#...admittedly my neck was already a bit fucked from work because i hunch a bit when it's cold. but that class sure didn't help.

[daughterofhecata]

Tfw you got neck pain because you sat in the first row and stared up adoringly at your lecturer too much.

[helloalycia]

teenage dirtbag [two] // wanda maximoff

summary: your crush begins to get more intense for Wanda, ensuing awkwardness between you both

warning/s: none

author's note: so glad you’re all liking this, here’s part two! 🥰

part one | part three | part four | part five | masterlist | wattpad

I knew it was a dream as soon as it began. Dreams never tricked me as I always detected something didn't feel right and figured out it wasn't real. But that was my only 'talent' with dreams, as everything else was left down to my subconscious. I couldn't control them, break away from the script or deviate from the scene in any way. I just knew when it wasn't real.

Admittedly, it took a little longer for me to recognise this one was a dream compared to others I'd had. It just seemed so normal as I headed into Chemistry class, seeing other students filing in and joining their partners. Mr. Hale was at the front of the class, occupied by his laptop and the projector, and it felt like any other day at school. The lights were off and the blinds were closed slightly, leaving the room in darkness except for the light from the board.

"Are we watching a film or something?" I asked Wanda as I set my bag on the desk beside her, earning her attention.

She looked up from her notepad and smiled widely, blue eyes sparkling in the darkness. "You're here, you took forever!"

"You saw me two lessons ago," I teased, taking a seat beside her.

She moved closer to me, hands immediately moving to my left one, playing with my fingers mindlessly. It felt right at the time, but I knew deep down that this wasn't real. In what world would this happen?

"Still," she mumbled adorably, before meeting my eyes. "We're watching some video about the periodic table."

I hummed, glancing at Mr. Hale as he struggled to pull up the video.

"Thank God because I couldn't be bothered doing work," Wanda added with a sigh, before moving closer to me, leaning on the palm of her hand as the other held mine still. "D'you think you can cover for me whilst I sneak in a nap?"

I stifled a laugh, moving closer and admiring the way her eyes changed colour in the light from the board. "I'm sure you're supposed to be paying attention."

She scrunched her nose, an uninterested smile on her lips, and it made my heart flutter.

"Fine, I'll cover for you," I gave in easily, before pressing a kiss to her nose.

She giggled quietly and when I pulled back, she leaned in and kissed my lips. Her free hand moved to the back of my neck as I rested mine on her lap, closing my eyes and falling into her without question. Okay, so yeah, definitely a dream, but I wasn't complaining.

"If Miss Maximoff and Miss Y/L/N can kindly stop making out, then we can begin the lesson," Mr. Hale announced, breaking Wanda and I's kiss.

Some of the class snickered as we separated from each other's hold, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He gave us a fed up look.

"Thank you," he said, before erupting into a speech about today's lesson.

When he started the video, I leaned forward on the desk to get comfortable and felt Wanda do the same, leaning her head on my arm and continuing to play with my hand. I smiled to myself, kissing the top of her head gently before getting comfortable. It all seemed too good to be true, but God was it a nice thought.

When I woke up the next morning with butterflies in my stomach, I groaned loudly. I knew I'd screwed myself over. I was in too deep. Dreaming about Wanda was not good, not good at all...

And it definitely didn't help when I showed up to class that same day, approaching my table and an already-seated Wanda. Just a dream, I told myself as I took a seat. Not real. And not a big deal.

"Good morning," she greeted when I sat down and pulled my books out. Her usual picture perfect smile was on her lips as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "How are you?"

Trying my best not to think about my dream, I gave her a small smile. "G-good, yeah."

Fuck me, why did I stutter?

"You sure? You seem distracted," she noticed, making me swallow hard and look away from her piercing gaze.

"Yeah," I managed to say without stuttering once again. "Just tired. What about you?"

"Same," she said with a breathy chuckle, her leg brushing mine under the table and making me freeze. She didn't seem to notice as she continued, "I stayed up late binge-watching Netflix. Probably the wrong choice, but here we are."

I bit my lip to contain a laugh, relaxing a little. It was just a dream. She wasn't that bad. I was fine!

Class started and Mr. Hale was explaining something about doing a practical experiment today, but if I'm being honest, I was barely listening. Stuck in a daydream, I was wiggling my pen in my right hand and staring at the display behind Mr. Hale's head mindlessly.

Suddenly, a warm hand rested on mine, pressing it to the table and stopping me from shaking my pen. I shit you not, my heart stopped when I saw Wanda smirking playfully at me.

"D'you mind?" she asked, clearly finding my wiggling pen distracting.

All I could think about was how soft and warm her hand was, and then I became aware of her bare leg still brushing against mine – she just had to wear a dress today, didn't she? – and then the fact that she was still staring at me with amusement dancing in her eyes. My dream from last night returned to mind as she was still yet to remove her hand and I was lucky I managed to find my words as I choked out a response.

"S-sorry," I said, frozen in place, yet again, by Wanda's presence.

She snickered, shaking her head at my dismay, before finally letting go of my hand. I licked my lips nervously and let go of my pen, but not quite finding the energy to move my hand. I could still feel the warmth of her hand lingering on mine and, oh God, this was getting worse by the second. Why did I have to have that stupid dream?!

Clearly distracted by my own stupidity, I failed to realise that Mr. Hale had let us begin with our experiment, whatever that may be as I wasn't listening. Wanda was nudging me slightly, bringing me back into reality, and said something about getting lab coats and goggles whilst I got the bunsen burner.

I watched her leave and massaged my head, telling myself to get my act together. I was not the stupid cliché of a girl who acted nervous around her crush. I was better than that, goddamn it.

After getting the bunsen burner, I hooked it up to the gas tap as Wanda returned with our lab coats and safety goggles. We both put them on before Wanda gave me a knowing look, humoured smile tugging at her lips. I was beginning to hate (love) that look.

"You totally weren't paying attention during that, were you?" she asked, but she definitely already knew the answer.

"'Course I was," I played it cool, before wandering over to the handout on our desk. "We're doing an experiment."

She chuckled as I distracted myself with reading the instructions.

"So it says the first instruction is to boil some water in a beaker," I said with a nod. "Seems easy enough. Just gotta get a beaker."

My mouth went dry when Wanda hunched down on the desk, reading the paper between us. I hoped she couldn't hear how fast my heart was beating in my chest.

"You think you can manage that one?" she teased, glancing up at me with that same playful smirk on her lips.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, similar to the one her twin possessed on a regular basis, and I'd never felt more stuck in place in my life than I did now. Without thinking, my gaze lowered to her lips and I realised then and there how badly I wanted to feel her lips against mine for real. She was so close I could move forward a mere few inches and feel it, but I didn't.

"Y-yeah, I'll get it now," I stumbled out, before literally stumbling over the stool as I made a move to leave.

I tried to ignore the way her gaze followed me and instead focused on getting to the beakers without passing out. To my relief, Y/BF/N was also collecting a beaker for him and his partner, too. When I stopped by his side, he looked up to see who it was, then smiled.

"You alright?" he asked, sensing my panic.

I shook my head frantically. "Definitely not. This is really bad, Y/BF/N."

Y/BF/N furrowed his brows, making me give him the look, to which he eventually followed what I meant.

"What happened?" he asked, trying (and failing) to hide his amusement.

I made sure nobody was nearby or could hear us before admitting, "I had a dream."

He raised his eyebrows suggestively, making me slap him on the arm quickly.

"Not that kind of dream, you perv," I clarified, before sighing. "But a dream. About you-know-who. And it threw me off and now I can't seem to act like a human."

He snorted as he tried not to laugh. I glared at him, shoving him again, making him laugh out loud.

"I'm sorry," he defended. "It's just– you've got it bad."

"Very helpful." I narrowed my eyes.

"Look, it's new which is why you're all awkward," he said knowingly, collecting his beaker. "It'll eventually pass when you get used to it. Until then, try not to do anything stupid."

"Too late," I mumbled under my breath.

He patted me reassuringly before leaving. I grabbed a beaker and turned around, deciding to take it easy. I'd get over it. I always did. I wasn't stupid. Yeah, I wasn't stupid. I had this!

But that thinking immediately went out the window when I approached our workspace and saw Wanda leaning on the desk, looking over the handout with thought. Her hair was pulled back for safety reasons, exposing her tensed jaw and pursed lips. She was wearing her lab coat over her black, knee-length dress and I'm not gonna lie, she looked extremely sexy today because she was wearing matching black knee-high boots. I gulped.

God help me.

—

You'd be relieved to know that my crush on Wanda died down after a while. Not in the way that I no longer had a crush on her – God knew I was overflowing with feelings for her – but in the way that I was getting a lot better at hiding it.

Which was perfect for when I saw her with her dick of a boyfriend. You'd be surprised how many times he kept popping up. And when he did, I always seemed to want to strangle him.

This time, I was working my new part-time job at a pizza place in town. Y/BF/N was keeping me company on my shift by taking extra long to finish his pizza so we could talk at the counter. I was drying some glasses as we spoke when the door to the parlour opened and the bell jingled, signalling new customers.

"I believe that's your cue," Y/BF/N teased, making me roll my eyes playfully.

My gaze wandered to the door where I saw a small group of teens walking in and finding a seat. It took me a second to realise that it was actually Wanda and her friends, including her boyfriend, who were looking for a table. My eyes widened with surprise as she looked around. Her eyes found mine and an excited smile appeared on her face as she waved to me.

"This just keeps getting better," Y/BF/N said when he saw Wanda heading our way, thankfully without her friends.

I pinched him before straightening up and plastering my best customer service smile on my lips. Wanda stopped before me, smiling between Y/BF/N and I.

"Hey, guys," she greeted brightly, to which Y/BF/N smiled in return, before looking my way and making my stomach flip at how pretty she looked today. "Y/N, I didn't know you worked here!"

"Yeah, it's kinda new," I answered coolly. "Gotta get that extra money, right?"

She nodded before grabbing the tip of my cap on my head and wiggling it, letting out a laugh. "You look adorable in your uniform, I must say."

I forgot how to breathe as she let go of my cap, her eyes still glittering with joy. Y/BF/N tried to hide his laughter as he sipped his drink, meanwhile I felt my neck heating up with embarrassment.

"Th-thanks," I got out nervously. I know what you're thinking – I said I got better at hiding my crush. And I have! I just– why did she have to put me on the spot like this?!

"I should get back," she said after a moment, pointing over her shoulder towards her friends. "But it was nice seeing you. Are you serving us?"

I nodded, regaining composure. "I'll be over in a minute. Give you chance to pick something."

"Awesome," she said sweetly, flashing me a final smile before heading back to her friends.

I released a shaky breath when she left, taking my cap off and massaging my head momentarily.

"I feel like she flirts with you just to see what happens," Y/BF/N said with amusement.

"It's just her personality," I mumbled, before putting my cap back on and taking a deep breath. "Time to work."

I continued to do my job as usual, thankfully not being affected by Wanda's presence, and took their orders. It was pretty uneventful as I served them their food and continued to hang with Y/BF/N by the counter. Every time I'd look over at her out of bad habit, I'd feel uneasy at the sight of Nate having his hands all over her. I mean, obviously he could – he was her boyfriend – but admittedly, I was a little jealous. I tried to ignore the feeling by busying myself with other things.

Wanda's friends were being a little noisier and rowdier than I'd liked, but it wasn't particularly busy so I saw no need to shut them up. Yeah, in hindsight, maybe I should have.

Clearing a table after some customers left, I balanced a tray of glasses in my hand and headed back to the counter. But on the way, a football came out of nowhere and got launched at my chest, making me drop the tray onto the floor with a loud crash. The rowdiness from Wanda's table ceased momentarily, as did the chatter from other customers, and I looked up to see Nate and his friends watching me, trying to suppress laughter.

"I am so sorry," Nate called with anything but guilt.

"Shit, Y/N, you okay?" Y/BF/N said, racing to my side in an instant.

I nodded, clenching my jaw, and bent down to clean up the mess. My boss must have heard the commotion as she came out from the kitchen and saw what happened, putting two and two together.

"Right, all of you out," she ordered without questioning anything, looking to Nate and the rest of the table. "We don't tolerate that tomfoolery here."

They groaned their complaints, but I didn't bother looking up to see, instead focusing on cleaning up the mess. Luckily for me, the tray took most of the hit rather than my chest, so unlike last time, I wasn't hurt.

"You're lucky I'm not charging you for the broken glasses, honey," my boss continued to scold Nate as he walked past, grabbing his football.

I saw feet shuffling past me, presuming it was their table leaving, and focused on picking up the large shards of glass and putting them on the tray. Y/BF/N helped out, even though he didn't need to, and I smiled at him as he knelt opposite me doing the same.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," Wanda's voice grabbed my attention, making me look up. She had a guilty frown on her lips as she looked between the mess and I.

I stood up, shaking my head. "It's fine. It's–" But I stopped speaking, instead letting out an exhausted sigh. "No offence, but your boyfriend is a dick."

She pressed her lips together, not saying anything. I felt bad for saying it, but this was the second time he'd hit me with his stupid ball. It was true.

"I should clean this up," I mumbled, avoiding her eyes. "See you at school."

She opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. I knelt down and continued to clean up, hoping she'd walk away already. This was awkward enough as it was.

"See you guys at school," she finally spoke, making me pause. "Sorry, again."

Y/BF/N bid her a goodbye before she left for good. I let out another sigh, deciding not to say anything as I continued cleaning up. It would never make sense to me why someone as lovely as Wanda would be with someone as obnoxious as Nate. I guess I'd never know.

—

Since that lovely incident at the pizza parlour, things had been a little distant between Wanda and I. Mostly on my part if I'm being honest. I couldn't help it – the whole situation had been uncomfortable and embarrassing, making it impossible to return to how we usually were.

This meant that Wanda was the one to come to me and check in, which I definitely wasn't expecting.

I was at home one afternoon, hanging with my older sister who was staying with us for a week. She'd moved out a year ago, getting her own place a few towns over, so I missed her presence a lot. I took advantage of her weekly visit by having a catch up as we played basketball in the front drive.

Disclaimer: none of us were good at basketball, but the hoop came with the house and it was simply tradition for us to attempt to shoot baskets as we had a catch up. Only, this time, as we were talking, a loud car engine pulled us from our chat and we both spun around to see an unfamiliar car parking up.

"That must be mum's customer," Y/S/N realised, holding the basketball underneath her arm. She glanced at me with a quirked brow. "You think we're gonna get roped into helping?"

"Most definitely," I answered with a chuckle, and just on cue, our mum opened the garage door behind us.

She was a florist and had a large pick-up delivery for a customer today. Apparently they were a good friend, so she had the flowers delivered to our house and they were waiting in our garage until now.

"Can you girls give me a hand?" she asked my sister and I, motioning for us to go to her. "I'm gonna say hi. Just start bringing the crates out, yeah?"

We both saluted playfully before watching her go to the customer's car. My jaw dropped when I saw who it was – Wanda's mum. And to top things off, Wanda and Pietro were both with her, the three of them getting out of their car and greeting my mum with smiles on their faces.

"You cool?" my sister asked, nudging me slightly.

I closed my mouth, straightening up. "Yeah, yeah, duh."

She gave me a funny look but grabbed a crate and began to leave it in the drive for the moment. I swallowed the lump in my throat and did the same, knowing both Wanda and Pietro were approaching us after my mum pointed them our way.

"Y/N, hey," Wanda said, stopping before my sister and I. She gave my sister a friendly smile before looking to me with nervous eyes. "It's good to see you."

I tried to say something – anything – but my words got stuck in my throat and all that came out was a weird noise. Partially because of the awkwardness between us at my fault and partially because of how pretty she looked in her sundress.

"Hi, I'm Y/S/N," my sister cut in, noticing my quietness. She gave me a sideways glance before looking to the twins. "It's Wanda and Pietro, right?"

"Yeah," Wanda said with a smile, eyes lingering on mine before looking to my sister. "We're just helping our mum out to load the car."

"I'm the muscle," Pietro joked, lifting his bicep, making Wanda roll her eyes jokingly.

"Okay, muscle, you can come help me get these out the garage," my sister played along before looking to Wanda and I. "You guys okay to load the car?"

Wanda nodded. "Sure thing."

Y/S/N grabbed Pietro, who shot me a friendly smile, before leaving Wanda and I alone.

"Your sister seems nice," Wanda tried to make conversation as we both grabbed a crate and took it to the back of her mum's car.

"Yeah," I agreed uncomfortably. "She's just visiting."

Wanda hummed in acknowledgment, neither of us knowing what else to say. We walked past our chatting mothers before setting the crates in the back of her mum's car.

"Are we okay?" Wanda asked suddenly, as soon as our hands were free. I looked to her and saw she was debating something internally before looking to me. "I mean, I know we're okay, but I just– I feel like you've been off since, well... since Nate threw that ball at you."

My neck heated up with embarrassment as I cleared my throat; my eyes fell to the flowers in the crates.

"I really am sorry," she apologised again, resting a hand on my forearm, sending shivers up my spine. "He can be such a jerk sometimes. Does stuff without thinking."

"You don't need to apologise," I said, finally lifting my eyes to meet her anxious green ones. And I meant it – Nate's idiocy wasn't her fault and it was harsh of me to make her seem like it was. I sighed, knowing my distant behaviour would end here. "We're good, Wanda."

She still seemed uncertain. "You sure?"

I gave her my best smile, hoping she knew I meant it. "I'm sure."

Her tense shoulders relaxed and a relieved smile spread across her face. "Okay, good. I'm glad."

She held my gaze and I just knew my heart was beating too fast to be useful as she did. She was just so beautiful.

"You know, the whole point of splitting into teams was to be done quicker," Pietro's voice interrupted our staring contest.

He stepped between us, glancing between us with amusement, before setting a crate in the back of the car.

"Right, yeah, we were just on our way back," I said, smiling sheepishly.

Pietro smirked. "No harm no foul, princess."

I was taken aback slightly as he called me that, and even more taken aback when he plucked a flower from the crate and offered it my way.

"For you," he said, half joking and half serious.

Unsure what to say, I accepted the flower. "Er, thanks... I think."

Wanda crossed her arms behind him, eyes narrowed in his direction. I wondered what she was thinking, but never got the chance to ask as their mum's voice called out to us.

"Pietro, I paid to use the bouquets," she said with mild distress, "not so you could ruin them."

His cheeks flushed as he called back, "Sorry!"

I tried not to laugh as the three of us headed back to get the rest of the crates, being sure to set the flower to the side. We ended up filling her car with the bouquets before facing our parents as we bid them a goodbye.

"They're lovely, Y/M/N," Wanda's mum was complimenting the flowers. "Thank you again."

My mum patted her back. "Anytime, dear." She looked between the twins and my sister and I. "Thank you all for helping out."

Y/S/N and I smiled her way as Wanda's mum nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, thank you!" she added, looking to Y/S/N and I. "It's so great to see you all together. Especially you two, Wanda and Y/N. It's nice to know you're good friends after so long of barely speaking."

Wanda's face was beginning to turn pink as I'm sure mine was doing the same.

"Yes, I agree," my mum said with a smile. "Anyway, we won't keep you any longer. Good luck with the banquet!"

Wanda and Pietro waved goodbye to Y/S/N and I before joining their mum in the car. I followed her figure subconsciously, butterflies floating in my stomach until their car was gone.

"Damn, I really missed a lot," Y/S/N said when they were gone, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and tugging me closer. "You're crushing hard."

Instantly, I looked to her. "What? What are you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes, letting go of me. "So we're playing that game. Okay. I'll bite."

As she began to walk away, I chased after her. "What game? Y/S/N? What are you talking about?"

She merely laughed and allowed me to chase her, wondering how the hell she knew of my crush on Wanda. Was I that obvious?

[freebooter4ever]

Living in close quarters for months on end with a bunch of men his own age doesn't bother Snafu a bit. It's the one part of the Marines Corps he actually enjoys. Like living on an island full of eye candy. Snafu became mostly numb to the sheer number of naked butts by the end of his second day on Pavuvu. With the heat and the sun, the men need very little provocation to strip their clothing off. It was distracting for about an hour and then it became commonplace.

Later, after Gloucester, after living for three straight weeks in rain and misery, under the constant threat of violent death, and then returning once more to Pavuvu, Snafu becomes numb to everything....

He's never been one for carousing - a trait his peers in high school picked up on pretty quick. He's been compensating ever since. Packing on the innuendo and flirtation, and studying how other men act towards women and amplifying it in his own behavior.

So even before the numbness set in, Snafu isn't sure he ever actually felt anything like what others seem to describe. Even though Snafu admires his daily fill of half dressed fellow Marines wandering around camp, he does it in a detached sort of way that makes him feel more like an observer than participant. And it's good, because while there are whispers and rumors about certain guys who will take a man into the woods and show him a good time, Snafu doesn't need to get involved. He gets himself into enough trouble without adding a court martial onto it.

A few days after Gloucester an envelope arrives. There's no letter, simply a newspaper clipping slipped inside and stamped. The clipping is from his hometown newspaper and the article is about their hometown hero - brave Merriell Shelton - who shot up the enemy with his 'mortar gun'.

It's truly amazing how in a small town such as his, one can go from being the delinquent orphan son of impoverished half crazed parents easily forgotten by polite society, to being a hometown hero in the span of one battle.

Everyone in K company teases him about the article, especially about the 'mortar gun' bit. Snafu enjoys it immensely. He takes pride in his notoriety. It adds to his carefully cultivated mystique. No one wants to fuck with the fast talking, mean Merriell Shelton, war hero.

In actuality, Snafu is no hero. He fights for one reason, and that's the fifty dollars a month being sent home to his kid sister. He doesn't want her saddled with being a burden to her adopted family. Not like Snafu was with their own parents.

Overall, aside from the numbness, everything about Snafu's time in the Marine Corps is going well. He has respect, he has the looming potential of death and relief, and he has a steady diet of filling if questionable food. He thinks he's got a handle on things.

Till his downfall arrives a few days after the envelope.

Eugene Sledge looks like a fool from the minute he steps into Snafu's tent. Something about him irritates the hell out of Snafu. To try and figure out what about Sledge bothers him so much, Snafu goes out of his way to run into the guy. But no dice. Nothing works.

It doesn't click until Snafu accidentally runs into Sledge in the showers. Normally Snafu showers on off times to avoid any accidents. But after one particularly disgusting round of coconut duty, Snafu is stuck washing the gritty stickiness off in the middle of the day.

At first there's just him and Pops in the showers. A typical sight - Gunney Haney is obsessively clean. Snafu ignores him, and ignores the new Boots who join them halfway through. Snafu requires single minded focus to fish out all the coconut pieces that mysteriously found their way into his hair.

Once finished, Snafu turns around and bends his head back under the stream of water to rinse. He opens his eyes after the worst of the suds are gone, and spots Eugene Sledge in the group of new recruits. They are huddled around the shower heads in the opposite corner as far away from Snafu and Pops as they can get. Snafu smirks at them as a greeting.

It's kinda fun being intimidating.

Except they aren't paying attention to him. Sledge's eyes are transfixed on Haney as the man scrubs his dick.

Admittedly, for the uninitiated, seeing Haney shower is quite a sight. The man uses a bristly GI brush. The working theory is that he's been doing it so long and he's so old that his skin is pickled enough to be as thick and tough as leather. Everyone stares and winces in pain when they first witness Haney washing his junk.

However, Sledge is unusually engrossed. Snafu feels a strange prickle at the back of his neck and a spike of annoyance over this.

Jealousy - a word Snafu's never related to before.

Once he recognizes the feeling, though, he starts seeing it everywhere. Sledge is genuinely kind, and cares about everyone in a way that would stretch Snafu thin enough to break. Sledge is the best sharpshooter in the company, beating Snafu's considerable score by almost an entire point. Sledge takes every work duty thrown at him without complaint and with stubborn pride. Sledge takes everything thrown at him without complaint, including Snafu's own malice.

And all Snafu wants is for Sledge to just fucking look at him.

The tipping point comes after Sledge's little buddy Philips rotates home without warning. The despondency Sledge sinks into for a few days makes Snafu ache with frustration. Sledge starts disappearing whenever the replacements get an hour or two off. Snafu makes it his mission to find him.

He eventually does. Turns out Sledge is running off to a secluded beach, but he never goes in the water. Instead he sits crosslegged in the sand and stares at crabs. Snafu shimmies up a palm tree and scoots across the rough bark until he's nearly hanging over the oblivious Sledge.

In Sledge's lap is a dog-eared notebook, probably a moonlight requisition from the officer's tents. Sledge hunches over the page, his hand scribbling furiously and Snafu cranes his neck till he can see what Sledge is working on.

It's drawings of crabs. Countless pages of them. Snafu straddles the uncomfortable palm tree for almost an hour, watching in disbelief as Sledge makes study after study of crab anatomy.

Instead of killing the damn invasive creatures with a shovel and burying them in the sand, Sledge draws them.

If Snafu could draw, maybe he'd finally be free of this strange fascination that's taken hold of him. The image of Sledge that one afternoon - showering, naked and lean and glowing in the midafternoon sun - burned itself in Snafu's brain. He doesn't know how to purge himself of it. At the time, he didn't even realize he'd been looking that closely at Sledge while they were in the showers, but afterwards his brain pieced the scraps of memory together and gave him a picture more vivid than what he thought he saw.

And now he sees it whenever he looks at Sledge.

Even on Peleliu, after everything's gone to shit, but somehow they got off the beach and somehow they're not dead yet, his mind drifts to Sledge. The boy strips off his shoes in the midst of battle. Snafu stops him, shoving Sledge's boots back into his chest with force.

It's the first time he lays hands on Sledge and he doesn't even register it because he's too busy being worried about the damn idiot being caught with his pants down and shoes off.

