#//He would be so very giddy and happy afterwards; he’d be practically glowing

[dutybcrne]

Quick and easy way for a man to catch Kae’s attention? Show him a nice good ol feat of strength

[hockeywhy]

caught in the middle (1); m. barzal

SYNOPSIS: For the sake of your friend’s wedding with Tito, you and Mat agree to maintain the facade of still being the happy couple everyone sees you as. But the act comes with its consequences, one more taxing than the other. WARNINGS: language. WORD COUNT: 11.2k A/N: I am so excited for this because it contains some of the tropes I enjoy seeing in fics, and I was dying to also put out some new content as opposed to only reposting my old writing. I wish I wrote this when I was still decent at doing the thing, but I hope that this is still an enjoyable read that makes you look forward to the next part! Title is based off Alexander 23′s Caught in the Middle which is such a good song and I really recommend. Sections in italics represent flashbacks. 

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

“We’re getting married!” 

You gasped, bringing both hands to cover the lower half of your face as your jaw dropped at the announcement. It shouldn’t be so surprising – you would’ve bet even your most prized possession that this was bound to happen at some point eventually – but knowing this was actually now a sure thing sent a thrill through you. It didn’t take long for the shock to wear off and in place of it, your expression mirrored that of your best friend’s: the wide grin, the bright eyes and of course, the giggles of sheer excitement as soon as the news sunk in. Elise was glowing and next to her, Tito embodied the idea of what the world’s proudest man would look like. 

“Oh my god!” you gasped, and Elise burst into laughter, not hesitating to jump out of her seat at the same time you did so that the two of you could embrace. Among your squeals and giggles, you could faintly make out the sound of hands being clapped, then caught sight of Mat and Tito hugging. Over Elise’s shoulder and over Tito’s, you and Mat exchanged smiles and you couldn’t help the chuckle that left your mouth as soon as he winked at you. “Congratulations!” you said as soon as you broke apart, though the two of you still held hands. Immediately, your gaze fell down to her hand where a ring now rested, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you hadn’t taken notice of it earlier. “Just—when? How? Where? Who else knows?” 

“We don’t have a date or venue set yet, but we wanted you and Mat to be the first to know,” Elise informed you as soon as you took your seats again.

“We have a favour to ask from both of you,” Tito supplied. As soon as he said it, you felt Mat’s hand wrap around your own and the two of you exchanged a brief look during which he squeezed your hand gently, before diverting your attentions back to the soon-to-be newlyweds. 

Newlyweds. The immensity of the word sent a discrete shiver down your spine. 

“I can’t imagine asking this of anyone else: I want you to be my best man,” Tito directed at Mat.

“You shouldn’t even think of asking this of anyone else,” Mat responded immediately, and the two shook hands on it. You couldn’t help but think that if they weren’t as comfortable as they were now, they’d probably hug again, do their typical pats on the back or fist bump as they usually did, but Elise’s head now rested on Tito’s shoulder and Mat’s hand was so warm, so firm atop your own. 

“Be my maid of honour, please?” Elise asked. “I can’t think of anyone more suitable than you and Mat as best man and maid of honour. We’ll return the favour of course,” she added playfully. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” you warned without hesitating because after all, you had no reason to – and you knew Mat would agree with you. 

Although the two of you hadn’t touched on the subject yet, there was an unvoiced knowledge shared between you that eventually, this would also be you. Eventually, Mat would ask you and your heart would grow and your soul would warm, and you would say yes. Yes, yes, yes. 

As you all settled down to hear a replay of how Tito popped the question and Elise accepted the ring, Mat’s thumb began caressing the back of your hand. Though the gesture wasn’t a novelty, you couldn’t help but take notice of the way your heart fluttered each time he seemed to linger more on your ring finger. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a ring wrapped around it but neither of you were in a rush: you simply waited for the right time to take your relationship to a point in which it would become a forever thing, fully confident it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ but rather, ‘when’.

*

This was anything but the right time. 

You frown as you cast a glance down at the phone resting on your lap, eyes narrowing a little at the name which brought the display to life for the second time in the space of less than a minute. You click the side button twice, silencing the vibrations of it and from your side, your colleague leans in to whisper to you. 

“You can take it if it’s urgent. I’ll fill you in afterwards.”

“Thanks,” you whisper back. “I think it can wait until the meeting wraps up though.” 

Luke gives you a well, if you’re sure look as he leaned back in his chair and you flash him a grateful smile. 

Still, it is difficult for you to settle comfortably in your seat again and much to your chagrin, you find yourself crossing and uncrossing your legs as if the call had sent some sort of signal to your entire body kickstarting jitteriness you can honestly do without. Not long after you find some comfort and energy to draw yourself back to the present, your phone buzzes again – only once this time, indicating a message. 

I’m waiting for you in the lobby.

Fuck, you curse inwardly, locking the phone in frustration. As quietly as you can, you gather your notebook and work tablet then lean in towards Luke who met you halfway. “Have to run but let me know if I miss anything important.”

“At the current rate, I wouldn’t count much on it but will do anyway,” he states as quietly as he can and the two of you exchange sly, conspiratorial smiles before you excuse yourself quickly and very quietly while making a swift exit. 

Internally, a string of curses follow without a break in between, and you have to physically bite down on your lip out of sheer fear one might unconsciously slip out. If anyone would be in your shoes, though, they wouldn’t blame you for it. You are the type of person to stick closely to any plans and agreements made, so the fact that he just chose to turn up so unexpectedly doesn’t sit right with you. Not anymore, that is. Besides, you had both agreed to do this after your workday ended as opposed to midday and definitely not in this place. Now, you have to brace yourself for coping with a foul mood on top of whatever else the rest of the day would throw at you. 

“You’ve got a visitor,” Rachel announces quietly in a sing-song voice from behind the reception desk as you approach. She doesn’t bother masking the giddiness in her tone and you struggle to work up as genuine of a smile as you can when she nods her head towards the waiting area.

“Thanks, Rach.”

“Bet he must be so happy your redeployment to the Baltimore offices was cut short so quickly,” she coos. 

“Sure is. We’re still on for tonight?” you ask quickly in an attempt to drive attention away from the subject before she can try to lead into it too far for your own comfort at the moment. 

Rachel’s smile falters a little, her expression somewhat quizzical. “Don’t you want to postpone so you could spend some time with him? You only just got back yesterday, after all.” 

You swallow uncomfortably before shrugging. “We’ve got plenty of time to do that. So tonight, okay? I’ll catch you later.” 

“Your call. See you then, Y/N!”

You only had just a split second to brace yourself for what is ahead of you, so you draw in a breath then slowly exhale it as discreetly as you can while cutting your way across the lobby. Since agreeing to this meeting, you prepared yourself as best as you could, imagining every single scenario and devising the appropriate plan for it: from the way you presented yourself to what you said, you had a mental plan for everything including a few backups just in case. The only thing you hadn’t factored in, apparently, was how little was under your control and you hated that. Each step you take made you feel less and less prepared for what is ahead, and the thought rattles you. If you were swift enough on your feet, you could just about make a quick turn and dip into the hallway leading to the visitor restrooms. All you need is just a few more seconds. A little alone time for you to run over your lines in your head. 

Except—

Mat looks up at the same time you take a step sideways, ready to bolt towards temporary safety. His eyebrows rise a little as if surprised by the sight of you, but you refuse to appear outwardly deflated by the turn of events. Instead, you square your shoulders, tip your head back a little and arch an eyebrow. You can do this. You note he is dressed casually, and his hair is pushed back underneath a black cap. 

Unless there was a change in schedule, Thursdays were scrimmage days. 

Your jaw clenches ever so slightly as you recall that with so much ease. Then again, you basically built up a collection of information that was practically helpful or useful to exactly no one over the course of the past few years. It’ll probably take just as much or maybe more to replace that with something different, so you try cutting yourself some slack whenever you are willing to.

“I thought we agreed on five thirty,” you state coolly, pitching your voice at just the right tone to also express surprise.

Mat pushes up from the armchair, returning whatever magazine he’d picked up back on the nearby glass table. “Sorry, I tried calling earlier this morning to ask if we can reschedule but it went straight to voicemail.” 

Oh. You mentally curse yourself for not charging your phone as soon as you made it home from the airport the previous night or bothering to check the voicemail message you’d been notified of once it did begin charging earlier this morning at your desk.

“They rescheduled the viewing of the new arena for this evening, and I was in the area, so I thought I’ll drop by just in case,” Mat continues, throwing a cursory glance around the place though to you, it seemed more like a way of having a break from the eye contact. You don’t complain; you welcome that. 

You open your mouth, ready to berate his poor timing but even you could admit you carry some fault here too. Only a little. You bite down lightly on the tip of your tongue, before nodding towards the seats though you didn’t wait for Mat; you sit, deciding he could make up his own mind if he wanted to follow or not. 

“How was Baltimore?” he asks after a few moments of awkward silence while settling in the same armchair he previously occupied. 

“Mat,” you say, hoping it comes across as more of a warning than a plea. You can’t deal with small talk and a part of you thinks that’d make the entire deal even more difficult to go through with. He presses his lips together into a thin line and you take that as your sign to continue. “Elise told me she’d like us to be at the venue a day in advance of the rehearsal dinner if we can. I’ve already arranged my leave for that, so it’s not a problem for me. I’m planning on making my way there sometime tomorrow afternoon.” 

“We can go together then. I can pick you up after work.” 

“There’s no need—”

“Y/N.” The sharpness of his tone catches you off guard and you can swear Mat was equally surprised by that, though only for the briefest of moments. He slides forward a little in the seat almost as if he is more than ready to leave but Mat has  never been one to back down so easily and you doubt any of that changed during the course of the past three months or so. “You were the one who insisted we go through with this and I’m trying. I really am, but you’re not giving me anything to work with. So please. Let’s just put everything to the side, do what we need to do and then it’s done.” 

Done. Like it is a task, like it is something you needed to cross off a to-do list, scrunch it up then trash it.  

The finality of the word is so heavy that it feels as if it had managed to knock out all the air in your lungs. You and Mat were running headfirst towards a fork in the road, and deep down you knew that was truly it. If until now the two of you have been dancing around each other, playing pretend as if you were kids living in a world of fantasy, you know that eventually, you have to let light shine on the truth: whatever lay ahead, you and Mat could no longer walk the same paths. It is just a matter of admitting it not only to yourselves, but also to the people you were lying to. 

Lying for, you prefer. 

Defeated, you slump in your own seat a little, legs crossing and fingers tapping lightly against the back of your notebook. “Be at my place by two. I’ll have everything that I need ready the night before so we won’t need to wait around.” A pause, and then, “how’s Tito?” 

Mat lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Excited. Nervous. It’s the only thing he talks about in the locker, outside of it, on ice and off ice. How’s Elise?” 

“Same deal with her. I never knew there were so many shades of blue before, but I’ve been proven wrong before.”

A pause follows that could easily be attributed to the group of people rushing into the building and allowing noise from the street outside to filter in while the doors were kept open, but you can tell there is more to it than that if you are to go by the shift in Mat’s expression. His expression changes and you find you can’t quite read into it or guess what could be going on through his head. You try not to focus much on the little voice inside your mind that was bothered by it but find it takes a considerable amount of effort to do so. Force of habit, you conclude. 

“You don’t say,” Mat finally responds. There is a hint of accusation in his tone. Or regret. Maybe both.

Your lips press together firmly, a light frown forming on your face but chose to let that slide. Not only is the lobby of your workplace the least suitable place to have an argument about the two of you, but you find that even those short moments of seeing Mat face to face months after you called it quits appears to take a toll on you. You feel tired, worn out and willing to be the first one to back down for once. 

It is cruel irony that a big red neon EXIT sign is visible from the corner of your eye.

You release a quiet, long sigh then stand up from the seat. “Well, I guess we’re done here? I do have another meeting to prepare for, so…” You trail off, already backing away a few steps.

