#(i think i wrote a fic where she came out of hell a teenager but i don't remember if i posted it or where it's saved lol)

[lovevalley45]

obviously i love olivia swann and her performance as astra logue really makes the character... however i still think abt how powerful astra would be if the version we got of her was not a power-hungry woman in her twenties and instead an unhinged teenage girl

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

All is bright

For Day 8 of @dbdaghostmas, here's a fluffy little Christmas fic set in the Undead Boy Detectives AU. For anyone who hasn't read the first fic in the series, this one works fine as a standalone. Everything you need to know is in the author's note. You can either read it below or here on AO3.

Prompt: AU

Rating: T

Word count: 3.5K

Relationships: pre-Edwin/Charles

Summary: On their first Christmas after coming back to life, Edwin and Charles try to surprise each other by making their favorite holiday dishes, with mixed results.

***

“This cannot possibly be right.” Edwin stares down at the meatballs he’s attempting to cook for Christmas dinner, which look nothing like the picture Crystal showed him on her phone. They look more like the bloody, burnt detritus left by souls trying to escape the river of boiling blood in the Violence level of Hell than anything someone should eat. “Crystal, there is something wrong with that recipe you showed me. These look abysmal.”

“What’s wrong is that the recipe isn’t for cooking meatballs on a hot plate,” Crystal says. “Whoever wrote it expected you to have a stove.”

Edwin sniffs and prods at one of the meatballs. It wobbles distressingly. “It’s hardly my fault you didn’t bother renting a room with a proper kitchen.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. When I rented this room months ago for what I thought would be a few days, I didn’t think I needed to worry about an undead teenage boy trying to make meatballs on my hot plate.”

“Don’t call me undead. It makes me sound like I’m about to start devouring brains.”

She leans over to look into the pot, grimacing. “You know, they have frozen meatballs you can just heat up in the microwave. They won’t even give us all food poisoning.”

“It’s Christmas,” Edwin snaps. “Charles’s mother always used to prepare spaghetti and meatballs on Christmas. He speaks of it often. I doubt that Mrs. Rowland purchased frozen meatballs and microwaved them.”

“Yeah, but she probably knew how to cook the meatballs, which is why it wasn’t food poisoning that killed Charles.”

“The spaghetti turned out fine.” Edwin glances over at the colander full of spaghetti in the sink, which is properly cooked and doesn’t look like it needs immediate medical attention.

“Sure. I hope Charles likes his spaghetti crunchy.”

Edwin rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “If you are such an expert, why don’t you help?”

“Oh, no.” She takes a step back. “I told you, I’ve never cooked anything more advanced than microwavable ramen. My parents hired people to do that for us. Don’t give me that look. Did you ever step foot in your kitchen back in Victorian times, or did you have servants to do that for you?”

“I’ll have you know, I heated myself up some milk once,” Edwin says primly, leaving out the part where he burnt himself and splashed milk all over the place, earning himself a lifetime ban from the kitchen from the unamused cook.

“Wow, a real man of the people,” she deadpans. “I have almond milk in the fridge if you want to serve Charles that for Christmas dinner.”

“How’s it going?” Niko asks in a sing-song voice as she swans into Crystal’s flat.

“They just need a bit more time.” Edwin glares at Crystal, daring her to contradict him.

She takes him up on the dare, the beastly girl. “What they need is a time machine so Edwin could do everything differently.”

“I’m sure they’re—oh.” Niko’s face falls when she spots the meatballs. “You want us to eat those?”

Edwin has rarely suffered such a betrayal. “The recipe Crystal gave me was clearly defective.”

“Obviously,” Crystal says.

“Every year on Christmas, Charles talks about his mother’s spaghetti and meatballs,” Edwin says. “Since we’re alive and most likely won’t be come next Christmas, I’m going to make sure that he has the best Christmas I can give him.”

In the weeks since they came back to life upon their return from Hell, Edwin has slowly readjusted to this new existence of theirs. He’s only walked into a wall while expecting to phase through it once in the past week, which is a vast improvement. He’s even getting used to having to eat and sleep on a regular basis, helped by the fact that he falls asleep listening to Charles’s lovely, familiar voice every night.

Charles, on the other hand, has thrown himself into this second life with gusto. Every good night’s sleep, every snack, every morning feeling the sun on his face (not that there’s much sunlight to be had in Port Townsend in December) is like a little victory for him. Edwin already worries what it will do to Charles, who he recently learned is far less sanguine about his untimely death than Edwin always assumed, when this brief second life is over. So while they’re alive, he’s determined to make everything as perfect as possible for him.

Hence the spaghetti and meatballs.

“Maybe if we cover it, they’ll cook more evenly?” Niko suggests helpfully.

“Or maybe we chuck the whole thing in the trash and order pizza,” Crystal suggests, less helpfully.

“Good thinking, Niko.” Edwin places the lid on the pot. “I am so glad that one of you—”

A shrill wail fills the air. Edwin flinches and slaps his hands over his ears, but it barely muffles the sound.

“The fire alarm,” Crystal shouts, turning an accusing look on Edwin.

“There is no fire!” Edwin jerks his chin at the pot of meatballs, which at least have a lack of fire to recommend them.

“Oh no.” Niko’s eyes go wide. “Charles was doing something in Jenny’s kitchen.”

“What?” Edwin and Crystal demand at the same time. Jenny has been very clear that she “doesn’t do holiday bullshit” and she’d rather face Esther Finch’s giant snake than endure any festivities. She told them all she would be spending the day holed up alone in her flat and that she didn’t want to be disturbed. But if anyone was going to finagle their way into her kitchen, it would of course be Charles.

Her kitchen, which is now apparently on fire.

“Charles!” Edwin turns and races out of Crystal’s room and up the stairs, ignoring Crystal’s shout behind him. Charles is alive and flammable, with lungs that could easily fill with smoke, choking all the air out of him. For the thousandth time in the past few weeks, Edwin curses the frailty of the human body. If Charles is hurt…

He bursts into Jenny’s flat without knocking and finds the smell of something burnt heavy in the air. “Charles!” he shouts again, rushing into the kitchen.

“Mother fucker !” Jenny is currently waving a dish towel at the wailing smoke alarm while a sheepish-looking Charles perches on the counter to pry the window over the sink open. There don’t appear to be any flames, but a cookie sheet filled with burnt, blackened lumps.

“What on earth?” Edwin demands as the smoke alarm’s infernal shrieking finally goes silent.

“Fuck.” Charles leaps down from the counter, grimacing. “Sorry, Jenny. Not sure what happened.”

“What happened,” Jenny hisses. “Is that you hit the broil button and not the bake button.”

“Oh.” Charles looks gobsmacked. “There’s a difference?”

She points to the cookie sheet. “Obviously. When I told you you could use my kitchen, I thought I didn’t have to specify that I didn’t want you to nearly set a fire!”

“I didn’t set it on fire! Just a bit of smoke, is all.”

Crystal and Niko come rushing into the kitchen. “Are you okay?” Niko demands.

“Wow, yes, everyone please come in,” Jenny says. “On this day where I specifically said I wanted to be left alone.”

Crystal ignores her. “What happened?”

“Guess there’s a difference between baking and broiling something, isn’t there?” Charles says a little helplessly.

“There is?” Crystal asks and Edwin realizes he made a grave mistake asking her for her assistance with the meatballs. Not that he knows what broiling means.

“What are these supposed to be?”Niko peers at the blackened lumps.

Charles smiles ruefully. “I was trying to roast chestnuts.”

“Why would you do that?” As far as Edwin knows, roasted chestnuts fell out of vogue long before Charles was born, which he’s always thought was a shame. They were a pleasant treat on holidays.

“Because you once said you liked them, mate,” Charles says.

Edwin blinks. He cannot ever recall discussing roasted chestnuts with Charles.

Seeing his confusion, Charles says, “First Christmas we spent together, remember? We talked about how we would have spent the day, if we were still alive. You said you’d be eating roasted chestnuts and plum pudding.”

“How did you remember that?” Edwin vaguely recalls the conversation, one of many they had about their lives during their first year together. Eventually, the conversations petered out. Perhaps foolishly, Edwin assumed it was because Charles was growing accustomed to his death. Now, he wonders if the subject became too painful as the years went on and Charles realized his life was truly lost forever.

Charles shrugs. “Try to remember things that you like, don’t I? I wanted you to have a proper Christmas, like you would have had back when you were alive before.”

Edwin’s throat suddenly feels tight. How is he supposed to not be in love with Charles Rowland when he goes around remembering a single conversation that they had over three decades ago? And all because he wanted to give Edwin the kind of Christmas he would have had when he was alive back in the 1900s? As if any of those Christmases were an improvement over the ones he’s spent with Charles in their office.

“Jenny wouldn’t let me roast a pheasant,” Charles says.

“Absolutely fucking right I’m not letting you roast a pheasant,” Jenny snaps. “You couldn’t manage roasted chestnuts and plum pudding without nearly burning my building down. Again.”

“Oi, I wasn’t even on this plane last time your building nearly burned down. I was in Hell!”

“Is that what this is?” Crystal points at a pot on the stove, face screwed up in disgust. “Plum pudding?”

Edwin takes a look and shudders. Bits of grayish sludge bob on top of the water.

“Right, I can explain,” Charles says. “The recipe called for putting the pudding into pudding tins and standing them on a trivet over a pot of boiling water. Only problem is that Jenny doesn’t have a pudding tin or a trivet—”

“No, I don’t have a pudding tin,” Jenny snaps. “I’m not Mary fucking Berry.”

“So I thought I’d just put the pudding in a bread tin and let it float in the water. Except, it didn’t float. So now it’s more like pudding-flavored water. Might still be edible, yeah?”

“No,” Crystal and Jenny say at the same time before Edwin can be convinced to eat pudding-flavored water in order to spare Charles’s feelings. 

Edwin feels his lips tugging into a hesitant smile. “Charles, you didn’t need to do all this. I know plum puddings and roasted chestnuts aren’t exactly features of a modern Christmas.”

“Yeah, but they were features of your Christmases, and you deserve to have the Christmas you want,” Charles says. “Sorry, mate. I tried.”

Jenny claps her hands, interrupting Edwin’s reply. “Okay, this has been very sweet, but could you two gaze lovingly at each other elsewhere? I’d like to get back to—”

From downstairs, another alarm starts to blare and Edwin remembers the meatballs. “Oh, blast.”

***

Edwin gazes sadly at what’s left of the meatballs, coated in film from Jenny’s fire extinguisher. Even before the fire extinguisher, he doubts there was anything edible about them.

Charles takes a fistful of cold spaghetti from the colander and shoves it in his mouth, grinning. “Cheers, mate. Just like Mum used to make.”

Edwin gives him a withering look, which just makes Charles grin harder.

“Jesus Christ.” Jenny blows out a breath. “I’m ordering Chinese. No one try to cook anything while I'm gone."

***

“This is how I spend every Christmas,” Jenny says later as they gather in her living room, eating directly from takeaway containers. “Eating Chinese food and watching whatever shitty movie is on TV.”

“Alone?” Niko gives her a sad look.

“Yes, alone.” Jenny’s tone goes snappish. “And I’m fine with that, Niko, so don’t try to pull a Hallmark Christmas movie on me. I don’t need to learn the meaning of Christmas. Christmas is about selling more ham and pot roast than I do at any other time of the year.”

“What is a Hallmark Christmas movie?” Edwin asks, which makes Crystal and Jenny groan and Niko beam at him.

After much arguing over the remote and Jenny reminding everyone that this is her apartment and she paid for dinner, they’re watching an attractive couple strolling hand and hand past a display of Christmas lights while the woman says they just don’t have lights like this in Chicago. Edwin has never been to Chicago, but given its size compared to the small town the couple appear to be in, he finds that doubtful.

The food is quite good, at least. Edwin is enjoying his orange chicken immensely while Charles declares his lo mein “almost as good as my mum’s spaghetti.” Most importantly, no one seems to be at risk of getting food poisoning. Niko makes a big deal out of everyone opening their fortune cookies, though Edwin thinks she should have learned her lesson from the cursed magic 8 ball. His fortune says, “Big changes are coming. Embrace them.”

“I hope not,” he says, showing Charles his fortune. “I just came back to life. That’s quite enough change for me.”

“What you’ve always wanted is right in front of you,” Charles reads aloud from his own fortune, before stealing a piece of Edwin’s orange chicken. Through a mouthful of chicken, he says, “Fortune was right, mate. Incredible.”

Edwin rolls his eyes and steals some of Charles’s lo mein in retribution, which just makes Charles laugh.

On the screen, the attractive couple are standing in front of yet another display of Christmas lights while a blandly good-looking man is arguing with the young woman, apparently trying to convince her to come back to “the real world” while a small crowd gathers around them to shake their heads and stare at the man disapprovingly.

“I’d still take this over the Point No Point light show.” Jenny gestures at the TV with her chopsticks. “There aren’t any crying babies and people I knew in high school who won't stop trying to catch up.”

“Point No Point has a light show?” Edwin asks, interest piqued.

“Yeah, but it’s the same stupid displays every year and the same people who want to spend their Christmas overpaying for hot chocolate and jostling with hundreds of other people to see the same displays they saw last year.”

“We could go.” Crystal sets aside her container of fried rice. “We’ve never seen the lights here. It could be fun.”

Jenny looks skeptical, but Niko squeals in delight.

“That’s how me and Edwin spend our Christmases back home. Walking around and seeing all the different lights. Right, mate?” Charles nudges Edwin. “Edwin loves Christmas lights.”

Edwin nods eagerly.

Jenny looks around at all of them with an expression of someone who already knows she’s lost this war. “ Fine. Let me get my coat.”

***

“Dagfinn must hate this,” Charles says cheerfully as they look out across the bay, where the Point No Point lighthouse is festooned with lights, the beacon at its top flashing red and green.

“I imagine so,” Edwin says, since this appears to be the opposite of the solitude the cranky ghost craves. Their little group is surrounded by other people enjoying the view of the lighthouse, with parents hoisting children on their shoulders for a better vantage point and smiling families taking pictures together in front of the lights.

Edwin, who doesn’t normally care for crowds, finds himself unbothered by the crush of people. The lights are lovely as they reflect on the waters of the peaceful bay, which seems mercifully free of sea monsters. With a cup of overpriced hot chocolate cradled in his gloved hands and his breath misting in the air in front of him, he feels something approaching contentment. It’s hard to worry about this second life and what it means when the night is glowing with colorful lights and he’s surrounded by his friends.

“You really like lights, don’t you, Edwin?” Niko asks. “You always used to stare at the cow in Jenny’s shop before Esther blew it up.”

“I liked that cow,” Jenny grumbles, though there’s little rancor in it. She’s sipping on her own overpriced hot chocolate, which seems to have improved her mood.

“I’ve always enjoyed Christmas lights,” Edwin tells Niko. “When I returned from Hell, it was almost Christmas. I remember seeing the lights everywhere and knowing that I was truly free, that I wasn’t going back.”

She smiles a little sadly at that and squeezes his arm. “You’re not going back. Not again.”

Edwin returns her smile, wishing he had her certainty. “Come along, there are more lights to see. I believe that’s a giant seagull up ahead.”

“Oh, a giant seagull!” Looking delighted, Niko grabs Crystal by the hand and drags her away. Jenny follows them, not looking half as exasperated as she seems to be trying to appear.

Charles lingers with Edwin, looking painfully adorable with his face flushed from the cold and his curls sticking out from under the red hat pulled low over his ears. He’s already drunk all his hot chocolate and has the paper cup crumpled up in his hand, tearing little bits off of it.

“You never told me that,” he says, rolling a bit of paper between his fingers. “About coming back from Hell.”

Edwin shrugs. “You’ve seen it. There’s nothing beautiful or decorative down there. You forget things like that can exist if you spend enough time there.” His gaze lingers on the curve of Charles’s lips and the glint of his earring.

Charles bumps his shoulder against Edwin’s lightly. “I’m sorry about the pudding and the chestnut, mates.”

Edwin huffs out a laugh. “Charles, you don’t need to apologize.”

“I made a right mess of things, didn’t I? Just wanted to give you a proper Christmas.”

“This is a proper Christmas.” Edwin gestures at the lights, at the hot chocolate, and at Crystal, Niko, and Jenny, who are up ahead, admiring a display of lights in the shape of a giant seagull about to swoop down on someone’s lunch.

“Not like they were back in your day,” Charles says, sounding genuinely contrite.

“No, because my day was 1916. I won’t pretend that I don’t miss things about those days, but I find the world much improved since then. There’s no world war, for one.” Edwin hesitates, then adds, “And I didn’t have you and the Agency in 1916. Those things are worth the lack of plum pudding, I think.”

That earns him a warm smile. “You saying you like me more than plum pudding, mate?”

“Undoubtedly,” Edwin says. “And I am sorry for the disastrous spaghetti and meatballs.”

“No big deal.”

“I could have poisoned us. I too wanted you to have a Christmas like you enjoyed in your youth.”

Charles lets out a laugh with little humor. “Christmases when I was a kid were mostly watching my dad and uncles drink too much eggnog and wondering what shitty comment of my granddad’s was going to set my dad off so he’d take it out on me and Mum once everyone else went home. The spaghetti was always good though.”

Edwin’s throat feels tight. He wishes he could pop through a mirror to strike fear into Paul Rowland’s shriveled, putrid heart. “And for me, Christmas was usually about wishing the rest of the year could be like those few days. Wishing my father would be home more, wishing my mother would smile more, wishing my brothers wouldn’t ignore my existence. I would take this over those Christmases any day, even if I did enjoy the food. For me, a proper Christmas is just you and me in our office.”

The smile returns to Charles’s face, as bright and beautiful as the lights surrounding them. “Same here, mate. Though this is pretty brills too.” He squeezes Edwin’s shoulder. “Next year, we’ll do Christmas properly, yeah? We can make plum pudding, roasted chestnuts, and spaghetti together.”

“Next year…” Edwin trails off. He was about to remind Charles that they’ll almost certainly not be alive next Christmas. If they’re lucky, they won’t be in Hell. But Charles doesn’t need that reminder. Tonight, neither of them do. “Sounds like a strange sort of Christmas feast.”

“Perfect for us then, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Edwin feels his own lips tugging into a smile at Charles’s enthusiasm.

“And afterwards, we can go walk around and look at the lights, like we always do.”

“If the girls are around, Niko will most likely insist we watch another of those dreadful movies.”

“That’s the kind of stuff you do for family during the holidays,” Charles says with a grin.

Edwin glances over at Niko and Crystal, who appear to be trying to coax Jenny into taking a picture with them in front of the seagull. “I suppose it is.”

Charles slings an arm around Edwin’s shoulder, hugging him against his side. “Next year, mate. Christmas will be perfect.”

Edwin almost tells him that it already is, but bites back the words, because they would give far too much away. So he lets Charles steer him in the direction of the others. And with the weight of Charles’s arm around his shoulders and Christmas lights illuminating the night around them, Edwin lets himself hope for a moment that they’ll get to keep this second life of theirs, if just for long enough that he and Charles can eat spaghetti and plum pudding together next year.

***

If you read and enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos and/or comments on AO3!

[miss-bushido]

When I think of you, I see what we might do

*Rating: M (cursing, fake injuries) *Characters/Relationships: Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington, Argyle, Jonathan Byers; Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington, Argyle/Jonathan Byers *Tags: Paramedic Steve Harrington, Paramedic Robin Buckley, Bartender Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Eddie Munson Are Best Friends, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Robin Buckley & Eddie Munson Are Roommates, Meet-Cute, Inspired by an Instagram reel, Pretend Injuries, Title from a Humbird Song

*Notes:

I saw a reel on Instagram where a guy was saying how he hadn't understood why women went for big burly guys like firefighters and other guys like that, until he was helping a friend with their final para-rescue exam. After hearing his explanation, I knew it had to be something I wrote for a Steddie fic. The reel in question is here.

Any and all medical information/terminology in here I have gleaned from Google searches and retained memories of watching 'M*A*S*H' and 'Scrubs' as a teenager. So, that means that any and all mistakes are mine, including specific information about the paramedics/para-rescue exams.

Title from the song 'Seven Veils' by Humbird.

Also here on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59286868

---

Eddie sat on the ground as he leaned against the brick wall inside the empty building. His clothes were covered in blood, and he had a sucking chest wound. His left leg was gone below the knee, and he hoped someone would come along soon.

He was really starting to get hungry.

When Robin had asked him earlier in the week if he could help her with her final paramedics exam on Friday afternoon, he had readily agreed. It meant he didn’t have to work at the bar on Friday night, and she agreed to treat him to dinner afterwards. It was a win-win for both of them.

“I really appreciate it,” she’d said over beers the night before. “Thank you again for agreeing.”

“Hey, no problem,” Eddie said, clinking his beer bottle against hers. “If I was in your place, I would have asked, too. And I know you would’ve also said yes. Especially since I’m your favorite roommate, and all.”

Robin laughed. “You’re my only roommate!”

“The sentiment still stands,” he pointed out. The doorbell rang with their delivery order, and he stood up to get it. “Get the first movie put on and let’s have a good night.” They’d spent the rest of the night watching movies: ‘Rashomon’ (Robin’s pick), and ‘Scanners’ (Eddie’s pick) and eating Thai food. They had picked off one another’s plates and grossed each other out over some of the more gruesome scenes in ‘Scanners’, opting to let the plates soak overnight in the sink rather than run the dishwasher before they both passed out in their respective rooms around 11:30.

The next day, Eddie made sure he was early to meet up with Robin at the site for the exam, and was met with the din of seemingly everyone from Robin’s class. They were milling around, along with the other volunteers, and some of the firefighters and para-rescue crew, handing cards and what looked like dirty clothes to people. As Eddie came closer to Robin, he saw that the clothes looked like they had blood on them.

“Oh! You’re just in time!” Robin exclaimed as he came over to her. She handed him a casualty card and a set of clothes: a big blue shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. “There should be an empty locker for you to change into these.”

“What the hell is all over these?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Corn syrup,” Robin answered. “It has to look like blood, and obviously we wouldn’t use real blood because that’s disgusting and it would make the clothes reek, plus it would be weird to keep requesting blood from the butcher’s all the time-”

Eddie held up a hand. “I got it, thanks.” He flipped his casualty card over and read his triage notes. “A ‘sucking chest wound and a missing left leg’? Sounds gross but cool.”

Robin smirked and shook her head. “Remind me to tell you some stories, Eddie.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Go change. We’re leaving to go across the street in about twenty minutes. You all have to be in your positions at least thirty minutes before the test starts.”

Eddie did as he was told, swapping his tight black jeans and Slayer T-shirt for the shirt and sweatpants she’d given him. “Robbie,” he said, grimacing as he walked out, holding his casualty card in his right hand. “These are so sticky.” His left hand had touched some of the “blood” on the left leg of the pants.

“You’re not supposed to touch the fake blood,” she pointed out, but handed him a warm rag for him to wipe his hand off on. “Come on, let’s get you into position.”

She walked him over to the empty building across the street, past numerous other volunteers who had varied injuries. Two guys had “bloody” bandages wrapped around their head, or around an arm. A girl he passed had a soft cast on her left arm and bandages wrapped around her stomach.

“It’s like a warzone here, huh?” he asked as they passed a group of three guys laying on stretchers. One of them, dressed in garish yellow clothes and with the longest hair he’d ever seen on a guy, glanced up at him and pointed to his casualty card. “Sucking chest wound and missing left leg.”

“Ohhhh, sick, brochacho,” came the response as the guy grinned up at him. “I got a broken neck.”

“So maybe you should lie still, Argyle,” Robin scolded him.

“Sorry Robin,” the pale lanky guy next to him said. “Hey, babe,” he started, reaching for his boyfriend’s hand as Eddie followed Robin to his place. It was in the far back of the building, almost out of sight of everyone else, though he could faintly hear Argyle talking with the other guy.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said as Eddie sat down against the wall once they got to his designated area.

“Sure,” he groaned as he stretched his long legs out, setting the casualty card on his lap. “Concrete is the most comfortable surface known to man.”

“And don’t talk,” she said, ignoring his remark. “You’re supposed to be critically injured, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, waving her away. “I’m going to my enjoy dinner later!” he called as she continued walking. He saw her shake her head and then compose herself as she went to join the rest of her class.

That was about thirty five minutes ago now, and Eddie was hoping this would be over soon. In addition to being hungry, his ass was starting to go numb from sitting still for so long. How long could this exam actually go on for?

Suddenly, the doors at the other end burst open as about twelve members of the para-rescue group charged in. As they moved through towards the back of the building, they peeled off from the main cluster to assess the damage to the other casualties on the floor. By the time any of them got to Eddie, there were only three guys left.

The guy in front: a tall, muscular guy with floppy brown hair and the most beautiful face Eddie had ever seen on a person, looked to the right where Eddie was sitting, and zeroed in on him. He came over, and knelt down, his face flushed prettily with exertion. He grabbed Eddie’s casualty card and scanned it briefly, licking his lips as he read, before his eyes flicked up to meet Eddie’s.

Eddie felt his heart hammer in his chest when he locked onto those beautiful hazel eyes as they stared into his own brown ones. Eddie felt as though his brain had shut down, breath completely gone. He had enough wherewithal to glance down at the name badge clipped to his button down: Steve Harrington.

‘Holy shit this guy is hot,’ Eddie thought, face reddening the longer he looked at him, He could have kicked Robin for not mentioning that she shared a class with an Adonis. Not even an invite over to the apartment for a movie and pizza night!

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” Steve spoke, bringing Eddie back to the situation at hand. He blinked dumbly at him. “Don’t you worry,” Steve added, giving him a big smile, and a wink. Eddie felt his eyes widen at the wink, sure that his face was the color of a fire engine by this point.

Robin came over then, her clipboard in hand. She tossed Eddie a look before she turned her attention to Steve. “What’s the triage situation?”

“Open pneumothorax, and amputation of the left leg below the knee,” Steve answered, quick, professional, controlled. Eddie was glad he was wearing sweatpants because just the hint of authority he heard gave him the beginnings of a semi.

“Is he stable enough to be moved?” Robin asked, writing quickly as Steve spoke.

Steve checked the casualty card briefly before he made the decision. “Given the severed leg, we should prioritize getting him somewhere so we can put on a tourniquet and then see to the chest.”

Robin nodded in agreement. “There’s no stretcher-”

“I can carry him,” Steve interrupted. No sooner had he said this than he put his arms around Eddie’s body and under his legs, using leverage to lift him up, holding him close to his chest.

Eddie felt as though he was going to swoon. “Fuck,” he murmured quietly, hoping he hadn’t been heard. Steve’s lips quirked just enough to let him know that he had in fact heard him.

“I’ll see you back in there, Robbie,” Steve said. He adjusted his hold on Eddie, shifting him up momentarily. Eddie used this opportunity to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck, and then they were off to the triage area.

Eddie was struggling to come up with anything to say. Normally he couldn’t shut up to save his life, but in the arms of Steve Harrington? He felt like he’d swallowed his tongue. He searched his brain for something to say and finally landed on, “I had no idea you were so strong.”

He was lucky Steve was a paramedic because he thought he might die of embarrassment.

Steve grinned. “It helps when you do a lot of heavy lifting daily. You have to be strong to lug around the heavy equipment, or to pick someone up bodily because they lost a leg.” As they reached the triage area, Steve turned serious for a moment as the instructors milled around, before they moved to a spot farther away.

He deposited Eddie gently on a gurney and grabbed some bandages from the cloth bag on the side, leaning over Eddie to grab them. Eddie inhaled the smell of Steve’s cologne, and his deodorant, and a musky smell underneath that he attributed to Steve’s natural scent and some sweat.

He wanted to lick it all off of him.

‘Get it together, Munson,’ he scolded himself, watching as Steve took his left leg in hand and wound the bandage around his knee, securing it and then gently setting his leg back down on the gurney. He leaned over Eddie again to grab something else from the bag, his bangs falling in front of his eyes.

“Are you usually this flushed?” Steve asked as he ripped three strips of medical tape off of the roll and draped the ends on the metal bars of the gurney. He took another bandage and folded it carefully, placing it in the middle of Eddie’s chest. He grabbed the tape and began placing each strip along three sides of the bandage, as he would have done had Eddie actually had a sucking chest wound.

“Oh, no,” Eddie said, unable to take his eyes off of Steve as he worked. Some of his confidence came back and he said, “It’s just been awhile since I had the attention of such a gorgeous guy.”

Steve smirked, his cheeks and ears going red at the compliment. “Robin warned me you would be a flirt, Eddie,” he said. He bit his lip and then looked back at Eddie, eyes darkening. “I’m glad she was right.”

“She talked about me? To you?” Eddie asked incredulously. This was the first he had ever heard of this.

Steve nodded. “She did. I saw a picture on her phone of the two of you at a birthday party, and asked her who you were. When she told me you said you’d help her with her exam, I was pretty giddy.”

“Wait, wait a second,” Eddie said, placing a hand on Steve’s arm. “You asked Robin about me because-”

“Because I thought you were really hot and I wanted to see about spending some time with you to see if we might click,” Steve interrupted, giving Eddie a big smile.

“Well, shit, what are you doing after this?” Eddie asked, eyes bright. His stomach was doing flip flops. “Oh wait. Fuck. Robin told me she would treat me to dinner as a thank you…” he trailed off as Steve’s grin turned sly. “Oh…was that-”

Steve nodded. “In case we didn’t hit it off, she was still going to take you out as a thank you.”

