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aacheinthejaw · 10 days ago

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Failure To Launch - Chapter 7: The Cowboy

This is super unedited, but it's been a long enough time and I figure posting something is better than nothing... anyway, here's chapter 7!

The alleyway should have offered relief - cool night air brushing against sweat-dampened skin, a brief respite from the thrumming energy inside the bar - but Lydia was acutely aware of a different kind of heat: Alex’s hand resting lightly on her lower back as he guided her outside. The touch was gentle yet it lingered long after he stepped away, leaving her pulse quickened and her thoughts scrambling for equilibrium. She wondered if he even realized the effect he had on her, or if his actions were as uncalculated as they seemed. The uncertainty only made her more flustered.

Seeking composure, Lydia moved to stand near Miles, her focus shifting away from Alex as he took up a spot directly across from her, closing the four of them into a loose circle under the dim glow of an overhead light. She tried to will her heartbeat to slow, forcing herself to concentrate on the conversation instead of the warmth that still seemed to cling to her skin.

“Lydia! Good to see you again, love. How are ya?” Miles greeted her with his usual enthusiasm, pulling her into a warm side hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

His boisterous charm coaxed a giggle out of her. “Thanks, Miles. Good to see you too. Glad you made it out tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss a band this one’s scoutin’.” Miles clapped Ian on the back with enough force to nearly send him stumbling toward Lydia. “The man’s got good taste.”

Ian, recovering his balance with a sheepish smile, extended a hand. “I’m Ian. Don’t think I caught your name earlier.”

Lydia took his hand, her expression polite. “Lydia. Nice to meet you.”

Alex couldn’t help a faint frown as he watched the exchange. She told you her name, mate. His irritation was subtle, but Lydia caught it—an imperceptible twitch in his jaw, a flicker of discontent in his eyes. She felt a surge of satisfaction at the sight of it. She suppressed the urge to smile, biting the inside of her cheek. It was gratifying seeing him off balance for once.

“Did you enjoy the set?” Ian asked, making an overdue effort.

“I thought they were incredible!” Lydia replied earnestly, “They really know how to work a crowd. I had a blast.”

That was clearly the right answer, judging by the smile that broke on Ian’s face. “Right, that’s what we like to hear.”

The warmth in his expression faltered when he turned to Alex. “And you? What did you think?”

Alex was visibly disengaged, his brow furrowed and concentrated on fishing a cigarette from his jacket pocket. “Yeah, they were great.”

Ian tilted his head, waiting for more, but Alex only lit his cigarette, his gaze drifting to the horizon. Ian pressed on. “Nice lads, weren’t they?”

“They seem it.” Alex’s reply was curt as he extended the cigarette pack toward Lydia. She declined with a polite wave of her hand.

Ian took another drag from his own cigarette, his tone light but probing. “I was thinking they could open for you at the start of the tour next year.”

Alex exhaled a slow plume of smoke. Fuck. He’d been expecting and dreading this in equal parts. “Not Miles?” he deflected, casting a glance at his friend.

Miles grinned, unbothered. “Nah, mate. Got me own tour. Maybe at the end of yours, but not the first dates.”

Traitor, Alex thought, taking a longer drag.

Ian wasn’t deterred. “Problem?”

“No problem.” Alex’s tone was even but guarded. “Just not sure they’re a natural fit.”

Ian’s eyebrow quirked. “Why’s that?”

Alex hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “They’re not... reflective of the new sound.” He hated how vague it sounded, but he couldn’t put it into better words. Not here, not now. The truth was, the new sound felt too raw, too personal - too old, he thought bitterly. Nevertheless, it was a sound he was proud of. It was something new for him, for the band, and it felt extremely of-the-moment for them. Pairing it with an opener that didn’t match that energy felt like a disservice.

Ian stubbed out his cigarette with a measured, deliberate motion, his eyes meeting Alex's steadily. “And what is that sound, exactly?”

Alex stiffened. “Not that.”

The tension in the air thickened. Lydia shifted her weight, glancing at Miles for reassurance, but found him unhelpfully studying his shoes, determined to stay out of it. He took a drag of his cigarette and spared a glance in her direction and he exhaled, giving her a quick eyebrow raise when their eyes met as if to confirm the tension. She regretted not taking that cigarette Alex had offered earlier as she picked absently at her cuticles. She hated conflict but she had to admit she found herself fascinated by the way Alex navigated it—his defensiveness, the way he held his ground even when clearly uncomfortable.It was a side of him she hadn’t seen yet.

Ian sighed, his tone steady and measured. “Al, I get it. Yous been working hard on the album and you’re trying something knew, and I respect that. But a tour is different. It's about the experience, and giving the audience what they came for. We can't ignore how it all translates to a stage.”

Alex's jaw tightened, the frustration evident. He paused, taking a moment before replying, his voice controlled but tinged with irritation. “Mate, I can't go back in time whether people expect it or not.”

Ian nodded, his gaze unwavering. “’Course not, but it’s not about going back in time. It's about delivering that energy, that spark—they still want to feel that connection. We’ve been at this for a long time, Al - you know what works, you know they want.”

Alex snapped back instantly, his response sharp. “I can’t just flip that switch that easily anymore.” It sounded harsher than intended, but trying to capture something he'd moved past felt wrong, like it wasn't true to who he was now. He met Ian's gaze, seeing a mix of understanding and determination.

Ian leaned back, his expression calm. “Al - there’s no switch. Everything you’ve ever written is you. Some of it just translates better on stage, some personas are more nostalgic for people. They want to connect with that, and they’re not wrong to. You gave them art that means something to them and they want that experience... Just think about it, alright? It’s no reflection on the album. Just part of the job.”

The silence between them grew heavy. Alex took a slow drag from his cigarette, the weight of Ian's words settling in. Finally, he exhaled, his tone softer. “Yeah, mate. I'll think about it.”

Ian nodded, satisfied for now. “Right. I’m going to grab another drink. Anyone else?”

They all shook their heads, and Ian retreated into the bar.

Miles broke the silence with a low whistle. “Bloody hell.”

Alex shrugged, his voice resigned. “Can’t blame him. He’s right and the lads were good. I’m just being a prat.”

Miles nodded knowingly, not sure he believed Alex’s sentiment, but felt it was best to let it go. “Let’s talk about something else...” his eyes twinkled as he turned to Lydia, “Lydiaaaaaa. Tell me about yourself.”

She laughed at the drawn-out pronunciation of her name. “What do you want to know?”

“Where are you from?”

“Vancouver.”

Miles feigned shock. “Canadian! Do you hate it when people call you American?”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I don’t love it, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Liar,” he accused with a laugh, eliciting a chuckle from Alex. She glanced at him, catching the way his eyes softened as he watched her. As fleeting as the moment was, it made her chest tighten with a swirl of emotion.

Miles wasn’t done. “So, you met Al in the park, yeah? You’re neighbours?”

“Yes...” Her smile turned wary, sensing a set-up.

“Did you know who he was?”

“No. Not at first.” She glanced at Alex, “I did recognize him once he told me his name, but no, not straight away. Which honestly, had me a bit annoyed. I like his music - I’ve been to a concert - I was a little mad at myself that I didn’t recognize him sooner. Then again... we probably wouldn’t have had as nice a conversation if I had.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “Why’s tha’?”

“Oh, come on.” She dismissed the question.

“What? Were you intimidated by me when you put it together?” Alex asked with genuine curiosity. He was always a little surprised when anyone was intimidated by him, but she was, she certainly hadn't let on. As much as he disliked this part of himself, he couldn’t help but find that possibility flattering.

“Of course.” She demured

“Are you still?” His tone was teasing, but there was a different charge in the air as he held her gaze with a self-satisfied smirk. She paused and held his in return, a sly smile forming on her face as well, indulging the increasingly familiar tension. Then, after a moment:

“Of course.”

Alex raised his eyebrow in acknowledgement and gave her a approving nod before taking another long drag of his cigarette, his eyes never leaving hers.

Miles, not one to third wheel, did not hesitate in breaking their silence with a sly grin. “So, did you Google him when you got home?” he wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, drawing a laugh out of Lydia.

“I did, yeah.” She confessed, looking to Alex in a sheepish apology which was met with an understanding shrug. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she turned her attention back to Miles.

“And me? His charming and far more handsome friend? Did ya google me after we met?” Miles winked, earning an even louder laugh.

“Alright. Easy, tiger.” she gave him a slight playful push, “that’s enough of the third degree.”

“Ah, that’s a yessssss.” Miles teased, almost gloating at Alex.

“I didn’t say that.” Lydia shook her head, still laughing. “What I am saying, though, is that I’m going to go to the restroom... and when I come back, we’re going to have changed the subject.” She semi-scolded him jokingly. He put his hands up in mock-surrender.

They watched her walk away. Miles turned to Alex, and gave him a nod, eyebrows raised. “She’s nice.”

“Don’t start,” Alex warned, but the corner of his mouth betrayed the hint of a smile.

“What?! All I said is that she’s nice. No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

Alex rolled his eyes. He hoped the conversation would drop if he just didn't engage, but judging by the look on Miles' face he knew he was in for no such luck.

Miles cast a look towards the door, making sure Lydia was fully out of sight before turning back to Alex conspiratorially. “Come on, mate. You still saying you’re just friends? I saw the two of you dancin’ earlier—looked extra friendly.”

Alex exhaled slowly, trying to appear unbothered. “We’re friends, Miles. That’s all.”

“Right.” Miles shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Al, I saw the way you were looking at her... and the way she looked at you...”

Alex's gaze flickered towards the entrance, where Lydia had disappeared. “Oh?” He could not hide the hopefulness or curiosity in his voice - a fact that did not go unnoticed by Miles, much to Alex’s chagrin.

Miles’ grin widened before he let our his trademark cackle. He couldn’t help but revel in seeing his friend's composure slip. "See, there it is! All over your face. You definitely want to shag her.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, simultaneously annoying and disarming Alex.

Alex shook his head, trying to brush it off. “That weren’t why I invited her out. I just like her company. She's nice - fun. You've seen tha’.”

Miles smirked. “Sure, sure... But you do want to.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

At that moment, Lydia walked back, balancing three beers in her hands just as Miles finished his teasing. “You definitely want to, though” he repeated, oblivious to her return.

“Want to what?” she asked, approaching them with a bright smile. She handed each of them a beer as Alex and Miles exchanged a quick glance, neither of them sure how much she’d overheard. Alex's stomach twisted, leave it to bloody Miles. As much as he loved him, Alex would also be the first to admit that Miles could be quite a nuisance sometimes, and this is one of those moments. He found himself stiffening, anxious at how much of that conversation Lydia might have heard... and to top off the betrayal, when his eyes flickered back to Miles, he saw his friend completely unbothered - if anything, he seemed amused at the whole thing. Bastard.

