#{I can’t promise anyone they’re going to get rom/sex from her. And when it will 'lift.'}

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 31

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

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Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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The hours between breakfast and lunch were mostly work hours. Many of the inmates had some kind of job - janitorial, maintenance, other menial tasks that kept the prison running. Rhonda had been put on laundry duty. Underground, the laundry room was wide, with a low ceiling, lit with plain fluorescent bulbs and lined with industrial, heavy duty machines. The humming and thumping and echoes were loud enough to cover all kinds of sounds, which set Rhonda on edge. 

"Back here, darling," a voice called from behind a pair of giant rolling bins full of towels. Mimi.

Rhonda huffed, partly in annoyance, partly in relief. She crossed to meet Mimi and help her sort jumpsuits from another bin that needed to be washed, repaired, or tossed in the trash. "You just get everything you want in here?"

Mimi was shorter than Rhonda, but her fingers were longer, thinner, and tipped with sharp little claws. Her motions were fluid and elegant as she picked through dirty jumpsuits to find the ones too torn to repair. A lot about Mimi reminded Rhonda of watching slow motion footage of a predator striking. The charcoal scaled woman sneered, "The only difference between me and the warden is the warden wears a tie."

Rhonda was quiet as she started making a stack of jumpsuits to be mended. The suits were so cheaply made that some of the seams fell apart after a few washes and they would have to get re-sewn. After a few minutes, Mimi drew a sharp breath and said, “I know you’re better one on one than in a group, and I thought you might want to talk. My offer does have an expiration date.”

Without missing a beat, Rhonda asked, “What happened to the Red Disciples? And the other gangs?”

Mimi’s pale eyes glinted as she narrowed them in a smirk, “Between that breach earlier this year, and the transfer convoy getting destroyed right after, and temporarily being held in other facilities, a lot of us died. For a while, I’d thought you had died too.”

“If you knew how often I’ve heard that lately,” Rhonda grumbled.

“By the time the repairs were done and we were all brought back here,” the reptilian woman continued, “all the gangs had lost head count, but the V-One-Three still had the most - easily. Let’s say I was able to acquire the other gangs. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“There are always a few stragglers who think they can rebuild their numbers. If I let them, of course.” Mimi winked.

Rhonda heaved a load of jumpsuits into a massive washer, not even wrinkling her nose at the stink, and set it running with some detergent. She leaned against the machine. “And why do you want me?”

She clicked her tongue in response, “You’re fishing for compliments.”

“I want to know what you’ll expect.”

Mimi leaned across the table, arms spread comfortably wide. “You’re smart. You’re ruthless. You’re good at sending a message. You’ve always been impressive on your own - everything I could want in an enforcer or assassin.” She walked around the table and sauntered up to the other woman. “I’ve just wondered how you’d do with a team around you. And…if you can do what you're told."

She inclined her head away from Mimi and promised, “I can work on a team. And I can follow orders.”

“We’ll see,” Mimi crooned.

Rhonda hesitated. They were dangerously close, her back against the washer. Mimi hadn’t gotten her hands dirty in years, but that didn’t mean she didn’t plan on killing Rhonda herself if she refused to join the Vicious 13. “If I work with you,” Rhonda said softly, “I need a few things.”

“Oh good! You’ve never really opened up like this.” Mimi grinned, teeth pointed and hooked like a python’s. She took another step closer and rested one long palm against the machine behind Rhonda, inches from her shoulder. 

“You saw my friend Wade?” She forced herself not to glance at Mimi’s hand.

“The one who looks like they tried to make Freddy Krueger into a rom-com lead?”

If Rhonda hadn’t been so afraid, she would have laughed. Instead, she nodded, “He comes with me, and we get the same cell.”

“Guestbook, darling, you know co-ed cellmates are rare.” She grazed an elongated finger over the outer edge of Rhonda's control collar. It was generally taboo to touch other inmates' collars. Usually, a brawl in the mess hall was just in good fun until someone grabbed someone else's collar. Mimi's gesture was casual, as if she already knew she owned Rhonda. 

“They’re not unheard of.” Rhonda ducked her head slightly to match Mimi’s eye level. “Wade and I have an arrangement. Being separated makes that difficult.”

They stared at each other for a few hard moments. “Fine," Mimi lingered a second before letting her hand fall. "What else do you want? A better blanket? Extra pudding rations?”

Rhonda edged away from the thumping, whooshing, washer, away from Mimi, and surreptitiously checked the laundry area for any unwanted listeners. When she circled back to Mimi, she whispered in her ear, “I want to know how to get into the control office.”

--

Ororo found her friend on the X-Jet in its hangar. In the early morning, she hadn’t been able to sleep much, so she got up and walked around, to find one of her lifelong friends had the same idea. She leaned against the open door frame. “Did you sleep at all, Colossus?”

He sighed as he checked another heavy duty box full of cold weather gear. “I can’t,” he admitted, “Not while she’s…”

“I know,” Ororo said softly. She sat on the deck of the jet beside him. 

His massive shoulders rose and fell with his breaths, and his voice broke, “She said...she would rather have her head blown off than go back to that place. I can’t stop thinking about that.” He rested one arm on the box he had just checked. “Did I do the right thing? Should I have - should I have let…?”

Storm's fingers slid quickly through her gleaming white hair as she took a carefully measured breath. “She was panicking. She wasn’t looking at the whole picture. She didn’t mean it.”

“You haven’t seen all of her scars, Storm," Piotr said. “There are things she won’t even talk to me about. Maybe it was too much to ask.”

She gently took his hand, warm steel between smooth, brown skin. “Rhonda survived the Icebox for six years, when no help was coming.” Ororo swallowed around the lump in her own throat, struggling to speak evenly through her tears. “She knows it won’t be another six years, and she knows we’re coming for her. I have to believe she will hold out until we get there.” She sniffled. “I can’t consider any other possibility.”

Piotr’s throat closed up, and he nodded. “It should be me in there with her. Wade’s cancer will only get worse…”

“Trust them to take care of each other,” Storm assured him. “They’ll need you more on the outside to breach the prison.” Patting his hand, she added, “We’ll get them out.”

“We will get them out,” he repeated. Then he pulled his friend into his arms and hugged her tightly. 

--

True to her word, Mimi had arranged for Rhonda to be moved to Wade's cell. His previous cellmate had suffered an "accident" requiring him to spend a few nights in the infirmary, and Mimi had thrown a fit demanding her cell to herself. It was enough to look like Rhonda was changing cells for every reason but her own.

The buzzer that sounded as the cell doors closed for the night was more annoying than Rhonda remembered. She paced the cell she now shared with Wade, noting if anyone was watching.

Wade sat cross-legged on his bed, like a kid at a sleepover party. "Well this is lucky."

Individual cells were at least five feet apart, as each cell branched off the main catwalk of each level of the cell block. This was to keep inmates from passing each other anything between cells, but that didn't mean it was impossible for inmates to conspire or eavesdrop on each other. Rhonda shook her head with an apologetic frown and kept her voice low, "It's part of the deal I made with Mimi. Anything you want in here, you have to engineer and manipulate to get it. I made her think we’re a thing so we could be in the same cell."

Wade's smile faded into a confused grimace, "Oh no…"

Rhonda got onto Wade's bed beside him, hands settling on his shoulders. Her body language became seductive curves, but her face was stern as she said softly, "We gotta do some fake sex and sell it or we'll raise suspicion."

When he started whining, she scowled, "What?"

He tilted his head and shuddered, "Normally, my moral compass plays fast and loose, but you're my best friend's wife. Colossus's wife."

Rhonda sat back on her heels as if Wade had shoved her. "We're not actually fucking," she whispered through the sting in her eyes. "Some grinding, some noises, just enough to be convincing in the dark. If you're worried about Colossus, he can judge us when he gets here." The words came out with more bitterness than she meant.

The lights in the cell block shut off for the night leaving them in near-perfect darkness, and Wade groaned softly. "You're not still mad at him, are you?"

"That has nothing to do with this," she replied coldly. "It would be really fucking petty if it did." The cell block was too quiet. Their neighbors were listening, waiting, even if they couldn't make out the exact conversation. "Wade," she breathed.

Finally, he relented. He let out a groan that started with reluctance, but ended with a lustful depth, as he stretched out on the cot and pulled Rhonda on top of him. Relieved he was catching on, she let out a soft moan. He gently tugged at her jumpsuit, and she unzipped the top half of it to let it fall to her waist. Wade rustled their clothes a little louder than he really needed to, or maybe it just seemed loud in the pitch darkness, knowing dozens of ears were listening. 

They moved against each other, sighing and moaning. Rhonda’s sounds were like a performance - the kind they make in a high quality, professional porn, where it almost sounds like love. Wade’s were less convincing. Planting her hands on his shoulders, she lowered herself and whispered in his ear in a tone that would have passed for dirty talking, “Have you never faked an orgasm before? Step it up a little.” She shifted her weight to her knees, moving back and forth to make the cot creak rhythmically.

“I have never faked anything in my life,” Wade retorted, almost loud enough to blow their cover. He tugged Rhonda’s hair just a bit, to make her let out an authentically surprised sound. In a husky whisper, he quipped, “Want me to go full When Harry Met Sally? I’ll have what she’s having?”

“Christ,” she hissed and tapped his hand to make him let go. “Maybe like...seventy percent of that.”

To her horror, Wade started giggling. “Ohhhh, I’m gonna make you regret this,” he sounded giddy as he grabbed Rhonda, and rose to slam her on the cot. She gasped in surprise, then covered it with enthusiastic fake moans when Wade started making the cot creak louder and faster. He built up his speed and volume, until, suddenly, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “MAAAXIMUM EFFORT!” He finished with a few groans that declined in volume, along with slowing the creaking of the cot.

A few inmates yelled variations of, “Keep it down!” and “Shut the fuck up!”

Rhonda practically leapt to her cot in case a guard came by for a check. “Why are you like this?” she hissed angrily. 

“Don’t kink-shame me,” he yawned. “Good niiight.” 

Seething, afraid they hadn't convinced anyone, Rhonda shivered once under her blanket before drifting to an uneasy sleep. In the middle of the night, she woke up to Wade crawling into her cot and adding his blanket on top of hers. She mumbled, “What are you--”

“You were talking in your sleep - in Russian.” He tucked the thin blankets around them, and spooned tightly against her. The shabby pillow under her face was damp - apparently she had also been crying in her sleep. She was too groggy to argue and too grateful for extra warmth to send him back to his own bed. Wade added in an offensively fake Russian accent, “Is just bad dream, lovely wife. Go back to sleep.”

[spit-me-out]

Hold Your Peace

Harry really wishes he didn’t have to be here, but well. Y/N is one of his best friends and he simply couldn’t not attend her wedding. In fact, he’d always dreamed of seeing her at her wedding. Just not from where he was sitting now.

She’s standing on the little podium at the front of the aisle, dressed in a beautiful white gown and veil. Harry thinks she has never looked lovelier. Her smile grows when she turns to the man on her right, clasping his hand tight.

[16.2k, mentions of alcohol abuse/addiction and depression, smutfree]

*

Harry isn’t paying attention. The collar of his white button up is too tight and he’s sweating relentlessly underneath his suit. Even the stocky wooden church bench beneath his bum is annoying him. 

The priest is droning on about love and eternity, but Harry has been cancelling out his voice until it has become nothing more but a slight buzz in his ear. He’s quite impressed with himself, actually. He didn’t think he’d be able to sit through even a minute of this, but they’re already a good 25 minutes into the ceremony and he’s still there. Sure, he really wishes he didn’t have to be here, but well. Y/N is one of his best friends and he simply couldn’t not attend her wedding. In fact, he’d always dreamed of seeing her at her wedding. Just not from where he was sitting now. 

She’s standing on the little podium at the front of the aisle, dressed in a beautiful white gown and veil. Harry thinks she has never looked lovelier. Her smile grows when she turns to the man on her right, clasping his hand tight. 

Harry always figured that eventually she would be his. That she would break up with what’s-his-name and every boyfriend after that to be with him. That she’d choose him. He thought he’d dropped more than enough hints about how much he would like to be with her. Hold her. Make her laugh. Preferably even kiss her.

Like that time a few years back when both of them had gotten way too drunk at a college party and had ended up snogging in the closet. He remembered mumbling something about how they should make this a regular thing, but she’d simply giggled and went off in search of more booze. The next morning, she didn’t remember anything. 

Sure, Harry knows some drunken confession isn’t that much of a hint, but even when he’d finally gathered enough courage to ask her out, she’d totally friendzoned him. He’d taken her to the movies and paid for their tickets and snacks. The rom com was totally cheesy, but she loved those, cuddling into his side when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Harry thought it was going swimmingly, until he’d walked her home after the movie and she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, before scurrying off inside, saying “Thanks Haz, I knew there was a reason you’re my best friend!”

During all the years that he’d fancied her, there had been plenty of times when he’d hinted at them being more, at wanting more. But each and every time, she’d either ignored him or friendzoned him until he’d simply given up. There was no way he could just come out and tell her how he felt, and, he reasoned with himself, if she was interested in him at all, she’d had plenty of opportunities to respond to his advances.

But she’d never had. And now, she never would.

The priest clapped his hands together, startling Harry back to reality. When he tuned back in to what the man was saying, his heartbeat quickened.

“Now, before we continue with the final part of the ceremony, there’s something I’d like to address. If anyone can show just cause that this man and this woman should not be married, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

For a fleeting moment, Harry thought about doing something stupid. Something like jumping up and causing a scene, like confessing his undying love for her in front of all her friends and family gathered here in this church. Maybe she would tear up and leap into his arms so they could run away into the sunset, like in some of those rom coms they like to watch together.

But when he looked at her, standing there in that gorgeous white dress with the most radiant smile on her face, he couldn’t. There was no way he could ever interfere with her happiness like that. He may not have liked her soon-to-be husband, but he could see how much she loved and adored him and how happy he made her. And that was really all that mattered, despite how much it killed him inside to have to watch from the sidelines how his love was whisked away right in front of his nose.

So, he swallowed harshly and held his breath, resigning himself to the fact that he’d have to keep his thoughts to himself until the day he died.

Anything to keep her happy.

*

*A few years later*

There is a warm body next to him in bed when Harry wakes up from the shrill sound of his alarm. He quickly reaches over to silence his phone, unlocking it to answer a few messages he’d been too drunk to properly answer last night. The sheets rustle behind him while he’s typing out a reply to Niall’s lunch invitation, a naked body curling around his back.