Eddie started to push himself up as he asked, “Do you think we hit it off?”

Steve stopped him, hand on his chest, heavy gaze fixed on him. “Oh, I think we did, Eddie.” He let his eyes roam appreciatively over Eddie’s body, his gaze burning a trail as he made his way back up to his face. “Do you like sushi?”

“I love sushi,” Eddie affirmed, letting his own eyes roam over Steve’s chest and shoulders in appreciation. “What time did you say?”

Steve checked his watch. “It’s almost 6:30 now, so the exam should be just about done. How about we plan to meet at 7:15 outside, and we can go from there.” He looked again at Eddie’s clothes. “It’ll give us both time to get changed into non-grody clothing.”

“It’s a date,” Eddie affirmed, giving Steve’s arm a squeeze before he laid back down on the gurney. Steve gave him a wink before he turned around to go back to the front, giving Eddie a perfect view of his incredible ass.

“Well, fuck me,” he murmured, placing his hand over his eyes.

“Maybe I will,” Steve answered back, turning his head to give Eddie a meaningful stare before he walked away.

7:15 could not come soon enough.

[mrslittletall]

fic writer self-recs

tagged by: @misskriemhilds (thank you and sorry for taking forever to do this)

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers.

Alright, without further ado, let's begin:

A Storm is coming (Dark Souls) This fic came to be because I was stuck with another fic of mine and frustrated and was like "Okay, but what would happen if Ornstein followed around the Chosen Undead during the second half of the game?!" I wrote the first chapter and added chapters whenever I felt like it and then this thing had over 40 kudos despite them not having gone on the adventure yet and I was like "??? Where did'ya all come from???" And then I started to put effort into this fic. My Chosen Undead, Tempest, grew into a proper OC. The story became a clear structure and outline. And the relationship between the two grew into a slowburn mutual pining romance. That is my most popular Dark Souls fic and I consider it my Magnum Opus as a writer. I sometimes write these two still for one-shots and they always always are so easy to write. They feel like a part of me now. Thanks so much to everyone who gave this fic a chance and stayed with it. Thank you so much.

Keeping it together (Dark Souls)

This is the fic I was stuck on and why I started to write Storm. It is basically about Ornstein dealing with Artorias' death. Horribly. I had a hard time myself during writing this, living through burnout. The year 2019 was my year to heal from everything and I made good effort but then... well, you know what happened in 2020... Anyway, I struggled a lot with this fic, but I think the last chapter of this is the best chapter I have written in my whole writing career. And it only happened because I took a deep breath and then suddenly everything was clear and I knew what I had to do. Off Balance (Hollow Knight)

Ah, another case of "I am writing this on a whim." This fic came to be because of some art of teenage Hollow and I was like "Oh, I want to make fic to this art". I first thought it might be a one-shot but I got ideas and continued and then it turned into a full fix-it and PK redemption arc. You can see in this fic how it grows and the characters with it. You can see how I make WL from sad mother to the queen she is, how PK grows into the role as a father but never stops struggling and how Hollow turns from the Pure Vessel into a child that enjoys life. This fic was extremely well received and I regurlarly receive kudos on it. I am coming back to this universe, I promise. It was just... after 2022, my life turned into hell. Hollow, Pendry, Rydellia, you are waiting for me, right?

Frenzy (Bloodborne)

Is that one of my best works? Honestly, it isn't, I really need to rewrite parts of it. But it is very dear to me. The idea was "What if Laurence got too close the Amydgala and turned into a catatonic state as result?" It was an exploration of the Frenzy status. Mostly from the caretaker POV of Ludwig and a little bit of Laurence (because he is not really there most of the time in the fic). I did quite some research on the topic but I vomited out this fic in a week (YES, REALLY), so it is pretty rough around the edges. Ranni and the horrible, annoying, obnoxious Tarnished (Elden Ring) I got this idea after the Mini Ranni quest in Elden Ring. I was like "Wow, she needs someone that shuts her up." And then I though "Hm, I need a Tarnished who can annoy her to no end." And who was grinning at me?! My version of Laurence (Bloodborne), who can be a horrible annoying obnoxious asshole! So I made an Elden Ring version of him and wrote him into this story. And it WORKED! This fic actually got quite some numbers. I guess I am not the only one who wanted to annoy Ranni xD Alright, let's see how many fic writers I can think of tagging... @within-its-cave @ruthlesslistener @deluxinn @redsixwing Go on, give your fics some love!

[hinnyweasley]

@hinnymicrofic 4/10: scream

I just realized that I think the fic I wrote today actually fits todays prompt! content warning: mildly steamy due to teenage boy thoughts

"Breakfast is ready, dears. Ron, will you please go wake your sister?" Molly asked as she sat down a plate of bacon on the kitchen table before making her way to the garden.

"I'm not goin' up there! Last time she threw a book at me! Couldn't walk normally for a week," He protested through a mouthful of bacon.

"I got it!" Fred and George called in unison from the couch, rising with mischievous grins. "Oh gin-gin!" George sang as they climbed up the stairs. Suddenly an alarming sequence of bangs, screams, and crashes erupted from the floor above, followed by a pair of footsteps pounding the floor as the twins came running back down to the table. They each hopped into an empty seat on either side of Harry, stealing his and Ron's plates as they casually acted as though they had been there eating the whole time. A moment later a very angry, and wet, Ginny appeared in the doorway. Harry threw a hand over his mouth in an attempt to suppress his laughter as Ginny stood there, water dripping off of her pajamas and onto the hardwood floor.

The twins sighed, shaking their heads, as they walked across the room to where Ginny was standing. "Now Ginny, we've talked about this before. You're supposed to put your clothes on after you shower,"  said Fred quipped. 

"You absolute gits!" She barked as she lunged towards them. 

"Kids are so ungrateful these days, don't you think Fred? Here we are, trying to impart our wisdom onto our dear sister and she attacks us!"

"Right you are, George, it seems our little Ginnykins has forgotten her manners," 

"I'm going to kill you!" She shrieked. The noise must've caught Molly's attention because she now came rushing in to separate the three. "Now what on earth is going on in here?" She demanded, quickly turning to and casting a spell to dry her off. 

"The bloody prats conjured a rain cloud above my bed!" Ginny cried.

"Brilliant," Ron breathed.

The twins gasped in mock offense at the accusation, but before they could say anything Molly began, "You two are to apologize to your sister this instant. And you'll spend the rest of the morning degnoming the garden!" 

"We're so very sorry Ginny," Fred teased.

"Yes, our sincerest apologies. We do hope you can find it in your cold, dead, heart to forgive us," George continued, earning a growl from Ginny, before they departed. 

Ginny grumpily made her way to the table and dropped into the seat next to Harry, lightly brushing his arm in the process. The innocent contact sent a jolt of electricity through his body as he prayed the blush spreading across his cheeks wouldn't be noticed by her, or worse, Ron. When he could finally feel his heart beat returning to only slightly fast than usual, he turned to face her. "I don't reckon you're letting them off the hook that easily, are you?" He mused. 

A playful grin appeared on her face. "Hell no. Just gotta wait till mums distracted before I can strike back," She said as she filled her plate with bacon. "Plus it's more fun to wait. Let them be scared a couple days, then attack when they least expect it," She winked at him. He could feel the heat returning to his face, among other places, as his mind raced with different ways he could help her plan it, and how she would thank him afterwards. 

"Well whatever psycho plan you come up with this time, just please try to keep me out of it. I want to give them any reason to come after me next," Ron ordered, and suddenly Harry was brought back to reality and found he had never been more uncomfortable sitting at this table. 

[ofieugogyshz]

🌟 + the Johto Elite Four? /genuine, lighthearted

Send a 🌟 + name and I’ll talk about my self insert’s bond to that character!

oh man i had so much fun with brainstorming this stuff back when i made Our Love Is Here To Stay. will constantly be referring back to this fic as i talk about them

Will - I made him kinda showboaty and full of himself in my fic lol, but also i feel like that's kinda true about his character, from what i remember off the top of my head. Also weird vibes. Like, once, when I was a teen, I think I dreamt that he had a crush on me and wanted me to date him instead of Lance? So I kiiiiiindaaa very subtly snuck that into the background lore of the fic. I think Riya was the only one I've told that to so far, outside of whenever I probably posted that on my devart journal when it first happened lol?. Basically, he's just Lance's coworker to me.

Bruno - Love this guy, or well, the way he came out in the fic. Basically kinda borrowed a smidge from pokemas' direction with his character, but also the idea that he's also one of those cheerful loudboxes with how often he shouts HOO-HAH! or something :p Canonically, I don't think he'd be as big of a softie as I wound up writing him, but it was too funny not to think about him being like that. He's always very nice and sweet with me and greets everyone loudly. He was also the one who won all the betting pools on when Lance and I would date/propose/etc. Everyone overthought it, he just synthesized gossip info from the pokecen/league employees. He's kinda like that boisterous loud uncle who would also get very serious if someone tried to hurt you? But mostly we just enjoy having Pokemon battles together a lot and sometimes he shares his food with me if I'm waiting for Lance at the Pokemon League.

Karen - I love Karen!!!! I forget where the hell I got the idea that she was canonically a model/fashionista of some sort, but you can't tell me that's a wrong headcanon to have. She's that work bestie-in-law kinda thing except it's my husband's work but my bestie when i go there. She'll share devious little secrets about Lance with me, especially in the early/dating years, though by now there's less she could share that I wouldn't already know/believe. She still tells me when he's done something embarrassing (for him) and then I get to just later be like "So, honey... about <redacted event>?" "I really wish Karen didn't catch that =_="

When Lance and I were first dating/almost dating, she was very supportive and helpful for basic dating/beauty/appearance tips. c: She also sometimes envies us, because she hasn't had a lot of long-term relationships that worked out because of her position/goals/life ambitions and beliefs.

Koga - embarassing old man co-worker that you tease your husband about him becoming. Koga and I have battled enough, from when he was originally a Gym Leader and again after his promotion to the E4, that he respects me as a Pokemon Trainer. But it took awhile for him to start seeing me as a grown-up adult from when I most battled him as a kid and teen. We have a fairly amicable relationship overall, as far as the coworker vs coworker's wife dynamic goes. He's this cool but sometimes embarrassingly out of touch old guy I know and I'm some person who can help translate his teenage daughter's mysterious ways!

Thank you so much for asking about them! I absolutely love getting to talk about them whenever I can on a meta level bc of the fic I wrote, bc I went from being like "yeah sure they're characters may as well include them" to "this is my husband's squad of coworkers and everyone in this group is embarrassing to each other in some way shape or form."

[fathertaurus]

Nate Jacobs Blurb -- Part 3

A/N: It’s been sooo long haha I am so sorry 

Anyways as previously stated this is a little blurb from a personal fic I was just casually writing for no other reason than wanting to write and needing more Nate Jacobs content

But from that I want to express a disclaimer: If you have seen the show Euphoria you know what the character Nate Jacobs is like and what he’s done. This is not me condoning the actions of this character--in fact, I urge you to view him as the bad guy he is when reading this. That’s how I wrote it, that’s what I wanted to portray because I’ve yet to write a character as such. Though his actions may not come off as terrible when reading this remember who he is written as and try and read it in that way.

Anyways I hope you enjoy! And if I do get a lot of positive feedback from this I’ll probably continue to write.

Warnings: crude language I guess lmao

POV

“So what’s up with you and Nate fucking Jacobs?” It was the one question she had hoped to avoid especially from Kat, knowing there would be no way out of her interrogations. 

She was propped up against the locker beside her own, staring her down with her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, face covered with such intent Y/N knew this wasn’t going to end well. 

“There’s nothing—“

Kat scoffed, “Don’t lie to me. Ever since that party where he quite literally came to your rescue from skeezy Elias Tucker and swept you up off of your feet and out of the house like some sort of twisted Superman everyone knows that there’s something going on between you two.” She leaned in and smirked, “So spill it bitch.”

Breathing a sigh Y/N surrendered any idea of trying to hold face and instead took the place parallel to her friend, she herself now leaning up against her own locker as she stared back. Kat raised a brow, gesturing her hand to express that she was waiting. 

“Well?”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you—“

“I fucking knew it!” She exasperated, but Y/N was quick to shush her. She already had the entire’s schools attention on her, all of her peers watching with intent to see what would come next after that whole shenanigan that Nate put on (not that she remembered much of it, only what was reiterated to her from whispers in the halls and fellow classmates surrounding her during the school day) the last thing she wanted was more reason for looks and glares.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Y/N are you fucking kidding me? I have seen the way he looks at you from across the lunchroom, hell, everyone sees it—I think I notice more than you do.” Kat screeched in a hush tone, centering herself as close to her side as possible, “It’s….It’s like he’s always watching you. Like he has some sort of claim over you.”

She huffed a shaky sigh and scoffed, “Kat c’mon, no he doesn’t—“

“Yes he does!” The onyx haired girl hastily interjected, grasping her arm in the process of it to tug her closer, “I swear Y/N..sometimes when you and I walk down the hall and I see him he stares at me with these, like, sunken eyes. Like the fact that I even breathe the same air as you is a threat to him or something.” 

She couldn’t lie, and neither could her body, the way Kat was describing these unnoticed interactions made her skin crawl, her entire epidermis raising with hairs as she followed along on every single word spoken to her. 

“I feel like if there was a way where he could get rid of everyone else in the world and make it so it was only the two of you left in existence..” Kat stared directly into her eyes, “He would.”

Y/N could feel her stomach twisting into knots, nausea finding a space right in the middle of her abdomen; She had to resist the urge to lurch forward. 

Abruptly, yet right on time, the hour bell rang out above the crowd of teenagers—signaling everyone to get moving to their respected classrooms for 4th period.

Seemingly without another thought Kat simply closed her locker back, attaching the lock back to its hook and shutting it before turning to her, her face of concern now starting to dissipate. 

“C’mon dude we gotta get going.”

Throughout the entirety of their conversation Y/N suddenly realized that she had never actually opened her locker to grab her textbooks for history in the coming hour. Cursing at herself in hushed tone she waved off her friend. 

“I’ve gotta grab my stuff, you can go on without me I’ll just meet you there.”

“You sure?”

She nodded rapidly, already in the process of swirling the combination into her lock, “Yeah! But if I don’t make it before Mr.Hendricks starts taking attendance—“

“I’ll cover for you.” Kat called back already making her way down the hall.

Huffing a sigh Y/N pulled the lock from its hold and finally tugged at the metal door. Within seconds of doing so her eyes were scanning the contents of the compartment, searching hastily for history textbook and blue notebook to match. She had everything inside all organized based on her schedule for the day, morning classes at the top and afternoon classes on the bottom—her jacket and other miscellaneous things taking up the space in the middle. 

Stretching up on her toes to the upper part of her locker she reached beyond what her vision could see, hands scrapping at the assortment of books above her to find the necessities when suddenly the back of her hand brushed over something unfamiliar.

Eyebrows instantly furrowing Y/N knocked her hand against the object again, this time edging it off her Trigonometry textbook. It was a folded piece of lined paper, the tent shaped thing hitting the floor silently right in front of her feet. 

Unknowing as to why a rush of chills scurried up her back as she stared it down. Usually seeing something of the sort would make her laugh, assuming it was from the likes of Kat or April or Sam but it was like somewhere in the depths of her mind she knew none of her friends had left it.

Bending at the knees she grasped the delicate thing between her index and middle finger, lifting it up along with herself until she stood resting against the side of her locker. She resisted the urge to anxiously tear it open, instead pulling at the folds ever so gently until it was laid over the tips of her fingers. “Meet me. 3 o’clock. Parking lot. Nate x.” Her heart wanted to jump out of her body through her throat. Genuinely, she could have puked on the linoleum floor beneath her feet as her eyes traced over the scrawled handwriting, the ink nearly bleeding through the paper itself from how clearly hard he had written the message over the lines, like there was nothing more important in the world.

Body tense and stomach turning Y/N nearly tripped over her own two feet into her locker door, a whirlwind of emotions hitting her all at once. She knew regardless of how she felt there was no escaping this encounter. He would be waiting right on the side of his truck, eyes heavily staring at the library exit to the parking lot watching every body that came out of the school building until she showed. And if she didn’t? Well she was sure he’d find her regardless.

But why, despite the obvious fear crawling over her bones, was there a lingering warmth building in the pit of her stomach? The same familiar sensation she had every time she felt his fingertips drift over the length of her skin, grasping at folds, tugging on the sweetest of spots until her breathe was caught at the very back of her throat. 

It was..excitement. Sheer curiosity.

Who could blame her?

“Miss Y/L/N.”

Nearly jumping out of her own skin she spun round of her heel to see Vice Principal Sanders standing parallel across the hall, arms crossed over his chest as he stared her down. 

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

The question prompted her to glance upward at the clock on the wall above his head, coming back to reality for the moment to recognize she had been at her locker for much longer than her mind thought. 

Stammering over her words and hastily throwing the letter amongst the books and her jacket Y/N nodded rapidly, laughing awkwardly aloud as she finally grasped the blue textbook from the top shelf before slamming the locker closed, “Yeah—yes of course, on my way there now.” She beamed respectfully, already moving in the area of Mr.Hendricks classroom. 

Sanders nodded slow and almost in question, eyebrow raised at her. Admittedly the whole throwing the note back into her locker and shutting the damn thing as quick as she could probably looked extremely suspicious to most anyone. In the moment though she hoped that her spotless record and hours of community service helped her maintain the cover of “perfect inconspicuous student.” She didn’t have the time nor the nerve to be questioned by Vice Principle Asshole right now. 

Luckily, it took. 

“Alright. Good..hurry up.”

She smiled once more (more so due to relief than anything else) and waved politely, “Of course!” 

Turning back around with a roll of the eyes and a deep huff she quickened her step, eyes searching between the numerous classrooms to find her own. And as she roamed the halls so did her mind. 

To Nate.

A million questions darted around her mind and rightfully so, but there was only one that stood out beyond the others. 

What did she get herself into?

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

A/N: not some of my best work but I felt bad that I hadn’t updated this in so long so I hope you guys enjoyed it regardless :)

[watchmegetobsessed]

Waiting for you - Harry Styles

❄️ FANFICmas 2020 ❄️

Read more about FANFICmas here!

i wrote it over like a month ago, but kept it for today, i hope yall will like it! it’s a cute bestfriends to lovers fic, so yeah... happy holidays, hope you are having an amazing time!

word count: 13k

masterlist

Harry Styles has been a household name around your home, but not for the reason many would think. While for the rest of the world he was the famous singer, former member of One Direction and recent solo artist, the guy who performs at the biggest arenas, wins awards and sings his heart out through the radio, for you and your mom he was the goofy, curly haired boy who lived across the street with his mum, sister and stepdad.

You still remember all too clear the first time you met him. You and your mum just moved into your new home after the nasty divorce of your parents, ready to start a new life. You’ve barely turned twelve, it was quite the awkward stage of your teenage years, you were still trying to find yourself on the rocky road of growing up. Moving to a whole new town and switching schools were terrifying and you had quite a few nightmares about possible outcomes of being the new girl in the neighborhood.

You and your mum just finished unpacking the dishes in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She rushed to answer it and you wandered behind her, curiously peeking at the guests under her arm as she held the door open.

“Hi! We saw the trucks and thought we would say hi! I’m Anne and this is my son, Harry,” the nice woman greeted your mum and stepping aside she gestured towards the teenage boy standing next to her.

His green eyes fell to you almost immediately and you forgot to breathe for a moment. You were not the kind to crush that easily on guys, well, not until you laid your eyes on Harry. He smirked at you, nodding in your way in such an easy-going manner and you could feel the heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks and ears.

Anne and your mum quickly became good friends. She was the rock your mum definitely needed after such a bad year behind her and you were glad she found support in such a wonderful woman as Anne. Their newly funded friendship got stronger day by day until the two families just… simply felt one.

Growing up the Styles siblings and Anne came and go in your home as if they lived there too. On many occasions you came home from school only to find Anne in the kitchen while your mother wasn’t even home. Anne always knew when your mum was working the night shift at the hospital where she was a nurse and always made sure you had a warm dinner on those evenings, often inviting you over to just stay at theirs while your mum was away working. Birthdays, graduations, Easters and Christmases, they were all spent at either yours or at the Styles home, strengthening the bond between the two families.

You have always had a strong friendship with Gemma, but maybe because you were closer in age or for something else, but you became the closest with Harry. Two peas in a pod, as your mums liked to call the two of you. You weren’t just neighbors or good friends, it was clear to anyone and to both of you as well that you were the best of friends. You were there for each other at the best and worst of times, before and after Harry’s launch to stardom. You were there with him all along, sometimes physically, sometimes just through text messages and reassuring calls when he just needed a piece of his home away from home. Late night calls and talks were your usual when he was on the road and he made sure to only talk about his life after you’ve told him everything about yours, even if the most interesting thing was that you were able to buy three socks for the price of two. Harry listened and cared for everything that happened to you, not letting you think even for a moment that he would forget about his best friend when he is on the other side of the planet.

The two of you grew up together and while his life consisted of concerts, screaming fans, telly appearances and award shows, your mundane everydays went on the same was as any normal young girl’s: you graduated from high school, went to uni and then started a career for yourself. As time was moving it became a little more and more complicated to stay as close as you used to, though, both of you terribly busy with your own personal lives, so the calls, texts and meetings became less frequent, but you were always able to pick up from where you left, it was as easy with him as it could be.

Maybe that’s why you grew to love him in a more than friendly way through the years. Slowly, but surely you started to realize what an amazing man he really was –is. It was impossible not to fall for him, however you valued your close friendship more than to just ruin it with dropping a bomb on Harry. You always thought he doesn’t feel the same way, so you were sadly left with your daydreams and fantasies about him only your bedroom walls heard.

This year it’s gonna be the tenth Christmas you get to celebrate together, quite the anniversary. There were only two years when you didn’t see each other during the holidays, the first one because you and your mum spent it in Canada with some relatives that live there, and the second one was because Harry couldn’t come home a few years ago, having a too tight schedule. But this year, everyone made sure to make it back home in time. Harry called you three month before Christmas to check in if you are still gonna coming home.

“Would be an idiot not to. Can’t wait to stuff my head with cookies!” you chuckled.

“Have you found your sweater yet?” Harry questioned, the muffled noise of the traffic around him broke through the line as he was on his way home when he called.

“Not yet. But I’ve been looking. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna win this year,” you smirked in victory.

“Oh, not so fast with the assumptions, little girl!” he warned you making you laugh.

The two of you had a kind of tradition. Every year, you go on mission to find the ugliest Christmas sweaters one could find, and then perform a chosen song at the karaoke machine after dinner, entertaining the rest of the family. Those performances are the best memories you nurse. Your absolute favorite one was just a couple of years ago when Harry’s sweater was filled with weird looking reindeers in quite inappropriate poses, he even added a glittery pair of sunnies and he sang I Want To Break Free from the Queen. Everyone was on the floor laughing as he took the living room by storm as if it was the Maddison Square Garden filled with thousands of screaming fans, while it was just the five of you.

He won that year, Hell, even you voted on him, giving him the cleanest win of all times, but you swore to live up to that performance and you really feel like this year is gonna be your chance to live up to that promise. You have quite some tricks up your sleeves.

These past couple of years you were anxiously waiting for the holidays to roll around, because you knew you would get to spend so much time with Harry and through the year, even with several occasions of the two of you meeting, you missed him dearly. Sometimes you selfishly wished he would have just stayed the boy across the street so your lives could take tracks that run at least close to each other, but you always reminded yourself that his work was his life and you would have never taken away his true passion and happiness. Besides, you love watching him perform from time to time, that was just one of your favorite sides of him, see his eyes shine so bright as he sang to his fans. You used to envy the fangirls, it always seemed like he had a special connection with them, but you realized that you were one of them. You felt the same excitement when he stepped on the stage, you bought all his albums, even though he made sure you’d be one of the first people to get your hands on it. You had a second copy of them, because buying it gave you the extra jolt of happiness and the feeling that you were a tiny part of his success too. You watched all his music videos, knew the lyrics to his songs and cheered on him whenever he won another award. Difference was that at the end of the day you could call him and tell him how proud you were of him and he stared back at you with that beautiful grin, his dimples digging deep in his cheeks, telling you that he wouldn’t be here without you. You always knew he just said it to make you feel special, but he insisted it was the truth.

“I’m telling you. It you weren’t with me I would have gone crazy already, pulling a Justin Bieber or summat. Don’t think you are any less than what you are, that’s just daft.”

Every time he said something along those lines those damned butterflies in your stomach went crazy and you tried your best to ignore them. You didn’t always succeed, but the effort was there.

 Now it’s two days before Christmas and you are already standing in your old room after coming home from London, leaving your small but cozy little apartment empty until the next year. The walls are still the same lilac color you chose when you were fourteen, a twin bed is pushed against the wall under your window, the wardrobe’s door is littered with old pictures from high school and ones you cut out from magazines. You just never got around to take them down and after a while it brought you a comforting sense every time you came home. A warm nostalgia took over you when you saw them, so they eventually stayed.

Your suitcase is lying on the floor as you unpack some stuff you’ll be using often during your stay, but you don’t get far in the packing when you hear an all too familiar voice coming from downstairs. Leaving your stuff as it is you rush down and throw your arms around Anne from behind, who is standing in the kitchen with your mum.

“My sweet angel! How are you?!” she cheers turning around in your hold to hug you back, giving you a tight squeeze before she pushes you away so she can have a good look on you. “Swear you get prettier every time I see you!”

“Stop it, my head’s gonna get big,” you chuckle feeling yourself blushing a little.

“Never gonna stop praising my daughter,” she smiles and gifts you with a cheeky wink.

Anne was never shy to let you know that she thought of you as a second daughter and you still remember how it felt when she called you that for the first time. It felt nice to know that you could count on her no matter what.

The three of you chat in the kitchen, Anne asks you about your job and how things have been going, she hasn’t seen you in a while. You missed the times when you could just go across the street and have a talk with her whenever you wanted, but since you’ve moved to London, Harry wasn’t the only one you didn’t get to see as often as you would have wanted. Your job and life overall got you so busy sometimes, you barely had time to call your own mum.

“Harry is arriving this evening. Wanna come with us to fetch him up at the airport?” she asks you and of course you say yes. You wouldn’t miss the chance to greet him with a bone crushing hug just after he lands.

However, as the time nears when you’d have to leave to the airport, Anne calls you up and asks if you could go on your own.

“I didn’t finish cooking and Gems is in an online meeting. Would you mind if you went alone?” she asks and though it sounds a little made up, you don’t question her.

On your way to the airport you are nervously drumming on the wheel, the thought of seeing Harry excites and worries you a little. It’s been months since you last seen him in the flesh and though you’ve talked plenty of times on the phone and in video calls, it’s just not the same. You find yourself wondering if he still smells the same, if you’ll fit the same way into his embrace as before. When you were younger you often liked to think about the two of you as two pieces of legos when you hugged. Your frame just fitted so perfectly against his body, he was your absolutely favorite person to hug.

Standing in a corner at the terminal, you keep checking the board until his flight’s status changes to landed. Then your eyes are glued to the sliding glass doors, knowing well it’s gonna take him some time to get his bags and walk out, but you are just way too excited to finally see him again.

People start walking through the doors and your head perks up every time you see a slightly tall frame, only to realize it’s still not him. Until it is.

You can’t bite your growing smile back when you spot him, a beanie and the hood of his hoodie covering his mop of hair, sunnies hiding his eyes, but you’d recognize him even from just the tiniest detail. You push yourself away from the wall as you see him look around, probably searching for his mum and sister, because he was already on his way when Anne decided it’s gonna be you who fetches him up, so he doesn’t know about the change.

“Excuse me, can I get a picture?” you ask teasingly walking up to him and for a moment you can tell he believes it’s a fan who recognized him, but his face quickly changes once his eyes land on you.

“Fo’ fuck’s sake, you had me for a second,” he breathes out, his arms already reaching out to pull you against him and you gladly envelop yourself into his hold. “What are you doing here?” he mumbles tightening his arms around you, and you don’t mind it. As you face is pressed into his shoulder you smile when you realize that he still smells the same. Like home.

“Your mum asked me to come and get you because she didn’t finish cooking. But if you ask me she just wanted to surprise you with me. You happy to see me?” you smirk up at him letting your head fall back so you could look into his eyes.

“Always,” he grins before placing a soft kiss to your temple and letting go of you.

The two of you leave the terminal before anyone could recognize him and packing his stuff up into the car you head back home.

You hand your phone over to him once you hit the road so he can be in charge of the music and it’s no surprise when he starts playing Christmas music straight away. Grinning to yourself you glance over at him and see him scrolling through your camera roll like the nosy little gremlin that he is.

“Hey! I did not give you permission to snoop around my phone!” you warn him, but don’t try to snatch it away from him, there’s really nothing he shouldn’t see, besides, half of those pics have been sent to him through messages.

“Just tryna catch up w’ you,” he mumbles under his breath, continuously opening up photos he is interested in. “New couch, eh?” he asks showing you the screen for a second.

“Yeah, bought it a few weeks ago. You like it?”

“Looks comfy. I should try it out sometime.”

“You never sleep on my couch, what are you talking about?”