Mat opens his mouth as if ready to say something else but promptly presses his lips together, deciding against it. He gives a swift nod of his head then stands up. It’s then you notice the two Styrofoam cups in front of him and the neon EXIT sign imprinted in your mind starts flashing temptingly at you. Mat is a step ahead. He holds out one of the cups towards you and you are ready to tell him off for it, but he cut in.

“Thought I wouldn’t drop by empty handed.” When you don’t make a move to accept it, his eyes briefly peek behind you. “Rachel’s all eyes this way, by the way,” he informs you and a brief glance over your shoulder confirms Mat hasn’t been lying.

As soon as you turn to look towards the reception desk, Rachel grins, waves quickly at you then turns back to her computer screen. Begrudgingly, you accept the cup of coffee and force a tight smile. 

“See you soon,” you say by way of greeting and didn’t wait to hear a response from Mat. 

It isn’t until you scan your pass to cross the security barriers and make a turn out of sight that you take a sip from the drink and almost immediately wish you didn’t. It’s your order to a T. The two of you even brought a coffee machine that would let you replicate it on days when you didn’t feel like leaving the comforts of your apartment, especially days when Mat didn’t need to get up early for practices or scrimmages or evening games. It stayed with Mat when you left and the memory left a bitter taste in your mouth, despite the gentle sweetness of the beverage. 

Without thinking twice, you throw the cup in the nearest trash can. 

*

As soon as your order is set on the table, you ignore the basket of fries and reach straight for your glass to take a long sip from the straw, letting out a content sigh as soon as you felt satiated enough.

“Long day,” you state in response to Rachel’s raised eyebrows but she seems to accept that by raising her own glass. You clink yours against hers, take a smaller sip then set it back down on the table. “What time do you think you’ll make it over to the hotel?” 

“Well, I was thinking of trying to get there by midday on the day of the rehearsal dinner but it’s starting to look more like late afternoon. I’m…” She trails off, and you can just about pick up on her hesitation and the way her gaze shifts over to the side momentarily as if avoiding something or considering whether to continue that. You move in your seat, peeling your back away from the plush backrest to lean in a little closer.

“You’re…” you trail off, voice peaking just a little into a question in an attempt to prompt her to continue.

Rachel takes a deep breath in, shoulders visibly drooping and when she looked back at you, she did so with a look that could only reflect…shame? Embarrassment? 

“Luke and I are sort of thinking of coming along together.” At the sight of your widened eyes, she quickly adds, “just as friends! We’re still working out through a few things and we’re taking it slow. As in, much, much slower than the first time around.”

“No way! That’s… Rach, that’s so good. I’m happy for you both, seriously.” 

You find that you truly believed that, though it wasn’t a surprise to you. You had introduced Rachel to Luke while she visited you in Baltimore and at the time, he worked with you there also. Initially, you didn’t think much of it - you simply invited her to come along to a few after work drinks and the two kicked it off easily that night. Very easily apparently, because as the night started coming to an end, Rachel prompted you to go ahead without her. Ready to say you weren’t going to leave her own her own, you shortly found out exactly why: you watched with plenty of amusement and fascination as she and Luke climbed into a taxi together and whizzed off to his place, undoubtedly. That was pretty much their start and continuation. Her visits to Baltimore were more frequent and though you were seeing her often enough, it definitely wasn’t as much as Luke saw of her. And you were fine with that. They fit almost perfectly and it only took a few more meetings for them to label themselves as a couple. 

Things began crumbling as soon as Luke had moved to the New York office just a few weeks before your own return. While he seemed fine with the idea of Rachel working in the same place, that wasn’t also her take on things.

“It’s weird,” she told you through the phone. “It just… It’s so weird. I’d be seeing him at my place or his and in the office? No thanks. That’s way too much for me, you know?” 

It made sense, of course, and though you rooted for them, you didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t comfortable with. Yet, there was a tremble to her voice, a sort of uncertainty that made you think otherwise. It wasn’t that Rachel didn’t have any feelings for him - maybe she was simply shocked to see him walk through those glass doors one morning to pick up his brand new ID and claim what would soon become his permanent desk across from yours. 

“Thanks,” she tells you, pulling you back into the present. “But like I said, slow and easy does it. We’ve been talking more and that makes a huge difference.” 

“For sure. If communication isn’t the backbone of a relationship, I don’t know what is,” you agree and wasn’t that ironic? You’re hardly in the position of giving any relationship advice at all or saying what is good for one and what isn’t. Not anymore. Not when your own had fallen apart. 

Rachel grins. “You’d know. You and Mat have been together for… how long now?” 

You should’ve seen it coming a mile away. You swallow uncomfortably, take another sip of your drink and take a few fries just to buy yourself a little more time. “Maybe four years? Don’t really keep track of that anymore,” you said as casually as you could muster, lifting your shoulders in a shrug. 

“I think I’d stop doing that eventually too at the rate you two are going. Honestly, I would’ve bet anything you would’ve been the first to tie the knot. Actually, thinking about it,” she says, clicking her fingers in recollection, “Elise said the same thing to me the other day when we caught up on the phone. She went—“

You don’t really register her words. There is a low ringing in your ears and an uncomfortable draft sweeps in the locale as the entrance door somewhere behind you is being kept open, no doubt a large group making their way in; it sends shivers down your body, but really, you are pretty sure you can’t only attribute them to a brief gust of wind. After all, your sweater is keeping you sufficiently cosy and warm. In front of you, Rachel continues praising your relationship with Mat, talking about how anyone took a look at you both and would say, whatever they have going, I want it too and you are trying so, so hard to block out as much as you can of it. You can stop her, of course; distract her with whatever random topic and you know she’d go with it but your jaw is locked in place, teeth clenched uncomfortably. You blame that and the way your nails dig into the palms of your hands on the sting behind your eyes and the sudden heaviness weighting down on your chest. 

It isn’t so much the pain of your relationship ending that was rendering you in a state of daze, but the shame of what you and Mat agreed to do: pretend the two of you were still the happy couple Elise, Tito and everyone else thought of you as just to not spoil whatever luck they thought you’d be passing on to them by being their main witnesses. And then, once the event passes and they would return to New York from the honeymoon you and Mat would soon gift to them on their wedding day, you’d tell them the truth. Or part of it anyway. Definitely no mentions that the two of you were childish enough to play pretend; just a simple, clean break timed just perfectly with your request to be permanently redeployed elsewhere. Preferably, as far from New York City as possible so that you no longer have to walk the streets you once both did or yearn to once again visit that perfect pie place the two of you once dubbed your own.

“We’re not together anymore.”

The words stumble out of your mouth in a desperate now or never manner. Despite the anxiousness that came with the act, you find relief in it also. It feels freeing to be able to admit the truth to someone that isn’t only yourself though perhaps you should’ve thought of this more carefully: the idea of now needing to come fully clean to Rachel is somewhat daunting, mostly because of what she might say in response to the front you and Mat are trying to uphold. But for the first time in what feels like too long, you no longer feel like a fraud; like a person lying to everyone around them.

“Wait.” Rachel frowns, and it was obvious she doesn’t quite know what to do with that information or how to best process it. Her head tilts a little, palm idly rubbing against the side of her neck so you take the initiative to come across as unbothered by this as possible by leaning into the seat, legs crossing as you fiddled with the drink’s straw. “What? I’m confused. Didn’t Mat just drop by earlier? You two seemed okay. He was…fine when he came in. We didn’t talk much, sure, but he was all smiley and just…normal.” 

You laugh quietly and shortly. “It’s been a while now. Maybe two or three weeks before I left for Baltimore, I think. It’d be pretty worrying if he was still hung up about it. After all, we both agreed on it. And this,” you add, a little more disheartened and embarrassed. “This…thing we’re doing. We promised Tito and Elise we’ll be there for them on their big day and we will. But they had this… I guess, idea of us being an ideal couple. Whatever that is,” you continue more quietly and with a roll of your eyes. “He wanted to tell Tito, but I didn’t want to spoil Elise’s day, you know? So he agreed. Took some convincing because it feels so… Gosh, it sounds so stupid, doesn’t it? Pretending we’re still together just to spread some fake cheer around.” 

“Oh, honey…” Rachel whispers and you read the sympathy in her voice. Not that she makes it particularly difficult to take note of. “But… I thought everything was okay. Actually, way more than okay. Perfect, even. What…uh—“ She trailed off awkwardly, but you could easily fill in that gap.

What happened?

You bring the beverage to your mouth, this time drinking from the glass directly as opposed to using the straw. The mixer stings your throat this time around but the small ice cube you take into your mouth numbs it away pretty quickly. Slowly, you chew it to small pieces and speak only when you finish it.

“I thought long and hard about this the first few weeks after we called it quits,” you admit. “We always talked about what bothered us or if there was something on our mind, but at one point we just… We stopped wanting to compromise. When I was put forward for Baltimore, it was going to be a permanent thing. Mat was happy, sure, but I could tell he wasn’t being entirely honest with me, you know? When I called him out on it, he asked me well what about us? And I said we’d be fine. Baltimore isn’t a different continent. It’s not even a different timezone. He could come over when he had free time and if he didn’t, I’d always spend weekends in New York anyway. It’s Baltimore, Rach. Not fucking San Francisco or whatever. Eventually, he told me exactly what was on his mind: he couldn’t do long distance. Not even for a short period of time while I figured out if Baltimore is really what I wanted. Isn’t it a bit hypocritical, though?” You question, but it’s clear Rachel feels a bit awkward about giving her take on it right now, so you make it easier for her by responding to your own question. “I felt lonely too when he was on the road. I was worried he’d find someone different, someone much better while away. He never gave me a reason to doubt him, but a small part of me still thought what if. This happened right before he was on the road again, actually. We didn’t call, barely even texted those weeks and then when he returned, we decided it’d be best to break up. Didn’t take us a long discussion to get to that conclusion because at that point, it just… I don’t know. It felt like we didn’t have much to say to each other.”

Rachel presses her lips together, the frown still on her face and hesitantly, she asks, “who said it first?”

“I did,” you respond without hesitating. “He wanted a break while we work it all out but come on, Rach, a break? Look me in the eyes and tell me people really believe in breaks and they come back to each other as if nothing happened.” 

“I mean…” she trails off, pointing at herself by way of explanation. “Look at me and Luke, I guess.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not the same thing, trust me. This was for the best, Rach. It’s much neater to call it quits. That way, neither of us will feel obliged to hold back if life puts something different ahead of us.” You pause for a moment, teeth biting into your lower lip. “They said they’ll always have me back there if I decide on it, so who knows. Once I wrap up the project their called me back for, I might just take them up on it. Not quite a promotion, but it’ll be a good sidestep and maybe a change of scenery is what I need.”

“And do you think it’s good? What the two of you are doing right now?” Rachel questions, not at all deterred by your weak attempt at trying to divert conversation to a more work related topic. “And I don’t mean it just for Elise and Tito’s wedding, but for you and Mat generally speaking. I mean… the two of you have been together for a pretty long time. Doesn’t it… Isn’t it odd?” 

“It’s not normal, that’s for sure,” you confirm. “But it’d be weirder for everyone if we were to tell them we’re no longer together given we’ve been asked to do what we need to do. Rach, promise me this stays between us, okay? Promise. I know how it sounds, I know how it’ll look but trust me on this, okay?” 

She fixes you with a sceptical stare, a look that holds yet more questions than certainty but eventually, she nods her head and relief washes over you at the gesture. “I’m sorry it happened, Y/N,” she offers, voice warm and sympathetic as she places a hand on the table palm up. “And I’m sorry you went through it alone.”

You smile softly and reach for it, returning the squeeze she gives you. There is comfort in the gesture, comfort in her words and you find yourself rooting for it, so grateful to have received it. “The worst part is over, but thank you, Rachel. “It means a lot.”

“Feel like carpooling with Luke and I?”

“I’m good,” you assure as you both relax back into your seats. “Elise wants us there the day before the rehearsal. I guess just to have some familiar faces around that aren’t just wedding planners, so Mat and I agreed to go together tomorrow. Promise I won’t lose my shit if our song plays on the radio,” you add jokingly and find yourself laughing along with Rachel. 