Sledge is a distraction. That's all he is.

Until Sledge fucking picks Snafu up off the ground even when Snafu is pretty sure he's already dead. Sledge drags Snafu out of his shock and out of danger, and proves he can keep his cool during battle. Cooler even than Snafu, who still runs hot whenever Sledge gets too close.

Naive little Sledgehammer grew up quick, but unlike Snafu, he did not grow up mean - he still saves worthless things fallen helpless in the sand and dirt. From that minute on, Snafu makes it his personal mission to preserve Eugene's goodness.

He doesn't anticipate Sledgehammer accepting Snafu's newfound loyalty so readily.

Burgie calls Snafu out on it teasingly during their ship ride back to dreaded Pavuvu. A painful bout of seasickness causes Snafu to lose track of Sledgehammer for a few hours aboard ship, and Snafu spends the time wandering the decks in search of him.

"Since when did you appoint yourself as his shadow, Snaf?" Burgie retorts when Snafu asks if he's seen the 'Hammer'.

"Just need to collect on my bet about him smoking by the end of his first battle," Snafu shrugs.

"Every nonsmoker smokes by the end of their first battle, Snafu. You already knew that," Burgie says, "Leave him be."

"No way," Snafu argues, "Someone needs to teach that rich boy that he don't know everything."

"And of course you'd be the one to do it," Burgie sighs.

Ironically, Sledge is the one to find Snafu in a random ship compartment instead of the other way around. Snafu is lying prone, trying to keep his half digested meal from rolling around.

"Here," Sledge says, shoving a small box at Snafu as hard as Snafu shoved Eugene's boots.

"What is it?" Snafu asks, feigning disinterest.

"Crackers. They'll help with the stomach," Sledge replies, "C'mon, let's get you topside."

"How the hell'd you get crackers on a ship short of rations?" Snafu asks. He obediently follows Eugene through the ship to the deck. Like a damn shadow.

"I sweet talked one of the swabbies," Sledge explains casually.

That news roils Snafu's gut. Jealousy again. It's lucky they made it to the deck. He staggers to the rail and pukes overboard.

"The swabby liked my accent," Eugene says and leans beside Snafu, "Think he was from northern Alabama. I told him how us southern boys have the best aim in the Marines."

Snafu finishes vomiting up the last of his afternoon chow.

Sledge sighs and places his hand on Snafu's upper back.

Snafu's glad no one else is around on this part of the deck to see his shame. He hangs on the rail and feels miserable.

"Get it all out?" Sledge asks, and passes Snafu his canteen.

Snafu takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth, and spits into the sea. And then guzzles as much water as he thinks he can keep down. He sticks his tongue out at the disgusting aftertaste and hands the canteen back.

Sledge runs his hand down from Snafu's back to his arm. Before Snafu knows what's happening Eugene is gently taking Snafu's hand and leading him away from the rail. Sledge sits on the deck and leans against the ship's wall. He tugs on Snafu's hand for him to sit next to him.

"Better to go down to one of the cabins," Snafu resists.

"You don't want to know how bad it smells down there," Sledge warns, "Trust me. Fresh air is best."

Snafu gives in and collapses next to Eugene. He tilts his head back against the cold metal and closes his eyes.

Sledge takes the box of saltines from Snafu's hands and Snafu hears rustling as Sledge opens the package. Sledge then nudges Snafu's elbow with the box.

"Eat," Sledge says.

Snafu groans and leans his head on Sledgehammer's shoulder instead. He doesn't want any ill-gotten flirtation crackers. It's a lot easier to close his eyes and pretend to sleep.

Sledge seems to not mind Snafu sleeping on him. He doesn't move away, at least. So Snafu uses it as an excuse to shuffle closer. Which is when he realizes Eugene never let go of his hand. He's still holding on. Tight.

"Snafu?" Sledge prompts. He uses Snafu's nickname like they're best buds, though they've hardly ever spoken.

Snafu grunts.

"On that airfield…" Sledge says, "Don't you ever dare do that again, allright?"

"Whatever you say, Sledgehammer," Snafu drawls, "Don't even know what I did."

"You just...lay there," Sledge says quietly, "Like you were...."

"Waiting?" Snafu tries to remember his own state of mind in that moment.

"Gone," Sledge says sharply.

"Same damn thing," Snafu gives up on sleeping and lights a cigarette.

"If you're not around who'll tell me what I'm doing wrong?" Sledge asks.

"Shit, Sledge," Snafu drawls with a grin, "practically anybody who's not you could do that."

Sledge actually chuckles. That's the thing about Eugene. He's not stuck up or prissy like Snafu'd expect him to be. He's humble, and willing to laugh at his own inexpertise.

"I'd rather it be you," Eugene adds quietly with a small smile.

Snafu sucks on his bottom lip and refuses to respond to that.

"So no dying," Eugene finishes, as if such a conclusion were a choice.

Snafu does fall asleep and when he wakes up a few hours later, Sledge's head is tipped on top of Snafu's. Sledge's long nose is in Snafu's hair and he's snoring loud enough to wake the enemy a thousand miles away. Snafu can feel Eugene's snores blowing his hair around.

Despite these annoyances, Snafu tries to freeze in place and jostle Eugene as little as possible.

Their hands are still linked together. Sledge's hand is wrapped tight around Snafu's. Snafu lifts Sledge's hand to examine his delicate fingers - long and gentle, but not dainty. Eugene has the calluses of an expert marksman, and painfully short fingernails. Snafu picks at the boy's ring curiously.

Sledge shifts and turns farther in towards Snafu's body. He draws his arm away from Snafu's fiddling and instead places his hand on Snafu's soft belly. "Stop moving," he mumbles.

"You stop snoring," Snafu complains. He bumps his head intentionally into Sledge's big nose to make his point.

Sledge ignores him and slumps more of his weight onto Snafu's shoulder.

Snafu accepts his fate and reaches over Sledge's body to steal the saltines. He opens the cracker package and starts snacking.

"Must you, with the crunching?" Sledge snarls after a few minutes.

"Got hungry, Sledgehammer," Snafu, "If you're gonna be using me as a pillow, I'm gonna need to generate extra padding."

Sledge sighs and holds his hand out, "Give me one."

Snafu complies, "If you get crumbs in my hair, I'll kill ya."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing in your hair right now, Snafu," Sledge gripes.

"Yeah? What else is up there? Pick it out for me," Snafu grins.

"Smells like you took a nap in seawater," Sledge says, "Or smoke."

"Get your long nose out of my hair then," Snafu quips.

"Once you get past the brine smell it's not so bad," Sledge mutters and doesn't move

"Yeah, well your shoulder smells like…" Snafu starts, and then cuts off when he realizes Eugene's shoulder doesn't smell like anything Snafu finds unpleasant. "Did you change your shirt?"

"Traded it for the saltines," Sledge explains, "The swabby wanted a souvenir that saw battle. I gave it to him. Stole this one off a supply crate."

"Fuck, Eugene, I thought you flirted your way into the galley," Snafu grumbles.

"Who says taking off my shirt wasn't a part of that?"

Snafu can't see it with his head on Sledge's shoulder but he swears Gene is smirking at him. "Should have just given him your pin," Snafu argues.

"Can't," Eugene replies, "Sid says they're good luck."

Snafu rolls his eyes at the mention of stupid Sid and settles back comfortably to sleep.

Eugene hooks a thumb in between Snafu's button holes in his shirt to keep his hand on Snafu's stomach. His fingertips barely brush Snafu's bare skin, and suddenly Snafu is no longer interested in sleeping.

And then Eugene's wandering fingers hit Snafu's shrapnel wound.

His response is immediate and a little shocking, "What the fuck, Snafu?" Without asking Eugene starts popping open all of Snafu's shirt buttons.

"What the hell, Sledge?" Snafu tries to back away from him.

"My father's a physician, let me look at you," Eugene orders. He manhandles Snafu's hips forward away from the wall to stretch him out on the deck. Snafu's thin wound runs from right beside his belly button to right over his hip. "Jesus, Snaf, that could turn infected."

Snafu is still trying to process the feel of Eugene's long hands gripping his hips, there is no room in his brain for worrying about infections right now.

"You're gonna need to lie down," Eugene tells him, "Here…" Sledge takes off his shirt and folds it up so Snafu doesn't have to rest his head on the floor.

"Thanks," Snafu says blankly.

"I thought it didn't hit you, you idiot?" Eugene asks.

"Naw, it hit me," Snafu smiles, "just didn't kill me."

"Wait here, I need a kit," Sledge gets up and walks off, leaving Snafu on his own.

Snaf uncomfortably folds his open shirt closed and crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously. He hopes no one will accidentally walk past this part of the ship while Snafu is stuck laying here like a patient. It takes far too long for Sledge to return.

When Eugene does finally return, he's holding a big medic kit that definitely is going to be missed somewhere.

"What'd you have to take off to get that?" Snafu asks, his voice mean, "Your pants?"

"I'll return it when I'm done," Sledge tells him in a no nonsense tone. He sets the kit down and flips it open. "I'll need to open the waist of your pants though, do you mind?"

Snafu looks to the sky to avoid Sledge's concerned gaze. "Don't care," Snafu says as nonchalantly as he is able. He wets his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

Sledge gently uncrosses Snafu's arms and moves them to the side. When Sledge unbuttons Snafu's pants, Snafu takes a deep breath. His stomach constricts, and he knows his bones are poking out embarrassingly far. Sledge's hands are warm and surprisingly soft. Cleaning everything, and putting a tiny amount of stitches near Snafu's waistband area doesn't take Sledge long at all. Before Snafu even gets to fully enjoy the feeling of Eugene's fingers sliding over his most sensitive area, Eugene is already buttoning Snafu's pants back up and smoothing his shirt down. Snafu flicks the shirt back off, deciding if he's already indecent he might as well continue that way.

Snafu moves to sit up, but Sledge puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay down for a bit," Sledge says, "I want my shirt back though. Here." He scoots next to the wall at Snafu's head and then helps Snafu lean forward enough that Sledge can reclaim his stolen shirt. Sledge throws the shirt on and then scoots closer again, beckoning Snafu to lay back down.

Having his head in Sledge's lap is about a thousand times more distracting than Eugene touching his skin. There was a medical excuse for that. There's no goddamn excuse for this.

As if reading Snafu's mind, Sledge decides to up the ante and he runs his hand along the clean skin beside Snafu's wound. Sledge's hand continues up to Snafu's chest and then stops. Sledge picks at a brown spot of dried mud below Snafu's sternum till it pops off and he can flick it away onto the deck. He then massages away the sting and leaves his hand resting there.

Snafu daringly rests his own hand on top of Sledge's. He doesn't breathe even once till they're both settled and Eugene doesn't pull away.

"You need a shower, Snafu," Sledge comments.

"You gonna give me one?" Snafu lolls his head so he can see Sledge's face.

"Only way to do that now would be to toss you off the ship," Sledge says seriously.

"That a no?" Snafu guesses.

Sledge glances down at Snafu with his signature 'I know better than you, but I am also amused' expression, and then stares blankly out towards the sea. He sighs, "Sleep off the seasickness. I promise I won't snore."

Snafu silently watches Eugene's profile for a while before he finally closes his eyes.

Sledge keeps his promise. He doesn't fall asleep once during the entire time Snafu is out. Sledge does, however, eventually remove his hand from atop Snafu's chest and that wakes Snafu up instantly.

Snafu stays perfectly still, and tries to breathe as even as possible. He doesn't want Sledge to notice he's awake and kick Snafu out of his lap.

Snafu carefully peeks one eye open, and sees two hands hovering above his head holding a book and pencil.

"Writing again?" Snafu accuses.

"Hmmm," Sledge says.

"What about?" Snafu asks.

"You," Sledge responds.

Snafu smiles. He knows Sledge is just being obtuse and not actually writing about him, but still, "Tell me."

"No," Sledge refuses.

Snafu eyes Sledge's hands and attempts to determine how much force it would take for him to grab the book away.

"If you take this bible from me, I'll never let you sleep on me again," Sledge warns.

"What makes you think that's a threat?" Snafu teases. He sits up and tries to lean over to read Sledge's writing.

"Because you slept like a baby during your nap," Sledge says. He angles the book away from Snafu's prying eyes.

"Plenty of other guys in the company more comfortable than you to sleep on, Sledgehammer," Snafu says.

Sledge looks Snafu straight in the eye and dares him, "Then why don't you go find them?"

Snafu holds his gaze for a few breaths. And then wordlessly puts his head back in Eugene's lap.

Sledge calmly sets down his pencil and book, and threads his hand into Snafu's hair instead. "You know what I miss?" Sledge idly scratches Snafu's head as he talks, "Having an inexhaustible supply of blank paper."

"I still don't understand how you've managed to hold onto that one pencil nub for so long," Snafu comments. If talking means Sledge will massage his head, Snafu will do anything to carry this conversation.

"Writing in my bible is well and good, but nothing compares to a fresh blank sheet," Sledge states, "I can't believe that in school I used to tear pages up, or throw them away if I made even one typewriter mistake."

"We should find you a new pencil," Snafu continues his own train of thought, "Or maybe a couple."

"What a waste," Sledge sighs over his stupid crumpled typewriter pages.

"I bet the officers' tent in camp has pencils," Snafu muses.

"You need to borrow a pencil?" Sledge asks, "Sorry, I wasn't listening for a minute. Here, take mine." He hands Snafu the tiny nubby remains.

"Thanks, Sledgehammer," Snafu says and sticks the pencil behind his ear to remind himself later.

The first thing Snafu does on Pavuvu is go scrounging for paper. The constant stream of people coming in and out of the officer's tents makes it particularly easy to search. Snafu gets five pencils on only one run. He doesn't dare take the brand new stacks of paper. It would be too obviously missed. Instead he hunts through trash bins around the camp, and pulls out anything that looks clean and innocuous.

Snafu figures any important classified documents are being shredded or burned immediately anyway. No chance of him accidentally picking up something he shouldn't.

It takes a few days, but finally Snafu hits the jackpot. An entire stack of half used blank sheet notebooks. They're spiral bound, and the edges are dirty, and the covers don't look particularly pretty. But the pages inside are clean. Snafu takes his stack behind the mess tent and scrubs off some of the dirt stains.

A few of the notebooks are too gross to be salvageable. For these he carefully cleans his knife, and cuts out the crisp pages individually.

When he's finished he leaves his collection on Sledge's cot with the pencils resting on top of everything. Satisfied, Snafu takes a step back and surveys his work. Then realizes he can't let it look like he is doing Gene any favors. He sticks his hands out and musses the papers completely so the stacks are no longer neat and the pages aren't ordered by type. But he leaves the pencils on top. He doesn't want them to get lost or sat on.

At first Sledge doesn't say anything about Snafu's gift. The next time Snafu stops by the empty tent, the paper and notebooks are neatly stacked on a high shelf to keep it out of the way of crabs and vermin. It warms Snafu to see how organized the messy pile he left became. Even the pencils are safe and snug wrapped in a little handmade pouch.

Snafu takes the warm feeling with him to chow that evening.

"Did you wake up on the right side of the bed for once, Snaf?" Burgie asks.

Snafu brushes his comments off with a smile and sarcastic look.

Sledge looks up the minute he realizes Snafu is sitting down. "Hey," he says eloquently.

"Hey," Snafu says back. He sets his tray down and pulls out his cigarettes.

"I swear you smoke more than you eat," Sledge observes. He eyes Snafu's still mostly full and cooling plate of food.

"I only put things in my mouth if it's worth the bother," Snafu tells him, smirking.

"Are you saying warm mush isn't worth it?" Bill jokes as he polishes off his own bowl heartily.

Snafu laughs at Bill's graceless eating, till he realizes Eugene is staring. Not at Bill, but at Snafu. And looking very mournful for some reason. Unable to stand seeing Eugene looking that way, Snafu anxiously extends his hand to touch Sledge's knuckles, and then offers him a smoke.

"No thanks, Snafu," Sledge says, very unfriendly and possibly looking to start a fight, "I prefer to eat my meals."

"Has anyone gotten any letters from home yet?" Burgie changes the subject brightly.

Bill shakes his head.

"Nothing but my mother's usual package," Sledge says. He notices Snafu staring at him with quiet interest and adds with a sigh, "Yes, Snafu, I saved you your favorite jar."

Snafu smiles, "See, always worth it to wait." He grabs his unused spoon off the table and slips it into his pants for later.

"Sid still hasn't written to tell me if he made it home okay," Sledge says with a worried frown.

"I'm sure he did," Burgie says kindly.

"What about you, Burg?" Snafu interrupts, "You hear anything from Florence lately?"

"She's written, yes," Burgie says and turns as red as the canned beets Sledge's mother mailed last week.

Snafu whistles, Leyden begs Burgie to read any exciting bits aloud, and Sledge politely asks who Florence is.

"Burgie's girl he met in Australia after Gloucester," Snafu explains.

"I knew she liked me because she was the only girl not flocking around Snaf," Burgie jokes.

"Like flies to shit?" Bill snaps, "Snafu being the shit 'n ass."

"Don't think he slept in the stadium bunks with the rest of us even once," Jay laughs.

"I had more worthwhile places to go," Snafu says and eyes Sledge to gauge his reaction. He lazily takes a drag on his cigarette.

"Think we'll be given liberty in Australia again sometime?" Sledge asks. He holds Snafu's gaze steady.

"Don't care," Snafu shrugs.

"Unfortunately no," Burgie says, "I suspect we'll be run ragged till this war is over."

"At least she writes you," Bill interjects, "You'll just have to skip over thataway and pick her up before going home at the end of all this."

"Not sure how I'll manage that," Burgie takes a deep breath, "But it's true, I think she felt as strongly as I did. She expresses it well in her letters."

Bill whines that Burgie is holding out on his buddies by not divulging the content of said letters. He and Burgie get into a heated discussion that mostly consists of Bill begging and wallowing in self pity over not having any sweethearts.

Snafu and Eugene ignore them. Once Sledge finishes his meal, Snafu offers his cigarette again, and Sledge accepts. They pass it back and forth as they watch the sunset over the beach in the distance. Snafu wallows in every single touch of their fingers during each exchange.

"Speaking of mail," Sledge starts, "Snafu, did you leave paper on my bunk?"

"Why would I leave paper on your bunk?" Snafu scoffs.

"I thought maybe you were writing a letter and forgot it, or something?" Sledge asks, as though he isn't smart enough to put two and two together. No one accidentally leaves a jumble of notebooks lying around. Not when they're such a hard commodity to find.

Bill barks a laugh "Snafu writing? Can you imagine...that'd be the day."

"The only paper I ever concern myself with is asswipe," Snafu taunts. He dangles his cigarette out of his mouth and smirks at Leyden. Snafu throws one cautious glance over to Sledge and immediately regrets it.

Instead of being grateful, Sledge is annoyed. He snatches the cigarette straight out of Snafu's mouth. Sledge's fingers press into Snafu's lips briefly before he steals the smoke away, almost like a gentle punch. The unexpected touch and Sledge's deadly serious glare turns Snafu hot down to his toes.

Sledge finishes the cigarette in dead silence, and rather than stub it into the ashtray, he takes the nub and sticks it back between Snafu's lips. Sledge abruptly stands, grabs his tray, and stalks off without another word.

Leyden awkwardly coughs and gives Snafu a sympathetic look.

"Did you dump a bunch of papers on Eugene's bed?" Burgie asks Snafu for clarification.

"Fuck no," Snafu lies. They know he's lying. He grinds the cigarette into dust on the ashtray.

"Maybe I should have mentioned the Australian guys were buzzing around you, too," Jay suggests to Snafu, "Except there were less of them thanks to the war."

"Don't think that would've helped, Jay," Burgie says.

"Yeah?" Snafu says. He climbs over the mess hut wall and walks off.

[kurokoros]

meet messy | akaashi

Pairing: akaashi x fem!reader

Summary: Request “hear me out: Akaashi Keiji, roommates au! trope: meeting messy & prompt #30″

AN: my first official one-shot for hq is an Akaashi fic. who would have guessed. there’s some language and mildly crude humor in this one. it took me a hot minute to figure out how to do a roommate au + meet messy, but I think it turned out okay! also, I see Akaashi as the quiet teasing type, so I hope the characterization is okay!

also, I tried to post this earlier, but surprise surprise, tumblr didn’t put it in the tags. 

“What do you mean you’re running late?” you ask, glaring at your phone as you speed walk down the street. A mumbled curse escapes you as someone walks by and jostles your shoulder, nearly knocking the box you’re carrying right out of your arms. You shoot the man a sour look before turning back to your friend, irritation already softening into a pout. “Kuroo, I’m supposed to be meeting this guy in like ten minutes, what do I do?”

Kuroo’s lips twitch, looking torn between apologetic and amused as he tries to cover up a smile. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you, not for the first time. “And I would have been on time if someone hadn’t—shit!” Kuroo disappears from the frame, hissing what sounds like ‘demon’ under his breath as the camera shifts.

Suddenly, you’re staring at Yaku instead, his tawny eyes narrowed as he hunches over Kuroo’s phone. “Don’t believe his lies,” he says, scoffing when Kuroo grumbles something in response, voice muffled. “The only reason we’re late is because Kuroo—”

“Oi! Yakkun!”

Kuroo grabs at his phone, but Yaku is faster, ducking under his arm and barely managing to evade his former captain’s outstretched hand. The camera is jostled again, giving you a shaky view of the subway that has your eyes rolling. Even now they still act like bickering teenagers half the time. It’s as endearing as it is annoying, but you’ve known them since high school, so you really aren’t surprised.

It takes a few seconds for the camera to stabilize again, and this time you’re faced with the voice of reason among the three of them. He rubs the back of his neck, smile a little embarrassed as Kuroo and Yaku continue to bicker behind him.

“Kai,” you greet him, a smile automatically tugging at your lips in response to his. “I didn’t know you and Yaku were coming with!” You knew that Kuroo asked Kenma to come with—as expected, he declined—but you had no idea the rest of the former Nekoma third years would be making an appearance.

He shrugs with one shoulder, casually ignoring your friends arguing behind him. “We heard you might need help moving boxes later,” is all he tells you.

“Hopefully,” you tell him. “And thanks. The main reason I invited Kuroo was for the muscle anyway.” A muffled sound of protest comes from off to Kai’s left, but you know Kuroo is secretly preening from the pseudo compliment.

Kai only nods, smiling again. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. It shouldn’t take us more than twenty minutes.”

Before you can respond, Yaku shoves himself under Kai’s arm to pin you with a firm look. “If he tries anything, go for his—”

“Give me that!” The phone is plucked out of Kai’s hands and suddenly you’re staring at Kuroo again. He glares down at Yaku, eyes rolling, before he turns his attention to you. “Twenty minutes,” he tells you firmly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, quickening your steps. Pulling your gaze from Kuroo’s, you glance up at a street sign and wrinkle your nose when you realize how close you are to meeting your new potential roommate. “You promise he’s not weird, right?” you ask suddenly, looking at your phone in time to see his brows furrow. “Because so help me, Kuroo, if you’re letting me move in with some creep, I’ll never forgive you.”

The only reason you even agreed to maybe move in with a complete stranger is because he’s a friend of Kuroo’s. Apparently, they’ve known each other since high school during their volleyball days, but you’ve never had a chance to meet before now. With his friend having an empty room and you being in desperate need of a new place to stay, Kuroo’s suggestion only made sense. And you trust his judgement. Usually.

The look Kuroo sends you is nothing short of offended. He presses his hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics. Despite that, Kuroo is serious when he responds. “Do you think I would let you move in with someone I didn’t trust?” When you shake your head, he continues. “Akaashi doesn’t bite. I promise.” He grins. “Unless you’re into that.”

You make a face. “I’m hanging up now.”

He cackles. “We’ll be there soon. Be safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, glancing up at another sign, “just get your ass over here.” Yaku and Kai call out their own goodbyes before you end the call, your smile lingering as you shove your phone into your back pocket, still struggling with the box you’re carrying.

Of course, that’s the moment your morning goes from bad to worse.

You’re so busy working your phone into your pocket with one hand and juggling a box with the other that you don’t see the man hurrying towards you, also not paying attention to his surroundings.

You shoulder collides with his. You stumble. The box starts to slip from your grasp. “Shit,” you hiss, flinching as hot coffee splashes down the front of your shirt. It isn’t hot enough to hurt, thankfully, but it’s bound to leave a nasty, uncomfortably wet stain on your chest for the rest of the day. Perfect. That’s exactly what you needed five minutes before you’re supposed to meet your new roommate for the first time. So much for a good first impression.

The man who bumped into you grunts in surprise. He stumbles back as your eyes snap up, and you note with the smallest hint of smug satisfaction that there’s an equally dark spot staining his crisp, white button-up.

Dark blue eyes flicker up to meet yours, wide in alarm.

In any other situation, you might have taken a moment to appreciate the sharp angle of his jaw, or his stupidly pretty face, but right now you’re nervous, stressed, and wet, so all you do is glare and snap, “Watch where you’re going.” His lips part, but you’re already storming past him, mumbling “asshole” under your breath.

You’re already halfway down the street before he regains his bearings; you don’t notice his eyes following you until you disappear.

…

Fuck me, is the first thought that comes to your mind when you find yourself standing in front of your potential roommate’s apartment. There’s a post-it note stuck to the front door, telling you and Kuroo to let yourselves in because your new roommate had an errand to run, but would be back soon. This, of course, wouldn’t be a problem if Kuroo wasn’t late and wasn’t the one with a key to said apartment.

You aren’t sure what’s worse: having to stand here for the next however many minutes like an idiot until Kuroo arrives, or his friend coming home first and having to deal with that conversation without your moral support. Neither option is particularly appealing, but you’re staring to get odd looks from the neighbors and it’s really fucking hot outside, so you’d take the awkward conversation over waiting.