“Right, you always drag me t’ your bed,” he snorts and you gasp at him, smacking his chest gently.

“That’s so not true! You always just arbitrarily make yourself comfortable in my bed and I don’t have the heart to kick you out,” you correct him.

There hasn’t been many times when Harry crashed at your place, but when he did, he always slept in your bed with you, and the two of you have shared a bed a few other times prior too. It’s nothing new, though it does have a deeper meaning for you than for him, you think. Waking up with Harry snoring lightly next to you, admiring how peaceful and beautiful he is in this intimate state, you just wish you could see him like this all the time.

Harry smirks at you cheekily, scrunching his nose as he chuckles.

“’Cause I wouldn’t want to sleep anywhere else, Love,” he says before turning his attention back to your phone while you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the nickname.

It’s quite late by the time you get home, you’ve run into some traffic, but it just meant more time with Harry. You gladly listened to his stories and you are happy you got some alone time with him. Parking up to your driveway you help him unload his bags before locking the car.

“Wanna go to the Christmas market in the morning? Promised Gemma I’d go with her and Michal,” he asks, slowly walking down the driveway towards his home.

“Uh, sure,” you nod smiling. Not that you had any other plans, the holidays are reserved for family and the Styles’ are family.

“Great, I’ll be here at ten. And thanks for the ride,” he smirks waving goodbye and you watch him cross the street before he disappears in his home and you do the same.

“Y/N? Is that you?” your mum calls out when you walk in.

“Were you expecting anyone else?” you ask, hanging your coat before you join her in the living room.

“Not,” she smiles giddily. “Was everything alright at the airport?”

You throw your legs over her lap and she squeezes your ankles playfully.

“Yeah, everything fine.”

“How is Harry?”

“Cheeky and smug, as always,” you huff smirking.

“Can’t wait to see him. I feel like I haven’t seen ‘im in ages.”

“When are they coming over tomorrow?”

“Anne said she’ll come around four to help me cook, the rest I don’t know. Dinner will be done around seven though.”

“I’m pretty sure Gemma and Harry will be here along with Anne,” you snort, knowing well they wouldn’t miss a chance to come over, especially Harry. He has been talking nonstop how he’ll be glued to your hip once he is back home, making up for all the time you’ve spent apart.

“They surely will,” your mum chuckles before you both turn your attention at the telly.

You go to bed way after midnight and finish up the packing you left abruptly when you left to get Harry. Shuffling around in your room you glance out the window and see that the light in Harry’s room is on too. Peeking out you lean against the window’s frame, thinking about the times when the two of you sat in the window, talking on the phone after curfew, keeping your voice down so your parents didn’t wake up, sharing secrets and your silliest thoughts. With Harry, you never felt like you had to keep anything back, he would have never judged you for anything, you could be your true self around him and vice versa.

A tall figure appears at the window and as Harry glances out his window he is quick to see you sitting on the window sill, your head resting against the frame. The two houses are not far away from each other and you see him grinning as he sits at the window as well, pulling out his phone, a moment later yours starts buzzing on the nightstand. You quickly grab it, and go back to the window.

“Creeping on me, eh?” he hums into the phone and you roll your eyes at him.

“Was just admiring the street lights, don’t flatter yourself, your head is getting too big,” you huff, but you can’t push your smirk down.

“Admit it, you were hoping to see me roam around naked, weren’t you?”

“As if I haven’t seen you like that before,” you snort making him laugh too. It’s true, Harry has never been shy to get rid of his clothes and he also doesn’t bother to draw the blinds whenever he is changing. You once saw him butt naked when he was nineteen, and when you told him to close the blinds next time he is changing, he just shrugged with a smug smile.

“’M not ashamed of anything, Love,” he told you and you had to turn away because you were blushing for sure.

“Right, you’re a fan of putting yourself on full display when you’re naked, almost forgot,” you chuckle shaking your head. “Millions of girls have the picture of you, lying naked on their walls.”

“You one of them?” he cheekily asks.

“Nah, doesn’t go well with the vibe of my apartment.”

“Shame. Though I think it would definitely look amazin’ above your bed, Love.”

“Now would it? I don’t know about that.”

“I’ll get you a copy framed,” he smirks and you can see it clear even from the distance. “Y’ know what? I’ll make you an exclusive one. One that nobody else has, how does that sound?”

“I can’t believe you, Styles,” you chuckle shaking your head. “I’m not gonna answer this, just gonna head to bed. You should too.”

“So we’re not sharing any secrets like we used to? Thought you’d have something fo’ me.”

“You know everything, Harry,” you sigh with a soft smile, though your heart skips a beat. He does know everything, except one big, fat, heavy secret you’ve been carrying around for way too long, that will probably stay with you forever.

“Right. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Night, Harry.”

“Good night, Love,” he murmurs and you know he is smiling, thought he steps away from the window as he says goodbye and you do the same before ending the call.

 ***

 “Hey! That’s mine!” you protest as Harry steals another roasted chestnut from your little paper bag, but you can’t stay mad at him when he is smiling at you so sweetly.

“Sorry, tastes better when it’s someone else’s.”

“Sure,” you snort and just let him get as many as he wants. You wouldn’t have eaten it all anyway.

It’s quite cold out in the town, but at least there’s no rain or storm, so the weather didn’t try to ruin your little trip to the Christmas market.

Gemma calls out for Harry to show him something and you just keep wandering between the booths, enjoying the atmosphere quite a lot, you have no idea when was the last time you got to come to the market, though you always loved coming when you were younger.

Finishing up your chestnuts you throw the paper bag into a trash can and turn around to find the rest of your little group, spotting Harry and Gemma deep in discussion next to a booth that offers handmade ceramic mugs. As you walk closer it almost seems like as if they were having a fight, which is just odd, they rarely do that.

“Just get your head out of your arse!” you catch Gemma telling her brother who only groans in frustration before he spots you, a smile plastering across his face.

“Hey, there you are!” he beams.

“Everything alright?” you ask looking at them.

“Sure, just Gemma is being a little nosy, is all,” Harry waves in dismiss. You glance over to Gems, but she is already back in discussion with Michal so you decide to drop it. “You ate all the chestnuts?” Harry asks offended, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Well, it was mine, so of course I ate them!”

“Selfish,” he narrows his eyes at you, but you both know it’s just a joke.

You walk further down in the aisle, occasionally stopping at some of the booth when you spot a place that offers hot chocolate in cute little mugs that you can take home with you if you’d like, or just take it back and get your money back.

“Oh look!” you gasp excitedly and head towards the hot chocolate booth. The old lady smiles brightly at the two of you as you take a look at all the choices. “Oh my god, they have caramel flavored!” you cheer, basically already drooling at the thought of a good, caramel flavored hot chocolate.

“What can I get for the lovely couple?” the lady smiles warmly at the two of you and you freeze at her assumption.

“Oh we—“ you start, but Harry cuts you off.

“A caramel flavored and a plain one, please,” he orders, without even batting an eye about how the lady just called you a couple. You can feel your cheeks heating up at the thought, but you try to calm yourself. He probably just didn’t want to get into explaining that you two are not an item and let her think what she wanted.

The nice lady hands you your mug and you take Harry’s as well as he pays for both of them. You would try to argue with him and pay yours, but you are already used to how stubborn he is and he never lets you split anything, it’s always on him.

“Thank you, have a nice day!” Harry calls out to the lady before the two of you leave. You peek at him handing him his mug, looking for any clue that would give away if this little scene got him just as bothered as it did you, but he looks perfectly fine and relaxed, so you decide not to bring it up. You’re sure he didn’t think much of it.

Your little stroll stretches into the afternoon, the four of you decide to have lunch out there too, then you just opt for a walk in town as Gemma wants to do a quick last minute Christmas shopping, so by the time you get home Anne is already over at yours helping your mum with dinner. Tonight you are all eating at yours, then tomorrow it’s the Styles’ turn to host, this is how you agreed this year.

“Woah, it smells amazing!” you call out walking into the house. The delicious smells fill up the whole place and you hear the two women giggling in the kitchen.

“Hi Honey, how was the market?” your mum greets you, a glass of red wine in her hand and the same goes for Anne.

“Great, we have a new mug,” you say holding up the emptied out hot chocolate mug. Stepping to the sink you wash it quickly and drying off you put it away in one of the cabinets.

You stick around in the kitchen and not so much later Harry comes over, the two of you leave your mums alone and get comfortable in front of the telly.

All channels are filled with holiday movies and you don’t mind, really, you like them all even if you’ve seen them a million times, you still find them funny and cute. Harry feels the same way, so when you settle on Love Actually he doesn’t say a word.

What startles you is that he grabs your ankles and pulls your legs over his lap, a small shriek escaping your mouth since you weren’t expecting him to do that. You’re sitting sideways, your legs are bent at the knee and Harry is kind of hugging them as his eyes are glued to the screen.

You find it rather hard to focus on the movie when Harry’s fingers keep fidgeting on your legs, they keep running up and down, sometimes he lays his hands flat on your knees, there’s no spot he hasn’t touched since you started watching the movie.

About an hour into the film he turns to you and you look at him in question.

“’M in the mood to cuddle,” he announces and starts moving around, not even letting you protest as he basically crawls to your lap, resting his head on your stomach as the two of you lay on the couch.

“Am I now your personal pillow?” you ask chuckling, but you wouldn’t want him to move for anything. Feeling him weigh down on you just feels so warm and simple but amazing.

“The best one,” he mumbles, bringing a hand to your side as you let your fingers comb through his curls.

You keep massaging his scalp and he lets out soft moans when you go over a soft spot, you can’t help but chuckle as he melts under your hands. His fingers start drawing circles on your side and the movie is long forgotten by you, all you can focus on is how great it is to have Harry so close to you. He is known to be a physical person, you are used to hugs and touches, but it seems like he is a little needier now than the usual.

You don’t mind it though, you just try to enjoy the moment, because it can end anytime.

Gemma and Michal come over a little before seven, and while your mums finish up the cooking the four of you set the table. You grab the crystal glasses and start placing them to the table, Harry lending you a hand. Once the table is all set you shuffle into the kitchen to see if there’s anything you can help with, Harry following you behind, placing a hand to the small of your back.

As you stand and wait for you mum to finish up the meals so you can help carry them to the table you feel Harry’s hand wander over to your hip, giving it a squeeze as he stands closer, so his chest is pressed against your back.

“Harry?” you ask a little out of breath.

“Hm?” he innocently hums.

“What’s with you today?” Turning your head to the side your eyes lock with his, but he just shrugs smiling.

“Guess I just missed yeh a lot.”

“You’re weird,” you chuckle shaking your head, but don’t make an effort to push him away. His touch feels way too good to put an end to it and you just want to be selfish a little longer.

His hands leave you when the two of you help to bring the food to the table, and you almost wish they would just return, but you gotta swallow the thought.

The food is amazing, as always. You all sip on some wine, just having a genuinely good time, enjoying that all of you are back at one place, something that rarely happens now that all three of you kids are all grown up.

At one point Harry rests his arm on the back of your chair, no one seems to notice but you. All these little things have been driving you crazy all day and your mind seems to be playing a nasty game with you. There’s no way Harry thinks of these details more than what they are, a friendly gesture towards an old friend of his.

When Gemma is telling a story about some weird guy she met at work Harry reaches up and pushes your hair behind your ear, his finger lingering over your neck a little longer than you would have expected. Turning to face him you give him a questioning look, not sure what to think about his needy and touchy self all of a sudden.

“What?” you mouth him, but he just smiles at you absentmindedly, curling a strand of hair around his finger, playing with it for a moment before letting go of it and going for another lock. You reach up and pull his hand away, feeling yourself heating up from his touch, but when you are about to let go of his hand he grabs yours, lacing your fingers together with yours as he rests them on his thigh.

“Harry…” you breathe out, glancing at the others, relieved to see that they are not paying much attention to the two of you.

“What? Am I not allowed to touch you?” he asks with a smug smirk and you roll your eyes at him.

“As I said, you’re weird,” you mumble under your breath looking down at your now empty plate. Harry gives your hand a squeeze.

“But like, the good kind of weird, yeah?”

“Shut up,” you chuckle shaking your head at him.

You try to tell yourself he is just needy because it’s been so long since you last saw each other. It can’t be more, you push even the smallest thought to the back of your mind, though it surely lingers there throughout the evening.

He helps you with washing the dishes, you stand arm to arm at the sink as you scrub the plates and hand over to him for drying. He gently hums to himself all along, swaying his hips, bumping against yours. At first you resist it, but then you catch the rhythm and start moving along, so your hips meet in the middle before swinging to the opposite side.

“What’s the song?” you ask finishing up the last plate.

“Just something random,” he shrugs smirking over at you. You hand him the last plate, he is still singing, making up gibberish lyrics to his song and once he puts the plate down he throws the kitchen cloth to the counter and easily grabs your waist pulling you against him as he starts swaying with you to his impromptu song. You let out a small shriek at the sudden movement, but eventually melt into his hold. The humming slowly turns into an all too familiar melody as Harry starts singing Sweet Creature into your ear, slow dancing in the kitchen while you hear your mums and Gemma laugh outside somewhere.

Your hands run up his arms and stop behind his neck as you lock your fingers and let him hold you close, his palms are pressed to your waist, fingers gently stroking you through the fabric of your shirt. You take a deep breath and his cologne fills your nose, one of your favorite scents, sometimes you just wish you could spray it on your pillow so it would always smell like him.

“Sweet creature, wherever I go, you bring me home…” he softly sings, leaning back just enough for your eyes to meet. It feels like your heart is about to burst out of your chest, it’s not the first time you feel so intimidated by him, like you could pass out any moment, but this is a little different. As if his eyes were telling you another story, but you can’t completely make up the words.

“Sweet creature, when I run out of road, you bring me home, you’ll bring me home.” He finishes the song, hums the closing melody and you watch him in complete awe. Your lips part when you catch his gaze move down to them and you swear you see him leaning closer, as if he is about to kiss you. Your breath gets caught in your throat, he is so close, just a few more inches and you’d taste those perfect lips of his, the ones you’ve been dreaming about for way too long.

It almost happens, it seems, but just when that last push is about to set in Gemma waltz into the kitchen and you step back faster than light, pushing him away even though the sudden lack of his touch is more painful than you were expecting.

“You guys—Oh, what’s up?” she asks stopping at the door and you feel yourself getting redder with each passing moment, the heat crawling up your neck, ears cheeks, right to the top of your head. What were you thinking? You let yourself believe Harry would ever kiss you, this whole scene was nothing more than just a friendly moment the two of you were sharing.

“I’m—sorry,” you breathe out making your way out of the kitchen, right up to your room to have some well needed space.

“Way to ruin everything,” Harry snickers at his sister.

“You joking? You wanted to kiss her in her mum’s kitchen?” Gemma snaps at him in disbelief.

“We were having a moment,” he mumbles rubbing his face with his hands. “Up until you stomped in with your big mouth.”

“Well, if you were havin’ a moment, just make it happen again.”

“As if it’s that easy, Gemma!” he scoffs throwing his hands in the air.

“Man up and tell her how you feel, don’t have to complicate it too much,” she shrugs before walking out and leaving her brother alone. Harry growls in frustration, the gears in his head turning wildly as he is trying to figure out how to come clear to you about his feelings.

 Meanwhile, up in your room you get out your laptop and busy yourself with checking up on messages and emails you’ve been ignoring, hoping that the uneasy feeling in your chest will ease very soon. Your hands were shaking when you locked yourself up in your room, but as you get focused on other tasks you slowly gain your balance back.

You kind of even forget that the Styles’ were over, you only realize that you abruptly pulled yourself out of the evening when there’s a soft knock on your door.

“Come on in!” you call out and a moment later Harry’s head pops in, eyes softly falling on your sitting figure on the bed. “Hey,” you smile at him faintly.

“Hey. Thought you were sleepin’s or summat.” Coming inside he closes the door behind him then sits on your plush rug in the middle of the room.

“Just… sorted some work related things out,” you sigh.

“Working during the holidays? Tha’s not healthy.”

“I know, I’m done,” you smile shutting the laptop down and putting it aside. “Sorry I disappeared, I just—“

“No worries,” Harry shakes his head. “Mum and Gems went home, they thought you were sleeping too, tha’s why they didn’t say goodbye.”

“Oh, alright.”

“But I thought we could have a sleepover,” he peeks at you with a boyish smile.

“What, like we did in middle school?” you chuckle.

“Yea, thought it would be fun.”

“Well, I don’t think my bed would fit us comfortably and we don’t have the mattress anymore that you used to sleep on,” you tell him looking around.

“Nonsense, I’m not tha’ big,” he insists hopping to his feet and throwing himself on the bed, ignoring that you’re already there. His body takes up more than half on the bed , limbs wrapping around you as he brings you down to the mattress next to him, you can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips.

“You’re like a gigantic baby, Harry!” you laugh as he keeps you down on the bed with his arm.

“It’s perfectly fine for two people,” he mumbles with a smirk, closing his eyes as his head sinks into your pillow.

“Do you ever get no as an answer?” you ask looking at him in awe. You can never get used to seeing him so up close, like not many get to.

“No,” he huffs in satisfaction, his arm bringing you closer to him and you just giggle at him.

“I’m not sleeping just yet, gotta have a shower first.”

“Do what you want, I’ll be here,” he mumbles but you snort at him.

“You’re not sleeping in my bed without having a shower,” you tell him before you grab your pajamas and head to the bathroom.

You have a quick shower and get done with all your evening business. Returning to your room you find Harry sitting on the floor, his back against the side of the bed as he is scrolling through his phone.

“Does mum know you’re staying over?” you ask him as you throw your used clothes into the hamper, moving around the room while feeling his eyes on you.

“Yeah. ‘S all good.”

“You need a towel?”

“Yes please,” he says pushing himself up from the floor.

“Clothes?” you ask with an arched brow. He just grins at you and it’s enough of an answer. “Here,” you give him the shirt and sweats he has left at yours quite some time ago, along with a clean towel.

“Thanks,” he smirks before leaving to occupy the bathroom.

He doesn’t take long in there, you’re lying in bed already when he returns, smelling like your shower gel, strawberry and melon.

He throws his clothes to the chair in the corner and then lies beside you on the bed. You scoot over to the wall to give him space, but he is quick to bring you closer to him once he has made himself comfortable. You lay your head on his shoulder as you are both scrolling through your phones.

When you had enough, you throw yours to the nightstand, and stay cuddled up to his side.

“Do you remember the last time I slept here?” he asks tossing his phone to the nightstand and bringing his arms around you.

“Mm, was it at my twentieth birthday?”

“Yeah. You were so wasted,” he chuckles and you smirk to yourself

“But you took good care of me.”

“I did. You were so cute, rambling about how much you love me when I took you home from the pub.”

You bite into your bottom lip. You still remember that night vividly. Your birthday party had gone a little wild and you had gotten drunker than you intended to. Luckily, he was there to bring your home and he stayed in the bathroom with you as you threw up everything you ate and drank that evening. Then he made you take a shower, got you fresh clothes out and helped you get into bed. He slept next to you that night, holding you in his arms, gently caressing your back and upper arm as you fell into your drunken slumber. In the morning you told yourself he just did what any other friend would do, helping you out when you were clearly knocked out, but he made you breakfast in the morning since your mum was working all night and morning and he stayed over later the afternoon to make sure you were alright.

What you told him in your drunken state about loving him, it wasn’t just your friendly side, it was your drunken self coming clear to him, telling him that you are in love with him, but he didn’t take it seriously and you were too ashamed and awkward to even bring it up to him after that, so it was all forgotten very soon.

Following that you planned on telling him how you feel, several times. You even wrote a little speech you planned to give him when the time comes, but you couldn’t do it. The fear of losing him if he doesn’t feel the same was stronger than you expected and every time you had the chance to come clear, you chickened out. The thought of losing him as a friend is way worse than having to push your feelings down... forever. You just can’t imagine your life without Harry in it and you can’t risk losing him.

The two of you talk for quite a while, laughing about the good old times, until you both fall asleep. Sometime in the middle of the night you wake up and feel Harry wrapped around you, his head lying on your chest as he is snoring softly. He truly is like a big baby, an arm thrown over your stomach, his legs tangled with yours. Good Lord, how amazing it feels to have him so close to you!

Reaching up you tangle your fingers through his hair gently so he doesn’t wake up, his soft curls glide between your fingers easily and lifting your head you kiss the top of his head before letting yourself drift back to sleep.

When you open your eyes the next time the situation is the opposite, you are the one cuddled up to Harry’s side who is scrolling through his phone with one hand, keeping the other one on your arm.

“Mornin’, sleepy head,” he chuckles softly when he sees you awake.

“Mmm, what time is it?” you ask letting your head rest on his chest a little longer.

“Quarter to nine. You can sleep a little more if you want, it’s not that late.”

“No, I promised mum I’d help her wrap gifts,” you sigh rolling over to your stomach as you push yourself up to your elbows to look at him. “Love the double chin you got going there,” you tease him sleepily and he just smirks.

“Yea? Quite cute, right? Worked a lot on it,” he jokes running his finger over it before letting out a chuckle. “Ready for our battle today?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. You are going down this year, Styles,” you tell him pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Harry only pushes himself further on the bed enough to rest his head against the headboard.

“Oh really? I wouldn’t be that sure about tha’,” he warns you, but you are feeling pretty confident about your performance this year. There’s no way he can top it.

“We’ll see. Alright, I need a coffee. Want something for breakfast?” you ask him crawling out of the bed.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

Your mum is already in the kitchen, sipping on her morning coffee while reading the paper. She doesn’t find it even a bit weird that Harry spent the night at yours, it’s been quite the usual for you. Harry helps you make eggs and bacon and the three of you eat together, having a lovely time and you genuinely feel like it’s just like in the good old times when you were still living home and Harry wasn’t Harry Styles, but the boy from across the street.

He goes home after breakfast to help his own mum with the cooking for tonight’s dinner and you don’t do much for the rest of the day, just spend time with your mum, watch movies and relax. It’s nice to unwind after such a busy year behind you.

Not long before five you go to take a shower and get ready to head over to the Styles��� and you pack everything you’ll need for the evening: gifts, ugly sweater, accessories. Harry is going down this year for sure.

It’s a little past six when you and your mum walk across the street, Anne’s Christmas lights are putting the little town house into the spirit for sure. You don’t even ring the bell, just walk straight in, like you always do. The Christmas tree stands tall in their living room and the table is already nicely set. Gemma and Michal are snuggled up on the couch while Harry is helping Anne in the kitchen with the finishing touches.

“I’m rooting for you this year,” Gemma winks at you when you set down your bag in the corner that has everything you’ll need for your performance.

“He’s gonna lose this round,” you smirk proudly, very sure in yourself.

Harry greets you with a bright smile and a tight hug when he walks into the living room, as if you didn’t just see each other a few hours earlier.

When the food is ready you all sit down to eat, and though you’re trying your best to focus on the conversation, you’re getting excited about tonight’s karaoke battle.

“Anxious much?” Harry asks you quietly.

“Why are you asking?”

He doesn’t answer, just places a hand to your thigh stopping it from shaking, making you realize you’ve been probably bouncing it all along. He smirks at you as you just roll your eyes at him.

“’S okay, you can handle one more year of losing,” he teases you and you give him an arched eyebrow.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Harry,” you warn him, but he just squeezes your thigh again before bringing his hands back up to the table, leaving you a little breathless with his touch.

You all help clean up the table after dinner and when it’s done, you gather in the living room to open gifts.

When Harry’s career launched, the first few years you felt anxious about gifting him, because you felt like you couldn’t give him enough. He had all the money and bought everything he needed for himself, there wasn’t much you could give him. But when one time, you admitted to him this struggle of yours he assured you that it doesn’t matter what you give him, it’ll always be precious to him.

“You thought about me, you took the time to buy something for me, and that’s more than enough, Y/N,” he told you and though it took you time, but you got used to it. Especially when you saw the same excitement in his eyes every time you gifted something to him, you slowly but surely realized he wasn’t expecting a Gucci suit, but a thoughtful gesture.

Gathering in the living room you open the presents one by one and just as always, everyone was quite creative with the gifts. You can’t help but still feel a little anxious when Harry grabs his gift from you. Giving you an excited look he unties the little bow on the top and tears the wrapping paper off.

“Y/N!” he breathes out, eyes softening as he pulls the knitted cardigan out of the box.

“I always saw you wearing all sorts of cardigans and so I finally had a reason to learn how to knit, so I thought I would make one for you,” you ramble as he holds up the baby blue cardigan that has little daisies all over the front. It took you an entire week to just make the daisies, you worked on the whole cardigan for more than two months, usually in the middle of the night, staying up until unholy hours to finish in time.

But Harry’s smile is worth it all, he is beaming, clearly so in love with what you made him, so you breathe out relieved. He then puts it aside and wraps his arms around you pulling you into the tightest hug.

“Thank you, I love it so much,” he mumbles and kisses your temple and you breathe in his sweet scent, burying yourself in his embrace, hugging his waist.

When you part, Harry reaches for a box from under the tree and hands it to you, a nervous smile tugging on his lips. You can tell he wrapped the gift himself, the silver wrapping paper is a little uneven, but the huge rainbow colored bow on the top is the perfect touch that makes it like a piece of him.

You carefully tear the paper off, peeking inside you just see a plain box that doesn’t give much away. Glancing up at Harry you see how he is anxiously biting his bottom lip, even though you’d be happy with a gift as small as a candle. It’s the thought that counts.

“I-I wasn’t sure if this was the one you mentioned to me, so I hope it’s gonna be alright,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on your hands as they open the box, while you try to think back what you have told him about that caught his attention, but you just can’t recall what you wanted to get so badly you told Harry about it.

As you open the box you don’t process what it is immediately, the plastic wrapper making it hard to figure it out, but when you carefully pull out the object, you gasp in surprise.

“Harry!” you breathe out as you pull off the plastic of the old, vintage polaroid camera. It’s not one of these new types you can buy in stores easily, this is a classic, must have quite a history behind it.

Now you vaguely remember talking about longing for an oldschool, vintage camera, but it was months ago and you’ve forgotten about the whole thing since these devices cost a fortune because there aren’t many left from them. But now there’s one in your hands, because Harry not only listened to you, but he remembered and went out of his way to find you one in amazing condition.

“This must have cost a fortune!” you huff, your heart pounding in your chest, though you already know it doesn’t matter to him.

“This face is worth every penny,” he smiles at you softly before you throw yourself at him for another round of hugging. This man surely knows how to have you wrapped around his fingers.

The two of you sit on the floor as you figure out how to make the camera work, Harry bought everything needed, so you have a few packs of films as well. When it’s all done you bring it up to your face and aim it at Harry. It takes him a moment to realize that you’re about to snap your first photo and he tries to snatch the camera away, but it’s too late, the flash goes off and the device pushes out the undeveloped picture.

“You wasted your first snap on me?” he protests rubbing his eyes after the flash blinded him for a little.

“It’s not a waste,” you tell him as you patiently wait for the picture to finally appear.

Slowly, the colors start to show and in a couple of minutes Harry’s face appears, his hand reaching in the direction of the camera, looking out of focus, only his face appearing clearly. He looks so delicate, his eyes dazzling as a soft smile plays on his lips. This moment now will live forever not just in your mind, but on this photo.

 Harry goes out with his karaoke performance this year for sure and you’d be actually anxious about him winning if only you didn’t have the absolutely best performance right in your pocket.

His sweater this year features some really ugly looking penguins and a horroristic reindeer on the back, it’s really ugly and you can’t even imagine who thought it would be fine to make it and then sell it. His choice of music is also excellent, he has a great eye for songs you’d never imagine him perform and then shock everyone with it. This year, he chose Rude Boy by none other than Rihanna, and it’s fantastic, no one can make it through the song without crying. Harry makes sure to put on his best show, even dancing and twerking unapologetically, trying everything to win the battle and you are amazed by his effort. Above all the fun and jokes, he nails the song, that’s undeniable. It always baffles you how he can just slay any and all genres, even the ones that stand a million miles away from his style.

When the song is over, you all cheer for him, because he truly deserves it. He grins down at you in victory, but you just give him a challenging smirk.

“You can just give up now, if you want,” he teases you as you stand up from the couch and the two of you trade places.

“Oh, I think you should be the one to worry about losing,” you warn him grabbing your bag. Stepping to Gemma you whisper into her ear, instructing her to put on your song when you call out from the bathroom, since you are planning on do a grandiose entrance. When she hears what song you’ll be singing she gasps.

“Oh my fucking God, no way!” he looks at your with wide eyes.

“What? What is it?” Harry asks, dying to know what you just told his sister, but you shake your head at him.

“Patience,” you tell him before locking yourself up in the bathroom.

This year, you didn’t find the sweater, the sweater found you. On one of your thrift tours, you were digging up a huge pile of clothes when you came right across it and you knew what you needed to do.

Putting on the sweater you fix up your hair quickly before putting on your party glasses, the one that lights up if you switch it on. You take one last look at yourself in the mirror and smirk at your reflection knowing well you’ll have everyone dead when you walk out.

“Gemma! You can start it!” you call out with your hand on the doorknob, waiting to hear the music. Gemma quickly starts in and you haven’t even stepped out, you can hear a round of gasps.