Miles cleared his throat, accepting the beer with a grin. “Want to... have a great night, obviously.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie. She wasn’t oblivious to the obvious tension formed between the two men as she walked in, but she decided to let it slide for now. “Well, cheers to that,” she said, holding up her beer, and they clinked bottles before taking a drink.

They lingered in idle conversation, Miles bouncing on his feet slightly, clearly restless. He asked Lydia about her favourite places in Vancouver, and soon they were caught in a playful back-and-forth about the charms and drawbacks of coastal cities. Lydia spoke with enthusiasm, describing the sea breeze and the vibrant neighbourhoods, while Miles countered with exaggerated and playful mundane complaints about nothing in particular.

As Alex watched Miles and Lydia’s effortless banter, an unexpected warmth settled in his chest. There was a strange satisfaction in seeing them get along, his best friend and his... Don't overthink it. Not now. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but find joy in Miles' apparent approval of her. The way they laughed together, the ease with which they teased each other—it made Alex hopeful in a dangerous way. The truth was, it had been a while since Miles approved of any of his romantic decisions - not that Lydia was a romantic decision, of course - and it brought him a higher sense of security than he expected. There was a comfort in knowing that two people he cared about could share this kind of moment, even if he was too stubborn to ever admit how much it mattered in front of Miles.

"You should visit Vancouver more often," Lydia teased Miles, feeling their debate coming to a close. "I think you'd like it."

"Oh, I don’t know," Miles grinned. "I hear it's all rain and politeness. Not sure Englishmen are really cut out for that."

Lydia laughed. "We're not that polite, don't worry. You'll fit right in." Lydia teased back, drawing a chuckle out of Alex.

Feigning offense, Miles, clutched his chest dramatically. "You wound me, Lydia!" He looked between them, his grin turning mischievous. "Alright, I need something stronger." He gulped down the rest of his beer. "You two behave, alright?" He winked at Lydia before turning back toward the bar. "Or don’t—your choice." And with that, he disappeared inside.

Lydia and Alex found themselves once again alone in each other's company, A silence settled between them for the first time in what felt like forever. Alex, feeling the tension left by Miles, pulled out his cigarette pack again, offering it to Lydia. “You sure?” he asked, his voice a touch softer than before.

This time Lydia nodded, taking one. “Why not?” she said, and Alex leaned in, lighting it for her. The edge of his hand brushed her cheek briefly, his eyes meeting hers as he lit the cigarette. The proximity felt charged, the space between them shrinking in a way that felt deliberate, intimate. She took a drag, exhaling slowly, her eyes still on his.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice almost lost in the night air.

Alex nodded, stepping back slightly but still close enough to feel her presence. There was a silence, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts, as he lit himself another cigarette. Lydia shifted, taking another drag, then looked at him. “You okay? Earlier with Ian, I mean. Seemed tense.”

Alex’s gaze flicked away, focusing on the dim light above them. “Yeah... I mean, no, not really. But it don't really matter. Ian's just doin' his job.” He hoped that would be enough but was just met with an expectant silence from Lydia, encouraging him to go on.

Alex hesitated. This felt too close to the chest, too much potential to become a downer of a topic, and he didn't want to shift the mood of the night... but something about the way that Lydia was looking at him, something about the warmth in her eyes, made him want to elaborate. “The record we're workin' on now... it’s different from the others. Maybe not so different from the last one, but it's isn’t like how sound when we were younger. It's been nice to make. I'm proud of it. But it's not an easy album to tour... and half the people coming to see us just want me to slick my hair back and play our AM tunes anyway. I don't blame them for it either, but.... it's not... inspiring, I suppose." He snorted. "I hate saying that. Makes me sound like a twat." That comment drew a chuckle out of Lydia, which satisfied him more than it should have. "It’s just... I don’t want to just... put on a show that doesn’t feel like us now. Am I making any sense?”

Lydia nodded, her expression softening to an empathetic smile. “Yeah," She answered sweetly. "Definitely. That sounds really frustrating - you’re kind of stuck between the part of the job that’s giving people what they expect, and the part of the job that’s being an artist. It must be weird to have all these people excited to see 'you' but being tasked with putting a performance in front of them that isn't really 'you' at all anymore...”

He looked back at her, surprised she had understood so well. He supposed he shouldn't have been. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

She gave him an encouraging smile, “You’ll figure it out. From what I read... y'know, when I googled you," she teased, making him chuckle a little, "you’ve often done things your own way, and it’s served you well. You'll find the right compromise here too.”

Alex was taken with how quickly she could put him at ease, with how much genuine concern she seemed to be displaying for him - someone she essentially just met. His eyes flickered back and forth between both of hers, moved by the admiration he felt for her in that moment. “Thanks, love." he finally said, breaking the lingering silence, "That... that were exactly what I needed to hear.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet night, the distant thumping of music from inside the bar, and their eyes holding as the space between them seemed to shrink again. There was a palpable charge in the air, bringing the weight of their connection to what was beginning to feel to both of them like a tipping point. All other thoughts were silenced by the seeming inevitability of it all as Alex's gaze dropped briefly to her lips, and he stepped forward, just a fraction--

Lydia’s phone rang.

They both jumped back at the sudden noise, startled out of their haze. Lydia blinked, trying to collect herself before glancing at the screen. “Sorry, I should... I should take this. It’s Cody.”

Alex stepped back fully now, the tension, along with the moment, disappearing from their grasp. “Yeah, of course.”

Lydia answered, her tone quickly shifting. “Hey!... Yeah, I’m out... Just with my... uh, my neighbor. He's a new friend, I guess.” She looked over at Alex shyly and he gave her an awkward but encouraging smile before she looked away again, staring at her feet as she listened to Cody on the other side of the line.

There was a pause, her face tightened slightly. “I know. I know I said I’d call tonight, but I’ve just been busy settling in.”

Alex tried to tune out the conversation, feeling invasive and awkward by overhearing her private conversation with her boyfriend - who isn't you, mate. His eyes drifted to the sky, trying to look anywhere but at her as he took another drag of his cigarette. He wished he hadn’t lit it, wished he could slip back inside and give her some privacy. But then again, if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gotten that close to her, wouldn’t have had a reason to step into her personal space, to catch her eyes in that moment and see how she welcomed his presence as much as he craved to be there. He hated how intrigued he was now, in the alleyway; how his ears tuned to her voice, eager to catch snippets of the argument. He didn’t like seeing her upset, but a small, selfish part of him felt smug that she was here, with him, and unapologetically asking Cody to let her make room for him, rather than the other way around. This was an awful, petty side of him and he knew it but he couldn't deny the boost it gave to his ego.

Lydia’s voice grew more clipped as the conversation dragged on, finally having had enough and eager to get back to the night she was having with the man who was standing across from her, who she couldn't help but steal glances at, who was distracting her with the way his profile caught the light as he gazed at the sky.

“Cody - I just a little flexibility, alright? I’m trying to make friends here - I'm trying to establish a life here. Please try to get that.” Another pause, and then she sighed. “Thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

She hung up, her shoulders sagging slightly as she turned back to Alex, the exhaustion written plainly across her face. She offered him a sheepish, apologetic smile, trying to keep from looking too pitiful as he stubbed out his cigarette, stepping closer. In that moment he saw how vulnerable the exchange has truly made her and regretted every ounce of smugness he had felt overhearing the conversation. Good on you, dickhead. Way to take joy in her pain. He pushed his self-hatred aside knowing he could come back to it - right now she needed a friend. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Everything alright?”

Lydia gave a tired smile, shrugging. “Yeah. Just... complicated. You know how it is.”

“Yeah... long distance can be really hard." He offered. She just nodded in response, the sad smile tainting her features. There was a pause as he tried to figure out what he could say next to make things better, when he eventually landed on: "Would you like to go for a walk? Get some air?”

There was a short pause as she looked around. He looked up in response, realizing they were already outside and sheepishly turned back to her "uhh... other air?" He offered with a slight laugh.

Finding his sheepishness adorable, her smile turned genuine and she chuckled in response. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Minutes later, they found themselves leaving the venue and turning off the main road, pacing their way back, letting the noise of the bars and pubs fading behind them as they moved toward the quieter streets that led vaguely in the direction of their homes. Their footsteps echoed lightly, matching the rhythm of their tentative conversation.

“So... Vancouver, huh?” Alex began, his voice soft against the quiet night. “Do you miss it?”

Lydia glanced up at him, her smile a little wistful. "Not really. I'm happy I moved, honestly. There wasn't much for me there."

"Not Cody?" the words escaped him before he could catch them. Nice one, idiot. Rub it in.

Mercifully, she snorted in response "Yeah, I suppose there was Cody and I have missed him, but we are still together. Just trying to figure out how to make that work right now..." she said, looking somewhat distant again. He nodded quietly in response, before she spoke again, "But other than that, no, not much else... there is this one spot I do miss sometimes." her stare grew distant as she pictured it. "It's this spot on a hiking trail that overlooks the ocean. I used to go there a lot with our old family dog, and then by myself after I moved out of my parents' house. It was just... quiet. But the good kind of quiet. Made me feel small in a good way. There's no cell reception out there either, which helps. I actually went there the day I decided to move to London. It’s a good spot to think." She paused. Her eyes, focusing back on the present, flickered to his. "What about you? Any place you go to think?"

Alex chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “When I were younger, I had a harder time not thinking than finding places to think, if you know what I mean." He paused for a second, trying to collect his thoughts, "My head always moved faster than what was good for me and I would run my mouth off and get me'self in trouble... or inevitably make myself miserable. So, for me, it were more about finding ways to think less... to distract myself or summat." He looked over to her to make sure she was following what he was saying and she gave him a reassuring nod in response. "There were this park where me and my mates used to ride dirt bikes, try to pull tricks. Got some of the worst injuries of my life there, but it were where my head was always the clearest. It wasn't until the band started taking off and we were getting pulled in different directions and asked to make decisions that were more mature than we were that I started feeling like I needed a place to just be alone and actually organize my thoughts. Ended up finding a spot like that when I moved to London. More out of necessity, really, but it did the trick.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers. “but everyone needs a place like that, yeah?”

Lydia nodded. “Yeah, definitely." She nodded again. "Where did your place end up being? In London?"

"Ah - nice try, love." He teased, lightening the mood, "That's not something I tell just anyone. Can't have you invading me thoughts and all that." Not any more than you already have, anyway.

She let out a sincere, sparkling laugh in response, the one that Alex had already grown to cherish and was quickly becoming addicted to causing. "Fair enough. I suppose you're allowed some secrets." She conceeded.