A brief text to Kuroo informs you that they just got off the subway, but should be here soon. You shift your weight from one foot to the next, biting your lip as you continue weighing your options.

Eventually you just say fuck it and slide one of the bobby-pins from your hair. No one has to know.

Unfortunately, picking a lock isn’t nearly as easy as you’ve been led to believe.

“Seriously?” you grumble, jiggling the doorknob and squinting at the pin you have jammed into the lock. Maybe this was a bad idea. Now you definitely look like a creep.

“Need any help with that?”

You lurch away from the door with a yelp. The bobby-pin falls out of your hand and clatters to the floor, only incriminating you further. Whirling around, your expression becomes one of horror when you meet a pair of questioning eyes.

Oh shit, he’s hot, is your first thought, your breath catching when you lock eyes with the most gorgeous man you’ve even seen in your life. Messy dark hair. Deep blue eyes. A sharp jaw. All lean muscle. Oh, yeah. Definitely a former athlete. Your eyes wander down to his chest where the top buttons of his dress-shirt are undone. You glance at his collarbone before moving lower, freezing.

Your second thought is, oh shit, I spilled coffee on this guy and called him an asshole. The stain on his shirt matches yours perfectly, and wow, okay, today really couldn’t have gotten any worse, could it? Not only is your new potential roommate hot as sin, but you’ve already made a complete ass of yourself in front of him, the breaking and entering aside.

He clears his throat, staring at you expectantly; you blush, face burning as you realize you’ve been gaping at him openly.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” you blurt, like an idiot. It’s exactly what it looks like. The way his right eyebrow quirks upwards tells you he isn’t fooled, and you’re surprised when he doesn’t call you out on the lie.

“You must be Kuroo’s friend,” he says instead, observing you carefully. The, admittedly correct, assumption makes you more embarrassed, if possible. You aren’t sure what the assumption says about you, or Kuroo for that matter, but right now you kind of just want to lie down on the floor and die a little bit.

You wet your lips, trying not to squirm under his intense gaze. It’s analytical, but not calculating, and your breathing hitches as he continues to stare. “I… yeah.”

It comes as a surprise when he only nods, eyes snapping away from you as he digs his keys out of his pocket. You step aside quickly as he steps up to the door, his arm brushing up against yours. You stiffen, but he doesn’t shy away from the contact. “Sorry to make you wait,” he says, pulling the post-it note off the door and turning towards the lock.

“It’s fine.” You grab your discarded box off the ground, holding it to your chest as he opens the door and gestures for you to walk inside. Your smile feels forced as you comply. With your head ducked towards your chest and your eyes on the floor, you don’t notice the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You should apologize, right? Yeah, you should totally apologize for spilling coffee on him and yelling at him in the middle of the street.

He follows you inside and shuts the door, meeting your eyes as you spin around to look at him. “I’m really sorry about—”

But he’s already shaking his head. “I wasn’t watching either,” he tells you, ending your apology before it can start. “Akaashi Keiji,” he says, holding out his hand for you to shake, like a normal person.

You tell him your name, trying not to shiver at the way his fingers wrap around yours. Fuck, his hands are big. Like, really big. And warm. You definitely wouldn’t mind having them wrapped around your—moving on.

The corner of Akaashi’s mouth twitches like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “So,” he starts casually, dark eyes watching you carefully, “when would you like to move in?”

[spaceskam]

what’s it gonna be? (2/3)

previous | next

ao3

The difficult thing about approaching Alex Manes was that you couldn’t just talk to him.

He was closed off and boarded up, his dark clothes and edgy taste in music were loud indicators that he didn’t want to let anyone new in. That meant Michael was going to have to be creative. Which honestly wasn’t fair at all considering Liz was probably the easiest person in the world to talk to, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Michael clicked his pen against the table as he stared a few rows down where Alex was hunched over his guitar, gently strumming and scribbling down some things every once in a while. The whole prospect of Alex bringing his guitar to school in the first place already felt like a red flag and Michael was waiting for him to just break out into Wonderwall.

Still, Max apparently liked the guy and they made a deal, so he got up and walked over to him.

Michael stood in front of him, waiting for Alex to catch sight of him. And Alex did, starting at his feet and slowly following the length of his body up to his face. Michael flashed a smile.

"Play me a song, guitar boy."

Alex stared at him for a second before rolling his eyes, looking back down to his guitar. Michael sat down in front of him.

"I play guitar too, you know?" Michael went on. Alex hummed mindlessly, but he didn't tell him to go away. "Pretty good at it if I do say so myself."

"Good for you."

"Play me something," Michael prodded again. Alex sighed and looked at him.

"Why are you talking to me?" he asked. Michael blinked innocently. 

"Who else am I supposed to talk to?" Michael said, "Everyone else sucks."

"And I don't?" Alex said. He had a genuine curiosity in his tone, strands of hair falling from the bun at the nape of his neck and falling around his face. For a moment, Michael got a little overwhelmed. Dark hair, big dark eyes, nice lips, nice figure. He shook it away before he could think too hard about it.

"Well, I don't know you well enough to make an educated statement," Michael said, "So I guess I'm just gonna have to bother you until I figure it out."

Alex stared at him for a moment before a smile started to tug at his lips and he looked back down to his guitar. He seemed to hide behind his hair and Michael wondered how anyone thought he was scary. So what if he got in fights? He got flustered too easily to pass as scary.

"So, guitar boy, you should teach me some shit about music," Michael said, "After school, maybe?"

Alex looked back up to him, eyes a little wide as if he was actually shocked by the invite. Michael just stared unwaveringly at him. He nodded slowly.

"Yeah, okay," Alex agreed, "After school."

Michael grinned, climbing back to his feet. He gave Alex a parting salute and went back to his spot, not addressing the way he could feel Alex's eyes on him. This was going to be easy.

He could only imagine how easy it would be for Max.

-

When Max walked into English and saw that the seat beside Liz was open, he couldn’t help but feel like he won the damn lottery.

He easily strolled up to her, clutching his backpack as he watched her stare down at her notes. Her hair fell over her shoulders and onto the page like a waterfall and the end of her pen was between her teeth. Liz almost looked like a painting and he couldn’t help but think that his brother had good taste.

“Hey, Liz,” Max said. She lifted her eyes to him and dropped the pen to her notes, smiling that warm and welcoming smile that she always had.

“Max, hi.”

“Can I sit here or is this seat taken?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah, no, it's open. Sit," she said. 

Max nodded, taking the seat and pulling out his binder. He looked between it and her a couple times, trying to find a good thing to spark conversation with. He decided starting with science would be the best way since that was her speciality, the only one in the school who had taken every science the school had to offer.

"Hey, do you understand the whole balancing equations thing in Chem? It's still a little confusing to me," Max said, pulling out his thankfully unfinished homework. She nodded and leaned into his space. Her hair smelled nice.

"Yeah. So the best way to get the hang of it is to break it down in a visual way. So, like, the left has one carbon, four hydrogen, and two chlorine while the right has one carbon, one hydrogen, and five chlorine. So the right needs four hydrogen, but since it's paired with one chlorine, it makes the total on the right eight, and now you need to make the one on the left eight too, so you add a four," Liz explained. Admittedly, the information when in one ear and directly out the other. "Make sense?"

"Well… No, not really," he said. She laughed, pulling her hair over her shoulder and out of the way as she looked at him.

"Class is about to start, but if you want to study after school we can. I'll work on my explanation skills before then," Liz promised. Max smiled and nodded.

"Sounds good."

For the rest of the class, Liz whispered small comments and told him jokes. It was almost too easy. Max didn't understand what kept Michael from befriending her. It was the easiest thing he'd ever done.

Hopefully Michael wasn't as bad at approaching Alex as he was at approaching Liz. 

-

Okay. He got it. Alex was cool.

There was one record store left in Roswell and Alex wants to spin the afternoon there, so Michael followed. He'd shucked his flannel off at some point, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt and jeans with the flannel tied around his hips and knock-off docs on his feet. He flicked through a stack or rack of records before he found the one he wanted. Alex held it up for Michael to see, raising his eyebrows. 

“Elvis Presley? Really?” Michael asked, following him over to a record player that had a set of headphones at it. Alex unplugged it and plugged in his own pair.

“Yes, really,” he said, holding out one earbud to Michael to take, “I’d show you something cooler, but I always go easy on someone’s first time.”

Michael laughed, his skin feeling a little hot at the insinuation. Alex just kept that smug smile as his skillful fingers started the record. The smooth sound started up with a swing feel to it and Alex seemed to be watching him, waiting for his reaction.

"This is the first album he released after he was honorably discharged. And I mean right after. They rushed the shit out of it because they were scared he would lose his relevancy," Alex explained. Michael nodded, focusing more on his words than the sound of Elvis singing about trying to get someone to prove to him they wanted him. "It peaked at number two on the charts, but still had super mixed reviews. Which is weird, honestly, because his service in the army gave him a lot of support from an older audience."

"You know a lot about Elvis," Michael said. Alex shrugged.

"Not really, I know about his time in the army and that's about it," he explained, looking at Michael in a way he couldn't quite place. It was almost questioning, like he was testing the waters. Which didn't make fucking sense because he was Alex Manes. "I know a little bit about a lot of things."

"Like what?" Michael prodded. Alex stared at him in silence for a few seconds, his gaze intense and overwhelming. Michael's skin felt hot under it, his heart thudding in his chest. The only sound being Elvis singing along to snapping and a soft bass.

'You give me fever when you kiss me,' Elvis sang, 'what a lovely way to burn.'

"I guess you'll just have to stick around and see what I can teach you," Alex said. Michael nodded without even thinking, his body working on it's own accord.

"Okay." 

Alex smiled and tucked his hair behind his ear and turned to search through a bin he was standing beside. He pulled out a new vinyl.

"Black Sabbath," Michael read, clearing his throat. Alex nodded.

"They've got good shit."

Was it wrong that Michael didn't ever want to leave? 

-

"Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, yeah, thanks."

It was a little weird, Max thought, that the first girl he had in his room that wasn't Isobel or his mom was Liz Ortecho. He'd never really pictured her there. He quite liked the sight.

"Knew you'd get it," Liz said, "It's not hard, just takes focus."

"Yeah, you're also just a good teacher," he said. It was a little bit of a lie. She rambled a lot, getting distracted by her own train of thought and assuming he knew more than he did, but he didn't mind. He liked listening to her talk even if he wasn’t sure what she was talking about. Max didn’t understand how Michael had even formed a crush in the first place if he hadn’t listened to her ramble.

“Thank you,” Liz said, smiling as she leaned back. 

They were sitting on his bedroom floor and her head was against his mattress. Would the smell of her hair linger on his sheets? Was that weird to think about? 

"So, you wanna be a scientist when you grow up?" Max asked, leaning his head against the wall. Liz shrugged.

"I think I'm going to go into biological engineering. I like knowing how all that stuff works and messing with things," Liz explained. Max nodded.

"My brother's like that," Max said. Liz furrowed her eyebrows. "Michael."

"Oh, wow, I didn't know he was your brother," Liz laughed. Max shrugged.

"Yeah, we just got separated wherever Iz and I got adopted," Max said. Liz nodded, pulling her leg up to her chest and resting her chin on her knee.

"Well, what do you want to do when you grow up?" Liz asked. Max laughed a little as he allowed Michael's name to disappear from the conversation. 

"I wanna be a writer," Max admitted. Liz had a knowing look on her face as she nodded. 

"I can see it, you got that whole," Liz paused and gestured to him, "Slightly pretentious vibe about you."

"Hey!" he laughed.

"What? It's not a bad thing as long as you don't let it overcome you. I'm a firm believer that you have to be a little pretentious to be a creator of any kind. The confidence helps you succeed," Liz insisted. Max shrugged slightly, but he couldn't help but smile. "Trust me. My friend Alex is totally pretentious about his music, but we love him for it."

The mention of Alex felt a little jarring as he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. But Liz didn't let that memory last long.

"Well, show me some of your writing," Liz said. Max's eyes widened. 

"What? I don't know if you'd wanna–"

"I do, c'mon, read me something," she prodded. Her eyes scanned the room before landing on the notebook on his nightstand. "Is there any in that?"

"Well…"

A mischievous smile crossed her face and she reached for it. Max didn't even think it through as he quickly went to grab it. He didn't want her to read anything in it. Each page was a different story, all disjointed and too many of them involving a love interest that were inspired by beautiful people he saw in school that he'd be embarrassed if she recognized.

Liz squealed in a joyous fashion as he tried to grab it first. She snatched it, her laughter contagious as he tried to grab it from her. She let go as he yanked it and he fell backwards. Liz took the opportunity of him being caught off guard to lean over him and grab it. Max caught her waist and flipped over. Suddenly, the book had slid a few feet away and he was just hovering over her.

Before he could really let it register, Liz grabbed his arms and locked her legs around his hips, flipping them over again and pinning his hands above his head. She had a victorious smile on her face, her long hair pooling around his head and making it impossible to look at anything but her. He swallowed harshly.

"Don't underestimate me just because you're tall, Max Evans," Liz told him. He nodded, probably a little too entranced by her, well, everything.

"Trust me," he said, "I wouldn't dare."

-

Alex was a master of saying something and meaning something else entirely. It left Michael feeling like he was starving and Alex's intentions were the only thing keeping him alive.

"What do you mean you haven't noticed?" Alex scoffed, shaking his head as they walked towards Michael's truck. It was Friday, four days into spending all his free time with Alex Manes and already he struggled to see a day he didn't do just that. "It's so obvious!"

"Obvious to who?" Michael laughed. Alex threw open the passenger side door without any hesitation, climbing it and dropping his messenger bag to the floor. He waited for Michael to get into the driver’s seat before answering.

“Anyone who claims to be interested in horror movies, Michael Guerin,” Alex said, giving a slightly dramatic sigh. Michael snorted as he started up the truck. 

“Look, man, when I watch a movie, I don’t really pay attention to the music,” Michael admitted, looking over his shoulder as he started to back out of the parking spot. 

“Oh my god, you’re speaking blasphemy, shut up,” Alex said, earning more laughter from Michael, “So horror at its peak in the 50s and 60s was heavy in strings, but once the synthesizer started gaining popularity in the 70s-ish‒by the way, did you know it was invented in the 50s?‒it took over. Just recently, like the last few years, they’ve been going back to strings, but like a distorted violin type of strings.”

“Okay, I think I see what you mean,” Michael said, nodding his head as he thought back to all the movies he’d seen in his lifetime. If he thought hard enough, he could think of movies that fit what Alex was talking about.

“Yeah, dude, it’s super obvious. Oh, shit, the drive-in is playing The Thing tonight at 8, that’s a perfect example of the mix between synth and orchestral since it’s, like, the early 80s,” Alex said. Michael looked over at him, seeing him looking down at his phone. His hair was down and shielding half of his face, but the sun was still hitting him like he was made for it. He was fucking gorgeous.

“Is that your subtle way of suggesting we go see a movie tonight?” Michael asked, glancing over at him again. Alex adjusted in his seat and looked up, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

“I mean, yeah, we can,” Alex said, “Wouldn’t mind an excuse to stay out of my house.”

“I feel that,” Michael laughed, “Yeah, let’s go.”

It was how Michael ended up at almost 9pm at the drive-in, shrouded in darkness and watching The Thing while undeniably close to Alex Manes.

“Listen, listen, listen,” Alex whispered, leaning so close that his lips were almost touching his ear as he pointed. Michael moved his eyes off the screen to look at Alex only to see his eyes attached to the screen, sheer wonder in his eyes. “During most of the true horror moments in this movie, there’s no music at all, usually just letting you feel the moment. But, but but…” Alex breathed. Michael watched him instead of it again. But, still, he heard the slow build of synth in time with Alex’s smile growing. “You feel it? It’s right before shit gets bad, it’s preparing you, but letting you still feel the actual moment. It’s fucking genius.” Just like that, the synth stopping, just the screams of the creature and the people. Alex breathed in and dropped his hand, smiling. “This whole movie is a masterpiece.”

“I was kinda expecting you to jump out of fear,” Michael whispered, trying to shake that absolute entranced feeling watching Alex like this. In the darkness of the night, his face only lit by the screen and the dim street lamps that were set up, his guard was completely down. It was incredible. 

“Jump scares are cool maybe once or twice a movie, but even that’s pushing it. Real horror lasts in your brain long after you watch it,” Alex said, looking at him for just a second, “All good shit should leave you unable to think about anything else.”

Michael nodded. “You’re right.”

“I know I am,” Alex said. His eyes flickered down and then back up to Michael’s eyes before he turned his gaze back to the movie. “Look, look, this is my favorite part.”

Michael looked and didn’t comment as Alex settled into his side. Alex’s best points were always unspoken and this felt like one of them.

-

“Let me see!”

“I am letting you see.”

Max laughed as Liz just glared at him, standing on her toes as she pulled on his arm. He continued holding the English paper he’d gotten back well over his head. Liz wanted to see his so they could compare them, but he found it much more enjoyable to hold it up and let her try to grab it.

“Stop,” Liz groaned. 

Liz ended up taking a fist full of his shirt, dragging him over to one of the booths in the Crashdown. Max kept laughing as she forced him to sit down, kneeling on his thighs to keep him in place as she plucked the paper out of his grasp. She stuck his tongue out at him and the smile on his face was impossible to get rid of.

“You could’ve asked,” he teased. Liz glared at him, still just staying there with her knee in his lap. She was looking at his paper and he was looking at her. She seemed to get more gorgeous by the day, slowly but surely becoming unbearably attractive.

He watched as her eyes skimmed his paper, reading quickly as she settled her weight against him. She flipped to the next page, reading over it more, but then her eyes widened as she caught sight of his grade. Max smiled.

“A 102?” she scoffed, looking at him with a faux-offended face, “How the hell? I just got a 100!”

“Bonus points for using vocabulary words and using more than three sources,” he said. Again, that adorable glare. “But a 100 is still great.”

“Mhm, we’ll just have to talk when I get a 103 on my science test and you get a 91,” Liz said. Max grinned, shrugging shoulders. He was well past the point of caring as long as she stayed this close and kept talking. Sadly, though, she got off his lap and stood up straight.

“I can help you on your next paper,” Max offered. Liz looked at him with a knowing smile, tilting her head to the side.

“Well, I would hope so. I helped you with your science test, you’re definitely not off the hook. Now sit right there, I’m gonna go get us fries,” she said, not even waiting for an answer as she spun and went into the back. Max took a moment to let himself melt a little into the seat.

Soon, Liz was coming back with a basket of fries and a milkshake. She sat on the other side of the booth, that sweet smile still on her face. 

“Only one?” Max asked playfully. She put her hand over her heart and gasped, giving an offended look.

“How dare you? Do I look like a woman who doesn’t share?” Liz asked. Max tilted his head and scrunched up his nose, enjoying the way it pulled laughter out of her. “Yeah, you’re right, but I’ll be nice today.”

Max watched as she pushed two straws into the shake. It felt a little too real and he looked at her to make sure she was actually okay with sharing. However, she didn’t even seem phased as she leaned forward to take a sip, marking her straw with a shiny stamp of lip gloss. Max, albeit hesitantly, leaned in and took a sip from the other one. She was still smiling.

He liked this.

“All things aside, though, I really like your paper,” Liz said, pointing at him with a fry, “If only you’d let me read something you wrote that you actually care about.”

“Maybe one day,” he offered. She raised her eyebrows, leaning closer.

“When is one day?”

“One day, I don’t know,” Max laughed. Liz shrugged a shoulder.

“Soon, I can feel it,” she stated firmly, “I’ve got a certain charm and I don’t think you’ll be able to resist.”

And Max had a feeling she was absolutely right.

-

Alex tilted his head back, breathing out a puff of smoke as he relaxed in the bed of Michael’s truck.

Michael’s lips parted as he watched him, his mouth feeling dry and his skin feeling too hot. He looked like a goddamn model at that moment. How the hell was anyone supposed to think straight? The weed definitely didn’t help.

“How many people have you slept with?” Alex asked, blunt and without preface. It only made Michael’s mind feel even more cloudy, the mix of wind and Elvis Presley’s Fever playing from his phone doing him no favors.

“Uh,” Michael said, stretching his legs out parallel to Alex’s, “Two?”

Alex nodded, not saying anything else as he leaned forward to pass the joint to Michael. He accepted it, his eyes still on Alex as he put it to his lips. Alex’s eyes lingered on his face before slowly scanning his entire body. When he got to his legs, Alex reached out and put his hand on his calf. His thumb rubbed small circles over his jeans. Michael’s brain was malfunctioning.

“Roswell has a population of a little over 6,000 people,” Alex said softly, his hand staying on his leg as he looked up to him. The joint was limply in Michael’s hand, too drunk on Alex’s existence to hold it properly. Alex plucked it from his grip, stubbing it out on the bottom of his shoe. Once it was completely out and done smoking, Alex moved even closer to tuck it behind Michael’s ear. “6,000 people and I can’t stand most of them, but I people-watch. I understand them and social cues and how to interact. I hate it, though, the uncertainty of it.”

“Yeah,” Michael breathed, agreeing with him on principle alone. Alex’s lips twitched up into a smile that didn’t last, his fingers letting go of the joint and tracing over his ear and his neck. Chills rose to his skin and his breathing got a little heavier. Alex’s eyes fluttered over his face again.

“I like certainty,” Alex said, “So I think I know what your goal is, but I’d really like you to spell it out for me.”

“My goal?” Michael clarified. Alex nodded, somehow even closer. He tilted his head to the side and he ditched all sense of preservation, his eyes on Michael’s lips and not moving. Which, maybe Michael was stupid, but he slowly let his eyes drift to Alex’s lips, focusing on that part of him in the same way. 

Alex leaned in a little more, their foreheads touching just a little. And, just as Michael was about to close the space, his phone went off. Michael jumped and looked away to search for it. Alex sighed, sitting down as Michael checked to see what had ruined his moment.

Max: tomorrow after church?

Michael swallowed harshly and looked up to Alex who’s focus had drifted to playing with a loose string on the hole in his jeans at his knee. He kind of forgot about Max and what the point was. He was supposed to be learning about Alex for Max, not for himself. Guilt slowly started filling his veins as he realized how selfish he’d been.

Fuck.

-

“God, Max, this is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

There were a lot of nerves that went into letting a pretty girl read your inner most thoughts, but Liz was endlessly respectful of his feelings and didn’t insult him for being too sappy. She scrolled down on the long document that he typed his story in, still reading as she sat right beside him.

“Seriously, you should look into getting published,” Liz said, finally looking at him. They were in his room again. This time the door was closed. It felt good.

“I don’t know, I feel like that’s a lot harder than you’d think,” Max said, shrugging his shoulders. Liz rolled her eyes.

“Well, you won’t know until you try! And, who knows, all it’ll take is a little willpower. Or maybe you could self-publish. I could help you figure it all out,” Liz offered. Max furrowed his eyebrows, a disbelieving huff leaving his chest.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, “You’re far too nice to me, Liz Ortecho.”

“I’m a nice person,” she insisted, “And you’re way too talented to just let it go to waste.”

“I don’t know. I want to travel first, see stuff, get inspired by something real, you know?” Max said. Liz nodded without hesitation.

“Yeah, I want to travel too,” she said, looking down for a second before looking back at him, “Maybe we could travel together.”

His eyebrows shot up, blinking a couple times. “You’d want to travel with me?”

“Well, why not?” she said, “I’ve always wanted to and why not go with someone you like spending time with?”

“You really have that much fun spending time with me?” Max asked, really not buying that. She was so… and he was just…

“There’s just something about you, Max Evans,” Liz told him, fondness thick in her voice. It warmed his heart in a way he didn’t quite understand. No one had ever said something like that about him before. He always just assumed he was just Max. “I don’t know. I’ve known you all my life and sometimes… Reading this, I kinda feel like this is the first time I’m really seeing you. Seeing you and seeing how you see other people. It’s beautiful, Max.”

“I get that,” Max said, his chest feeling a little tight and his mind overwhelmed. She was way too good for him. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only girl in the room.”

“Well,” she said, tilting to her head to the side, “Right now I am.”

Max smiled and bit his lip. It was too easy to get entranced by her, too easy to miss when she started to lean in, too easy to get obsessed the way her hand touched his cheek.

And too hard not to get pissed when Isobel busted inside before either of them could close the space.

“Hello,” Isobel said, clearly happy to ruin the moment, “Hate to break up the love fest going on in here, but your dad called, Liz. Said he tried calling you, but your phone was dead and he got worried. He wanted to know if you were going to make it home for dinner.”

“What time is it?” Liz asked, glancing down at the laptop and her eyes widening, “Oh, shoot, sorry, Max, I gotta go. I had fun.”

“Wait, I’ll drive you,” he offered as she got up quickly. She shook her head as she grabbed her bag.

“Don’t worry, the walk isn’t far. I’ll see you later?” Liz said. He nodded and she slipped past Isobel, hurrying down the stairs. Max sighed and leaned back.

“Way to ruin the moment, Iz,” he grumbled. Isobel raised an eyebrow.

“Way to move in on the girl Michael’s been staring at for a year,” Isobel pointed out, “Does he know that you’re doing that or is this just a fun way to get back at him for breathing too loud when he sleeps?”

Max couldn’t see himself, but he was sure his face paled as he was reminded of Michael. He’d forgotten that’s what he was doing. Hell, he’d forgotten everything that wasn’t Liz. Guilt overcame him too fast and he quickly pulled out his phone.

Max: tomorrow after church?

“Hope you enjoy telling him,” Isobel said in a sing-song voice as she walked away. Max swallowed and very quickly made the decision not to tell him. Michael didn’t have much, he deserved something. If that meant he couldn’t have Liz, then so be it. It would just be the worst.