Best Song Ever blasts through the speakers and you walk out trying your best to imitate a younger version of Harry, wearing the absolute ugliest Christmas sweater ever, that has the faces of One Direction all over it, filling up every inch of the fabric, and all of them have poorly photoshopped Santa hats on, it’s just literal trash and ridiculously perfect for the battle.

You grab the mic and start singing as everyone screams in the room. You jump, sing and even do the dance moves the boys do in the original music video, and when you look at Harry you see him staring at you in disbelief and total defeat. Everyone knows you won, nothing can top this performance ever and you could burst from the sweet feeling of victory.

By the end of the song everyone is up on their feet dancing and singing with you, a mini party forming in the middle of the living room and you all scream the last lines as the song comes to its end.

“I think we don’t even need to vote this time,” you say when the music stops, everyone screaming in agreement while Harry stares down at you, trying to hide his growing smirk.

“Where did you even find this?” he asks chuckling as he takes a better look at the sweater.

“At a thrift store, it called out my name, knew it’d be perfect.”

“It really is ugly, if I’m being honest,” he sighs, his eyes meeting yours again. “And the song… I accept defeat, you earned this victory, Y/N,” he tells you bowing and admitting your victory.

 Later that night everyone is so keen on watching Holiday, you agree to stay even though you feel your eyelids heavily weighing down, threatening to close with each passing moment. You let your head rest on Harry’s shoulder and he presses his cheek against the crown of your head.

It’s not a surprise you fall asleep halfway into the movie, but what you weren’t expecting is to wake up and find yourself not on the couch anymore, but in Harry’s bed. It’s dark, only the moon is shining through his windows and as you turn to the right you see that he is sleeping peacefully next to you on his back, one arm spread next to him, hand hanging from the edge, the other one resting on his stomach, rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

Squinting your eyes you look at the digital clock on his dresser, it reads 3:23 am so you’ve been asleep for quite a few hours now. You don’t even remember him bringing you up here, but you’re definitely not mad that he didn’t bring you home, just up to his room.

Rolling to your side you give yourself a moment to adorn his beauty without fearing he would catch your wandering eyes. Everything seems so perfect about him, the line of his nose, his cupid’s bow that delicately rolls into her lips. The crease between his eyebrows, his soft skin on his cheeks, down his neck that runs into his broad shoulders and inked, strong arms. You truly think there’s no man that could compare to him and you are lucky enough to live your life so close to him, be able to touch him, hear his voice whenever you miss him, see his smile and share a connection with him.

It’s so silly, but you think of him as your personal ray of sunshine in your life. Just the smallest things about him can brighten your worst day, he’ll always have a special place in your heart, no matter where life takes the two of you.

Watching him sleeping you allow yourself to break free from your doubts and fears and scooting closer you shyly curl up to his side, your head resting on his shoulder, but you can’t even make yourself comfortable before you feel him moving under you.

Sucking on your breath you think he’ll push you away, not wanting you so close, but instead, he pulls his arm from under you, curling around your frame as he pulls you tight to him, almost making you lie on top of him. Your whole body is pressed against him and you mingle a leg between his long ones under the soft sheets. You let out a long huff at the warm touch of his body against your skin, completely lost in him.

“You alright?” he mumbles in his sleep laced voice, his eyes remain closed.

“Yeah. Is this okay?” you nervously ask as you lay your hand flat on his stomach. He brings his hand that was hanging from the bed on his other side and covers yours, as he squeezes you tight to his side.

“’M all yours,” he breathes out, his words sending a shiver down your spine. You’re sure he didn’t mean it like that, but it warmed your heart to hear it from him and you let your mind play with the thought that there was more behind his words than a friendly manner.

Nuzzling your head into his chest you close your eyes and listening to his steady heartbeat you let yourself fall back asleep.

 Your morning is filled with coffee, pancakes, laughter and great company. Harry doesn’t let you leave without having breakfast with them, so you sit with the Styles family and laugh about the craziest stories from your teenage years.

“Remember when we tried to run away?” Harry grins at you, his red mug that had white polka dots all over it in his hands as he eyes you.

“Oh, how could I forget that?” you huff and Gemma turns to you with surprise in her eyes.

“Wait, I didn’t know about that!”

“Because we didn’t get too far,” Harry laughs. “We were, what, like fifteen?”

“Yeah, it was a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday,” you nod smiling.

“I had a fight with mum about God knows what, then stormed over to Y/N’s and talked her into running away. So we packed our backpacks and left.”

“Where did you go?” Michal asks with an amused grin as he listens to the story.

“We didn’t want to go into town, running into anyone we know, so we thought we would just go straight out to the meadow that’s there,” Harry says gesturing towards the window. The edge of the town is not so war, and a huge meadow lies there, a little stream running across it. “We walked for quite long, but then it started to get dark and we had nowhere to go, so we just ended up coming back home. No one even noticed we were gone, they thought we just went out to bike or something,” he finishes laughing.

“You knew about this?” Gemma asks Anne.

“Yeah, he came clear the next day, thinking he would piss me off with it, but I didn’t care, he came back for dinner, so it was alright,” Anne explains laughing.

It’s been so long since it happened, but I still remember it vividly, only that it was a more dramatic memory back then, now I can only laugh at it.

“We should go for a walk today,” Harry prompts to you.

“Wanna run away again?” you tease him.

“Always,” he chuckles.

You help cleaning up and agree with Harry to meet outside in an hour to take a walk to the meadow. Going home you take a shower and wash the dishes your mum left in the sink when she left for her morning shift. You put on a pair of boyfriend jeans, a warm sweater and your jacket with your trusty boots and you walk out the house right when Harry steps out as well. He grins in your way as the two of you meet in the middle of the street. He holds his arm out for you.

“M’ lady?” he smirks as you link your arm with his and the two of you head out for your little walk. It’s a gloomy day, might rain later as well, but it’s dry so far, so you’re just hoping to get home before it starts raining. Your runaway attempt wasn’t the only time the two of you came out here, it was kind of your place when you felt like having a break from everyone else. You biked out here, brought your favorite snacks and just ran around, enjoying the stillness.

However it also holds a bitter memory as well.

A little further down among the trees happened Harry’s first kiss and you witnessed it, feeling your heart break to a million pieces when you saw him lock lips with someone who wasn’t you.

Debby Hamilton was a friend of yours in sixth grade, you’d say, your only friend beside Harry and the three of you often hung out together around that time. Debby was a delight, you always desired to be more like her, boys liked her and she knew it damn well, but it didn’t make her cocky and egoistic. You always thought Harry had a crush on her, why would have he? They kind of looked cute together.

It was a Friday afternoon and Harry asked if you wanted to come out and listen to his new cassette he got for his old Walkman he refused to get rid of as technology was evolving. You figured he’d want Debby there as well so you invited her along, but didn’t tell Harry. He never made a move on Debby and you thought he was just looking for the right time.

That afternoon, you were supposed to meet them out there at five, but you didn’t leave until half past five and it takes about twenty minutes to get out there. Though you gave them the alone time technically, it still startled you when you found them under one of the oak trees, Debby leaning her back against the tree as Harry stood in front of her. She was smiling up at him sweetly, saying something to him and you were just about to call out for them and apologize for being late when Harry ducked his head and kissed Debby right in front of your eyes.

That was your first and probably worst heartbreak and you were only twelve. You felt betrayed, hopeless and naïve to think Harry would ever have a thing for you when there were girls like Debby. You left without letting them know you were there. When Harry asked you later why you didn’t come you told him you felt sick to your stomach, which wasn’t a total lie, you had quite the nausea after seeing Harry with Debby, but he didn’t have to know all the details.

He later told you about kissing Debby and you pretended like you didn’t know about it. However they never dated and not long after their kiss Debby drifted away from the two of you. Not that you minded, you had a bitter feeling every time you had to look at her after that, jealousy raging in your chest knowing that she got Harry’s first kiss.

He didn’t bring it up after and you weren’t keen on talking about it, but you still know which tree they were standing under and now as you near the area you see that it still stands tall near the tiny stream.

Peeking up at Harry you see that his eyes are focused on the same tree, but then he catches you looking.

“Memories?” you innocently ask, feeling your chest tightening. You don’t even know why you asked. It’s been over a decade since that kiss, you are both adults, but you still can’t help the sadness that washes over you at just the thought, why would you want to get him talk about it now?

“’S just… that’s the tree I kissed Debby when I was twelve,” he mumbles with a shrug. Biting into your bottom lip you look at the old oak tree nodding your head and before you could stop yourself, you speak up.

“I know.”

“What? How would you? I never told you,” Harry asks stopping, a puzzled look pulling on his face.

“Well I… It doesn’t matter,” you sigh, regretting ever opening your mouth.

“It does. Tell me!” he pleads standing in front of you.

“I know it, because… I was here.”

“You what?”

“I came, I was just very late. And when I arrived you two were standing there and I saw you kiss. I thought I shouldn’t interrupt whatever was happening so I went home and let you two be,” you explain, changing it up a little bit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why is it important that I saw it? It doesn’t change anything, right?” you ask with a smile that you intended to look innocent, but deep down it’s filled with pain.

Harry opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then remains silent and you are done talking about it, so you just quietly keep walking, Harry catching up with you a few moments later.

It’s awfully quiet after your revelation, it seems like Harry is deep in his thoughts and though you’re dying to know what’s occupying his bright thoughts, you’re kind of afraid you’d hear something you didn’t want to.

The two of you soon head back home and slowly, but you forget about the whole Debby thing. Harry starts talking again, but he looks a little keyed up still when you reach your street.

“Wanna come over later?” you ask standing on the pavement in front of your house, it’s just an innocent question. Harry nods his head.

“Sure. Is your mum working?” he asks glancing at the house, though he knows she is, the car is not on the driveway.

“Yeah. She’ll be home around six.”

He nods again and you want to ask if he is alright, but you decide not to. You share a quick hug before he heads over to his home and you do the same. The house waits for you in silence and when the door clicks behind you, it weighs down on you heavier than you were expecting. You hang your jacket, kick your boots off and throw yourself to the couch, covering your eyes with your arm as you huff out in frustration. You feel silly for getting upset about such a small thing even after so much time, but you just can’t help it.

You barely realize the sound of the front door opening, taking your arm off your eyes you see Harry walk in, eyebrows furrowed, a worried look on his handsome face.

“Harry—“ “I was waiting for you that day,” he simply says as you sit up with wide eyes, confused about what he is really talking about.

“What?”

“That day, we agreed to meet out there to listen to my new Stevie Wonder cassette, but you didn’t show up, Debby did even though I didn’t invite her out there.”

“Well, I did, thought you wanted her there too,” you explain, startled by the situation.

“I would have invited her if I wanted her to be there, but I wanted to be with you. Only you.”

“I-I’m sorry?” you breathe out, not seeing where he is going with it.

“Y/N, you don’t understand,” he huffs and he is right. You don’t. “I wanted to meet you, but you never came, or at least I thought. Then Debby showed up, I was frustrated that you weren’t there and she was being all nice, telling me how cute I looked when I was worried and it all just happened so fast and… I didn’t even want to kiss her.” He looks properly upset telling you the story and he takes a deep breath before his eyes meet yours with a hard stare. “I wanted to be with you,” he repeats.

“Harry, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

He shakes his hair, not even letting you finish, because he knows what you wanted to say and that you still don’t understand the meaning behind his words.

“Y/N, I wanted to kiss you,” he then finally says and you suck on your breath as he continues. “Well, not right then and there, but I’ve been meaning to kiss you, I just didn’t know when. I thought that if we have a moment that afternoon I’d do it, but you never came and I was mad and disappointed. I hated myself for kissing Debby, because I didn’t really want to, it just… happened. I wanted to tell you, and I intended to do it when I told you we kissed, but you acted so happy, I figured you didn’t feel the same way about me as I did for you. So I didn’t tell you the rest, but…” He sighs in defeat, looking for words, but he ran out.

“Why are you telling this to me now?” you ask a little out of breath, your head feeling heavy at the new information you just heard.

“Why didn’t you tell me you saw us and why did you go home without a word?” he asks ignoring your question.

“I… don’t—“

“Don’t try to lie.”

Gulping hard you lick your dried lips as you stare back at him.

“Because I was… jealous.” Your voice comes out only as a whisper. Harry’s lips part as he takes two steps closer to you.

“You had feelings for me?” he asks and you just nod your head, not trusting yourself with your voice. “Do you still have feelings for me?”

“I do,” you whisper your answer and Harry lets out a sharp breath as he leaps across the room in your way. You jump to your feet, thinking that he’ll lash out on your for keeping it a secret and you open your mouth to explain yourself, but you never get to speak up because as Harry reaches you, one hand snaps to the back of your neck, the other one to your waist, yanking you against him as his lips crash to yours.

You gasp in surprise, but it doesn’t take long to kiss him back, your numb mind blindly reacting to his sudden action. Your hands snake up to the back of his neck as you pull him closer, returning his hungry kisses. His soft lips feel so smooth and warm against yours and when his tongue runs along your bottom lip you whimper letting your tongues meet in the middle.

He is intoxicating and it doesn’t help that your adrenaline level is up in the sky, you’ve fantasized about it way too many times, and now that it’s happening your body is burning in flames. He kisses you all over and over again, his body pressing against yours hard and when he even leans in making you lean back, you lose balance and the two of you fall to the couch, both of you gasping as you are forced to part your lips.

“Fuck,” you chuckle as Harry is basically lying on you, holding himself up on his arms, but you feel him everywhere.

“’M sorry, I got a little carried away, but I’ve been dying to do this since forever,” he admits chuckling as he lifts his head and looks down at you with those bright green eyes of his.

“Really?” you breathe out, only slowly processing what’s really just happened.

“Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since I first saw you hiding behind your mum.”

“Idiot, you were just a kid, you weren’t in love,” you chuckle, running up your hands to the back of his neck, your fingers playing with the soft curls. He smirks and nuzzles his nose against yours.

“Oh, I was, I just didn’t know it yet.” Leaning down he pecks your lips softly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you so many times, but I didn’t want it to ruin our friendship. Though I was growing impatient these last few years.”

“Yeah?” you chuckle.

“You can’t imagine,” he huffs shaking his head. I almost kissed you the other day in the kitchen, but Gemma completely ruined the moment.”

“I’m sorry I ran away, I was just—“ “No need to apologize. I guess it all played out well after all, right?” he smirks and you can’t help but chuckle.

“I guess,” you breathe out and the smile slowly fades from your lips. “And now what?” you ask quietly, staring up at him.

“Now… We’ll try to make things work. Test the waters. I’m very serious about this, Y/N,” he tells you. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life so I’m not gonna let go of you now.”

“You have no idea how happy this is making me,” you choke out feeling the tears forming in your eyes.

“Oh Love, please don’t cry,” he begs and leaning down he kisses your tears away. “I’m right here, with you. Sorry it took me so long you get here, but I’m here now.”

“I know,” you huff blinking away the tears as you pull him down and press your lips to his. “I love you, Harry,” you whisper against his perfect lips. You feel him exhale sharply as he keeps kissing you before he lifts his head so your eyes meet again.

“I’ve always loved you.”

 Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought about it!

[gogysvisa]

no I've never sent an anon to blair nor do I plan to all my interactions with her were semi pleasant till they weren't and she went off the deep end

Forget anything else, this has me curious. What unpleasant interactions did you have with Blair?

Uh, lets see

tldr; just said some batshit insane stuff about dream and George which isn't bad because I enjoy that stuff, but it just got weirder and weirder until it got DEEPLY concerning, and it felt like I was looking at a young teenagers mental spiral through dream and George puppets? and it didn't help that the adults around her goaded her and fed into it to degrees that made me personally uncomfortable Ill post most of the stuff under a readmore because I've been sitting on it for a while, this isn't a critique of blair because she's already been critiqued to hell and back but mostly just my POV about how dangerous and batshit internet cults can be

I think I was around since almost the start right after she posted the dream and George chart analysis, I wasn't particularly in her inner group or anything, but like I said I enjoy batshit, she is actually quiet knowledgeable about astrology at such a young age and I was impressed and interested so I kept an eye out astrology wasn't where her interests in esotericism ended she was pretty much a standard internet young esoteric, enjoyed tarot and pendulums and of course if you followed her you'd know all about this mystical "rock" that her friend owned that she got answers from, I am still not certain if it was a pendulum or just a very strong LSD tablet so she'd use all these avenues along with all the other people in her server to divine certain futures for DNF basically, au's that they -me included- treated as reality because why not, its fun exploring stupid scenarios -vis a vis dream gay- but a lot of these scenarios were stupid and not really based on anything in reality or analysis just literally someone draws a card and suddenly everyone is mourning DNF's death or whatever, which, upon asking some of my friends who are into divining and tarot is not how this should be done anyways so I guess they just enjoyed projecting their shitty feelings and having people mourn with them just as a start to this paragraph, she was 16 at this point, with every coincidence she got right people went insane over her, I still vividly remember in 404cord where she put out a couple of dates based on transits that were interesting and she said something will happen in one of this dates, and one of those dates happened to be the Quiz Night and suddenly everyone was holding on to EVERY word she will ever say from that point, a huge sizable chunk of her cult basically came from 404cord. I don't use the word cult lightly btw, seeing how people interacted with her, the only correct word is her word, every other divination that Blair didn't agree with was cast aside even if people were once agreeing with it, the people around her either were mocking her or hooked onto every word hook line and sinker and some of the AU's she explored as if they were reality were very concerning starting with, the suicide fic, which she co wrote with an adult friend of hers, I sadly don't have an archive of it specifically but I do have screenshots of the day she started going insane about it

I am not critiquing the weirdness of this so much so as the ENVIROMENT that birthed the fact that they were talking about dream committing suicide as if it were a reality and blair was encouraged to continue? so much so to fully write it out?

the outline of the fic goes something along the lines of, dream compulsive straight, george is in love with him, they aren't together, dream gets married and has kids, kills himself because of straight pressures and george has to raise the kids which is hilarious out of context but concerning seeing it being treated as a feasible very possible alternate reality. She tends to hide behind "its not real" as a defense, and likes to illustrate they are "just talking as if its real" but that's just a common tactic in communities like these ones to try and appear more normal, trust me I am very sure she along with the people closest to her truly believed, genuinely, that there was an alternate universe where this is possible

they'd say shit like this all the time, and call themselves delusional and crazy, but just like people in this fandom tend to go "haha dnf dating haha im so crazy and delusional" yet still 100% believe it? these guys were the same, its partially why I stopped calling myself delusional, because I was faced with true delusion. they explored multiple scenarios like the suicide fic one but this one was the one that made me go Oh No... next up! all the insane adults around in her inner circle! messiah, van and iceglade come to mind immediately but I remember a couple others including obaba the 40 year old nice lady in the fandom, obaba I think genuinely thought they knew it was all fanfic so I don't think Ill go too hard on her and I have a feeling she felt bad for blair because of all the bullying she got from the fandom but the other adults were as insane as blair or even more blair would explore multiple nsfw scenarios with them and start hinting at them in the server, she would never say any of that stuff in the server because you know...16 year old... talking to 18,23,21 year olds about nsfw scenarios and then coming to this server which is mostly adults to also hint at that crazy shit

nothing was more surreal than seeing all these grown ass people literally believe the words of a 16yr old kid when she tells them that dream and george are into scat the whole adult thing was the biggest ick to me, seeing how she interacted with her inner circle and how they like, took advantage of her popularity to talk insane sexual scenarios about dnf with her was just....ew on so many levels I sadly don't have an archive of this because blair made sure to delete the nsfw stuff she said precisely for this reason, she'd also censor herself and such and I am personally not going to moral panic pander over a 16yr old being horny because who wasn't, at that age, but I am going to harshly judge all the adults around her who take advantage of that this thing is already long by itself, and honestly a lot of this stand alone big picture isn't the worse thing there is out on the internet or in this fandom, I know a lot of these people have moved on from the fandom or such but seeing all that in front of me an experiencing it just made me go "oh god I feel like I'm in a wild zoo documentary" and I wanted to share my POV/documentation of that wild ride because I am also a certain level of mentally ill

edited: removed the screenshots

[countryclubkillanowhuh]

Halloween

established relationship rafebarry

(Rafe is kind of ooc in this because this fic is technically set in the timeline of a longer fic that I am writing where Rafe never killed Peterkin and Ward went to jail. I’m not super into how I wrote him but it took to long to write this for me to go back and change it.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I ain’t dressin’ up.”

“What! Barry you have to! The Tannyhill halloween party is like one of the biggest events of the year. No way you come without a costume on.”

“No, Sarah. Shits for little kids and rich chicks looking for an excuse to dress all slutty and get trashed. I don’t want no part of that.” Barry argued, for the fourth time today. The entire group had been trying to convince him all week to come to this stupid ass, Kook ass party. He hadn’t given in until Rafe hunkered down on the idea and did some pretty serious convincing, the boy could be persuasive when he tried.

Especially since, when it came to persuading Barry, he really didn’t have to try that hard.

Now, however, the man was determined to stand his ground. If he was going to be forced into going to some party full of rich teenagers he absolutely was not budging on his decision to go as himself.

“Yeah Barry, everyone else is going to be dressed up. It won’t be any fun if you’re the only one who isn’t.” Barry decided it was easier to just ignore JJ than try to explain for the thousandth time that it wasn’t going to be any fun either way.

When she realized that he wasn’t going to grace her friend with any sort of response, Sarah continued, “Come on Barry, even Rafe is dressing up.”

“That’s a nice try princess, but that ain’t gonna change the fact that i’m not doin’ it.”

He then looked around at the living room they were all sitting in, and was reminded that the only reason he ever even came to this god forsaken murder mansion, wasn’t even back from wherever the hell he went two hours ago. “Where is he anyways? Didn’t he say he’d be back in 30 like 120 ago?”

The question was directed at Sarah and Kiara considering them and Barry had been the only ones here when Rafe left.

“He’s probably picking up his costume from the dry cleaners.” Kiara answered, “You know those assholes always take way longer than they need to.”

“No actually, I wouldn’t know that Kiara, cause I don’t take shit to the cleaners. Hold on, he already has his costume? Halloween isn’t for another two weeks.”

“Yeah, are you new? Halloween is Rafe’s favorite holiday, he goes all out. Every year he plans his costume at least a month in advance. He doesn’t ever tell anyone what it is until the night of though, he always makes it into some sort of dramatic reveal.” Sarah explained.

“Oh, so imagine how happy he’d be if his brand new boyfriend dressed up with him for their first halloween as a couple.” JJ inputted.

“How much do you think Rafe would appreciate an act of devotion like that JJ?”

“Oh I don’t know Pope. He’d probably appreciate it a lot if you get my meaning.”

“Do you two ever shut up?” They both shook their heads at Barry’s question, proud grins on their faces as if that was just the reaction they were hoping for. “Halloween? Is Rafe Cameron’s favorite holiday? Really?”

“Yeah. How don’t you know that?” John B asked, “I don’t even like Rafe and I know that.”

“I thought that was how he convinced you to come to the party.”

“Uh, no, Sarah that’s not how he did it.”

Barry explained, hoping that the middle Cameron wouldn’t push for a better explanation of just how exactly her brother had done what the rest of them had deemed impossible.

But, of course, since Barry luck was against him, the next words out of the girls mouth were, “Okay then how did he convince you to come?”

“He used a more….physical persuasion technique.”

The resulting sound of John B, JJ, and Pope’s whoops and hollers was suddenly harmonized with the sound of a certain dirt bike speeding into the driveway.

They all turned to face the front door as the topic of conversation himself walked in, carrying a big black clothing bag over his shoulder.

“Umm.. hello? When did you all get here?”

Rafe greeted, looking skeptically at the three boys who hadn’t been at Tannyhill when he left.

“Sarah called them over to talk group Halloween costumes like an hour ago.” Kie answered.

“And they’ve all be talking to you this whole time Bear?”

“Yup. This is what you abandoned me with. I hope you feel bad about it.” Barry quipped, trying not react to the most recent of nicknames for him that Rafe had been trying out since they got together.

He’d hated all the previous attempts and requested that Rafe never call him them again. The current one wasn’t awful though, so he hadn’t said anything about it. He figured the silence was confirmation enough, because that’s the only one Rafe had used since.

“I would’ve taken you with me but this is top secret so…” He trailed off, shaking said top secret clothing bag in front of himself to show what he was talking about.

“That a suit or somethin,? You got some sort of event comin up that you ain’t told me about?” Barry refused to believe that his boyfriend actually had a two week early costume in that bag despite what the others had said.

“Nope. Halloween costume, I always get them in really early so I can be prepared. Do you know what your gonna be yet? Cause if not you should figure it out soon, all the good costumes will be gone if you wait until last minute.”

All Barry could do for a second was blink in shock at the fact that Sarah and the rest of the Pogues weren’t fucking with him. Rafe really did like Halloween that much.

When he finally could speak all he managed was a short “No not yet.” before slipping back into his shocked state.

“Okay, Bear. Let me know if you need any help coming up with something yeah? I’ll be right back, just gonna go hang this up.”

Everyone was silent as Rafe left and made his way to what used to be his room,Barry finally turning to face the rest of the living rooms inhabitants when he could no longer hear footsteps going up the stairs.

When he did so, Sarah was looking at him like she’d just won a years long bet.

Reluctantly sighing, he addressed the members of the room, “Y’a know what? Fuckin’ fine. But I ain’t puttin no effort into finding a damn costume.”

At that Sarah’s grin only grew impossibly wider, “Leave that to me and Wheezie. We’ll find something perfect.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That’s how, the day of the party, Barry found himself in the middle of the youngest Camrons room, legs cold from the shorts he was wearing, while Sarah attempted to detangle his hair with the brush they’d requested he bring, Wheezie observing the whole thing from where she was seated on her bed.

“Bitch, if you don’t stop yankin’ my hair out imma kill you.”

“Quit whining Barry, i’m not even pulling that much you’re just tender headed or something. I swear your hair is worse than when we started though.”

“That’s cause you ain’t fuckin’ doing it right. And I ain’t tender headed, ask yo’ brother.”

He argued.

At that Sarah pulled even harder on the knot she had been working on that Barry’s pretty sure she created in the first place, “Gross, Barry. Don’t say stuff like that around Wheezie.”

“Not like I don’t know, they stay the night here sometimes remember? Rafe’s old room is right down the hall.” Wheezie provided, causing Barry to make a mental note to tell Rafe to keep it down next time they stayed here.

Sarah ripped another lock of hair out in response before Barry snatched the brush away from her and started brushing his own damn hair. She must’ve been taking forever on purpose or something because he got the few knots out in a total of 2 minutes.

Once it was brushed Sarah took over again, pulling his shoulder length hair into a loose bun at the base of his neck, leaving pieces out in the front to ‘frame his face’ whatever the hell that means.

When he was finally deemed ready by the sisters, Wheezie got up off her bed and led Barry towards the floor to ceiling mirrors that made up her closet door.

“I look stupid.”

“No you don’t!” Sarah hit his shoulder to emphasize her argument. “You look hot.”

“I’m telling you, I snuck into Rafe’s old room a few days ago and looked at his costume. This one will go perfectly with his, he’s going to love it.” Wheezie added, gesturing with her hands towards the costume on Barry’s body.

“I highly doubt Rafe Cameron loves anything about his boyfriend bein’ dressed as a cop. In fact I’m pretty sure there ain’t no one Rafe hates more then those assholes.”

“It’ll go with his, trust me. And besides even if it didn’t, you’re not just a cop, you’re a sexy cop. At least that’s what it said online when I bought it.” Wheezie continued.

Barry thought about that for a moment before including , “Yeah, that’s another thing. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the fact that you, a 13 year old girl, bought me, a 25 year old man, a costume that was advertised as ‘sexy’. “

“Okay, then just don’t think about it as being weird, think about it as your boyfriends little sisters being super supportive of your new relationship. Now, Rafe is probably already waiting for us downstairs so…..buck up buttercup.” Sarah said, pushing the older man out of the bedroom door into the hallway towards the stairs.

Barry didn’t know what it was that he expected Rafe to be dressed as but this sure as hell wasn’t it. Barry’s costume had also been kept secret from Rafe, causing them both to let out surprised laughs when he, Sarah, and Wheezie joined the rest of the party downstairs.

“Look at you! Is that one of them mugshot signs around yo’ neck, Country Club?”

“Yeah, it’s authentic too. The station let me keep it after I got arrested for public indecency a few years ago.”

At Barry’s surprised look the younger of the two elaborated, “Topper and Kelce dared me to streak at this stupid party we were at and I was drunk and multiple kinds of high so…”

Barry just laughed stating that he shouldn’t even be surprised cause that sounds that some shit Rafe would do sober.

“Anyways enough about me, what are you wearing?” Rafe continued, giving his boyfriend a once over that slowed when it reached his uncovered legs.

Barry noticed, but decided not to say anything about it, instead joking, “Well mine ain’t nearly as authentic.”

“No, I don’t think those shorts are very cohesive with our local law enforcements strict dress code.” Rafe replied, slowly bringing his attention back up to Barry’s face.

“You don’t think so? I coulda sworn I saw Shoupe walkin’ around with a pair just like this on last week.” Barry couldn’t help but feel accomplished at his boyfriends responding laugh. “No but seriously, I’m never trusting your sisters with dressin’ me ever again. I’m pretty sure the two of them hate me, puttin’ me in shit like this.”