“So… what’s your policy on morning quickies?” a sultry voice rasps, two stiff nipples rubbing up against his shoulder blades when the woman reaches around his hips and grasps his morning wood. Harry chuckles lowly, finishing up his reply before dropping the phone back on the nightstand and rolling onto his back.

“Why else did you think you were allowed to sleep over?”

The pretty brunette grins before she simply slips underneath the covers, picking up right where they left of only a few hours ago with her mouth around his prick.

*

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Niall says as a way of greeting him when Harry arrives at lunch later that day. A bit of salad is hanging from the side of his mouth and his tie lays abandoned next to him on the chair.

“Ask what?”

Niall rolls his eyes. “About that enormous hickey on your neck and who gave it to you. ‘Cause I already know you don’t remember her name.”

“That’s not true,” Harry frowns, settling into a chair opposite his best friend. He fishes his own lunch out of his bag and begins digging in. “‘M pretty sure her name was Em...  Emma? Or Emily?”

“Thanks for proving my point.”

This time it is Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “It’s not like you always remembered, mate.”

“Well, I at least tried to have a conversation with them before jumping their bones.”

Harry shrugs, taking a sip from his water bottle. “The less time spent talking, the better. Besides, it’s not like they’re looking for someone to talk to, y’know.”

“Whatever, man. I just want you to be happy, yeah? Not sure this is the way to go about it, unless you’re looking to catch syphilis or somethin’.”

“Syphilis? Who has syphilis?” Y/N pipes up, having arrived at their table with a lunch bag of her own. Her eyes flick from Niall to him as she settles down next to the Irishman. She regards Harry with a concerned look, brows furrowed. She must come to the conclusion that he’s the one who caught an STD (which is not that weird considering Niall’s in a committed relationship), because she groans in annoyance. “For god’s sake, Harry, you must be stupider than I thought if you haven’t been putting a rubber on.”

Niall snorts. “Yeah mate, no glove, no love.”

“Oi, shut up, Niall. I don’t have syphilis,” he says exasperatedly, rolling his eyes when Niall cackles loudly. Y/N looks terribly confused, so he tries to console her. “I’m fine, I promise. Niall’s just being a pain in the ass.”

“But you have been using protection, though, right? ‘Cause you’ve been going at it pretty much every day lately and who knows what those girls are carrying.”

Harry sighs. “Did you both agree to gang up on me or summat? First Niall and now you. Can we not discuss my sex life during lunch, please?”

“Fine,” Y/N says and for a moment Harry is quite surprised to get away with it so easily. “I was just going to say that if you need condoms though, we have some left that we don’t need anymore. Well, not for a while, at least.”

At first, Harry is confused at her offering to give him condoms, but when he looks closer, she’s unsuccessfully trying to hide her smile, her eyes glimmering with happiness. Then, a thought enters his mind that adds a ton of weight to his stomach. He knows for a fact that she’s not on the pill because she���s too prone to forget it, and she doesn’t look like her and Joshua have stopped having sex, which means…

Oh god.

“What? Why?” Niall asks, looking just as confused as Harry first felt.

“Well…” Y/N starts, her neutral facade slipping away bit by bit and revealing the biggest smile. “Joshua and I are trying for a baby.”

Harry nearly gets to see his lunch in reverse.

*

Harry finds himself in a bit of a funk after that, throwing himself into his work and skipping out on their weekly lunch dates with increasing frequency in hopes that he can forget about his pathetic pining after a woman who’s clearly taken. He’s still picking up girls left and right, but the sex is most unsatisfying when all he really wants is her. It doesn’t matter how good or hot or sweaty the night starts, when he’s coming down his mind always drifts to darker places and he ends up feeling lonelier than before.

So eventually, he tries to drown himself in his sorrows instead. Even he knows he’s being ridiculously unhealthy, drinking too much and too often, but he can’t help it. He just wants to forget and this is the easiest way to go about it.

It’s the morning after one of those binge drinks that he wakes with a pounding head and a dry throat. His stomach rolls dangerously, and he only just makes it to the bathroom before the contents come flying out. He throws up until he’s empty, rinsing his mouth and brushing his teeth before he crawls back in bed, disgusted and disappointed with himself.

Just as he’s about to fall back asleep, his phone buzzes on the nightstand, the ringtone indicating that it’s Y/N calling. And pathetic as he is, he really can’t ignore her, especially since she never really calls anymore.

So he fumbles for his phone, messily unlocking the device before bringing it up to his ear.

“‘Ello?”

“Harry?” Y/N sniffs, voice high and pitchy.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Hearing the woman he loves in distress is enough to kickstart his hungover brain into gear. “Why’re you crying?”

She sniffs some more, exhaling a shaky breath into the receiver that causes Harry’s heart to clench in his chest. “Josh and I… we’re getting a d-divorce,” she mumbles wetly, a loud sob escaping her throat. Harry hates himself for feeling such incredible relief when she’s obviously hurt and upset. “We had another big fight just now and I really don’t wanna stay here any longer, so I called Niall but he’s not answering. I was hoping that, uhm… that maybe you could pick me up?”

Harry’s already tugging his sweats over his legs before she’s even finished asking. “Course love, I’ll come get you right away. Where are you now?”

He worms his way into a t-shirt while keeping the phone to his ear, stepping into an old pair of boots without bothering to put socks on. “I’m standing on the corner near the little café. You know the one.”

“I know, yeah. I’m walking out the door right now, alright? Gimme fifteen minutes, love.”

“Alright. Drive safe, please.”

Harry can’t help but smile at her thoughtfulness, always so kind even when her whole life is currently crashing down around her. “I will. See you in a bit.”

*

When he arrives at the little corner café, Y/N is leaning against the brick wall with her arms folded in front of her chest. Even from a little distance, he can see that her face is blotchy from tears, her body curled up small. It makes his heart ache an unbearable amount to see her like this.

Once she spots his car, she pushes off the wall and hurries to the passenger door, slipping inside the moment he’s come to a standstill. She turns to face him with a grateful look, her bottom lip trembling dangerously.

“Can we go? I- I can’t.”

Harry nods, putting the car back in gear and pulling away from the sidewalk. “Of course, babe. Wanna come back to mine?”

“Yes, please,” she whispers, maneuvering her feet onto the seat and wrapping her arms around her knees. They drive in silence the whole fifteen minutes back to Harry’s place, occasionally broken by her quiet sniffles as she tries to calm down some. Harry wants nothing more than to pull her into his arms and comfort her, but he manages to hold out until after he’s parked the car and lead her into his flat, the door closing behind her with a loud thud.

When she turns to face him, he’s already holding his arms open for her to fall into, which she does with a fresh round of tears. He holds her whilst she cries, rubbing her back and holding her by the back of her head, keeping her face tucked into the crook of his neck as he tries to console her. She clings to him like she needs him to breathe, hands fisted in the back of his shirt as wet tears trickle down her cheeks and onto his clothes. Her frame trembles weakly in his hold and Harry’s heart breaks for her.

“Oh, love,” he sighs, gently swaying her from side to side. The smell of her shampoo infiltrates his nose from where it’s pressed into her hair, but Harry can’t even think about enjoying it. “It’s going to be okay, y’know. You’re going to be okay.”

He holds her for as long as she needs, mumbling gentle consolations that he knows she needs to hear and that he’s more than happy to give. After a little while, her sobs seem to have died down for the most part. There’s still the occasional sniffle, but the tears are no longer wetting his shirt and her grip on it is loosening. Her shoulders slump on a heavy exhale before she finally pulls back, wiping at her eyes.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Harry questions gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Or do you want me to call Niall for you?”

Harry hates himself for mentioning his best mate’s name, but he knows that he’s been neglecting his friendship with both of them and he can only imagine that she’d feel much more comfortable talking to him instead. No matter how much it kills him, if that’s what she wants he’s going to do everything he can to give her that.

“I just remembered he had a date with Julie last night, so he’s probably not even home,” she mumbles, sounding disappointed. Harry has no idea who Julie is.

“Oh. Well, in that case,” he says, holding his arm out towards his living room. “You can stay as long as you need, alright? Make yourself at home. I’ll fix us a cuppa, yeah?”

Y/N nods, shuffling off towards the living room while Harry busies himself with the kettle and some cups in the kitchen. Once the water is heating up he has a moment to himself to think, wondering how to approach this situation. It’s clear she’d much rather talk to Niall, meaning he’s second best, and to be honest he doesn’t really know what’s been going on with her life lately that could’ve possibly led to her getting a divorce of all things. He’s feeling more lost than he’d care to admit.

He can’t help but shoot Niall a text, quickly explaining the situation and asking if he could please call or come by a.s.a.p. The shrill of the kettle indicates it’s time for him to pour the tea, grabbing the cookie tin as well before making his way back into the living room.

Y/N has settled in the corner of couch, legs folded underneath her while she fiddles with her hands in her lap. Harry is relieved to see she’s no longer crying, but the weak smile he gets when he offers her a cookie betrays her mood.

“Thanks,” she says softly, nibbling away while he sets their cups on the table and joins her on the sofa. When he meets her eyes again, she looks much more exhausted than he initially thought.

“It’s no problem, really,” he shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. He finds it difficult to think of something to say except for the most common expression of worry there is. “Are you okay?”

Y/N shrugs weakly, fiddling with the remaining half of her cookie. “Maybe. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, y’know?” At his encouraging nod, she continues. “Like, this is not how I imagined my life to be. I was supposed to be pregnant by now, not getting a bloody divorce!”

She runs a frustrated hand through her hair and Harry can’t help but place a comforting hand on her thigh. His chest constricts painfully at how much he can identify with what she’s saying. His voice is croaky when he speaks next, but the only thing he cares about is that it doesn’t crack completely. “Life doesn’t always end up giving us what we want. And that’s difficult to accept at times, I know, but you’ll get through this.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “How would you know?”

Harry chuckles humorlessly. “Well, I know for a fact that you’re an amazing woman, and if Joshua can’t see that then he doesn’t deserve you. You’re so strong, love. There’s someone out there who’d drop everything for you if you asked.”

Me, he chants in his head, ask me.

His eyes must be shining with adoration, but to his relief she’s too busy mulling things over to notice. He is quite pleased, however, to have wrangled a tiny smile back on her face. “Thank you for saying that.”

She folds her hand over the one resting on her thigh, giving it a squeeze that makes Harry’s heart swell.

“It’s the truth.”

“Still,” she says, “It’s really nice to hear.” She’s quiet for a few moments, her eyes slowly clearing from their troubled look as she regards him silently. “The same goes for you, y’know? I know there’s someone out there for you too.”

Harry swallows, his throat suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight. Why did the focus turn to him? “I know.”

Her eyes are peering at him intently now, her own misery seemingly forgotten for a minute. “Do you, though? Because to be honest with you, Niall and I have been quite worried about you. You’ve been ignoring us lately and judging by the way you reek of booze you’re still drinking a lot. I thought you said you’d try and stop?”

The guilt about pushing them away that he had been desperately suppressing for months comes roaring back full force at that. She looks so disappointed in him that he can’t look her in the eyes any longer, shamefully dropping his gaze to where she’s still holding his hand.

“I know I did,” he says quietly, feeling tears prick at his eyes unexpectedly. “I just- I dunno. It’s just hard.”

He hates how pathetic he sounds, but when Y/N shuffles closer to him on the couch and pulls him into a hug, he doesn’t regret it quite as much. Her voice is gentle in her ear when she talks. “Harry, it’s okay if you need help. Maybe… maybe it could be good for you to see a therapist or something. I don’t know what’s been bothering you so much, but I hate to see you drinking yourself to sleep every night. And since you clearly don’t want to talk to me or Niall about it, I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

A tear does escape his eyes then, because she’s right, of course she is. He’s known this for quite a while in fact, but never before had it hurt so much as when she’d just confirmed it.

*

Harry bawls his eyes out during his first therapy session. He’s not proud of it, and he will take this secret to his grave, but he does feel sort of relieved afterwards.

There’s a list of tasks in his pocket, sort of like homework, that his therapist had handed to him. The woman had explained that he was to try and do all of the things on it before their next session in a couple days. He’s really not looking forward to completing them, having gone through enough repressed emotions in the past hour to last him a few months, but he supposes he doesn’t really have a choice.

He’d completely forgotten about the fact that Niall and Y/N had offered to take him out for ice cream afterwards, which is why he’s quite surprised to find them waiting for him.

“Hiya mate!” Niall greets, acting like he doesn’t see the red rings around his best mate’s eyes. “Took you long enough. Y/N and I almost went without ya.”

“Well. Thanks for waiting,” he says, having to clear his throat once to get it to work properly. When he glances at Y/N next, he catches her quickly morphing her tiny frown into a smile.

“No worries. Come on, there’s this new place nearby that sells that white chocolate flavour that I’ve been wanting to try. My treat!”

When they walk to the ice cream place, both of them do their best to distract him by talking about trivial things, like some sports game they’d been planning on watching and this new restaurant just down the road from Niall’s place. Harry is happy to just walk along and spend time with them, allowing himself to be distracted when they convince him to order the largest ice cream bowl possible.

He’s done his best to finish it all by himself, but after three quarters of it he has to shove it away or else he might throw up right there. He slumps down in the booth while she and Niall finish it off together, pleased smiles on their faces when they share a meaningful look. It reminds Harry of something his therapist said earlier.

“Hey,” he mumbles, flushing slightly when they both turn to look at him. “Can I ask a favour?”

“Of course,” Y/N says, clearly trying not to sound too eager, but her slightly wider than usual eyes betray her. It makes Harry’s heart grow in size to know that he can still count on them after how badly he has treated them.

“Could you both drive by my place after this? My therapist told me to get rid of all the alcohol and I don’t really feel like throwing it out if either of you wanna have it.”

Y/N’s eyes soften considerably. “Yes, of course we can do that. Right, Niall?”

“Hell yeah. Anything, man.”

Harry nods gratefully. He might just be able to do this.

*

Harry has to give credit to how well both Y/N and Niall manage to keep a straight face when they’re confronted with his alcohol stash later that afternoon. They pack bottle after bottle of liquor in boxes and move them to their cars, not once showing how shocked they must undoubtedly be at the size of his collection. He knows it’s immense. He’s actually feeling quite embarrassed about it, but their unwavering support is helping.

