed backstage antics out to the world. The only problem was…he missed Stella. Popped into her dressing room to try and find her, but her room was empty and so was Lukas - incredibly dramatic as that may be. Felt very in character as he hopped around backstage, searching, almost desperate, for Stella.

He’d found her talking to Rodrigo near the pit and before he could jump in to interrupt - they were cutting close to go time and he needed his routine complete or he’d be totally lost - he heard her mention something about getting an offer. For Waitress, of all shows - not that there was anything particularly wrong with the show itself, of course, but Lukas strongly objected to losing his sparkling diamond so soon into their own run. He’d only worked with her standby a handful of times since the show opened and the dynamic of the show shifted incredibly those few nights. No disrespect to the young lady, but he’d gotten so used to playing off Stella that it felt weird to pull the rug from under him, so to speak.

He had to take his place before he got the chance to interrupt and ask what the heck. And the combination of killing his ritual and the thought of potentially losing Stella threw him off his game entirely. Started the show like it was his first day on his own two feet; he’d liken it to a high school production of Moulin Rouge, but that would be a slight on every high school theatre group in New York. In America. In the world. Lost his footing going down a spiral staircase, during literally his third line of dialogue of the entire show, spotlight blaring on him the entire time. Missed a chair he was supposed to step up onto during the show’s second song and almost ate shit entirely; Sahr, ever quick on his feet, made a joke about Christian being unable to hold his liquor. It earned a polite chuckle from the audience, but threw off the rhythm and timing of the rest of the number. Twenty minutes in and Lukas could only imagine that half the crowd was wondering if their tickets were refundable, and the other half heading back to the bar, because they needed more alcohol to get through this mess.

It was a relief to go backstage for that brief moment, out from under the hot lights; he knew it was bad when Sahr approached him and asked him if he felt well enough to keep going. The polite way of asking how much he’d had to drink the night before and Lukas was so mortified he wanted someone to strangle him with the damn scarf he wore. Right before he had to go out and face the sold out crowd again, he heard Stella behind him and wanted to disappear. A bad Christian made Satine look bad by proxy and that was the last thing the audience needed tonight. “What, you haven’t seen me biting it at every opportunity?” He asked, only a little bitter - mostly at himself for being a bumbling jackass, but a little at Stella, for not coming to talk to him about her news. Sure, he had no sway over her final decision at the end of the day, but they talked through stuff like this. They both had something major to lose in a worst case scenario. 

Break a leg, she said. Yeah, he might literally break his leg if things kept up the way they were. Chuckled sardonically at the sentiment, even though it was just a thing actors said to each other. It was bad juju to wish good luck, sure, but maybe he needed it. Maybe karma would get confused and put his feet back under him. Or maybe one of the stage lights would fall and crush him. It couldn’t possibly go worse. “Hey, do me a favor and don’t fall out of your swing, Sparkling Diamond.”

Someone was at her side, shoving the belt for the swing across her lap. Huffed and puffed about it. Without even noticing, the show had already started. Lukas wasn’t going on stage, he was just getting off. A brief moment of reprieve before her own number started. The haste of the crew member backstage suddenly made sense. Shit, she was running so behind. Never been this unprofessional before. Never been so inside her own head. Her feet were off the ground, the swing suspended halfway in the air, when Stella registered Luke’s comment. 

It wasn’t like her to miss the start of the show. It wasn’t like her to be unprepared or tardy. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Stella questioned, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she hadn’t seen any of his performance--not the good or the bad parts. It wasn’t like Lukas to mess up. She’d seen him in shows before, when she was just doing off-Broadway plays. Followed him online before he even knew who she was, when she was just a nobody. He had accolades, he had talent. It was intimidating at first, when rehearsals started. Stella always sung when she got nervous. Made him join in, a cute little icebreaker. The Fox by Ylvis. They sang it together all the time--

And time had gotten away from her today. “Oh, shit!” The realisation dawned on her. Stella slapped a gloved hand over her mouth. The stagehand looked up at her, slowly rising in the air, and started to panic. “No, no, I’m okay!” Stella whisper-shouted back down at them, eyes locked on Lukas. “I’m sorry.” She mouthed. 

Stella was dedicated to her craft. She’d only missed three shows, when she had a bout of the stomach flu that she couldn’t shake. Their director made her stay home. Insisted, when she signed onto the show, that she didn’t need an understudy. Went on stage, once, with her nose still slightly bleeding from an episode. She loved this job--this show; Satine; her cast. Lukas. And she’d become so distracted today that she had forgotten their pre-show ritual. Had been so distracted that she’d missed the first part of the show, period. There was a pang in her chest--anger? Disappointment?--that she had to brush off, for now. They both needed to get on stage. 