“Oorrr, more likely theory, my sisters just love me and want me to be happy, and are using you in a tiny pair of tan shorts to accomplish that goal.” Rafe grinned, “You look so fucking good by the way, I didn’t expect you to actually dress up, you hate Halloween.”

“Yeah well you like it so I figured why not. Also the idiot brigade spent hours trying to convince me that you secretly wanted me to.”

“Well I will potentially have to thank them, assuming I can bring myself to talk to them long enough to do so. Wheeze and Sarah did great though, you look hot as fuck and you still managed to look like a proper cop despite the shorts. You have the handcuffs and everything.” Rafe observed, pointing at said handcuffs hanging from one of the unnecessary belt loops sewn into the shorts.

“You look good too, baby. But you did that all by yo’self so I guess i’ll have to find a way to thank you later. And yep, they work too, according to the website, came with a set of keys and everything.”

Rafe raised his eyebrows at that, “The fuck did my sisters buy you? Don’t lose those keys though, we might need them later when you’re thanking me.”

Barry couldn’t help but let out another laugh, “Well then, maybe this costume ain’t so bad after all.”

“See, I told you Halloween can be fun.” Rafe said smug smile on his face due to getting Barry to admit he wasn’t having an awful time like he thought he would.

“Only cause i’m spending it with you, Country Club. I still hate it otherwise.” Barry said, finally leading them both away from the stairs and towards the rest of the party.

[sroloc--elbisivni]

17, 30, 39, 46, and 49?

17: What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

my kingdom for someone else to write the au after season 2 rise where Splinter gets a retromutagen and Hamato Miwa, perfectly ordinary japanese teenager if you ignore her family's enormous secret legacy, decides to go find out who the fuck this guy impersonating her uncle is, without telling her family she's doing this.

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

so when i wrote you run on gasoline it was the first explicit fic i'd ever written and i wanted to publish it anonymously because i was embarrassed that it was dark TF build-a-baby porn and then I couldn't figure out how to add it to a collection that it was written for so I took it off anonymous. and just having be visibly A Thing I Had Written was...i am cringe and i am free. jumping feetfirst in with dead dove erotica just made it so much easier to do whatever the hell i wanted next.

39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?

i don't consider my writing to have 'a process' that i break down into component parts, but also like. dropping into an online messenger chat to bounce ideas back and forth with other people has been how i think almost all of my fics have been born since i started talking to @secretlystephaniebrown on skype in. fuck. 2015? 2016? steph when were we on skype. so i guess if i accept that i have a writing process the answer is 'all of it'.

46. Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?

LAPTOP KEYBOARD MY BELOVED. the day i have enough spare money is the day i am, like a sucker, going to buy one of those fancy portable digital typewriters just so i can have a Real Keyboard under my fingers anywhere, it makes my life so much easier and the words go so much faster. i'll definitely write on my phone if i'm especially consumed by an idea while out and about, because i prefer writing it down to waiting and potentially forgetting, but i don't think that where i write changes anything unless it's like--i don't like writing mushroomverse without internet access because i sometimes need to stop and do research every few sentences. part of why river dredging fic is taking so long is because the articles i need to read live on my computer and i don't like writing when i can't consult them for power.

oh, sometimes if i can't get a fic to flow on the doc that holds all of it i'll switch over to Notes app (even on laptop) to just write the next scene, because sometimes a blank page flows better than adding on to what i had before. and sometimes if i can't get a new scene to flow in notes when i've written the whole thing in snippets i'll swap them all over to a doc to read and get back in gear with.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

trying to get the first fic for bunnyguard wrapped up for the 22nd :3

Usagi made it back to Tadaya Noodles and Tea in time for the quiet part of the afternoon shift, before the dinner rush, when the shop was empty aside from a couple of old men playing mahjong. And Jotaro, at an empty table near the back, coloring on receipt paper. 

He looked up when the bell rang and his face lit up immediately. “Daddy!”

At almost four, he was getting much too fast on his feet. Usagi was barely kneeling to catch his son by the time Jotaro came barreling into his arms. 

[ninyard]

i want to know ANYTHING and EVERYTHING about the andrew meets neil as stefan au

YES PLS OKAY

(holy shit this was supposed to be a HC ramble/snippets from the fic but uhhh….here’s a mini fic instead????? The actual fic I wrote isn’t even set back in California it’s set in PSU??? This was supposed to be short backstory!!!!!! Anyways lmk if u want the foxes stuff lol Enjoy <3)

Neil had natural looking ashy blonde with green eyes at the time, no older than 14 years old, going by the name Stefan Montgomery. Him and Mary ended up in a motel in Oakland for a couple weeks, regaining their footing after a close-call somewhere in Oregon.

Mary had hit Neil a gnarly heavy-handed blow after he forgot which name he was using in Eugene. Was it Sam? Or Dylan? Or had it been Joseph? A nice inch wide cut sat where his perfect court tattoo would sit, just on the turn of his cheekbone below the corner of his eye, bordered by a healing purple-brown bruise. Stefan was born on the border between California and oregon, stolen from a waiter at a pit stop diner, who didn’t let their coffee cups go empty as they mapped out where to go next.

He had met Andrew by chance; Stefan had been sitting on the bottom of the metal stairs that led up to the floor they were staying at. Mary was having a shower, dying her hair, becoming Georgia, perfect mother, a beautiful, average woman. He was people watching, looking at the cars pulling in and out of the car park, making up his own stories about who was who, what their names were and if they were worth stealing when they inevitably moved on. Andrew hung around the motel because just behind the building was an old, decrepit playground that’s should’ve been foreclosed years ago. Nobody ever used it, so it was a quiet place for him to be alone. He’d been walking through the parking lot after having just grabbed a chocolate bar or two from the vending machine when he stopped in front of Neil.

“What happened to your face?” It was quiet, barely a sentence, not big enough of a question to be intrusive or over-stepping.

“I’m a boxer.” That was the lie he’d been using for a few days. “I had a fight a couple days ago.”

You see, Stefan was a name Neil didn’t want to remember, like a bitter memory he forced himself to forget. It was just before Mary’s paranoia began to spiral even worse that it had already been. Stefan was keep your head down, we won’t be here long, give it a week, give it a week. Stefan was sleepless nights, watching his mother sat upright almost all night, eyes on the door, a knife under her pillow. Stefan was you don’t need friends, they’ll drag you down.

Mary didn’t know until the end that they’d been friends, Neil teaching Andrew the little boxing he knew, Andrew teaching Stefan how to keep yourself busy when you needed something to do. There was something about Andrew that made it impossible for him to stay away; he wasn’t a particularly happy kid, but the way he spoke, the way he cared about the fake life Neil had made up, the way he saw Stefan’s life as something he could never have.

“Have you ever thought about kissing a boy your age?” They’d been in Oakland for three weeks, and the two kids had made plans to meet every time Mary was occupied and Andrew was around. Neil didn’t really think to wonder why Andrew was always around. Didn’t he have a family who would miss him being gone all this time? Didn’t he have a home to go to?

“No,” Neil answered honestly. There wasn’t time for thoughts like that. Kisses weren’t signs of affection; kisses were lies, kisses were dangerous, kisses occupied a space in the mind that could be filled with run, run, run.

“Do you think it’s wrong?” Andrew had been swinging on the swing set, his feet dangling from the chipped plastic seat, the creaky chains holding him up. The question was loaded. Behind it was a conversation he’d had with his foster-mom, a slur from his foster-siblings, another hit from his foster-father.

“No,” that was an honest answer too. In his head his answer sounded like I’ve been told all kissing was wrong. But he couldn’t say that. Normal teenagers thought about kissing, and boyfriends, and girlfriends, and worried about how they looked in front of their crush. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” His words were a sigh. Andrew trusted Stefan in this weird, out of character way. He’d never met anyone who’d been more interested to hear about his life than talk about their own. Of course, half of it was a half-truth, lies weaved into the story of Andrew.

Andrew was the first person who made Neil smile in a very long time. It was foreign hearing himself laugh, a sound reserved for fake interactions with strangers who couldn’t help but prying. Neil trusted him. His honest eyes often burning a hole in his face, on the days when Neil couldn’t bare eye contact. Andrew was a rock that Neil could feel himself becoming more and more attached to, more and more…attracted to? He didn’t know what that feeling felt like, but when he caught himself thinking about what a long hug from him would feel like, or a kiss on the forehead, the cheeks, the nose, the….

It was an impossible thought that Neil kept buried. Until Andrew had a bad day. Until Neil met him in the playground and he was sat underneath the slide, face buried in his knees that were pulled to his chest. Black hood pulled so far forward it almost covered the wet cheeks and puffy eyes he tried to hide. Stefan sat just across from him, the tips of their shoes not quite touching, but Neil rested his open palms on his shoes for Andrew to hold if he needed. He didn’t ask what was wrong.

“You’re my friend?” Andrew asked, half statement, half question. There was no hesitation in Neil’s “Of course.”

Andrew gently weeped, babbling on about wishing he could feel normal, or have a normal family. He wished he could understand himself. He wished he didn’t have to hurt so much. He’d looked up at Neil with his red eyes and wiped the tears from his face with the cuff of his sleeve. “Can I trust you?”

The statement hurt Neil far more than he thought it would. He hated that words spilled out of his mouth, his eyes stinging at the thought of saying what he really wanted to say. His mouth said “You can tell me anything,” when his brain said “I think Stefan dies in a week”.

Andrew told him about how he thought he was gay, and how embarrassed, alone, and ugly he felt to think that way. He didn’t know what normal feelings felt like. He didn’t know what it felt like to kiss someone he actually wanted to kiss. The statement hung in the air like a floating question. Did he…? Andrew had brushed away the thought almost as quickly as Neil did, but not without both their cheeks flushing pink at the unspoken idea. Neil watched as Andrew messed with the strings on his hoodie. Andrew cheered up after a little while, but when Neil realised how long he’d been gone for, he panicked. Instinctively, he pulled Andrew into a hug before running back to the motel room.

Stefan was bad memories, he’d always had to remind himself. Stefan was a mistake, a fuck-up, a vulnerability he would never, ever show again. Stefan was a slap across the face when he came back late. “Where the hell have you been?” Followed by a lie, then another, then another. Neil had only lied to his mother a handful of times in his life, but when it came to Andrew they seemed to slip out of his mouth at an alarming rate. The next time he seen Andrew, his swollen, burst lip barely hidden, Andrew had brushed his fingers across it and sarcastically asked if it was the product of another boxing match. Neil shushed him when he asked if his mother had done it. That was too personal. He was letting Andrew in too far and he was rotting Neil from the inside out. His hardened exterior fell away when he was around Andrew, and boy, was that dangerous. It shattered into a million pieces when they sat at at the top of the jungle-gym and Andrew asked so gently if he could kiss him.

No, no, no. The ghost of his mother’s hands in his hair told him to walk away. The phantom pain of a slap, and a hit, and a deafening lecture about his safety told him to stop letting Andrew in. He knew it was dangerous. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. So why did his lips automatically curl around the word yes and his heart start pumping a hundred miles a minute? They looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds, minutes, hours, days, until they were both so close they couldn’t see each other anymore. It was only a peck, a playground kiss, but Neil’s stomach flipped. Andrew pulled away as quickly as he’d leaned in. He didn’t look at Neil for the rest of the hour they spent together, but Neil didn’t look at him. That wasn’t to say they each didn’t have to constantly fight a love-struck smile off their faces every few minutes.

Their meetings started to get less frequent after that. Andrew stopped showing up, but instead left little notes carved into the yellow plastic of the slide. ‘R u grossed out? -A’ was the first one he left after their moment’s kiss. All Neil wrote back was ‘Never’. The next time they seen each other in person they sat hidden again in the top of the jungle gym. Neil knew Mary was planning on them moving on in the following days. He couldn’t tell Andrew. Even the thought of it broke his heart. Regardless of the kiss, or kisses, they shared, Andrew had become the closest friend Neil had ever had. Neil had to remind himself more than once that everything Andrew thought he knew about Stefan was a fabrication. They spoke about sexuality again, hands brushing off each other, sometimes intertwined, sometimes resting on the others leg or arm. Andrew asked if Neil was gay, and his face fell when Neil said no, I don’t think so. It took him a moment to add on “I don’t know what I am”. They left kisses on each other’s lips that lingered for hours, for days. The more Neil let Andrew in, the harder it was for him to keep lying to his mother. She began to get suspicious of where he was going when she left him alone.

Even still, Neil didn’t hear when Mary came into the playground the last time he seen Andrew. Andrew had his head rested on his shoulder, their hands intertwined and hidden between their outstretched legs. They’d been talking about something and nothing at the same time. Neil’s stomached bottomed out when he saw her brunette hair and tiny figure step around the rusted green fence. He let go of Andrew’s hand as quickly and as subtly as he could, but he knew it was no use. He didn’t know how long she’d been standing there. Andrew looked into Stefan’s green eyes as Neil stood up, searching, scared. Neil sent him a weak smile. This was the last time he would ever look into those hazel eyes, his light eyebrows furrowed as he watched Neil begin to walk away. Neil had nodded his way, and whispered a frightened ‘See you around’ before he walked over to join Mary. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards their motel room, already mentally packing their bags. Not before she beat him harder than she ever had before. Neil expected it. But every blow reminded him of Andrew until Andrew was no longer gentle touches and honesty and kisses. Andrew was a kick to the back of the knees as he walked through the motel room door. Andrew was a slap, and another, and another. He was a screaming, crying, angry mother, shoving whatever belongings they owned into their single duffel bag. Andrew was leaving their key at reception at midnight and starting their journey to another town. Andrew wasn’t worth it. Andrew was the swollen ankle he walked on for miles. Andrew was Mary pulling roughly at his blonde hair to dye it black in some random gas station that night. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. Neil left Stefan with Andrew in Oakland. He tried to leave the memories there too. Oh, how badly he tried.

The worst part was, Andrew didn’t know that was the last time he would ever see Stefan again. He waited every day for him to come back. Every day came and went and every day he never showed up. Neil didn’t know about that part, you see. Neil thought Andrew would forget about Stefan like a childhood crush, thrown away, moved on to the next cute boy who listened to him talk. They shared a thought, though, drilling the regret and shame into their minds. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it.

(Part 2)

[issaxcharlie]

Ghost of you (1/2)

Pairing: Luke Patterson x Fem Reader

This fic is inspired by Dancing with your ghost by Sasha Sloan and specially Ghost of you from 5SOS and one of its verses also makes an appearance.

It’s also a collaboration I did with the lovely @cookiebuba, thank you for trusting me to write it, love! (I really hope you like it🥺)

Summary: This first part is angst and is basically Y/N catching up with her boyfriend Luke one last time in the 90’s and then Luke founding her once he’s back in 2020.

And that's the only thing I'll say because I really don't want to spoil you. I also adored to write it🥺💖

1997

“Hello again, my love.

Today marks 2 years since you left, And it's still as hard as the first day. One of the hardest things is waking up. Sometimes I stay almost an hour on bed, looking towards the door. Terrified to turn to your side and find it empty again.

Every night I try to rest for hours until finally exhaustion allows me to sleep wrapped in one of your old shirts, pretending that you are quietly sleeping next to me. Sometimes I have to play the only slow song from the first and last Sunset Curve record to ease the craving of you and in the hope that it will help my mind to meet you in my dreams. Those nights when I am lucky enough to find you are what keeps me relatively sane, because no matter how much it hurts to have to say goodbye, not seeing you again would be so much more painful.

I could dream of us anywhere, doing anything. But it’s always the same dream, what I yearn most projected in it. It always starts with me opening the door of our house, you are writing a song in the living room and as soon as you look at me you smile as if you had not seen me in years, wrapping me in your arms with all your strength.

You tell me how much you love me, and that when you are without me you feel as if your soul is missing. And then you ask me to promise not to leave you again. And it hurts, it hurts like fucking hell. Because I know I’m dreaming. Because I know it’s not actually you. Because I know I can’t promise you that. And god, how much I want to promise you that.

I divert the conversation crashing my lips on yours because I don’t want to lie to you, even if it’s only a dream. You pick me up and I hang my legs around your waist. And for a second I allow myself to forget. I sink in your perfume, in your arms, in your kisses, in how your tongue feels inside my mouth, in how your hands walk all over my body, In how my name sounds almost magical in your husky voice.

We spent the rest of the day just being us. Laughing, writing, playing, singing.

I sing to you the last song I wrote, the one I wrote especially for you after the first dream. The first time it just came out naturally, like it had been there the whole time. When I woke up I decided to write it down and complete it, and the next time I dreamed you I started playing it for you, just like all the following times. Because it’s the only excuse I have to cry there, for you to comfort me. Because it’s the only way I have for you to understand a little of what I am suffering without ruining the illusion.

“Come here beautiful, you’ll never have to experience something like that, I promise. You’ll dance with the real deal.” If you only knew, love.

That's when I melt on you. The tears don’t stop falling as you practically wrap me in your arms and we dance calmly around the room, I’m sobbing like crazy while you sing in my ear to try to help me relax.

I can tell you’re freaking out, comforting someone while crying was never your strong suit, but being me you always try your best,and that was more than enough.

The dream always ends with me in your arms, when I finally calm down and our heartbeats sound as one. Everything feels good for a second until suddenly I can't hear yours anymore. I beg you to hold on to me but little by little you fade away. I try to dance alone, pretending that you are still there to try to make you reappear, but I never get it. I never get you. So I keep dancing and crying until the stabbing pain wakes me up.

And I know it sounds awful and heartbreaking, but I can assure you, If to see the shine in your eyes, hear your voice and feel your lips, I have to end up dancing with the ghost of you, I’ll do it every single time. It's worth it... you are worth it. I would happily pay for the suffering I go through when I wake up every day in order to continue living the good moments.

I officially released the song a month ago, and it's doing fairly good. I knew I had to come to tell you, and it was a good excuse to finally dare to tell you that I still find you recurrently in my dreams. You will always be the love of my life, my biggest dream. I love you Luke, yesterday, today and always.”

After talking to him for hours, she gets up, wipes her knees, and examines the tombstone of her beloved for a few more seconds before leaving the cemetery.

The only thing on her mind right now is how unfair life was with her.

2020

After several months Julie finally decided to hear the music that she used to listen with her mother at full volume every day. Iconic songs from the 90's that marked the life of her mommy and later, in some way, hers.

‘Ghost of you’ starts playing and Julie can't help but feel even more connected to the song now that she lost Rose and the boys came into her life.

Just as she thinks of them almost as if she had summoned them, Sunset Curve appears. Reggie is about to speak when Alex puts his hand on his mouth. The three turn pale and begin to search where the sound is coming from, until the three approach their friend's laptop, a tear instantly falling from Luke's eyes.

“Ghost of you by Y/N Y/L. The story says that the poor thing lost the love of her life when she was just a teenager, she couldn’t recover from that loss. 2 years later she released this song to honor his lover on the anniversary of his death, and ended being one of the most iconic songs of the 90's era."

“Dancing through our house with the ghost of you. Cleaning up today, found that old Zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away, and no one could feel your hurt.”

There is no doubt that she wrote it for him. The pain on the young woman's face makes him want to hit his head against the wall until he’s unconscious.

Reggie and Alex aren’t in better shape, they both seem about to pass out. Julie wasn’t expecting them to be so affected over an old love song.

“I know the feeling guys, her voice is breathtaking and heartbreaking at the same time, is insane. I know she would have done a lot more of amazing music if she’d had more time.”

If Luke's heart continued beating it probably would have stopped at that very moment.

“Julie, What do you mean with If she’d had more time?”

“She died a month after releasing the song in a car accident. I think in 1997.”

THANK YOU FOR READING, part 2 HERE✨

[gallavichthings]

After a short break for Gallavich Week, we’re back with the Writer’s Spotlight, this time bringing you an interview you won’t want to miss with the delightful Jackie ( @jackieq ) aka J_Q, author of dozens of Gallavich fics, including PikUp, Cubicle Wars, Paradise City and the Holding Out for A Hero series.

GT: Could you tell us a bit about yourself?

J: I'm...a college instructor, teaching technical writing, critical thinking, and public speaking.

I have two teenagers and one husband...and (poor @wehangout will be envious) we just got a puppy. She's a 9 week old terrier/shih tzu.

I live in western Canada and I've been in this fandom, my first ever fandom, for 4 years this month.

GT: Those sound like classes everyone should have. Picture of the puppy, please! Make us all jealous. 

J: Yes, those are the classes that are mandatory for all the program areas. Students love me because I make them do lots of public speaking. (jokes)

That's Willow.

GR: Tell us a bit about your history with fanfiction. When did you first come across it and what fandom was it for?

J: I came across fanfiction for the first time after watching Shameless season 5 in early 2017. I honestly didn't even know it existed, and while Googling Gallavich stuff to soothe my soul, I happened upon a fic by 09cityskylights who I adore and miss. I basically started writing my own happy ending for them the moment I knew people did such things. ;0

GT: Did you start watching Shameless in 2017?

J: Yes, I watched episode one on Valentine's Day 2017 and binged that sucker...until season 5 when I put the brakes on to deal with what the hell just happened.

GT: Did you watch all seasons or skip ahead to the last ones?

J: Just the GV scenes after season 5 for the most part. I enjoyed the whole show but I just wasn't up to watching Ian with other guys at that point and didn't know when I might be forced to witness something I'd rather not. It was a fragile period of my life (this half in humor and half not). I'm still not quite sure what set this whole "shipping" business in motion...but I feel I could place a lot of blame on the club kiss!

GT: I'm right there with you, I stopped watching as well. And that kiss really was a game changer.

Who are your favorite characters aside from them?

J: Depends on the season. Seasons 1 and 2 it was Lip for sure...and wait for it...Debbie! Clearly my opinion has changed on that one. But Lip, while being a dick a lot, was just so cool. I literally adored the way he rode that bike around the SS following Frank. I miss Sheila and Mandy and who doesn't love Iggy...oh and now we'll add cousin Lou to the list (all 3 seconds of him). Really though, I miss those early seasons.

GT: Those were the best! And I'll always love Sheila.

Do you write about other characters as well or just Ian and Mickey?

J: The stories all center around Mickey and Ian, but I often/usually include other characters. I wrote an entire season 10 filler fic, so that required appearances by a lot of characters such as Ian's prison buddies and Larry, the parole officer. ;0

GT: What about OCs, do you include them as well?

J: OCs...Yes, since I've written 35 stories, several of them quite long, I've created many OCs. Sometimes just "walk-ons", but also key supporting characters. I've never written a multi-chap where Mickey doesn't have someone in his corner. For example, in Paradise City, it's his bodyguard; in Cubicle Wars, it's his partner; in PikUp, it's the other cab drivers. And now in Enemy Lines that I'm writing with stars_fall_on, we've given Ian a couple of buddies. So unlike Shameless, I believe the boys can actually make friends lol.

I actually remember the very first OC taking me by surprise. I was writing a scene where Mickey and Ian were in Panama looking for Lip and this young woman just waltzes into the scene, fully formed with a personality and a bit of backstory. She started talking and the scene moved the plot forward. It really felt like I did not participate in it other than to type.

GT: Do all your OCs come to life fully fleshed like that? What are they commonly based on?

J: Mostly they come to life like that. Slava is Mickey's partner in Cubicle Wars and he originally was based on Svetlana if she were a man; however, the moment he first appeared at Mickey's cubicle, Slava was way more playful and easy going than Svet would ever be so that was that. Right now, I'm drafting a scene for Enemy Lines with Mickey and an OC who had a very small part earlier in the story, but now she's got a long conversation with Mickey. My co-writer, Julia, and I know what we want the result of this scene to be, but we didn't really have a plan for how to get there. So I just started typing and let the character decide, so to speak. That used to freak me out though! But so far it always seems to work. I suppose that's what happens when writer's block kicks in. It doesn't come to you when you need it.

I also have a dozen one shots based on a world where Mickey and Ian raise Yev but in this world his conception was just an accident not a horrible experience. Anyway, the Yev I used is 100% my son. His obsession with order and dinosaurs. His mannerisms -- the way he shapes his fingers into long neck dinos who eat the food off his plate. <3

GT: I've never co-written a fic with anyone. How does that work?

J: For me, it starts with having a rapport with someone before the story-writing. I jive with them in conversation and then an idea shows up. Sometimes I've split the fic with the other writer -- I do a chapter/scene then they do a chapter/scene. Sometimes it's messier than that and we each write as the scenes take shape for us and we help to fill in missing spots. Sometimes we have a pretty clear outline to follow, and sometimes none at all. The most interesting collab was Coming Soon, which is 20 chapters/20 different writers and we NEVER had a plan so each chapter went wherever it went and you had one week to get your chapter done when it was your turn.

The most important "lesson" I guess, is that there is no way to do this kind of thing if your ego takes over or if you need your vision to be the final vision. But honestly, I've had no problems. I've enjoyed every collab I've been in (hopefully my co-writers can say the same!!).

GT: That's very interesting! Thanks for sharing!

In your opinion, what's the hardest thing when writing Gallavich fics?

J: Well at first, I hadn't read many fics so I was hesitant to write from either character's POV. Getting into their minds was intimidating in a way dialogue never was.

That's not a problem anymore. Now it's a matter of not straying too far into "touchy feely" type writing that to me doesn't feel authentic to the original characters, not that we are bound by that of course but I try to keep it consistent when I can.

GT: Do you have a preference for writing Ian or Mickey?

J: Not really no...I actually think it's the dynamic between the two that makes it interesting to write them. I've never even considered writing them separately. They're a package deal in my mind.

Mickey, however, can be a tad more fun since he's more colorful and you can take him to extremes that aren't as "charming" if Ian were to behave that way. ;0 Writing Ian often feels more familiar to me; his reactions and behavior are more universal in some ways so that makes it easier I think. Like he worries about basic things I worry about and he's more aware of outside opinions, more accommodating in that sense.

GT: What's the most fun thing about writing them?

J: Finishing a story lol. It's hard work before that! Well, I love writing dialogue between them, and I love how happy they make each other. Can't get enough of that!

GT: What kind of fics do you write the most? 

J: I took a look and I've written 9 multi-chapters (some with a co-writer) and almost 30 one shots. There's some canon filler/fix-its, but many others are canon divergent or canon-ish. Even though my current co-fic, Enemy Lines, appears to be VERY angsty, I wouldn't say angst is my go to, but I do have some in almost every fic because that's generally where the plot thrives. I have several domestic one shots but my favorite genre is adventure/action. Jungle adventure with a Colombian cartel or security experts and a jewel heist...that kind of thing. I include sexy time but it's always a part of the overall plot. Probably what's most consistent through all the fics is humor. That's where I'm most comfortable.

Check out He's Married? It's just one big pile of humor.

GT: Gotta love a humorous fic! Where do you get inspiration from?

J: For the most part, I think of something --let's say asparagus lol-- and my next thought is Mickey and Ian and the many directions that combination could take us. There isn't ever a short supply of ideas, just a short supply of time to produce stories.

For specific scenes or characters though, a lot of that comes from real life. My husband and I have done our share of bickering. ;0 The rest comes from RESEARCH. I capped that because I do a lot of research. My daughter borrowed my phone last night and said "I love how my mother's last Google search was how to blow up a vehicle." Good thing she didn't borrow my phone after my "extreme restraints" search. ;0

GT: Oh, goodness! Wouldn't want that!

What does your writing process look like? Do you outline? Do you post as soon as the chapter is done or do you accumulate chapters before you start posting?

J: Maybe 70% of the time I have a basic outline, which consists of key moments that I use to ground the story. Sometimes it's those key moments that are the reason the story even happened. I see the scene then build outward from it, putting it into a universe. Sometimes I just have an opening or a job or a can of asparagus and need to see where it goes. Like I said, this used to be really scary but now not so much. (I actually do have hundreds of cans of asparagus as a plot device in Holding Out for a Hero ;0)

I definitely build up chapters before I start posting because I like to be able to post a story fast. Holding Out for a Hero I posted the whole thing at once. Cubicle Wars and PikUp, a chapter every day. Enemy Lines with Julia, the plan was three chapters a week. I've finished everything I started (Enemy Lines is at 46/50) except Panama Red which I started last year as one of your Gallavich Week entries. I was trying to post a one shot for each day but only managed 5/7. Panama Red was supposed to be a one shot but then I had more ideas and added a chapter but since then I've written two massively long, complicated multi-chapters so I haven't gotten back to it yet.

GT: You have no idea how happy it makes me to see people producing content due to Gallavich Week or the other events I host. This is what they're for, to encourage everyone to participate.

What's your favorite Gallavich fic that you’ve written so far and why?

J: I think about you all the time and all the hard work you put into giving us a common space and I love you for it.

I was just talking to Mary2 today about my favorite fic, Paradise City, because she is my Russian translator and it was the first fic she translated of mine. She likes the tone of the story, and perhaps that's one of the things I really like too. It's also set in the mid 70s through the 80s rock scene to the beginning of the grunge movement. I was a teenager when rock took a hit from the grunge bands. So for me, the music backdrop is wonderful.

Interestingly, it's also my least "popular" fic. It's based on a prompt to rework the Stacey Jaxx character in Rock of Ages into Mickey Jaxx, and I'd tried to get it posed for GV week 2018 but some longer stories need a hiatus before they can be finished so I didn't end up being able to post in time.

GT: What kind of comments do you most like to get?