“Any more?” Niall asks, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from carrying a heavy box down the stairs just now. When Harry shakes his head, he can spot the relief in his mate’s features. “Alrighty, then. I’m gonna head off, if you don’t mind. There’s a crap load of dishes with my name on it waiting for me at home.”

“‘Course I don’t mind,” Harry says, playfully nudging Niall’s shoulder. “You’ve been a great help today.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Niall replies, pulling Harry into a quick hug that he gladly reciprocates. “Besides, you’re still coming over on Tuesday to help me set up my new bed, right?”

“I will, yeah,” Harry confirms, pulling away from the hug with a smile. He’s looking forward to spending more time with him again and he knows he’s going to need as much distractions from drinking as he can get. Putting together a bed from Ikea should be enough to get him through an otherwise challenging evening. “See you then.”

“You better. Bye, handsome!” Niall calls over his shoulder while he skips down the stairs, making Harry’s smile grow. He turns around and heads back inside, not having to search long before he finds Y/N in his kitchen. She’s also getting ready to leave, the final bottle of bourbon situated next to her bag while she shrugs on her coat.

“I’m afraid I have to leave too,” she apologizes, zipping herself up before she double checks her pockets for her phone and keys. “I’m meeting my lawyer in an hour and I still need to search for some documents. Who knew getting divorced was so much paperwork?”

Her chuckle is wry, but Harry can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s not hurting as much as she used to anymore.

“Can’t say I have any experience with that,” he says, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded over his chest.

“Well, I don’t recommend it,” she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing the booze before she turns to him. “But anyway, it should be done soon. Hopefully this whole ordeal will be behind me in a few days.”

“‘M glad. Any other day I’d say we should go out and celebrate when it’s all finalized but that may not be the best idea.”

Y/N smiles apologetically. “Maybe not, no. But, I’d love to do something fun instead, like go bowling. You up for that?”

Harry grins. “Absolutely. Sounds like a plan.”

“Great! That’s settled then,” she smiles, stepping closer to wrap him up in a tight hug. Harry’s arms wind around her back gratefully, his nose brushing through the hairs at her temple. “Oh and Harry, if you need a distraction or just want somebody to talk to, just give me a call, yeah? I’m only a few taps away.”

Harry nods, his chest constricting with emotion. “Thanks. I’ll try.”

“Good,” she says, giving him an extra squeeze before stepping back. “I’m gonna get going now. See you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, following her towards his front door and seeing her out. “Thanks again for your help.”

Y/N surprises him by leaning in and kissing his cheek, her soft lips imprinting themselves on his skin and leaving a burning sensation.

“My pleasure.”

And then with a grin and a wave, she’s skipping down the stairs, leaving him feeling as giddy as a teenager with a massive crush, his heart flipping in his chest.

*

One of the tasks on his list, is to write down his feelings in a letter.

This letter is supposed to have a therapeutic effect on him, he supposes, or else his therapist wouldn’t have told him to write it. He’s struggling with it though, because it feels like doing homework the first two times that he tries it and he just can’t seem to get into it. So when he returns to her practice with only a few nonsensical lines scribbled down, she urges him to give it another try. She tells him to address it to Y/N, and to write what he would most like for her to know about him. Why he did the things he did. What he hopes would happen next. She even goes as far as telling him to imagine that if he should die tomorrow, which things would he most regret never saying to her.

It’s enough to make him cry again, but the words flow out of his pen effortlessly after that. Page after page of thoughts and feelings are scribbled down on a notepad, cute memories and funny anecdotes mixed with confessions and secrets that he never means for anyone to know about. He’s pretty sure he could write a whole novel about his feelings for her, but after hours of writing his hand begins to cramp and the numbers on his phone inform him that he only has a handful of hours left to sleep. So he finishes off his letter with a hopeful flourish and carefully tucks the papers into an envelope. He even writes her name on the front of it before he stuffs it in a drawer and turns in for the night, dreaming of her.

*

The letter comes out of his drawer again only a few days later, when he has to take it in to his next therapy session. The woman doesn’t make him read any of it out loud, but she does ask him to describe what he wrote, encouraging him to talk about how it made him feel to imagine saying these things to Y/N’s face. He’s surprised to admit that after getting all that stuff off his chest, the ever-present urge to forget (read: have a drink) has lessened considerably.

*

Despite doing a lot better than before, it’s not like Harry doesn’t have any hard days. The evenings in particular have proven to be the hardest part of his day, since he can distract himself with work and dinner until around 7.30 pm. After that, he would usually settle on his couch with a beer and some telly or go out to the pub, but now he can do neither of those things. So, he tries to come up with tasks to fulfill during the evenings.

He does his laundry, goes grocery shopping, meets with his friends or family for coffee or a movie. His house has never been quite so clean before and he can’t think of a time when he’d found ironing his clothes to be even half as relaxing as he does now.

But he can only clean his apartment so many times before he realizes he’s dusting off cabinets that haven’t had the time to accumulate any dust since he last went over them. Or that he’s run out of clothes to iron and is seriously considering moving on to his socks and tea towels instead.

Harry eyes the glass sitting on his coffee table with distrust, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. He really tried to distract himself tonight.

It had been one of those nights where he’d felt especially restless. Work had been more stressful than previous days, with a few deadlines coming together all at once and the flu going around, meaning he’d had to take over some tasks he wasn’t familiar with. As soon as he’d come home that evening, he’d known he would struggle. He’d delayed making dinner until his stomach was growling so loudly he simply needed to eat something. And he took his time doing the dishes and wiping down the already spotless counters, before hopping in the shower and giving himself a thorough scrub down. It had bought him some time, but it was still early when he found himself sitting on his sofa with nothing to do. Even flicking through the channels on the telly proved to be a challenge with the astounding number of alcohol related advertisements that he had to endure.

He tried texting and calling a few people, but everyone was either busy or not answering their phone and Harry was growing more and more restless. He doesn’t really know when he’d decided to go to the store, but suddenly he found himself back in his apartment pouring whiskey in a glass, the addictive smell twirling up into his nostrils and making his head swim.

In a panic, he’d called Y/N again, and when she didn’t answer for the third time that night, he’d decided to leave her a voicemail. For good measure, he sent her and Niall a text as well, asking them to please call as soon as they see it because he could feel himself slipping.

That is how he finds himself sitting on his sofa, trying with all his might not to give in to the temptation that’s currently making a ring of condensation in his wooden coffee table. His leg is bouncing, grip so tight he’s nearly crushing his phone to pieces. Every minute he tries to delay the act of reaching for his drink, is another chance for someone to call him back. So he waits. And waits. He just doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to postpone the inevitable.

*

Y/N is just making herself a cup of tea when her phone buzzes loudly where she’s just hooked it up to her charger. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa and hadn’t remembered to charge it right after she’d come home from a long shift at work. She didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but the notifications on her home screen make her rethink that immediately. Right on top of the pile of missed calls and voicemails, there was a text from Harry that made her heart stop.

Y/N please call me I’m begging you

Cursing out loud, she quickly pulls up his contact and dials his number, pacing up and down her tiny kitchen while it connects. It only rings once before he picks up.

“Oh fucking- Thank god,” he exhales into the receiver, sounding panicky and overwhelmed all at once. “I’m so glad you called.”

“Harry what’s going on?”

“I am so close to drinking, I swear to god,” he moans, “Please come over here before I do something stupid.”

Y/N’s skin prickles when she realizes why he sounds so distressed, hurrying to stuff her feet into some slippers and grabbing her keys. “Okay, okay, I’m coming. You at home?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Harry sighs. He’s quiet for a moment while Y/N exits her building, rushing down the front steps and getting into her car. It’s when she’s buckling herself in that he talks again. “There’s a bottle of whiskey on my coffee table.”

Y/N freezes with her hand on the ignition. “How come?”

“I went out and bought it, didn’t I?” he says, sounding incredibly annoyed with himself. “Fuck.”

“Alright, okay. That’s not so bad. I mean, it’s closed right?”

“Erm…not anymore.”

Y/N has to force herself to take a deep breath before she says something stupid. “Did you drink any?”

“Not yet, which is why you need to come over,” Harry whines. “It’s just sitting on my coffee table in a glass but it smells so freaking good, Y/N.”

“You poured it? Oh god, yeah, alright. I’m leaving now, okay? Why don’t you go to your room or something and listen to some music until I’m there? Get out of that room for a bit.”

“Can’t you stay on the phone with me?” Harry pleads, already standing up from the sofa and walking towards his room to do as she suggested. It’s so much easier to listen to her telling him what to do than to move on his own volition.

“I have to drive, but I’ll be there before you know it. Have you listened to that new EP yet that Niall recommended yesterday? The guy’s supposed to be this incredible songwriter and he’s coming to London later this year. Why don’t you see if you like his music, hmm? We could get tickets to go see him, if he gets your stamp of approval.”

Harry’s heart warms at just how well she actually knows him. There’s a soft smile on his face when he closes the bedroom door behind his back, crawling into his bed. He tugs the fluffy duvet up around his neck and lays down on his side, hiding away from the temptations in his living room. “Okay.”

The shuffling sounds must have transferred through the phone, because there’s a knowing hum from the other end of the line. “You’re in bed already, aren’t you?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good job, love. I’m hanging up now, see you in a bit.”

Harry can’t help but grin at the term of endearment. “Bye.”

“Bye, H. Go listen to some music.”

*

The front door is open a crack when Y/N arrives at Harry’s place roughly fifteen minutes later. She doesn’t worry about taking off her shoes and coat before she makes her way into the living room, finding the bottle and glass indeed sitting on his table as he’d explained. At first glance, it doesn’t look like he drank much if anything at all, which calms her down some.

In contrast to this front door, his bedroom is closed, which Y/N thinks is a good thing. There’s no reply when she knocks, but when she peeks into his dark room, there’s clearly somebody bundled up beneath the duvet. She flicks the light on, watching how Harry’s head peeks out from between the covers with squinted eyes. As he pulls the headphones from his ears, Y/N can’t help but grin at how cute he looks like this.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, shooting her a soft smile before he grimaces. “I’m sorry I’m being such a bother.”

“I’m sorry for not answering my phone,” Y/N counters, raising a pointed eyebrow at him before morphing her face into a smile. “But I’m glad you called. That was a good choice.”

Harry hums, clearly not convinced. He pushes himself into an upright position, running a tired hand through his hair with a sigh. “I hate that I’m so dependent on someone else to tell me what to do,” he admits as he pushes the duvet off himself. “Like, I just sat there without moving for a good hour, I think. But every time I tried to get up I just couldn’t get myself to do it.”

Y/N doesn’t like how negative he’s thinking right now, so she motions for him to get up. “C’mon.”

Harry eyes her for a moment before he’s slipping from the bed, his shirt rucked up on his hip and showing part of his fern leaf tattoo. Y/N leads him to the living room, picking up the glass and pressing it into his hand. Harry’s eyes are wide as he looks down on the tempting brown liquid, inhaling shakily. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything. You, however, are going to pour every last drop down the drain.”

Y/N sounds resolute, and when Harry meets her eyes, he knows that he’s not going to get out of doing this. So instead he nods meekly, moving towards the kitchen while she follows behind him with the bottle. The smell is even worse when he dumps the contents of the glass in the sink, his nostrils flaring. God, he can’t believe how pathetically addicted he still is.

“Good,” Y/N encourages, squeezing his shoulder where she’s standing next to him, watching his face carefully. “Now this.”

She holds the bottle out to him and he hesitantly takes it, his hands shaking when he unscrews the cap for the second time that night. It physically pains him to hold the bottle upside down and watch everything flow away, so he tries to focus on her palm where it’s still laying on his shoulder instead. Her touch is comforting, as it has always been for him.

After the last drop has trickled down the drain, his shoulders slump forward and a deep sigh escapes him. That really wasn’t fun, but it’s made more bearable by the fact that she presses a kiss to his cheek as soon as he’s done.

“Well done, H. Now, maybe we can do some dishes to get rid of the smell. Have you got any dirty ones?”

Harry shakes his head, placing the bottle next to sink and turning to face her. “No, I already did them tonight. Was trying to distract myself, y’know?”

“Oh. Well, in that case, why don’t you just wash this glass and then your hands? Some soap down the drain should do the trick.”

Harry does as she says without hesitation, washing and drying the glass before putting it away in his cabinet. After doing the same with his hands, he finds that Y/N has opened a few windows in the meantime, both in the kitchen and in his living room.

“To get rid of the smell,” she explains shortly, surprising him when she thrusts his jacket in his hands. “It can air out a bit while we go for a walk to do the same.”

Harry doesn’t know where he’d be without her.

*

During their walk, Harry tries to explain why he went out and bought booze in the first place. He tells her about the stressful day at work and about how restless he was when he got home. How his hands itched to have something to do but how he’d run out of ideas and found himself walking down to the corner shop.

Y/N listens intently, occasionally asking questions but there’s never any judgement in her voice. She praises him for calling people and trying to think of things to take his mind off it, but they don’t really settle the doubts his has in his own abilities to take care of himself when he’s alone. It’s not like he can live his life relying on other people for his own wellbeing.

“Why don’t you ask your therapist for tips? I’m sure she has some ideas,” Y/N suggests when they turn back onto his street.

“I already did. She told me to find a hobby, but that’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“You could go to the gym in the evenings.”

“I do sometimes, but I also want to be able to just be at home, y’know? Work can be tiring and then I really don’t feel like sweating it out.”

“Mhmm,” Y/N hums when they enter Harry’s building, trying to come up with something that might be able to help him take his mind off things. “What about reading? Or knitting?”

Harry shoots her a look. “I’m not knitting.”

“Well, reading then? I could recommend you some good books.”

He shrugs, beginning the climb up the two flights of stairs to his flat. “Maybe. Can’t say I’ve come across any good ones recently.”

“Maybe you just shouldn’t be so picky,” Y/N grumbles, which earns her a poke in her ribs. “It’s true! When was the last time you bought vegetables without checking them extensively for spots first?”

Harry can’t deny that one. “Alright, fine. Why don’t you send me a few recommendations then, if you’re so keen on it?”

They bicker playfully until they’re back inside his flat, a cool breeze welcoming them due to the opened windows. Harry makes his way through the kitchen and living room to close them, pleased to discover that any remnants of the penetrating smell have cleared away while they were out.

And as he shrugs his jacket down his arms, he realizes that he feels ten times better than he has all day.