“I’ll try.” Stella gave him her best smile, fingers wrapped tight around the rope of the swing. She had to put everything she was feeling into Satine, now. Or store it for later, when the story got darker. “Talk later, okay? You’ll do great now. I’ve got you.” Stella said, urging him to get back out there with a wave of her hand. Danny had already started Harry’s introduction: ladies and gentlemen, Bohemians and artists... 

She threw herself into The Sparkling Diamond. Waved and winked something extra at Lukas as the swing dropped down to the ground. Tore a little harder than usual at her red gown. “Watch Mama go to work.” Said it and believed it, strutting off stage before a quick costume change. Before Shut Up And Raise Your Glass could go into full swing, Stella stood around with Luke at the back of the stage. Whispered to him, with the mic momentarily off, “come to my dressing room during intermission.” It was a little on the nose. Life imitating art. Had her hands on him, ‘cause she had to for the scene, and squeezed his shoulder. Christian was always so awkward and dorky during this part of the show and it seemed to work for Lukas. Stella couldn’t find the faults in his performance, even when looking at him under a microscope. She felt so guilty and sorry that she couldn’t look away.

Shed real tears during Firework. Slipped some tongue in at the end of Your Song. Everything else up until Elephant Love Medley seemed to move in a blur. She could do this show in her sleep, it’d become so natural and routine. Her best scenes that night were the ones she shared with Lukas. It seemed to be that way every night. She lead him through the medley. Pretended it was real, when he looked at her with love and a smile in his eyes. That was just acting, right? Lukas was a good actor. Maybe they’d done this so many times now that it just felt normal and natural and right. Singing together and kissing and touching. “I will always love you.” She belted, hand gripped around the prop Eiffel Tower, wondering how it’d feel to sing this song with Lukas one last time if she took the offer and left the show. “This music breaks my heart.” Stella hummed under her breath, fast approaching her dressing room when the curtain fell for intermission.

There was a cold glass of lemon water waiting on her boudoir when she got inside. Her first costume for the second act hung on a rack close by. Stella threw on a robe and downed her drink. When a knock came at her door, she knew it had to be Luke. “Come in!” She answered, a hint of panic and urgency in her voice.

[winsomes]

[winsomes]

love makes us act like we are fools / throw our lives away / for one happy day / we can be heroes / just for one day / though nothing can keep us together / we can steal time / just for one day ( @damianowrites )

She’d been stuck in her dressing room for most of the afternoon. Hair and make-up and vocal runs. Phone calls to her manager, Paula, about the Waitress deal. Staring at her reflection in the mirror and mulling it over and over. At one point, Stella wasted a good forty-five minutes nursing a blood nose, her haemophilia acting up again. The show must go on, Satine always said. Stella pulled herself together, pulled herself in character and made way to take her place backstage. 

They had twenty minutes ‘til showtime. 

She spotted Rodrigo, the show’s conductor, on his way to the orchestra pit. Stella stopped him with a hug. “I haven’t seen you at all today.” She grinned, making sure not to smudge foundation or blush on his dress shirt. “I got an offer yesterday.” Her breath whistled through her teeth. He was the first person she’d gotten the chance to tell. Told him she wasn’t sure yet if she’d take it, if she was meant to play Jenna, if she was ready to move on yet. They’d only been doing this for eight months. She was the lead in the original Broadway cast of Moulin Rouge! This was her first proper gig on Broadway... She’d never get the chance to do this again, if she left for something else. She told Rodrigo all of this, making it quick, before someone called places. This was the type of thing she couldn’t talk to Paula about--something she couldn’t talk to anyone else about. They’d grown close over the last year. He was like the father she never really had. If Stella left, she’d be losing that.

Rodrigo told her he they’d talk later, he had to get into the pit. Stella tried not to breathe too hard through her nose, in case it started to bleed again. Did some breathing exercises with her mouth, instead. Inhale, exhale. Tried to shake away all that she was feeling so she could properly perform. This was something she could deal with later. Call her sister and hash it out, maybe. Someone passed her a bottle of water and she took it. Took a swig, weary of smudging her lipstick. Stella was ready to go get strapped into her swing for The Sparkling Diamond when she saw Lukas, with his back to her. “Hey! Luke! I haven’t seen you at all today.” Stella called out. Déjà vu from her quick conversation with Rodrigo. 

When she caught up to him, Stella greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. Light, ‘cause of all the make-up. Her Christian deserved nothing less. She adjusted his neckerchief. It was easy being touchy with someone you had to kiss every night. “Break a leg out there.”

[winsomes]

[winsomes]

Eve?

[winsomes]

SAM & ROBBIE:

Definitely not. It was nice to hear her say that, especially with all they had been through. Proof that it wasn’t a lack of love that had pried them apart. He had worried about that, especially at first, because he’d convinced himself that, despite any evidence to the contrary, she truly didn’t love him anymore. He was worried that they were going to muddle their way through a reconciliation and eventually muddle their way through parenthood.