J: Well definitely not the one Julia and I got last week calling us shit storytellers lololol. But ya know, I like 'em all. The quick little "loved this" to the long, thoughtful analysis. Bookjunkie once commented that she read my fics 80% for the fic and 20% for the comment section because I try to make it a conversational space. While it feels great to be told your work has touched someone or entertained them, I also just simply like chatting with fandom members. I don't really do any social media, so that's the space where I connect.

Recently, moonlight_inn [@ms-moonlight-inn ] and I wrote a tiny ficlet in the comment section of Enemy Lines. We did not know each other, but one comment let to another until we'd fully challenged each to keep it going until the story ended. Actually, there's a fic under my profile called Closest to a Kiss, and it was also something created in the comment section between me, nickrenkel, and RedStarFiction on one of RedStar's stories.

I've met all my best buddies in the comment section. (Right, Doddz? Holy shit that's one big snowman!)[inside joke]

GT: That's lovely. What are some of your favorite fics and/or writers in the fandom?

J: That's a tricky question! If I get started, then I will want to make sure I don't leave anyone out. There are so many writers I appreciate, each in their own way. When people ask for recommendations, I ask what their preferences are then suggest based on that because it's all so personal and changes with time.

I used to only read canon filler/fix it because that's what I needed while Mickey and Ian were separated. That's how I came across 09cityskylights, the first A03 writer I found. She wrote the Manifesto of Mickey Milkovich which followed him through his time in prison and across the border. That's some heavy angst there! But she also wrote Crush, which is as sweet and fluffy as it gets and I could live in that fic. She is also Canadian and I requested a scene of GV at Tim Horton's <3.

After the angsty canon spree, I discovered a treasure trove of one shots where Mickey was being treated so well. Classics like Floating by anomalously, Red Hands by romanticalgirl, and Lines by dragonspell to name a few.

By six months in, I was writing a lot so I've had to be picky about what I read, and for the most part since then, I only read what my friends post and I click on people who comment on my stories to see if I can return the love. I enjoy using the floating A03 comment box to leave long comments. (Thanks to @captainjowl ​for hooking me up with that timesaver.)[you can find that on this post]

I don't fully understand how popularity works on A03 but I've discovered so many damn good stories that fly under the radar that I actually prefer to give my time to those. You just never know when your comment might make all the difference. <3

GT: Ok, now I need to read about them at Timmy's.

I love the floating comment box! I'll see if I can find a link with instructions for those to leave it on the post. I sometimes even postpone reading a fic when I want to make sure to leave a long comment so I can read it on my computer instead of my phone.

AO3 popularity is a mystery to me as well.

What are your favorite tropes?

J: Same! It is nice to lay around with my phone reading but you can't leave a decent comment with a phone--or I can't anyway.

Canon related (divergent, filler, fix-it, etc) is still my favorite overall trope, but not necessary post s11 or maybe I just haven't gotten to that stage yet.

With canon-ish fics, it's the depth of their relationship I enjoy. With other fics, it's the new discovery of each other that's delightful.

I like some angst with a happy ending. I love action, adventure, hero-y type stuff. Humor is great in whatever form it takes. Historically based stories are good too. Domestic fics are good if they are examining how damn hard life can be with a significant other/kids.

I think it's more about writing style than about an specific trope as I'll read most tropes aside from ABO, mpreg or those types of things my brain can't wrap itself around. lol

GT: What are your favorite season and episode of Shameless?

J: The scene in the pilot where the Gallagher kids are pitching in to pay the electrical bill and the scene where Fiona walks in on chaos and yells" Ian, what the fuck?" are my favorite Shameless scenes. Season 4 has the overall best GV scenes. My favorite scene of all is Sorry, I'm Late (although bathroom sing-a-long is now up there.)

How about you?

GT: I totally agree, the first seasons were so good! The sense of family and unity was what made it so great for me.

If you could change one thing about Gallavich in canon, what would it be?

J: This concept was the basis of the first fic I wrote. I changed on small thing in each of the first five seasons, but none of it ultimately changed the outcome.

Initially, my thoughts are either not having Terry walk in on them in 3x6 or not having Ian's Bipolar so severe (or exist). However tragic these were though, they are the events that make the story so compelling and make their love seem so strong.

In contrast, Ian not visiting Mickey in prison/talking poorly of him through s6-7 was just plain frustrating and felt "off" so I'd probably go with that rewrite. Although I really hated that Ian said nothing while they lay on the blanket on the way to Mexico too. Damn it, there's too many lol.

GT: There are definitely way more than there should be, but these are not some people usually mention. You're right, those were out of character.

What did you think of the ending?

J: Considering we spent a few years wondering if we'd get endgame, the ending we did get is excellent. They're together, committed, happy. I feel like that in itself is a miracle. I've never been as concerned with what we did get throughout the seasons as what we didn't get. The plot holes in the story are the thing that I'm still harboring a little ill will over. I'm happy to do my own meta but too often it feels more like doing my own screenwriting. But all in all after several months, it turns out I can live with how it all came together.

GT: How do you imagine their future?

J: I'm not going to settle for anything less than them being together for the rest of their lives. I suppose they end up with a kid or two since the show was pretty clear about that in both season 10 and 11. I also imagine them moving back to the South Side, just the gravitational pull of the familiar and comfortable. Although the show seemed to suggest that the South Side was on the verge of becoming yuppie lol. But I think with kid(s) they'd want the support and babysitting options, and they'd want their kid(s) to hang with their cousins.

I really don't know about work and jobs though...maybe they keep building the security business (as long as they get rid of that stupid ass stolen truck; talk about having to suspend disbelief) or maybe Ian finds his way back to something EMT related. Mickey probably just rolls with whatever's going on at the moment, maybe becomes a stay at home dad for a bit...not sure. As much as I'd love to see some of these things play out on the screen, I'd spend the whole time terrified of what the writers throw at them.

GT: Oh, no, I was very happy to see the show end! The fandom will take it from now on, thank you.

J: My thoughts exactly!! Unhand the show!

GT: What about your fics plans? What have you got cooking?

J: Julia and I have a few more chapters of Enemy Lines to finish. I'm hoping to have one or two short fics for Gallavich Week. I was hoping to have a several, but the current fic went way longer than we thought it would.

The rest of my potential list contains finishing Panama Red (that's a for sure), another one shot for Timeless in which Mickey and Ian are trying to parent during the pandemic, a follow up epilogue to Cubicle Wars, a promise to two ladies to bring their prompt to life, finish the s11 filler fic, and two ideas I've had for quite awhile: one set in Vegas and one in a historical setting (damn it those are two of your GV week themes this year...I'm still going to tag them GV week lol). I guess we see which ones win. ;0

GT: Hahah, feel free to tag them, no matter when you finish them!

That's so much content, that's exciting!

J: My final words are for you. Thank you for putting together these fandom events and posts for so many years! <33

GT: It's my pleasure. 😊

[tippedbykreider]

your love is my turning page | c. kreider

Word count: 17,700 Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, sex, mention of breakdown of previous relationship, mentions of infidelity. Author’s note: This was the first long-fic I ever wrote and to say that I was proud of it is an understatement. I’ve made some minor additions to this and hope you all enjoy it second time around as much as you did the first time. Fic title is from ‘Turning Page’ by Sleeping at Last Summary: Chris Kreider doesn’t believe in fate but a chance meeting in a Manhattan bookstore opens his mind, and his heart, to things he has only ever read about in the books he loves so much.

*

‘We are asleep until we fall in love’ – Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.

Sometimes in life there are moments where everything changes, suddenly and unexpectedly and in ways that make it impossible to be the same person that you were before. It’s a bit like a storm, sweeping in and rearranging your life completely to a point beyond recognition, where everything changes and you’re left with a choice: mourn what was lost or use it as an opportunity to rebuild and come back stronger than before.

That was the dilemma Roseanna Williams faced after the man she thought she’d grow old with turned out to be nothing more than a huge disappointment. She should have seen it coming if she was to be completely honest with herself, years of waiting for him to outgrow what she presumed to be a teenage phase yielded nothing but frustration and a growing sense of impatience. If you asked any of her close friends and family they would tell you that she should have done it years ago but it never was as easy as just walking away, not when it came to the man whom she had been with since the tender age of fifteen. After she’d graduated university and completed her teaching degree, she was itching and ready for them both to take the next step in their relationship, to make more of a commitment, hell, even get married, but every attempt at an adult discussion about their future was met with resistance and a string of excuses.  The realisation suddenly began to dawn on her that maybe he was a lost cause and that she was wasting the best years of her life by waiting on him to get his shit together. The final straw came when she’d come home early from a teaching conference and found him in bed with someone she had considered to be a friend. That was when the flood defences failed and all the water she’d been ignoring for so long came rushing in, destroying everything she thought she knew and leaving her shaken to the core and gasping for breath. 

It started as a spark of an idea, moving away and getting a fresh start, London perhaps, or maybe somewhere further North. Exeter held too many memories now, the hurt and betrayal burying all of the wonderful times she’d had in the city that had always been her home. She’d discussed it at length with her parents who, while saddened at the prospect of their youngest daughter moving away, encouraged her to pursue whatever would make her the happiest. The spark caught, much like it always did whenever Rosie set her mind to something and before she knew it she was applying for a United States work visa and looking for places to live in New York City. All that was left to do was to pack up her life and trust in the magic of new beginnings.

That was how she ended up in Brooklyn, New York, teaching English Literature at a local high school. It was a different kind of life, one that took her a couple of years to get used to and while Rosie wasn’t quite confident enough yet to call herself a New Yorker, she definitely felt like she had found somewhere that she could call home. That feeling started as a seed, growing roots and leaves every time she would get off the subway at the right stop or find a new coffee shop to try until eventually she could rattle off her favourite places to get an Americano or the best places to get pizza. Her family and friends loved it, naturally, having the perfect reason to come and visit the Big Apple and Rosie loving nothing more than having the opportunity to show off the city she’d grown to adore.

Of course, there were parts of her old life that she missed. How could she not? She missed her family and her university friends. She missed afternoon teas with Devonshire clotted cream and summer days spent at the beach in Torquay. ‘You can always come home, love,’ her mother would say and that was completely true and while a part of her would always yearn for the smell of the sea or the cry of a gull on a soft summer breeze and while her roots were very much planted in Devonshire soil, her heart belonged to New York City.

She’d developed somewhat of a routine during the first couple of years that she’d lived in Brooklyn and it was one that hadn’t changed much, loving nothing more than taking the subway to Manhattan on weekends to spend the day checking out all the small independently run bookstores (when she wasn’t drowning in unmarked papers, of course). This particular late-October Saturday had started much like the others; she allowed herself a well-deserved lie-in after a hectic week of teaching and a bottle of Sangiovese the previous night, savouring her first cup of coffee like it was the first she’d had in months while she set about watering her house plants. A shower that lasted entirely too long, which doubled as a Fleetwood Mac tribute concert that she was sure her neighbours appreciated, was next on the agenda before she finally bundled herself up to face a chilly Autumn day in the city. 

She’d stopped off at her favourite coffee shop on the way to the station and chatted with the young barista, Laura, behind the counter, whom she’d grown to know over the months since Laura had started working there. She’d learned that Laura was planning a trip to Europe next Summer and offered some suggestions of places in England to visit, making sure to get her to promise to not just visit London. With her take-out coffee cradled in her hands, the cup serving her well as a much needed hand-warmer, the late-morning had Rosie heading towards Westsider Books, a favourite haunt of hers that she couldn’t help but keep coming back to. She had no reason at all to think that going to that store was going to prove to be another one of those moments that she could look back on as being a defining moment in her story, but with a push of the door, every star and planet aligned that set her on a course that would change her life forever.

*

Christopher James Kreider was a self-confessed simple man, despite his career choice and the lifestyle that came with it seeming to be anything but. He was incredibly thankful for the certain level of anonymity that came with living in a place like New York; certainly, there were times where he would be recognised and would be stopped for a picture or autograph, but in the sea of a-list celebrities that called the city home, he was just a small fish and was happiest when he was flying under the radar. The kind of life afforded by being a professional athlete playing in the National Hockey League was one that he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. Sure, he had a sweeping Tribeca apartment that he called home, he had a nice car, he went to work wearing expensive suits and could afford to eat out in the city anywhere he wanted, but the reality of it all was that he was most at ease sprawled out on his couch with a good book and a bottle of wine.

His teammates affectionately called him the hockey Renaissance man, a nod to his impressive pursuits off the ice, but it was never a name that sat comfortably with him. As far as he was concerned, he was just Chris, there was nothing special about him and his ability to deflect praise or compliments was nothing short of reflexive. His days off during the season were few and far between and he was always keen to make the most of the time afforded to him. An early start and cup of coffee usually preceded a quick workout, followed by a shower, a second coffee and a crossword puzzle while he decided how he was going to spend his day. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to stay within the sanctuary of his apartment and read Hemingway until the sun began to dip below the skyline, other times he would venture out into the city and check out the new exhibit down at the art gallery in Soho before finding somewhere quiet to enjoy a good cup of coffee.

The season had gotten off to a decent enough start, the chemistry between the team seeming to grow with each game and Chris hitting his stride early on. He’d just returned from a three game trip in Canada and despite the slight fatigue he was feeling, he was eager to get out into the city. He wasn’t in the market for anything in particular but there was a lot of joy to be found in rummaging through old record shops or second hand book stores, at least in Chris’s opinion anyway. There was something so special about a pre-loved record or book, he thought, each had their own tale to tell and each held a special place in someone’s heart at one point or another. There were barely any new editions of books on his bookshelves, some so tatty and worn that their bindings were stringy and the pages threatened to abscond if held the wrong way.

Chris was a creature of habit and it was something that he would freely admit. He often visited the stores closest to home, not often venturing further than Midtown, but with nothing but time he found himself on the 1 train and headed towards Upper West Side, Westsider Books his destination of choice. The first thing he noticed upon entering wasn’t the towering shelves that stacked books upon books but the unmistakable scent of vellichor, that grassy, almost vanilla aroma that felt a lot like coming home. The owner offered a friendly smile before nodding towards the vast collection of books.

“There’s fiction all down here, poetry’s at the back and non-fiction’s upstairs. Let me know if there’s something in particular you’re lookin’ for, I know there’s a lotta books in here.”

“Thank you,” Chris replied. “Do you have any Russian literature in at all?”

“We sure do, whatever we’ve got is on the third shelf from the back there, on your left.”

“Perfect, thanks a lot for your help.”

Chris offered the man behind the counter a smile and headed deeper into the shop, stopping in front of an impressive looking collection of Russian classics. It was easy to get lost in the volumes on the shelves, flicking through pages of different editions, some of them older than he’d ever seen before. There was one book in particular though that caught his eye, unassuming and inconspicuous enough, nestled between War and Peace and the Death of Ivan Ilyich. He reached out to touch the navy blue leather but was suddenly caught off-guard by the sensation of cold fingers knocking against his own.

“God, I’m so sorry, I was completely in my own world there.”

His eyes flicked to his right towards the source of the voice, soft and feminine with an accent that he knew not to be local. Rosie hadn’t even noticed him, which now that she was taking in his appearance properly didn’t exactly understand how she’d missed him standing beside her. He was well over six foot, she noted, and impossibly broad, but the thing that stood out to her the most about him was the unmistakable kindness in his hazel eyes, a tranquil grove of moss covered trees with their different shades of bark.

“No, no, you’re good. It’s me, big clumsy oaf over here,” he trailed off with a soft laugh, a slight heat rising in his cheeks now that he was really seeing her, with her eyes that were as blue as a summer sky and hair that reflected the colour of the autumn leaves outside.

“Did you want Anna Karenina?” Rosie asked, nodding towards the shelves.

“Oh, um, it’s okay, you go for it,” he smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that gave him a kind of softness, a familiarity almost.

“Please, I insist,” Rosie reached for the book and took it from its resting place amongst the other Tolstoy works, handing it to Chris. “I already have three different editions of this, if I took home a fourth I think an intervention would need to be staged.”

Rosie grinned as Chris laughed, the sound full and rich to her ears, while he took the book from her hands and tucked it under his arm.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He started, his eyes flitting across her features before they settled to meet her gaze. Her grin had faded into a warm smile that reached all the way up to her eyes and she was surveying him with an almost curiosity, one that he found himself matching. “I’m sorry, I know you probably get asked this all the time,” he continued, with an endearing kind of sheepishness that kept the corners of Rosie’s mouth lifted upwards, “but I gotta ask about the accent. I wanna say British but I don’t want to come across like a stereotypically ignorant American if I’m wrong.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Rosie chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re only the third person to ask me today.”

Chris could tell from the sparkle in her eye and the smirk on her lips that she meant no malice in her reply and made an exaggerated cringing grimace in return.

“God, I know. I’m sorry. You must get sick of it.”

“I mean, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked I’d be a very rich lady, but yeah, your ears don’t deceive you, I’m British. Actually from Exeter in Devon specifically, which is like South West England and now I realise that that probably means nothing to you,” she laughed as she caught the slightly vacant expression that had graced his features while she had been explaining her place of birth.

“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I really am a stereotypical ignorant American.”

Rosie responded with a gentle shake of her head as she spoke, “Nah, I wouldn’t say so. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the rest of the States, it took me longer than I care to admit to just not get lost going two or three blocks down.”

Chris smiled, both at her kindness and the gentle lilt of her accent. “So are you here visiting, or?”

Rosie shook her head again, the auburn waves shaking and falling about her face in a way that had Chris’s smile doubling.

“Well, I’m visiting Manhattan, but I live in the city, been here coming up five years now.”

“Yeah? And you like it?”

Rosie’s smile sparked at the corner of her mouth until it spread like wildfire and lit up the whole of her face. Chris couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it made her look, that kind of smile that was so undeniably authentic and genuine and yet so incredibly rare in a city as big as New York; but there it was, right in front of him and warm like sunshine.

“I love it here,” the affection in her voice clear as day. “It’s so different from anything back home and in the best possible way.”

Chris got the impression from her seemingly deliberate choice of words that there was a story there, but the classic literature aisle didn’t really seem like the time and place to get into it with someone he’d just met, nor did he want to assume that she would even offer that tale to him freely. Instead, he took the book out from under his arm and held it out to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this home with you?”

“I’m positive. ‘Live in the needs of the day’ as Tolstoy would say and I don’t really need that book. I’m sure you’ll give it a wonderful home.”

She met his eyes briefly, her stomach flip-flopping at the softness she found there, and gave him a warm smile that matched the one he was wearing. Chris wasn’t sure what had made him feel so bold. Perhaps it was the feeling of being so completely at ease with her, despite not even knowing her name and despite having known her for a mere five minutes, or perhaps it was the gentleness in her eyes. He didn’t spend too much of his time thinking about it as the words were out of his mouth before he could second guess them.

“At least let me buy you a coffee as a thank you.”

“Do you buy all the women you meet in bookshops coffee?” Rosie quipped without missing a beat.

“Damn, you caught me.”

Rosie laughed, easy and free with her head tipped back and Chris knew in that moment that he needed this woman in his life in some way, the sound bright and rich like the first sip of coffee in the morning or the first rays of summer sunshine filtering through curtains. He was still surveying her with an easy grin as she shuffled on her feet slightly, deciding whether she was going to let her head or her heart reign supreme today.

“I don’t usually make a habit of getting coffee with strangers,” the small smile still playing on her lips despite the tentative nature of her words.

Chris instinctively offered his hand out for her to shake.

“Well, I’m Christopher and you are?”

Rosie placed her hand in his, the smile on her face doubling in size at his kindness as she shook his hand, and tried to ignore the way her heart started to race at how warm and easy his touch felt.

“Rosie, or Roseanna if we’re using our Sunday names.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosie,” Chris said, his tone gentler than was probably necessary in the moment but it had Rosie feeling more relaxed in his presence by the second. “See, we’re not strangers anymore.”

“No, I don’t suppose we are. Alright then, Christopher, I accept your proposal of coffee and if you turn out to be an axe murderer then I hope you enjoy the book.”

It wasn’t very often that Rosie let curiosity get the better of her but there was something telling her to surrender to this moment in front of her, to let her heart win for once and throw caution to the wind. There was something about Chris and his aura that made it incredibly easy to ignore that prudent and wary voice in the back of her head that would usually call for rational and cautious thinking in situations such as this one, the voice that is often nurtured during childhood by parents and adults alike to help keep you safe from harm, the voice that would warn you about the dangers of strangers. Chris was a stranger, this was, of course, an undisputed fact, but Rosie didn’t feel like she was in any danger with this man. She guessed that it had an awful lot to do with the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from him that made her feel less like she was with a someone she’d just met in a book shop and more like she was catching up with an old friend. It was incredibly rare that she felt so at ease with someone, let alone a man she knew nothing about except for his name, but she’d grow to learn that that was just the magic of Chris, his sincerity and kindness always radiating from him like the glow of an open fire on a cold winter’s night.

“I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not an axe murderer,” he grinned. “But if it would make you feel better I was planning on taking you to Irving Farm, y’know, so you can check in with someone if you wanted.”

That simple gesture alone told Rosie all she needed to know about Chris, the fact he was so cognizant of how a woman might be feeling going to get coffee with a man she’d just met. It was that thoughtfulness and that tingle of curiosity and wonder that had her following him to the counter and waiting as he paid for his book before they both ventured back out into the chilly air and towards the café. Making small talk on the short walk there was incredibly easy, the effortless nature of their conversation not lost on either of them and as they sat down opposite each other in a quiet corner of the shop, shedding their coats and scarves, Chris took the opportunity to really appreciate the beauty of the woman in front of him.

She was classically pretty, he thought, with her auburn locks freed from the confines of the scarf she had been wearing and the slight ruddiness to her cheeks from the way the cold air had kissed them during their short walk. But more than that, it was the way her presence seemed to uplift him in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. Chris was an incredibly practical and logical man and the idea of kindred spirits wasn’t something that he subscribed to, but there was just something about Rosie. It was a sense of familiarity and a feeling often only felt between two people who had known each other for years. It was a feeling that, unbeknownst to him, Rosie shared too, not quite being able to remember a time where she was able to enthusiastically discuss literature at such great lengths with someone.

“So come on,” Chris said over his cup of coffee after they’d settled at a table in a quiet corner of the café. “You were able to quote Anna Karenina from memory, is there a particular reason for that or have I managed to find an even bigger book nerd than I am?”

Rosie smirked as she took a sip from her cup, eyes sparkling as she surveyed Chris. “I am a pretty big book nerd, but no, I actually teach literature.”

Chris’s eyebrows raised as an impressed little smirk pulled the corner of his lips upwards. He set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of him on the table.

“Forgive me for being bold here and by all means tell me to mind my own damn business, but what exactly makes a British literature teacher cross an ocean and put roots down in New York City?”

Rosie paused for a moment, chewing over her words in her mind.

“A vague sense of wanderlust, I guess,” she began carefully. “I don’t know, there was just… a lot of stuff that happened in my life and it felt like a good time for a fresh start while I was still young enough and brave enough to do it.”

“I’m sorry if that was too personal,” Chris looked at her apologetically, the slight flicker of sadness that had appeared in her eyes too prominent to ignore. “I didn’t mean to bring any painful memories back for you by prying.”

“It’s absolutely fine. All the diversity, all the charm and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade, right?”

“You really love that book, don’t you?” Chris asked her softly, recognising the quote from the book currently sitting in the brown paper bag by his feet immediately, and with a gleam in his eye.

“It’s one of my favourites,” Rosie replied. “It’s probably up there with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Pride and Prejudice and For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

“You like Hemingway?” Chris’s eyes crinkled with his grin and shone with excitement as she nodded in agreement. “I love Hemingway,” he added. “He’s easily my favourite author.”

Rosie leaned forward in her seat and rested her arms on the table with her cup still cradled in her hands, Chris mirroring her action, like two school children about to share a secret.

“I love the beautiful simplicity of his writing. It’s direct but without losing any of the emotion or feeling. Like, don’t get me wrong, Russian literature and authors like Tolkien are wonderful and they certainly have their part to play, but sometimes there’s just no need for pages and pages just to get a point across. That’s the beauty of Hemingway, the straightforwardness of it.”

“Yes!” Chris exclaimed, his face lighting up. “That’s exactly it. Take The Old Man and the Sea as an example, that book is what? Twenty-seven thousand words? But the feeling and the message that he’s able to get across, it’s amazing. God, I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve read that book.”

“A favourite of yours, then?”

Chris nodded as he picked up his mug. “Without a doubt, followed closely by For Whom the Bell Tolls and An Immovable Feast.”

He punctuated his statement with a wink and a smile, savouring the way Rosie’s face would ignite with pure joy as she laughed.

“Perhaps we should compare notes,” she mused behind her coffee.

“Is that you saying you wanna meet up again?” Chris asked, a cocky grin on his face.

“What if it is?” She countered quickly, a twinkle in her eye that had Chris’s heart thundering in his chest.

“Then I think you’d better take my number.”

 *

The weeks passed and autumn collapsed into winter, the first frosts clinging to everything and covering the city in opaline glitter. Rosie’s schedule had begun to slow following the initial insanity of the beginning of the academic year as things started to wind down for the holidays. She’d spent a lot of her free time preparing for her annual trip home to England to spend Christmas with her family, something that she looked forward to all year. Whatever time was left was spent reading or catching up with Chris, who had been equally busy with his work as a professional hockey player. He’d mentioned this to her briefly and in passing during their phone calls, which certainly explained why his schedule was often so all over the place, but the concept was so alien to Rosie that she didn’t feel the need to pry further. Growing up in Devon meant that her exposure to a sport like ice hockey was next to nothing, her knowledge extending as far as movies such as The Mighty Ducks would afford. In fact, when she thought about it, she didn’t know anybody who played sports professionally in any capacity and so while she was intrigued by Chris and the story behind how he came to be in such a career in a city like New York (knowing him to be from Massachusetts originally), she also knew that he was so much more than all of the stereotypes she’d heard associated with professional athletes.

He wasn’t a big, dumb jock, far from it actually. Chris was incredibly intelligent, philosophical in ways she admired so much but with an endearing and quick sense of humour. His thirst for knowledge and appreciation for the world around him was unlike any she’d ever seen and it somehow made him more handsome than any of his classically good-looking physical features. There was an intrigue, of course, surrounding him and his job, but Rosie also knew that he would offer that part of himself to her in time and when he felt most comfortable doing so. She imagined that he didn’t always get to have the luxury of authentic meetings with people who didn’t already know about him and his job, and for all the lovely moments he’d already given her in their growing friendship, she wanted to pay him back in kind by not forcing anything on him that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about.

It was incredible really, how easy it was for her to fall into friendship with Chris, made only easier with each discovery of a new shared interest. Their texts would often consist of them sending things the other might find interesting such as a new book or a new song to listen to. Hearing from him was something that she found herself looking forward to, especially appreciating when he would take time out of his day while he was away from home to check in with her and catch up.

As the end of the semester creeped closer, Rosie found herself surrounded by gifts she had already wrapped ahead of her trip home and a small pile of clothes, the open suitcase on the bed still empty despite her best intentions. She always found packing incredibly dull (although admittedly not as bad as unpacking once she returned to New York) and would often preoccupy herself with anything and everything to avoid doing it, which always resulted in a stressful last-minute packing situation that she was keen to avoid this year. She stood with her hands on her hips as she surveyed the situation in front of her, deciding the best way in which to go about organising her suitcase, when her phone vibrated against her dressing table. Unable to contain the flicker of a smile that tugged at her mouth as she saw the Caller ID flash with Chris’s name, she answered.

“Hey, you.”

She could hear what sounded like a group of very rowdy men in the background in what she could only assume was a bar.

“I need you to help settle a debate.”

Rosie smiled as she cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, using her free hands to pick up a pair of jeans and place them into the suitcase.

“Sounds serious.”

“Oh it is and we’re at a deadlock over here so your opinion decides it, I hope you can handle that kind of pressure,” Chris teased.

“Oh, Christopher, I was born ready.”

“Alright, but this is like legit serious stuff.”

“Out with it, Chris,” Rosie laughed.

“Crunchy or smooth?”

“Excuse me?” Rosie asked with an incredulous look on her face that she knew Chris would’ve laughed at had he been able to see her.

“Peanut butter,” he clarified. “Crunchy or smooth?”

“Wow,” Rosie deadpanned. “And here I was thinking you were about to ask me something incredibly philosophical.”

“Oh come on, Ro, don’t leave me hanging here.”

“I suppose if I had to choose, I’d probably go with smooth.”

“Ha!” Chris exclaimed, causing Rosie to jump. “She said smooth, looks like you’re the one with the weird peanut butter preferences, Foxy.”

Rosie furrowed her brow at the incoherent shouting and cheering in the background as she put more clothes into her suitcase.

“I’m so confused right now.”

She listened as the sound of raucous chatter faded into a faint buzz and Chris’s voice came back through the speaker clearer yet softer than it had been before.

“Sorry about that, the guys can get a little excitable sometimes.”

“Rookies had too many beers?”

“Yeah,” Chris breathed. “Something like that. How’re you doin’ anyway? Things settled for you at work?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, perching herself on the edge of her bed, careful not to knock any of the small wrapped packages onto the floor. “I got all of those papers turned round and the results were actually kind of encouraging, which was nice.”

“That’s probably because they’ve got a good teacher.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Rosie blushed, thankful that he couldn’t see the interesting shade of pink her face had turned.