"How very gracious of you. Thank you." He offered in an overly posh voice, drawing a chuckle out of her and inspiring his own goofy giggle." They walked in silence for a moment as the mood settled before Alex spoke up again, a note of curiosity in his voice. “What about your family? Are they still in Vancouver?”

She hesitated, her fingers brushing his as they walked, the touch sending a shiver through them both, and completely distracting Alex from her answer for a moment. “Yeah, my parents are still there. They've always been kind of... larger than life, you know? They're both relatively accomplished people and they always expected me to outperform them and their lives” Lydia laughed softly. “I guess that’s one of the many reasons I wanted to move out here. I needed some space to figure out who I am without their voices in my head - especially my mom's.”

Alex looked at her, an understanding smile touching his lips. “Tha’ makes sense. My parents are very supportive - I'm quite lucky with that, I s'pose - but they also made it clear they wanted me to do something a bit more stable at first. When I got into music, it weren’t their first choice for me... but they were still very supportive. I think for the first several years they kept expecting something to go wrong and for me to go back to Sheffield, go to University, and just do the whole thing properly.”

Lydia looked at him, her gaze gentle. “But you still went for it.”

“Yeah,” Alex nodded, introspective. “It weren't really much of a choice. It was the only thing that made sense at the time, it were fun, my friends were in it with me... I always told myself I'd deal with later later... and now it's later. I think I made the right choice but I don't know if I've dealt with it." He laughed a little to himself, saying that. He hadn't realized how true it felt before he heard it out loud, but it did. Thinking about it now, he's not sure he ever really stopped to process it until he was well into his 30s. Even then, he's not sure he'd fully done so, or what that would even look like.

She smiled, her eyes searching his for a moment. “I admire that. It’s not easy to go against what people expect of you. I'm glad it worked out so well for you... I guess it's kind of inspiring." She giggled, the sound cutting through the quiet night and lodging itself in Alex's chest, unexpected and disarming in a way that left him happily unsteady.

“I'm not sure about all that, love. But thank you.” he chuckled in return.

The air between them grew softer, their words flowing with an honesty that neither of them had expected. The ease was reflected in their movements as they allowed their hands to brush against each other, each touch lingering, each moment pulling them closer to one another. Their connection, somehow stronger and softer as the night went on, seemed to shape the very air around them, pulling them into a quiet inevitability they both understood but couldn't quite bring themselves to name.

“So, when you were a kid and riding dirt bikes...” Lydia asked, her voice light, curious. “What did you think you’d be when you grew up?”

Alex laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “It changed all the time, honestly. I think for a long time I wanted to be a cowboy," he confessed, drawing out her sparkling laugh again with a touch of pride, "When I were little my grams took me to America and I got that idea in me head... but for the most part I figured I'd end up studying English at uni, maybe get a job writing ads or teaching like me parents.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, well, in that case, I take back what I said before. I think you may have given up too soon. You’d look good in a cowboy hat”

“Oh, would I?” Alex teased, a grin playing on his lips as he glanced sideways at her.

“Definitely,” she held his eye contact for a beat too long, making him blush. Graciously but victoriously, she looked forward again with a smile, “but come to think of it, I’m not sure you have quite the strong-willed machismo to pull off the whole mysterious-stranger-passing-through-town thing.”

"Well, tha’s very hurtful, Lydia. I can be manly and mysterious when I want to be,” he protested with a coy smile, a hint of suggestion in his voice. “You’d be surprised.”

She shook her head, “If you say so.” She laughed, taking a step forward when she felt Alex stop his stride, grab her hand, and spin her around, pulling her sharply towards him. He left them face-to-face, mere inches apart and unable to escape the sudden heat radiating off one another. His expression was serious and intense as he examined her face, evaluating her reaction and relishing in the seemingly welcome proximity.

Startled by the sudden gesture - the sudden closeness- Lydia's breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes at first landed on his chest, and watched it rise and fall between the open buttons at the top of his shirt. She trailed her eyes up slowly - taking note of how the chain around his neck was sitting unevenly over his right collarbone and catching the light from the streetlamp just so. She took note of the tension in his jaw, the five o'clock shadow that had begun to form, aging him slightly but somehow adding to the air of intimidating he was projecting. And finally, her eyes locked on his, unrelentingly holding her gaze until he finally broke the silence, "do you not believe me?" He held her gaze seriously while letting his right hand absentmindedly stroke her left arm and taking the slightest step closer to her, no longer recoiling from any tensions between them.

What am I even doing? The thought barely registered, overtaken by the pull of her presence, the way she looked at him, curious and knowing all at once. Alex hadn't planned to do this. He'd been taken over by some dormant instinct - he wasn't sure if he had been compelled by a desire to defend his masculinity, or simply by what he subconsciously perceived as an opening, but there he was.... no, actually, there they were. There was no mistaking it now—whatever this was, it wasn’t just in his head. His fingers tingled where they brushed her arm, a quiet reminder of how close she was, how much closer she could be. He knew he shouldn’t—there were a hundred reasons not to—but none of them seemed to matter in this moment. He let his hand linger, his breath catching as he waited, unsure whether he wanted her to pull away or step closer.

Lydia's eyes flitted between Alex's eyes and his lips, before, in a reaction that surprised herself as much as him, she erupted in a fit of giggles, dissolving the tension as quickly as Alex had built it. Suddenly the earth had shook, and as though he'd been raptured from a daze, Alex let his arm drop. See, that's what you get for being bloody ridiculous. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks. A little embarrassed and with his ego slightly bruised, he couldn't help but laugh as well, intoxicated by how easily she kept him on his toes. "I guess not, then." he laughed, letting go of her and carrying on walking, She naturally fell in stride beside him.

"I'm sorry," she offered, still chuckling, "it was just so rehearsed. You've done that before haven't you?"

Alex rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, "Never, darlin', that were just for you." he teased, widdling his eyebrows a la Miles.

"Oh, alright - likely story." She teased in return.

“Well, maybe,” he conceded, their laughter fading into something quieter, more intimate. “But I'll have you know, it works more often than not."

"I'm sure it does. And I stand corrected. Clearly you are capable of being very dark and mysterious." she agreed in mock-condescension.

"Alright, alright. That's enough about me." he said, admitting defeat, "What about you? What did little Lydia want to be?”

She looked down, smiling softly. “An astronaut, actually. I was obsessed with space. I wanted to see the stars more clearly, I guess.” She glanced at him, her expression a little shy. “I suppose I liked the idea of escaping, of finding something bigger than me.”

Alex’s smile softened, and he nudged her shoulder lightly. “I don't think all tha's gone away. You seem to still 'ave that way of wanting more—wanting to explore.”

She met his gaze, her heart swelling slightly, torn between the comfort of being known and the discomfort of being perceived. “Maybe,” she whispered.

Somewhat regretfully, they had reached Lydia’s door. Paused in front of it now, they found themselves hesitating, not quite ready for the night to end. In a moment that was not lost to Lydia, Alex's gaze dropped, eyeing her up and down, almost subconsciously. His eyes lingered for a second on her lips and she instinctively licked them. Kiss him! Kiss him now! - Lydia's thoughts intruded just as quickly as they were cut off - What are you doing?! You're both just drunk. Don't get carried away.

She met his eyes, her smile softening. “Thanks for tonight, Alex. I needed it.”

He nodded, his eyes searching hers, the vulnerability between them almost tangible. “Me too.”

For a moment, it felt like one of them might say something more, might close the gap between them, but instead, Lydia let out a small laugh again, shaking her head. “Goodnight, Alex.” She leaned up and gave him the quickest peck on the cheek, too fast for him to react, barely enough time for him to feel her presence, before she turned to her front door.

“Goodnight, Lydia,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

She slipped inside, offering him one last smile before she clicked the door shut and locked it behind her. Alex lingered for a moment after she disappeared inside, the night air cool against his skin struggling to dissipate the warmth of her presence, his hand briefly brushing the edge of the door frame. What’s the matter with you? he thought, exhaling sharply into the night. The pull to stay was irrationally overwhelming—go home, you wanker. He didn't know if in this moment he was grateful or resentful of that tiny sliver of restraint that had kept him rooted, kept him from pushing the perceived boundaries between them and seeing where things could lead.

He turned to leave, his feet heavier than before. The shadows of the trees in the parkette moved around him, shifting against the current that was the headlights of two passing cars on the quiet street, leaving Alex feeling like he was being propelled home. Despite his trying, he couldn't shake the feeling he had made a mistake, had missed an opportunity. For crying out loud, even the shadows were restless. You’re playing with fire. Be decent. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to dismiss the feeling and ground himself in the chill of the night, but the warmth of her presence lingered, maddeningly stubborn.

#fav fic ever #i love getting to read about alex and lydia again 🫶🫶

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aacheinthejaw · 19 days ago

Text

hello you

one day more, part four

warnings: dad!al, fluff, slight angst, sprinkled with smut (piv)

word count: 12.4k

Sometime around when Lottie had just given birth to Franny, Alex got infected with the flu. It was likely he picked it up somewhere in those hospital halls, but that was never officially determined. Lottie banished him from the house, not wanting him to infect her or their newborn baby. Thus was born Alex's worry and fear that he was missing Franny's life.

He belonged to a profession that often required him to fly away. Lottie said she never cared much, only that she missed him while he was gone. She considers these girls-only days to be the sweet, special moments Franny will remember with her maman.

But Alex is stuck with that ache of missing them always, even when they are right in front of his eyes. It's like two people laughing at an inside joke. He spent eleven years of his life missing her and it has never fully gone away. Lottie has tried to find solutions to this. It helped that they had mostly three uninterrupted years together after Franny was born, but still, Alex is pained by being away and phone calls just don't do it.

He wants to smell Lottie's lavender shampoo and feel the glitter nail polish on Franny's fingers. The last time he saw them was when the band was in England and he was, of course, sick. He had Franny paint the nail polish on his nails. It mostly ended up on the skin surrounding the nails, but the act allowed him to endure the six weeks without them because he could just rub his fingers on the pink mess.

He talks to them every night before Franny goes to bed. One night he embarrassingly sang her a lullaby in the corner of a bar. He always feels bad about drinking and having fun without them, especially Lottie, who has to deal with a whiny four-year-old who doesn't want to go to sleep.

Lottie always insists it's fine but he worries one day it won't be fine. He often feels like he's never got his shit together. She's just dragging him along. Maybe that's why a wedding took so long. Lottie doesn't even wear a ring. Her last name is still the same too and she was the one who wanted to get married. Sometimes he thinks she's playing a big trick on him. That this has all been some massive fraudulent ruse on him and he'll wake up with them gone one day.