But they weren’t…muddling. They were working, and working hard, and working well. Together. They were together again. And that was the important thing, right? Taking it slow, and a day at a time. Not trying to rush anything.

He’d missed her. Sam was always such a bright person. Had this smile that always lit up her entire face. Bright blue eyes and long eyelashes that always looked at him with a kind of love that he wasn’t really used to. This mane of long blonde hair that he loved to bury his hands in and - wait, what? Well, that had taken a heck of a turn. He pulled his eyes from his face back down to the cutting board, so he didn’t accidentally chop off one of his fingers while he wasn’t paying attention.

Sam had that affect on him. Made him lose himself just…just in her. Focus, Robert.

“¿Mi abuela? Sí, con todo.” And for a long time, his grandmother was the only one in his corner. The one to teach him, and help him, and essentially raise him at some points. The one to stand up for him when his parents got on his case. Which is probably why it took him so long to learn how to do it himself. After she died, he lost the one person who kept his parents off his back, he knew it and they knew it, and without her he just…gave into his parents. It was a shame, really. Sam was kind of that person now, but she’d helped him learn how to handle his parents himself.

They would’ve loved each other. Like a house on fire, as Sam so colorfully put it. That’s one of those things that he loved about her. 

“No, no,” he insisted, when she offered to help him. This was something he was doing for her, so that she could sit down and not have to lift a finger. “You just sit there and enjoy. This is for you.”

Or, she could not just sit there. He moved the stuff away from her, so she wouldn’t be tempted to help. Yeah, she probably wanted to speed this along, and, yes, she was a far better cook than he was, but this was her day off, so to speak. Robbie wanted to try and pick up some of his own slack. Give her a break. She was making a baby, after all. He figured the least he could do was cook her a few dinners.

They did have some good memories on that couch. Okay, yes, now he was getting what she was saying. They had a lot of good memories on the couch. That was probably why it was so damn uncomfortable now. They had probably messed up some springs or something. He slipped the knife into the sink, so it was out of the way and he didn’t accidentally stab either one of them. That would probably kill the mood.

“I do believe you are remembering correctly.” He helped her move all the utensils out of the way before he wrapped his arms around her waist so that he could lift her up and sit her down on the counter. Yes, that was much better. He’d rather prepare her…as odd as that may have sounded. “And on that counter.” He gestured his thumb over his shoulder to the long counter behind him. “And the one in the bathroom. And the washing machine, I think.” He was fairly certain that they had christened just about every surface in their house. He slid his hands along her waist, so they could rest at the small of her back. “I think it might take more than an hour.”

This was how they’d gotten into such a sticky situation in the first place. Making love when they were out of it, when they were separated. It wasn’t smart for them to do what they did, but Sam was grateful: it lead them here, with the baby, with the couch in their apartment, with the divorce papers long forgotten. It might not’ve been smart, but it was good. What they both needed, and all that Sam wanted now. It was healing. Sex had never been an issue. There had never been a lack of love or chemistry, only terrible communication and misplaced priorities. Right now, this was Sam’s. 

Robbie hoisted her up onto the kitchen counter without effort, with ease. Sam hooked her legs around his waist, almost on instinct. Robbie had his hands at her hips, then her back. She wanted to feel his fingertips on her skin. Pulled her shirt up, a little, by the hem, so there was nothing between his hands and her spine. “Any flat surface.” Sam mumbled into his mouth. Scraped her hands through his hair. Hummed. “The washing machine.” With a cycle on, vibrating underneath them. That had been a good day. A great night. 

Now, she worked at the top button on his jeans. The bottom button on his shirt. She had to try and do it all at once. Impatient. Rushed. She gave up on undoing his shirt when Robbie’s pants dropped down past his thighs and she put her hands on him, over his underwear.

“God, Rob,” Sam said, pointing her toes. One syllable per breath. “I missed you.” She didn’t care if it took more than an hour--if it took less time than that. Time only meant the time they’d spent apart, the weeks and weeks since they’d last kissed, last fucked. When they’d made love and made a baby. 

She was already spreading her legs. Knocked some containers, something plastic, off the kitchen counter. Sam didn’t care about that, either. “Do you wanna? Here?” Sam questioned, still rubbing him over his briefs. Kissing him rough. The kitchen counters used to be a regular spot. Sam wasn’t opposed to anything at this point. Even with the small amount of baby weight she’d gained, he was strong enough to take her wherever he wanted to around the house. He could do whatever he wanted to. 

[winsomes]

“Make sure you surround yourself with positive people that will support you and push you forward and won’t drag you down or get in your way.” - Inbar Lavi

[winsomes]