“What song’s that?” 

Too many, you think, although one in particular stands out to you. “Brett Young’s In Case You Didn’t Know.”

*

A tray containing an assortment of dishes is set on the table and shortly after, an ice cold pitch of sangria accompanies that. Eager to cool down, you reach for one of the empty glasses to pour yourself a drink but Mat’s quicker. He takes them both, filling your glass first before his own. You laugh to yourself and Mat grins at that, briefly looking towards you as he fills his glass. You’re about to take a sip, eager to both quench your thirst and cool down but Mat takes the initiative of initiating a toast by raising his glass a little, elbow resting on the table. 

“What’re we toasting for tonight?” You ask, imitating his pose by leaning forward a little. “To our first holiday together? To how perfect the weather’s been so far? To how I mastered paddle boarding way before you did?” 

Mat laughs, lowering his head as he did so but when he looked back up at you, he clinked his glass against yours and held it there. “To all of that. To one of the many, many holidays we’ll have together. To this moment right here, to us, to you.” He pauses and the strobe lights of the bar switch from dark blue to hot pink, and the way Mat stares at you in this moment makes your heart race inexplicably. “To how much I love you.” 

He takes your breath away. Draws it right out of your lungs and you feel heady. It’s the first summer with Mat, the first  I love you from him and it suddenly feels as if this bar is too small for the both of you. You love him, and he loves you too and the only thing you could imagine doing is jumping in his arms but there’s a table between you and sangria topped wine glasses in your hands, and he’s wearing a pristine white shirt that looks incredible against his tanned skinned and there’s a lot of people around (the majority significantly older than both your age and Mat’s combined) so you simply grin and carefully lean forward more, pressing a kiss to his mouth. 

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips and even if your voice is low compared to the loud, cheesy country music blasting through hidden stereos, you know Mat catches on to that. 

“I love you,” he says right back and before you pull away, he bumps his nose against yours gently, making you giggle.

You both take a sip of your drinks and you smack your lips together, content with the turn of the night. 

You and Mat had been dating for a few months, but this was the first time the two of you will spend back to back nights and days together without needing to rush somewhere. Of course, a part of you was anxious about it - while it was easy to spend a few hours together now and then, maybe even the odd night together, it was entirely different being together pretty much all the time. There were habits and quirks you each had that might get in the way, but your worries were soon put to rest. You and Mat had wonderful chemistry together, easily able to spend your time together but also still enjoy each other’s company while doing separate activities. You didn’t want to rush into things and you made no move to do so, but it was ever so easy to imagine what living with Mat would be like. And sure, you were well aware of the fact that it wouldn’t always be sunshine and rainbows; the two of you would eventually transition out of this honeymoon-type period of your relationship, but something told you life would Mat would never bore you. It’d never make you wish for anything different. 

“Give me a second,” Mat says and before you could ask him what he meant, he’s out of his seat and you follow him across the bar, a little confused. 

He makes his way past the bar, past the pool tables and stops in front of what is undoubtedly a jukebox. Curious, you arch an eyebrow and watch as he fiddles with finding the right amount of change before inserting the coins in the slot. It takes him a while before he finds whatever song it is he wants and it takes enough time for him to make it back to your table before the jukebox and sound system registers the request. You don’t recognise the first few notes at all, much less the accompanying guitar strings but you don’t have time to search your memory for a title. 

Mat stops by your side, holding a hand out to you. “Dance with me.” It’s more statement than question and under any circumstances, you may have felt a little awkward about doing this, but it’s the heat of the moment and your giddiness that pushes you to your feet, hand in Mat’s. 

The two of you are beaten to an emptier area in the establishment by two other much older couples that were closer to it anyway, and you find that gives you a bit more of a boost also. Mat pulls you to him, wrapping one arm around your waist while holding on to your free hand while you hold on to his shoulder with the other. Your fingers lightly clench and unclench the soft material of his shirt, lowering your head a little and you smile against the back of your hand. It’s so painfully cheesy and there’s nowhere near enough other people dancing along to the song but you love it much more than you thought you ever would. 

“Know what I’d invest all my money into?” He asks you suddenly.

You pull back a little, still swaying along with the song. “Cryptocurrency seems like a safe bet right now.” 

Mat laughs, that big hearty laugh of his that makes your smile wider and when it passes, he presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Well, I’m glad one of us has a good head on their shoulders, but no.” He shakes his head, then laughs again, shorter and quieter as if recalling your response. “A time machine. I want to stop time right here and right now so that we can be as we are for a little while longer.”

“Cheesy,” you joke, despite the warmth coursing across your entire body and the jelly-like feeling forming in your knees. “But perfectly understandable.”

“Eventually, we wouldn’t need it, but it’d be nice to have one for tonight.”

“Eventually? How so?” You question, then narrow your eyes a little, the gesture playful. “You plan on getting bored of me and breaking up?” 

“What!” He exclaims and pulls you in just that much closer. He lets go of your hand only so he could bring his to your chin, tipping your head back a little. “Never,” kiss, “say that,” kiss, “again.” The final kiss you share with him is a little longer and you take the liberty of bringing your hand to his chest, palm pressing against it to feel the thump of his heart against his ribcage momentarily. Then, slowly, you graze the tips of your nails along his exposed collarbone and peck his lips once more before pulling away. It’s then that the song’s name and artist comes to your mind, almost as an afterthought. From hidden speakers, Brett Young declares I couldn’t live life without you and Mat gives you a pointed stare. “Damn, he said it before I could.” 

“It’s the thought that counts,” you assure him. “Either way, I think I prefer hearing it from you, Barzal.” 

“I’m pretty sure I couldn’t live without you,” he recites and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. He sways you both in a more exaggerated manner that makes you cling to him more out of habit than necessity. You’ve known you’d trust Mat with anything, but each day, he seems to do something that makes that thought solidify more and more in your mind. The comfort and safety that brings wraps around you like a warm blanket.

Be it the hot weather, the somewhat stifling interior of the bar, the sips of sangria on an empty stomach, the euphoria of the moment or all things combined, you nod quickly. And from somewhere in the depths of your mind, the very bottom of your heart, you respond with, “I can get used to this day after day. So don’t let me go, baby.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers, tone full of care and love and warmth. He gives you his promise without hesitation and you know it’s bound to stick.

*

Your phone buzzes once. 

I’m downstairs. Need help with your bags?

You push up from the comfort of your couch and make one last round of your apartment to make sure you had everything you definitely needed from where it was placed. 

I’m good. Will be down in a minute, you text back but don’t pocket your phone right away. Instead, you stare at the screen for a little while longer, half tempted to scroll through the thread of messages. They’d provide a stark timeline of when things started going wrong and you would probably be able to see exactly how things changed between the two of you from the moment you suggested a mere break wouldn’t do it. But doing that would be like breaking a streak you had going for sufficient time to earn a pat on your back. The journey of getting to a point where you were sufficiently okay with being in Mat’s presence without any other company was a long one and the last thing you needed was to recall how it once was. 

You and Mat started out as friends after Elise introduced the two of you just a short while before he started his professional career with the Islanders. She talked about how the two of them met in school and how great of a guy he was; real down to earth, funny and incredibly ambitious - traits she also assigned to you, and therefore thought the two of you would get along great. She wasn’t wrong about it. You knew a little about hockey, going to games every now and then mostly whenever Elise dragged you along but you found that Mat made the game more enjoyable. He explained it to you in a manner that didn’t make you feel belittled or as if it should be something you already knew of, and didn’t mind explaining some things more than once. On the other hand, you introduced him to your own hobbies and the little world you created for yourself in a city as big and busy as New York. You showed him the more lowkey but homely establishments, including your favourite pizza place that - unbeknown to you at the time - would become yours and his, and even took him to a few student bars where you regularly beat him at pool while he showed off at darts. Occasionally, it felt weird to watch him unwind in such…normal places and ways while on other days, he shone on ice and was easily one of the best rookies emerging from one of the country’s most well known sports leagues. Yet despite that, you found that athlete Mat wasn’t all that different from Mat the person.

He never put a front and his genuine manner was refreshing to you, particularly during a time when you were still a college student and a good portion of the guys around were textbook frat boys. Being around Mat was comfortable and safe. You didn’t feel the need to speak a certain way or be a different person, and retrospectively, the way you felt towards him developed almost organically. You felt yourself gravitating towards him and were pleasantly surprised by the moments when he’d seek you out first. A day off here and a day off there until eventually, you found yourself spending much of your free time with him and vice-versa. 

Falling in love with Mat was easy. Being without Mat was difficult. But, thankfully, not impossible apparently. 

Convinced you packed everything you needed, made your way out with a duffle bag on your shoulder and a suitcase at your heels. 

True to his word, Mat was parked in front of your place and as soon as you pushed open the building’s door, he looked up from his phone and made his way over to you. The last thing you needed was to make the journey any more awkward or difficult for the both of you, so you didn’t argue when he took the bags from you to stow them away in the trunk. 

“Are you going across the country?” You ask, peeking into the trunk while he plays Tetris with the bags. 

“What?” He questions, evidently distracted by the task at hand but straightens up when you delicately place a hand on his arm, pushing him to the side a little. 

“You’d think you’re going across the country for like, two or three weeks rather than a couple of days,” you repeat. “Maybe put that smaller bag sideways? That might let the bigger suitcase fit.” 

He follows your guidance and sure enough, that does the trick: the suitcases fit perfectly in the trunk and you grin to yourself, triumphant. 

Mat steps back, closing the trunk and brushes his hands together. “Thanks,” he says and you nod, heading towards your seat in the front. He follows you inside just as you click in your seatbelt. “I don’t think it’ll take us more than two or three hours to get there if traffic’s as good as it was when I checked it a little while earlier. Got everything?” 

“Everything important that is. Everything else, I’ll just worry about and pull my hair out when we get there,” you tell him and you can’t help feeling proud for being able to keep conversation light and as normal as you can. 

After all, you’ve known life before Mat and you’re rediscovering it after him too. 

Mat laughs ever so quiet, and from the corner of your eye, you catch him brushing his hand across his mouth though he’s a few seconds too slow in trying to mask his smile. 

“I think I’ll need to fill up soon, but let me know if there’s anywhere else you want to stop along the way,” he tells you while pulling out of the parking spot. 

You nod even if he probably might not see it and take the liberty to scroll through radio stations. Mat doesn’t seem to be against it, so you continue switching to them until, a little frustrating that nothing seems to work for you, you connect your phone to the car and play one of your playlists. A mix of upbeat pop and an assortment of viral tracks fill in the silence for a while, and the act of singing along in your head takes your mind away from how it almost feels as if you’re sitting on needles. It takes a conscious effort on your behalf to remind yourself to loosen your shoulders and stop fiddling too much with your hands, and you’re glad Mat seems to be plenty preoccupied with driving. Once upon a time, he would’ve immediately picked up on even the most mild of your discomforts and tried to do anything he could to alleviate them. You don’t know how much, if at all, Mat changed during the time you spent apart but you want to think that you no longer wear your heart on your sleeve as much and your emotions are much more guarded, especially in his presence. 

Apparently, though, there’s only so much he can take with silence filled in by music because once he’s off busier streets, he leans in his seat more comfortably and you can tell he very briefly turns his head towards you. “Think they’ll like their wedding gift?” 

You direct your gaze away from the flashing scenery outside to Mat. “Absolutely. Who wouldn’t like it? Trust me when I say Bali’s been a place Elise always wanted to visit and I can’t think of a better time than now,” you assure him.

“If they don’t, it’s on you,” he says and it takes you a beat longer to realise he’s just joking so you huff out a laugh, relaxing back in the seat. 

“If they don’t, they can give one of the tickets to me and I’ll happily go there.” You cast a glare out at the scenery ahead, eyes narrowing upwards towards the overcast sky. “I don’t think summer will ever come at this rate. I’m starting to hate it here.”

“Doubt Baltimore was any better,” Mat points out.