Fuck.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Through this Together, chapter 1

So, this was a long time coming. And I mean a long time. As in, I made a few of you wait weeks while I screwed around with bit projects instead of focusing on this. But, here’s the first chapter of a Grant x Henry fic. I hope you guys like it.

---

You can do this. You have to do this. He's the only one I know who can answer this. And anyhow, it's Henry.

And if Grant was going to get this information from anyone, it might as well have been one of the friendliest, mellowest, most reasonable people in the studio. He could still remember being interviewed by Henry and actually believing that this would be a nice (not to mention conventional) place to work. If anything, Grant had thought of Henry as a little too friendly at first- back when the studio had only been a couple dozen people, Henry had wanted to get to know everyone at least a little. Grant had admittedly been resistant- being as shy as he was, Grant really preferred to keep things strictly professional. And yet, Henry had become one of his favourite people at the studio all the same. This question, though, was a bit beyond their current relationship to say the least. Still, Grant had to know, so he gave the door to Henry's office a tentative knock.

Henry opened the door. "Grant. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Stein. I have something to ask you. Something rather personal, but very important. You might want to close the door. Or we could do it in my office- whatever is comfortable for you." Grant's voice and face were perfectly businesslike and emotionless, and partially because of that Henry could tell that something was up. He ushered him in and got him to sit down.

"What is it?" Henry asked, a little worried that the studio was in financial peril.

Grant broke eye contact. "Well, see, my brother recently shared certain information about himself, and I'm worried about him. And well, I don't mean to offend, but you've told me about your relationship with Mr. Drew, so could I ask you something? To reassure myself about my brother's safety, I mean."

Henry eased right up. So it wasn't about the studio. "Of course. Ask away."

"Well, I- have heard that a lot of homosexual men hit each other. Like would be considered abuse, normally. That it's normal for them. Is it true?"

Henry smiled gently. "You know, I've heard a lot of homophobic nonsense, but that might just be the most ridiculous one I've ever heard. No, that's not normal, any more than it is for a straight couple. Your brother is going to be fine."

Grant gave a fake smile and looked away. "That's- relieving. Thank you, Henry. You mean Joey never laid a hand on you?"

Henry stifled a cringe. "People don't hit people they love. So... no."

"Great, just what I wanted to hear!" Grant looked like he'd been stabbed through the heart and was trying to hide it. He got up quickly and left. Was Henry crazy, or was Grant limping just a little? Henry dismissed the thought and turned back to his work. A couple drawings in, it occurred to Henry that Grant had once mentioned being an only child. No. No, it couldn't be.

You knew that Joey would move on to someone else if you didn’t go to the police. Kind of karmic that it ends up being someone you know. Well, don't just sit there, talk to him! You would have benefited from the same.

But Henry froze. Memories of Joey's abuse kept tormenting him, and a part of him wanted to just leave it all in the past. Plus, he didn't know Grant that well, and it was just a hunch, and Grant was a grown man- he could handle things, just as Henry had.

But should he have to? Would you have chosen to?

Henry quickly found himself at the door to Grant's office. No time for knocking- every second was a second where he might lose his nerve. "Mr. Cohen," Henry asked, "is Joey hitting you?"

Grant turned from his desk, wide-eyed. "N-no. Why would you ask that?"

"I just-" Henry sighed. There was no getting through this without revealing his secret. "Joey used to hit me, and I noticed you were limping. I just want to make sure everything's okay."

A million thoughts flew through Grant's head. Sure, it was Henry, but who's side would Henry take if he admitted to being abused by his exceedingly close friend, business partner, and ex-lover? And if Joey found out...

Still in a rush, Henry got tired of looking at Grant's owlish frozen stare. He closed the office door. "He used to make sure to hit me places my clothes would cover. No one ever noticed. Can you, for my peace of mind, either tell me with a straight face that he's not hurting you, or show me that your back isn't covered in bruises?"

Grant knew he couldn't lie to Henry and make it seem realistic- he was too wound up. So, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and began to pull off his shirt as Henry had asked, showing some dark, ugly bruising. It wasn't halfway off when Henry said, "Okay, I've seen enough. Come with me," in a low, serious voice.

Henry led to Joey's office, walking quickly. Grant was too scared to ask what was going on. He felt ready to panic. "You aren't going to tell him, are you?" Grant asked.

Henry was too angry to respond. Once they got to Joey's office, Henry told Grant to stay put before slipping inside. Grant could hear what Henry was saying through the door.

"Joey, I found out how you're treating your boyfriend. He didn't tell me about it- he was actually trying to keep it a secret, so don't you dare punish him for this. You will not lay hands on him again. I repeat, do not fucking hit him. I'm letting him know that he can come to me if you do. And if you do, or if you fire him for no reason but spite for this, well, I'm going to leave this company and take the rights to my characters with me, you hear? I put up with enough of this shit when we were together, and I don't want to have to worry about who you might be battering. Understand?"

There was a long pause. "I understand. I also understand that if you do try to separate me from those characters, I'll take you to court, and I'll win. I can afford to drag things out until you're flat broke and have no choice but to hand them over to me, hear? So don't take me to court. Not under any circumstances." Another pause. "But I won't make it come to that! Promise!" he chirped, a completely different person than he was five seconds ago.

Henry emerged looking emotionally exhausted and took a brief look at Grant before turning back to his office. What was he supposed to say after all that?

---

Grant didn't interact much with much of anyone when he'd started working at Joey Drew Studios, aside from Norman. He generally found it more comfortable to stay in his office most of the time. The one benefit to working late was that the studio was quiet, and Grant could go the breakroom to work without having to worry about being interrupted. Henry was also frequently working late, especially around deadline season, and at one point Henry had asked if he could join him in there. No particular reason other than the fact work had been heavy and all the late nights had left Henry a little lonely. And the breakroom was a comfortable place to work, anyhow. Since, they'd made a habit of working there together. The two of them had had some deep conversations in that breakroom, and had gotten into this awkward place of being confidant to each other while rarely seeing each other elsewhere.

Henry didn't exactly need to work late tonight, but awkward as it was, he ought to see if Grant were there after what had happened that afternoon. And if he wasn't there, well, getting a little ahead on these storyboards wouldn't kill him. Grant was already there, leaning over a variety of ordering forms spread out over the table. He caught Henry's eyes immediately, almost like he was hoping to see him. "Uh, hi. I just wanted to thank you for back there. I was too stunned to tell you at the time, but that was incredibly brave of you."

Henry nodded and sat himself down at the little artist's desk in the corner. "No problem." They worked quietly for a few minutes. "I'm glad you're not upset that your relationship with him is over," Henry thought aloud. "I mean, I'm not sure I would have wanted to be saved like that, when I was in your position, so I'm glad you're thanking me, I guess."

"Well, I knew how it looked. I wouldn't have asked to be saved, but I can't very well blame you for intervening or see it as anything other than you doing me a favour. And... I guess I knew that it was for the best."

Henry sighed. "Let me guess: he made you feel special, gave you what you thought you needed more than anything. And so you were willing to deal with it when he starting using you as a punching bag."

Grant felt himself getting emotional. How was Henry staying so calm? "Nail on the head."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Less than anything in the world. Grant felt like he'd start crying if they were to keep talking about it. "No thank you. I- I just can't believe he'd do that to you. He talked about you like you were the light of his life. He wished I were more like you."

"He probably would have done it to anyone. Y'know this could have been prevented if I'd just taken him to court when I had the chance. Of course, I don't have any evidence- not even bruises anymore. So I can't. You’re probably not going to be the last any more than you were the first."

"Well, I have evidence. I have bruises- even the odd threatening letter. If you want-"

Henry snapped the pen he was holding, spilling ink all over the storyboard he'd been working on. "Maybe, but consider the consequences. Joey is a public figure, Grant- if we do that, we'll be accused of lying, we'll get death threats, we'll probably get outlaywered, and then what? Once Joey is back out and handling the company again, we'll both be fired. I- I know that he shouldn't go unpunished, but this serious, Grant."

Grant looked down solemnly. "You know something, Henry? You stuck your neck out for me, so I'm going to pay it forward. You don't have to come with me, but I'm going to the police, right now. Thank you for the warning."

With that, Grant gathered up his things and left, and Henry went to chase after him, eventually catching up and grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Hey, you know what? If you go to the police, I’m still going to get implicated. I don’t want to stop you from doing what’s right, though. And if you're going to put us through it, we might as well go through this together."

[in-tua-deep]

Hi, I’m wondering if you have any other ideas about the memory mishap au? Somehow this au is just extremely endearing to me, and I’ve come back to it times to times. In a good mood? Time for mishap au. In a bad mood? mishap au. Sleepy but somehow too tired to sleep? MEMORY MISHAP AU. So yeah I would love to hear your thoughts about this au. Maybe other things that the siblings notice about five? How does he deal with the new appreciation?? Thank you, and have a nice day :>

asdfSADF i’m honored you like it so much !! for all of those following along at home the memory mishap au is this one here where they travel back in time to their 13 year old selves - except Five seems to be missing a good chunk of memory. Oh, say everything since he was actually thirteen. Which means Five does not know about the apocalypse whoops.

anyway the squad run away with Five’s ‘run away’ supplies from a shoebox under the floorboards with some fake IDs and some cash - he was planning on pulling a runner in the original timeline and was in the process of hoarding supplies (Five wanted everything perfect before he proposed any plan, no loopholes about preparedness - but his perfectionism was his downfall and he didn’t tell anyone when he vanished and all his siblings were trapped in the house with no idea of the treasure trove within the house)

-

“Why didn’t you tell me about the plan?” Vanya asks, quietly in the backseat of the van they all may or may not have hotwired from the long term parking lot of an airport. 

She looks Five up and down. He looks excited, thrilled. He looks… unburdened in a way that none of the others do, with the threat of the apocalypse and the Commission hanging over their heads. All they have to go on are the scant pieces of information Five deigned to share with them before jumping them back, which was admittedly little. 

(He looks young.)

He shrugs, looking sheepish. And Five has never exactly been a closed book, but in that terrible week before the apocalypse Vanya only ever saw fear and anger and a terrible yearning grief in him. That’s almost all been wiped away now, replaced by relief and joy and a dash of deep confusion. Not that Vanya blames him for the last one - they’d all changed after seventeen years. 

“I didn’t want to say anything until it was a sure thing.” Five admits, whispering back but it’s pretty clear from the silence of the rest of the car that the others are listening. And from the little roll of his eyes, Five isn’t exactly unaware of this fact. “Plus I wasn’t exactly sure what, uh. Everyone would say.”

To her credit, Allison is on Vanya’s other side and is studiously looking out the window to give as much illusion of privacy as seven 13 year olds crammed in a car can give.

Vanya frowns. “What was your plan, anyway? I don’t think Luther would have left when we were thirteen.”

There’s some sputtering from the driver’s seat where Luther, as the tallest and most likely of the seven to be mistaken for a sixteen-year-old, is smacked by Diego to keep him quiet. Both Vanya and Five are unimpressed with this effort. It’s not like Vanya is wrong, anyway.

Five looks distinctly embarrassed and looks out the window, avoiding looking at Vanya. But more importantly, avoiding looking at Allison. “I had some, uh. Some blackmail.”

“On Luther?” Klaus can’t contain himself and interjects. Ben smacks him, looking over his shoulder apologetically at the backseat trio (now that Ben can actually smack Klaus he’s been doing it with great frequency and with some amount of glee). Still. “We’re talking Luther ‘Good-Two-Shoes’ Hargreeves?” Yeah the smack was never going to stop him.

Five squirms in his seat, looking at his shoes. This has the entire car’s attention on him, barring Luther keeping his eyes on the road but exuding some ferocious concentration his way. “Uh. The blackmail wasn’t on Luther.”

There’s a short pause before Allison whips her head away from the window (abandoning the illusion of privacy) to stare openly at Five. “What?” She demands, loudly. “What the hell did you have on me?”

“Uh,” Five grimaces, “You know, uh. You didn’t uh, you know your hiding spot in the closet?”

“You went through my closet?” Allison shrieks, blood rushing to her face as she remembers exactly the kind of stupid teenage shit she hid away when she was thirteen. Nothing incredibly incriminating, but the sort of embarrassing stuff she wouldn’t want to see the light of day.

“You weren’t exactly subtle!” Five shot back, crossing his arms defensively. “You never close your door!”

“You spied on me? You little shit!” Allison lunges across the car, squishing Vanya who protests loudly, as Five squeals against the assault, batting back at Allison.

“Hey! Hey!” Luther yells back at them, “I will pull this car over so help me, quit it!”

“Don’t make me tell them about all your stupid crushes!” Five threatens, “I know exactly what stupid magazine pages you kissed!” 

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Allison howls, being pushed back by a particularly ruffled looking Vanya.

“No! No go on!” Klaus eggs on, looking absolutely delighted at this conversation. He’s laughing and has actually unbuckled his seatbelt in order to turn around and kneel over his seat to watch the chaos unfolding. 

“Klaus put your seatbelt back on.” Diego reprimands instantly. Klaus, predictably, ignores this. 

“I want to switch seats!” Five demands, since Allison is still glowering with intent to smack. The Cain instinct is strong at the moment. 

“If anyone should get to switch seats it’s me!” Vanya interjects, deeply aggrieved after the treatment of being generally steamrolled over since she’s in the middle seat. At this, both Allison and Five have the decency to look at least a little bit abashed. 

“We need to get gas in a bit anyway.” Luther points out, “Vanya can have shotgun, then.”

Diego makes an offended noise, considering the fact that he is the one currently in the front seat next to Luther. 

“It’s time to switch around!” Luther says, sounding a little offended even as he hunches his shoulder up around his ears. “It’s you guys turn to sit in the back anyway.” Five’s noticed that Luther hunches a lot more now, as if he is constantly expecting to be far too big. He wonders just how tall their already tallest sibling ends up being and makes a mental note to ask. 

(The others gave Five a crash course in the future, but understandably plenty of details were glossed over or forgotten about as being unimportant. He knows Luther was on the moon but isn’t aware of his father’s questionable experimentation on Number One.)

“How come you aren’t included in this whole turn taking thing?” Diego demands with a scowl.

“‘Cause I’m tallest and least likely to get pulled over.” Luther states evenly. It’s a discussion that’s been had on way more than one occasion. 

“You’re not even that much taller than me yet!” Diego protests, a scowl upon his face. 

“How tall does Luther get?” Five cuts in, leaning forward in curiosity. 

“Super tall.” Klaus offers, a lopsided grin on his face, “Diego just happened to not grow after thirteen. Tragic, honestly.”

“Shut up!” Diego snaps, twisting around, “He’s a fucking liar! If anyone of us didn’t grow after thirteen it’s Vanya!”

Five looks at Vanya and she just shrugs. It’s not like it’s not true, after all. “It’s kind of nice to not have to crane my neck to look at everyone. Like, the whole family got super tall except for me. I’m half convinced Dad was slipping growth drugs into you guys food or something.”

“Did I get tall?” Five asks, bouncing a little. 

The car descends into a seriously awkward silence. The grin on Five’s face falters. “Oh, uh. Yeah. I guess, uh. Right.”

“We didn’t get to see you as a grown up.” Ben tells their sibling quietly. “You told us you were fifty-nine when you came back, and I don’t know how long you worked for the Commission for, but I think you grew up in the apocalypse.”

“Less than five years.” Luther adds, getting the whole car’s attention. He cringes a little at the eyes on him. “Uh, before Diego came in me and Five uh, had a little heart to heart and stuff. Five years is the length of a contract at the Commission, apparently? So uh. You were with them for less than five years.”

“You were short.” Klaus says with the kind of authority that makes everyone look at him in more than a little confusion. Klaus shrugs. “Look, he showed up in that suit, right? And it wasn’t all that big on him. That means he didn’t grow that much taller, or he’d have been tripping over his pants.”

Five sinks back in his seat, looking mightily disappointed. Vanya pats his shoulder in shorty solidarity. 

“To be fair!” Klaus gestures, breaking the moment, “You were like, starving for like, all of that? I’m pretty sure you mentioned eating cockroaches?” Five pulls a disgusted face at that particular revelation, “But what I mean is! Starvation could have totally stunted your growth. So you might be tall this time around!”

“We’re gonna see Five grow up this time.” Ben says out loud, and the car takes a moment to process that. None of them could imagine an adult Five, not after he’d lived on immortal in their memories as a young teen. 

“I get to see you guys grow up as well?” Five points out, half because it’s true and half to break the awkward mournful attitude that fell. “This isn’t exactly a one way street, idiots.”

“And you don’t ever have to eat a single cockroach ever again!” Klaus cheers, Five pulling yet another face at the very thought. “And hey, if you don’t ever get your memories back then you won’t even remember eating cockroaches!”

Another pregnant silence.

Five shifts again. “Guys, I’m not gonna give up on getting my memories back just because I’m a little grossed out. Klaus is just being… Klaus. I’m gonna get them back eventually, I just need to figure out what equation I used to get back and figure out what went wrong. A piece of cake.”

No one brings up the fact that it had taken Five forty-five whole years to figure out the whole ‘going back’ equations after attempting time travel.

“Is now a bad time to request a bathroom break?” Vanya breaks in bluntly, unwilling to sit through this conversation for a single second longer. It startles a laugh out of Klaus and breaks any and all of the tension as Allison hesitantly seconds the request and Klaus starts demanding they get snacks if they’re to continue this road trip.

-

BUT YEAH I do like this au even though I don’t usually write after canon stories SO i mean technically it’s not au until season 2 comes out amiright ;3c

there’s a lot for the siblings to learn about one another, and i’m not talking about the road just between five and every else and vice versa. These losers haven’t seen each other in like, eleven years and no one except Klaus has seen Ben in even longer than that OOF none of them really know one another anymore since they’ve been very much out of one another’s lives

honestly the au right now is mainly the kids running off and stealing cars and travelling while stealing on the down low to keep themselves going and i’m actually thinking of having them run into Hazel and Agnes (who are touring the bird places that was the original plan to begin with) and Agnes isn’t about to let all these tiny children go off into the unknown!! Especially if they’re being hunted! They could get killed, Hazel. They’re just kids!

And Five is just kind of like “??? whomst? oh this is the guy with the bear mask? didn’t he like? torture Klaus and help kill Diego’s love interest or like, is that a different person. Y’all need to like, write down every single detail for real I feel like there was 0 communication between all of you for that entire week.”

and Hazel is just like,, surprised_pikachu.jpeg as they all explain that Five has a little uh,, amnesia problem and Hazel gets to meet an Actual Child with the face of the assassin he fought against and hunted down and it’s weird okay shut up

and look they wouldn’t consider it except for the fact that having some Actual Adults around would probably help since they’ve already had to skedaddle from several places after being eyed just a little too hard by concerned shopkeepers and citizens and whatnot for being seven teens on an apparent road trip

Klaus demands piggyback rides and Hazel is just kind of like “are you sure it’s Five who lost his memories and is a child again” and they others are all just kind of “oh yeah you get used to him just sort of power through it.”

honestly just general siblings shenanigans pleases me which is why we have the earlier scene between five and allison that i have exactly 0 regrets about #bless

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Back to Haunt Me

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Light Angst

Word count: 12301

Summary: Simon Snow hasn't heard from his former roommate in years. So when he gets a call from him, he's equal parts confused and intrigued. Based on "I called you at 2am because I need you" request from @god-themself

Read on AO3

AN: I'm really sorry for how long these requests are taking, oy. Every time I start writing, the fic ends up getting longer and my stupid body decides to crap out and not work. Anyway, here's the latest fic. Hope you enjoy it :)

———————————————

Simon

I’m sitting upside down on my couch when I get the call.

It’s not something I do too often, just when I’m really, really stuck on something. I say that ideas pool in my feet and this lets them trickle down to my head. Penny thinks it’s absolutely ridiculous. She says it will give me headaches, and it does, but it also helps. I’ve been stuck for an hour on coming up with new lessons. This is my last resort.

So I’m laying upside down on my small couch, legs up in the air, face turning a very bright shade of red. My glasses slipped off a while ago, making me essentially blind to anything more than five feet away. My mind is swimming with new ideas for maths games and art projects, the mental images almost swirling past my blurry vision.

And when I’m deep in contemplation a new history Kahoot, my phone blares out my “Toxic” ringtone. (Britney is amazing and haters can fuck off.) I flip up way too fast, making my vision spin like water in a toilet bowl. I paw at my phone while I wobble back and forth. With the combination of my glasses on the floor and blood rushing from my head, I don’t bother to read the caller ID. Or lack thereof.

“Hello?” I say shakily, still clutching my head.

“Siiiiimon,” a low, slurring, strangely familiar voice says. Is a student prank calling me again? Dammit, I thought I scolded them enough.

“Jeremy, if that’s you, this isn’t funny. This is my personal mobile and you-”

“Aw, did you already forget me, Snow?” the person continues, and my heart suddenly freezes. “It hasn’t been that long has it? Only seven years.”

My jaw drops and I sit ramrod straight. Every vein in my body turns ice cold. Holy. Fucking, Shit. “Baz?!”

“Yes, it is I. Good evening, Snow,” he snorts, but there’s still that weird waver to his voice.

“A-Are you drunk?”

“Ding ding, we have a winner in every category,” he giggles. Fucking giggles. I don’t think I ever heard him let out so much as a chuckle in all the years I lived with him. He must be very drunk.

“Um, how did you get my number?”

“Remember when you got mysterious calls supposedly from the Babadook when we were fifteen? Surprise! That was me! Got your mobile off the school registry.”

My mouth falls open even more. “I knew that was you!”

“Duh!” There’s some shuffling on the other end. “Shush! Yes, I actually have him on the line. I’ll get him to come.” He’s definitely not talking to me. He lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about that, Snow. Super sorry, for everything I did back in school. So please don’t hang up.”

Admittedly, I was going to. But he sounds so pathetic and drunk, so I stay on. “Alright,” I sigh. “I’m still here.”

“Hooray!” There’s a short stretch of silence. He doesn’t continue, so I have to pipe up again.

“Baz,” I say, “not to be rude, but, uh, why are you drunk calling me? We haven’t seen each other in awhile and it’s...” I scramble to grab my glasses, then look at my wall clock. “After two in the morning. Plus, you like, hate me.”

“No,” he slurs out. He sounds well pissed. “I don’t hate you, Snow. You’re too much of a kind brave hero to hate.”

“Um, thank you?”

He laughs loudly. I’ve heard him laugh more in the last five minutes than I did our entire childhoods. “You’re very, very welcome.”

Again with the silence. I can’t believe I’m the one talking more between us. “So... why are you calling? You wanna catch up or something?”

Baz lets out a long, low groan. For some reason, I imagine him slumping against a wall or something. “I bloody wish. Stupid barkeep won’t let me leave until I call someone to get me and my stupid friends and stupid aunt won’t pick up.”

“So you decided to call me?!”

“You’re the only other person I know who lives in London.”

“Who told you I lived in London?”

“Aggie. Said you had a cute little flat and a cute little cat.” He giggles, and I can almost picture a dopey smile on his usually frowning face. It looks so weird and wrong. “Hey, that rhymes.”

I sit even more upright. “Wait, Aggie? As in Agatha?! Are you two dating now?!”

He scoffs. Now that really reminds me of our school days. “No, Snow, I’m not dating your ex. She’s not my type.”

“That’s rude. Agatha is very pretty.”

“I mean that she’s not a man, Snow.”

My face immediately turns scarlet, and this time not from being upside down. “O-Oh. You’re gay?”

“Once again, duh!”

“Fuck off, you flirted with her all the time!”

“Nuh-uh.” He sounds like a bloody obnoxious American. “Not really. Just did that to piss you off.”

“I’m hanging up,” I growl.

“Wait!” Baz shouts as I move the phone off my ear. “Please don’t hang up, Simon. Fucking hell, I need you.”

I seriously debate actually hanging up. But there’s something in his voice that tugs at my chest. It’s weird and explainable, but it’s there. I slowly bring the phone back to my ear. “You need me?”

“Yeah,” he groans. “I’m drunk as fuck and uh...yeah, I’m still bleeding.”

My pulse goes wild instantly. “Bleeding?! Are you hurt?!”

“Yeah, but you should see the other bloke,” he laughs proudly. “Bartender says if someone doesn’t pick me up and take me home, she’s calling the police to come get me. Doesn’t trust me with an Uber or something.” Baz makes a weird yet familiar sound. Is...is Baz Pitch sticking his tongue out at someone? What the fuck has happened in the last seven years?

“Alright,” I sigh. “Where are you?”

“Yay! I am...” He takes a long pause, which gives me time to rub my aching temple. “Hey, where am I?”

There’s more rustling and some muffled yelling. “He’s at XOYO,” a stern woman’s voice says. “32-37 Cowper St, second floor. We’re closing in an hour so get here soon.”

Before I can say anything else, the phone clicks off. I stay frozen for a moment. My brain is still playing a bit of catch up. So, Baz bloody Pitch has called me out of the blue after seven years, drunk off his arrogant arse, apparently gay, and needs me to pick him up. And now he’s sorry for being a dick to me through our entire time in school? That’s nice. Few years too late if you ask me, but better late than never I suppose.

I look down at all my notes, the ones I have to finish in a few weeks before the new school year. If I were a worse person, I would forget about Baz, finish my lessons, and just go to bed. He’s my former bully, I shouldn’t care. But when I think about Baz, drunk, bleeding, sitting there alone at a bar waiting for me but I never show up, my stomach plummets to the centre of the Earth.

Godammit.

I march towards the door, grab my keys, and set out to fulfill a bad idea.