*

The next evening, both Y/N and Niall come over to his place claiming that they have missed his couch, but Harry knows for a fact that Y/N has the comfiest one between the three of them. Which means he’s not sure why they insisted on coming here, a bit weary that they might actually scold him for the previous night.

So when he opens the door that evening, he’s more prepared for a stern talking-to than for the guitar case that’s pressed into his hand.

“What’s this?” he wonders out loud when he lets them in, observing the shiny, black case with confusion.

“A gift,” Niall says, kicking off his shoes and haphazardly throwing his coat onto a hook. The Irishman is grinning widely when he ushers all three of them towards the living room. “I heard you could use a new hobby.”

“You… you got me a guitar?” Harry asks, awe colouring his voice. He sets the case down on his coffee table before he takes a seat on the edge of his sofa.

Y/N settles next to him, smirking proudly and patting his knee. Harry tries not to let it affect him. “Why don’t you look for yourself?”

So Harry does, opening the brand new case and finding a beautiful acoustic guitar that makes his stomach fizzle in excitement. He used to play a bit when he was younger, but it had faded to the background when he got busy with school and working at the bakery. It’s hard to imagine that he’s been able to go without playing for so long now that he finally has a guitar in his hands again, though.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, running his palm along the neck and curling his fingers towards the strings, strumming once. The sound makes his cheeks dimple. “This is incredible. Which brand is it?”

“Gibson,” Niall says, cackling when Harry’s head whips around so fast he almost breaks his neck. “Relax, mate, it’s a fake one. A friend of mine got his hands on it a while back thinking it was the real deal. It works though, and he assured me it was good quality.”

Harry stares at the instrument in his lap some more before he turns to look at his friends. “I can’t believe you bought me a guitar.”

Niall and Y/N share a proud look. “It’s no big deal Harry,” Y/N says, playfully bumping his upper arm. “We’re happy to do it. I was actually quite surprised to find out you know how to play.”

“Yeah, I had lessons when I was younger,” he says. “But I don’t know if I remember much, to be honest.”

“Well, why don’t you try and play us something?”

“Yes, Harold. Show us what you got. Rock our socks off and all that.”

Harry beams. And proceeds to play until his fingers hurt.

*

The next time Harry finds himself with restless hands, he reaches for the guitar and scours the internet for instructional videos to refresh his memory. After only a few nights, he’s already rehearsing some of his favourite songs, proudly showing off to Niall and Y/N the next time they come over. He’s loving it so much that even the cabinets begin to gather some dust again.

At one of his next sessions, his therapist tells him that he’s headed in the right direction, and Harry is inclined to believe her.

*

*One year later*

“Harry is it okay if I use your room for a bit?” Y/N asks, pointing at the phone in her hand. “It’s too noisy out here to talk.”

“Yeah, course,” he smiles, before quickly turning back to his conversation with Perrie, the fiancé of his new neighbour Zayn. Harry has organized a little get together for some close friends and family to celebrate the fact that he’s been sober for over a year. He’s pleased to find everybody mingling and chatting, occasionally bopping along to the background music. There’s no alcohol of course, but it doesn’t seem to deter people from having a great time.

When Perrie gets whisked away by someone else, he takes a moment to look around and ponder. All these people that are here tonight, he cares about them. More than he could possibly put into words. Each in their own way has helped him somehow, some a bit more than others, but all of them have contributed in his journey to get his life back on track. And he couldn’t be more grateful, which he makes sure to tell them from time to time.

He’s feeling all warm and fuzzy when he watches Niall laugh with his sister - probably at his expense, he realizes - or when he sees that Mitch, one of his guitar friends, is immersed in a deep conversation with a girl from the local coffee place he befriended. It’s a nice mix, even if he says so himself.

He’s no longer required to go see a therapist, but he still makes sure to visit her at least once a month. He’s grown to appreciate their conversations a lot, especially since she’s still the only one that knows about his feelings for Y/N. Well, her and his mother.

Harry hadn’t gotten away with withholding that particular piece of information from her, not after how worried she’d been that he’d drink himself into a ditch. The fear and agony that he’d put her through required an explanation, she’d said, and if there was anyone who deserved to know why her baby was hurting, it was her. So, he’d told her everything. And she’d held him like only a mother could while he cried into her shoulder.

She’d been understanding, and helpful. She’d even encouraged him to sit down with Y/N to talk about all of it, especially since she was now divorced and not seeing anybody. But Harry felt like that wasn’t an option, because it was still early in his recovery process and he wasn’t sure how he would react if she’d reject him. He simply couldn’t risk getting back into that self-destructive mode, even if it meant not ever telling her. From now on, he was going to put his own wellbeing first.

He had to admit that it helped a little bit that Y/N had been and currently still was unattached during all of it, which meant he was saved the pain of having to see her with somebody else. He was especially not looking forward to the moment when she’d inevitably introduce her newest love interest to him in the future, but well. He couldn’t imagine her staying alone for much longer. She was simply too amazing.

His eyes search for her automatically, frowning when he can’t find her until he remembers she’s on the phone. He’s saved from being bored, however, by Niall plopping his guitar in his lap. “Let’s hear that new tune you were talking about the other day. What’s it called again?”

“Fireproof. But it’s not finished yet.”

“I don’t care, if it’s even half as good as that Happily song, I’m signing you up for the x-factor tomorrow.”

*

Harry is halfway through his rendition of You’re Still The One by Shania Twain, everybody gathered around him and singing along, when Y/N appears in the doorway between his hall and the living room. She’s right in his line of sight, visible through the gap between his mother and Zayn, and her face is as white as a sheet.

Harry falters instantly, already frowning before his eyes land on the pieces of paper and the envelope in her hands. The envelope. The one that she was never supposed to see.

His hands still, the words caught in his throat as he stares at her. Panic grips him, his chest constricting to the point where it hurts to take a breath. He vaguely registers that everyone is looking at him strangely, but there’s a buzzing in his ears that drowns out any noise.

Her eyes are red as if she’s been crying, her hands shaking around the sheets that hold his deepest secrets. Harry feels like his body has been turned inside out, like he’s been cut open and she holds his heart in her trembling hands.

The buzzing in his ears subsides a little bit when nothing happens right away, enough for Niall’s voice to break through the haze. “Harry? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

But Harry cannot for the life of him produce words, so he rises to his feet and leaves his guitar in his place as he pushes through his circle of friends. He’s only partially aware of all their eyes burning in his back as he cautiously approaches Y/N.

Her eyes are sad when she finally looks up at him and Harry feels like he’s entered his worst nightmare.

“Is this… Is it true?” she mumbles wetly, bottom lip wobbling dangerously. “Am I the reason you… that you…”

Harry’s own eyes fill with tears when he realizes what she’s trying to ask. Am I the reason you’re an alcoholic?

“No,” he says gruffly, shaking his head resolutely from side to side. “No, absolutely not. None of it is your fault. Do you hear me? You’ve done nothing but help me.”

Silent tears trickle down her cheeks, but she doesn’t move to wipe them away. “But you- you said you started drinking after I got m-married. How can you say it’s not my fault?”

Never in his life did Harry think he would have to have this conversation, and certainly not like this. How can she not see that she is the one who saved him?

“Love,” he whispers without thinking, flushing when he realizes just how loaded that term has become all of a sudden. “I didn’t start drinking because you got married,” he continues, powering on when she opens her mouth to interrupt. “I started because I didn’t know how to deal with...with my feelings for you. There were so many other things I could’ve done -- should’ve done -- but I chose to turn to alcohol. I did that. Not you. It was never your fault. Please believe me when I say that.”

His voice cracks in his last sentence, pleading her with his entire being to believe him. He won’t allow her to think that she’s the cause of his near self-destruction. Never in a million years.

Her eyes flick between his, nervous and uncertain. He knows he must be wide-eyed too with how anxious he’s feeling, his knees shaking so badly that he’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed yet.

After what feels like an eternity, she suddenly barrels into his chest with a sob, her arms winding tightly around his middle and the papers crinkling against his back. It kickstarts him into action, his own arms coming around her back and shoulders to pull her closer. He can’t stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks, the rush of emotions finally catching up to him, it seems. God, how good it feels to hold her right now.

She cries against his shoulder with ugly sobs, his hands rubbing circles on her back while he sniffles quietly himself. He’s not sure how long he stands there for when he realizes how quiet it’s gone behind him. When he glances a look over his shoulder, only his mum and Niall are still in the living room, which means they must’ve ushered the others towards the kitchen.

His mum’s eyes are wet as well, and Niall doesn’t seem too happy either. Unfortunately for Harry, this means that there’s no chance the others haven’t heard as well. His secret’s out.

He watches how his mum steps towards them and motions towards his bedroom door, quietly suggesting that they go in there. Her and Niall will take care of the rest.

Harry nods, gently nudging his nose against her temple. “C’mon, let’s talk in my room. Just you and me, yeah? I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

He keeps an arm around her shoulders while they shuffle down the hall, pulling her back into his chest again the moment they’ve slipped inside his bedroom. The envelope and letter drop to the floor when she pulls him in tighter, her shoulders expanding with a deep breath before she slumps forward again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers, still tucked into his chest. Harry swallows deeply, trying to pick the right words to explain his hesitation.

“I tried a few times, in the beginning. Way before you got married,” he says, softly clearing his throat. “I thought I was being obvious, actually, but you never seemed to catch on. And then you met Joshua, and I remember how happy you were with him,” he sighs, his heart aching at the memory of seeing them together for the first time. “And there was no way I was going to ruin that for you. So, I figured that when it ended, I’d try telling you again… but then you got married and everything suddenly felt like it was falling apart around me.”

No matter how much it hurts him to recount that particular time in his life, it sort of feels like a relief to be able to tell her about it. It’s cathartic in a way.

Harry remembers hearing the priest say “please speak up now or forever hold your peace”, and how he’d decided then and there that he would do anything to keep her happy. He wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he’d ruined a perfectly good relationship for selfish reasons. And though he still stands by that, he can’t help but wonder if it might’ve saved her some heartbreak in the end, with her now being divorced and all.

“I hate to say it, but it does explain a lot of your behaviour,” she says, pulling back to wipe at her cheeks before she makes eye contact with him. “You were so closed off all of a sudden. Niall and I could barely get through to you anymore, we had no idea what was going on.”

“I know,” he mumbles, ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry. I guess I thought that if I stayed away from you, my feelings would go away. I know it’s stupid, I just… it hurt to be around you sometimes.”

His voice grows impossibly small towards the end, his eyes drifting down to his toes. He feels absolutely pathetic, but she deserves to know the truth.

*

Y/N lets his words sit in her brain for a moment, mulling them over while she searches his face. His skin is pale and his eyes are red, the pain and vulnerability he’s feeling showing on his face. With a little hitch of breath, she realizes this is probably the most open he’s been with her in years.

She hadn’t meant to go through his things. She was just looking for a piece of paper and a pen, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through it before moving on to the next. The envelope was right there, her name written in his loopy handwriting on the front and a thick wad of paper inside. Confused, she’d put it aside while she finished her phone call, scribbling the phone number down on the back of a chinese menu instead.

After hanging up, she picked up the envelope again, turning it around in her hand and wondering what it could be. It was addressed to her, which meant he was planning on giving it to her, right? At least, that’s how she reasoned with herself when she opened the flap.

She was only a few sentences in when she realized that he definitely hadn’t meant to give it to her, but she was too shocked at what she found to stop.

The more she read, the quicker the tears started coming. All his feelings, all his thoughts were explained on these few pieces of paper and they all revolved around her. She read how he described her as the love of his life, how his feelings for her had lead to his drinking when she announced she was getting married. How much it had hurt him. How much she had hurt him.

The worst thing, though, was that she’d had absolutely no idea.

But when she looks at him now, at the tear tracks on his cheeks and the vulnerable, blazing look in his sad, green eyes, she wonders how she could’ve possibly missed it.

“Harry?”

“Yes?” he whispers, his hands trembling where they’re wrought together. He tries to look prepared for anything, she can tell, but the shaky breaths he’s taking tell a different story.

“Are you still in love with me?”

A single tear slides down the pale skin of his cheek, his lips pressing tightly together to stop him from sobbing out loud. “Yes.”

Y/N nods slowly, still trying to process everything that she has learned tonight. She’s very overwhelmed and wants nothing more than to take a minute to think, but she can’t leave Harry like this. Not when he’s this vulnerable.

“I’m not quite sure how I’m feeling right now,” she admits, placing both hands on his shoulders and seeking his gaze. “I’m sorry, I know this is probably not what you want to hear.”

Harry grimaces, shaking his head. “It’s okay, I understand. It’s a lot, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/N sighs, feeling very conflicted. On one hand, she really doesn’t want to leave, but on the other, she’s proper aching to get some fresh air. “Can you… Will you give me some time to process this?”

Harry nods quickly. “Yeah, of course,” he breathes, licking his lips nervously. “Could you… I just need to know if we can still be friends after tonight.”

He looks so scared to lose her, that she has no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into another hug.

“‘M not going anywhere. I promise.”

His forehead falls to her neck with a sniffle, his arms snug around her waist. A shaky exhale passes over her neck. “Thank you.”

Y/N very nearly starts crying again before she manages to pull back, taking a deep breath to gather herself a bit. Who would’ve thought her night would pan out like this?

“Will you be okay when I leave?” she asks gently, placing a hand on his bicep. It’s pretty clear that she’s referring to something other than the tears pricking at his eyes.

“I will,” he says with a nod, forcing a tiny smile. “Mum and Niall are still here, I think.”

“Okay,” she whispers, giving his arm one last squeeze before she’s reaching for the door. “I promise we’ll talk soon.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And with that, she opens the door and slips out of his room. Harry can hear her talking quietly to what are presumably his mother and best mate, but he doesn’t listen. Instead, he flops down onto his bed and runs both hands down his face, realizing that there’s nothing he can do now but wait.

*

Y/N is grateful that Niall offers to drive her home, ‘cause she doesn’t think she would’ve been able to keep her car on the road. He’s unusually silent during the drive there, which Y/N appreciates. There’s so much on her mind that she doesn’t think she’d even be able to explain it to him if he asked.

When they pull up to her place, however, he does speak up.

“Want me to come in with you?”

It’s a kind offer, truly, but Y/N just needs to be alone for a while. “No thanks, I’ll manage.”

“Are you sure? You don’t seem very... okay to me.”