“Hardly,” you sigh. “Maybe I’ll ask them to send me to Miami instead. That’d be much better.” 

Mat clears his throat quickly, shifting a little. “So, are you planning on going back to Baltimore or... Why are you back?” You catch sight of the frown forming on his face, and he quickly shakes his head as if trying to rid the hint of accusation from his voice. “That sounded wrong, sorry. But just genuinely curious. I thought a permanent move was on the table?”

“It was. Still is, but they needed me back here to wrap up a project. It was a pretty bad move on their behalf to send me there before we had that wrapped up nice and neat, bow and all, but I guess…” You trail off, shrugging a shoulder. “Guess we’ll see what’s next after that. They do want me back there, though. It just depends how long it takes for things here to fall into place.” 

“Fair enough.” Another pause, another moment for him to press his lips together in silent deliberation. He did that often, and you wonder if that remains a habit still. “Was it a promotion? I forgot, sorry.” 

“All good,” you assure, brushing off the apology. “Not a promotion per se, but a sidestep with just a slightly bigger paycheck. The office there is a bit smaller than the New York one so maybe there’s a higher chance of getting promoted sooner, but I don’t want to jump the gun on that yet. How did things work out for you guys this season?” 

The Islanders had a good season, making the playoffs but fell just short of making the semi-finals, you knew that. After all, you hadn’t removed the Islanders game and news alerts from your phone and you put that on your laziness. You wouldn’t shy away from admitting to him you still followed the team’s progression, but you preferred not to. 

“Could’ve been better but there’s lots to learn from it,” Mat tells you and there’s a trace of excitement and determination in his voice. “Next season will be even better, I guarantee.” 

It’s a staple Mat response, one he always gave if he felt a game didn’t end in their favour or he didn’t do as much as he thought he should have. Sometimes, it took him some time to accept it. Usually, it came to him after pushing himself in training, after going that extra step in the gym, after re-watching highlights or coach videos and always - always, you’d assure him that it takes a team to move forward, not a single person. Always, he’d kiss you and tell you he loves you and always, you’d spend those moments wrapped up in each other’s arms, more often than not with Mat’s head resting against your chest and your leg slung around his hip. 

“Plenty of time to lift that cup, Barzal,” you assure him. “Sure, the sooner the better but there’s always a right time for everything.”

“I hope so,” he agrees pensively, and lingers on that thought. 

You let him to it, directing your attention back to the view outside and only now and then picking up your phone either to switch songs or browse through a few applications. A part of you feels almost obliged to try and push for conversation but you avoid doing so. The last thing you need is to make it painfully awkward for the two of you and you figure Mat could always do that himself if he feels like it. So, you let your mind wander to better things - to the upcoming rehearsal and the wedding itself, to how good Elise will look and how Tito will be so proud to watch her walk the aisle towards him. You imagine their reaction to the gift you and Mat contributed towards and smiled to yourself, knowing it was a perfect pick for them both. 

You don’t think about telling Elise you and Mat had lied to them. You don’t think about passing this hurdle - the final one before you two will become strangers to one another. You don’t think about how the next time you might both see each other again, you’ll both have such different lives that for a brief moment, the surprise of it will knock the air out of your lungs before you remember: that’s him without me, and this is me without him. And you won’t be the first or the last people to break up, but a part of you is certain what the two of you had was unique and could’ve been grand. So much grander.

You become more alert to your surroundings when he starts slowing the car and you notice you’re pulling up into a gas station. As much as space allows you, you stretch out a little and Mat stops right by one of the pumps.

“Want something for the road?” You ask him, unplugging your phone and taking your card from your bag. 

“Hold on, I’ll come with you,” Mat tells you and it doesn’t take long for the refill to happen before you both walk into the station’s store, beelining for the snack aisles even if you have only two hours or so until you reach your destination. 

“Oh gosh, those are going to be a nightmare to clean up if you spill any in the car,” you groan quietly as he browses through the variety of Nerds flavours. 

“But they’re so good though,” he shoots back and flashes a smile that is nothing short of sly when he picks up two boxes instead of one. 

“Yeah, until the flavour runs out literally two seconds after you put them in your mouth. I mean, enjoy that but I’m different,” you boast and pick up a bag of sour candy. 

“You just like obliterating your taste buds.” 

He’s not wrong. Sour candy and spicy foods are your guilty pleasures, and have been for the longest time. You don’t try to look into how easily he recalls that because, you tell yourself, there’s nothing to look into. It’s a mere fact that anyone who knows you would easily recite. 

“You’re wrong and you know it, but admitting that is difficult so it’s fine, Barzal. No hard feelings,” you throw back, snickering as you head over to the fridges for a bottle of cold water. Instinctively, you grab another for him and instinctively, he takes your candy and the water to pay for them but you still tag along with him in the queue. 

“No shot. I like some spice but to the point where I literally can’t taste anything else? Hey, remember that one time when you made something… Can’t remember what it was but it was so…” He purses his lips and you laugh because yes, yes you remember it so clearly. 

“So good you ended up crying over it?” You offer. 

“More like, I wasn’t crying but it was so fucking spicy, Y/N, holy.” 

“You survived though, didn’t you?”

“I only did because there isn’t a thing you do I don’t like,” he says and then, seems to catch himself but a second too late. “Didn’t like,” he corrects quietly but the damage is done. 

You swallow uncomfortably, directing your gaze away from him but don’t hesitate to nod towards the outside. “I’ll head over to the car. I’ll text Elise to tell her we’re close.” 

“Y/N—“ 

But you’re already taking steps towards the exit and out of ear shot, making a beeline for the car. Your heart thumps rapidly and uncomfortable in your chest and find that pressing a palm to your left side doesn’t make it any better. You know it’s an innocent mistake and there are some habits that die hard, but the way he phrased it triggered your fight or flight instinct instantaneously and despite yourself, you leaned towards the latter. You enter the car and take the time to compose yourself as much as you could. The last thing you need is to have a conversation with Mat about this because you didn’t want to have it - it shouldn’t happen for the sake of avoiding making the situation even more uncomfortable. It was an innocent slip up, no doubt, and you should’ve braced yourself to speak of Mat in present tense as opposed to past tense in the presence of others but it comes to you harder than imagined. 

It’s odd how you both once knew so much about each other, everything even, and now the two of you are reduced to dancing around all that and making conscious efforts to keep your conversations as short and banal as possible. 

You try and busy yourself with formulating a message to Ellie, one that’s long enough to try and make you seem as busy as possible by the time Mat returns to the car, but every line you wrote, every mini paragraph going into dull details about the trip and where you guys currently are seemed like an overthrow. So, you delete that also and simply text her an OTW just as Mat sets the sweets on the centre console and the bottles in the cup holders. 

He doesn’t start the engine immediately and your mood quickly switches to frustration. Sure, you hadn’t handled it in the best way possible but trying to have a conversation about it wouldn’t make it any better. Or at least, it’s just something you didn’t want to have to think about for the remainder of the journey. 

But he does just that, because that is what Mat always did: he talked with you.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he begins, “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. It’s force of habit more than anything else.”

“It’s whatever, Mat, so just move past it. I did, simple as that,” you tell him neutrally. 

There’s something in that response he must have not liked because you pick up on his small huff and shortly after, the car starts and you’re both on the road again. This time, with silence between you and an atmosphere so heavy it makes you wish you weren’t speeding down an Interstate just so you could open the window and let some of the air in.

-

The hotel the wedding will be held at lies in front of you, sprawling and secluded and perfect for an event like this. Tito is already at the entrance and when he spots Mat’s car, he waves quickly while Mat quickly flashes the headlights before pulling into an available parking spot.

“There they are!” Tito says by way of greeting and you walk right into his outstretched arms, hugging him. “Can’t believe so much time passed since we last saw each other. What is it, two months? Three?” 

“Three,” you confirm once you pull away so that Mat could hug him also. “It’s good to see you too. Where’s Elise?” 

“She wanted to check on some small details and said she’ll meet up with you guys in a bit. So here I am, the welcoming committee,” Tito explained and when he and Mat stepped apart, he reached out to give you another short hug which you accepted. “So how was Baltimore? Don’t suppose you liked it all that much if you’re back so soon. This guy was happy about it,” Tito adds, nodding his head towards Mat who was already busy emptying the trunk. 

You press your lips together, displaying a small smile. “Baltimore wasn’t too bad but they missed me here, apparently. Can’t complete a damn thing without my two cents so here I am for now.”

Tito frowns, but the expression is very brief. “For now? We’ll need to talk more about that later so Barzy doesn’t mope around as much as he did back then.”

You throw a quick glance towards Mat but he’s looking away towards whatever interesting spot on the ground he found, pointedly ignoring you. “I’ll have a word with him about it later,” you tell Tito lightly and together, the three of you make your way inside, towards the reception. 

“I think Elise is in the room at the end of the corridor if you want to say hi,” Tito informs you and you jump at the opportunity. 

You follow the corridor, making a right turn and continuing along the dimly lit hallway leading to what the signs informed you to be Conference Room 1. The door is slightly ajar and you begin picking up on the buzz of activity coming from within and soon enough, you’re face to face with a spacey room boasting an array of flowers and various arrangements tastefully decorating tables and drooping down from the ceiling. No doubt, the effect will be lovely during the night when colourful neon lights can be turned on. You spot Elise easily: she’s in the midst of the room with what is undoubtedly the scrapbook of ideas she’d been carefully putting together since Tito asked her to marry him. Outwardly, she’s all smiles and laughter but you can imagine the amount of effort and planning putting all of this together and working with planners takes. 

When she spots you, she squeals in excitement, sets her book down and dashes across the room to engulf you in a hug, making you stumble a few steps back. 

You burst into laughter and wrap your arms around her, squeezing her with just enough force to try and communicate how much you missed her but not so that it was uncomfortable. 

“I missed you! You’re here!” She exclaims, stepping back to look at you in disbelief then hugging you again. “Oh my gosh, I’m so happy you’re here! Where’s Mat? Is he here too?”

“Of course he is,” you assure her with a laugh. “I missed you too.” You throw a curious glance towards the room over her shoulder, nodding your head towards it. “How’s it going? Need me to take over for a bit?” 

“Maybe later. Definitely later. Come on.” She wraps an arm around yours and leads the way out of the room, undoubtedly back to the reception area where you left Mat and Tito. “Please tell me Baltimore is off the table. FaceTime is fine, sure, but it’s not great, you know? I need the real deal next to me. Besides, I’m not sure if you heard, but Mat wasn’t Mat without you.”

“So I heard, but forget about us!” You said in a desperate attempt to try and steer attention away from the subject. “Tell me about how everything’s going. Are you still nervous about it? Because trust me, Elise - you have absolutely nothing to be nervous of. What I’ve heard of so far and what I’ve seen will make it the absolute best day, surely.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” she tells you and to demonstrate, she holds her free hand in front of you and sure enough, there’s just a slight tremble to it. “Please lend me some of those nerves of steel of yours, Y/N, I’d do anything to have even a small percentage of them right now.”

“Pft, as if. Those are all show, trust me.” 

“I’ll take even that. Oh, Mat!” She greets as soon as the two of you reach the reception area and Elise spots Mat.

Much like you and Tito, they hug and when she steps back, she immediately stands next to Tito who doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. They exchange a quick kiss and you smile at the happiness and bliss they’re clearly surrounded by. 

It’s the slight pressure on your lower back that makes you jolt a little on the spot and it’s then you realise Mat had gently placed his hand there to encourage you a little closer. It takes effort on your behalf to follow his guidance but you move towards him, though you wish you could physically wince at how undoubtedly stiff the two of you must look. Or hopefully, not greatly so because neither Tito nor Elise comment on it or shoot you any funny looks as the four of you engage in brief conversation, mainly surrounding the trip here and any other guests they expect to receive today. 

You don’t hang around much, though. Elise’s phone begins buzzing incessantly and she’s whisked away by the message received, but not before she fixes you with a pointed stare and demands the two of you have drinks later in the evening. Tito follows her also, even if he informs you and Mat that he feels as if he’s running around in the right places only because of Elise and the wedding planners, but you encourage him on by joking he could maybe turn a few candles on the tables this way or that for some extra oomph. 