Right before they got married, they were stuffed in a Brussels hotel with Franny. They tucked themselves away in the bathroom while Franny was sleeping. Lottie was in the bath and he was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in his boxers watching her.

They were sharing a "celebratory" glass of wine between them. Alex asked her, "Do you want me to change my last name?" He thought she might laugh but she didn't. Her expression was contemplative, still processing his words. She sank deeper into the tub, the water touching her cupid's bow. She took her time thinking and he passed it by sipping on the wine.

She lifted her mouth out and asked, "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged and said, "'Cause I love you" because that has been the driving force of all his actions since 2018.

She smiled and placed her arms on the edge of the tub, resting her chin on her folded arms. She was cherubic, one of Botticelli's angels. "That's nice."

He came beside her and kissed her after that, but in the darkness of all these empty hotel rooms, he thought about how she didn't say I love you back. He gets this way on the road and he knows he's overthinking and he knows she’s probably nervous that all this time away from one another isn't good for you. But still.

They got married the next day, so, who is he to doubt her love? He's just insecure and lonely, he knows this. It's different now—missing someone. His love for Lottie is undeniable. It's the only way he's able to function, but Franny...that's something different.

She's a piece of him. Literally. Sometimes it feels like she's his heart just running around their London home with a mind of its own. He always knew having children could be like this. He didn't know it would feel like this. It came to him quickly in two moments.

Right after she was born they placed her by Lottie, but since it was a C-section and given Lottie was still open, they gave her to Alex in place of the usual skin-to-skin with the mother. There, when his heartbeat rang through her little ears and her cries turned to small whimpers, he cried with her. It was the quiet kind of crying. I know how you feel, kid, I love you too.

Loving her is the easiest and hardest thing to do. A weight crushes down on him, threatening to break through his ribs that only subsides when she pats his face and says, "Papa." (Yeah, Lottie got her way).

Late at night on one of those phone calls, he talks to Lottie. She's cleaning up their house in London and he's smoking a cigarette on his hotel's balcony in Vegas. He hears Franny's toys rattle against her hands as she says, "There's no need to be jealous, Al." Maybe he should feel lucky that he's looking out at Sin City's lights and was able to have two whiskeys during a game of poker. He doesn't.

But she speaks to him in a way that always puts things in perspective. The calm in the middle of the storm. It was something that used to seem so unexciting to his teenage mind, even when he was running around Brussels with her, he thought happiness would lay there, but really it lies in her, not the moment.

"You don't miss me?" He asked it jokingly, but he took her answer seriously.

"You're all I think about. The good and the bad. I even miss having your wet towels on the floor."

"Wow," he chuckles. She's crying. He could hear it. But he doesn't comment on it, he knows it will hurt her more. "I bet all my gambling money on green in roulette."

She laughs then says, "You lost, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it's okay. Got me on the phone with you sooner."

He keeps a photo in his wallet. He'd never thought he'd come to an age when he did that. Lottie makes fun of him for having the default iPhone background. She doesn't know about the photo in his wallet.

It's Lottie and Franny at Waterstones. It's a photostrip, so technically it's four pictures in one. She showed it to him when the band came through London. At first, it felt like another thing he missed out on, but then Lottie showed him a photo strip taken of her with her mother, right when she was around Franny's age. He realized some moments aren't meant for him. But they are, so he keeps it in his wallet.

It's nice to catch a glimpse of it when he's buying dinner or buying M&Ms at a gas station in Roscoe, Illinois. He sees it when he's buying Franny a stuffed animal from the Lincoln Park Zoo. It dulls the ache when he sleeps with it that night. Maybe he's always been childish and never grew out of his twin-sized bed or Franny has just woken the little boy inside him, but he hugs the stuffed polar bear close to his chest that lonely night in Chicago.

It helped that within a few days, they'd all reunite in Montreal, where Lottie could check out how her French compares with the Quebecois. She's never been to Canada before. It reminded Alex of the lack of travelling they had done together. Other than spots around Europe, which nowadays have been reserved for visiting family, he and Lottie have never been on a trip together, non-work, non-family related.

Perhaps because the first "trip" they took together in Brussels couldn't be topped romantically, however, they didn't even have a honeymoon. Alex insisted against it, knowing he'd be gone soon, and not wanting to be away from Franny for too long and Lottie agreed.

They will have to do something like it soon or maybe just start with being in the same city. There's something he longs for, wishes he could be better and not do this, but he is pulled in two, even if Lottie says otherwise. He likes going swimming with Lottie. They've only done it twice, both in a pool, but he'd like to do it again, maybe soon on a Californian beach.

A few years back, when Franny was just a babe and everything about being a parent they were struggling to figure out, Alex and Lottie talked about everything and nothing. The mundane helped pass those sleepless nights. It helped their relationship stay afloat and not drown around the strain of their crying child.

Lottie was breastfeeding Franny on the couch. It was sometime around 3:30 in the morning. Franny woke up crying and Lottie insisted it was her turn. After ten minutes of no return and no noise, Alex went out to the living room where the television was on but muted and Lottie looked a second away from dropping dead. He probably did too, except, you know, he didn't just have major surgery to remove a human being from him.

She gave him a wordless smile as he sat beside her and placed his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. "I'd kill for a coffee," she said. He doesn't offer because she'll refuse, she's breastfeeding after all.

"Maybe we should go out tomorrow. We've all been cooped up for too long." He had been the only one to go out and that had been for a limited time running to grocery stores and the bakery on the corner that has donuts Lottie loves.

She shook her head. "Too much work." She hates the idea of Franny crying in public. She gets so worried about inconveniencing people that she inconveniences herself instead.

Franny unlatched and Lottie handed her off to Alex to burp her. His palm almost completely covered her back. When she was so little like that he had a hard time believing she was real and belonged to him. She sometimes felt like a doll. He always thought the hospital messed up and gave them the wrong baby. She felt too perfect to be his.

"Maybe you should go out for a walk. I can keep Franny company," he offers.

"Who's gonna keep me company? It's boring to walk alone."

They had become so accustomed to that shared space. In the first few months of Franny's life, they were on top of one another and it never bugged them. They liked those early morning couch talks. Sleep suffered but they were fortunate enough to not have to worry about work the next day.

Lottie's mother came a few weeks after the couch talk. Alex and Lottie went on a walk while she watched Franny. It was cold and Lottie curled her arms around his right arm, stuffed away in his coat pocket.

"I love her as my little baby," Lottie said, "but I can't wait until she's a little older and can do all this stuff with us. Can you imagine her walking? We'll each hold one of her little hands and swing her between us. I always wanted to do that."

She had a thoughtful look on her face. Her smile had become a slight frown. She told him about halfway through the pregnancy that she felt like she was rewriting her history. She was so happy Franny would have a loving, present father, but now he's nowhere close to her.

Lottie will say he's nothing like her deadbeat dad, and sure he might at least be around sometimes, but what's the difference if he's not there to hold her other hand?

When he goes to bed in Toronto, he dreams about Paris. They were all together there in May. First for two shows, then during the tour break. They visited Lottie's family and had romantic evenings where Francoise spent the night with her grandmother.

Francoise swung between them as they walked through Luxembourg Gardens. She splashed her hands softly against the fountain waters with infectious giggles. She squealed and asked, "Can we get a frowntain?"

They got her a mini plastic toy fountain and placed it in their small backyard. In late July, the period before he left for North America, he watched her splash in it. They have these metal tables out in the yard that he and Lottie both shamelessly smoked at in the evening after Franny had gone to bed.

He misses that backyard so desperately. The summer air, the smoke that somehow made the air more breathable, the city groaning in the distance. Lottie would sit out there in a shirt and underwear claiming it was too hot for anything else.

They spoke in short sentences, sometimes tossing the conversation back and forth, sometimes in simple junctions one at a time. Usually, they talked about Franny and their days, ignoring the impending doom of his leaving.

The weather was sweet with a breeze and Lottie looked over at him and he could imagine her at every point he had known her, all combining into the woman in front of him. She giggles at the attention but doesn't ask anymore why he's staring, she knows.

He laughed with her, just wanting to savour a piece of this, any piece of her for a breath more. It swelled around him. It's still swollen in this waiting process. He hopes they slept on the flight.

He twists his wedding band on his left ring finger. He wears his because he wants to. He loves that kind of thing, loves thinking of her all the time. He likes it when it glistens on stage or he knocks it against the bathroom sink. He twists it when he's anxious and when they're together, having sex, she kisses it like he's the Pope.

It's probably the other way around. He told her once that if he were to ever pray, he'd be praying to her. He says things like this usually post-orgasm, so maybe it's truthful, or maybe he's feeling faint but a blowjob is a very powerful thing.

He used to think he'd spend his whole life waiting for her in the metaphorical sense. He thought one day she might come backstage to a show or when she's hard pressed for cash she'll write a book about their time together or one day in a Parisian cafe she'll walk in. Part of that was true, but now he waits for her—them—in the literal sense. Or she waits for him.

Lottie and Franny arrived in Montreal yesterday. She wanted to get everything settled and try their best to be caught up in the different time zones before they spent a day walking around the city. Franny can be fussy without her sleep and they're still unsure how she'll react to jetlag. This is her first time on a plane.

Montreal is supposed to be their special day. They'll be going to Boston the next day, something Alex keeps joking about even if Lottie doesn't find it so funny. He keeps saying they'll run into her ex-fiancé and Lottie gets increasingly pissed every time he says it. He won't anymore because the joke is getting old, especially when he's her husband now.

Today is a reunion, although, as always, it's mudded with obligations like a concert in the evening. He'll linger the best he can to avoid being pulled away from them. He's sick of other things taking priority. It's his fault anyway. He brought this suffering on himself.

Back during the start of the tour, Lottie flew out and joined him for the short first leg in North America. It started in Vegas where he initially joked that if Lottie blew on his pair of dice they might get lucky (this sounds like a sexual euphemism but seriously it was just a game of crabs) and then they actually won. They kept doing it until they lost all the betting money and vowed to never gamble again.

Unsurprisingly, in Los Angeles, Lottie wanted to go to as many art museums as possible. He lived in that city for so many years yet he's not sure he saw as much of it as he did with Lottie. She kept going on about how Young Man at His Window by Gustave Caillebotte reminded her of him. Alex still doesn't understand this. The back of the man's head looks nothing like him. As always, Lottie says it's not what you see it's what you feel.

In New York, they went to more museums. She'd never been to The Met so he took her to The Met. It was partially a surprise. He said he wanted to take her somewhere and she wasn't shocked when they landed on The Met steps. She became obsessed with The Costume Institute and kept pointing at garments and shoes, saying, "I'd like you to buy something like that for me." As if Alex is able to obtain a 17th-century wool mantua and as if Lottie would wear it. She sometimes struggles to just wear a skirt.