Turns out this bar is right in the middle of bloody Shoreditch. Which means at this time of night (or morning), there’s lots of closing nightclubs and stumbling drunk people being sick on the sidewalk. Glad I didn’t take the tube.

XOYO is a mostly nondescript red brick building with some black panelling and a neon red sign. I park as close as I can, which is not that close. The stairs up to the club are steep and leave me panting by the end. Bloody hell, I need to get back to the gym. Chasing ten years old is not enough exercise apparently. The bar is one of those hipster places with wooden tables and old Victorian chairs and candles. There’s a few people passed out on tables, snoring with their beer glasses.

“Simon!” a familiar voice shouts from the bar. “Simon, over here!”

I turn to my left too look at the bar, and...wow. After seven years, Baz looks so different, yet so the same. Same sharp cheekbones, same long-ish raven hair, same deep sea grey eyes. He’s broader though, shoulders filling out his blood stained grey dress shirt. Far less gaunt and gangly and vampiric looking than he was in school. The shirt has the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. Weird. Baz always had his uniform buttoned to collar in school. Then I have to do a double take, because...Baz Pitch is wearing jeans? They’re dark and expensive looking, hugging his legs, which still have a footballer’s strong muscles. He has a big, dopey, drunk grin, which is offset by the small black eye and blood trickling from his nose. It’s unfortunate this is the first time I’ve ever seen him smile.

I walk towards him, hands in my pockets, shoulders nervously hunched in. Why is my heart beating so fast? Bloody hell, calm down, Simon, it’s just Baz. You know him, probably better than most people. He’s an arsehole, not evil. And we haven’t had a physical fight since we were thirteen. Plus it’s been seven years, we’re adults now. He won’t bite. Hopefully.

“Hi Baz,” I say, trying to hide my nerves. “Uh, nice to see you.”

Baz squints at me, and a pang of panic shoots through me. Is there something wrong with my face? Bloody hell, what a cruel twist of fate it would be, to see my childhood enemy after years and have pizza sauce on my cheek.

“Um, Baz, you there?” I weakly wave a hand in front of him.

“Since when do you wear spectacles?” he asks, still slurring his words.

I instinctively touch my wireframe glasses, immediately self conscious. “Oh. Since first year uni. Turns out one of the reasons school Watford so hard for me was that I couldn’t read the board a lot.”

I chuckle awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. I expect Baz to laugh or mock me like he used to. But instead he grins again, leaning his cheek on his bruised hand. “They look good.”

Why are my cheeks heating up? Must be bad air conditioning. “Um, thanks, Baz.”

He keeps grinning, showing off his sharp bright white teeth. (There’s a good reason I thought he was a vampire.) “Welcome.”

It goes silent again, with me standing awkwardly and Baz grinning. Christ, this is so weird. I assumed I’d never see Baz ever again, let alone drunk and bloodied in designer jeans. I have less of an idea what to do than usual.

“Ugh, finally!” a woman’s voice says to the side. I whip my head around to see who must obviously be the bartender. She’s got a deep scowl on her face and hands on her hips. “You’re Simon Snow?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” I reply.

“Good. Please take this arsehole off my hands.”

Baz blows a raspberry at her like a toddler. Bloody hell, he is a weird drunk. The bartender glares and flips him off.

“I’ll get him out of here,” I say.

“Thank you.” She digs under the bar and takes out a sleek black iPhone. “Here’s his phone. Took it from him after he almost dropped it in a beer glass.”

“Alright.” My brow furrows in confusion. “Do you have Baz’s keys? Or does he still have them?”

“He never had them. Searched all his pockets, nothing there.”

“Worst feel up ever,” Baz grumbles.

I rub my aching temple. “Baz, did you really forget your keys?”

He frowns and scratches his head with a bloodied hand. “Hm, yes, I think I did. I left my flat pretty fast. Maybe the super will let me in if he’s awake.”

“Where do you live?”

His brows pull together, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. Now that is certainly an expression I remember from school. It’s his thinking face. I used to glare at him while he studied all the time. “Somewhere...posh, and silver.”

I groan and drag a hand over my face. “Alright then. Well...I guess I’ll bring you to my flat.”

Baz’s jaw drops open and he shakes his head, making his black hair fan out in a strangely majestic way. “No no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll figure it out-”

“No, Baz, you won’t, you’re too pissed to think right now. I’m taking you to my place, no questions.”

He frowns. I can’t tell if he’s sad or angry. “I don’t wanna im-”

“We lived together for years, arsehole. One more night won’t kill you. Come on, get up.”

I grab his bicep and haul him to his feet. Bloody hell, does he work out a lot or something? He’s made of fucking rock. Baz wobbles back and forth and ends up leaning on me. I struggle to keep him upright.

“Baz,” I grumble, “you’re too heavy, I can’t hold you up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He sort of heaves himself upwards, still wobbling on his feet, but at least he’s standing. That’s something I guess.

“You good?”

Baz sticks out his arms like he’s on a tightrope. “Yeah, I’m alright. Mostly.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.” I look over at the still very annoyed bartender. “Uh, thanks for taking care of him.”

“If you’re really thankful,” she spits, “make sure he doesn’t come back.”

She marches off into the back. Baz flips her off before I quickly pull down his hand. “Enough,” I grumble. “Let’s get you out of here before she smacks you.”

“Kinky,” he chuckles. God, drunk Baz is fucking weird.

Getting down the stairs takes far longer than it should. Baz has to watch his every step so he doesn’t go tumbling down. He’s like a shaky newborn fawn. It would be cute if it weren't so frustrating. Finally, we get to the bottom and I lead Baz by the sleeve towards my car. He laughs loudly when we reach it. I immediately scowl and whip around to face him.

“What?!” I snap, assuming he’s making fun of my old beat up beetle. But instead he has his head tilted upwards, laughing at the sky. Neon club signs and yellow street lights light up his smiling face. He’s like a rainbow constellation, colour reaching every crevice. Huh. Baz has always been pretty, but has he always been this pretty?

“Lights in the sky,” he laughs. “Pretty.”

I groan and tug him hard. “Come on, you drunk prat, hurry up.”

Baz stumbles along reluctantly. I shove into the passenger seat and buckle him up like he’s a bloody eight year old, then take my place in the driver’s seat. Baz is slumping, the seat belt digging into his cheek. If we crash his pretty face is going to get cut open. I debate telling him, but Baz rarely ever listens to me, and I doubt that has changed much.

I turn the engine over. Baz lets out a whoop so loud I jolt. “Allons-y,” he shouts like some deranged adventurer.

“Silence, s’il vous plait,” I reply as I turn on to the road.

“Oo, you speak French now, Snow?”

“Yes. I lived in France for a year, I learned pretty well.”

“Very nice.” For a moment I think he’s mocking me, but his smile is completely genuine, if not a bit drunken. Is it weird that I like drunk adult Baz better than sober teen Baz?

I drive through Shoreditch slowly, making sure not to hit any wayward club leavers. Baz grumbles about the slowness, but I tell him to shut up or I’ll drive us into a pole. That makes him quiet for a little while, thank god. When we hit the main drag, he decides to pipe up again.

“So what have you been up to, Snow?” he asks.

My eyes briefly flick over to him, catching his grin and glazed eyes. I scoff and look back at the road. “Really? We’re going to chit chat about life after Watford?”

“You just want us to sit in silence the whole time?”

“Maybe.”

“Boring,” he groans. “Come on, Snow, it’s been a while. Let’s catch up.”

I chuckle low in my throat. “Yes, I would love to catch up with my plastered childhood bully.”

Baz lets out a pathetic sort of whining sigh. Suddenly, something brushes my shoulder. I jolt away and briefly look over, realising it’s Baz’s hand. He’s pouting in the way his mouth is perfectly made for.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “About all the shit I did. I was a messed up prick at Watford. I’m really sorry I took that all out on you.”

I raise an extremely suspicious eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?!”

“It’s been seven years, Snow. Am I not allowed to learn from my mistakes?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, of course. I just didn’t expect it from you...”

“I’m a changed man, Snow,” he declares proudly. “No more picking on other people to avoid dealing with my emotional and family problems.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Wow, you sound like a therapist.”

“That’s because I am a therapist.”

We stop at a red light, giving me a chance to whip my head around in shock. My jaw is firmly on the ground. “You’re a therapist?!”

“Sort of.” Baz grins pointed ear to pointed ear. He offers his hand, though it’s a bit limp. “Dr. Basilton Grimm-Pitch, psychiatrist in training at University College Hospital. Pleasure to meet you.”

I can’t take my hands off the wheel, so I don’t take his, but I smile instead. Baz chuckles as his hand falls, so I think he gets the picture.

“Wow,” I sigh. “You, a psychiatrist. I never would have thought.”

“Me neither, until I took a psychology course in year 10. Then I decided I liked, y’know, mind stuff and shit. It was interesting and challenging. And I could help people with it.”

I scoff, but with a smile. “And you used to call me the overly noble hero.”

“Well, I decided to follow in your golden footsteps, golden boy.” He turns towards me, cheeks squished against the seat. He’s really going to die if we crash. “So really, what have you been up to since Watford, Mr. Hero? Storming castles? Saving damsels in distress? Travelling the world?”

That makes me laugh louder. “You have a way overinflated sense of my heroism.”

He snorts, but it’s not unkind like it used to be. Just sort of amused. “Alright. Then what do you do?”

“I’m, uh, actually a primary teacher. Year six, to be exact.”

“Oh,” Baz breathes out, sounding genuinely amazed. “That’s cool. That makes sense, yeah.”

“Makes sense?”

“You were always helping out the kids in younger years at Watford.”

I chuckle and shrug. “Yeah, guess you’ve got a point.”

“Is it fun? Teaching children?”

“Yeah. I like finding fun ways to teach them stuff. Though it’s not great they get in fights or stuck lego bricks up their noses.”

Baz lets out a barking laugh. It’s a fun, sudden sound. I’ve never heard it before, yet it works well for Baz. “Is that what people mean by ‘the joys of children?’”

“Something like that. Is psychiatry fun?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “But time consuming. Doctors aren’t supposed to have damn lives apparently.”

“Well, good thing you found time to go to a hipster bar”

Everything suddenly gets very, very quiet. It reminds me of when we would study. Backs to each other, no noise, plenty of tension. Did I say something wrong? I used to do that a lot, but I thought I’d gotten better. I’ve learned to chew my words better over the years. But when we stop at a roundabout, I turn to see that Baz is gazing ahead, mouth a thin line and grey eyes lost in the distance.

“Pretty lights,” he whispers in awe, like a child. I guess alcohol does turn adults into children. His nose is still letting out a small trickle of dark red blood. I sigh and shake my head.

“Glove box,” I say.

Baz turns his head to me. “Huh?”

“There’s tissues in the glove box. Your nose is still bleeding a bit.”

“Oh.” He paws at the latch in front of him, floppy drunk fingers struggling to just bloody lift it. I sigh and reach over, lifting it for him. Baz takes out the little packet and flashes me that dopey smile. Why does my chest feel funny? I must be overtired.

“Thanks,” he says, then presses the tissue to his nose. It’s weirdly comforting in its familiarity. I still remember sitting in the headmaster’s office after our fights, covered in bruises and blood, glaring at each other. This is better though. We’re not fighting, in fact we’re being nice. Maybe this is how we could’ve been at Watford. Maybe we could’ve been...friends.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride. But it’s a comfortable silence, no tension. I like it. A lot. I like all of this better than fighting.

———————————————

I pull into my spot in front of my apartment. Dragging Baz out of the car is a bit of a problem, but luckily my place has a lift, so no more stair problems. He starts leaning on me as we go up to my floor. I use one finger to push him back, and he slumps against the wall. I need to strap him to a dolly.

We go into my apartment, and I instinctively prepare for a snide comment from Baz. Something about it’s size, it’s clutter, the decor. But he says nothing derogatory. In fact, he smiles, brushing his hand against my Van Gogh print and old dining room table.

“You, uh, like it?” I ask. Wait, why does it matter what Baz thinks of my place? I don’t need his approval.

“Yeah,” Baz replies. “It’s very nice.”

There’s a thump from my room, followed by the familiar pitter-patter of tiny paws. Cherry prances into the room, all fluffy tailed and cute. She blinks up at Baz with big green eyes. Baz makes a tiny gasp and gets on his knees, holding his hand out to Cherry.

“Hello, pretty kitty,” he says softly. “Aren’t you an adorable little thing.”

Cherry sniffs his fingers, then immediately nuzzles against his hand. Baz looks absolutely elated, a big childish grin on his face.

“You like cats, huh?”

Baz nods vigorously. “I would have one if my building allowed pets.” He scratches behind Charry’s ear with glee. “What’s this little one’s name?”

“Her name is Cherry.”

“You did love those scones,” he chuckles.

I chuckle as well, fiddling with my shirt sleeve. “Still do. Though none are as good as Cook Pritchard’s.”

“Very true.” He stands up, pulling away from Cherry, and wobbles his way into the sitting room. He stands between my coffee table and ratty old couch. “So may I sleep on that couch?”

I scramble in after him and start piling up my curriculum papers. I don’t want Baz shouting at me for the mess. “Uh, yeah, just lemme fix it up a bit.”

“It’s alright-”

“No, I’ll fix it. And...maybe you should clean up a bit first?”

Baz turns to me with a confused expression. “What?” I sigh and point at is blood spattered shirt. He pulls it in front of himself, like a child who’s spilled food. “Oh, right.”

“There’s stuff on you face too...”

Baz drags a long finger over his cheek, and rubs the dried blood between his fingers. “Good  point.

“You wanna take a shower maybe?”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Uh, yeah. But be warned, I don’t have any of your fancy French soaps.”

He lets out a loud short laugh, like a happy little firecracker going off. “Wouldn’t expect you to, Snow. I doubt you’ve changed that much.”

“Heh, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, which is getting very hot for some reason. I think I need to fix my fan.

Baz wobbles back towards me. He stands a bit too close, and now that things are calm, I notice how he smells. It’s a mix of liquor, irony blood, and the very faint, familiar scent of cedar and bergamot. Seven years later and I can’t forget that smell. I guess it’s burned into my brain forever. I’m not sure that I mind.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asks, snapping me out of my olfactory induced daze.

“Oh, uh, down the hall and to your left. There’s towels in the cupboard.”

“Alright.” He sticks his hands in his trouser pockets, a very shy gesture I’m not used to seeing from him. “Thank you. Again. I’m saying that a lot tonight, wow.”

I chuckle and shrug. “I guess so. Now go wash off that awful blood please.”

“Aye aye, Mr.Snow.” He does a mocking little American salute with two fingers. I watch as he half skips his way to the bathroom, trying not to giggle at his ridiculous gait.

The bathroom door shuts, and I let out a long breath. My brain is still playing catch up. I need to sit, relax, just process all this shit. Once I organize my papers into semi-neat piles and close my laptop, I grab a cherry granola bar from the counter and collapse on the couch. I hear the shower turn on. I glance over at the clock. Bloody hell, it’s past 3am, and my enemy is taking a shower in my flat. Well, former enemy, I guess. We’re not fighting anymore. In fact, Baz is being really nice. It’s pretty damn great. I hope we can keep this up.

Cherry jumps onto the couch, startling me from my daze. She immediately curls up on my lap, purring happily. I chuckle as I pet her. Penny jokes that Cherry is my emotional support service cat. Honestly, she’s not wrong. I don’t know what I would do without her.

“Wanna watch Dr. Who, darling?” I coo, scratching behind her ear. “Yes, yes you do.”

I grab the remote and turn on Netflix, going to one of my favourite episodes. We sit there in peaceful silence through the show. I try not to listen to the shower down the hall. I can’t help but worry. What if he slips and hits his head? What if he falls asleep and drowns? What if he tries to eat the bloody soap? All are strong possibilities. But he’s still Baz. He’s too smart and stubborn to die.

As I near the end of the episode, I realise it’s been half an hour since Baz went in. My heart beats double time, every fear racing through my head. (As well as concern for my water bill.) But the sound of water shuts off, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I hear Baz’s unsteady feet pad around the tiled floor. But then there’s rattling and muffled swearing, and I’m on my feet immediately. Cherry meows unhappily and scuttles away.

“Sorry, girl,” I say as I speed walk to the bathroom. I knock on the wooden door. “Baz? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” his muffled voice replies, but that’s followed by a loud bang. “Bloody fucking hell.”

“I’m coming in.”

“Snow, wait-”

I push the door open and immediately freeze. All the blood in my body goes straight to my face, turning it tomato red. Because Baz Pitch is standing in front of my medicine cabinet with nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair is soaked and messy, falling adorably in front his shocked face. His legs look strong enough to crush someone. Thin rivulets of water drip down his broad, bare chest. I watch them for a few long, drawn out seconds, completely frozen. In our time living together, Baz and I made a point to never see each other without clothes on. Did he even look close to this back at school? Did I just never notice?

“Um...” Baz says, breaking me out of my daze. I whip around, hand cupped over my eyes.

“Bloody hell, Baz!” I shout. “Give a guy some warning.”

“I would have if you hadn’t come bursting in!”

“Well, you took awhile in the shower, then I heard swearing. Excuse me for being concerned.”

“I’m grateful for your concern, Mr. Hero, though not for your usual brashness.”

“Just put some clothes on, please.”

“Very well.”

I listen to Baz shuffle and grumble as I assume he gets dressed. I resist the urge to turn around and check if he can get his legs into his trousers. I’m not sure how drunk he still is.

“You can turn around now, Snow.”

I slowly turn, and my face turns scarlet again. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

“Because mine is covered in blood,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which I guess it is, but still he’s not wearing a shirt. Why are my hands so clammy?

Baz starts sorting through the medicine cabinet. I frown in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for bandages.” He lifts his left hand, showing off his bruised, still slightly bleeding knuckles. “You got any?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll get it, sit down on the toilet.”

Baz stumbles over and does what he’s told (for once). I grab the first aid kit from under the sink and sit next to him on the edge of the tub.

“Gimme your hand,” I say. Baz holds out his arm, fingers limp. I try not to look freaked out. His skin is black and blue and there are many cuts, still bleeding slowly. “Why are you still bleeding? It’s been like, an hour.”

“My blood alcohol content is high,” Baz replies. “Booze is a blood thinner. Means I’ll bleed more.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Thanks, Mr. Doctor.”

Baz chuckles, a soft smile playing on his mouth. “Dr. Grimm-Pitch will do.”

I laugh as well. I take a towel off the rack and pat his hand dry, then get the antiseptic.

“I just had a shower,” Baz protests.

“Don’t care. We need to make sure you don’t get an infection.”

“I’m fine.”

I pour the clear liquid on a sterile pad. “Still doing it.”

“I’m the doctor here, dammit.”

“The doctor who is still drunk off his arse after a bloody bar fight. So shut up.”

Baz frowns, but doesn’t protest. I lightly pat his cuts. He inhales sharply through his teeth and tries to pull away, but I grab his wrist, holding still.

“Don’t move,” I say.

“It hurts,” he whines like a toddler.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s what you get for getting in a bar fight, idiot.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t move again either. Once I’m satisfied all the cuts are clean, I use another pad to get them dry, then take out the bandages.

“You get injured a lot, Snow?” He’s smirking playfully, not a hint of malice. It’s much nicer than his smug arsehole face.

“No,” I chuckle. “But it never hurts to be prepared.”

“Especially if your former enemy shows up drunk and bleeding.”

Thoughts start racing through my head. Horrible, nervous thoughts. I stop wrapping his hand for a moment, but quickly start again. Unfortunately, Baz notices.

“Something on your mind, Snow?” he asks.

I chew on my bottom lip as I secure the bandage. I gesture for Baz to give me his other hand, and he does. I slowly pat on the antiseptic and he doesn’t move at all. Slowly, I look up, and I meet Baz’s deep sea eyes. He doesn’t look mad or annoyed, just concerned. So am I.

“Baz,” I sigh, “you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And considering you’re a bloody doctor now, I doubt that’s changed. So I’m absolutely astounded at how you could get so drunk and end up in a bar fight.”

Baz’s thin lips press together, and I watch his throat bob in a gulp. He leans his elbow on the sink, propping his cheek on his fist. “Snow,” he says slowly, “what do you know about my mother?”

My blood turns ice cold. I stop with the bandage completely, just looking at Baz. “Uh, not much. I know she died a long time ago. And...it was at Watford...”

Baz nods slowly. “Yes, that’s what everyone knows. But what most people don’t know is that I was there.”

And now my heart completely stops. My mouth falls open slightly. Baz’s face stays completely neutral. “You...you were there?”

“Yeah.” He leans harder on his fist. “I was sitting with the rest of the kids in the Watford nursery. Suddenly a group of men with knives burst in. They started to come after the nannies and the children. But that’s when my mother showed up with her hunting rifle. My father insisted she have it for protection when he wasn’t there. She got all of the men immediately, including the one holding me. She hit him in the shoulder so he dropped me. Another man charged her while she was distracted, and she shot him in the chest, but not before...” Baz rubs his eyes and the bridge of his nose, like I do when I have a headache. “Not before he stabbed her in the neck. She bled to death in seconds.” He drags his hand down his face. “I fell unconscious after that. When I woke up, my father and aunt were tending to my wounds, and my mother was gone. I was young, it’s all a bit hazy, but I remember enough.”

I’m left in stunned silence. Baz doesn’t say anything either, just rubbing his head. He’s not crying, but he looks on the verge of tears. I don’t blame him. I can’t believe it, can’t believe Baz went through that and no one ever knew. It’s just terrible.

“Wow,” I finally say, “that’s...wow.”

Baz chuckles quietly. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“I never knew that happened...”

“No one did, Snow. All the gruesome little details were kept under wraps. It would’ve been terrible if anyone found out Natasha Grimm-Pitch died in such an undignified way that traumatized her heir.”

His voice is mockingly scathing, even with his slightly slurred speech. He’s a mix between furious and mournful. I don’t understand how he feels, but I don’t think I ever could. I may never have had parents, but that’s a far cry from watching your’s die.

“I don’t know how much it means, but I’m sorry that happened to you Baz.”

The corner of his lip quirks up into a small half smile. “Thanks, Snow.”

I start wrapping his hand again, and my brow furrows. “So, uh, what does this have to do with you getting drunk and fighting? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Baz takes a deep inhale through his nose, and lets out the air through his mouth. “My mother was killed twenty years ago today.”

“O-oh. That...yeah, that makes sense.”

“Mhm. I’ve lived with it for most of my life, but this anniversary hit me harder than I expected. I had my first day off in months, so after some mindless telly, I went to that bar. Gave the bartender my card and told her to keep the tequila coming. First mistake.”

“Second one was getting in a fight?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He flexes his bandaged hand. “It was just some arsehole looking for trouble. He kept prodding at me and shoving my shoulder until I snapped. I don’t even remember what he said. I was just so angry and sad and drunk. And that arsehole was right there” He groans loudly and rubs his head. “One of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.”

“Probably. But you made one good choice.”

“Oh?”

I finish bandaging his other hand and smile at his mopey face. “You called me.”

His mopeyness melts away as he lets out a breathy laugh. Our eyes meet, and his are glinting in a way I’ve never seen before. “Yeah, I guess that was a good idea.”

We smile at each other. Something tugs in my chest, something I don’t fully understand. I’ve never felt anything like this. Maybe I’m just overtired.

Baz flexes his bandaged hands. I put the first aid kit under the sink again. Baz stands and presses a hand to his bruised eye. hissing between his teeth. “Got any ice packs, Snow?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” I reply. “It’s in the kitchen, c’mon.”

We walk towards the kitchen. I open the freezer and pull out my reusable ice pack. Teaching a bunch of children can result in some bad headaches. I wrap it in a napkin and hand it to Baz. He presses it to his eye with clenched teeth. As he leans back against the counter, I remember he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Uh,” I say, “those jeans don’t look comfortable. I’ve got some spare pyjamas. Want me to get them?”

Baz nods. “Yeah, that would be good, thanks.”

“Alright, stay here.”

I go to my bedroom, wading through the laundry I have to do tomorrow to get to the dresser. It takes awhile for me to find something that will probably fit Baz. Damn his extra four inches, always so infuriating. I eventually pick out some trackies and a long Chicago Cubs shirt. It’s all I’ve got. I go back to the kitchen, and come upon a strange scene.

“Baz,” I say slowly, “what are you doing?

Baz looks up from the messy, cutlery covered counter, still pressing the ice pack to his eye. He lifts a plate with two pieces of bread, both half covered in marmite. “Making a marmite and cheese sandwich. You want half?”

His expression is so innocent, not a hint of the old malice I used to know. I let out a sigh. “Sure. Let me get the cheese.”

He grins and goes back to slathering on marmite. I pull my sliced sandwich cheese from the fridge. Hope Baz doesn’t mind cheap Tesco brand swiss. I bring the package to the counter, and Baz takes out a slice without even looking. Guess he’s not as snobbish about food as he used to be. He cuts the sandwich into two slightly lopsided triangles and swans out to my dining room. I follow behind with the pyjamas.

Baz sits in a chair, leaning back with his legs spread out. I sit across from him, placing the clothes on the table. Baz snatches it. It unfolds and his brows pull together.

“You a baseball fan now, Snow?” he asks.

I chuckle and shake my head. “Nah. Micah definitely is though.”

“Who?”

“Remember that American exchange student from fourth year?”

“The short nerd with large glasses?” His voice is muffled as he struggles to put on the shirt. Drunk Baz doesn’t get along with t-shirt holes.

“Yeah, that’s one way to describe him I guess. He and Penny started dating then and have been together ever since. She lives in America with him now.”

Baz’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s wonderful. How is Bunce? I miss facing off with her in debate club.”

“She’s doing well. She’s got a job as an assistant professor in Chicago and loves American food. I just saw her a few weeks ago on vacation.”