“I can’t imagine how she does it,” you admit to Mat once the elevator doors slide shut soundlessly and the car begins moving upwards to your floor.

“Pretty sure it’s not that big of a deal to her, given what all this is leading to,” Mat tells you and you detect a hint of detachment in his voice. 

You don’t welcome it, of course you don’t, but you choose to not point that out to him. The last thing you want is an argument to break out the relatively okay mood the two of you have managed to hold, recent events that could be erased from memory aside. Instead, you simply stand back quietly, eyes glued on the red digital numbers aside until they come to a halt on the ninth floor where the elevator stops and you’re both left in a silent, dimly lit hallway. 

Mat has the key to the apartment Elise told you the two of you would be in and just before tapping in, he hands you your own copy of it. Up until this very moment, you hadn’t thought very much of the overnight arrangements. You were pretty sure you meant to ask Elise a bit more about them at some point but both your attention and hers were pulled in different directions and here you were, stepping into your place for the next couple of nights, Mat trailing a little behind you. 

You stop, arms folding across your chest and you feel Mat stop somewhere close behind you, looking into one room.

“I didn’t think this through,” you state neutrally. 

Ahead of you lay only one bed. 

[georgemackayhey]

Make It Up To You

"hello,can I request a george fic where the reader is feeling insecure about her chubby body and how she feels insecure because George always works with gorgeous actresses and he makes it up to her? "

Sorry this took a hot second, nonny. Times have been tough, but I'm trying to get back in the swing of things!

w/c: 1k.

───※ ·❆· ※───

George had been away long enough for you to feel the impact of how alone you really were. Of course, you were glad he was off living his dream. You couldn't have been happier for him, actually.

George was always good at changing your perspective... when he was around. Not that you needed anyone to tell you who to be. But George always knew just what to say. He listened to you, he didn't diminish your feelings, and he was a master at getting you to see your insecurities in a different light, all the while.

But he was gone, and your mind seemed to run a little more frantically each day. As you got ready for work, all the bits about yourself you liked least stared back in the mirror. Nothing you seemed to tell yourself made much of a difference.

So you just pretended it wasn't happening at all, for a while. When he called, all you focused on how happy he sounded. You let George tell you all about his wonderful time on set and the people he'd gotten to know, your own worries lost as he reminded you of good things.

And when George's film wrapped up, and he and his castmates toured about chatting to press in their Sunday best, you caught bits of one of those interviews on the morning news.

Your boyfriend was absurdly attractive, and he fit right in between equally as pretty actors and directors. You'd usually drool as he lit up the screen, but this time was different. As his castmates all squished together on one big couch you couldn't help but notice how lovely the girl next to George seemed. She had the perfect face, and an even better body and she looked so natural there next to him. George somehow seemed even more handsome when your focus shifted back to his way.

That's who he deserved by his side, you thought. Someone just as beautiful and illuminating as George himself.

While you went about your week, your insecurity seemed to be bubbling to a boiling point. When George video called, you reached for a sweater before answering, in case any of his beautiful castmates were around to see the poor excuse of a girlfriend George had back home.

"One more day and we can get back to normal." George sighed, lounging alone in some hotel bed, lily white sheets looking like heaven wrinkled around him.

"Yeah, normal." You shrugged. A glimmer of hope fizzed in your chest at the thought. Your insecurities had never been so intrusive before, so it felt criminal to address them at all. It wasn't George's fault that everyone he worked with was some kind of supermodel. You knew you had to get yourself in check before he got back, tomorrow. Maybe once George was home, he'd distract you from your own thoughts long enough for you to forget them altogether.

That's exactly what you tried to practice as you prepared to see him again.

When George showed up in the front doorway at long last, the only worry you had was closing the gap between you. He dropped his luggage and lunged in for a kiss. Two Kisses. There, four, five.

"I missed you too." You joked when he pulled away to catch his breath. He laughed before pressing another quick kiss to your cheek and tugging you across the house. His luggage had been abandoned in the entryway as he mentioned something about being utterly exhausted. You followed close behind through the bedroom door, lost in the haze of how giddy you were to have his hand in yours once again.

"I kept dozing off on the plane and dreaming of finally sleeping in my own bed. But I suddenly just want to tell you everything, love." George beamed as you flipped off the bedroom light, leaving a lamp to glow from the corner.

"I won't stop you. I can't wait to hear everything." You assured with a smile. George looked so sleepy, with his droopy ocean eyes and slouched shoulders. But his smile was radiant as he went on to tell you some story of the night he and his castmates got kicked out of a bar.

"We all had such fun. I wish you could've been there, my love." George cooed, crossing the room to start getting ready for bed. He kicked his trousers off toward the hamper as he went on yammering.

"I absolutely can't wait to take you to all the premier parties and things. I'm dying to show you off."

You'd been circling in search of where you'd left your pj's when you registered what George said. You stopped in your tracks, thanking the heavens that your back was to George as you tried to suppress the sudden wave of insecurity.

You felt so unimpressive. No, worse. You felt horrid. And all the work you'd done to forget how badly you'd been feeling crumbled as all your self-conscious thoughts bombard you at once.

You felt worried to be seen at all, and next to your stone-carved deity of a boyfriend no less. The worst of it was, you knew this was stupid. You knew most of your thinking was skewed, but it didn't stop you from feeling so insecure.

"Babe?" George called from somewhere closer than before. You sucked in a breath, hoping an answer would effortlessly escape afterward. But all you could manage was a frustrated whimper.

"I know it's dumb... but I feel like shit." You explained turning to face George. He had already been looking toward you with a furrowed brow. After you shakily admitted how you'd been feeling, a frown pulled at his lips.

"Huh? You-" He started, shifting a little closer to you. But once you'd given yourself the spotlight, you had to finish explaining yourself before you lost the courage.

"You're like... a fucking statue and you should be out with someone just as beautiful, like one of those pretty little things you fit so well with on the screen. I'm afraid I'm not good enough for you and I'm sorry this is so dumb but-"

"Oh, my love, no. No, listen to me." George took a few steps to meet you in the middle, His deep blue eyes pierced into yours as he tangled both of his hands in your hair.

"You're a vision. You're so beautiful and I want you with me and near me always. I want you." George stressed each word and searched your eyes, and you knew he was sincere. You half expected him to roll his eyes and say something about how sick he was of hearing you complain, like so many of your partners had in the past. But George was different.

"You're too good to me." You spoke, somewhere between feeling genuinely thankful for his abundance of care, and feeling completely unworthy of it.

"You're perfect. Everything about you is exceptional and divine."

George softly gushed all while he took a gentle grasp of your hips to pull you to the bed he walked back towards. As he sat, you settled into his lap without missing a beat, somehow magnetically moving to be close to him.

"I'm sorry I've been away. I wish I could've spent my days telling you how much I love and adore you. I'm sorry I never say it enough anyway."

"Oh, George." You cooed, searching his starry eyes. "I'm sorry I'm so difficult." You felt moved to sweep up your dramatics.

"You're not difficult. I happen to find you very easy to adore." George's fingers trailed slowly up your sides while his eyes stayed happily glued on yours. He was so brilliant at making sure you felt comfortable. Content. Wanted.

"Now you're just being ridiculous." You mewled, resting your forehead against his. He couldn't possibly be so full of compliments. He must have just been trying to calm you down.

"It's true my love. You're stunning. Remember that outfit you wore to last year's family Christmas? We were late to the party because I simply couldn't handle how good you looked that night. Nearly had a heart attack."

Okay, so maybe George was just as dramatic as you.

"I wore it cause it covered up everything nicely." You rolled your eyes with a small smile at his efforts to make you feel better.

"What's underneath is even nicer, love," He whispered in a soft grit, eyes still locked on yours. You nearly lost yourself in the tender moment.

All you could do was kiss him then, not having to move much, just exchanging a long-lasting peck that made up for all your lost words.

George kissed you back a little harder, but not by much. Even as things transitioned into something physical they stayed soft. It seemed George was still communicating with you, gentle taps and touches asking permission to linger longer. You responded in your own way, with sinking closer to him with contented sighs.

Your kisses stayed slow, but steadily grew deeper until you had to part to take a breath.

"I never want to be away so long ever again," George quietly whined as you brought a hand to his pretty face, wondering how you got so lucky in love.

"How I've missed you." You let a grin blossom to your lips as you realized you didn't have to miss him any longer. George gazed to you with darkened eyes that broke away from yours for the first time to search your face.

"Let me make it up to you, my love." He asked, the whisper nearly caught in his throat. You quirked a hopeful brow as your hands trailed under his old T-shirt. He tossed it to the ground as you leaned in for another small kiss. George took his time pushing your top away, nipping at your neck and shoulder as you let your shirt fall to the ground.

That's when he secured both strong arms around you, moving to lay you back against the pillows.

He settled on top of you and the weight brought you the encompassing comfort you'd been missing. You trailed a hand across his warm skin, delighted by the feeling. George reached for the waistband of your trousers while he returned to kissing your neck, leaving burning a trail down your throat.

"I love everything about you. I feel so lucky." George sighed, "I am lucky." He nodded with a look to you.

He went on saying things like that, not just to fill your head, but to drive home how dearly he actually cared for you. He seemed to take account of every bit of you, sending shivers down your spine and even scoring a breathy giggle or two. And when you tried to move on a mission to make sure he was feeling just as lovely as he'd been making you feel, he wouldn't let you.

George kept a gentle hold on you and made you feel exceptionally wonderful, beautiful and admired. As his touch grew hotter and his hold grew tighter, you decided that so long as George seemed to think you hung the moon, you didn't care about the stars off in the distance. He was the sun that shone light to your darkest parts, and your world was so much better off that way.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Requests are open ♡

[adorkablephil]

The Roles We Play (3)

Title: The Roles We Play Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester work together as voice actors for BBC radio dramas in the late 1930s, but slowly begin to develop “inappropriate” feelings for each other Rating: G Word Count: 3,760 (this chapter) Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Historical AU, 1930s, BBC, Radio, Actors AU, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Love Letters, Period-Typical Homophobia, Closeted Gay Characters, Past Character Death, Grief, Angst Author’s Note: This fic was inspired by the @phanfichallenge 20k History Challenge. A bazillion thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, India! See my note on the first chapter regarding historical inaccuracies. Note some changes to the tags, including reference to grief and past character death, because—even though no one actually dies in the story—I decided I should warn people there will be some angst about that. I’ve blatantly stolen from Wikipedia in this chapter’s brief section on existentialism. And, lastly, I cast no aspersions on cucumber sandwiches, as I personally adore them.

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[ All Chapters Masterlist ]

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6 November 1938

After a solid week of grueling rehearsals with Drury as their slave driver, the actors finally broadcasted their first live performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act I.

Phil didn’t need to be there, since his role didn’t have any lines until Act II, but the repertory group seemed to habitually come to every performance of a play in which they were cast, as if every member supported all the others with every broadcast. It was a lovely tradition, actually.

And so Phil was there, even though he had no lines to speak. Dan, on the other hand, had a great many lines, but his performance went off without a hitch, and he found himself smiling madly when the BBC sounded their tones to indicate the end of the broadcast.

Dan looked around at his fellow cast members, and everyone smiled at him and at each other. Men shook hands, patted each other on the back, and laughed heartily while the ladies gently touched each other on the arm and spoke softly but happily amongst themselves, their faces glowing with quiet pride.

No sooner had the immediate excitement begun to die down than Dan saw Phil approaching him. Face bright with excitement, Phil asked, “Would you like to go to my club for a bit? Celebrate the first day of the broadcast and all that?”

Dan bit his lip in indecision. He knew he shouldn’t. He had responsibilities and obligations. But this was an unexpected opportunity to get to spend time outside work with Phil again … how could he pass that up? Not to mention the fact that Dan had never been inside an actual gentlemen’s club before. The idea made him feel quite sophisticated.