Y/N huffs in annoyance. The words are tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them. “You’re right, Niall, I’m not okay. How can I be, when one of my best friends -- somebody that I’ve known since we were kids -- just confessed to me that he’s been in love with me forever? That his feelings for me were the root of his drinking problem that had the both of us worried for years that we were going to lose him,” she rants, fresh tears pricking at her eyes. “So, no! I’m not okay. But I really want to be alone for a while to try and process all of this. So thank you for your offer, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just leave me alone for a bit.”

Niall nods meekly, not putting up any more of a fight when she gets out of his car and hurries to her front door. She quickly slips inside, not even bothering to flick the lights on when she makes a beeline for her bedroom. Her clothes are shedded on the way, the articles forming a trail straight to her bed, where she rolls herself up like a burrito in her duvet.

It takes a long while before she calms down enough to fall asleep, her mind occupied with sad eyes and tearful confessions that follow her into her dreams.

*

Y/N is happy that the next day is a saturday, because she’s not capable of doing anything even remotely productive. She keeps repeating the words in that letter to herself, putting together some missing puzzle pieces when she realizes that her quest to start a family had caused Harry to fall into a downward spiral. The more she thinks about the past, the more things are slowly explained to her. She understands now why Harry never really came round to hers while she was with Joshua, instead preferring to be the host. How he’d never really asked about him either or invited him over.

It goes so far that when she thinks back on their younger years, she realizes with a start that he actually had hinted at it sometimes. She can vaguely recall a snog in a closet at a party and a movie he’d taken her to, that same hopeful look in his eyes as he’d had last night.

God, she’s an idiot, really. How could she have been so blind this whole time?

She orders a pizza and settles on her couch, attempting to watch some Friends episodes, but her mind keeps wandering. Soon enough, she begins to question how she actually feels about Harry. There’s no doubt in her mind that she loves him as a friend, that she cares deeply for him. What she doesn’t know, is if she maybe likes him as more than a friend.

All evening she spends pondering it, trying to come up with reasons why she does or doesn’t love him like that. If she takes a step back, she comes to the conclusion that personality-wise, Harry is probably her ideal guy. He’s sweet and caring, gives great hugs and laughs at her poor attempts of jokes. She has the best time with him whenever they’re together and he’s proven to be someone she can fall back on if she needs to. He’s reliable like that. Which makes her draw the conclusion that his personality is not the problem here.

Really the only thing that’s important then, is if she’s physically attracted to him. But that question proves to be a lot harder to answer. She simply doesn’t know.

All this time she’d seen him as a friend, a very good one. Yes, there had been times when she wondered what it would be like to kiss him only to be reminded of the fact that he never seemed to be looking for anything serious. He’d been having one night stands for as long as she’d known him, with only a handful of short flings that hadn’t really turned into more than what they started as. At least, that’s what she figured since he’d never introduced her to anyone.

She also couldn’t deny that he looked good. He was strong and had a handsome face with a beautiful head of hair. There was no denying he was attractive, but was she attracted to him? Was there a spark between them that she had ignored all this time?

Y/N worries about it for a long while, even after she’d turned in for bed and was laying curled up underneath her covers.

No matter how hard she tries, though, she can’t manage to fall asleep. After hours of tossing and turning, she decides to get out of bed. Her first stop is the kitchen, where she makes herself a cup of tea, before she settles on the living room carpet, her back against the couch and her feet curled into the rug.

It doesn’t take long before she makes a conclusion that sort of surprises her. Her tea nearly spills all over her lap when she shoots up before she puts it away safely on the little table. Then, she’s rising to her feet and tucking her feet into a pair of slippers, wrapping her coat around her shoulders and leaving the house with her keys held securely in her hand.

There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

*

Harry has only just managed to fall asleep when his doorbell rings and startles him awake. For a moment, he thinks he must’ve imagined it, but then he hears the door of his guest room opening and the telltale shuffle of his mother’s slippers coming closer. She offered to stay the weekend with him after everything that happened the day before. Harry had accepted her offer immediately, thankful to not be alone quite yet. He’s halfway out of bed when she peeks around his door, her hair mussed with sleep and her eyes bleary.

“You’re not expecting anyone, are you?” she mumbles, opening the door wider when she sees he’s up already. Harry shakes his head, quickly pulling a pair of sweats up his legs.

“I’ll go see who it is,” he replies softly, cursing quietly when the doorbell rings again, “Bloody hell, ‘m coming.”

He stumbles out of his room and to the front door, checking to see who it is through the peephole like his mother had taught him to. He sort of wishes he hadn’t, though.

Because it’s her. Of course, it’s her.

Harry closes his eyes and drops his head against the back of the door, hand frozen on the knob. Just seeing her makes his heart jitter nervously, his adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.

“Harry?” his mother whispers, taking a step closer from where she’s a few feet away, “Who is it?”

Harry can’t answer her, not when his throat is clogged up like this, so he just shakes his head minutely and works on undoing the locks. He swings the door open slowly, his breath catching in his throat when he sees her, much sooner than he was expecting. He didn’t think she’d be ready to talk for at least a week, but now she’s here already and looking so serious and he can’t breathe.

“Hi,” he squeaks, shooting her an awkward smile. The next thing he knows, she’s stepping closer, her gentle hands coming up to frame his face. He’s frozen in shock when she leans in and plants her lips on his, a soft, sure pressure that instantly eases the tension in his bones.

Their first kiss is short, way too short. Her lips are gone before he can blink, his hands hovering between them where they were on their way to her waist. But then they return and Harry grasps the opportunity with both hands -- literally and figuratively.

He kisses her like he’s starving, exhaling heavily through his nose as he molds their lips together. She sucks on his bottom lip, pecking and tasting as she guides his face whichever way she wants. He goes willingly, of course, so stupidly in love with her that he’d follow her anywhere.

He feels dizzy when her tongue teases at the seam of his lips, his mouth opening without a second thought. Their tongues twist together seamlessly, stroking and tasting and feeling each other out. Harry’s body is tingling from head to toe, his hands clutching desperately onto her waist.

If anyone would ask, he’d say that this was the greatest moment of his life.

Unfortunately, though, there’s been a thought in the back of his mind since the very first touch of their lips and it’s been making his stomach churn. So he tugs at her wrists to remove her hands from his face, his eyes staying closed as their mouths separate with a slick noise.

“Please,” he whispers, voice loaded with emotion, “Don’t kiss me just because you pity me.” His eyes open to plead with her. “I don’t think I could handle it.”

Her laboured breaths are washing across his chin from how close their faces still are, her eyes bright and flickering between his. “I’m not,” she assures him, “I’m really not.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They fall quiet again, Harry’s heart still racing in his chest. A door closes softly behind them, pulling them out of the little bubble they’d found themselves in.

“What’s that?” Y/N wonders, peeking around him to try and find the source of the noise. Harry scratches bashfully at the back of his neck.

“My mum,” he explains, his cheeks flushing when she smiles fondly at him, “She offered to stay over after, uhm… y’know.”

Y/N is smiling so wide that her eyes crinkle cutely. “That’s nice of her,” she says, twisting her hands that are still in his grip until she can give them a squeeze. “I’m glad you didn’t have to be alone.”

“Me too,” he admits, before a cold breeze brings out the goosebumps on his arms and he realizes they’re still standing in the doorway. “D’you, erm… Wanna come in?”

Y/N nods happily. “Yes, please.”

So Harry steps aside to let her in, locking the door again before he heads into the kitchen, Y/N hot on his heels. His hands shake a little bit while he prepares two cups of tea, still a little bit in shock from previous events. Judging by the way her feet shuffle against the tiles of his floor, he’s not the only one that’s feeling a bit restless.

“Sorry for waking you up. And your mum, too.”

“It’s fine,” he says, before he turns around to face her and takes a deep breath, “I have to admit I don’t mind if it means I get to kiss you like that.”

He’s pleased to find that his admission makes her smile. “It was a good one, wasn’t it?”

Harry hums, before sighing wistfully. “Yeah.”

Y/N’s smile morphs into a grin when she catches him licking his lips, but only for a moment before she turns serious and clears her throat. “You know that feeling when you kiss someone and no matter how attractive you may find them, there’s just nothing there? No spark?”

“Well… yes,” he rasps, feeling like the floor has vanished from beneath his feet. Did he really read that moment by the door so terribly wrong?  

“Right. Well,” she continues, taking a few steps closer until she’s right in front of his face. Harry is helpless to avoid her beautiful eyes when they’re so close to his, not even when he wants the ground to swallow him up. The corner of her mouth curls up, her voice dropping to a whisper. “That kiss? It was absolutely nothing like that.”

“Oh my god,” Harry gasps in relief, clutching at his chest while he gapes at her in shock. “I… You- How could you do this to me?” His heart is positively racing, thumping loudly against his ribs. He chuckles dryly as he sinks to the floor, his back sliding against the kitchen cabinets until his bum meets the cold tiles and his legs flop uselessly in front of him. “Bloody hell, woman, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Delighted giggles reach his ears, his eyes finding the source of them in the person he’s been longing for for years. She’s leaning over him, bending down until she’s at his height and can kiss him sweetly. “Sorry, Haz,” she says, holding his chin with one hand as she slots their lips together again. “I couldn’t help it. Think you can forgive me?”

He hums against her lips, his long fingers winding around her wrist and thumbing over the little protruding bone at the underside. “Probably.” Her eyes are bright when she pulls back, only to be stopped by a little tug on her arm. “Sit down with me?”

Y/N lowers herself down beside him easily, her body pressed up against his flank as she shifts on the hard floor until she’s comfortable. Her hand is now held by both of his in his lap, his gaze dancing around her face and taking in every little detail.

“Can I be blunt with you for a moment?” he questions, voice wavering slightly.

“Of course,” she assures him, resting her free hand on his thigh closest to her. The contact warms him from deep within, like a soft, thick-knit blanket has fallen over him.

“I don’t know if you’ve thought about it or not, and I know everything happened only yesterday, so don’t feel bad if you don’t have an answer yet, but. Well. I’ve been in love with you for years so there’s nothing I want more than to jump right into it with you,” he says, bright, earnest eyes seeking out hers. “But all of this, it’s new for you, though, right?”

Y/N takes her bottom lip between her teeth before she nods, looking a little shy. “Yeah.”

Harry squeezes her hand. “Don’t be embarrassed. I was just wondering if you’ve spent some time thinking about it yet, s’all.”

“I’ve done nothing but think, it feels like,” she sighs, dropping her gaze to the floor as she tucks some hair behind her ear, “And I knew that -- in some way -- I loved you already. I just wasn’t sure if I loved you like that. If maybe I was in love with you.” Harry nods because he understands, he really does. “But after trying to use logical reasoning all goddamn day, I finally realized that I was not going to get any answers sitting at home. So I came here. And kissed you. ‘Cause I figured if there was something between you and me that I simply hadn’t seen before, a kiss would confirm that for me. And it did,” she chuckles breathily, shifting minutely closer. “Oh boy, it did.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s grin could split his cheeks.

“Mhmm,” she hums, sucking her lips between her teeth in an attempt to control her smile. “I mean, I don’t know how far it goes, but I definitely want to find out.”

She giggles when Harry leans in and presses their mouths together, one of his hands finding its way into the back of her hair. He kisses her like he’s dreamed about, taking his time exploring the give and feel of her lips before he even starts thinking about adding his tongue to the mix again.

The cold of the tiles seeps through his sweats, a knob or something alike digging uncomfortably in his back when she pushes up into him. He doesn’t care though, because she’s gasping quietly against his mouth, her grip tightening on his thigh.

There’s a lot of uncharted territory to be explored here, Harry realizes with a skip of his heart, but now is not the time. It’s late, his mum’s in his guest room undoubtedly trying to listen in, and his head’s spinning a little with how much his life has changed within the last twenty-four hours. So, instead of pursuing the tiny little moan she lets out when he caresses her tongue with his own, he slows down. The breaks between kisses get longer until they’re sharing simple pecks more than anything else.

After finishing making tea for the both of them, they move to the couch together and cuddle up close. They talk well into the early hours of the morning, until Harry nudges her towards his bedroom with a soft smile and a yawn. “Go get some sleep, yeah? I’ll still be here in the morning.”

She blinks at him tiredly before her mouth transforms into a pout. “Are you not gonna sleep in your bed?”

“Nah, love,” he says, pressing his lips to her cheek. He’s discovered that he likes kissing her cheeks and forehead more than he ever anticipated. “You take it. I’d feel a little weird sharing a bed with you for the first time when my mum’s right next door.”

Which is how he ends up sleeping on the sofa, longingly gazing at his closed bedroom door until his eyes grow heavy with sleep and he can’t stop them from slipping shut.

*

When Anne wakes up the next morning, she finds her youngest baby snoring softly on his sofa. His hair is a tousled mess upon his head and he’s drooling a bit on his pillow, but Anne can instantly tell he’s slept much better than the previous night. His shoulders are not as tense and the frown between his brows is absent, which relaxes Anne a bit. If he went to bed as content as he seems right now, at least his conversation with Y/N went okay.

Anne had hated seeing her baby so distraught after friday night. She was aware of the emotional turmoil he’d been going through for years concerning Y/N, but for Y/N to find out about it without him meaning her to had really taken a toll on him. He’d barely slept and had spent most of yesterday deep in thought, quiet and pensive as he cuddled her. Anne had tried a lot of things to take his mind off it, but her attempts had been mostly futile. The only thing that worked to get him out of his head had been a Skype call with his nephews and that wasn’t even something Anne deliberately tried, they just happened to call.

When Y/N had appeared on his doorstep in the middle of the night and kissed him, Anne was torn between cheering for him and pulling them apart. Of course she was happy for him if it turned out that Y/N wanted to be with him. In fact, she couldn’t be more ecstatic if that was really the case.

But something she was terribly afraid of, was that Y/N would only humor him because she liked the attention. Harry would no doubt shower her with affection if she’d let him and Anne was scared Y/N might take advantage of her son and leave him off even worse than when he was before. Y/N held his heart in her hands and Anne was terrified she’d be careless with it. Because it was one thing to be hopelessly in love with someone who’s unaware, but completely another to still be head over heels for this person only to know that they won’t ever feel the same.  

Anne reckons that if Y/N ever broke his heart, she would ruin him to the point of no return.

Still, no matter how much she may have wanted to, Anne couldn’t interfere when Y/N had kissed him last night. It was Harry’s life, so ultimately it wasn’t up to her to decide whether or not Y/N should’ve been allowed to kiss him without even a proper greeting. Besides, he was an adult who could make his own decisions, and he certainly hadn’t stopped her.