“Marvelous. Tell her I say hello next time you speak to her.”

“Will do.” We both take one half of the marmite-cheese sandwich. Baz takes a huge bite, followed by a happy groan. I can’t tell if he’s drunk hungry or actually hungry. Probably somewhere in between. I take a bite as well. There’s far too much marmite, but it’s four in the morning. Right now anything tastes good.

Thinking of Penny makes me think of Watford. And something else, or more accurately someone else, pops into my head.

“Hey,” I say through the marmite, “you said you talked to Agatha earlier. How are you two still in contact? She cut off almost everyone after Watford. I didn’t start talking to her again until a year ago.”

Baz quickly chews and swallows. “Funny story there. I did a semester abroad in California and ended up in the same biology class as Agatha. It was extremely awkward at first. But once we sat down over coffee and sorted stuff out, we bonded very quickly. Similar upper class British family problems and expectations.”

“Oh. That’s makes sense I guess. It’s nice you guys talk.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.” He chuckles, mouth gummed with marmite. “The weirdest part was telling her I’m gay. I apologised for leading her on, and you know what she did?”

I lean over the table, genuinely enraptured. “What?”

“Laughed her fucking arse off for ten minutes straight.”

I snort so hard I nearly shoot sandwich out my nose. Baz throws his head back laughing. He’s so loud he might disturb my neighbours, but I don’t care. His laugh is too incredible.

“Just like that,” he giggles, calming down.

“So she wasn’t mad?” I ask.

“No, not at all. She admitted she wasn’t really into me. She was just rebelling against her parents. We both sympathised on that front.” He sighs and leans back even more. “That’s all I wanted at Watford, really. I was under so much pressure to be the perfect son. I seriously considered yelling ‘fuck it’ and doing whatever I wanted.”

I sigh too, putting my cheek against my palm. “Yeah, I understand that. Mr. Mage put a lot of pressure on me. He wanted to prove to the Watford board that scholarship students were worthwhile, and since I was Watford’s very first scholarship kid, I had to be perfect. Every time I got a low grade he would yell at me for an hour.”

“What a prick,” Baz grumbles.

I chuckle as I nod slowly. “Yeah, total prick. Watford wasn’t an easy place to be.”

Baz slowly lowers his sandwich, looking pointedly at the plate, and therefore not me. My heart speeds up. Did I say something wrong? Did I piss him off by accident? I do that a lot. And I definitely used to do that to Baz.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I don’t mean to pry,” he says carefully. “And maybe this is me still being pretty drunk. But...I saw something in your medicine cabinet.”

I squint, trying to think what could be so concerning. “Saw what?”

He fiddles with his still damp hair. It’s an old nervous habit I recognise from finals studying. “A bottle of citalopram. I’m a future psychiatrist, I know what that medication is usually for...”

My stomach drops out. I freeze with the sandwich still in my hand. “Oh,” I squeak.

“Yeah.” He leans closer, eyes round and sympathetic. “I’m sorry I looked. And...I’m sorry if I had any part in your need for it-”

“No no, Baz.” I shake my head, leaning forward as well. “You don’t have to. It’s not your fault, it’s not anyone’s in particular, really. It’s stupid chemicals misfiring in my brain. You’re a doctor, you know that.”

“Yes, of course I know that, Snow. But I also know my incessant arsehole behaviour for seven years probably didn’t help.”

I shrug, leaning back again. “Probably. And I bet me insulting you and punching you in the face all the time didn’t help your mental health either.”

He smiles and laughs again. He looks better when he laughs. “Okay, good point.”

“Exactly. So let’s agree neither of us need to apologise. We’ll let the past be the past, move on from here.”

“So you mean a truce?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I reach out my hand. “Truce.”

Baz smiles and clasps his hand with mine. His skin is just as rough and cold as I remember it being back at school. But even after we pull apart, my skin still feels warm.

“Just so we’re even,” Baz says with his mouthful, “my favourite antidepressant was cipralex. I went off it a few months ago because it started making me too drowsy, but it worked well for years. Citalopram made me far too ill. When I first tried it, I ended up vomiting in a bloody bedpan.”

I burst out laughing. And Baz’s grin outshines the sun.

We finish our sandwiches together. Baz complains that his mouth tastes like a rubbage heap. Apparently the combination of old tequila, Tesco cheese, and marmite creates a truly awful flavour. I give him an unused toothbrush from the dentist. He goes into the bathroom and soon emerges with clean teeth and wearing my trackies. I’m back on the couch with Cherry in my lap.

“You tired?” I ask.

“Not really,” Baz replies. “Late hospital shifts have turned me into an insomniac.”

“Wanna watch some Dr. Who?”

He throws himself down next to me, long arm stretched out over the back of the couch behind me. “Sure.”

I switch to a new episode. It’s a standalone, so Baz won’t be too confused. But he still asks incessant questions. Who’s this, what’s that, how the everloving fuck can they do that and survive? No wonder he’s a doctor. He’s perfect at looking for answers, no matter how annoying he is. Eventually I have to threaten to duct tape his mouth to get him to shut up. He huffs, crosses his arms, and sinks down further.. His head ends up on my shoulder. Despite my shorter neck length and Baz’s naturally long face, his head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck. Like it was made to be there. Wait, where did that thought come from?

The credits roll, and I notice a quiet whistling noise. I turn my head to the side. Oh. Baz is asleep. His eyes are softly closed and his lips are slightly parted. I’ve seen Baz sleep before of course, but this is different. Baz had nightmares throughout our entire time at Watford. (So did I.) I don’t think he’s having one now though. There’s no thrashing or whimpers. I’ve never seen Baz look so...peaceful.

“Baz,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond at all. “Baz,” I say louder, jerking my shoulder a bit.

“Ugh,” he groans, “let me sleep in, Daphne, it’s summer.”

“I’m not your step-mum, Baz.”

He cracks one eye open. “No, you’re really not, Snow.”

“Yeah. You wanna go to bed?”

“Mm, yeah.”

“Okay.” I slowly get up, easing Baz off my shoulder. I gently lower him onto the couch. The bottom half of his face hangs off the arm. Yeah, he’s going to need a pillow. I go to my bedroom and grab a pillow and blanket. I also make a stop by the bathroom for some aspirin and make another at the kitchen for some water and a bowl, in case he’s sick. I would prefer not to clean vomit out of my carpet.

Baz is still awkwardly pressed against the sofa arm, drooling slightly. Who would’ve thought I’d see the day Baz Pitch drooled in his sleep? I wouldn’t have. Not in a million years. But apparently tonight is a time for new things.

I place the bowl, water, and aspirin on my coffee table. Slowly and carefully, I lift Baz’s head and fit a pillow under it. I drape the blanket over his annoyingly tall body. His arm hangs like a limp noodle off the side. I sigh, kneeling down to tuck it back in.

Out of nowhere, I feel long, rough fingers touching my cheek. My whole body locks up in shock. Slowly, I raise my head, and I meet Baz’s half open grey eyes and soft smile.

“Uh, Baz?” I say, not sure what else I can.

“You’re still so beautiful,” he whispers. My eyes widen and every nerve in my body is filled with...something? Fear, nerves, an absolute sense of what the fuck? I can’t tell.

“W-What?”

Baz’s hand moves lower. His thumb traces just under my bottom lip. Why does my skin feels like it’s fire? “Your face, it’s still really pretty.”

I let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, I guess you’d know. You punched it enough.”

He laughs softly. His hand falls, pulling back under the blanket, and his eyes slip shut. “Wish I had kissed it instead.”

I don’t even have time to respond to that, because Baz is asleep in an instant, snoring quietly once again. I’m frozen in place. My jaw is slack. Baz would tell me I’m going to catch flies. Baz, who’s sleeping right in front of me, who wished he had kissed me? My brain can’t process this. I’m like a computer with an eternal blue screen. This does not compute, cannot compute, fuck fuck fuck.

There’s only one thing I can think to do.

I grab my phone, rush to my room, and close the door. Cherry is already curled up on her side. The second I’m sitting on the mattress, I click Penny’s contact.

“Hello?” Her voice immediately calms me down.

“Hi, Pen,” I say.

“Simon?! Bloody hell, isn’t it like four in the morning in London?”

I look over at my clock. “Uh, yup, just about.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but why are calling me at four AM?”

I sigh and flop backwards. “Pen, you’re not going to believe who is sleeping in my living room right now.”

“Who? The Doctor? Boris Johnson? The Queen of England>

A laugh bubbles from my mouth. “Nah, even weirder.”

I can almost hear Penny’s face pinching together in confusion. “Who?”

“Baz Pitch.”

She gasps loudly. “What?! As in Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch? That Baz Pitch?!”

“You think there’s another Baz Pitch in existence?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “good point. So why is your arsehole former roommate sleeping on your couch?”

I rub the bridge of my nose. It doesn’t help. I’m not sure anything can help now. “That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

I sigh, and start spinning my insane tale. From the call to the bar to my flat, how Baz and I talked and became friendly and made a weird truce over cheese and marmite. I try to say everything quickly yet accurately. Penny barely makes a noise as I talk. I can’t tell if she’s shocked or contemplative. Probably both, honestly. I can’t blame her. The more I talk, the more completely nuts it all sounds. I’m living in a bloody sitcom.

“And then,” I say, “he held my face, said I was beautiful, and that he wished he had kissed me instead of punching me!”

“Wow,” Penny gasps. “That’s...a lot.”

“I know right? I’m so confused and I have no idea what the fuck to do!”

“Okay. What do you want to do though?”

I rub my very aching brow. “I don’t know, Pen. It’s so weird. Like, is this something he’s just realised or has Baz always felt this way?”

“Probably the second one.”

I bolt upright, brows knitted together. “Wait, really? You think so?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“But why?!”

“Well, Baz has always been very obsessed with you. He would go out of his way to be around you.”

“Yeah, to torment me,” I grumble.

Penny lets out a sigh. “Yes, he did. But as you told me, Baz said he picked on you because he couldn’t deal with his emotional issues. One of those issues certainly could have been romantic feelings for you.”

“Then why didn’t he just say something?!”

“Because he was the gay son of a conservative upper class British family, which probably wasn’t easy to deal with. Plus, his father and aunt hated the idea of scholarship students, also known as you.”

My righteous anger fizzles out like a dying campfire, shoulders slumping as I fall back against the headboard. “Oh. Yeah, that’s a good point. Still shouldn’t have been a snob and a bully.

“No he shouldn’t have. It was probably half poor coping and half trying to get your attention.”

“Like a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails?”

“I guess.”

“That’s a stupid and sexist way to handle a crush. I tell my students that all the time.”

Penny sighs. “Yeah, of course it is. But I’m pretty sure Baz knows that, at least now. He’s sorry for what he did. It seems like he’s gotten a lot better.”

“Yeah.” A smile creeps across my face without thinking. It just feels natural. “He’s gotten a lot nicer. He’s not the perfect, pretty, unfeeling arsehole I thought he was. And he’s funny, at least when he’s drunk. We had a pretty great time .”

I laugh quietly, but Penny’s is far louder. She sounds like she’s muffling her giggles. I frown a bit. “What’s so funny, Pen?”

“Oh,” she keeps giggling, “I think I’ve just realised something, and it’s hilarious.”

“Realised what?”

She takes a few deep calming breaths while my anxiety just climbs. “Simon,” she says kindly. This is the way she used to speak while explaining our complicated maths homework. “Hear me out, but I don’t think Baz is the only one who feels something.”

“Huh?”

“I think you have at least a few romantic feelings for Baz.”

“What?!” I shout far too loudly, and I worry I’m going to wake up Baz. I crouch inward, like I’m hiding, but I’m not really sure what. Baz? Penny? Myself?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I hiss.

“Hear me out,” Penny says. “I’m saying that based on the evidence, you may have latent romantic feelings for Baz Pitch.”

“What evidence?!”

Penny lets out a low chuckle, like a super villain who’s plan has come to fruition. “Let’s see. Number one: back at Watford, you spent 99% of your time thinking about, talking about, or being with Baz. I had to put a limit on how much you were allowed to talk about Baz, remember?”

“Yeah, because he was bugging me,” I mumble.

“Number two: when you talked about Baz, it was always about how annoyingly pretty, smart, and graceful he was. You hated him, yet you had so many nice things to say.”

“Well he was perfect and it was annoying!”

“Number three: During the entire time you dated Agatha, you paid far more attention to Baz than you ever did to her.”

“T-That’s not true!” Though, looking back...fucking hell, it might actually be true.

“Number four: even though you hadn’t seen him in seven years, you dropped everything at two AM to go pick up his drunk arse from a bar.”

“It was the right thing to do!”

“Number five: you just gushed about how much you like Baz now and that he’s fun to be around. And I bet you were smiling.”

“No.” I think my cheeks are turning red.

I hear some rustling, and I think Penny is leaning forward in her chair. I can almost see her kind face in front of me. “Simon, I don’t want to push anything on you, but I also want you to really think about this. I know you hate to analyse things but it’s necessary right now. Maybe it could lead to something good.”

I tug on my hair, trying to distract myself. “I don’t know about that, Pen.”

“I know. Doesn’t even have to be romantic, maybe a good friendship. You could use more friends. And I’m not saying you have to jump his bones tomorrow.”

“Penny!” Now I’m definitely blushing.

She laughs uncontrollably, snorting every once in awhile. I cover my blushing face and groan. “Oh, I’m only joking, Si,” she says. “But I’m serious, don’t shut it down. Think about it. Baz is nice now, maybe it could work.”

“Why are you so desperate to set me up with my former enemy?”

“Because you haven’t been on a date or made new friends since first year uni. And I haven’t heard you this happy about being around someone in years.”

I hate to admit it, but she’s right. I’ve had more fun with Baz in one night than I have in ages. I enjoyed talking to him. I enjoyed laughing with him. I’m glad he’s asleep in the next room, where I can make sure he’s okay.

“You may have a point,” I say.

“Of course I do.”

I roll my eyes, just like she does. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve always known you’re smarter than me.”

“Mhm. And in my smart opinion, you need to go to bed.”

“Will do.” I flop backwards. The pillow feels heavenly on my head. “Thanks, Pen. I’ll talk to you later.”

“You better. Night, Si.”

I smile, and I hope she can hear my love and gratitude over the phone. “Night, Pen.”

The phone clicks off. I let it fall to the side. I am 0.2 seconds from passing out, even with so much still on my mind. I plug in my phone and turn on my side. I pull Cherry close to me. She curls around my hand like usual. When I close my eyes, all I see is raven hair, deep sea grey eyes, and a smile I never knew was there before.

———————————————

“Bloody fucking shit!”

I wake up with a start, clutching my sheet. Late morning sunlight is bleeding through the gap in my curtains. There’s muffled banging on the other side of my door. It’s like a very clumsy little rhino is moving through my flat. But I know exactly who it is.

I grab my glasses and slowly walk down the hall, peeking around the corner. It’s weird to sneak around my own apartment. I see a familiar long, lithe back, bent over as he struggles to get his struggles to get his oxfords on. He keeps wavering side to side like a branch in the wind.

“Good morning,” I say nonchalantly.

Baz whips around so fast he nearly topples over, stumbling to the side. He looks even more disheveled than last night, hair extremely tangled from sleeping on it wet, bruise worsening under his eyes, and bloodstained shirt buttoned wrong. He looks absolutely shocked to see me, which is odd, considering this is my flat.

“Um,” he says, shakiness in my voice, “good morning, Snow.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Uh, well, yes, I suppose.”

I lean against the wall with my arms crossed. “So you were going to go and what? Leave me a thank you note like some bad teen movie?”

He probably thinks I don’t notice, but I see him crumple up and shove something in his back pocket. “No. I-I would’ve texted you my thanks.”

“Because that’s so much better.”

Baz looks down in shame, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. It’s just...I didn’t want to make things awkward after last night. I’m truly sorry for the way I acted and imposing on you.”

“It’s okay.” I walk forward, hands in my trackie pockets. “I know you were pretty drunk, but, what do you remember from last night?”

Baz looks up, but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I remember, being upset, going to the bar, getting in the fight, and the bartender screaming colourful obscenities at me.” That makes him laugh a little. It still sounds so nice. “Then I called you, you came and you had glasses. We drove to your place. I had a shower. You tended to my wounds like some war nurse.”

I giggle, nodding in complete agreement. “Yeah, I definitely did do that.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Then uh, we ate sandwiches, watched Doctor Who, and I assume I fell asleep.”

“Okay.” I draw out the last syllable on purpose, making my doubt extremely clear. “That’s most of it, but you’re missing a few key parts.”

“Am I?” He’s trying to sound confident, but I know Baz, and I can hear a waver in his voice.

I start walking closer. “Mhm. You’re missing the parts where you apologized for being a prick in school, called my flat was good, liked my cat, said you drank because it was the anniversary of your mother’s horrible death, talked about your experience with antidepressants.” I’m only a few feet away from him now, looking him right in his pretty. “And, the part where you said that you wished you had kissed me back at school instead of punching me.”

With his complexion, it’s hard to tell when Baz is blushing. But I can see it. Scarlet creeps down from his cheeks to his long neck, eyes locked on me in stun.

“Oh,” he squeaks. “I see.”

“You really don’t remember all that?”

He rubs his brow. “Well, maybe, it’s just...fuzzy.”

“But was it true? Did you like me back at Watford?”

He visibly gulps, then looks at the floor again. He looks incredibly embarrassed and ashamed. “Yes,” he says, like he has to force himself to say it. “Yes, it’s true.”

I let out a long breath, half from relief, half to calm myself down. Okay. It’s true. Baz had feelings for me. All through school, all that time, Baz was pining after me from afar. And I never knew. Not a bit. But I think that was the idea.

“Alright,” I say.

Baz lifts his eyes slightly, cocking one eyebrow. “Alright? Is that all you have to say?”

I shrug high then drop my shoulders low. “I don’t know what else to say. That’s all. It changes a lot of things I assumed in school.”

“I bloody well hope so.” His voice is lighter, trying to lift the mood, trying to make this even slightly less than horribly awkward.

“So,” I say drawing out the o, “when, uh, did it start? You feeling like...that.”

If Baz’s blush could get any worse, I think it just did. He plays with his sleeves, his buttons, his hair, obviously looking for a distraction. “I realised it when I was 15. But I think, it started almost since we met.”

That hits me hard. The first year we met, I wore ratty old clothes and was essentially nonverbal. Baz saw me like that, a dirty silent little orphan kid, and he already liked me. He didn’t show it, but only because he couldn’t. He cared about me, even then. Even when so few truly did.

“Huh,” I say stupidly. “That’s a long time.”

He lets out a scoffing chuckle. “No shit, Snow.”

“That makes me feel even more sorry for being a prick to you in school.”

Baz shakes his head very quickly. “No, no, don’t apologize. I was a prick to you first. I just...” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “In my family, I wasn’t supposed to be gay, let alone have feelings for someone they hated. I lashed out and hurt you because I was hurting. It was wrong.”

He sighs and sits down heavily on the couch. He looks so forlorn and ashamed, head hanging forward, his hair like a curtain. All the guilt seems to be pushing down on his shoulders, making him slump. Penny was right, as usual. But to hear it from Baz, to see him like this, it tugs on my heart. Like that time I caught him drunk in front of his mother’s grave when we were fifteen, or twice last night. He’s grown a lot and gotten happier, but a small part of Baz is still that sad kid, I guess.

Slowly, I walk towards him and sit down. Before I can think too much, I reach out and touch his hand. Baz’s head snaps up, completely terrified and shocked. Yet, he doesn’t pull away. One by one, I slip my fingers between his. Baz’s skin is such a strange contrast. My palm touches the smooth back of his hand, while fingers trace tiny rough ridges. It feels...really good.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “I know it’s been awhile, but what do you think about me now?”

I look him in the eye. I can see the way his lips shift, feel how his hand twitches. I wish I could hear what he’s thinking right now. He stays silent, so I decide to jump in.

“Well, let me start. I know what I think about you. I think,” I move closer, “that you’re kind, funny, smart, and still annoyingly gorgeous.” That makes his eyes widen ever so slightly. “And now I also know that you’re incredibly strong. That you struggled and mourned and came out okay. I mean, you’re a bloody doctor who’s going to help people work through their own problems. That’s amazing.”

Baz looks so shocked, probably both at my words and my coherency. I’ve gotten a lot better at speaking over the years. I’m so glad for that right now. “You really think all that, Snow?”

I smile and nod. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always found you annoyingly amazing. Now it’s just not so annoying anymore.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Is it so hard to believe?”

Baz presses his lips together for a split second. “Honestly, yes. We hated each other for years, fought like cats and dogs. I assumed I had ruined any chance of that changing.”

“Well,” I move even closer so our thighs press together, “you didn’t. Because I like this.”

“What is this?”

“This!” I gesture wildly between us. “What we’re doing right now. I like this, I like you.”

He looks so shocked, yet there’s a twinkle of happiness too. “Like me how? As...a friend?”

And he calls me oblivious. I squeeze his hand again. “That depends. I know it’s been a long time, so have your...feelings about me gone away?”

Baz stares at me, studying my face. I just watch his eyes roam over me again and again. Then he reaches forward and delicately places his hand on my cheek, just like last night. Except it feels more purposeful. And so much better.

“No,” he says quietly, “they haven’t gone away. I don’t think they ever could.”

My body feels so light and happy and indescribably full. I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone. It’s hit me so suddenly, yet it feels so right. I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.

“Okay,” I say. “I feel the same.”

Baz’s hand falls, touching my arm. He raises a perplexed eyebrow. “Okay, but since when?”

I shrug, which makes Baz roll his eyes. “I’m not sure. All I know is that I do. That’s what really matters, right?”

He sighs. His hand moves up and down my arm. I can’t tell if he’s studying me or trying to hold on. “I suppose, yes.”

“Exactly. So why don’t we give it a shot?”

“What are you saying, Snow?”

“I’m saying I want to be your boyfriend.” Baz’s lips falls open and hand slips slightly down my arm. I hold onto him tighter. “Like, fair warning, I’m not a great boyfriend. I forget things, I’m super clumsy, and I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Agatha, so my experience is limited. But I like you. And I’m not asking for something serious right now, I just want to give this a try. Do you maybe want to?”

Baz’s face is such strange, confusing mixture. His brows are tense and pulled together. They scream worry and doubt. His thin beautiful lips hang open is absolute disbelief. But his eyes, a mix of dark blue and dark green, are filled to the brim with hope.

“I’m a doctor,” he blurts out.

“Um, yeah, I know,” I reply, trying not to laugh.

He shakes his head violently. “No, you don’t understand. I’m a medical resident. I’m at the hospital almost every day. I have barely any free time, and if I do I use it to sleep. And I don’t have much experience either. I’ve had two semi serious relationships that both ended in flames. I’m terrible at everything relationship related, probably even more than you, Snow.”

Baz looks so frantic and scared, but he’s hanging on to my hand. In spite of harsh realities, he doesn’t want to let go. I think he’s expecting me to admit defeat and walk away. But what he doesn’t seem to get, is that I don’t want to let go either.

I move closer, and cup his face this time. Baz instinctively leans into it. “You called me Simon before.”

He lets out a bursting laugh, sudden and unwanted. He immediately calms down, but there’s a little smile there. “Really? That’s what you care about?”

“Yeah. Because I like hearing you say it, and I like this. So,” I squeeze his hand again, “I want to try, no matter the risks. We’ll just deal with the rest later.”

He gives me a doubtful expression. “That’s your solution? Put off thinking about the problems we may face?”

“Yup. Because I want this, you want this, and that’s all that matters.”

“I guess...”

Stupid bastard still overthinks everything. I don’t want his mind far away, I want it right here with me. I brush my thumb over the soft skin of his cheek. “Plus, I’d rather focus on other things right now.”

“Oh? What things?”

“Well, more a question.” I deliberately move my hand lower, tracing under his bottom lip. “You said you wished you had kissed me when we were in school.”

He gulps. I watch his Adam’s apple bob slowly. “Yes, I did.”

“So, do you still want to kiss me?”

His eyes flick down, just for a moment. I can feel his hot breath on my face. “Yes.”

I smile, leaning close so our noses brush. “Then do it.”

Baz doesn’t ask for anymore assurance. He just leans forward, pressing his mouth to mine. And my mind completely implodes.

His lips are colder than Agatha’s, than anyone’s really. It’s like kissing a soft autumn breeze. Just chilly enough to send shivers over your skin. Yet when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, I melt completely, leaning closer and wrapping my arms around his neck. He clutches my sides, hanging on with a death grip. Like he never wants to let me go. (I wouldn’t mind that.) It’s an awkward position, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I run my hand through his hair. It’s soft and slips through my fingers, just like I thought it would. I clench my fist and push his face into mine. I more feel him groan than hear it. He bunches my shirt in his own fists. I like him here, under my hands, not off being sad or drunk, where I know he’s okay. I’ve got you know, Baz, I’m not letting go.

From that first press of our lips, I know I want this. Baz feels perfect and wonderful. I want to kiss him forever. It’s strange, to have something you never knew you wanted before, and suddenly need to hang onto it forever.

We both pull apart at relatively the same time, flushed and out of breath. Baz’s eyes flutter open. His pupils are blown incredibly huge, and his lips are swollen and pink. I think mine are too, at least it feels like they are. I’ve never felt so elated from just one kiss. I’m sure I never will again.

“Wow,” I breathe out.

Baz lets out a breathy laugh, so quiet and sweet. “Very eloquent.”

I chuckle too, twisting a strand of his hair. “Yeah, well, that’s all I can manage right now. I think you broke my brain.”

“Don’t stroke my ego too much, Snow. I’ll get a big head.”

“You mean a bigger one?”

Baz glares, but when I flash one grin, his entire face melts. My heart melts too. It’s in a goddamn puddle on the floor forever.