Dan decided to throw caution—and responsibility—to the wind. “I would be honored,” he told Phil, and Phil’s face brightened even more. The fact that Phil actually seemed so pleased at the opportunity to spend more time with him made Dan positively giddy.

******

The club to which Phil belonged seemed very impressive to Dan’s eyes, all dark wood and polished brass. Apparently, most of the club was reserved for members, and only one front room allowed members to entertain their non-member guests.

This room contained several opulent-looking sofas and armchairs, as well as some small tables where Dan imagined food could be brought if members and their guests wished to dine. Perhaps half a dozen men sat scattered about the room, each sitting alone and occupied in some solitary pursuit, most of them apparently reading newspapers. Dignified silence practically echoed in the high-ceilinged room, with only the occasional rustle of pages turning to disturb the quiet.

Servants hovered in discreet locations, probably nearly invisible to members of the upper class who were used to such things, but very noticeable to Dan. His family had always been comfortable, but he was not accustomed to strangers hovering in the periphery of his vision at all times, waiting to satisfy his every wish at the slightest wave of a hand.

Phil navigated the room with obvious comfort and ease, as if accustomed to this opulence ... as he no doubt was. Dan found himself wondering about Phil’s home life before he’d come to fame as a radio star.

“Would you like some tea?” Phil asked as he guided Dan to a corner table with two comfortable leather chairs. He sat down, lounging comfortably, and continued, “I’m sure we could get something stronger if you prefer, but—to be honest—I myself usually prefer tea or coffee.”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Dan felt like a child at an adults’ social occasion.

Phil made a gesture with his hand, which in some secret language apparently meant, “Please bring us tea for two as soon as possible, my good fellow,” since tea service appeared almost immediately afterward, along with a plate of cucumber sandwiches and a bowl of fluffy whiteness.

Dan was not fond of cucumber sandwiches in general. He didn’t recognize the food in the bowl.

After the servant had left, Phil leaned forward to confide, “They always bring the cucumber sandwiches, even though they know I won’t eat them. But perhaps they consider popcorn insufficiently dignified unless accompanied by some traditional English fare.” He chuckled to Dan and assumed a ridiculously exaggerated upper class accent. “Pip, pip, my good man, you simply must have some elegant cucumber sandwiches with that uncouth American popcorn.”

“Must I?” Dan asked, teasing.

“Good gods, no! Ignore the horrid things and just go for the good stuff!” Phil dipped a hand into the bowl to pick up a few pieces of the stuff and popped them into his mouth, chewing with obvious relish.

“And ‘the good stuff’ is ... popcorn?” Dan asked. He’d heard of the snack, but had never tried it.

Phil’s face grew ecstatic. “The most sublime food imaginable! Try it for yourself. The crunch is just delightful!”

Dan took a few pieces and cautiously gave them a try. He had barely finished chewing and swallowing before he exclaimed to Phil, “This stuff is smashing!”

The other gentlemen in the room all glanced disapprovingly at Dan, and he abruptly lowered his voice, cowed by their simultaneous glowers. “You were right,” he whispered. “Anyone who prefers cucumber sandwiches over this stuff is clearly mentally imbalanced.” Phil nodded soberly, and then they both giggled before eating more popcorn together with much enjoyment and a complete disregard for propriety’s cucumber sandwich preference.

As they snacked, Dan noticed a nearby table with a chess board set up. Phil apparently noticed his glance. “Do you play?” he asked.

“I love a good game,” Dan admitted. “I don’t often find a good partner, though.”

“Then let’s test our mettle against each other,” Phil suggested, looking supremely confident.

Two hours later, thoroughly whipped, Phil made another suggestion. “Perhaps next time we could play a different game, since you so clearly outclass me at chess.”

“Do you only play games you know you’ll win?” Dan asked archly.

Phil rolled his eyes. “No, but I do prefer games I have a chance of winning. You utterly mopped the floor with me! I have no remaining dignity and shall have to return to my home in abject shame after this poor showing.” He shook his head in a pretense of dismay.

Dan just laughed at his antics. “I’d be happy to learn any games you wish to play, so long as they only require two players. I’m not particularly fond of larger groups of people, and none of the other members of your club seem to appreciate my company.”

Phil leaned close, and Dan could smell the sweet, spicy scent of his cologne. “To tell you the truth,” Phil said in a confidential tone, “I don’t much like the fellows here. But the club itself is a pleasant place to go when I just want somewhere quiet where no one will bother me. I can hide in a corner here for hours and never be disturbed.”

“You can’t get that kind of peace at home?” Dan asked, puzzled.

“Well, you see,” Phil explained, “at home, the phone may ring. And one must either instruct the servants to lie about one’s presence at home, or one must speak to the person phoning, and neither option appeals to me. The club’s policy forbids confirming or denying the current presence of any particular member.”

Dan nodded, impressed. “So it’s as if you can become socially invisible. Completely unavailable without offering any offense. Perhaps I need to find a club of my own.” Immediately upon saying it, though, Dan found himself embarrassed, because few gentlemen’s clubs admitted men of his social class.

But Phil frowned at him. “You would prefer to attend a separate club, rather than coming with me to mine? Do you wish to become socially invisible to me, as well?” His smirk implied a joke, but the tone of his voice sounded honestly hurt.

Dan reached out spontaneously to rest his hand on Phil’s on the table, just for one brief moment before he realized what he was doing and drew his hand back into his own lap. “Of course I would always prefer to be here with you.” That sounded too serious, too earnest, too vulnerable, and so Dan floundered on, “Even if it requires allowing you to believe that you can win games against me.”

Phil laughed again, the injured look in his eyes disappearing, replaced by a glint of approval and amusement.

“We’ll see about that arrogance,” Phil proclaimed firmly. “I’ll take you down a peg or two, just watch me.”

Dan nodded in mock seriousness. “You believe whatever you need in order to retain your confidence in yourself as a man and a game player.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You doubt me as a man?”

Flustered, Dan opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally exclaiming, “Of course not! That wasn’t what I meant at all! I’m so sorry!”

The other gentlemen in the room were positively glaring at Dan now, but he was much more concerned with Phil’s good opinion than with theirs.

Phil shook his head, smiling, and assured Dan, “I jest. Do not worry, Dan. It was merely a joke. I know you meant no offense.” Then, with an impish glint in his eye, he added, “Besides, no one could doubt the virility of my impressive manliness.”

Dan spluttered with laughter.

Phil confided, “I was going to say ‘manhood’ instead of ‘manliness’ ... but ‘the virility of my impressive manhood’ just ... some things are better not said.”

But some things were now certainly imagined. Dan laughed, but he could hear a bit of hysteria in the sound. He hoped Phil could not.

******

15 November 1938

The next time Phil took him to the club, they’d barely emerged from their taxi before Phil randomly exclaimed, “Dog!”

Dan looked around them and saw a man walking a corgi on a leash. Phil turned to the man and begged, “May I please pet your dog? I love corgis!” The man agreed with good humor, and Phil crouched to pet the brown and white dog, who seemed to enjoy the attention immensely. Phil looked up from his crouch to tell Dan, “The Royal Family have a corgi called ‘Dookie,’ so all corgis are basically royalty!” The corgi’s owner chuckled.

Dan could bear it no longer and asked the man, “May I pet your dog, as well?” And the man simply shrugged in amusement at these two grown men fawning over his dog in the middle of the pavement. Dan, too, crouched so that he could scratch the dog behind his ears, which seemed to go over quite well, as Dan got his face licked in response.

They did not want to overstay their welcome, however, and so Dan and Phil both stood to allow the dog and his owner to continue on their way with many thanks. “I love dogs!” Dan proclaimed as they turned toward the club’s doors.

“So do I!” Phil agreed as they entered the front room. He lowered his voice instinctively. “I’ve always wanted a dog, but I’ve never had one.” Phil guided Dan back to the same corner table where they’d sat the first time he’d brought Dan as his guest, and they took their seats. “When I was seven years old, I wrote my parents a ten-page letter on why I should be permitted to have a dog. It was ten pages of the sentence ‘May I please have a dog?’ repeated over and over again.” They both giggled, just as a pot of tea, a plate of cucumber sandwiches, and a bowl of popcorn were set upon the table between them as if by magic.

Dan eagerly took a few pieces of popcorn and chewed them with much delight. Phil placed a rather inelegant amount in his mouth all at once. For an obviously wealthy and well-educated person, he showed remarkably little snobbery or even elegance. Yes, his hair looked debonair and his suits were of excellent quality, but Dan would never have expected a gentleman of high social standing to excitedly pet a stranger’s dog on the pavement or to shove a handful of snack food into his mouth with such apparently unselfconscious glee.

“I don’t mean to make you envious,” Dan remarked, “but my parents have a lovely dog called Colin. He is most definitely the highlight of any visit to my family.”

Phil frowned after swallowing his popcorn, and Dan cursed himself for the possibly overly-revealing comment. Phil took a sip of tea, coughed a little, and asked, “Do you not get on with your family?” He drank a bit more tea.

Dan shrugged and tried to deflect the question. “They’re fine. What about you? Do you get on with your parents?’

Phil smiled broadly and nodded. “Oh, my parents are wonderful, and I’ve recently become an uncle, as my brother Martyn’s wife Cornelia gave birth to a baby boy just days ago!”

“Oh!” Dan proclaimed immediately, “We must toast the little fellow! Shall we request something stronger for the purpose?”

Phil shook his head, explaining, “I was honest when I said that I really do prefer tea and coffee. I’m not a very sophisticated drinker, I’m afraid.” Phil said all this as he placed three entire lumps of sugar into his tea cup.

Dan grimaced. Phil had done this their first time here, as well, but Dan had been too shy to comment on it. He felt more comfortable with Phil now, however, and so asked with an amused smile, “Isn’t that quite a lot of sugar? Can you actually drink tea that sweet?”

Phil widened his eyes, making their fantastical color only more striking, and insisted, “I’ve already told you: There’s no such thing as ‘too sweet.’”

“If you say so,” Dan replied with a dubious and exaggerated shudder. It made Phil laugh.

Phil raised his disgustingly sweet tea and suggested, “Would you mind toasting the newest member of the Lester clan with tea?” Dan shook his head and raised his cup obligingly. “To Steven Bartholomew Lester!” Phil declared. “May he grow up to be a fine and elegant young man, leaving me the only eccentric in the family!” Dan chuckled, and they clinked their cups together and sipped in honor of the babe’s birth.

“I wanted them to name him Sylvester,” Phil said after a moment of solemnity out of respect for the child’s no doubt very bright future. Dan nodded, then thought a moment and frowned.

“You wanted your brother to name his son ‘Sylvester Lester’?” If he’d been aghast at the amount of sugar Phil put in his tea, it was nothing compared to this.

Phil giggled delightedly. “I think he would have been the most popular child at school.”

Dan laughed, recognizing Phil’s sense of humor now, almost as if they really knew each other. He really did feel as if he was beginning to know the man, rather than just the famous radio star. And Philip Lester was nothing at all that he would have expected. He found that he liked the real Phil much better than that elegant idol. “I’m sure he would have,” he responded dryly, and Phil giggled again, the tip of his tongue showing at the corner of his mouth. That was one of those inelegant things that Dan had come to love.

Love? No, that wasn’t what he meant. It was one of the things he’d come to like about Phil.

They barely knew each other. And Phil was a man. Like. That’s what he’d meant. Not love. Obviously.

******

23 November 1938

Dan felt quite comfortable walking into the club at Phil’s side now, as this was actually his fifth visit. He and Phil had begun to make it something of a habit, coming regularly just to snack on popcorn, play the occasional game of chess, and talk about whatever happened to cross their minds. Phil showed remarkably little interest in politics and literature, but professed a love for the horror stories of someone named H. P. Lovecraft, whose work was published only in American pulp magazines. At university, Phil had met a young American fellow who had come abroad to do his degree at Oxford, and they had become fast friends. The American had left England to return home upon the completion of his education, but he still sent Phil regular shipments of Lovecraft’s work as it was published.