So Anne had retreated into her room, allowing the both of them their privacy. She’d prayed that this was a good sign and had climbed back in bed, only to wake up early the next morning, anxious to investigate.

A little sigh of relief escapes her at the realization that no matter how fast things may be changing in his life right now, he hadn’t fallen into bed with her right away. She knows how much he probably wants to, but knowing that Y/N’s visit last night wasn’t just about her getting laid calms her greatly.

Deciding she’s been staring at him sleep for long enough now, she opts to start on an elaborate breakfast. It seems like she’ll be politely asked to make the trip back home today, so she’s going to make the most of their time together while she still can.

*

Harry wakes to the smell of fresh toast and eggs, his lips curling into a smile before a yawn forces its way through instead. A glance at the clock tells him it’s still early, but judging by the noises from the kitchen his mother is already awake.

He knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep long, worrier that she is, so he drags himself upright and wanders into the kitchen.

“Mornin’,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He kisses her on the cheek when he sidles up to her, looking over the counter top to see what’s she’s decided to whip together this time.

“Morning, baby,” Anne replies, taking a long look at his face before she turns back to the stove. “Sleep well?”

“Mhmm,” Harry hums, yawning once more before he takes a deep breath. He can tell she’s bursting with questions, but he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t pretend to be oblivious for a bit. “You?”

“Fine. A bit short,” she admits, sending him another pointed glance that he thinks should push him to spill the beans. When he remains stoic, however, she decides to pry some more. “I see Y/N stayed over?”

Harry nods, turning away from her to grab a few plates and begin setting up the table. “She did.”

It’s quiet behind him while he continues setting up the table, raiding the fridge for its contents and making it the most elaborate breakfast he’s seen in a while. He really takes his time, testing his mother’s patience, until finally everything is set and he rejoins her at the stove.

This time it’s his turn to send her a pointed look. “Mum, you know you can just ask, right? I can tell you want to.”

Anne sighs, turning off the heat and facing her son with kind eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little worried, I guess. She did sort of drop by in the middle of the night and kissed you out of nowhere.”

Harry can’t stop the smile from spreading on his face at the memory. His mother doesn’t know that they kissed a lot more last night, but judging by the look in her eyes, he doesn’t really need to tell her anymore.

“It was good, though, mum,” he admits quietly, softening further when she reaches for his hand. “We talked too. She said she wanted to give it a serious try.”

“Oh honey, that’s great!” Anne says, truly happy for her son now that things seem to be progressing in the right direction. “I’m so happy for you.” She pulls him down into a hug that he greedily accepts, his body curving around her smaller one in familiarity. Although he’s much taller and broader than her now, when she has her arms around him like this he feels as small as he did when he was just a kid. “Why don’t you wake her up, huh? We’ll have breakfast the three of us and then I’ll leave you two to it, alright? ‘M sure you’ve got lots to talk about.”

“Thank you, mum. For staying,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple, “And making breakfast, of course. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

*

When Harry wakes from their nap a couple of hours later with Y/N curled into his chest, he feels like the happiest man on earth.

After a somewhat awkward breakfast (which was to be expected), he’d waved his mother off as she began her journey home, before the two of them had decided to go back to bed for a couple more hours. This time, Harry’d simply gathered his pillow from the sofa and lead her into his bedroom, where they cuddled up close and drifted off to sleep rather easily.

She’d not only occupied his bed, but his dreams too. Her soft, smiling face was everywhere, together with the sound of her laughter and the sensation of her lips on his. When he wakes, he doesn’t remember what the dream was about exactly, but he’s hit with an overwhelming amount of emotion in his chest.

Her hair smells like lavender where his nose is pressed against it, her body warm and soft beneath his arm. She snuffles once when he pulls her closer into his chest, her back arching before she goes boneless with a long exhale.

The slow rising and falling of her chest indicates that she’s still fast asleep, so Harry allows himself to take in this moment as fully as he can. There’s something incredibly soothing about laying next to her like this, knowing that he doesn’t have to hide anything from her anymore. She already knows. And the relief that comes with that knowledge is so great that a tear silently slips down his cheek. He feels like he’s finally allowed to exhale after years of holding his breath.

Yeah, he really can’t be blamed that it doesn’t stop at just the one tear. They slip soundlessly down his cheeks in the peace and quiet of his bedroom, disappearing into her hair and into the pillow that they’re sharing.

He lays with her for as long as he can, simply listening to her breathe and trying to wrap his head around the fact that this might become a familiar thing for them soon. It’s insane to think about, but her words are still fresh in his mind. They’re going to give it a go.

*

Harry is thriving. Every minute that he gets to spend with Y/N is a blessing, especially when it feels like they grow closer by the day.

After spending the rest of that sunday lounging around his flat, Y/N goes home at the end of the day, rightfully stating that they need to ease into it a bit. She can’t just jump head first into the unknown, needing some time to process things on her own. To get used to the idea of them. And although Harry might not want her to leave yet, he does understand where she’s coming from. So, they kiss goodbye on his doorstep and he watches her leave, a little disappointed, but that feeling is soon forgotten when they spend the rest of the evening texting silly things to each other.

The next day, Y/N invites him over for dinner. She cooks an elaborate meal and they enjoy the food with a few glasses of grape juice, a couple candles lit in between them on the table. Harry hasn’t often been so content to just play footsie with someone. They snog some more too, of course, like when they’re sitting on the couch after dinner and when he says goodbye in the hallway. Her hands winding through his hair make him shiver every single time, and he has to pinch himself to make sure that this is indeed his life now.

Come friday, a giddy smile still takes over his face at the smallest thought of her, but there’s also a sense of calm that has settled over him. That feeling that she might still change her mind fades with every text, every smile, every kiss that comes his way. There’s certainly a sense of security there that wasn’t present at the beginning of the week. He knows now that a few kisses and way too many lame jokes aren’t going to send her running for the hills.

They even talk a bit more about what was in the letter, and he gets the opportunity to explain some things he never had the chance to before. She’s nothing but encouraging and Harry couldn’t be more grateful. She does have a lot of questions though, which makes him a bit anxious, because what if she hears something she doesn’t like? Or something that seriously puts her off? What then?

He can’t go back to being just friends with her now. Not when he knows what he’d be missing.

For some reason, none of these things happen. Sure, she gets worried at some of his admissions, and sad too. She fights to will away the tears when he tells her about her own wedding but from his perspective. He doesn’t mean to make her upset, but she deserves to know every little thing there is to say about it.

When it feels like everything’s been said, she wraps him up in a tight hug, pulling him on top of her as she flattens out on the couch. They hold on tight and cry until they’re spent, and Harry’s never felt anything more cathartic.

Everything’s a little easier after that. She seems to understand him better, picks up on his moods quicker. She’s as caring and loving and attentive as always, but it just feels more intimate than before. Because she knows about his demons now and she’s still here. Despite all of them.

In return, Harry confides in her. He talks to her about everything, ranging from mundane everyday irritations to this deep-rooted fear that he might relapse in the future. She listens and holds his hand, tells him that she believes in him and that he’s capable of more than he gives himself credit for. And with her unwavering support by his side, he grows a little more secure both in himself and in them.

Which brings him where he is now.

It’s a saturday, three weeks since that night that changed his life, and he’s sitting at her kitchen table. He’s been observing her fondly while she prepares dinner for the both of them, chatting quietly about their days. She’s telling him about this colleague of hers that can’t stop stealing office supplies from everybody’s desks, stirring the sauce with one hand while the other holds the lid.

She’s dressed comfortably in a pair of yoga pants and a loose sweater, her hair still wet from her earlier shower. From where he’s sitting, Harry can tell she’s forgone a bra, her breasts just a touch lower on her chest. She looks incredibly soft and cuddly and he can’t stop himself from stepping up close behind her.

He inhales deeply with his nose pressed into her hair, his hands settling on her hips for a few moments before he winds his arms around her belly. She hums lowly, relaxing into his front with a sigh.

“Dinner‘s almost ready,” she says, putting down the ladle and covering up the pot with the lid. With her hands now free, she twists around in his arms, her own winding around his neck. Her eyes twinkle prettily when she grins up at him. “What are you smiling at?”

“Nothin’,” he grins, leaning down to nudge their noses together. “Just admiring you.”

She observes him for a moment, her eyes flicking across his face. It’s like she’s contemplating something, but Harry has no idea what. His eyebrows raise in question.

“Something on your mind?”

“Sort of,” she says, smiling softly at him. Her fingers play with the hairs at the back of his neck, scratching gently. “You have this look in your eyes right now and I’m just wondering how I’ve never noticed it before,” she says, her voice filled with awe. “You’re pretty obvious, y’know.”

Harry’s cheeks flush, his fingers twitching at her lower back. “I can try and tone it down a bit if you want.”

Her face scrunches up. “What? Why would you do that?”

Harry shrugs, bringing his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I understand if you’re not ready yet.”

“Ready for what?”

He tries to wordlessly communicate with her, sending her a pointed look that he hopes she’ll understand. He’s been trying to avoid having this conversation with her, at least for now, because they didn’t start at the same point. It will take some time before her feelings are anywhere near close to his and he doesn’t want to jinx it. Doesn’t want to overwhelm her and scare her away.

So, he’s been holding back. And clearly, she can tell.

“Harry,” she sighs, her hands relocating to the sides of his neck and drawing his gaze towards hers, “Ready for what?”

He swallows, feeling unusually nervous. Seems like he can’t avoid it any longer. “For me to tell you how much I love you.”

Her eyes soften considerably, a smile pulling at her lips. “Oh, Harry,” she sighs wistfully, cupping his jaws and thumbing at his cheeks, “Is that why you haven’t said it yet? Because you think I’m not ready to hear it?”

His eyes lower between them, heat colouring his cheeks. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he admits quietly, his own hands coming up to wrap around her wrists. He pulls her hands away from his face, holding them against his chest. “Y/N… you mean so much to me,” he says, unexpected tears pricking at his eyes. “I just- I love you. Of course, I do. But I don’t want you to feel pressured to say anything just because I do.”

Y/N huffs, her own eyes wet as well. “You’ve gotta be yourself, Harry. Especially if you want me to fall in love with you. How else am I gonna know I really love you?” Her tone is nearly scolding and it hits him right where it hurts. “You have to- I want you to be open with me. Honest. And believe it or not, but that includes you telling me whatever you wanna say, when you wanna say it. Regardless of whether or not you think I’m ready to hear it. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I -- okay, I will, just --” he concedes, really only worried about one thing, “Please promise me you will never say it unless you mean it. No matter how badly you think I need to hear it.”

“I promise,” she whispers, squeezing his hands, “If I know- when I know for sure that I love you, I will not hesitate to tell you. I won’t lie, and I won’t pretend. You can take my word for it, okay? I will never say those words if I don’t mean them with everything that I have.”

Harry blinks away tears, his head dropping to the top of her shoulder as he sniffles. “Okay. Thank you,” he whispers. Her fingers wind into his hair while her other arm wraps around his back, hugging him tightly to her body. She holds him until he calms down some, at which point he reluctantly removes himself from the perfect hiding spot.

She wastes no time in catching his lips in a kiss, buttoning their lips together a few times until he’s close to smiling again. “Silly boy.”

Any other day, he’d probably whine and pout at the remark, but his chest is filled to the brim with warmth. There’s really only one thing that he wants to say right now.  

“I love you. Wanna make out until dinner’s ready?”

She cackles, a bright grin taking up most of her face. “You absolute dork,” she giggles, before leaning in to kiss him again. Her expression moves into something much softer and fonder before she murmurs quietly against his lips, not wanting to lose their proximity. “Always.”

[johnny-and-dora]

as long as you come back home

"What?” He asks softly, like he's staring straight through her. “Nothing. I just...I never thought I’d have to get used to being apart from you.” “Me too. I guess I thought whenever I missed you, you were always going to be just the other side of my desk.”

or, the one where jake and amy talk about jake volunteering to stay with kevin in the safe house. (pre 5x12) read on ao3

Amy stirs gently from her sleep, her head still a little cloudy from another disorientating, half-waking dream. Her nights have been restless for the past few days, ever since Murphy called in Holt’s favour – and a slow, sleepy blink at her trusted alarm clock along with the moonlight pouring through the crack in the curtains tells her it’s the dead of night. 

She groans into her pillow, wishing herself back to sleep with every fibre of willpower she has left, but the tightness in her chest tells her there’s no use. The respite of the morning, knowing that Kevin is safe and well – and the sweet relief of highly caffeinated drinks – is still hours away.

She shifts a little in bed as her ears finally tune in to the familiar, light buzz of muted dialogue coming from the TV screen in the living room, and her brows furrow in hazy uncertainty. She rolls over to find the bed empty beside her and lets her stomach drop for a second before rational thought kicks in.

Slowly, movements laced with lethargy, she gets up, careful not to trip over one of Jake’s dirty laundry mountains (“C’mon, Ames, you love museums. Just think of them as art installations.”) Amy fumbles for her dressing gown and pads softly out of their bedroom like she’s still in a dream, drawn to the light of the TV screen like a moth – albeit a sleepy, still confused moth concerned for her fiancé’s wellbeing.

Wow, delirium-induced, moth related similes at two in the morning. Amy really needs to get some sleep.

“Jake?” She says in barely a whisper once she sees him slumped on the couch, and he turns his head to face her, hand nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. It’s still dark, despite the glow of the TV, and she didn’t think to reach for her old lady glasses so he’s slightly blurry – but he’s hers, and he’s home.

As she blinks he gives her a soft, warm smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the one where she can tell that he’s happy to see her but something’s quietly gnawing at him and he doesn’t quite know how to stop it.

(It’s a smile she, a little sadly, recognises – although whenever something was bothering him when they were first partners, she could never get anything out of him but sex tape jokes and terrible flirting. Luckily now she’s much better at getting him to open up without having to punch him first.)

(Not for the first time, she warms at the idea of telling a fresh faced, newly transferred Amy Santiago that someday she’d be engaged to marry the biggest pain in the ass in the precinct.)

“Did I wake you?” He whispers quietly, and she shakes her head. “No no, it’s fine. Are you okay?” “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” She moves towards him then, curling up next to him on the couch, head resting lazily against his chest. She feels the tension in his shoulders relax a little once she’s there and squeezes his hand tenderly.