They returned to London after that, had a week together, and then he left again. She joined him at other points in the tour. She flew with him to Australia, tour dates that were right after Christmas and took place on New Year's Eve. He said it would be bad luck to not be able to kiss one another and since she had never been to Australia, she left Franny with Alex's parents and joined him.

Montreal is warm but not hot. It's the ideal temperature for walking. Lottie says he gets clinical about those things. She says he sounds like how she has always imagined a father to sound. He's concerned with weather patterns and the best route to get somewhere but struggles to use Google Maps. When he yells at the GPS directions someone else might take that as an overreaction but she laughs every time.

He grabs a coffee before he's driven to the hotel. He sips it quickly knowing that'll mean he will have to pee all day, but he needs it to stay on his feet. Then, he's at the hotel. It's nice, but modest looking. A place with room service but not an extravagant spa.

He opens the hotel room door and it looks empty minus a carry-on suitcase and the kid-sized suitcase they bought for Franny last Christmas. It's pink and has a rainbow butterfly printed on it. Franny fell in love with them when they went to Horniman Butterfly House and one landed on her arm.

She tells everyone about that. She taps on the spot it landed on her and tells them a butterfly kissed her there. Whenever he sees butterfly or caterpillar imagery, he thinks of Franny. Chrysalis is his new favourite word. His notebook is covered in butterfly stickers. He knows what they eat, the different species, and that they can tell time.

The bathroom door opens. Lottie stands, still in her pyjamas, smiling. "Oh, hi." She looks like she's just woken up. Her eyes are light and her smile feels like laying your head on a pillow after a long day of work. Her words are spoken with a crackle in them and her hair is occupied with fly-aways.

He reaches out and pats them down. "Hi." Neither move closer. He holds her cheek in his hand and rubs his thumb along the bone. It feels like he is holding the weight of her. Her skin is blessed with a softness he has only felt elsewhere in Franny's cheeks. "Where's Franny?"

"Sleeping under that pile of blankets. She was cold last night."

"Flight okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Yours?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Kiss me."

He wants to feel her lips but doesn't want to move from holding her in any single way. It's perfect and it's smooth and this is all he needs. He'd stay and camp out in this hotel room as long as they didn't leave. He hates himself for ever wanting anything other than this.

When they part, he asks, "Should I wake her?"

Lottie pouts. "Am I no good?" She's needy and if he's been feeling lonely she's probably been feeling it tenfold. He gets to be with his best mates every day and her only freedom is her independent work. She would say he's feeling sorry for her when there's no need to be. She likes her work, she loves being with Francoise, and she has plenty of company in London. He tends to view her as a lone soul but she's had friends in London long before him.

Her bottom lip is jutting out towards him and he feels like a magnet is pulling his hips to her hips. "I don't think you're trying to be." His hand has fallen from one cheek to another. His thumb rubs her waist. She, of course, keeps her hands to herself.

"Sometimes I need attention too, you know." She pulls her face away but moves her hips closer.

He's falling over himself trying to get closer to her. "Yeah, I know how needy you are."

She rips herself away. It's either a game, a joke, or something to prove a point. He can't read that part of her. She goes further into the bathroom over to the sink where she is getting ready. "I'm not needy. You're needy."

That's always been the case. He begs. A lot. He got down on his knees once, placed his hands together, and begged at her knees. They were both laughing the whole time but he still wanted her all the same.

He moves into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. "Maybe." He wants her. He wants her in every way. He wants to take her up against the sink from behind. He wants her on her knees. He wants to be on his knees. He wants her in the shower. He wants her on the floor. He'll take her to the toilet if he has to. "I missed you."

She brushes her hair and looks at him through the mirror. "Don't get all schmaltzy on me." Her smile quirks in the mirror, much like when they were held up in her Parisian apartment. They spent hours in glances. They felt as sexual as being inside one another. A look meant so much.

He wishes she was naked now like that morning in January right before they found out she was pregnant. They slept naked. It used to be the only way they did sleep before they had to worry about a child climbing into bed with them. She'd get up and make coffee or tea, sometimes toast or a bagel and she'd never put a piece of cloth on her.

He used to feel so hunched over in his body, desperate to hide parts of himself from the morning light. But she didn't care, so why should he? He would get up behind her body and would be rubbing against her in such a sexual sense but never try anything. It was just nice to feel her skin on his. It felt the same as holding Franny for the first time. It was this precious thing that was somehow chosen to be his.

He'd kiss her shoulder and she'd pour him a cup of coffee. It felt like no one else in the world existed. He didn't want anyone else in the world to exist. It was Lottie and that was it. He hadn't felt that way with anything before, not even the projects he created. It made him believe in God in some way because there was no other way to explain how this worked out for him.

Lottie finds that to be dumb. She doesn't believe in soulmates. Probably because of her mother and the years of loneliness their family had. She doesn't like the idea of someone choosing for her. That there was some fate out of there deciding her every move. She finds it more romantic that two people found each other all by themselves. They worked through everything and made things work because they wanted to for each other. He agrees but still believes that they were shaped into puzzle pieces for each other.

Now, he comes up behind her in the same way. It's his way of reminding her. Remember this. Remember when it was just the two of us in a place smaller than this hotel room. Remember how nothing was between us.

She smirks, knowing what he is going for when his hands bring her butt into his groin. She lowers the brush from her hair and stares at him through the mirror. "What are you doing?"

He leans down and kisses her neck. He wishes she had more bare skin to kiss. "Being needy."

She turns around in his arms. She hooks her arm around his neck and slots her knee in between his legs. "It's too early for that."

He brushes his nose against hers. "It's never too early."

She sighs and lets go, returning to brushing her hair. "Not with Francoise in the next room."

He kisses her clothed shoulder. "Does that mean no sex at all?"

"Not now. Later," she promises. Her smirk tells him she wants it as badly as he does. It's like being a teenager and having to hide from your parents all over again. It reminds him of the excited feeling when the house was empty. Or when he got his first blowjob in the backseat of a car. It makes the idea of sex adventurous all over again.

Well, except they're in their thirties, they have a kid to take care of, and he only sees her occasionally these days. It's awfully painful for his sex drive, always having to hit the brakes. The end is in sight. He can't wait to pull off the exit and get that blowjob.

"What do you want to do?" He asks.

"Get breakfast first. I only ate a bag of peanuts and a packet of Biscoffs yesterday."

"Why didn't you get dinner after you landed?"

"Too much work. She was already asleep by the time we got to the hotel." She has that habit. He worries she'll wither away one day. She just forgets to eat and then nighttime hits and she's beyond starving. It's something in her DNA and if he's not there she just won't bother with dinner.

"I'll get you a nice breakfast," he promises. He kisses the top of her head before sitting on the closed toilet seat. "What about after? Other than some art museum."

She turns around with a scowl. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not mocking you."

"I like things other than art, you know." She's sensitive about this. He's never gotten to the bottom of why she always feels he's making fun of her when it comes to her love of art. The passion she has for it inspires him. She's educated him and made him fall in love with it too. Still, she's on the defensive.

"Well, all I want to do is go to the art museum," Alex tells her as he slides off his shoes.

She tosses a smile over her shoulder. She pats her hair down, sweeping it over her shoulders. He watches her and every slight movement she makes. Her legs are bare, she's wearing underwear, a shirt, and a smile. She taps each finger on the marble countertops before she walks over to him and sits on his lap.

Her arms curl around his neck and his arms around her waist. "If you believe me, I missed you."

Alex chuckles. "Yeah. I believe you."

She kisses him with a tight hold. She hops off his lap. "I think you can wake her now. I'm too hungry to wait."

He stands up and kisses her cheek. "Alright, then."

Franny sleeps with these quiet snores. They're cute, not the kind that prevents sleep, the kind that soothes sleep. Her mouth is in a small 'o' shape. Her head hangs back and her hair hangs in two braids, rustled from travelling and sleep.

She likes sleeping more than anything. She whines when anyone wakes her up and clings to the blankets for dear life. Alex's hand covers her back. She's bigger now but still so small. He gives her a light rub, rattling her awake. She groans just like Alex does and rubs her eyes.

"Stop," she tells him.

He chuckles. "Come on, Fran."

Her eyes pop open. Usually, they flutter like those butterflies. She can be slow-moving like a sloth but today she pops up like a rabbit and starts jumping on the bed. "Maman, you were right!" She shouts. Lottie always reminds her, "One sleep until you see papa."

Lottie insists Franny looks like him. Alex knows she's just being polite. She looks exactly like Lottie, besides her hair. Her face is still so small. He can't bear to think of the day she grows old enough to not fit just under his hand. It's getting harder for him to pick her up. Maybe he's the one getting too old with the slight strain in his back.

Franny collapses on top of him, tugging on his neck. He finds himself laughing, so overjoyed by her excitement. "I love planes," she tells him. "Are we going on another one?" That's the best outcome they could have asked for.

Franny is scared of a lot of things. She grew out of her fear of the vacuum earlier this year, but she's still terrified of thunderstorms, monsters under the bed, Snow White, and grapes (they are still unsure of the origin of the latter). He feels bad for liking it when she has bad dreams because she'll wake them up, usually by tugging one of their hands, and ask to climb in bed with them. They slot her in the middle and that's when he feels they are truly a family. He always wishes to protect them.

They go to a cafe near Mount Royal Park and the Museum of Fine Arts. Franny insists on sitting next to Alex in the booth. Lottie is across from them, on her own little island as she puts it. She looks down at the menu, her hair cascading around her. She brushes one side behind her ear. Alex stares at her, rather than his menu.

Franny tugs on his arm. She got a mean pull for a kid who is only four. "Will you order for me?" He's comforted by this, knowing that while she has grown, for now, she's still his tiny little girl who gets nervous talking to strangers like their waiter.

Her hair is in fresh braids. Lottie told him that for the past month that's the way she's insisted on wearing her hair. She's got these overalls on. Blue denim with a sunflower embroidered on the front. Underneath she has a white shirt with purple short sleeves, her favourite colour. She smiles up at him, hoping to charm him into getting her all the treats she wants. She still has all her baby teeth, even though she desperately wants to lose one so the tooth fairy will visit her.

"Can you order for me too?" His other girl requests. Lottie is resting her head on her hand. There's pink in her cheeks and a smile that doesn't show her teeth, something she's still insecure about. Her two front teeth are crooked, turned slightly inward toward the other. It's unnoticeable unless you stare at it for an extended period of time. Everyone calls it cute but she says that it's a clear sign she grew up poor.