Baz presses one hand to his temple, eyes squinting shut. “Bloody hell, all the drinking and excitement is too much for my head.”

“Did you take the aspirin I left?”

“Yes, but apparently that only does so much. I want coffee.”

“I’ve got some. Probably not very fancy, but it’s good enough. That alright?”

He flashes a lopsided grin. It’s incredibly sweet, making me smile in return. “That would be wonderful, Simon.”

God, I want to hear him say my name like that a thousand times.

We reluctantly untangle ourselves, but our hands stay linked. I lead Baz to my tiny dining room table. He sits on the far side, facing the open space of my kitchenette. My hand drags across his as we reluctantly let go. I walk into the room and flip on my ancient coffee machine.

“How do you take your coffee?” I say over my shoulder. “Black?”

“Actually, I like a lot of cream and sugar.”

I laugh loudly and smile at him. “Still have a sweet tooth, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Of course. I still remember how you would steal my mint aeros.”

“You have no proof of that, Snow,” he singsongs.

His voice is light and joking. I look over my shoulder, and see his soft smile. I want to see that smile all the time. I want to find out every little happy expression he has, the ones I never got to see when we were kids.

“I’ll find some,” I reply..

“It’ll take a lot of coaxing.”

I lean against the counter, looking at him. Really looking at him. Baz Pitch, the former arsehole bully, now the mostly well adjusted altruistic doctor, still someone who can occupy most of my thoughts. This is all new yet so familiar.

“Good thing we’ve got time,” I say.

Baz leans his cheek on his palm. From his calm, happy expression, I know he agrees. We’ve got time to not just catch up, but start something strange and beautiful and new.

And I’ve never been so excited in my life.

——��————————————

AN: Is this a bit unrealistic? Yes. Is this super adorable? Also yes. Hope you guys thought the same. I def enjoy writing drunk Baz and switching it up so Simon has glasses this time. And I like Simon's total obliviousness to his own feelings. He's a dumb romantic little shit lol. Thanks for reading, see y'all next time :D

PS: XOYO is a real bar. Hopefully they don't have to deal with drunk traumatized psychiatry residents too much lol.

[freddiedearfriend]

Plus One - A Night at the Fandom “Secret Santa” Gift!

This is my gift for @brianmays-badgers​ for @dtfrogertaylor​‘s A Night at the Fandom event! This story ended up quite different from what I set out to do, but I’m kind of into it. It’s less “enemies to lovers” like I intended and more “Reader is a badass who doesn’t take shit from men.” I hope you like it! 🐛💖

Plus One

Gwilym Lee x F!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Rating: Explicit

A/N: No offense to any Caitlins out there! Also, this is actually the first fic I’ve ever completed (let alone posted online) and I have no beta reader so I’d love to hear your honest opinion, criticisms and all! Like for real, I know I have a lot of room for improvement so I’d love to hear what you liked and what you think could be better. 

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It had been a while since you felt so relaxed. School was just as busy as always, but you had been feeling especially tightly wound lately, unable to shake the tension that seemed to permeate your entire being.

But now, for the first time in weeks, you felt like yourself again. Dancing always seemed to have that effect on you. Some god-awful remix of an Ariana Grande song was playing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had just enough alcohol in your system to make you feel relaxed, loose, but not out of control. You didn’t remember exactly how you had arrived at that point, but that didn’t really bother you.

You were dancing with someone, but it was dark, and everything felt a little blurry in a pleasant way, and you couldn’t see who it was. You could certainly feel him, though, your bodies pressed impossibly close together as you moved to the music. Large, strong hands held your hips, which you swayed back and forth to the beat of the song. You sensed the pulsing presence of the other clubgoers around you, but the warmth radiating from your partner overpowered the usual stuffiness of such a crowd.

You sighed, tossing your hair back and running your hands up your partner’s torso, feeling the muscles underneath his (admittedly slightly sweaty) shirt. You brushed his chest with your fingers before sliding your hands up to grasp his shoulders.

Your partner leant down, whispering in your ear. His hot breath, smelling slightly of beer, made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It was oddly pleasant.

“This isn’t real.”

You looked up, slightly confused. All of a sudden, the club’s strobe lighting was too bright and disorienting, and you became acutely aware of the blood pulsing throughout your body. You still couldn’t see your partner’s face.

“What?” you shouted over the music, your own voice echoing loudly in your ears.

Your partner gave a throaty chuckle, and you slowed your dancing a bit, feeling as if you had just realized something important. You couldn’t conclude what it was, though; the alcohol was causing your brain to lag and keeping you from finishing the thought.

This time you saw as the shadowy figure of your partner, who stood well over a foot taller than you, hunched over considerably to speak to you again.

“You really think this would ever happen? Can’t you see who I am?”

You suddenly felt too sweaty, standing still in the middle of the dance floor as you tried to focus on the man’s face. Your eyes worked to adjust to the dimness being constantly punctuated by obnoxiously bright flashes of light, and eventually you were able to make contact with a pair of bright blue eyes staring down at you.

“There she is. Hello, Y/N.”

You startled awake, frantically fishing around in the sheets for your buzzing phone. You found it and snoozed the alarm, grimacing at the bright screen and the ungodly hour it displayed. “Fucking hell,” you groaned, turning over and pulling the covers over your head. You cursed your past self for thinking early-morning training for basketball would be good idea, a way to get more involved at school. Now that the time had come, you decided you really couldn’t care less about team building.

When your alarm went off for the second time a few minutes later, you took a resigned breath and dragged yourself out of bed.

This wasn’t the first time you had dreamt about Gwilym Lee. In fact, the dreams had been increasing in frequency lately, making you more and more irritated and tense as the weeks went on. As if you needed any more reason to hate him. He had ruined your life.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Your life was still going on relatively smoothly in most respects. But for the last few weeks you really had felt quite on edge, and Gwil was to blame.

It all sounded rather cliché when you thought about it. He was the freakishly beautiful British cousin of one of your classmates, visiting America for an acting apprenticeship and breaking the hearts of nearly everyone he encountered in his tragically short time there. Of course, he just had to get all chummy with your friend Joe, meaning you had to be around his pretentious ass constantly. (You were not going to let the presence of this interloper stop you from hanging out with one of your best friends.) And, the cherry on top of this disgusting shepherd’s pie, it was rumored that he was hooking up with Caitlin, a former friend of yours with whom you weren’t on the best of terms. None of this was helped by the fact that you weren’t exactly known for keeping your feelings to yourself, so everyone involved was aware of your varying levels of annoyance with both parties. The entire situation seemed like it could have been the plot of a bad romantic drama or young adult novel.

You just wished all of this could have waited until afteryour birthday. Nineteen isn’t usually one of the big birthday milestones, but you had been deathly ill last year on your eighteenth and had been planning to make up for it this year—and make up for it big time.

With the help of your parents and a distant yet generous great-aunt, you were able to rent out a barcade downtown for the evening. The place was a bar and was meant for adults, but also had laser tag, a bouncy obstacle course, and a wide variety of arcade games. When open to the public it was twenty-one and up, but they allowed minors at reserved events. You had sent out the invitations before Gwil showed up and stuck his stupid, chiseled jawline in your business, but you invited pretty much everyone he knew and it would be odd—and frankly, pretty rude—if he just wasn’t allowed to come. So he would be there.

All you could do was plan to keep your distance and hope that things went off without a hitch tonight.

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Despite every cell in your body crying out for you to go back to sleep, you made it through the early morning training as well all of your classes. After your last class, you went back to your dorm room and took a quick power nap before it was time to get ready for your party.

Since your party would involve some rather physical activities, you decided to forgo a particularly elaborate or high-maintenance look, instead putting on minimal makeup, your favorite pair of black jeans with a nice blouse, and a simple half-up, half-down hairstyle. You put in a pair of silver hoop earrings and some black velvet flats and admired yourself in the mirror. You looked damn good.

Your friend Lucy picked you up in her car and you rode to the barcade together. You had about half an hour to get things set up before other guests started arriving, and you puttered around pouring snacks into bowls and hanging streamers.

You were standing and chatting with Lucy when people began to show up.

“Wassup, Y/N!” Joe, always one to make an entrance, greeted you loudly. You quickly set down your paper cup of lemonade before Joe gave you a huge hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around.

“Looking incredible as always! Feel old yet?”

You laughed and half-heartedly adjusted your hair and top, pretending to be annoyed. “Please, Joe, I’m a year younger than you.”

Joe gave Lucy a quick hug in greeting before turning back to you. “Yes, and I’m telling you from experience, it really starts to hit you around nineteen. My back is killing me as we speak!” he said rather cheerfully for someone who was allegedly in pain.

“Whatever you say, old man.”

“Well hey now, you know what they say about respecting your elders.”

“Yeah, right. You already convinced me to let Gwil come. Don’t push your luck. You’re gonna keep that Laurence Olivier wannabe in check tonight, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joe replied, straightening up and giving you a salute. “No impromptu soliloquies will be performed tonight if I can help it.”

“Oh god, I would die,” you laughed and rolled your eyes. “Although if he did that then I would have a great excuse to kick him out.”

Joe gave a goofy grin but then spoke with a more serious voice. “Y/N, I know you’re tired of hearing it, but he’s really not that bad. When you get him alone he’s much less…”

“…of a huge douchebag?”

“Well, for lack of a better word, yes. In fact, I really think he acts so weird around you because he—”

“Oh god, Joe, don’t even try to give me the ‘boys pull your hair because they like you’ thing. That’s so second grade.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe put his hands up in defense. “All I’m saying is…he does talk about you a lot. And it’s not all bad.”

You gave a dramatic sigh, wanting to end the conversation. The truth was, the fact that Gwil talked about you when you weren’t around piqued your interest, but you didn’t want Joe to see that. “Oh great, that makes me feel much better. Whatever. I don’t want to spend any more energy talking about him. Let’s get this party started.”

“Great. That’s the spirit. Now, can I interest you in a round of Whack-A-Mole?”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re on.”

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

Soon enough the party was in full swing, and you were making rounds, checking in with as many people as possible to make sure everyone was having a good time. You had just joined in a heated debate over which of the university’s physics professors was the best when you felt someone tap on your shoulder.

“Y/N, can I borrow you for a moment?” Joe was behind you looking almost sheepish, an expression you were not used to seeing on your normally boisterous and confident friend. You excused yourself from the conversation and walked a few feet away to talk with Joe in private.

“Okay, please do not freak out right now, but I have to tell you something,” Joe said carefully, his arms held in front of him, fists balled up nervously.

“Uh, okay, but you’re making it sound like I’m definitely gonna freak out right now,” you replied, looking at him with your brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

“No, it’s, well it’s not really that big of a deal, it’s just…Gwil brought Caitlin.” Joe muttered quickly, cringing as he tried to gauge your reaction.

Without thinking, you whipped your head around, scanning the room for either of the offending parties. You looked back at Joe, plastering on a fake smile so as to not appear as surprised and angry as you actual were.

“Of course he fucking did. Bastard. Where are they?”

“I swear he never mentioned it to me, when I told him he could come I never mentioned bringing a plus one. I’m so sorry, Y/N, I should have been clearer. I didn’t think—"

He looked so guilty and sad, and you just couldn’t be mad at that face. You sighed. “It’s okay, Joe, it’s not your fault. You just assumed he would have common sense and ask before bringing a guest, but they must have different party etiquette across the pond, huh?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I’m gonna make it up to you. I’ll take you for Chinese, just the two of us.”

“That does sound pretty nice. We haven’t been to Lucky Kitchen in a while.”

“Great, then it’s a plan. But hey, just ignore those two and enjoy your party, okay? You deserve this.”

“Thanks, Joe. And thanks for telling me, at least I’m prepared to run into either of them now.”

“That’s my girl,” Joe said, patting you firmly on the shoulder. “Now get back to your adoring fans.”

You chuckled and flipped your hair over your shoulder dramatically, turning back to the conversation you were having.

But you found it a little hard to focus on the discussion now. You were on edge, desperately trying to keep eye contact with the people you were talking to rather than checking your peripheral vision for your unwanted guests. Eventually the group you were chatting with decided to start a game of laser tag, and you enthusiastically joined in, letting the thoughts of Gwil and Caitlin’s presence run off your back.

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

Several intense games of laser tag and a Dance Dance Revolution tournament later, you were warm and happy and still mostly distracted from the presence of your two uninvited guests.

Then it was time for cake. The lights were dimmed, and your friends and family began to sing as the cake was brought out, sparklers in place of candles. You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands. It was one of the most unique and beautiful cakes you had ever seen.

You had planned on just getting a few sheet cakes from Costco, since they were cheap and actually not half bad, but your parents insisted that they had it covered and surprised you with a huge custom cake from a bakery in town. It was four tiers, alternating chocolate and vanilla, and the entire thing was iced with a mint chocolate chip buttercream frosting and covered in white fondant roses.

You made a mental note to write that great-aunt a thank you card.

After everyone had gotten at least one helping of cake, they began to return to the games or sit in small groups in conversation. You stood near the table where the cake was, taking everything in. You were definitely started to lose steam now, but you mostly just felt pleasantly sleepy as you gazed out over the room. You had had a pretty perfect night so far. Then a nearby conversation brought you out of your daze.

“Like, who wants to play fucking Whack-A-Mole at an adult’s birthday party? I’m surprised this many people actually showed up.”

You recognized that voice immediately. Caitlin. An old friend-turned-frenemy-turned-full-on enemy, a voice you just couldn’t seem to get away from ever since elementary school.

“And she was actually, like, crying over the cake. Like are you kidding? Get a grip.”

You were too shocked to even be angry at first. You pulled out your phone surreptitiously, opening your conversation with Joe and sending him a text.

Omg, Caitlin and Gwil are talking shit

Almost immediately, you received the read receipt and then Joe’s response.

Not if I can help it

You stared at your phone, confused. Joe was nowhere to be seen, let alone do anything about this. You were typing out a response suggesting as much when you heard his voice—but not directed at you.

“Hey Gwil. Caitlin. How’s it goin’?” Joe was sweaty and attempting to catch his breath, clearly having just come from the bouncy obstacle course. He took a swig from a water bottle as he walked up to them.

Oh, no,you thought. What are you doing, Joe?

“Ugh, fine,” Caitlin replied to Joe. “Not really understanding the whole ‘adults playing arcade games’ thing but whatever. At least the cake was good.”

Gwil snorted. “Yeah, would help if I had something to drink, too.” God, he was so fucking arrogant. You couldn’t stand it.

“I have no idea what you guys are talking about,” Joe said cheerfully, “I’m having more fun than I have in long time. Nothing like some friendly competition to take your mind off midterms coming up. Come on, go through the obstacle course with me. Just once. We can race!”

Gwil seemed to perk up a little bit at this suggestion, but Caitlin quickly shot it down.

“Huh, yeah, thanks but no thanks. I’d like to keep at least a little of my dignity tonight.”

Joe frowned at her. “If you don’t like any of this stuff, why’d you even come?”

Oh god. Now he was really going to start something.

“Duh, free food. Free cake. Chance to make fun of Y/N. And I just couldn’t let this one go all alone,” Caitlin giggled, bumping Gwil with her shoulder. Gwil didn’t seem to share quite the same level of mirth, however, and you followed his nervous gaze to Joe, whose eyes were quickly narrowing.

“First of all, Gwil here was never told he could invite anyone. He wasn’t technically invited himself. Second of all, Y/N is my friend. And if you’re going to talk shit about my friend and her bomb-ass party, I’d rather you do it somewhere else.”

You started wracking your brain for ways you could infiltrate this conversation, get it to end without revealing that you had been eavesdropping. You texted Joe, telling him to call off the dogs, but he either didn’t feel his phone vibrate in his pocket or he was choosing to ignore it. You didn’t realize you were staring until Gwil’s eyes met your own and he smirked, prompting Caitlin and Joe to look over at you.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Gwil crooned, his eyes locked on you as you dragged yourself over to where they were, attempting to look as if you had just casually walked by.

“Y/N, hiiii!” Caitlin said sweetly, a distinct change from the sardonic tone she was using just seconds before. “Oh my god, what a great party. That cake was just to die for.”

“Oh, I’m soglad you’re enjoying it,” you replied through gritted teeth. “Isn’t this place just genius? It’s been so long since I’ve played arcade games like this.”

“Yes, well, it is kind of like Chuck-E-Cheese for adults, isn’t it?” Caitlin’s voice seemed to raise in pitch with every word.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, fake smile still plastered on. “Yeah! It’s so nice to still be able to relax and have fun every once in a while, isn’t it?”

Gwil and Joe were following your conversation like a tennis match, sensing a rising tension in your seemingly friendly exchange.

“For sure. Thanks somuch for the invite,”—don’t remember sending you one,you thought— “but unfortunately Gwil and I have to get going now, don’t we babe?”

Babe? So they were using pet names now? You wanted to vomit.

For once in his life, Gwil seemed hesitant. “I, uh—”

Joe cut in. “Aw, that’s too bad. Well, it was great to see you guys! See you for frisbee tomorrow, Gwil?”

“Uh, yeah, but—”

“Well, it was great to see you, Y/N. Happy birthday!” Caitlin practically squealed as she walked away, pulling Gwil by the arm.

Joe waved at them and began to pull you in the opposite direction, but you caught Gwil glancing back at you as they walked toward the door.

“God, Y/N, I’m so sorry you had to hear that. Fuck, I’m a terrible friend, aren’t I? I insisted on letting Gwil come and he just had to go and bring her, and then they have the nerve to say that shit right in front of you? I’m gonna kill him—”

“Joe. Stop. Breathe. It’s not your fault. If we’re going to blame anyone, it’s gonna be Gwil, ok? He knows how I feel about Caitlin and was still selfish enough to bring her along. That’s fucked up, but you didn’t know he would do it.”

“I know, but—”

“Joe, let’s just forget about this for now, okay? I’m gonna enjoy the rest of my night, not spend it being mad at Gwil.”

Joe took a deep breath. “You’re right. God, you’re too good for us, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m very aware.”

Joe laughed. “Okay, okay, your majesty. Now may I request a rematch of air hockey?”

“Hell yes. You are going down, Mazzello.”

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After you had beat Joe savagely at several raucous games of air hockey, you snuck away for a breather. You were leaning against the bar, casually scrolling through Tumblr, when someone disrupted your thoughts.

“Y/N? Can we talk?” A British accent. Of course. What was he still doing here?

“I’m not particularly interested in anything you have to say.” You kept your eyes glued to your phone, but you weren’t really looking at it anymore, mainly wanting to appear indifferent to Gwil’s reappearance.

“I know. I just want to tell you that I’m sorry I brought Caitlin tonight. I…didn’t mean to start anything, I just…”

Any attempt to ignore Gwil went out the window. You put your phone in your pocket and looked him in the eye. Fuck, he has beautiful eyes. “You just what? You just thought it would be a great idea to bring the person I dislike the most to a party you weren’t even technically invited to?”

“Well—”

“Oh yes, please. I’d love to hear whatever convoluted justification you’ve come up with. Let’s have it.”

“I know it’s stupid and immature. I’m kicking myself for thinking it could ever work. But…well, I thought you might be…jealous. I thought maybe you would, I don’t know, be angry enough at her to want me for yourself. Or at the very least pay attention to me.”

You stared in disbelief, mouth ajar.

“God, I know, it sounds absolutely mad when I say it out loud. Look, I’ll drop it now, I just hope you understand that I’m really sorry.”

“You…are interested in me.”

“Um, yes.”

“Like, you like me.”

“Quite a lot, actually.”

“And when being condescending and arrogant didn’t work, you thought you would use my ex-friend to piss me off, and I would end up wanting to be with you to get back at her.”

Gwil was silent.

“Where is Caitlin, anyway? I thought you left with her.”

“She did leave, but I told her I wanted to stay. She got mad. She left without me.”

You stared at him for a minute.

“Jesus…you’re even more of an idiot than I thought you were.”

Then you grabbed him by the hand and dragged him into the back room behind the bar.

“Wha—where are we—”

You shut the door behind you and backed him up against it.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

“Wait, you—you want—”

“God, yes, you stupid, beautiful piece of shit.”

Gwil seemed to suddenly snap out of his confusion and into make-out mode, putting one hand on the small of your back and one on the back of your head, pulling you up onto your tiptoes as he leaned down to kiss you. You put your hands on either side of his face, feeling the stubble on his cheeks. His lips were warm, and you could faintly smell his cologne.

After a long few minutes of making out, you slid your hands down his chest and began to undo his belt. Gwil pulled back and put his hands over yours.

“Wait, you—are you sure about this?”

You looked up at him.

“Oh, I am absolutely sure. I know exactly what I want to do with you.”

Gwil shuddered and took his hands away from yours, reaching up into your shirt to undo your bra as you finished undoing his belt.

You moaned into Gwil’s mouth as your lips met again, his thumbs gently circling over your nipples.

You jerked Gwil’s pants and underwear down over his hips and pulled out his dick.

“Aaahhh…oh god,” he groaned, clearly trying to be quiet.

“That’s good, huh? I’ll make sure you feel so good,” you purred.

Gwil breathed heavily as you worked his cock, fumbling to get into your pants as well. Once he succeeded, he stuck his hand in, gasping at what he felt there.

“So wet, oh god.”

“Mmm, yes. Because of you. You made me this wet.”

Gwil clumsily crashed his lips back into yours as he began to rub your clitoris with his fingers. The other hand remained on your breast, brushing over your sensitive, aroused nipple.

You began to rut into his hand, a little embarrassed at how close you were already but wanting to come quickly. You were sure your guests were having a great time, but you wouldn’t want anyone concerned about your absence.

“Faster, Gwil, please.”

He began to move his hand faster, but you slowed yours down. “Mmmph, Y/N. More,” he said gruffly.

“No. Not yet. Make me—ah!—make me come first.”

Gwil’s hand practically vibrated off his body as he moved his hand firmly against your clit. You buried your face in his chest as you came, thrusting erratically against his hand.

“God…yes…so good…” you gasped in between breaths, riding out your orgasm until you couldn’t take any more, pulling Gwil’s hand out of your pants. You looked up at him with hooded eyes and guided his hand toward your face.

“Now, let me taste it.”

Gwil stared with wide eyes and put his fingers, dripping with your come, up to your mouth. You sucked his fingers clean, finally speeding up the hand you had around his cock.

“Oh Jesus, that’s hot.”

You smiled coyly, watching as Gwil’s face and neck began to flush a deep pink.

“I’m—I’m getting—close—”

You took your hand away suddenly.

“Now. You’re going to finish the job.”

Gwil stared at you dumbly.

“You heard me. You’re going to finish yourself off alone, in the utility room of a barcade, and walk out of this party alone. And then maybe you’ll remember this moment before you decide being an asshole to another woman is going to make her want to be with you.”

Gwil shuffled to the side awkwardly as you opened the door, staring at you in disbelief as you strolled back out to the bar. With a contented smile on your face, you headed to the bathroom to freshen up before enjoying the rest of your birthday party.

END

[basic-banshee]

large black coffee (part 2)

A Carry On Coffeeshop - AU/ College - AU inspired by this beautiful art.

Word Count: 1964

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

“I don’t want to look at the cup. If it just says “Baz” I think I might absolutely lose it. This is our thing. I don’t know what I’ll do if we lose our thing.”

Simon

“Simon, he’s here!” Penny bursts into the alley behind the cafe where I’m trying to take my break. “He’s here!”

I knew she knew what I was talking about.

“So? He’s here everyday,” I say, echoing her words back to her. I’m in an absolutely shit mood, because I stayed up late last night to do my presentation, only to get to class this morning and realise that it actually is due on Monday, like I thought. I turned around to glare at him, and I swear to God I saw him smirk.

“He has a friend with him,” she says, her eyes wide. “You absolutely will not believe this.” She’s hiding something from me, I know it, but I’m on my feet already. Only because I’m curious what kind of person would be friends with a ten foot-tall asshole. I trail Penny back inside, but I don’t want to go to the register. I’m still on my break anyway, and I’m absolutely not going to waste my well deserved break on serving that shithead.

He’s there alright, same time as everyday (seriously, who is that punctual?) leaning against the counter while he talks to someone. I can’t see who they are because he’s too damn tall, but it looks like it might be a girl. Blimey, does Baz have a girlfriend?

He doesn’t even turn when Penny steps up to the counter, and it looks like they’re going to just keep ignoring her until the girl glances around him and sees me. Oh, shit.

“Hi Simon!” Agatha chirps, stepping out from beside Baz. She looks beautiful. I mean, she always does, that’s pretty much her main defining characteristic, which would be pretty shallow of me to say if it weren’t true. Everything about her is beautiful, from the way she speaks to the way she looks. I think her thoughts are even beautiful, probably. Not that I know many of them. She didn’t talk to me that much when we dated.

But more importantly, why the hell is she talking to Baz?

“Hey Aggie,” I say cautiously. I smile at her ��� because really, she’s the first person I met here, and she’s still my friend, I’m not going to freeze her out — but I go back to pretending to stack cups while Penny takes their orders.

Baz gets his cavity-inducing mocha again, I notice, and I scrawl his insult and order on the cup next to me as he pays Penny for his drink. He’s always perfectly nice when he talks to her. And he’s being pretty fucking friendly to Aggie right now, so I guess it’s just me he’s a dick to. Brilliant.

I try to eavesdrop a bit as I make their drinks, and it sounds like they’re talking about a club. Are they in an extracurricular together? Then Aggie mentions horses and I realise she doesn’t mean a university club, she means a posh rich person club. That explains it then. I’ve always figured Baz is posh — he’s got to be, with his tailored clothes and stupid names — and Aggie is probably the richest person I know. All rich people knowing each other just sort of makes sense.