As he and Phil took their accustomed seats at their accustomed table, Dan admitted, “I don’t read fiction very often.” He hesitated, not wanting to sound pretentious, but then decided that he trusted Phil not to think less of him. “I read primarily philosophy, though I did recently read a new novel by Jean-Paul Sartre.” Phil pushed away the plate of cucumber sandwiches that had appeared, and the both snacked on some popcorn while waiting for the tea to steep.

“What’s the book about?” Phil asked with obvious interest.

“Well,” Dan hesitated. “It’s called Nausea.”

Phil made an exaggeratedly disgusted face. “It sounds … er … delightful.” Then he lost control of the giggle Dan had seen hovering on his lips.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Would you like to hear about it or not?”

“Yes, yes!” Phil insisted, pouring the tea and acquiring his usual three lumps of sugar. “I want to know what you enjoy reading. I’ve bored you halfway to Hades with all my talk of monsters. It is your turn to bore me with talk of nausea!” His tongue peeked out of the side of his teasing smile. “We even have the plate of cucumber sandwiches as illustration!” Phil grabbed the plate and put it between them, gesturing at it elaborately while urging Dan. “Now. Please do tell me more about nausea.”

Dan couldn’t help but chuckle. “The novel isn’t really about nausea. It’s an existentialist consideration of the ways the world encroaches on our ability to define ourselves.”

Phil’s eyes looked a little glazed. “Existential consideration…?” he repeated blankly.

Dan waved a hand in some impossible attempt to explain an abstract concept. “Existentialism focuses on the disorientation, confusion, and dread of trying to live an authentic life in a meaningless and absurd world.”

Phil bit his lip and nodded hesitantly. “I think I understand the confusion part, anyway.”

Dan shook his head and chuckled. “Never mind. It’s just … it’s a philosophy that interests me, because I find it rather difficult to find a way to live a truly authentic life in a world with so many ridiculous rules and expectations. You seem to live your own life authentically without the same kind of difficulty, and so perhaps this makes little sense to you, but I sometimes find myself experiencing what you might call an ‘existential crisis.’ I just don’t know how to even define the truth of myself, let alone live it.”

Phil pushed the plate of unpalatable sandwiches aside and took Dan’s hand from where it rested on the handle of his teacup. “You are living your true life, Dan! You are pursuing your dreams!”

Dan looked away, disturbed by the reassuring warmth of Phil’s hands and words. “I … I try. But I find it a struggle. Every day it is a struggle to find my truth, and to live it. There are some truths more difficult to face than others, less socially acceptable.” He pulled his hand away and picked up his cup, though he could see it shaking in his grip. He drank a bit and found the bitter liquid fortifying. He placed the cup back in the saucer and reached for the popcorn. “But you promised me a distraction.”

Phil slowly let the concern fade from his face, though he seemed reluctant to drop the subject. He was so kind—of course he would worry about a friend who said such things. Dan resolved never to speak of his existential concerns to Phil again, as he did not wish to worry his friend unduly. It was simply a personal issue with which he had wrestled for years, with no end in sight.

“Goofspiel!” Phil declared.

“God bless you,” Dan replied.

“It’s a card game of pure strategy. I think you’ll enjoy it.” Phil made a gesture to a nearby servant, who approached their table. Phil asked him to acquire them a deck of cards, which were then quickly provided.

Phil taught him the game, and it was, indeed, very intriguing, with complex strategy and occasional dramatic plays. “No!” Dan cried aloud when Phil devastated him with a particularly clever play. “I was so close!” He tossed his cards down on the table and crossed his arms in a fit of pique.

A very self-important man in an expensive suit approached their table a moment later and said firmly but quietly, “I am afraid we must ask that you leave the club, gentlemen.” He cast a dubious glance toward Dan at that last word. “Your raucous behavior has for some time disturbed the other members, but today’s actions have convinced the management that this simply cannot be tolerated any further.”

Dan felt horribly embarrassed, but he watched as Phil simply rose to his feet and popped another handful of popcorn into his mouth. He looked at Dan and gestured expansively toward the front door. Dan rose and walked, head hanging low, through the room of smug-looking prigs watching their shameful expulsion with obvious satisfaction.

They emerged into the blue-gray of twilight. Dan stared at the pavement as he said morosely, “I am so sorry for causing you to be ejected from your own club, Phil. I’m certain you’ll be welcomed back … as long as I am not with you.”

Phil swallowed audibly, and at first Dan thought it caused by emotion … but then realized the other man was probably simply finished chewing that last rebelliously-grabbed handful of popcorn. “Oh, no,” Phil replied lightly. “I shall be finding a different club.”

Dan looked into his face and insisted, “No, Phil! I know they would still value your company and your membership!”

Phil shrugged. “Well, I don’t value an establishment that does not appreciate and welcome you, so there we are. I shall find a different club.”

Dan felt his jaw drop, then quickly closed his mouth to avoid looking like an idiot. He gazed helplessly at Phil’s beautiful face and felt a stirring in his heart and soul.

A stirring that most likely indicated an existential crisis in the making.

******

[ Continue on to Chapter 4 ]

[typewriterbot]

finally getting off my butt to write apollo’s timeline!! gosh, this is gonna be long

- Apollo is risen in the edz by his ghost Atlas. at this point he’s Apollo-95

- he wanders mostly, trudging through the alps and heavily forested areas, only slipping into cities in the dead of night looking for answers as to what happened (he promises Atlas that they’ll get to the Traveler eventually, he wants to relearn the world first)

- goes through three resets in his time spent alone. Atlas has had to explain what he is every single time, and Apollo promises that he’ll find someone to travel with

- he meets Roksana and the band of people she’s been traveling with. she’s brash and upfront, and serious about protecting those under her charge. he learns how to fight with fists and his body, and acts as her backup

- comes across the Rangers and learns that he really likes hand cannons

- he doesn’t grow close to any of the people he and Roksana travel with. they die too easily to get attached to

- when he and Roksana meet the Iron Lords, he’s interested in what they’ve learned and their techniques in fighting but he’s completely uninterested in joining their ranks as an Iron Wolf

- Felwinter’s cynicism is tiring, Timur is more prepared for fighting than anything else, but Skorri... Skorri he likes. Apollo doesn’t spend a lot of time with her, but when he did, he’d listen to her songs and often practice singing to the sun together

- Apollo and Roksana make their way to the Traveler, with Atlas complaining loudly that “it was about damn time”

- he takes to help building the libraries and putting everything in order when he has the time. once he’s at the city, he finds that he rarely wants to leave

- is a surprisingly good babysitter. maybe not the funnest, but at least your kids will be alive when he returns them

- taught many of the children in the budding city how to read

- Apollo meets Hemlock when he finally leaves the city for supplies

- he thinks it’s odd how they keep meeting

- kinda misses the entirety of the faction wars because he’s not paying attention. Roksana tells him one day that there’s a consensus and that they’re now guardians and he’s like “what????? are you talking about????”

- he hates being out of the loop so he actually starts paying attention to the factions

- (that’s when Roksana starts taking him out of his libraries. he doesn’t like it)

- finally figures out that Hemlock is looking at his scheduled logs and chews him out for it. it’s impolite to look at someone’s schedule that you have no business looking at!!!

- but Hemlock is handsome helpful to have in the field, plus it’s nice to have someone watch his back

- introduces Hemlock to Roksana and all three of them become very good friends

- still doesn’t leave the city very often, but Hemlock dropping in to say hello is nice

- it’s not nice when Hemlock and Roksana drag him out of the libraries though. that’s very rude and he makes sure they know it by yelling at them (which is about as frightening as a kitten trying to roar)

- Hemlock introduces Apollo to his new apprentice, an awoken named Ronin

- later, Roksana brings Sadik to the libraries to meet him as well. he jokes that he should find an apprentice one of these days

- the battle of six fronts happens

- he stays inside the city, keeping the people safe as best as he can, starts several fires when he self-rezes but at least it keeps the fallen at bay

- he sees Hemlock die several times in rapid succession and scolds him for being reckless

- Apollo doesn’t care if dying is part of a guardian’s job, losing Hemlock is not acceptable (not that he’ll ever explain what he means)

- but at least Hemlock, Roksana, and himself survive. that’s better than what he thought would happen

- joins Hemlock in pouring a drink out for the Iron Lords before going to find Roksana to make sure she knows it’s not her fault and that she would probably be dead too if she went with them

- helped Praedyth study the Vex, unaware that he helps signs Kabr’s fireteam to death

- battle of twilight gap happens. he and Hemlock stick close together to ensure that neither of them die while constantly checking in with Roksana to make sure she’s okay too

- afterwards he helps pick up pieces of armor that’ll make the gjallarhorns

- doesn’t like how quiet the city now

- goes on patrols alone and with Hemlock, finally deciding that he needs to leave the tower more often

- quietly realizes that he loves Hemlock, but won’t gamble on the feeling not being returned

- Roksana took Sadik and Ira on a patrol with him, and instead of actually doing the patrol, he and Ira argue theories

- makes the only bet he’ll ever place in his life: concordant will be replaced in the consensus. he’s shocked to know that he’s right

- takes Jai under his wing after the warlock is brought to the city by Ronin and Sadik

- Jai is sweet and eager to help, but there isn’t a lot to teach him. Apollo knows before Jai that he’ll be a stormcaller

- part of the warlocks that begin to study the hive excessively after the battle of burning lake

- this leads to the decision to go to the moon with nearly every other guardian. he has to find a way to defeat the hive even if he dies trying

- it was a mistake, and Apollo realizes that his memory stuttering and the misfires are the tell tale signs of a reset

- he doesn’t fight Hemlock when the reset is hurried along. he wants it to happen but forgets to tell Hemlock that no matter what it isn’t his fault

- on the way back to earth, Apollo-98 becomes Apollo-99

- Apollo-99 befriends Roksana as easily as Apollo-98 did. it helps that the two are similar enough that it’s not difficult at all

- he gets frustrated when Hemlock avoids him. he knows that the hunter is important to him, but he keeps running away before they can have a proper conversation

- forces Hemlock into an argument because there are things to talk about. afterwards, they slowly become friends again

- Apollo and Hemlock find a new rhythm, and Apollo grows to love the hunter again. agrees to date Hemlock

- Ira finds Guardian, and Apollo is more interested in the fact that they found the black garden than anything

- offers to help the fireteam that’ll go into the vault of glass by doing research for them. he’s glad that they live, and feels sad for some reason when one of the warlocks talked about something called the aegis shield

- eris arrives at the tower, and he drills her for information

- where Ronin and Roksana are going to defeat Crota for vengeance, he’s going to prove that the hive wouldn’t have a hold over him just because they made him reset

- Hemlock almost doesn’t let him go. they have an argument about it

- the raid team is: Apollo, Hemlock, Roksana, Sadik, Ronin, and Jai

- he despises the oversoul throne and the way it chokes his light, but he takes as much information back with him to the tower as he can

- Ira introduces him to Guardian. they’re quiet and he doesn’t mind when they hide under one of his tables. it reminds of something that makes his light glow a happy orange

- Hemlock talks him and Roksana into doing bounties for the reef. it’s simple work after going down into the hellmouth, and Apollo has fun

- also gets talked into prison of elders challenges. those are a little less fun

- Oryx arrives in the system and Apollo physically hurts because of it

- almost yells at Ira for getting onto the dreadnaught until he sees how exhausted he is. makes Ira rest every time he returns to the tower

- Guardian asks if he’ll be on the team to kill Oryx. he agrees, and wisely doesn’t point out how awful they look

- in the middle of fighting Oryx, he proposes to Apollo. Roksana laughs hysterically and offers to officiate

- he’s giddy that Hemlock said yes, and it’s a shotgun wedding

- is also a little shocked that Hemlock thought he was kidding (”of course i’m serious! and besides, i’d rather not get a divorce twenty minutes after getting married” “alright, alright, i’m just making sure”)

- tells Ikora that he and Hemlock got married and wonders if they could have a more official ceremony. she is ecstatic about it

- Roksana is contacted by Saladin Forge, and while he doesn’t really remember him, Apollo offers to help keep the plaguelands under control

- has nearly shoved Hemlock off of Felwinter’s peak when he heard him call Saladin “wolf guy”

- stays behind with Saladin and Shiro while everyone else goes to kill Aksis. he uses the excuse that he’s old, but really, after Oryx he doesn’t want to risk a reset

- it’s nice to finally spend time with Hemlock without the end of the world looming over their heads

- considers taking on more students

- the red legion attacks the city and Apollo-99 is dangerously close to becoming Apollo-100

[voightsgirl]

crossfire: volume i - chapter one

a/n y’all it’s finally here!! i’m sooo excited to share this with you, and i really really really hope you enjoy reading it as much as i’ve enjoyed creating it. it’s a long journey, but hopefully it will be worth it :)

☆ one day ☆

[november 2018]

She got the call as she and Jay were driving to work that morning.