She wears a white linen blouse that was made for breezy weather. The front of it hangs open enough that he can see the charm of her two necklaces, one with a small blue pendant, the other with St. Michael. Her shoes have a slight heel to them. She jokes that they wear the same shoes, although he would like to point out that they are different sizes.

Lottie gets two eggs and a chocolate crepe, Franny gets waffles, Alex gets another coffee and Franny's leftovers. He cuts her waffles for her because she still hasn't mastered the grip of a knife. He tries to sneak a bite of Lottie's crepe but she slaps his hand away. "Get your own."

Right after they relocated to London and all of Lottie's things mixed with all of Alex's things, they had the question of possession. In other words, he learned Lottie likes to claim things. They shared shirts, kitchen utensils, and shampoo, but while Alex lost track of what fork was originally owned by who, Lottie still refers to things as yours and mine.

Her possessive pronoun usage was exact. She calls the bed they share your bed, she calls their dining table my table. When she was further along in her pregnancy and refused to buy ugly maternity clothes, she took to wearing more of his clothes. It only lasted for about a month. She's a tad smaller than him but he's no six-foot giant. She still wears some of his jeans to this day and will say, "I'm going to wear your jeans" just like she did back at the hotel.

He doesn't know why she does this. Maybe because English is her second language or she spent her whole childhood getting hand-me-downs from her brother. Either way, what once confused him, now is just amusing. It might be his favourite of her quirks.

"On the plane ride here, Francoise and I watched Toy Story 2," Lottie says to him, but she's prompting Franny to talk. Franny's quiet and keeps to herself. He recognizes that to be a quality she inherited from him. She often hesitates but she differs from him. Once you give her permission to talk, she rambles.

"What'd you think, Fran?" He asks.

She finishes chewing her waffle. She's a proper young lady. "I liked it a lot. It was funny, it was scary. I liked Jessie the best but I want a Woody doll or a piggy bank. I can put my tooth fairy money in there. I don't think my toys come to life. They're too lazy. But it was a good movie. Maman cried but I didn't. I still give it a thumbs up." She gestures the thumbs up with a head shake before returning to her waffle bits.

Alex contains his laughter. "I'll have to see it then, especially if it made maman cry."

"Shush," Lottie signals.

"We can watch it tonight!" Franny suggests with a big smile.

Lottie answers for him, "We're going to papa's concert tonight, remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" She excitedly tosses her head back and forth. Her braids jiggle around like two jump ropes playing a game of double Dutch. "I like your concerts."

It's a genuine compliment, Franny still doesn't know how to give fake ones. She told him after the first show she saw that she found him to be too loud and that they should turn the volume down. Still, she danced around like the music was being played just for her. She's never been to any other concerts and says she wants to go to more.

For her third birthday, Lottie gifted Franny a toy microphone. She didn't like it and handed it to Alex instead because he'd use it. Franny doesn't like singing or the guitar or even banging on drums. She doesn't like loud things.

She's quiet and conserves her energy. She likes the flowers they grow in the backyard. She likes to paint with her maman. She likes doing somersaults in the grass. She likes the smell of honey. She would one day like to bake cookies by herself, but she's too young to turn on the oven. She's a flower child.

They walk over to the Fine Art Museum, Franny swinging between them. "You know, this is the oldest art museum in Canada," Lottie says.

Alex nods. "I did my research."

Lottie rolls her eyes, convinced he's pulling her leg. "You did not."

"Yes, I did." Alex quickly nods. "I got one of those Blue Planet books."

Still not believing him, she says, "No, you did not." He snorts at her jaw dropped open, the disbelief smothering her face.

"How else would I know where Leonard Cohen is buried?"

"'Cause you're a dork."

He's baffled at the accusation, tapping his chest. "I'm a dork?" This is coming from the woman who has a membership at nearly every art museum in London despite the majority of them being free.

"I'm a dork," Franny cheers. She eases tensions. She came along so early in their relationship that it's hard to judge how their dynamic would have developed without Franny. Alex has no doubt they'd still be together but things would be different without her.

He imagines Lottie would join him for more legs of the tour if they didn't have to worry about Franny, but that's probably not true. Lottie has a job that she's passionate about. She's more filled with drive and love for it than he has seen anyone else in any other profession. She loves observing art, she loves writing about art, she loves creating art.

They'd probably still be in Paris. Lottie agreed to move to London because Alex had a larger living situation there that would fit a growing family. Her boss had friends in London that he recommended Lottie for, allowing her to make the move.

He knows she longs for it. London isn't her favourite. But Franny loves it and Alex loves being home and she's willing to make that sacrifice for them. He worries that he's allowed her to give up so much. One day she'll see that she's let go of things she's loved for him and she'll hate him for it. They've fought about it before. They'll probably fight about it again.

But she does love it there. She loves their house and their neighborhood. She loves that she's four blocks away from Leah and on the corner of their street is her favourite bakery. She loves the London art scene and she loves that she has enough space to make her art. She loves the way people admire her slight French accent and finds her to be cool from that alone. She hasn't felt cool most of her life.

However, he knows she misses her mother. She has friends in Paris that she rarely sees now. She only speaks her mother tongue to their four-year-old. For that, he'll always feel guilty.

"I've always wanted to go to Monet's garden," Lottie says as they stand in front of A Cliff at Pourville in the Morning. "It's only about an hour outside Paris, in Giverny, yet I never went."

Franny's eyes gaze up at the painting completely lost in it. She's getting to the age when she understands the beauty in these things. She'll marvel at it and understand the gravity of what is in front of her. Or she's just copying her mother, she likes doing that too.

"We can go when we go to Paris in December," he offers.

"It's closed in the winter."

He can't control the weather and yet it feels like he should be able to. He wants so badly to give her what she wants but it feels like it falls flat all the time. Every gesture falls at her feet with a disappointed thud. A gift she is forced to fix all the broken pieces he created.

Lottie bends down to Franny's ear. She grabs her arms, holding her in place. "Do you like this one?"

She rapidly nods her head.

"It's an exchange between the ocean and the sky," she talks to Franny like she's an adult. "The fleeting beauty of dawn before day sweeps it all away." Alex doubts Franny knows what dawn is but she nods along enthusiastically.

They move quickly, not soaking in nearly enough art as he's sure Lottie would want. They have a tight schedule before they have to be at the venue. He'd apologize for it but he knows she'll be more annoyed by that than actually having to leave the museum.

They take a walk through Mount Royal Park. Lottie takes pictures of Franny as she goes up the Grand Staircase. Franny taps her shoe on each stair. She likes to hear it knock against the wood, the crick each step makes. She stands proudly at the top of the stairs with her hands proudly tugging on her overall straps. You'd think she climbed the mountain itself with how much pride she and her parents have.

She doesn't like to walk on the established path, so she decides to walk ahead of her parents on the grass. Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. Lottie walks with her tote bag over her shoulder and a light-knit black sweater in case it gets cold (it never does).

"Does it remind you of France?" Alex asks.

"Um." She thinks for a moment, looking around at the greenery. "No." She doesn't explain further and Alex doesn't ask for more. "Does it remind you of France?"

Alex chuckles. "You'd know better than me."

She shrugs. "Maybe I'm too snobbish or too filled with nostalgia to decide whether this does measure up with France."

"A little, but maybe it's just the French part."

"You gonna go se branler in the bushes?"

He tosses his head back. "Hush."

She giggles and moves closer to him, knocking shoulders with him. "I think Francoise likes it more than either of us." The little girl is examining flowers, sprouting between the grass and the concrete. She doesn't pluck one, just looks at it from all angles.

"I wish I had an attention span like both of you," Alex says. He tries for both of them but staring at a painting as long as Lottie does is a near-impossible task. Franny has inherited all of those traits. He loves it, but there's no way he can do it.

Lottie curls her arm around him. "You have other talents."

He raises an eyebrow. "Like?"

"We are going to your sold-out concert, Al. There's no need to be modest."

"I'm not trying to be."

She smiles. "I know." She brushes the side of his head, pushing back his hair off of his forehead. "You have blinders on to all your achievements. You forget that you're the most talented person I know."

He scoffs. "Don't lie to me."

"You don't have to believe me. Just think of all the people that are probably jealous of you."

He tosses his head from side to side. That convinces him. She giggles and kisses his cheek.

Leonard Cohen's grave is covered in small stones. Some are painted, some have writing on them, some are blank. It's weird. It's someone he's admired all of his adult life and he's right in front of him, buried in the ground. He doesn't think about death much, but he's thinking about it now.

He hasn't been to many cemeteries. Lottie has been to more than she can count. France is covered in them. She used to walk through Cimetière du Père-Lachaise with her mother every Saturday, finding a new corner of it. Her mother also had a thing for Jim Morrison.

Alex wonders if they should have brought Franny here. If she knows enough about life and death to understand what stands before her. As always, she's well-behaved, admiring the sculptures that stand above the gravestones.

Cohen is buried with three generations of his family. He thinks that's what he'd like. He'd like to be buried in the same coffin as Lottie, disintegrate into one another. That would probably disgust her. She hates the smell of fish. He can't imagine how she'd react to rotting flesh.

Still, he thinks about losing this one day. He'd like to go before her, of course. He probably couldn't function without her. Poor Franny would have to take care of him, remind him of his appointments, tell him to take his meds, and remind him that the sun still exists. So, he'll go first. He smokes and drinks more than her anyway so it'll probably work out that way. He should stop thinking about this now.

"You want to go to the Basilica now?" He asks her.

She smiles softly. It feels like a kiss upon his soul. A blessing he feels so lucky to receive. "Sure."

The bus is close to empty but they sit in the back because Franny likes that it's higher than the rest of the bus. She used to like sitting on one of their laps when riding public transit but she doesn't like that now. She likes to be viewed as a big girl but she wants to sit between her parents so she can touch both of them.

She rests her head on Lottie's shoulder. She's growing tired of all this walking. They aren't doing funny little kid things here but he promises that they'll do it in Boston. Lottie already plans to have fancy afternoon tea at the Boston Public Library, which Franny is already super excited about.

The altar of the basilica is centered by a golden Jesus. The spires strain Lottie's neck as she gazes up at them. He tries to figure out what the wood carving below Jesus is for so long until Lottie tells him it's a high relief of the Last Supper. His eyesight is getting pretty bad.

The spiral staircases captivate Franny. She wants to climb and descend them, waving her hand like she's a royal. Alex wants to know about the organs. There are thousands of pipes, varying from some of the tiniest he's ever seen to the biggest. He's definitely a dork.

He leans next to Lottie's ear and whispers, "They've got some big pipes here."

She laughs in anticipation. "Don't you dare make a sex joke in a church."