In the secret language they’ve unconsciously created over the past eight years they’ve known each other, it means I’m here if you need me. They’ve done it in the deafening quiet of emergency rooms and before the nerve-racking tension of raids and after countless tragedies and during seemingly impossible problems, again and again, since before they were dating, since before they were even really friends.

Neither of them acknowledges it, but it’s a constant. A comfort, though they wouldn’t dare admit it back then. Another tiny declaration of love they make every day.

They stay like that for a while, silent apart from distant sounding sirens on the TV, breathing slow, heavy and rhythmic. The air feels weighted with a thousand what-if’s they’re both terrified to say out loud because it might make it true. Amy tries to focus on whatever old rerun of Serve and Protect that’s showing in the small hours, but her eyelids keep drooping and she can’t get her mind off Holt and Kevin, imagining the worst over and over again.

Over the rolling credits, Jake takes a deep, unusually shaky breath, eyes still fixed on the screen, hand still firmly in her grip - and Amy prepares for the worst.

“I think I have to volunteer to watch over Kevin in the safe house.” “Well, yeah. We all promised to help out-“ She says cautiously, stomach casually plummeting when he finally glances down at her and confirms her suspicions. “You know that’s not what I mean. I mean, just me.”

“Jake-“ She begins, but it comes out all wrong, like an exasperated, desperate sigh - and whatever argument was on her lips gets caught in her throat, so she just looks at him, and he smiles sadly.

“I know. But it’s my fault that Murphy is even after Kevin, and that Holt even made the deal with him in the first place. I have to make things right.” She tries to keep it together, hates knowing that he’s unfairly put that burden on his shoulders and she can’t carry it for him.

“You would be gone for months. Again.” “I would miss you like crazy – but it...it wouldn’t be like last time.”

“It feels like you only just came back to me.” She says, voice impossibly small, face half-buried in his grey T-shirt, mainly so she can avoid his gaze. She hates how vulnerable and how clingy she sounds, and knows really that she can’t stop him, but that doesn’t change the weight casually building in her chest at the threat of him leaving again.

“I know, Ames, and I’m sorry. I hate leaving you, so much you don’t even know - but I have to go. I owe Holt so much, and it’s not even about that. I just know I have to do the right thing. I can't just sit here when I know Kevin's in danger.”

And she knows, Amy knows that it’s not going to be like last time. She knows it’s not even going to come close to the hell that they’ve endured, crawled through, survived and come out the other side – more to the point, she knows he’s doing the right thing, keeping Kevin safe.

If their roles were reversed, if any of the squad and those they loved were in the same kind of danger, she would do the exact same thing.

She knows him well enough that he would be pacing around their apartment every night for a month, doing that adorable nervous thing with his hands when they almost fizzle with energy he can’t dissipate, hating for anyone else but him to be helping out. She knows that he feels responsible for it, for all of it, and nothing she or anyone can say will change his mind. She knows, because his stupid, damn stubbornness one of the reasons she fell in love with him.

His moral compass is relatively new, but she loves that too. She loves every part, every single piece, every inch of him, including the part that’s desperate to leave. And she wants to be angry, she wants to scream, to beg him to stay - but how can she? So she breathes, exhales long and heavy.

“I know you can't." She says, after a while. He raises an eyebrow, and Amy sighs again, desperate yet firm.

"Just...come home soon – and be safe, and come back all in one piece, otherwise I’ll kill you. We have a wedding to plan.” They exchange, sad, longing yet soft smiles, another million things she could say between them, but she doesn’t need to - he already knows.

He kisses the top of her head and she squeezes his hand, twice this time. I love you.

“I love you too. And I’ll call and text, and you can visit, and I swear, I’ll be home before you even know I was gone.”

He won’t be, of course. He’ll be gone for far too long, two months too long, and it’ll be hell on earth. But he’ll also come back to her, just like every single time she has before. They’ve gone up against far worse monsters than Murphy - six months of swampy witness protection hell, eight weeks of orange jumpsuits and willing to risk lives, risk careers, risk everything just for the chance to hear each other’s voice, to find a scrap of normality again.

And so help her God, when they catch Murphy, and they will, she’ll let every criminal in New York walk free before she lets Jake Peralta out of her sight again.

As if he can hear her, he laughs a little, in the cute familiar small way he exhales out of her nose she’s going to miss along with everything else, and she feels the rise and fall of his chest against hers like they’re one being intricately tangled together. She turns her head up to look at him, unable to stop at least a small smile from softening her face.

"What?” He asks softly, like he's staring straight through her. “Nothing. I just...I never thought I’d have to get used to being apart from you.” “Me too. I guess I thought whenever I missed you, you were always going to be just the other side of my desk.” That makes her smile, and she buries her head in his chest again. "I know. But I'm always going to be here." She says, poking where she can feel his heart steadily beating under his shirt, and he laughs.

"Damn, Santiago. Didn't know you could be so cheesy." "It's your fault for making me watch all those stupid rom-com movies." "C'mon, you love them! I swear you tear up every time." Amy sticks her tongue at him in childish retaliation and he laughs again, pulling her closer, and for a moment everything is right in the universe again.

She’s still heavy with the thought of being apart again, heavier and heavier at ever having to let him go - but the weight she’s carrying around - it’s different to last time. It’s lighter, and she’s full of just enough hope – and, for once when it comes to Jake, rational thought - to keep her afloat. This won’t last forever.

There’s a promise in intricate glinting silver that’s wrapped around her left ring finger that makes sure of that, and a quiet, determined, hardened resolve she didn’t have last time.

She draws a long, heavy breath, finally starting to drift off, diving into the last dregs of hope for a good night’s sleep, no longer restless with his arms wrapped protectively around her.

(And it’s two seemingly everlasting months later, when his hands are in her hair and hers on his waist and they’re both laughing, giddy as their lips brush and their foreheads touch and he’s really, properly actually here, he’s home, when she finally breathes out.)

[wereflamingo]

Self-Insert

My submission for the wolfstar introvert prompt: Internet Crush

Huge thanks to @nachodiablo and @mirgaxus for the beta and the support!

Summary: Remus and Sirius both write self-insert fics in the same fandom. One day Sirius asks to borrow Remus's OC for his new fic. What could he possibly be planning, and what is the mystery pairing he promised to introduce?

Read it here or on AO3

Padfoot was a very popular writer in the Double Trouble fandom. His OC, Orion, had long, sleek black hair, piercing grey eyes, and cheekbones that could cut glass. Orion liked to wear crop tops, leather jackets and combat boots, as well as numerous sassy pride pins. In some stories he just hung out with the prankster YouTuber twins, but usually he dated Fabian, the member of the duo who was rumored to be gay. The stories were filled with cheeky innuendo, and the occasional euphemistic sex scene. Truth be told, Remus had a bit of a crush on Orion - how could he not? He knew most of the readers did, because they said so, in all caps, in the comments section.

Remus also wrote fics in the Double Trouble fandom, under the nickname Moony, but he wasn't nearly as popular. His OC, Romulus, also usually dated Fabian, although in one fic it was Fabian's brother Gideon who was secretly gay and fell for the shy OC. Remus didn't describe Romulus's appearance much, only stating he had light brown hair and looked very average, but his best friend, Daisy, who appeared in all the stories, assured him he was totally cute. He did always mention Romulus's shyness, bookishness, and inexperience.

Romulus was just naturally uninterested in fooling around, focusing on finding The One. In some stories he'd never even kissed anyone. Remus felt like the story was cleaner that way, even though he himself had actually dated Lily, whom Daisy was based on, for two whole weeks.

Once, feeling brave, he decided to actually put his “relationship” with Lily in the story. It served as a way for Romulus to find out he didn’t like girls, because he was supposed to be attracted to her, but wasn't. Remus himself wasn’t actually sure he didn’t like girls, but he figured a totally gay character would be more relatable, as well as more attractive to a confident older guy like Fabian. He let Romulus feel confused for a while, just to make it interesting, before Fabian swept him off his feet and showed him how gay he actually was.

It was this story that got him his first comment from the one and only Padfoot.

Great story, man. I loved the confusion over Daisy and Fabian. Did you consider that Romulus might be bi or pan though? Not saying he has to be, just that while we all know Fab is hot enough turn any guy, even he can't put a guy off girls entirely if he's into them.

His heart beating fast, Remus wrote a reply: 

Haha, yeah. He could be bi. I mean Daisy's not the only girl in the world. But right now he obviously has a strong preference for men, and one especially. ;)

Thanks for commenting!

Over the next few months, Padfoot commented on all of Remus's fics, and on every new chapter of his WiP. He even followed Remus back on Tumblr, after months of Remus following him. Occasionally he messaged Remus, although the conversation usually fizzled quickly since Remus had no idea what to say. Remus consoled himself with Padfoot's frequent likes on his posts, which never failed to put a goofy grin on Remus’s face.

And then the fandom exploded. It came out that Fabian was dating Caradoc Dearborn, a popular and rather attractive game reviewer. Some fans were excited about the new ship, but others mourned, especially those whose OCs were paired with Fabian. Padfoot, however, announced on his blog that he was writing a new story, which was Fabidoc, and also contained a new pairing. Remus clicked like. Orion and Gideon would be hot together. A minute later, he was surprised to see a message from Padfoot.

padfoot hey moony

moony Hi?

padfoot what's up? listen i wanted to ask you smtg

moony Sure

padfoot can i borrow romulus for a story i'm working on? 

moony Er, sure. What for?

padfoot you'll see 

Unlike most of Padfoot's stories, the new story turned out to be a slow burn. It was an AU set in a college, and the first few chapters were mostly Fabian and Orion being flirty gossipy gay best friends, and Gideon being straight and exasperated. Caradoc showed up in chapter two, but only hung out with Gideon, barely giving Fabian a glance. There were some crazy plans cooked up by Orion and Fabian (with occasional input from Gideon, who just couldn't help himself) to get Caradoc's attention on Fabian, all failing spectacularly, but there was no love interest for Orion himself.

Remus was stalking Padfoot's face tag (he looked just like he described Orion, although Remus wondered if the eyes were photoshopped), when he received an email notification from AO3. "Padfoot just posted chapter 5 of The Moon to My Stars," it said. Excited, he clicked the link.

And there he was. Romulus was the cute hipster working in the library, described at length from his soft brown curls to his scuffed trainers. Orion only had time to ask his name before he had to dash, throwing one last wink at him, narrowly escaping a furious Gideon, whom he had locked in a bathroom stall so that Fabian could go meet Caradoc in his stead.

Remus thought false imprisonment, of a friend no less, was rather excessive just to get your friend a date. He was about to click the back button, disappointed, but his eye was drawn to the next paragraph, where Fabian was relating how Caradoc had recognized him immediately and saved him from trying to pretend to be Gid. Apparently Fabian was having second thoughts about the plan, because what do you know, some people don't want to start a relationship based on lies. He was extremely pleased that Caradoc  had recognized him, though, considering he and Gideon were identical twins and most people couldn't tell them apart. Remus thought it was very romantic, even though he himself had memorized the freckle patterns of both twins and could tell them apart easily.

The story rolled faster from there. In chapter six, Fabian refused to listen to any more plans. His new plan, to Orion's chagrin, was to stop playing around and be direct. It seemed to work for him, as he managed to make plans alone with Caradoc (which he insisted were not a date, because nobody said so directly, but obviously were). Orion, dragged away by Gid when he tried to spy on them, and then ditched in favor of football practice, wandered into the library, bored. Of course, there he met Romulus again. Remus thought the description of Romulus's laugh was a bit gratuitous, as was Orion's random stretching, like he didn't wear crop tops half the time anyway.

The chapter ended there, leaving Remus a little confused. Was Orion flirting with Romulus? Just then, he heard a pop sound. He had a message from Padfoot on Tumblr.

padfoot have you read my new chapter?

moony Yeah, just finished it, very cute Are we going to see Fab and Doc's date though?

padfoot nope orion's not there if he doesn't get to see it then neither do you

moony You can change POV just for that?

padfoot meh tbh they're a side pairing

moony What do you mean?

padfoot moony, do you want to maybe beta the next chapter? it's nearly done

moony Alright Are you going to answer my question? 

padfoot nope i'm sending you a google docs link in half an hour 

padfoot here: [link] 

moony Padfoot! 

padfoot moony! did you like it? 

moony Yes, but Isn't Orion basically you? 

padfoot yeah 

moony And you realize Romulus is me, right? 

padfoot lol yes i figured hoped 

moony So... 

padfoot so? 

moony So you paired our characters together in your fic 

padfoot yep! ^__^

moony Your gorgeous sexy OC and my dorky OC. 

padfoot rom's not dorky ok he's a little dorky, but in a cute way also thanks :D since we've established orion's actually me glad you think i'm gorgeous and sexy

moony Padfoot

padfoot because i've been trying to get your attention for months

moony Wait, what? Months? 

padfoot yes, months i've reblogged every one of your rare selfies i've commented on every chapter you posted i recced you on my blog and now i went and did this very nearly in public i mean anyone reading mtms knows where this is going but at least this chapter isn't posted on there so i could maybe i dunno abandon the fic if you don't like me back

moony What do you mean everyone knows where it's going? I didn't know where it was going! 

padfoot how?? they were obviously flirting i mean it's a fic they always get together in the end also it's called the moon to my stars ffs 

moony It wasn't obvious to me I mean I suspected but I wasn't sure 

padfoot oh my god and here i thought you p much hated me or weren't even reading because i'm boring or you think i'm a perv or smtg

moony Hey, I left kudos! 

padfoot yeah, back when i posted ch 1 i thought maybe you stopped reading 

moony No, definitely not Sorry, I just get anxious when I try to comment 

padfoot no no, i'm not trying to guilt you about not commenting that's totally fine 

moony Okay 

padfoot ffs moony, will you please put me out of my misery already? do you like me back or not?? 

moony You were the one who pointed out that I pretty much said I thought you were gorgeous and sexy 

padfoot okay but you could still hate my personality 

moony Is your personality like Orion's?

padfoot yes no he's the best of me and some of the not best too actually i make terrible decisions but they're amusing so i left that in but also we've been talking why do you need my oc to figure me out

moony I may have been a little star struck for most of our interactions You have tons of followers I have like five 

padfoot i don't believe that 

moony What, that I have five followers? Fine, I have 45. So many, aren't you amazed? Also your selfies are amazing and I'm a potato 

padfoot you are not look, i actually like you i really hope you can look past the fandom celeb and just see me 

moony Okay, I have an idea They have this date in chapter 8, right? Let's co write it Like, roleplay it 

padfoot moony are you asking me out on a date??? that’s the best idea i've ever heard 

moony Technically neither of us will be going out, but yeah, I guess I am? 

padfoot ooh we can do it on skype then we can dress up for it 

moony .... You just want to wear a crop top and fluster me, don't you? 

padfoot good idea but we'll be sitting down anyway so you won't see it i'll have to put on makeup and fluster you 

moony Okay we can talk about the details later, I gotta make a couple of corrections in your chapter 

moony Okay, all done 

padfoot yay! ^__^ 

padfoot er, moony? 

moony Yes? 

padfoot why are all your corrections related to rom checking out orion's butt? 

moony ^_____^

padfoot don't use my emoticon against me

moony You haven't finished reading yet, have you? Keep going

padfoot oh my god they kiss romulus kisses orion moony you are perfect i'm keeping you

moony Hehe Please do <3

And they lived happily ever after, and got a shout out in the next Double Trouble video because Padfoot's fans ratted them out. The End.