"Nat?" Erin yawned in greeting, still drowsy from the early wake-up call Hank had dealt her despite their late night the previous evening.

"Hey, Erin."

"Hi, Natalie," Jay chimed in, just to let her know that she was on speaker in case this was a particularly urgent, and private, conversation. Erin grinned at him in thanks.

"Jay," his brother's fiancée acknowledged warmly.

"What's up? Is everything okay?" Erin asked her friend.

Although Erin and Natalie had begun to see a lot more of each other recently – a combination of both of the girls’ relationships with each Halstead brother and the correlation between Natalie’s shift at Med and Erin’s shift at the twenty first district – they weren’t quite close enough for 6am phone calls. Not just yet.

"So, um,” Natalie sounded worried. “I feel awful having to ask you guys this. I know you have a lot on your plate at the moment with your case and all, but Will and I are supposed to be going out for dinner with the parents tonight, and Helen just rang to say she's caught a virus and doesn’t want to pass it on to Owen, so she can’t watch him...normally I'd postpone, but my parents are only in town for a few days and I don't want to make them -"

"We got you covered," Erin cut in, although Jay noticed the color draining from her face. "Right Jay?"

Jay nodded enthusiastically. Erin gestured at him, reminding him that Natalie couldn’t see him, and he added, "Totally – I can't wait to spend some quality time with my future nephew!"

"We’ll babysit the little guy. What time do you want us there?" Erin asked.

"Seven-thirty, give or take. Thanks so much for doing this, you guys, you're lifesavers!"

When she hung up, Erin turned to face her partner, a look of absolute horror on her face. She had felt her stomach drop the minute her friend had mentioned Owen. She loved the kid, sure, but she'd had exactly two experiences in babysitting. And, both times, that was because the kid had been a victim of a sex-trafficking ring and needed to stay in protective custody overnight. Somehow, she didn't think babysitting Natalie’s seven year-old was going to require quite the same skill set.

She looked over at Jay again, peeling her eyes from the road in the hope of some reassurance.

"Owen's a great kid. It'll be a piece of cake," he tried.

Erin just nodded and swallowed, as they pulled into the car park of the twenty-first district.

☆

It wasn’t that she didn’t like children. She did. Nothing made her heart swell up with hope and happiness more than when she saw kids laughing or playing in the park a couple of blocks away from their apartment or when she got to reunite missing kids with their parents at work. In fact, she’d always envisioned her and Jay having kids of their own one day, and the thought of baby “Linsteads” (as Will had taken to calling them, after he nearly choked on his beer one time when Erin had come home early, and, expecting to see only Jay in the kitchen, had barked, “Halstead! Can you stop moving my shoes?” He found it hilarious that when they were getting annoyed or sassy with each other, they slipped back into calling each other by their last name. Something Jay had evidently picked up from his army days, and it had started to rub off on Erin) running around the house made her nearly giddy with longing. Sure, she wanted kids. And she wanted them with Jay. But not now.

She hadn’t had any experience in childcare, and she couldn’t exactly rely on her own upbringing to guide her. Something told her that Natalie wouldn’t be too impressed with her if she resorted to snorting coke in front of her seven-year-old as Bunny had apparently deemed appropriate when Erin was growing up.

Not only that, but she wanted this friendship with Natalie to work out.

Since Natalie and Will started to date officially about two years ago, Erin had found herself spending much more time with the doctor, as well as her colleagues, much to her pleasure. She often found that, being a cop, she didn’t get enough female company, and so when Jay had suggested that she and Nat grab some drinks after shift some time, Erin willingly obliged. Originally, she’d just gone along with it because she knew that Will and Natalie were getting serious, and, Will being Jay’s brother, she’d have to get along with the potential in-laws sooner or later, but after their third or fourth drinks date – which had, by this point, transformed into lunch dates, when Natalie could squeeze in an hour during her shift and Erin didn’t have a particularly heavy case load, to save Natalie the trouble of finding a babysitter for her son – they’d really started to click. Soon after that, Erin had insisted Kim, Gabby, and Haley join them, and Natalie brought along April and Sarah.

In no time at all, they had monthly girls’ nights, and even though Erin had initially complained to Jay about them sometimes, saying she’d rather just have a night in with him, she secretly loved the company once she got there. Maggie started to come, too, which prompted Gabby to bring along Stella and Sylvie, and soon enough, after the Intelligence Unit had started to work even closer alongside the team over at the State’s Attorney’s office, Anna Vasquez and Laura Nagel had begun to join in from time to time, too.

They would drink and chat and laugh together, and talk about the things that you could only really talk about with a group of women around you, and Erin had learned to lean on these ladies almost as much as she leaned on her unit at work. Some of them liked to talk about things openly – especially Gabby, Erin had noticed, who loved to let off steam whenever she’d had yet another run in with one of her superiors – while others just preferred to keep their personal lives very much that, like herself.

She’d become more accustomed to sharing, especially after she and Jay had moved back in together a few months back and they’d promised never to lie to each other, or to hide things from each other, again – but the idea of confiding in multiple people at once was still pretty daunting. So usually, when she had something she wanted to get off her chest, it was on one of her weekly lunch dates with Natalie. And Erin didn’t want to ruin this, albeit still new, friendship that they were forming, and screwing up while looking after her new friend’s child may end up doing just that.

☆ 

Jay had noticed her dread at having to look after a child, and he couldn’t quite understand why. He remembered a case they worked a few years back, where they discovered a nine year old girl tied up in her foster home, covered in bruises and the apparent victim of sex-trafficking, and Erin had been so shaken by the incident that she didn’t let the girl leave her sight for days. This was before Jay had moved in with her the first time, and Erin had insisted on letting the girl – Avery, he remembered her name was – stay with her until Erin could personally help DCFS to sort out a suitable foster placement.

She had been amazing with that little girl. Avery hadn’t had any possessions of her own, so Erin had given her an old CPD T-shirt of hers and let her keep it, as well as buying her, at no small expense, a suitcase full of clothes. She’d let her sleep in her bed, and Erin had taken the couch, because she wanted the girl to be as comfortable as possible after her ordeal, and Jay remembered a frantic phone call he’d gotten from her at two in the morning, when Avery had had an awful nightmare; she’d woken up screaming and crying and refused to go anywhere near the bed afterwards. Erin had called Jay the second she heard her stirring in the other room, and he’d rushed over, worried, not just about the nine-year-old who was having a full-blown panic attack, but also because Erin had been practically sobbing down the line for his help. She couldn’t bear to see this kid in so much pain.

When he got there, however, it turned out that his dramatic rescue attempt had been futile. Erin had taken Avery into the living room and they were sat on the couch together, the soft glow of the television illuminating Erin’s face as she looked down at the sleeping, fragile girl that had nestled her head into Erin’s lap and had fallen back asleep, with the tear tracks still fresh on her pale and innocent face. Erin was humming softly, staring into space instead of actually watching the documentary on the television, and she turned her head to face Jay as he opened the door using the very secret key under the front doormat.

She’d put her finger to her lips and pointed at the body curled up next to her, rising and falling softly with the stable rhythm of sleep, and she’d just nodded her head at the documentary playing.

“Works every time,” she had whispered, and his eyes, too, had nearly filled with tears, remembering the first night he was the one in Avery’s position, and, not knowing what to do to calm him down, Erin had guided him into the living room and together they had curled up, watching David Attenborough, until the sun peaked over the skyline and they had made it through another night together.

Jay smiled, remembering her dedication to this girl whom she barely knew. He just had to open his eyes to see what a wonderful mother Erin Lindsay would be one day, so he couldn’t work out why she was so nervous about babysitting Owen. He wasn’t going to have any panic attacks. He was only seven – he’d probably be in bed when they got there, and besides, all he’d want to do if he wasn’t would be watch TV or play with stuffed animals or something. That’s what seven year old boys did, right?

"Psst!"

Jay snapped out of his thoughts and looked up from where his head had been buried in an ever-mounting pile of unfinished paperwork.

He rolled his eyes at how dramatic she was sometimes. "What's the matter?" He asked, ducking into the room with her.

"Just pretend we're making coffee," she instructs him, and stands facing him at the counter, angling herself perfectly so that if one were to walk past, they would only see Jay's back.

"Okay...?" Jay was now entirely confused.

"So. I downloaded a guide on how to take care of young kids and it said that if we've never looked after him before, we should try bringing something as a gift that he would like. A sort of peace offering?"

"Erin, you know we're only babysitting for a couple of hours, right? All we've gotta do is make sure he doesn't break anything. Or himself."

Erin raised an eyebrow. "Jay, Will and Natalie are engaged. Owen is going to be your nephew. That means we have to get him to like us, or else Thanksgiving is not going to be fun."

"Okay," Jay breathed. "I take your point. But I've spent loads of time with Owen. He knows me. Last time he even called me 'Uncle Jay'."

Erin smiled at how at ease her boyfriend seemed with this whole situation. "But I haven't. I've never been trusted with anything like this before, okay? It's kind of a big deal. And I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. What if we completely screw up and Natalie never wants to talk to me again, or something goes awfully wrong, what then?"

"Erin," Jay says firmly, but she carries on.

"What if I'm really bad at it?"

Jay frowned. "At what?"

"Parenting," Erin whispered, and Jay finally understood where all this was coming from.

He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them gently. It was the closest they ever got to PDA at work, but he needed her to know he understood. "Erin, it's only a couple of hours. No one is asking you to be his parent."

"That's not the point, Jay," she sighed. "What if nothing goes wrong?”

He frowned. That wasn’t what he’d expected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she almost looked ashamed as she said it. “I’m used to broken households. I’ve spent my whole life clearing up their messes. I can deal with drug addicts, and alcoholics, and abusive boyfriends and panic attacks and absentee parents. I don’t know how normal families…you know. Work.”

He took a sharp intake of breath at her words. He’d never thought about it like that. She was always so strong, especially recently – she’d had to be strong, for him – that he sometimes forgot that she was just as broken as he was. “Erin, listen to me. You’re not Bunny.”

She just shrugged sadly. “But if I’m not there to fix things, then…”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to rely on them liking me, instead of just being grateful to me, or indebted to me somehow…I don’t know.”

Jay practically scoffed. “Trust me, babe. I don’t think Owen is gonna have any trouble with liking you.”

She nodded, although she seemed unconvinced by his words. Jay looked over his shoulder to see if anyone in the bullpen was watching, and seeing that the coast was clear, wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“Trust me,” he whispered into her hair.

She pulled back, and although her big, soft, hazel eyes still looked a little sad, her mouth had turned into a pout, and the corners were threatening to turn upwards into a small smile.

She handed him the mug of coffee she’d made him. "Thanks,” she pouted again. “I love you. Here's your coffee."

He grinned. He couldn’t actually wait for the evening. Not just because he wanted to spend some quality time with his nephew-to-be, but also so that he could show Erin just what a wonderful mother she’d make one day.

One day. When the time came.

☆ ☆ ☆

thank you for reading!! if you’d like to be notified when it’s updated either head over to my ff.net account or message me and i’ll tag you at the end of the post :)

@allenting