Alex contains his laughter. "Wouldn't be the first time."

They walk along the St. Lawrence River because Lottie likes the water and Franny likes quays with ships docked in them. She becomes occupied in her own world. She likes running ahead but not out of sight. She's too well-behaved, it's strange.

Alex holds Lottie's hand. "If I die—"

"Jesus, Al!" She drops his hand, already shaming him for bringing it up. "I don't like talking about that."

"Fine, if you die—"

"Stop it."

"It's a serious question. I'm curious."

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Fine."

"Would you want to be buried in Paris?"

She shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about this now."

"Okay."

Franny tugs on his hand. He looks down and she pats her stomach. "I'm hungry."

They walk down Saint-Paul Street, stopping at a place called Modavie because Franny likes the live jazz music that's flooding out onto the streets. The kind they listened to when they were building the crib in what would be Franny's room. Well, he built the crib, Lottie yelled the instructions at him.

The room was painted lemon and the rocking chair in the corner was an old wood with a pink seating pad. It had been the same chair Lottie was rocked to sleep in. They never used it; instead, they always sat out on the couch. They finally got some use out of it when Franny was old enough to climb in on her own and rock it back and forth.

While Franny said she was hungry, it's actually Alex, who had only eaten scraps of waffles and two coffees. The place is too nice for a quick meal before the show but it's French and he likes the sound of lamb chops. Franny gets calamari because she likes the pronunciation and she's had it before so they know she won't hate it. Lottie gets mussels and fries because Brussels.

Lottie orders for them in French. The waiter says something back to her that makes her laugh but Alex has no clue. He's tried to learn more but he hasn't practiced on the road. It's not his fault his own private tutor won't come with him.

They don't talk. It's far too loud to hear each other over the music, which is nice, but he'd prefer conversation over it. Lottie leans over and whispers straight into his ear, "I bet you she likes this more than your show."

He turns to speak into her ear. His skin brushes against hers. His stubble scratches her jawbone and his lips lightly touch her earlobe. "Yeah, this one has food and mine will be 'too loud.'"

Lottie turns back to his ear. "It's good. I want her to protect her ears." Alex agrees but he's almost certain this jazz band will do more damage to her ears than his band. Their table is right near the stage. Her ears are so close to the saxophone.

Franny pops calamari into her mouth so quickly he worries she'll choke. Granted, he does inhale the lamb chops. Lottie hasn't even had a fry yet by the time he's finished. He snags one of them and she allows it. She then drops a mussel shell into his lap just because she wants to see him squirm. (He does and she giggles almost as loud as the music).

They take the metro to the venue, Bell Centre, or Centre Belle as Lottie calls it because she's French and difficult. The second they step on the platform and wait for the 2 train Alex asks, "Is there something special about Montreal trains I should know?" He speaks quietly so as to not expose his shame.

He truly never got the hang of the doors of Paris's Metro. Either it took him too many tries to open or his arm would get ripped off, eventually, he refused to do it and forced Lottie to do it every time or they wouldn't get off the train. She'd laugh hysterically.

The last time they were there and Lottie was sad they were leaving, Alex opened the door to cheer her up. He tripped and almost fell face-first on the platform. Suddenly, Lottie wasn't so upset anymore.

Now, she laughs at his question. "I don't know. I've never been here before."

"We'll just have Francoise take care of everything," he says.

She smiles and leans her head on his shoulder as they wait. Franny is holding his hand. He doesn't care how long the train takes. This is a nice place to be.

When it comes powering through the station, Franny jumps up and down, beyond excited by the mode of transport. The doors automatically open and Franny leads the way, hopping on the train. She sits on Alex's lap because it's only two seats per row and she doesn't want anyone to be separated. She kicks her feet out and the heel of her shoes beats against his shins.

"These are sleek," Lottie says while looking around the train car.

"Much nicer than London," he says. Lottie rolls her eyes. "What?" He asks.

"This is what happens with a French regime," she says.

He makes an amused noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "What? Nicer subways?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. What was Toronto's metro like?"

"I didn't go on it," he says. "Are we comparing French imperialism and British imperialism right now?"

"No, I'm just saying it's a nice subway."

"Okay."

It's silent between them for a moment. Another train whooshes past and they stop at Station Côte-Vertu. Once the doors close and the train sets in motion again Lottie says, "Not everything is a jab against you."

His eyes widen. He didn't think they were fighting. He needs to be more aware of his tone. Lottie tells him that all the time. "I never said it was."

She rolls her eyes and turns away, looking out the window. He stares at her. She reflects onto the window, her soul staring back at him. He's thinking of her blue bandana and those sunglasses that she used to hide herself with. He thinks of that saddle bag. All those saddlebags that have been left behind in Paris like shedding a piece of who she used to be.

She is every version she's ever been right in front of his eyes. He knows every stretch of her. He memorized it long ago back when they were in Brussels. He was dumb then but he knew that there would be a chance he'd never see her again. So, he brushed his finger on every nanometer of her and swore he would remember it. Has she forgotten that? He's overthinking, he knows. Besides—

"This is our stop," she says.

They walk off the train and up the metro steps. They make it one block before she tells him at a red traffic light, "I'm going to go to the cathedral for a bit."

It's clearly not an invitation for him to come. "Okay."

"You keep Francoise," she requests. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

She bends down and kisses Franny's cheek. She rises to his level and does the same. It's rushed. She says her goodbyes as she tries to make it across the street before the light changes. "I'll see you in an hour."

Then, it's just Franny's hand in his. She tugs on it. "Dad. The light's green."

He nods. "Right." They make their way across the street and Lottie isn't in view anymore, already ducked in Mary, Queen of the World Cathedral. He wonders if Lottie ever prays. She's not religious—that was beaten out of her by the nuns at her Catholic school—but she loves all places of worship. He knows this comes from being an aesthete but something about the Catholics always draws her back. He'll have to ask her.

Franny skips through the venue halls. "It's big."

"Yeah."

"It's bigger than me."

"I think it might be."

He picks her up and she's squealing and flinging her arms and legs around. He made those legs and arms, well, half of her, maybe just the right arm and left leg. Still, it hits him sometimes just as hard as the way her heels kick against him.

He releases her and she goes off giggling. He can't tell if she enjoyed today or not. She enjoyed it enough not to complain about it, which is a relief to him. She can whine. She may be well-behaved and not throw tantrums but she's still four and has a habit of whining and crying and tugging on his arm until he gives in because he always seems to give in.

Franny hangs out backstage while they do soundcheck. He comes back to her drawing with crayons on a coffee table and sipping on a juice box. Lottie still isn't back. He squats down to sit on the couch with the crack of his knees. "Whatcha working on, lady?"

She lifts up the paper featuring a purple creation resembling a butterfly. "I'm not finished."

His grin is unstoppable. He loves all these little creations. They're plastered all around their home from her first work (her handprints) to the latest craze (butterflies). He'll have to make sure this one is packed away safely. "I'm liking it so far."

Alex leans back and watches her. The stroke of her crayon is wild and unstoppable but somehow lands in the form of butterfly wings. She stops, takes a sip of her juice box, and asks, "Are you ever coming home?"

His eyebrows jump and an ache hangs upon his heartstrings. This has gone on too long, he's known this. He knows Lottie shields him from this. It's impossible that Franny doesn't ask why he's gone for so long or that she misses him. "Yeah. In about a month. I'm sorry."

She shrugs and continues drawing. "It's fine. I like mummy a lot."

There's remorse in his smile, but he tells her, "Me too." He can't remember the last time he and Franny were alone together like this. There were plenty of times at home when it was just the two of them but he can't recall the last time the two went somewhere together. Every museum, every playdate, every grocery trip has been handled by Lottie. He can't remember the last time Lottie did something by herself.

It makes him want to slap himself like no shit, not everything is about you. Except it kind of is. He has been the reason she hasn't gotten a moment to herself. She locks things behind a door and says what's going on behind the door is so much fun, but he's never been on the other side of the door so he doesn't know the full truth.

"What juice are you drinking?" He asks.

Franny holds the box up. Elmo faces him with wide arms and a big, wide-open-mouthed smile. "Apple. Want some?" She walks over with the box and holds it out to him.

He almost says no but she pushes it toward him, willing him to take it. His mouth covers the tiny straw and he can't remember the last time he had apple juice but Elmo has good taste. "You can have the rest," she decides. Franny leaves the box with him and trots back to her drawing station.

"Thanks, Fran." He continues to sip on it. The tiny size of it and his hands back him feel like when Franny was a baby. It makes him remember Franny still is a baby and he should savour this time rather than worrying about not having that time back.

He leans his elbows on his knees and drinks the juice. The taste makes him think of his childhood home and how his mum used to give out apple juice boxes whenever his friends came over. Now, well, he's still drinking them.

"Hitting the hard stuff?" Lottie asks as she walks in. She looks brighter as if she went to the beach and got a tan. She's joking, she's smiling, she sits right next to Franny and kisses her left cheek and then her right cheek from behind.

Alex chuckles and places the empty box on the table. "Just trying to calm the nerves. How was the cathedral?"

Her cheeks look like they ache. "It was lovely. The statues, the paintings, the cupola. I'll show you pictures later."

It makes him nearly as happy as her, though that doesn't seem possible to meet. "That's great. I'm excited."

Lottie wraps her arms around Franny's stomach and hugs her back to her chest. "No you're not," she brushes off, looking down at Franny's paper.

He furrows his brows. "I'm not lying."

She looks up, smiles, and does a single nod. "Okay."

Alex can't see them when he's onstage. He imagines they are either dancing or Franny has fallen asleep. He tries not to think about it much when he's playing. It makes him too nervous. He feels the need to be impressive and grab their attention. Plus, if he messes up and falls on his face in front of Lottie she'll make fun of him forever. She'll mock him later anyway.

After the first show she went to on the tour, she stood up on the bed with a bare chest, only wearing his boxers, and started imitating him with a crooner voice and all. Her impersonations aren't just for the present day. In the shower, she'll comb her hair back to look like she's slapped a pound of gel in it and do a horrible impression of him in 2013. She can't sing so it's pretty funny to watch.

When the show ends he waits for them by Franny's purple butterfly drawing. They open the door with Lottie giving Franny a piggyback ride and Franny shouting, "You were great!"

"Really?" He asks, hands on his hips as they reach him. He grabs Franny and holds her on his hip. Her braids have been messed with like she was thrashing in a mosh pit.

"You weren't too loud or quiet. Just right!" She emphasizes her opinion with her hands, adding punctuation with each word.

"Well, thank you, Goldilocks." Alex's eyes shift to Lottie. "Mama bear?"