Chris’s reply was unexpected, somehow managing to knock her back a bit with the sincerity and softness in his tone that seemed more intimate than perhaps their current level of friendship afforded.

“I mean it, Ro. I know you know your stuff. They’re lucky to have someone like you teaching them.”

His words hung in the air around Rosie for a few seconds while she processed them, or rather, while she started to analyse the tenderness in his tone that she was sure she hadn’t imagined. He didn’t give her too long to get lost in it though as he was speaking again before she had a chance to truly unpack her thoughts.

“So things have settled down for you, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.. Yeah. I’ve just been packing for my trip back home,” Rosie replied, picking up one of the small gift-wrapped boxes and examining it for no particular reason.

“Right, of course. When is it you fly?”

“December twenty-first, fly back into JFK on the fourth of January.”

“I’ll be in California when you get back,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “But it’d be great to see you before you go to England. Maybe dinner or coffee?”

“That would be really nice, Chris,” the smile evident in her voice to Chris even through the phone.

“Great, we’ll arrange something once I’m back in the city at the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Chris hesitated, not quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he should probably get back to the others and leave Rosie to the rest of her evening. He knew he had to though, even if it did make his chest ache for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

“I’ll let you get on with your packing,” he half-sighed.

“Please don’t feel like you need to,” Rosie replied with the faintest hint of a plea.

“I do because if I don’t you’ll never finish packing your suitcase.”

There it was, that easy teasing that had become a defining feature of their friendship in just the few weeks they’d known each other and had managed to shift the atmosphere between them from something that neither could quite put their finger on to one that was much more playful and familiar.

Rosie groaned exaggeratedly, earning her a hearty chuckle from Chris.

“But I hate packing,” she whined.

“Welcome to being an adult, suck it up, Buttercup.”

“You’re mean.”

Despite her words, Chris knew that there was no truth in them and he also knew that she herself didn’t believe them, which made the playful back-and-forth banter between the two of them come easily.

“No, I’m Chris.”

“Oh my god!” Rosie laughed, exasperated. “I’m hanging up now, goodbye!”

Chris’s rich chuckle was the last thing she heard before she ended the call and tossed her phone onto her pillows, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of his humour before turning her attention back to the pile of clothes by her suitcase.

 *

Christmas went as quickly as it came, passing in such a blur that it had Rosie questioning if she’d had any time off at all. It didn’t take her long to settle back into the groove of things though, it never did, and by the time the frosts of winter began to thaw, the warm glow of the festive season was nothing more than a cheerful memory. Much like the first beautiful petals of spring, Chris and Rosie’s friendship continued to blossom.

Rosie would have been lying if she said that she didn’t wish their schedules would match up more. A particularly busy January for Chris meant that they hadn’t had chance to meet since just before Christmas and it had Rosie wondering just what exactly Chris’s job entailed. It wasn’t really something that had come up during their phone calls and it was something that she felt deserved to be done face-to-face rather than over a text message, because truth be told, she didn’t have the first idea when it came to ice hockey. Keen to know more about the man that was fast becoming somebody she considered to be a close friend, she resolved to ask him the next time they met for coffee.

“So are you ever going to tell me about this big, shiny career of yours or am I supposed to just keep thinking you’re some James Bond of professional hockey,” she mused as she broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into her mouth.

Chris blushed slightly as he took a drawn out sip of coffee.

“I mean, yeah, sure. What do you wanna know?”

He set his cup down and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, the flicker of nervousness extinguished quickly by the kindness that rested within her eyes.

“Well,” she started. “I believe I’ve mentioned before that the only hockey I knew of before meeting you was the field hockey they made us play at secondary school. So, everything I guess? Oh, and I’m going to need you to explain like I’m five.”

Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the good-natured smirk on her face and ran a hand along the stubble at his jaw.

“Alright, well. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start from the top. I played hockey in high school, then went to Boston College, they have a really good collegiate hockey programme there and it’s a good school to boot. I got drafted in 2009 by the New York Rangers then I signed my first contract with them in 2012, been here ever since.”

“So you must be bloody good at hockey then,” Rosie said after swallowing her coffee which made the pink tinge to Chris’s cheeks even more prominent.

“I mean, I’m not terrible.”

Rosie grinned at him and at his humility which she had come to know as being one of Chris’s prominent traits. “And your schedule? I know it’s a bit mental but what does an average day look like for you?”

“That depends,” Chris replied. “Are we talking an off-day? Game day? Away trip?”

“All of the above?” Rosie laughed.

“My days off I still like to get a work-out in, even if it’s just a small one. But other than that? I don’t know, maybe meet incredible women from Devon in bookshops?”

It was Rosie’s turn to have her cheeks flush, especially with the way Chris was looking at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. Chris continued though, despite the thundering in his chest at how beautiful she looked in that moment.

“Game days I’ll usually get up, go to practice. I try and take a nap in the afternoon before I have to go down to the Garden to get ready for the game and it’s much the same if I’m away on the road. We usually practice before we travel to wherever it is we’re headed.”

“That sounds incredibly full-on.”

“It is,” Chris agreed. “But it really makes you appreciate the time at home and the moments of stillness. Why’d you think I love getting lost in a good book so much?”

“Because, in the words of Dr Seuss, ‘the more you read, the more things you’ll know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.’”

Chris looked at her softly, a warm smile on his face. “Spoken like a true teacher.”

“So come on then,” she blushed, steering the conversation away from herself and back to him. “You went to Boston College, right? What did you end up studying?”

“Communications,” Chris said as he finished taking a sip of coffee. “I uh, it was really important to my mom for me to finish my degree so I kept plugging away at it even after I went pro.”

“Wow,” Rosie looked at him, clearly impressed. “That’s incredible, Chris. I mean, getting a degree is a hard enough slog when you’re doing it full time, but to do it while you’re travelling here there and everywhere? That’s no easy feat.”

It was Chris’s turn to blush now, too humble and too modest to be able to accept the praise Rosie was giving him.

“I knew how much it meant to my mom and I just wanted to make her happy, that and I was too stubborn to not finish something I’d started.”

“Your birthday is the end of April, right?” She said rather suddenly but as if something had clicked in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, April 30th. Why? You been googling me?”

“Oh it’s nothing really,” she said quickly, face flushing and suddenly aware of how stupid it would sound to him if she actually said it out loud. “And for the record, I haven’t googled you, I just remembered you mentioning your birthday last time we met up.”

“Nah, you can’t just do that,” he chuckled softly. “Come on, what were you gonna say?”

“Well,” she started, her fingers and eyes finding the coffee cup in front of her, anything to avoid the part where he looked at her like she was mad. “I was just gonna say that you really are a typical Taurus.”

Chris leaned forward in his seat, hands settling just shy of hers but the almost contact enough to make her skin spark.

“That so?” he mused. “You big into your astrology?”

“No, well yes, sort of,” she rushed and Chris could tell that she was almost ashamed of the admission. “I don’t read magazine horoscopes or anything like that because they really are a load of bollocks. But natal charts and stuff like that? I find them totally fascinating. I um, I’m kind of into crystal healing, I sage my apartment, I know it’s nuts.”

“No it’s not,” Chris took her hand then, the need to reassure her and ground her in a moment where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “Is it something that I believe in personally? No, not really. But truthfully I don’t know anything about it either. If it makes you happy then it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe you could tell me more about it over dinner or something?”

Rosie looked at him thoughtfully, so appreciative of him in that moment and that ineffable gift of his to make her feel valued and listened to. It was that and all the other wonderful little facets of himself that he was showing her that had her agreeing to his proposal of dinner. She thought about the level of bravery that it must have taken for him to talk about that other side of his life, the side that she knew nothing about, no matter how small or trifling it might have seemed to anyone else. While she might not have had the first clue when it came to the sport or could even truly comprehend what Chris’s life was like, she understood that it must be incredibly difficult for somebody in his situation to forge true and meaningful relationships with people, friendly or otherwise, because when it feels like someone you have just met thinks they already know everything about you, it’s incredibly hard to let the guard come down and let people get close. That is what Chris appreciated the most about Rosie, though, the fact that she hadn’t the faintest idea who number 20 of the New York Rangers was. Every conversation they’d ever shared and every question she’d ever asked came from a genuine and altruistic desire to get to know him better. Even now, as she encouraged him to share that other part of him, that so many others defined him by, it came only from a place of pure and innocent curiosity. She asked about his job much in the same way she would ask an accountant or doctor about theirs.

Being able to have that conversation with her about his life and his job only served to strengthen the bond that they shared and he was incredibly thankful for Rosie’s understanding and willingness to fit her schedule and life around his. As the months passed and summer fast approached, Chris found himself for the first time reluctant to escape the stifling heat of the city after the season had ended. He was enjoying being able to spend more time with Rosie now that the school year had come to a close and he was shocked to learn that even after living in the city for close to six years at that point, she still hadn’t explored all of Manhattan. Their days were filled with walks around the West Village, Midtown or Tribeca and having lunches at tiny hole-in-the wall cafés where they would show each other the books they had picked up in whatever shop they’d found themselves in that morning.

It was that time shared together that made it incredibly easy for Rosie to become a stable fixture in Chris’s life with evenings spent at each other’s apartments having dinner and sharing wine. Rosie had learned quickly that Chris was a capable cook and Chris loved nothing more than when Rosie would cook pasta for him, even if it wasn’t exactly his nutritionist’s dream. It was easy to relax in that kind of way around her, forgetting the strict food regime every once in a while to really savour the beef ragu she made that he loved so much, always washed down with a couple of bottles of Sangiovese shared between them and finished with a homemade tiramisu. It was wholesome, much like she was with the softness of her curves and her insouciant attitude when it came to her looks. That was not to say that she didn’t make an effort, that wasn’t the case at all, for she would always look so put together and incredibly beautiful whenever Chris would see her, but she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t think twice about letting herself indulge in a slice of cake with her coffee or get too hung up on the calorie content of a pasta carbonara, which was a quality that Chris found to be both incredibly refreshing and endearing.

The natural quality of their relationship should have made it incredibly easy for Rosie to give in to those feelings she found beginning to settle in her chest. Chris was a wonderful man, that much was undeniably true and it should have been simple to confront the ache she felt whenever he went away. But if there was one thing Rosie had learned in her life, it was that if you expect too much, if you put people on pedestals that were too high, you would find yourself being disappointed. That was a simple fact of life. People were just that, people, capable of making mistakes. They were not divine beings, no matter how much we saw them as such through our own eyes. It was that idea alone that startled her; that a man such as Chris could be capable of disappointing her by the pure reasoning of the human condition and that was a thought that she couldn’t bear. So she pushed it down, down and down until it was quieter than a whisper. But even whispers can’t be ignored forever, and so with each comment from Chris’s friends about how happy he was since meeting her or each time her skin would spark at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, the whisper grew, growing and growing with every team event she attended on his arm or every party he asked her along to, until it was a shout.

Relationships had never been something to come easy to Chris, he was too careful and too private; the gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him there was always some ulterior motive was often too arresting to ignore. It should have frightened him, the way Rosie came into his life and smashed through every wall he’d ever built without even doing much at all, but it didn’t. Rather than look at all the bricks and the rubble and be unnerved by the ease in which she was able to coax his vulnerability out of him, he found himself inspired, determined even, to build something truly beautiful with her. Chris knew that he would have to find a way to navigate these feelings with her, cognizant of the need to not throw her into the deep end and shock her system. Rosie deserved better than that because this wasn’t just about him and his feelings, it was about them and their relationship, what it was now and what it could be.

She was brilliant, in every way a person could be, beautiful and with a passion that glowed like the fiery tresses of her hair under a New York sunset. She was bold and sharp as a tack, keeping him on his toes in a way that no one else had ever been able to and he was sure that no one else would ever again. It was late night conversations where they were three bottles of wine deep talking about philosophy and ethics or her reading silently while he played guitar, it was listening to Pearl Jam with her whenever she cooked or Billy Joel when they were curled up together on the sofa, debating whether Radiohead or Nirvana was more influential in the grunge music scene. Hell, it was even looking up his birth chart, even though he didn’t believe in astrology, because there was just something about the way she said ‘You’re such a typical Sagittarius moon.’ Her warmth and her kindness always managed to ground him in moments where he would feel himself slipping, as sure as the moon rises and sets each night, especially once the season had restarted and those niggling insecurities would rear up and settle heavily in his chest, and yet he could tell that she never really knew the exact power that she held. She had his heart completely, whether she was aware of it or not and that was something that Chris hoped would never change. She’d slotted into his life like she had always belonged there, like she had always been there and that feeling only seemed to grow inside of Chris with every dinner they shared with his friends and every time he would see her face in the stands of MSG.

*

The week before Christmas brought an uncharacteristically early winter storm to New York unlike any Chris had ever seen throughout his whole time living there, forcing the city to a standstill and grounding flights, which meant that for the first time since moving to the States, Rosie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. The idea of her spending the holiday alone in her apartment made Chris’s heart ache and so that was how Rosie ended up in his Tribeca apartment on Christmas Eve, bundled up with him on the sofa under a blanket, each with a mug of homemade mulled wine. The Muppet’s A Christmas Carol played quietly through the tv, one of Rosie’s Christmas Eve traditions that he would never dream of denying her, although, no matter what he would later admit to, he spent more time observing the gentle expression on her face as she got lost in the nostalgia of it all than he did actually paying attention to the screen. She felt him though, not even needing to take her eyes off the movie to know that he was watching her.

“You’re missing all the good bits,” she smirked.

“It’s okay, I’ve read the book. I know what happens.”

There was a slight grit to his tone that Rosie couldn’t quite place but crawled under her skin and kindled a small flame in her stomach all the same.

“But there were no Muppets in the book.” She turned to face him then and took in the expression within his eyes, darker than she’d ever seen them before. “Kermit really brings Dickens’ story to life.”

“I mean, Beaker steals it for me but we’ll agree to disagree.”

The air thickened around them and Rosie took a long sip of her wine, longer than perhaps she should have, but she needed to swallow away the tightness in her throat from the way Chris was looking at her. Like planets to a sun, Rosie found herself drawn to him, suddenly feeling him everywhere despite the fact they were at opposite ends of his couch. It was that gravity that had her shuffling towards him, crawling into his space in the same way she had crawled into his heart. He was warm, she thought, comfortingly so and the worn hoody on his body felt soft and had the familiar, soothing scent that was so uniquely Chris. Perhaps that is what had her curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder and perhaps that new-found closeness was what had him pressing his lips into her hair.

There was no way either of them could deny what this was between them, the spark too bright to ignore. Rosie knew that they weren’t just friends, she knew that and she knew that Chris felt it too, that was why his face was turned towards hers, his lips impossibly close so that all she needed to do was tilt her head and give in to what her heart was crying out for. But her head was a cruel mistress indeed and it was that irrational but crippling fear of eventual disappointment that made her clear her throat and scoot back a shade, giving herself some much needed breathing room.

Chris exhaled quietly, the deflation leaving him on the breath. It was almost frustrating how close they were, the finish line within touching distance and yet they always seemed to stop short of it. Chris was there, he was there waiting and willing her to take those last few steps and cross it with him but he knew that he couldn’t force this, nor did he want to either. She had to want it for herself and Chris knew, as he looked at her sitting there chewing on her bottom lip with her brows knitted together in pensive thought, that she was worth the wait, even if it took a lifetime.

The post-holiday back to work rush was one that was felt universally. Those first few weeks always seemed to feel as though there was never enough hours in the day to get everything done and it was no different for Chris and Rosie, both caught up in their jobs to really sit and digest the moment between them at Christmas. Christmas Day had been incredibly busy with Chris hosting a couple of the younger players for dinner and no sooner had the festivities ended he was packing a bag ready to depart for Washington the following morning. They both knew that they had a lot of things to discuss, because that’s what adults did, they talked about their feelings in a healthy and open way, but as the busy-ness of their schedules ramped up, the hours slipped away and turned into days. Days spanned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before either of them knew it, the moment seemed so distant in the rear-view mirror, that it almost felt weird to bring it back up.

 *

The hockey season ended for Chris some time during May, the Rangers making it as far as the second round of the playoffs but unable to close it out after seven hard fought games. The disappointment sat heavy in his chest, much like it always did after losses like these, but he would have been a fool not to notice the way that it didn’t hang all about him in the way it had previous years. Of course, the wound still cut deep but without the festering ache of poison and he knew the antidote was the woman who had swept into his life nearly two years prior. 

It was remarkable really, how she came into his world like that. It was an event that Chris had always described as being purely serendipitous but the longer he spent with Rosie, the more he began to wonder if there was something else at play, hell, even fate perhaps. He had prided himself on being a shrewd man, his practicality something that had always defined him and guided his thoughts and actions, but whenever he thought about them and their relationship, he had to believe that it was more than just some happy accident. Rosie was pure magic, in every sense of the word, always having an uncanny ability to know what he needed before he even did and making him relax in ways he had never previously allowed himself to. It was cliché to say, but Chris genuinely believed that he had never lived until he met her and slowly, over the course of the last year, maybe even longer, the love songs on the radio made a little bit more sense and every love story he’d ever read sat a little bit differently in his heart. He knew that he was going to have to find a way to truly make her his, because despite all of the times where he felt like he could’ve just grabbed her face and kissed her, despite all of the unspoken feelings that had surfaced at Christmas, and despite the fact that they hadn’t yet managed to talk about them, the dynamic between them both after their almost kiss hadn’t changed at all except in the small way that he found himself having to stop himself from holding her in the way that he wanted to more often than not.

He thought about the one night she’d almost burst with excitement over their dinner at her apartment when he told her he had finally sat down and read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, remembering the wind-scattered waves in her eyes and so sure that if anyone was brave enough to enter their depths, all else would blur and they would fall so deeply in love that they’d choose to stay there, no matter what, because he knew for certain that he had befallen that very fate. He recalled thinking that if that was the last thing he was to ever see, he would surely die a happy man. She had recited her favourite quote to him that he thought to be beautiful at the time but now hitting him like a freight train and knocking all of the wind out of his sails. It crawled through his skin and into his veins until he felt it coursing through his body until it had made a home within his very soul:

‘Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body… for that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’

It was those words that had his feet carrying him to his car and those words that had him driving from his apartment to her home in Brooklyn and it was those words that had him standing outside of her front door ready to offer his heart to her. He knocked, more out of habit than anything, the key she had given him a few months ago being turned over between his fingers as he waited and the anxiety beginning to rise with each second that passed without her appearing at the door. He exhaled before finally putting the key into the lock, certain that she was home despite the fact that his visit was unplanned and unannounced.

“Rosie?” he called out into the hallway. “Are you there?”

The silence was unsettling and completely uncharacteristic, made worse by the fact that her car was parked outside in its usual spot and the fact that he could’ve sworn she’d mentioned during their phone call the night before that she was planning on having a day at home to do laundry and catch up on all of those less-important chores she didn’t have the time to do during the school year. 

‘Maybe she’s not home after all’, he thought after a couple of minutes without a reply, more to soothe his own anxiety more than anything else. ‘She’s obviously decided to go out for a walk somewhere. That must be it.’ He was just about to turn away and leave, suddenly aware of how intrusive his presence in her home was when she clearly wasn’t there, when he was certain he heard her voice call his name.

“Rosie?”

A sob drifted down the hallway, muted but no less full of raw pain and anguish that had his legs carrying him towards the sound in big, long strides until it brought him to her bedroom where the door stood slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open with an exhale of a breath he hadn’t felt being held within his lungs and his heart lurched at the sight of her curled up on her bed sobbing into her pillow. To go to her was instinctive, his soul called out to hers in a desperate attempt to soothe whatever pain she was in and he found himself kneeling at the side of her bed with his long fingers smoothing back the titian strands that had fallen into her face and clung to her tears.

“Ro, what happened?”

She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him, in fact, and so he moved onto the bed, gathering her up into his arms and held her close to his chest while he rubbed circles on her back, murmuring softly into her hair to try and still her sobs. He felt the way she clung on to him like she was drowning and he was the life-preserver and pressed gentle kisses against her forehead until her crying was no more than quiet sniffles.

“Rosie, sweetheart, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”

“My grandma,” she choked out against the fabric of his t-shirt. “My grandma died.”

Chris closed his eyes and exhaled as the second wave of tears took her, holding her steadfast against him and saying nothing other than reassuring her that he was there for her. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that for, with her still impossibly close to him long after she’d finished crying herself hollow, until after the tears had dried and all that was left was the crippling deadweight of grief. It was Chris that spoke out into the new but deafening silence, his voice barely audible and a little rough from his own emotion that sat threateningly high in his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Rosie…”

The tiny exhale that passed Rosie’s lips had Chris’s heart breaking in two for her. Her reply small and full of defeat. “She’d had dementia for a while… Didn’t really know who any of us were,” she sniffled, dangerously close to losing it again. “Every time I went back home it was like she had to learn who I was all over again. I know that this was the kindest thing to happen but-”

Chris kissed her forehead as she choked back a sob, a wordless assurance that she didn’t need to say another word and a quiet understanding of the pain and emptiness that she was drowning in. 

“When are you flying home?” He murmured softly.

“I’m going to try and get a flight home for tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.”

“It’s gonna be expensive to try and get something that short notice, Ro.”

“That’s why I have savings,” Rosie gave a small, almost robotic shrug as she wiped her face, the emotion quickly being forced back down into her stomach as she turned her focus towards the things that she could control to keep herself from spiralling into hysterics again. “In case of an emergency.”

“Let me pay for your flight home,” Chris offered. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

“You know I can’t accept that, honey.”

Chris had been friends with Rosie long enough to be familiar with the fact she often used terms of endearment whenever she was talking to him, but even now, especially now, with all those feelings of complete clarity about her and about them and their relationship that sat in his chest, it still managed to knock him back a bit and make his heart swell even in a moment as awful as this one. 

“Why not?”

He knew that this was a situation where he shouldn’t push too hard, that she would either pull away from him or direct all of that grief and emotion his way, like a cornered animal seconds away from deciding whether to fight or bolt. He knew he shouldn’t push this but he needed to do something, the overwhelming demand coming from his heart to make this right and fix this for her too much to ignore.

“Because I’m not your problem, Chris,” Rosie said, completely deflated. “Because this doesn’t need to be your problem.”

“I want to help, Ro, please. Please let me help. Please let me help fix this.” He was pleading with her and while a part of Rosie understood his desire to make this better for her, the swirling hurricane of emotions inside of her was reaching a fever pitch and, unable to make sense of it all, she found herself directing her howling gales towards the one thing she should have been holding on to.

“This isn’t something you can fix, Chris! You can’t fix this, you can’t make this right and you can’t bring her back!”

She stood with her fists balled tightly, the pain on her face as she sobbed and the realisation that she was right cutting through Chris like a knife. He had never been one to lose his nerve in a crisis, always the dependable one, always the stoic one. He was the guy people could rely on when things were shitty and it was something he prided himself on, but seeing her in front of him, shattered and in agony, knowing that he would have to sit this one out until she’d had a chance to process everything, left him feeling weak and powerless.

He watched her in stunned silence, unable to articulate feelings that he couldn’t make sense of. She was standing no more than three meters away from him but the distance between them felt like it stretched light-years. He couldn’t let her go to England with that hanging between the two of them, that ocean that would separate them felt like she would slip into another universe entirely and leave him with too much uncertainty about how things would be once she got back to New York. She didn’t give him a choice, though, her voice sounding abstract and unlike her own as she spoke into the void between them.

“I’m sorry, I just… I think I need to be alone right now. I need to wrap my head around this and it,” she paused for a moment, a shaky sigh filling the space. “It’s not fair on you for me to throw my emotions at you like this.”

“Rosie,” he spoke her name like a prayer, an oblique supplication that she heard but couldn’t accept.

“Please, Christopher. I know that you just want to help and, Christ, I appreciate you so much but I can’t accept your money, that’s just not my way, and I need to process this in my own way. I promise you though, I’ll let you know when I’m leaving for the UK and I swear that I’ll keep in touch.”

He hated it, all of it, but he loved her and he knew that she needed this, no matter how much it killed him to have to let her do things her own way. So that’s how he found himself nodding and respecting her request before folding her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple that he hoped would convey all of the affection and love that he held for her. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to cry as he drove back to his apartment and prayed to whoever was listening that she would be okay and that they would be okay, because if he lost that magic, if he lost her, he would have nothing.

It was two days later when Rosie reached out to say that she was at the airport waiting for her flight back to England, those forty-eight hours without talking to her the longest he’d ever endured. She assured him that while she was still not in a great place herself, that they were okay and that she appreciated everything he had offered to do for her. The messages were shorter than Chris was used to but it did help to make that feeling of distance between them feel a little less insurmountable than before.

*

June would usually have him heading to his coastal home in Connecticut or making the trip back to Massachusetts to be with his family, but he instead found himself lingering in New York, although with Rosie in England indefinitely he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t committed to definite summer plans. If he really thought about it, though, really gave it more than a second’s thought and was completely honest with himself, he knew that he was waiting for her. He didn’t want to go home to Boxford and for her to come back to a city without him there. He wanted to be the one to welcome her back, pick her up from the airport and wrap her up in a hug that would have her never doubting how he truly felt about her. But really, when he spent time dissecting that desire to be there for her when she got back to New York, it actually stemmed from a desire to be with her, period. That was what had him picking up the phone and scrolling through his contacts, not even giving it a second thought when he hit that ‘call’ button but the guilt instantaneous when a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about the time difference,” Chris exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You never call without texting first. What’s on your mind?”

Chris sighed into the receiver, using the pause to gather his thoughts into some kind of semblance of coherence rather than dumping them all out in one go.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore, Mika.”

Mika’s tone shifted as the last remnants of sleep fell away, taking on the familiar quality that seemed to be reserved only for Chris. “Did something happen between you and Rosie?”

“Not really?” Chris offered, unsure of the answer to Mika’s question himself. “It’s just… It feels wrong, all of this.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What feels wrong? I thought you loved her.”

“That’s just it, Mika,” Chris exhaled. “I do, fuck, I love her so much and the fact that she’s there and I’m here-”

Chris’s deep sigh through the receiver had Mika sitting up in bed, his next words spoken with such a surety as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So go to her.”

“What?”

Mika laughed so softly that it was barely audible, shaking his head despite Chris not being able to see him.

“Y’know, for someone so smart you really are dumb sometimes.”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” Chris grumbled. “Second of all, rude. Thirdly, what’re you getting at exactly?”

“What I’m getting at,” groused Mika, too tired from being woken up in the wee hours of the morning to have any great level of patience. “Is that you should book a flight and get your ass to the UK.”

“Just like that? Just go?”

“Yes, Jesus, Chris. I don’t know what else you want me to say, man, it’s three in the morning here and Irma will kick my ass if I wake her up.”

“Right, yeah,” Chris mumbled, the guilt at waking up his friend rearing its head again. “Sorry, I know I shoulda thought about the time difference.”

“The only reason you have to be sorry is if you don’t pack a bag as soon as we’re done talking and go get on the next fucking plane to England.”

Chris paused, long enough to gather his thoughts but not long enough for Mika to be concerned.

“I guess I’ll let you know when I land then.”

“Give her a hug from me, Chris,” Mika said with complete sincerity.

“‘Course I will, and Mika?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, man.”

Mika smiled into the darkness of his bedroom before answering softly, “anytime.”

 *

Chris had never been to England before and he wasn’t afraid to admit that his geography knowledge of the country was somewhat lacking, so to say that this trip was going to be a baptism of fire would have been entirely accurate. He was a confident enough driver, if he were to say so himself, but he’d have been a big fat liar (to put it in Rosie’s words) if he didn’t admit that the prospect of driving the 160 miles from London Heathrow to Exeter, on the wrong side of the road he might add, filled him with a little bit of dread. But if there was a woman worth braving the complete absurdity of a roundabout for, it was Rosie.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was going behind her back a little bit, using the excuse of wanting to send flowers to her as a means to get her parents’ address when he’d spoken to her on the phone the previous morning. He hoped that she would be able to forgive his little deception and see the purity of his intentions behind it, although he did pick up some flowers on the way to her parents’ house from the small hotel he was staying at, wanting to fulfil that part of the bargain at least. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned into a quiet residential street that the GPS was signalling as being his destination. He pulled up outside the house, checking, double checking and triple checking that he had the right address before he shut off the car engine and got out, grabbing the large bouquet of flowers off the back seat. He can’t ever remember a time that his palms were this clammy or where his legs felt like they were about to give way from under him quite like they did at that moment as he walked up the short driveway to the front door.

He rubbed his free hand on the front of his jeans, taking a settling breath before he knocked on the door, unsure of what to expect when it opened. His eyebrows raised in surprise when an older looking gentleman answered, who looked equally surprised to see a slightly dishevelled looking, six foot three stranger on his doorstep.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Chris spoke, thankful that he was at least able to find his strong voice despite the distraction of his heart hammering in his chest.

“Alright there, mate?” the man greeted, with an accent that Chris noted to be far stronger than Rosie’s. “You lost or summat?”

“I hope not,” Chris laughed more out of nerves than anything else. “I’m actually here to see Roseanna.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure of himself, his statement coming out as more of a question and nothing at all like his normal confident self. The older man didn’t seem to pay too much notice to it though, instead breaking into a smile that Chris recognised as being near enough identical to Rosie’s and gestured for him to come inside the house. 