“Please? This isn’t the kind of thing someone goes to by themselves. It would mean a lot to me,” Aggie says. I stiffen a bit. Is she asking him out? Or are they already dating? Not that I care. We broke up two years ago, and it was absolutely the right idea. We’re just friends now, and honestly I like it better because being friends with Agatha is a hell of a lot less stressful than dating her.

But she can’t be dating Baz.

I mean, his name is basically Tyrannosaurus. He looks like a vampire, but like, a fit Egyptian-looking one. Not that vampires can’t be Egyptian. I think that’s what he is. I don’t really know. But yeah. He can’t be her type. Because of the vampire thing. Not the Egyptian thing. That’s actually a pretty good look on him.

“I’ll consider it,” Baz says stiffly. He looks a bit uncomfortable. I guess he’s not into Aggie. How mental is that? How can anyone not be into Aggie?

“Baz, have you met him? He’s adorable,” Agatha laughs. I pause before putting the syrup in Baz’s mocha. Wait. Does Agatha have a new boyfriend? Is that who they’re talking about?

“He’s not my type. I don’t like men with dark hair.”

What?

“Come on, Baz. When was the last time you were on a date?”

Baz is silent, and I can only see his back but I’m fairly sure he’s flaying Agatha alive with his eyes. His shoulders are hunched in an evisceration sort of way.

“If you’re not interested in him, I can name at least five others. There’s loads of good men on this campus. You just need to put yourself out there more,” Aggie says.

Baz

I’d like to skin Wellbelove.

I didn’t intend to come in with her for a chat, but she caught me when I was walking down campus, and she can be obnoxiously persistent when she puts her mind to it. I was going to shake her off when we got to the cafe. And then I remembered what Snow had said yesterday — “He comes in, always alone” — and I thought I’d further disrupt his world view, and invited Agatha to join me.

I immediately regret it.

When she started putting the press on me to bring a date to her mother’s ridiculous charity event I figured I could shut her down again, but I’ve forgotten that there’s no real way to constrain Agatha, and so here she is, dressing me down about finding a bloke in the middle of the cafe while Snow is clearly eavesdropping.

I hear a crash and turn around to see the remains of my mocha splashed all over the counter and dripping off of a bright red Snow. I want to kill her.

“Are you incompetent?” I snarl at him. It’s a bad insult. It’s not remotely well thought out, but I’m embarrassed and I’m not on the top of my game. I know Wellbelove didn’t mean to out me, and I’m not embarrassed about who I am, but I desperately wish she hadn’t. But I can’t blame her. She has no idea that I’ve been obsessing over this fucking barista for a year.

I used to absolutely hate him. He sat in the back of my Statistics class and was constantly talking and was always late, and I honestly don’t even know what he was doing in the class. He was so far out of his depth.

Then one day after class I stopped into this stupid cafe, even though I usually avoid the places on campus because they’re shit, and realised that Simon fucking Snow, the boy who was ruining my attention in Statistics, was the barista here, of course. Walking him through my order was more difficult than watching him try to use a calculator. When I went to pick up my coffee (he did actually make it correctly, I was a bit surprised) it looked like he had written “Bastard” in his awful chicken scratch font.

“Is this a joke?” I snarled at him. His mouth fell open and he stared at me in surprise.

“What?” he had said stupidly. It’s his default response. He says it to everything. “Snow, are you present?” “What?” “Today we have a test.” “What?” “You’re a fucking moron.” “What?”

I showed him my cup.

“Does ‘Baz’ really sound like ‘Bastard’ to you, you complete halfwit?” I snarled back at him. I watched the flush creep up his neck and he looked like he was going to go off on me right then, and the sudden rise of his anger was absolutely delightful.

“If I wanted to call you a bastard, I’d say it to your face,” he shot back through gritted teeth. It was not his best comeback.

“Work on your handwriting, this looks like a child wrote it,” I said, and then stormed out. I told myself I wouldn’t go back there again, even if the coffee was perfect, and I didn’t. For about two weeks. I was late to work and it was raining and I needed coffee. So I snarled my way through my order, grabbed the cup from his hands, and was almost to work before I noticed the neat, blocky, red letters on the side that read “Baztard.”

I was hooked. (Because I’m deranged.) (Ask anyone.)

And now he’s standing there, covered in my mocha, gaping at me like I’m a tall, gorgeous, gay freak.

Simon

I don’t know why I spilled the coffee. I get a bit clumsy when I’m focusing on things, and I was admittedly focusing pretty intently on Baz and Aggie’s conversation, and then my hand just sort of jerked, and now I’m wearing this revolting drink.

I don’t even know what he just hissed at me, I’m so embarrassed that my blood is roaring in my ears and I can’t really hear anything else, but I can see his face and I know he’s being a complete shithead to me.

So what if he’s gay? He’s still a shithead. You can be gay and a shithead. I grab a fresh cup, and that’s what I write out. I’d just put “git” on the last one, because I didn’t want Aggie to see me write anything too nasty, but I’ll put “shithead” on this one because I think it’s got a better ring to it.

I hesitate for a second though. Should I still call him a shithead? Will it seem like I’m just being an ass because I just found out he’s gay? But I’m not. I’m not being an ass. This is just our thing.

And I don’t want him to think I’m treating him any differently because I know. That would be kind of a shit move. So shithead it is. I write it carefully. (I always write carefully on his cups.) (He’s such a dick about handwriting.)

I place his drink on the counter without meeting his eyes and then head quickly to the back to clean up. I’m sticky and I smell like pumpkin.

Baz

He puts the cup down and then practically runs away. He doesn’t stay long enough for me to see what’s written on it.

This is my favourite part, when I look at what pathetic insult he’s chosen and then I sneer and insult it. He wrote something on the cup when I first ordered, I saw it. But then he spilled it, after Agatha outed me, and now I’m scared to see what he wrote when he remade the drink.

I don’t think he’ll think badly of me now. He’s too nice for that. I know he’s a nice guy. He’s a good guy. I’ve see him on campus. He smiles and talks to everyone. He’s that person who helps total strangers carry heavy things. If someone drops something, he chases them down and returns it. Now that he knows, he’s so fucking nice, he probably won’t insult me.

I don’t want to look at the cup. If it just says “Baz” I think I might lose it. This is our thing. I don’t know what I’ll do if we lose our thing.

The cup is just sitting there, staring at me. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown man. It’s a fucking coffee cup. I pick it up hesitantly and turn it, slowly, so I can see what he scrawled on it.

Shithead.

I can feel myself grinning, I can’t even help it. I’ve never been so happy to be a shithead.

[mixterglacia]

Want To Shelter You: Fallout 4

There were some perks to being a synth. Not having to dedicate precious time or caps into food, not to mention the storage it requires. Eliminating the need for clean water. Carrying things that a Buffout junkie couldn’t even begin to dream of. Being able to quite literally adjust his sight to any environment. Natural precision. Superb math skills...there’s only so many ways Nick can think of before those seeds of self loathing start taking root firmly in the back of his mind. Tonight was shaping up to be a doozy of a spiral.

Who was he trying to fool? Himself he’d assume. This wasn’t the sort of thing to be brought up in normal conversation. Even the rare times when he was talking with another synth, (presuming that said synth is sentient and friendly) the topic seemed wildly inappropriate. Nick was playing himself like an old fiddle whose strings had snapped years before. His bad hand made a grinding sound when it instinctively curled into a loose fist. Damn sand. Damn coastal breeze. Damn salt water. Damn Nordhaga-. The thought screeches to a sudden halt, and Nick is left with the guilt snapping at his heels.

He looks out over the water, moonlight lazily shimmering on slicks of fuel that had run off from the airstrip across the way. If he didn’t know better, didn’t know about the dangers lurking beneath the foam, he’d say it looked inviting. Nick knew that Paddy adored this stretch of sand. The ghoul had put so many weeks into making it a home away from Goodneighbor. Poured hundreds of caps into shipments until he’d cleared the way for a supply line into the sleepy spot. He didn’t stop there, building Shoreline Shelter as a refuge for the wounded travelers that passed through, always hunting for something more.

“I know there’s more, Val’.”

Nick almost falls off the roof. Whirling around, he expected Pad’ to be smirking. Not like Hancock, whose grins always threatened to split his face in half, but the slight upturn to the corner of his mouth. All he finds are those keen eyes, almost perceptive enough to rival his own. The ghoul makes a gesture to be quiet, pointing down.

“Hancock’s asleep.” Is all the explanation he sees fit to give.

“How’d you get that to happen?”

Paddy doesn’t respond. Instead, he just ghosts over to his favorite chair, motioning for Nick to take a seat as well. A pack of cigarettes is already being opened and offered to the synth when he shuffles over.

They smoke in silence for some time, tension drawing Nick’s shoulders into an impressive hunch before he mumbles a question.

“Whadd’ya mean about there being more?”

Paddy hums, settling back into his armchair, staring out over the water. “More good about being a synth.”

“You -sure- you’re not some kinda mind reader or something?” He blurts out before he can think it through, metal hand twitching nervously.

The ghoul just leans over, lightly tapping at the ragged hole in Nick’s facial plating. “The mechanisms in your neck and jaw get tense and tick more rapidly when you think hard. Just picked what I thought was bothering you from what I already know.”

“Is that supposed to be insulting?”

“No.”

“Cause it felt insulting.”

“Sorry.” The sheepish way Paddy said this made Nick feel totally rotten inside.

It became quiet again, but the ghoul was the one to break it this time.

“Remember how I hauled you out of that vault?” He’s still staring over the water, probably keeping an eye on the airport. It still made Nick feel uncomfortable.

“Well, yeah, it wasn’t that long ago-”

“A year” Pad’ quips. “Down to the hour.”

“How the hell do know know that?” Nick is admittedly a little bit stunned.

“Notes.” Is stated like it’s totally normal, and not a big deal at all.

The synth had no idea Paddy kept track of things like this. Couldn’t believe a year had slipped by unnoticed. Hell, he needed a tune up, but who’d tend to his sorry ass? Could he even find someone with not only the willingness, but know how to fix a prototype?

“Val’, c’mon stay with me.” He faintly hears, before a hand is on his arm. The touch is so gentle, but he know all too well what those hands can do. Still, it steadies him.

“I’m here, I’m here.” A beat passes. “...Wait, hold the phone, why are -you- here? Shouldn’t you be in la la land with Hancock?”

“As in asleep or high?” There’s that edge of dry humor he’d been waiting for. It wasn’t over the top, but it suited the ghoul just right.

“I sure hope it’s the former.” Nick retorts, optics flickering slightly.

Paddy snorts, the night casting deep shadows on his face. Nick could almost see the man he’d been before the bombs. Not that it was difficult. He was aware that the scars that tore across his partner's face had all been there since his early twenties. Still, the synth couldn’t help but wonder what he’d looked like in his childhood. Had he been happy? Was he always so serious and quiet? If not...what happened?

The rasp of paper alerted Nick, glancing over, he watched the ghoul start working on some sort of map. Scarred hands carefully plotting out points, eyes darting over a ragged book propped up against his knee. It had been a long time since Nick had felt shameful for his gaze lingering on Pad. Keeping someone alive took an attentive eye. Besides, if he was bothered by it, the ghoul would tell him to knock it off. (He’d been snapped at before because he’d hauled the fella away from a ledge by his belt with no warning.)

Tension faded with each scratch of the pen. Nick had started running some diagnostics in the background when Paddy spoke again.

“Val’.”

The man in question sat up in his chair a bit. “What’s up?”

“What am I to you?” While it didn’t -sound- like a loaded question, suspicion cropped up at the back of Nick’s mind.

“I -uh, I don’t get what you’re angling for-”

“I’m not angling. Just wanted to know how you feel about us. Hadn’t asked you in a long time.” The honesty in his tone did things to Nick that he’d never admit, but the effect was clear as day.

“Feels like something in my CPU snapped, because something as pretty as you wanting me is just...it just can’t be real. Can’t happen to a dirty old thing like me. I don’t mean pretty as in looks, either, I mean you are but-” he stops, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “What I mean is, you got this -way- about you. It’s like you’re wielding pre-war manners like it’s a weapon. It’s how you see right through all sorts of lies, but you sort them out different for everyone. You humored Deacon by playing along. You took -none- of the Brotherhood’s shit, but if it’s a little kid like the one at Bunker Hill? You just look the other way. You -knew- Bobbi was lying to you, but you gave her as many opportunities to call the whole thing off as you could. When she refused to take the hints, you put her down like Finn.”

Nick’s optics flicker as he keeps going. “You’re fair, but brutal. You ain’t just standing still, it’s like you’re lying in wait. You just breathe life into everything, everyone you meet. I just don’t see what you get out of being like this! All this work and you don’t ask for a single cap!”

“I get paid.” Paddy cuts in.

“Yeah, but you never -ask- for it. You’ve been short changed so much, I don’t even know how you keep this place a float!” Nick throws his arms up, frustrated and trying to not lose his cool.

“The only thing with an unlisted price is surgical work and check ups. I charge for-” the ghoul ticks off fingers as he speaks. “Chems, water, sugar, produce, meat-”

“You’re too damn nice, Logan!” Nick blurts out.

The stare Paddy levels him with nails him to the floor. “I’m not nice, Nick.”

Hearing the ghoul use his first name sends a small shiver through the synth. It was very rare that Pad called him anything other than Val’.

“I’m -fair-. I don’t get outta bed at night to make a meal for a stranger, but if they show up when I’m feeding the Davenports? Sure, they can have some. They demand to stay when I’ve got overnight patients? Get the fuck out of my sight, but if they just need a place for a bit and I’ve got a free cot? That’s fine.” The paper he’d been working on is tucked into the old book, it’s cover snapping shut.

“Fair, but brutal. Like you said.”

Nick felt ill, words frothing up in his throat like bile. “You are, and I ain’t fucking worth it!” His internals feel like they’re burning holes in his plating. “I don’t deserve you! I’m an old, busted toy that should have stayed in that pile of trash! I’m no good for a pretty thing like you, who am I trying to fool, damnit?!” He doesn’t care that he’s shouting. There’s no stopping, even if he wanted to. “You save lives, you lead the Minutemen, you’re practically spitting in the Brotherhood’s face, taking this place and flying the Railroad’s colours-” The words die in his throat when Paddy grabs the sleeve of his coat, yanking him over the small table set between their chairs, forcing him to look right at those intense eyes.

“Damn straight I’m doing it to piss them off. But you’re right. Something in your CPU -must- be fried if you think I don’t see the entire gods damned universe in all its glory when I look at you. I need you to listen to me, Nick, analyze all you want, I’m laying down the truth here. All them things you see in me? I see even more in you. I see the man that saved little John McDonough from himself when he was nineteen and wanted to slam down enough chems until he stopped breathing. I see the synth that is the one, and I do mean -one good thing- left in Diamond City.”

Paddy’s hands drift to Nick’s shoulders, resting there as he spoke. “I see the cop that took out Eddie Winter when he could have just let the old Nicky V’s flame die out. I can see the pain from not being able to tell Hancock why you didn’t chase him down when Goodneighbor was overthrown.” A scarred thumb brushes over what’s left of his chin. “I see that unshakeable guilt you carry over what happened to me. I see how much you hate what you are, and the shame of feeling like you’re not real. That you’re not enough. I see all of that hurt in you.”

Pressure on his jaw makes him focus again. Paddy is so close he can feel his breath. His eyes catch light from the lanterns, fire dancing in them.

“But that hurt isn’t who you are.” Nick feels like if he were human tears would be rolling down his cheeks. “I -know- who you are, Val’, and it’s not what your head keeps telling you.”

“W-Who am I, then?” Even his voice seems broken.

“You’re the first one that taught me it was okay to love again after the bombs. To love the stars like I did when I was little and running through the field behind my house. To love the thrill of the chase. To love this hellhole. To love others.” The fingers that had been brushing over his jaw still. “To love -myself- again... so stop belittling yourself, Val’. You and Hancock mean -everything- to me, and you make me want to make the Commonwealth a better place.”

Nick isn’t entirely sure when the ghoul had started kissing him, but when he catches on, he clings tightly to Paddy’s broad shoulders, just letting himself get lost in it. Eventually his partner needs to come up for air and they pull apart, foreheads pressed together. The synth is intently studying Pad’s face when the moment is shattered by a loud creak of the stairs.

He turns to see Hancock watching with a sleepy smile, leaning on the landing.

“Beautifully said,” He nods to Paddy. “Couldn’t have worded it better if I tried, Big Guy.”

“Obviously.” Snarks Pad, though the tone has nothing but fondness to it. He motions for their third to join them.

As the two ghouls are drifting back off, something clicks into place for Nick. He needed them, and  he finally admits to himself that they needed him too.

[kurokoros]

hear me out: Akaashi Keiji, roommates au! trope: meeting messy & prompt #30

my first official one-shot for hq is an Akaashi fic. who would have guessed. there’s some language and mildly crude humor in this one. it took me a hot minute to figure out how to do a roommate au + meet messy, but I think it turned out okay! also, I see Akaashi as the quiet teasing type, so I hope the characterization is okay!

“What do you mean you’re running late?” you ask, glaring at your phone as you speed walk down the street. A mumbled curse escapes you as someone walks by and jostles your shoulder, nearly knocking the box you’re carrying right out of your arms. You shoot the man a sour look before turning back to your friend, irritation already softening into a pout. “Kuroo, I’m supposed to be meeting this guy in like ten minutes, what do I do?”

Kuroo’s lips twitch, looking torn between apologetic and amused as he tries to cover up a smile. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you, not for the first time. “And I would have been on time if someone hadn’t—shit!” Kuroo disappears from the frame, hissing what sounds like ‘demon’ under his breath as the camera shifts.

Suddenly, you’re staring at Yaku instead, his tawny eyes narrowed as he hunches over Kuroo’s phone. “Don’t believe his lies,” he says, scoffing when Kuroo grumbles something in response, voice muffled. “The only reason we’re late is because Kuroo—”

“Oi! Yakkun!”

Kuroo grabs at his phone, but Yaku is faster, ducking under his arm and barely managing to evade his former captain’s outstretched hand. The camera is jostled again, giving you a shaky view of the subway that has your eyes rolling. Even now they still act like bickering teenagers half the time. It’s as endearing as it is annoying, but you’ve known them since high school, so you really aren’t surprised.

It takes a few seconds for the camera to stabilize again, and this time you’re faced with the voice of reason among the three of them. He rubs the back of his neck, smile a little embarrassed as Kuroo and Yaku continue to bicker behind him.

“Kai,” you greet him, a smile automatically tugging at your lips in response to his. “I didn’t know you and Yaku were coming with!” You knew that Kuroo asked Kenma to come with—as expected, he declined—but you had no idea the rest of the former Nekoma third years would be making an appearance.

He shrugs with one shoulder, casually ignoring your friends arguing behind him. “We heard you might need help moving boxes later,” is all he tells you.

“Hopefully,” you tell him. “And thanks. The main reason I invited Kuroo was for the muscle anyway.” A muffled sound of protest comes from off to Kai’s left, but you know Kuroo is secretly preening from the pseudo compliment.

Kai only nods, smiling again. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. It shouldn’t take us more than twenty minutes.”

Before you can respond, Yaku shoves himself under Kai’s arm to pin you with a firm look. “If he tries anything, go for his—”

“Give me that!” The phone is plucked out of Kai’s hands and suddenly you’re staring at Kuroo again. He glares down at Yaku, eyes rolling, before he turns his attention to you. “Twenty minutes,” he tells you firmly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, quickening your steps. Pulling your gaze from Kuroo’s, you glance up at a street sign and wrinkle your nose when you realize how close you are to meeting your new potential roommate. “You promise he’s not weird, right?” you ask suddenly, looking at your phone in time to see his brows furrow. “Because so help me, Kuroo, if you’re letting me move in with some creep, I’ll never forgive you.”

The only reason you even agreed to maybe move in with a complete stranger is because he’s a friend of Kuroo’s. Apparently, they’ve known each other since high school during their volleyball days, but you’ve never had a chance to meet before now. With his friend having an empty room and you being in desperate need of a new place to stay, Kuroo’s suggestion only made sense. And you trust his judgement. Usually.

The look Kuroo sends you is nothing short of offended. He presses his hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics. Despite that, Kuroo is serious when he responds. “Do you think I would let you move in with someone I didn’t trust?” When you shake your head, he continues. “Akaashi doesn’t bite. I promise.” He grins. “Unless you’re into that.”

You make a face. “I’m hanging up now.”

He cackles. “We’ll be there soon. Be safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, glancing up at another sign, “just get your ass over here.” Yaku and Kai call out their own goodbyes before you end the call, your smile lingering as you shove your phone into your back pocket, still struggling with the box you’re carrying.

Of course, that’s the moment your morning goes from bad to worse.

You’re so busy working your phone into your pocket with one hand and juggling a box with the other that you don’t see the man hurrying towards you, also not paying attention to his surroundings.

You shoulder collides with his. You stumble. The box starts to slip from your grasp. “Shit,” you hiss, flinching as hot coffee splashes down the front of your shirt. It isn’t hot enough to hurt, thankfully, but it’s bound to leave a nasty, uncomfortably wet stain on your chest for the rest of the day. Perfect. That’s exactly what you needed five minutes before you’re supposed to meet your new roommate for the first time. So much for a good first impression.

The man who bumped into you grunts in surprise. He stumbles back as your eyes snap up, and you note with the smallest hint of smug satisfaction that there’s an equally dark spot staining his crisp, white button-up.

Dark blue eyes flicker up to meet yours, wide in alarm.

In any other situation, you might have taken a moment to appreciate the sharp angle of his jaw, or his stupidly pretty face, but right now you’re nervous, stressed, and wet, so all you do is glare and snap, “Watch where you’re going.” His lips part, but you’re already storming past him, mumbling “asshole” under your breath.

You’re already halfway down the street before he regains his bearings; you don’t notice his eyes following you until you disappear.

…

Fuck me, is the first thought that comes to your mind when you find yourself standing in front of your potential roommate’s apartment. There’s a post-it note stuck to the front door, telling you and Kuroo to let yourselves in because your new roommate had an errand to run, but would be back soon. This, of course, wouldn’t be a problem if Kuroo wasn’t late and wasn’t the one with a key to said apartment.

You aren’t sure what’s worse: having to stand here for the next however many minutes like an idiot until Kuroo arrives, or his friend coming home first and having to deal with that conversation without your moral support. Neither option is particularly appealing, but you’re staring to get odd looks from the neighbors and it’s really fucking hot outside, so you’d take the awkward conversation over waiting.

A brief text to Kuroo informs you that they just got off the subway, but should be here soon. You shift your weight from one foot to the next, biting your lip as you continue weighing your options.

Eventually you just say fuck it and slide one of the bobby-pins from your hair. No one has to know.

Unfortunately, picking a lock isn’t nearly as easy as you’ve been led to believe.

“Seriously?” you grumble, jiggling the doorknob and squinting at the pin you have jammed into the lock. Maybe this was a bad idea. Now you definitely look like a creep.

“Need any help with that?”

You lurch away from the door with a yelp. The bobby-pin falls out of your hand and clatters to the floor, only incriminating you further. Whirling around, your expression becomes one of horror when you meet a pair of questioning eyes.

Oh shit, he’s hot, is your first thought, your breath catching when you lock eyes with the most gorgeous man you’ve even seen in your life. Messy dark hair. Deep blue eyes. A sharp jaw. All lean muscle. Oh, yeah. Definitely a former athlete. Your eyes wander down to his chest where the top buttons of his dress-shirt are undone. You glance at his collarbone before moving lower, freezing.

Your second thought is, oh shit, I spilled coffee on this guy and called him an asshole. The stain on his shirt matches yours perfectly, and wow, okay, today really couldn’t have gotten any worse, could it? Not only is your new potential roommate hot as sin, but you’ve already made a complete ass of yourself in front of him, the breaking and entering aside.

He clears his throat, staring at you expectantly; you blush, face burning as you realize you’ve been gaping at him openly.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” you blurt, like an idiot. It’s exactly what it looks like. The way his right eyebrow quirks upwards tells you he isn’t fooled, and you’re surprised when he doesn’t call you out on the lie.

“You must be Kuroo’s friend,” he says instead, observing you carefully. The, admittedly correct, assumption makes you more embarrassed, if possible. You aren’t sure what the assumption says about you, or Kuroo for that matter, but right now you kind of just want to lie down on the floor and die a little bit.

You wet your lips, trying not to squirm under his intense gaze. It’s analytical, but not calculating, and your breathing hitches as he continues to stare. “I… yeah.”

It comes as a surprise when he only nods, eyes snapping away from you as he digs his keys out of his pocket. You step aside quickly as he steps up to the door, his arm brushing up against yours. You stiffen, but he doesn’t shy away from the contact. “Sorry to make you wait,” he says, pulling the post-it note off the door and turning towards the lock.

“It’s fine.” You grab your discarded box off the ground, holding it to your chest as he opens the door and gestures for you to walk inside. Your smile feels forced as you comply. With your head ducked towards your chest and your eyes on the floor, you don’t notice the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You should apologize, right? Yeah, you should totally apologize for spilling coffee on him and yelling at him in the middle of the street.

He follows you inside and shuts the door, meeting your eyes as you spin around to look at him. “I’m really sorry about—”

But he’s already shaking his head. “I wasn’t watching either,” he tells you, ending your apology before it can start. “Akaashi Keiji,” he says, holding out his hand for you to shake, like a normal person.

You tell him your name, trying not to shiver at the way his fingers wrap around yours. Fuck, his hands are big. Like, really big. And warm. You definitely wouldn’t mind having them wrapped around your—moving on.

The corner of Akaashi’s mouth twitches like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “So,” he starts casually, dark eyes watching you carefully, “when would you like to move in?”