Lottie wrinkles her nose. "Ew, don't call me that." She cackles loudly as if he's the first person who has ever told her a joke. "You were lovely. Very energetic but not overtly."

He's not sure what she exactly means but he takes it with a chuckle. He takes a big yawn, throwing his head back for extra emphasis. He looks at the little girl. "I'm tired. Are you tired, Franny?"

Lottie makes a pointed look at him. "Francoise, remember?"

"Francoise," he corrects.

Franny giggles and clutches his neck tightly. "You guys are funny."

"Francoise." Alex pops her on his hips, making her laugh more. "What do you think about hanging with Matt and Amanda?"

She shrugs. "I guess so. They want to be my friends soooooo badly."

Lottie has to turn around her as laughter bursts out of her, lips flapping, and in desperate need of taking a deep breath. Alex turns his face to the side, not wanting to laugh straight into Franny's face.

"What?" Franny questions, having no idea of the hilarity of her words.

Lottie covers her mouth as she looks back. Her words come out muffled as she says, "Nothing, honey. You'll have a great time with them."

Alex can't control himself and has to place Franny down in order to contain his laughter. Franny ends up running over to Matt and tugging on his arm saying how excited she is to hang out like they're two guys getting beers together.

On the ride back to the hotel, Lottie nearly falls asleep against the window. She would have if the van hadn't hit a speed bump and knocked her head up against the glass. She walks into the hotel hanging off his side. She bends down and hugs Franny good night before bidding farewell to the rest of the group and escaping into their hotel room where she promptly rushes into the room, kicks off her shoes, and takes her clothes off.

"Geez," Alex says at the sight. "Are you rushing to bed or just excited to see me?"

She moves over to him and kisses him full on the lips. He nearly falls over. His arms flailing at his sides. He feels like he's hallucinating from exhaustion. "Excited to see you." She's unlatching her bra and throwing it at him. The sight of naked boobs should arouse him but leaves him as perplexed as when a woman threw a bra at him in Athens.

"Alrighty. Were you not just about to fall asleep two seconds ago?"

She rolls her eyes, sits on the edge of the bed, and takes off her socks. "It's called putting on a show, Alex," she says to him like he's their four-year-old daughter.

"Right."

"If Francoise thinks I'm tired, she will believe she should be tired. She fully believes my bedtime is 8:30 and that I don't stay up watching television until midnight. It works every time so you should work on your tired look for the next time."

Alex blinks slowly, still fully dressed. "I am tired."

"Oh." She's sitting in her underwear. She sits up straight and crosses her arms. "So, you didn't pawn off our daughter to have sex with me."

"Well," he sheds his jacket and tosses it on the sofa chair, "I never said that. I'm not an idiot."

She smirks and stands up. "I know." She turns her back to him and slowly begins to pull off her panties. Alex rushes to grab her hips and do it himself. He crashes into her, forcing a giggle out of her and landing them flat on the housekeeping-made bed. "Stop. You're gonna break one of my ribs."

He lifts himself, allowing her to breathe again. He stands up and begins to remove clothing items starting with his shoes. Lottie flips her body to look straight at him while he does this. She bites her thumbnail like she needs something between her teeth while she waits for him.

She then takes him off guard, "Do you jerk off?"

He's kicking his trousers off when she asks this, stopping with them pooling around his ankles. "Why do you want to know?"

She shrugs. "I'm just curious. That's all." There's something more to it because if Lottie there's always something more. She's made with ulterior motives.

Alex steps out of his pants. He smirks as he stands over her. His penis hanging near her cunt. "You want me to jerk off."

"What?" She awkwardly giggles. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't," she insists. "I was just curious if you had time for that kind of thing."

He chuckles at her. "Lot, I've got plenty of time to se branler."

She reaches out to slap his stomach, right above his evidence. "Shut up. What kind of foreplay is this?"

Alex stares at her in disbelief. "You asked the question!"

"Did you forget how to have sex? Is that how long we've been apart?"

He rolls his eyes. And just to see her squirm he asks, "Do you watch porn?"

Her jaw drops. "Shut up!" After that, he does because it's much more fun to fuck your wife than to talk about fucking your wife.

The first time they had sex after having Franny, Lottie wanted to go slow. It was foreign and sore and filled with uncertainty for the first time in their relationship. But it was a lovely affair, a reunion of sorts.

This is different. It's a reunion but it's quick and attacking. He feels like they're a step away from eating each other (and not in the eating out kind of way). He's in her and they're together on the edge of the bed, their feet hanging off onto the floor, but neither makes a move to decide whether they should fuck on the bed or the floor.

And they're embarrassingly loud. Or at least she is. He can't keep track of himself. All he knows is he's moaning in her ear and the volume could be a small whisper or a full release. It's like when they were stuck in her Paris apartment that was so tiny you had to fuck in such a confined space and it might have been the hottest sex they ever had because of that.

He feels sweaty for the first time that night. Her hands are grasping on his shoulders, imprinting fingernail crescent cuts. He pushes his mouth directly next to her ear. "What if we had another baby?"

She pushes him up off of her chest, desperate for air, for some release from this heat. "You carry it." Yeah, he probably shouldn't be asking for things like that. He's barely been around this past year for the one they already have.

"Sorry," he pathetically mumbles.

She's not listening. She's busy getting ready to come. "Just fuck me." She's sick of him. He's convinced.

But at least he can fuck her. He knows he's good at that with the way she moves, arches, and clamps around him. She pushes him back further and tells him, "Jerk off now."

He listens, obedient as always to her orders, and pulls out. He would have come on the carpet, completely unsure of where to dispose of himself, but she gets down on her knees and opens her mouth. He moves closer. "Don't put it in my mouth," she says.

He lays the tip on her bottom lip, which seems to be okay with her. His fist is quick because he feels he'll burst into flames at the sight of her right now if he doesn't come into her mouth. So, he does. It takes him a while to relax and he's unsure if she swallows it or spits it into the wastebasket.

Lottie throws her hair up and stretches her back in front of him, bending back and forward. He feels old all the time, it rarely registers that she's the same age as him. She’s getting older too. She's more youthful than him, that's for sure. There's a reason women live longer than men.

She laughs at him still catching his breath as she hides herself under the blankets, waiting for him. "Come here," she reaches out.

He straightens out. "I'm coming. I'm coming."

She curls her lips, refraining from the sex joke. He stretches out on his stomach beside her. She has to tuck him in. It's cozy and soft. She moves him like a doll by grabbing his arm and curling it over her stomach. He moves closer and lies his head on his shoulder, brushing his nose against her jugular.

She moves down and even with his eyes closed he feels her eyes gazing at him. Her breath is so close to his. The tip of her nose carefully brushes his. "I missed you."

He slowly opens his eyes. He longs for her so much. He doesn't think he could've survived another day without her. She's as necessary as food and water. It's a hunger and a desire but it's sustenance and nourishment. Yet, he chose to starve himself. "I'm sorry for doing this to you."

She grows concerned, shifting over to her side. Her brows furrow and she is completely lost. She puts her hand on his upper arm, rubbing it in a soothing manner. "Doing what?"

"Being away. Being absent. Taking things away from you."

She shakes her head with confusion. "You gave me my whole life, Al."

"I gave you a whole different life."

"I'm quite happy with the life I have," she assures him. He goes through phases like this before where he covers himself in self-doubt. But this is different. There's a reason to be concerned because it's hard to question what is in front of your eyes, it's easy to question what you don't see.

"You've given up too much, Lot."

She doesn't refute him. She looks around but doesn't make eye contact with him. She's thinking. She gives his arm a squeeze to calm him. "I'm a very lucky girl." She hesitates before deciding to tell him the truth, "But I sometimes get jealous of you. I give in to you a lot and it's my own decision. You didn't force me into this. I'm going to spend my whole life missing out on things but I don't want to miss out on you. Believe me, I'm very happy right now."

She curls closer to him, needing the comfort, needing the love, needing him. He tries to soothe her the best you can. "I'm gonna take care of you for the rest of my life."

"I believe you."

He's never been great at compromise. He's gotten his way. Lottie gives in. She's the one willing to give things up. It's his turn. It should have been from the beginning. "Do you want to move to Paris?"

She gives him a small smile and a light shake of the head. "I just want you to come home."

"We should spend every summer in Paris. Get a little place there."

"I have work," she points out.

He groans and falls on his back. "Fuck work."

She giggles and lands on top of his chest, lying there. "I appreciate the sentiment though."

Alex brushes her arm. "I'm going to give you what you want. I promise. I'll learn French, I swear."

She kisses his cheek, a smile placed on his skin. "Thank you. I just want us all to be back in our home."

It grows quiet, both just feeling the other's presence, relaxing into it for the first time in forever. Her skin is so soft and her body is a comforting warmth on his skin. A feeling he's felt since the first night he slept beside her. They keep each other close because there's no other way of doing it.

Lottie breaks through the quiet. "Are we going to sleep naked?"

He grins with closed lips and turns to her. "Like the good ol' days."

"Something like it."

He squeezes her butt and she teases the skin around his dick but never touches it. They fall asleep a half hour later. He always thought it was bullshit that people slept better in the presence of someone else but it's true.

Then, there's a knock at the door. He awakes before the noise gets to Lottie. The room is dark and he stubs his toe on one of the bed's legs. He manages to find boxers to throw on before opening the door. It's early and he might be sleepwalking. His eyes squint and he manages to make out the sight of Matt with Franny in his arms.

"What's wrong?" Franny is curled into Matt's shoulder so peaceful looking that she could almost be asleep but she clearly isn't. Her eyes stare straight at him.

Matt looks tired. He's in his pyjamas too. "Bad dream. Sorry for waking you but she's too scared and I just thought..."

Not wanting to trouble Matt more, he reaches out and takes Franny from him. She grabs his neck so tightly she's almost choking him. "Don't worry. Thanks. Sorry about all this."

Matt shakes his head and pats Alex's arm before shuffling his feet back to his own room.

Alex quietly closes the door as best as he can. He whispers to Franny, "You okay?"

"Just don't leave," Franny tells him.

He rubs his hand up her back, holding her the same way he used to burp her. "I'm right here," he reminds her. She squeezes him tightly just to make sure. He reciprocates, holding him close to him. "Mum's still asleep."

She nods against his neck. "I'll be quiet. Swear."

"I know you will." He carries her to their bed, lying her between them. Her arms stay curled around him. He rubs his hand up and down in the hope she will fall asleep before he does.

"I'm happy you're here," she whispers to him.

He smiles because for once he is here. "Me too."

a/n: did not think it would be this long. i didn't think i'd ever write another part to this but i wrote the first 3k words in pencil on random sheets of paper and then the rest just happened. i hope it translates well.

#GOD

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