“She’s just got back from walkin’ the dog, I’ll get ‘er for you.”

Chris watched as the man disappeared the short way down the hallway and called Rosie’s name into the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her voice reply to the man he had assumed to be her father.

“Someone’s ‘ere to see you, love, what? No, I don’t know who he is… maybe one of your university mates,” he turned back to give Chris a friendly nod before adding, “she’ll be right with you.”

Sure enough, no sooner were the words out of his mouth did Rosie appear in the doorway at the end of the hall, all red cheeks and light freckles from the sunshine. She stopped dead in her tracks, her face switching from total surprise at the sight in front of her to overwhelming joy before finally settling on complete disbelief at the realisation that Chris was standing right in front of her in the home she grew up in. Her legs instinctively carried her into his waiting arms, tears starting to fall before she could even register what was happening. Chris was certain that he would never forget the way she held onto him in that moment, with her face buried into his chest and her arms tight around his back.

“What are you doing here?” She finally managed, bringing her teary eyes up to meet Chris’s. “How? When?”

His only response was to kiss her forehead sweetly, holding her against his body like she was about to float away.

“I wanted to be here for you. I know you have your family but, God, it just didn’t feel right to be back in New York.” He stepped back from her a fraction so that he could offer the blooms he was still holding to her. “And I believe I promised you some flowers.”

“I thought you were sorting them with a local florist not travelling across the Atlantic to hand deliver them,” she laughed through her tears, a hand coming up to whack his chest lightly. “You are completely ridiculous, Christopher James Kreider.”

“Anything to see you smile, Ro.”

He kissed her hair before taking her outstretched hand and followed her as she led him into the kitchen to meet her family for the first time.

 *

The next few days had Chris feeling a little bit like a spare part. Rosie and her family were busy with the last minute preparations for the funeral and Chris wished that he could do more to help out but, just like always, Rosie managed to allay his worries and settle his heart by assuring him that his presence alone was enough. They’d spent their free time taking in the sights of South Devon, Rosie relishing the opportunity to show him around the place she grew up and all of her favourite spots. He particularly enjoyed the day they spent down in a place called Torquay, the beauty of the ocean and the way the sun kissed her hair had him feeling bold enough to reach for her hand as they walked along the sea-front while enjoying an ice cream each.

On the day of the funeral, Chris made himself completely indispensable to Rosie and her family, nothing being too much trouble. He held Rosie tightly throughout the ceremony, never once letting her go and whispered words of comfort to her as she said her final goodbyes to the grandmother she loved so much before they exited the church. He stayed by her side throughout the wake at her request. The emotional rawness of the day had her feeling more vulnerable than she would have liked but there was something about the way Chris’s hand rested above her knee as they sat around the table that had her feeling more grounded and centred than she knew she would’ve been had he not been there. It was easy for her to go back to Chris’s hotel with him, the emotions of the day still weighed heavy on her and she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.

The gravity of those feelings wasn’t lost on Rosie and she knew that sooner or later she’d have to really take a step back and take a good look at her relationship with Chris and what it all meant. It was easier to be dishonest with herself and keep up the pretence that they were just friends because if she let herself think about them being anything else for too long she would feel her chest tighten and hear her heart start to whoosh in her ears. Was it childish? Absolutely, but she’d be damned if she let herself get hurt by a man again. Her self-preservation mechanism had been working like a charm so far and if it wasn’t broken then why fix it? It wasn’t completely infallible though and after two bottles of Chianti and the way the lamplight accentuated the softness in his eyes, Rosie found herself slipping. 

“What’s on your mind?” He whispered, fingers finding her chin to bring her thousand yard stare away from the wall and back to his searching gaze.

“Everything,” she sighed softly. “It’s loud in my head tonight.”

“Is there one thing in particular that you can pick out?”

He took the wine glass that she was cradling and set it down on the table, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumbs gently across her knuckles.

“Not really, today has just been a lot.”

Chris nodded in understanding, not wanting to pry further and cognizant of the emotional strenuity of the day. Instead he pulled her closer, nestling her into his side and pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

“I still can’t believe you came all this way for me,” she murmured.

“Why darling,” Chris started, Rosie immediately recognising the quote as being Hemingway. “I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”

She tilted her head up towards him, her lips impossibly close to his as her fingers danced along the stubble at his jaw and swallowed down the nerves that had lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes, so close to giving in to her heart and letting it win, for better or worse. Chris had been dreaming of this moment though, longing for it with every close call and missed opportunity. This is how it should’ve been at Christmas and all of the team events he’d the delight of having her on his arm, but instead he let himself chicken out, the fear of spooking her and losing her too much to allow himself to take the risk. But now, he had Rosie right there. She was impossibly close and all around him and he knew that if he didn’t take that leap and place his lips on hers, he might never get that chance again and that is what had him brushing his lips lightly across hers, his fingers finding a home amongst the loose copper curls that were glowing like hot coals in the low light of the room.

Instinct took over and had Rosie arching her body into him, her hands reaching up into his hair to muss the short curls. Even with her body pressed against his, Chris needed her closer, his big arms looping around her and pulling her into his lap. He kissed her desperately, a kiss to make up for all the kisses they should have already shared and all the words that should have been spoken. It should have terrified him, how easy it was to be with her like this and how easy the push and pull of it was, neither taking more than they were giving in the moment. This was what Boris Pasternak meant when he said ‘you and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent to Earth together to see if we know what we were taught., Chris was sure of it because nothing could compare to how Rosie’s lips felt against his and the feeling of her hands on his skin. Her kiss was heaven and her eyes felt like home and Chris knew in that moment that he needed all of her.

As he carried her to bed, Rosie thought about how right being in his arms felt. It was a strong sense of belonging that she couldn’t ever remember having with anyone else - ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’, she thought. He spoke her name against her ear like a prayer, all the love and want for her conveyed in one simple word while he removed her dress with tender hands. Her body was laid on display for him like a canvas, his mouth was the paintbrush and Chris knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life painting a masterpiece onto her skin with his lips.

They moved together between the sheets as sure as the gentle waves that lap against the shore, her hands never feeling more at home than they did running up his back and over his shoulders before settling against the broad plains of his chest. Her every breath and every moan sounded like an aria to his ears and his name tumbling from her lips with every thrust of his hips was met with a moan of hers. He thought she could never look as good as she did underneath him, blooming like a rose, until he found himself on his back with her above him, her hair falling around them both like a curtain and her mouth panting against his as she rolled her hips. His hands made a home at the dip of her waist, guiding her in her movements but never taking the reins from her, giving her the control they both knew she needed in the moment.

It was intuitive, really, the way she was rocking her hips into his and the steady build of pressure in her stomach had her chanting Chris’s name like an incantation. He saw on her face the exact moment that the coil snapped, moaning as she fluttered and tightened around him and brought his hips up to meet hers as she rode the wave of her orgasm.

“I’m with you,” he murmured against her neck.

“Please, Chris. I need you.”

“I’ve got you, Ro. I’ve got you.”

She turned her face to meet his lips in a deep kiss, Chris moaning into her mouth as he spilled inside of her with stuttering hips. Rosie let out a contented sigh as she kissed him through his release, her chest pressed against his and her fingers playing with whatever ends of his hair she could reach. They stayed that way long after he’d gone soft inside of her, content to just bask in the afterglow of the moment as Chris’s fingers traced up and down her back. Rosie knew that she needed to have a frank discussion with Chris about her feelings but now didn’t seem like the right time for that. The sudden realisation that things would never be the same and that there was no going back to the way things were after this embedded itself like a seed, but Rosie let herself surrender to the feeling of safety and security Chris’s arms offered her before it could take root. She nestled herself against his side, her head resting on his chest with her eyes closed, and let his heartbeat be the gentle lullaby to lead her into the beautiful twilight.

 *

Chris awoke to the feeling of Rosie snug and secure within his arms, a peaceful look resting on her features that gave her an angelic quality. He let his mind wander to the night before and allowed the love he felt for her run wild through his veins and fill every corner of his mind, body and soul. For so long it had just been him and hockey, never subscribing to the idea that a person needed a relationship to be complete. But as he looked down and saw his entire world resting within his arms, he realised that he had been right all along. It wasn’t a relationship that made a person complete. It was love. That all-consuming wildfire that burns everything else away until there is nothing left but a new-beginning. He remembered the quote from Corelli that Rosie loved so much and felt everything fall into place. He felt like he’d waited a million years for this feeling and now that he felt it consume him like wildfire, he knew that he would have waited a million more, just as long as he had the privilege of being hers. It was surrendering all that he had ever been for everything that she was, for every kiss and every touch. Her love was his turning page and loving her was the greatest and best thing that he would ever do in his life, he was sure of it.

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, eyes crinkling with his smile as she stirred.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

Chris looked over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “Just gone eight-thirty.”

“Oh, okay.”

She furrowed her brows again, suddenly feeling Chris everywhere as pieces of the night before flooded her consciousness as she fully emerged from sleep and into the waking world. She was naked, she registered, and so was he and she was blindsided by an abrupt awareness that a definite line had been crossed that they could never go back from. It was that recognition of their friendship never being the same again that had her rolling away from Chris without warning. She was out of bed before he could even register what was happening, gathering up her clothes and dressing quickly without as much as a word.

“Rosie?” Chris was sitting up now, a slight waver to his voice as he spoke her name. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” she mumbled, an almost robotic edge to her tone that had Chris jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of sweatpants, already catching up to her racing thoughts without her needing to say another word. He rushed to the door that she was making a beeline for, stepping in front of it and reaching desperately for her hands.

“Don’t do this, Ro… Please, don’t run from this.”

“Chris,” she warned, the emotion sitting dangerously high in her throat and her eyes glossing over with tears.

“What’re you so afraid of? I know you feel it too, Rosie. I know you do.”

“Chris, please,” she tried to brush past him but Chris wouldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers, not this time.

“No, we’re not doin’ this anymore. We’re not gonna spend the rest of our lives pretending that we’re just friends because we’re not, Rosie. I don’t think we have been for a long time- look at me, Ro, please.”

Chris saw the flicker of hesitation cross her face but the desperation in his voice was too much for her to ignore. She brought her eyes up to meet his and saw a fire burning within them that she had never seen before.

“I love you, Rosie. You have to know that by now.”

She shook her head vehemently, the tears she had managed so far to keep at bay finally slipping out and onto her cheeks.

“Don’t,” she whimpered. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Who says I don’t mean it?” He brought his hands to cup her face to keep her eyes on him. “You? Do you think I’d travel across an ocean to be here with you now if I didn’t love you?”

Rosie answered only with a sniffle, the feeling of his touch along her skin anchoring her in a moment where she felt like she was drowning in a sea of every repressed emotion and feeling from the last eighteen months.

“But what if this doesn’t work? What if we’re better as friends?”

“I know you don’t believe that,” he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I know that you’ve been hurt before and I know that you’re scared. But you can’t keep holding on to the past, Ro, because if you do you’ll miss out on what’s right in front of you.”

“It’s not the loving you part that’s hard Chris,” she whispered. “It’s admitting to myself that it happened at all that is. I’ve had all these defences that have worked to keep me from getting hurt for so long but it was like you didn’t even see them at all, like they were meant for others while you had your very own door. I’ve spent so long asking myself why that is and come up with nothing. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

He kissed her forehead softly in response before pulling back to look into her eyes, making sure that she saw him, felt him, heard him. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

The corners of Rosie’s mouth quirked up into a smile despite her tears and her doubts, her favourite passage from Pride and Prejudice never sounding as good as it did coming from Chris’s mouth and extinguishing every fear she was holding within her heart. She closed her eyes and nodded, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that could’ve stopped the world from turning. She gave herself to him completely and surrendered to the overwhelming love that burned within her for him. There were no words that could convey to Chris just how much he meant to her but she hoped that ones from Rupi Kaur would do it justice:

“You might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.”

Chris smiled against her mouth and kissed away every fear and worry until there was nothing left but him and her and the love they had for each other.

 *

Life continued much as it had before, a testament really to the relationship that Chris and Rosie already shared and the official label did nothing more than earn them a chorus of “it’s about time” from their friends and had Mika looking incredibly smug for the next few months. The passage of time only served to make their relationship stronger, both able to give themselves completely without the uncertainty of their feelings looming over them or holding them back. Rosie often found herself being struck by the easiness of their relationship and she never once found herself questioning Chris’s commitment to her and what they had. When he asked her how she would feel about ending the lease on her Brooklyn apartment and moving into his place in Manhattan she didn’t have to give it a second thought. Everything about it felt natural and they were both ready to take that next defining step in their relationship. Once Rosie’s belongings and houseplants were moved in, Chris couldn’t help but feel as if they had always been there, like his apartment was finally complete and that it was the home he had always imagined it would eventually be.

Of course, there were bumps in the road, both of them had been on their own for so long that they were set in their ways at first, but their disagreements never lasted long, their shared knack for communication often diffusing the situation before it had chance to grow arms and legs. The adjustment was harder for Chris in some ways, especially when things on the ice weren’t going so well and he would retreat into himself or misdirect his frustrations towards Rosie with a sharper tone than was necessary, but she stood firm, never one to suffer fools and for that Chris was eternally grateful. They complimented each other in ways they couldn’t even have imagined, Chris able to pull Rosie out of her own head when the world weighed heavy on her shoulders and Rosie never afraid to put Chris in his place when he needed it. As the months rolled into years and their love went from strength to strength, Chris knew for certain that she was it for him and there was nothing he wanted more than to start and end the day with Rosie for all of the days to come.

 *

Rosie looked at Chris with confusion as their Uber pulled up outside Westsider Books one early September evening. There was a faint glow of lights inside but it didn’t look as if the shop was open and Rosie couldn’t understand why Chris had brought her here when she was sure they closed at five.

“I didn’t realise this place opened late,” she said as Chris opened her car door and offered his hand to help her out of the car.

“I think it’s just a one-time thing,” he replied as he thanked the driver and closed the door. He placed a hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her towards the shop entrance, pushing the door open and gesturing for Rosie to go in ahead of him. Rosie wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting to find inside, but hundreds of glittering fairy lights, candles and more flowers than she could count wasn’t even on the list.

“Chris?” she breathed, turning to look at him.

“If you were to list your top three favourite books of all time off the top of your head,” he started, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What would they be?”

“Christopher…”

“Come on, Ro,” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way she loved so much. “Just... play along… Please, for me?”

“Alright, well…” she conceded with a gentle sigh. “Off the top of my head I would probably say Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Pride and Prejudice.”

Chris’s smile somehow managed to double in size, the soft glow of the string lights and candles had his eyes sparkling like smoky quartz, the lush green flecks that usually lived among the dark bark of his irises hidden by the low light. He knew she would say that, of course, knowing her with an intimacy that even after all their years of friendship and the years of loving her still managed to knock him back a bit. He took her hand then, leading her along the aisle before stopping in front of a shelf with a dozen hand-tied sunflowers. He reached out and took a book from the shelf.

“Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières,” he murmured, passing the book to Rosie with an easy grin. “Go on, open it.”

He watched as she opened the cover of the book, her face softening at the sight of a delicate pendant necklace nestled between the pages. A small silver fern leaf hung at the end of the thin chain, a nod to the many houseplants she had brought into his home when she moved in that he had playfully grumbled about but in all actuality loved.

“Chris, it’s beautiful.”

He gently took the necklace from her hands and spun Rosie around, draping the chain across her chest and fastening it behind her neck with sure fingers before turning her back to face him, his eyes falling to the pendant that glimmered in the low light of the room.

“It looks gorgeous on you,” he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Right, what was the next book? For Whom the Bell Tolls, right?”

“Chris, what is all this?” Rosie asked softly, taking Chris’s outstretched hand and following him down the next aisle to another shelf. He ignored her question, simply picking up the book and handing it to her.

“I love that you love Hemingway almost as much as I do,” he whispered softly. “Almost. You have no idea how much it means to me that I get to share that enjoyment with you and I want us to keep making memories together and sharing enjoyment of the things we love.” He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to open the book to reveal the piece of paper he’d folded in there. He took the book from her hands so that she could open it.

Rosie’s eyes widened as she read what she realised to be an itinerary for a trip to Europe next summer.

“I’ve only been to a couple of places in Europe,” Chris started. “And I figured who better to show me around than the girl who’s visited near enough every country on that continent?”

Rosie was unable to contain her sniffles by this point, overwhelmed at the thought and preparation that Chris had put in, not only in the trip to Europe, but this whole evening as well. She shook her head gently as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“This is too much, Chris, you shouldn’t have.”

He pulled back from her just far enough to get her eyes on his, his face set with an expression that held all the love in the world.

“Ah, ah, there’s still one more book, which if I’m not mistaken is your all-time favourite and you, Roseanna Williams, are worth all the good things in this world.”

Her slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they walked back towards the front of the shop, Rosie gently wiping the tears away from her eyes. Pride and Prejudice sat pride of place in the middle of a small table, the book surrounded by petals. Chris gave her an encouraging look and stepped back as she picked it up, taking a small envelope from out of the book before setting it back down again. Her eyes found her name on the front of the envelope in Chris’s unmistakable handwriting before turning it over in her hands and opening it, pulling out what appeared to be a letter. She took a steadying breath as she began to read.

My dearest Rosie,

There will never be the words to adequately express just how much you mean to me or how grateful I am to have found you. You are everything that I didn’t even know I was searching for, that I didn’t even know I needed.

I never believed in fate, every happy accident is just that. A happy accident. Coincidence. Right place, right time. But you, you have opened my eyes to the idea of pure magic because how can a love like ours be founded on pure coincidence alone? How can a soul yearn for someone they had never met? I know now that the reason I found myself in this very book store on that day you came into my life was because your soul was calling me here.

In you I have everything I’ll ever need. No matter where my career takes me, no matter what lies ahead, as long as I have you I have everything. I love you more than anything else in this world, you have given me a higher purpose and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy if you’ll let me.

All my love, Always

Chris

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright - E. Hemingway.

Rosie closed her eyes and let her tears fall onto her cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest.

“Chris…”

“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes, babe,” Chris chuckled softly.

Rosie smiled as she allowed her eyes to drift open, her hand immediately coming up to her mouth as she stifled an unexpected sob at the sight of Chris down on one knee in front of her, a ring box open in his hand that looked as if it contained an entire galaxy of glittering stars.

“Ro, I can’t even remember what my life was like without you in it, I didn’t even know that I was in the dark. Until I saw your smile. It was only then that I realised and now I never want to live a single day without the warmth and light of your love. It’s us, babe. It’s always been us and it’s always been you, since the day we met. I didn’t even realise I was waiting for you and now that I have you, everything is as it should be. I love you, Rosie. I’ve always loved you and I would be the happiest and luckiest man on Earth with you as my wife. Marry me, babe?”

Rosie sank slowly to her knees in front of Chris, her hands reaching up and cupping his face as her tears fell. In front of her was a man who had given her everything, who had helped her to let go of the past and right now, he was offering her a future brighter and more wonderful than anything she could’ve ever imagined and never dared to dream she would have.

“Oh god, please tell me those are happy tears.”

She cut him off with a kiss, a kiss that gave Chris his answer without her even needing to say it. She kissed him with everything she had, kissed him with all of the love that coursed through her veins, kissed him until her lungs were gasping for air and she finally had to pull away, resting her forehead against his with her hands stroking along his jaw.

“Yes,” Rosie whispered. “A million times, yes.”

As Chris slid the ring onto Rosie’s finger, he took the opportunity to look into those eyes of hers that he’d grown to love so much. It was there that he saw their future, all of their hopes and dreams and the promise of all the joy in their lives that was to come and as her arms wrapped tightly around him, Chris felt their souls sigh as they folded into one another. Chris couldn’t tell what the future had in store for them both, but no matter where their path together would lead them, it was in her embrace that he found solace and it was in her heart that he found a home.

[agathasangel]

leave everything behind but me- part 4 (diane sherman x reader) (NSFW moment)

warnings: same as before, stalking (like full on irl stalking as well as online), drugging, some talk of emotional/physical abuse in this one, death mention. this whole fic is just kinda dark... sorry. Also brief nsfw moment.

summary: this part is from Diane’s perspective. as she looks for her neurotoxin ingredients in a panic, she reflects on how she came into contact with you in the first place, and all the highs and lows of your relationship up to this point.

where the hell are they? thought Diane, looking for the last, most important ingredient in her neurotoxin.

She couldn’t believe it had come to this again. Just like with Chloe.

Diane wondered where Chloe was, what she was doing. About five years ago, with an excellent defense lawyer, she managed to get out of jail for what she had done. She looked far and wide for her stolen daughter, who seemed to be nowhere to be found. She still worried about what became of Chloe, but knew she was probably doing alright. And one day, Diane found a new obsession by the name of (y/n).

It was nearly two years ago now. Diane was beginning to give up on finding Chloe, after three full years of searching anywhere and everywhere with no luck. But she did find something else. 

She was staying at a hotel in California, near the hospital where she gave birth to Chloe, in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, Chloe would be around.

Diane didn’t find Chloe, but she found something else from her past. Her college reunion was being held in the exact hotel she was staying at. She didn’t plan on attending, but then she came face-to-face with her college rival. This woman was the only person who did better in her classes than Diane. Not only that, but she had multitudes of friends, boyfriends, you name it, while Diane had no one. The woman never let Diane forget how much better she was either. It wasn’t the worst thing Diane had ever been through, not by a long shot, but it was a disappointment for sure. College was supposed to be the place where Diane could finally feel like she belonged, and she always resented this rival of hers. 

“Diane! We didn’t think you were coming! Oh here, have a seat!” said the woman.

“I’m so sorry about Roger. It was such a shock to hear about.”, she continued, reminding Diane of her dead husband

“Yeah, I still can’t say I’m over it, all these years later.”

“Yeah when the love of your life just drops dead like that, you never get over it, do you?”, she said, far louder than Diane would have liked.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course, I’m so sorry, Diane, I know it must be so hard for you!”

“Yeah. Um... what’s your family like?”

“Well we have one daughter. Her name is (y/n), and she’s a senior in High School,” said the woman. She then leaned into Diane and said, “But can I be honest? I never exactly wanted kids. Never liked them. I thought it would change when I had her but it didn’t. She’s so... difficult.”

Diane’s blood absolutely boiled hearing this, but she managed to keep a polite face, “But that’s your child. Don’t you love her?”

“There are some good things about her, I guess. I do love her in my own way, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. She’s just not what I thought she’d be. I’m sorry, I thought you may understand. I never get to vent my frustrations about her.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t understand. But, do you, um, by any chance have a picture of her?”

“On my phone, somewhere. Let me look.”

After a while, she found a picture of (y/n). It was fairly recent photo of you at a restaurant, at what looked like a dinner with the whole family. You looked sad and lost, but Diane thought you looked sweet.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” said the woman, almost stifling a laugh, as if there was no way Diane could have meant that.

“I’m sorry, I need to go to the bathroom.” said Diane, as she was starting to turn red in anger and the woman.

“I’ll join you, I need to freshen up a bit.”

“Fine.”

So Diane walked straight into a stall while the other woman followed. Diane started to cry, so angry at this awful woman. She had a child, a beautiful, sweet, girl who was alive, for God’s sake. Diane would kill for what she has, in fact she had killed for it before. But this woman didn’t care about her child, she didn’t appreciate you one bit.

She didn’t deserve you. 

Then she heard the woman get into the stall next to her and she decided to leave. But the woman left her purse on the sink. Diane looked into her purse and found everything. All her information was in her wallet, and she took pictures of her address, phone number, and credit card numbers, as well as a couple of photos of you and your father. Diane quickly threw the last photo back into her purse as she heard her enemy get up, and she ran away, all the way back up to her room. 

Diane looked at the photos, and started to look for your social media. You didn’t seem to post very often, or have many friends. Most of your photos were of you by yourself, or pretty things you took pictures of, and even a couple of sad poems you wrote. Poetry written by teenagers was usually laughably bad, but hers made Diane cry. She saw herself in you.

Poor little thing, Diane thought. She needs some love. But I can do that for her.

Diane spent about a month following you and your parents around, without any of you even noticing her presence. One day she snuck into their house and bugged it, so that there were feeds of different rooms streaming to her computer at all times.

Diane noticed you spent most of your time alone. You wrote in a journal a lot, and cried fairly often, hugging a teddy bear you had. You just seemed so burnt out from stress from school, stress from your job, pressure from your parents. You fought with both of her parents often. Well... fight wasn’t the right word. Usually, one parent would yell at you and insult you, and you would choose to either take it or not take it.

There was one particular instance where you snapped at your father, telling him how he abandoned you so many times. He didn’t take this well, screaming all kinds of insults. How Diane wished she could hold you, rock you, comfort you and tell you that aren’t any of the terrible things your father told you, and that she’s sorry that you never felt good enough.

Diane snuck into (y/n)’s graduation, too. She knew she couldn’t contact you yet, but she got so much happiness out of just seeing this milestone of your life. All you did was walk across the stage and take your diploma, but Diane beamed with pride for you as you did it.

After graduation, your parents were constantly threatening to kick you out, and the fights got worse, they crying got worse. Diane wished she was there, comforting you, holding you and giving you all the love that your parents didn’t. Diane looked for a window of opportunity into this girl’s life until she found the perfect one. You had put out an ad on facebook for anyone on the east coast looking for a roommate, and Diane put her plan into action. She made a fake account on facebook pretending to be a college girl named “Anna Johnson” and responded to the ad, starting to talk to and getting friendly with you. “Anna” suggested that you take a bus trip and offered to pay the fare, but you refused because you wanted to earn the money yourself. Diane’s heart warmed at your sweet messages, even though they were to “Anna” and not her. “I’ve never had as good a friend as you before”, “Who needs a mom when I have you giving me such great advice?”, “You’re the best!”, every little message that you sent to Diane made her fall more and more in love. Diane bought a little house on the East Coast with the money she got from selling her old house, and hoped everything will fall into place in her new life with (y/n). 

Now during the bus trip, Diane needed to follow you closely in her silver minivan, and make sure not to lose track of you during layovers either. Her detour into the coffee shop scared her at first, but once Diane found you, it was the perfect opportunity to finally, after all these months of dreaming, meet you face-to-face. Her new little baby girl, finally. Diane slipped a powdered sleeping pill into her already tired girl’s coffee to make you even more sleepy and suggestible, getting you to come with her to her hotel room.

Back in the present, Diane found the rest of the powdered sleeping pills as she was searching through her medicine cabinet and closet. She got so distracted thinking about you, and all the horribly wrong things she had done to you. 

It’s for her own good, all of it. She needs to be protected, she’s too pure for this world, to good, too sweet...

Diane searched through the drugs she had given you, thinking of all the best times the two of you have had.

The first day Diane had been with you in the little house was heaven on earth. Finally Diane had everything she’s been working for for almost a year now right there, in her arms. Diane wanted to give you everything you didn’t believe you deserved. The only catch was that you belonged to Diane, and Diane alone.

She got a job teaching Chemistry at the local High School fairly easily, as she had extensive knowledge (even more extensive than she may have let on in her interview), of the subject, and the school district was completely desperate for competent science teachers. Diane found faking the background check easy, she used her maiden name and an incorrect date of birth and they didn’t ask her about her arrest at all. And now she had her new life set up. A house that she owned, a job to put food on the table, and you.

The next best day for Diane was the day you finally kissed her. Diane was starting to fall in love with you in a more romantic, even a more sexual way, but didn’t know if you felt the same way about her. Then, during one of your movie nights, you kissed Diane, and she felt overjoyed. She kissed you back and finally led you to the bed and fucked you, like she had been thinking about doing every night at this point but was too scared to actually initiate until now. She was in love with the feeling she got from kissing you, from pleasing you. It had been so long since Diane had been this intimate with anyone, and she was your first. And it was a real awakening for the both of you.

It felt so good, you felt so good. This relationship you had was so incredibly wrong in so many ways, but it just felt so right.

Why did it have to change?

Of course, there were still some hard moments. Even Diane admitted that there were times when she could be irrationally possessive of you, getting angry when someone even looks at you the wrong way. She knew that her possessive, obsessive attitude could scare you, and you would even blame yourself for it, but she didn’t know how to stop. She knew that you were getting scared she would become more difficult to please, like all the other people that have been in your life.

Or the times that you would cry, and it happened so often. You would get sad and Diane would hold you and tell you:

“It’s ok baby, you’re here now, you’re with me. I love you more than life itself. You’re gonna be okay, my little angel.”

One night Diane woke up to you crying into your pillow, and immediately grabbed you.

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”

“I- I was afraid that you might- that- one day- you might not want me anymore... what would happen if you d-don’t want me....”

“Listen, I will never not want you. You are all I have, remember? And you’re all I need. Come here, that’s right. You’re my baby, all mine.. shhh....”

Or, there was the time you asked about the scars on Diane’s back. She was mortified, but finally told you about her terrible childhood. The horrible abuse from her mother until her death, the foster home, everything. Her desperation to become the mother she never had. You hugged her tight.

“I’m so sorry, Diane, I had no idea... and to think I complained about-”

“Baby, don’t compare your life to mine. All that matters now is that it’s you and me, and I need to take care of you.”

“Sometimes I think I should be the one taking care of you, Diane.”

“Trust me baby, you do so much more for me than you think.”

Then Diane found it. The rest of the paint thinner. And she was ready to take away all your sadness once and for all, and make you hers forever.