[jezevelle-blog]

MY APOLOGIES!

OUT OF CHARACTER SECTION

general.

NAME jezebel van gok

NICKNAME(S) gogh | when it has to do with the gangs ), belle | honestly, anyone. she loves the nickname ), jesse | her brother. only ) and gokie | her mother, but anyone can use it, she finds it cute )

AGE twenty-one | int. ) twenty-two | kr. )

BIRTHDAY 11th of february, 1996.

BIRTH PLACE seoul, south korea

NATIONALITY south korean

RACE/ETHNICITY asian

SEX female

GENDER cisfemale

PRONOUNS she / her / her

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION pan.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION pan

relationships.

PARENTS febuary gok | mother ) and gok kuhn | father )

SIBLINGS solomon gok | older brother ) and elijah ‘idris’ gok | older sister )

CLOSE FRIENDS … hi come plot with me~

ADVERSARIES … ^^. she doesn’t like the red sentinels, the members are fine but it’s what she’s been fed about them. not the biggest fan of the leader in her own gang, again, due to what she’s been fed.

LOVER(S) past — a girl called kim minji. ^^maybe plots??

physicality.

HEIGHT 5’5” inch. || 165 cm

WEIGHT 111 lb || 51 kg

BUILD thin, she works out regularly but has a hard time building muscle.

HAIR COLOUR naturally, her hair is a a very dark brown, she regularly add highlights.

EYE COLOUR black.

SHOE SIZE 240 | kr. ) 7 | us. )

appearance.

EYE SIGHT 20 / 20 vision.

BODY HAIR the second she hit eighteen, her sister and her mother all went for full body hair removals. it was a bonding experience.

COSMETIC highlights her hair, sometimes wears contacts and wears makeup when working, but not usually.

ENHANCEMENTS laser hair removal.

TATTOOS n/a

PIERCINGS left ear —standard lobe, upper lobe and double helix. right ear — standard and upper lobe, forward helix and tragus.

SCARS a scar just under her chin. story explained below.

MARKS n/a

ATTIRE usually casual and provocative. when working seriously, outside of stripping and prostitution, or at events she dresses formal.

personality.

ZODIAC aquarius

ALIGNMENT neutral, true

MYERS-BRIGGS  esfp-a

ENNEAGRAM the leader / helper.

TEMPERAMENT choleric phlegmatic blend

HOGWARTS HOUSE slytherin

ELEMENT air

ANIMAL owl

mentality.

SAVVIES people | reading them, pleasing them, the lot ), has a way with her words, improvising.

INEPTITUDE physical fights, accepting things, sticking to plans, speaking when she shouldn’t | there’s always something to say. ), honesty.

QUIRKS lying, sometimes she just needs to, knowing she can convince someone to believe her. if the average person blinks twenty times a minute, she blinks five. she’ll stare at anything and anyone, if something catches her eye, she won’t look away. if someone promises something, she won’t forget it. if they don’t live by their word, she remembers.

LURES pretty faces, weapons / toys, promises

MORALITY this is contradicting, but liars are bad in her book. she puts honesty up on a pedestal, it’s something she isn’t capable of, so when someone is fully capable of not lying, she reasons with them, even when they’re in the wrong.

PERCEPTION depends on the glass. a glass is never half / half, to every glass there is either slightly more water or slightly less. never both, she has learned this and always analyses and outweighs the lack or abundance of water.

IN CHARACTER SECTION.

biggest fear ?

“what is this? who are you?” with a tilt of her head, she went on. “i’m not going to tell you. i don’t fear nothing."

happiest memory ?

she didn’t understand. no emotion, no reaction. just another question. maybe she should respond. “my happiest memory?” she pondered the question. perhaps, she should use intimidation. “ah, yes — the first time a killed a man. that was exciting.” a grin grew on her face. “my brother guided me, i’ll never forget that moment, i truly admire him."

most embarrassing moment ?

nothing. she had just said her happiest memory was her first murder and now they wanted to know her most embarrassing moment? okay… maybe humour. "on my eighteenth birthday, i went to get laser hair removal, it was my first trip and i was shaking. at the time, i wasn’t very comfortable in my body so being naked in front of the very pretty and young woman that was going to be getting rid of my body hair, i was nervous. i ended up slipping and twisting my ankle.” she chuckled lightly. “i had to be taken to hospital. honestly, looking back at it, it’s not that bad but i was mortified at the time.”

love or lust ?

this was all over the place. she couldn’t understand. were these questions in a specific order? provoke them. “lust… i mean, the both of us know what my job is, yeah?” she ran her fingers through her hair, she winked before going on, almost purring. “i charge by the hour, and i offer special services, if you’re interested in ‘happy endings’…"

zombie apocalypse or alien invasion ?

no? she placed her hands on her thighs, leaning over a bit. “alien invasion. i’d fuck ‘em all dead.” she stared, her eyes squinting.

favourite musician ?

fine. she’ll just act as emotionless as them. “music’s never done much for me.” she shrugged her shoulders. “if i can dance to it, i’ll like it.”

rom-coms or horror ?

she couldn’t. she was usually so good at this, why didn’t she know how to respond correctly? “hm… horror. who’re these questions for, by the way? only me? i think most people associated with me and the things i do would pick horror."

biggest regret ?

her eyes flashed with slight alarm. no more asking questions, especially if they hit her with this. “regret?” she adjusted herself in her spot. “i don’t regret anything. this interview maybe?"

if you had to describe yourself as a colour, which one would it be and why ?

“not red — the colour of lust, power, anger. many people wold associate my personality traits with red, but i prefer purple.” maybe if she opened up, was honest. “i can’t deny that red is a very representative colour, but purple has blue hues. a colour that is sometimes compared to sadness — loneliness. so… purple.

what’s your earliest memory ?

“you see this scar?” she tilted her head back, pointing towards the scar under her chin. “i don’t remember how old i was, but i have no memories of being younger — around three, maybe? my parents were throwing me to each other in a swimming pool, when my sister decided to jump in while my mom was, like, throwing me, i guess. i hit the back of her head and… yeah. this happened.”

who’s a person that has made a large impression on you ?

two honest questions. this still confused her. an obvious lie, if they had been paying attention, they wold know the answer — or would have at least guessed. “i love bowie sung. she’s an admirable leader."

favourite season ?

no comment? ugh. “spring.”

most embarrassing moment ?

“again?” she crossed her arms. “no."

favourite christmas present ?

“the shit i buy myself.” she was over this. this wasn’t even fun anymore. when would it finish?

do you believe in love at first sight ?

“… of course not. love is something that must be developed. it can’t work otherwise."

are you a morning or night person ?

“night person, again, we both know my job right?”

family or friends ?

“family. my close friends are family anyway."

have you got a role model ?

from staring at the floor, she turned to look them in the eyes. “my brother."

have you ever had a pet and if so, what kind and what were they called ?

“yep. a rabbit. he was called cinnamon roll, one night we ended up eating him for dinner."

[newstfionline]

In a Pro-’Brexit’ Corner of Britain, Impatience to Be Done With It

By Katrin Bennhold, NY Times, Jan. 29, 2017

ROMFORD, England--At the greyhound track in Romford the mood is tense. “Think big,” one racecourse employee breathes into my ear, referring not to life in general but to dog No. 6, a muzzled male he reckons has a chance to win.

I watch as fellow bettors nibble on soggy fish and chips and study their betting cards, and as bookmakers write and rewrite the odds on their whiteboards. It is raining.

The scene could not be more English, and that is fitting: Romford is where wealthy London becomes not-so-wealthy Essex, a county that prides itself on its ancient Englishness--not the upper-class variety with clipped private school accents but that of “patriotic, hard-working people who might describe themselves as working class,” says Andrew Rosindell, the local member of Parliament, a Conservative.

Seven months after a referendum vote to leave the European Union, many in Romford also describe themselves as impatient.

There is impatience with Supreme Court judges, who last week affirmed a lower-court ruling that the government must seek the approval of Parliament before starting talks for the so-called Brexit. (“Enemies of the people,” one woman commented matter of factly, echoing a recent tabloid headline.)

And there is impatience with Prime Minister Theresa May, who outlined her vision of a clean break with the European Union this month and promised to begin exit negotiations in March, but is distrusted here because she once backed the campaign to remain in the bloc.

With 10 minutes to go until the first race of the night, the conversation at the greyhound track turns to Brexit.

“What is taking them so long?” one man laments.

“There will be an uprising if nothing comes to fruition,” another predicts darkly.

“Wait, we haven’t left yet?” a third asks. “But we voted out!”

Romford and the Borough of Havering were so eager for Brexit that the local council voted for it five months before everyone else--in a motion last January proposed by Lawrence Webb, the local representative of the anti-European U.K. Independence Party. A well-judged stunt: politically unbinding, widely mocked in the metropolitan press but a sign of things to come.

Earlier, Mr. Webb had picked me up from the train station. We strolled through Romford Market, immortalized in “Market Boy,” a play by David Eldridge. It is usually a bustling affair of 150 stalls and at least as many St. George’s crosses, he said, but in freezing temperatures it is rather more subdued.

Flanked by a modern shopping mall on one side and a 19th-century church on the other, the market has been in operation since 1247, a banner at its entrance claims. Under the Royal Charter granted by King Henry III, no other market is permitted to set up within a radius of six and two-thirds miles (apparently the distance a sheep can walk in a day). So old is Romford that the River Rom was named after the town, rather than the other way around.

But for all that proud tradition, Romford isn’t what it used to be, Mr. Webb says. People work harder than five years ago, but earn less. They worry about rising rents and their children’s education. They are concerned that recent immigrants from the European Union are jumping the line in getting public services.

I tell him that in central London some people are hoping for regrets among those who voted for Brexit, for a realization that leaving Europe would make everyone poorer, that it had all been a terrible mistake.

“Some of the people you meet at dinner parties in London have their head so deep up their backsides they can’t see the light of day,” Mr. Webb says. “I just got off the phone with a family evicted from their temporary accommodation after they lost their council house. Landlords are throwing people out. That’s what is happening.”

The Supreme Court decision last week has only deepened the distrust of “London elites,” he says. And if that ruling has revived hopes of slowing down or softening Brexit in the British capital, a mere 45-minute train ride southwest of here, in Romford people talk about speeding things up.

“The plan is to delay, delay, delay so they never have to go through with Brexit,” Mr. Webb says. Article 50, the legal procedure that, once triggered, sets off a two-year irreversible countdown for the divorce from the European Union, “could have been triggered on Day 1 if they were serious about leaving.”

Could there be an uprising, as some locals have predicted?

“No, the fight will be at the ballot box,” Mr. Webb says. “You watch,” he adds. “If the Conservatives betray the people again, it’s UKIP’s gain. That’s what happened in America.”

If people here have not been tempted too much by UKIP so far, it is in part because Mr. Rosindell, the local member of Parliament, is as nationalist and anti-European as anyone.

His office is in the Margaret Thatcher House, named after Britain’s first female prime minister, who once championed the common European market but toward the end of her career became a Euroskeptic, banging her handbag for effect. Mr. Rosindell recounts proudly how he once took an aging Mrs. Thatcher greyhound racing. (She had her picture taken with a dog that--unbeknown to her, one must assume--was called Tom Euro.)

“Welcome to the heartland of the Thatcherite ideal,” Mr. Rosindell beams when I step inside. “We value tradition, family, nation, the flag, heritage and monarchy.”

That went without saying. There are 44 British flags, or Union Jacks, in the hallway; six portraits of Mrs. Thatcher; three portraits of Queen Elizabeth II; and a bust of Winston Churchill. Buster, Mr. Rosindell’s Staffordshire bull terrier, a popular English breed, wears a Union Jack waistcoat. Even the rug on the floor is the British flag.

“Is that not disrespectful?” I ask as I wipe my muddy boots on it.

No, Mr. Rosindell says, it’s good to have a “sense of humor about these things.”

“We have Union Jack bikinis and Union Jack underpants,” he says cheerfully. It is a sign of “modern” patriotism, he says.

The bunting in his office is red, white and blue. “Why the French national colors?” I joke.

“They’re not French!”

“Russian?”

To be fair, he chuckles. Born in 1966, the year England won the World Cup (“A good year to be born, a good year to be English,” he says), Mr. Rosindell believes strongly that Britain should leave the European Union and that “anything that is seen to derail the process will be seen as a betrayal by the elites.”

In the nearby market, some stallholders count Mr. Rosindell as part of that elite. “Air Miles Andy,” they call him. Many say they do not bother voting anymore and went to the polling station for the Brexit referendum only because, for once, they felt their vote could make a difference.

“Choosing between Labour and Conservative is like choosing one disease over another,” says Steve Wickenden, Sticky to his friends, who sells meat next to a painted English flag with the slogan “Come on England.”

A father of three, Mr. Wickenden is not really worried about the dire economic consequences from Brexit he hears about on television. “You can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs,” he says. “We’ve broken the eggs. Now we need to make the omelet.”

Back at the greyhound track, the anticipation has been building for an hour. Finally the gates open, and a fake orange hare is sent whizzing along a rail on the outside boundary of the racing track at 33 miles an hour, six hounds in hot pursuit.

The noise level briefly rises. It is over in seconds. “A bit like sex,” one bookie comments.

The dog called Think Big came in second to last. No matter. People in Romford have had it with thinking big. Little England might be an insult elsewhere. Not here.

“Globalization, Europe, and where has that got us?” scoffs the bookie. “Nothing wrong with Little England.”