#48 door staff lockers

[digitalshree]

Rashmi Enterprises is best Staff lockers manufacturer, Supplier Company in Pune, Mumbai, Nashik, Ahmadnagar, Gujrat, Karnataka, Delhi, Indore, Banglore, Chennai. We provide wide range of staff Lockers for offices, staff storage lockers, 6,9,12,18,24,48 door lockers at best cost.

[straycatboogie]

2023/07/15 English

BGM: James - Sometimes

Time flies. It's about seven days since I started reading/writing poems. I'm autistic therefore I have really a troublesome personality that gets bored easily, but it seems that creating poetry might fit me. Today I wrote another poem. I named my poetry blog a title "冰箱", this means "a fridge" in Chinese. My mind/memory is like a fridge, therefore if you open its door, you can find that there are some stuff that has already been expired. I cook those stuff to make some leftovers, and that's my creation of poetry. Yes, it is really a readymade/easy-going one. Recently I have been creating sonnets because they were easy for me to write, but I want to write more. Free verse poems, or Proses, etc... Yes, it's really an instant idea. I couldn't expect that "this year I will start writing my poems (and maybe it will goes long)". Now is the later stage of my life, but could it be my life work? I can't see completely. I just want to enrich my fridge/archive.

Of course, if I did write/output only, it wouldn't last long. It would end soon... so I want to do inputting. Today I borrowed Shuntaro Tanikawa's poems from the library, and after today's work I started reading one of them with Sonny Rollins' jazz. I remember that once I also had an interest in poetry, and read Hisaki Matsuura and Natsuki Ikezawa. What am I doing? An "ordinary" or "normal" 48 years old person won't get into creating poetry like this. But this is my life, so what... It seems that my co-workers and bosses are getting to learn that I am an autistic person, so some of them started showing harm to me. There are some people who show unfriendly attitude and get out when I go to the locker room with them. Indeed, once I had got hurt when I was done that kind of behavior. But today, I thought that "They are just running away from me, that's all". Running away... that's because of their mind, and not my mind. I can't judge/control that so I just have to say "Do what you want/like". And I say that's the final answer. Therefore, I need to do the practice of not caring about that too seriously. How long it lasts... I can't see.

There are some good points of writing poetry (even though my poems are terrible). One of them might be the fact that we can do it "easily", and it won't cost so highly. We don't have to buy any expensive equipment as instruments or cameras. Just we need a pen and some papers. That's the first things we have to cost. We should face the world alone with poetry. "Don't fight it, Feel it". We just grip the outside objects/subjects, and through them we try to find what are coming/flooding from our minds. Writing poems seem like a kind of action like jogging or fishing. Facing myself, or digging our wells in ourselves. What kind of poems other poets are writing? I have to read various countries' poems as China, or other Asian countries... not only European and American poems. I also want to enjoy fresher, more vivid ones within any magazines of poems. I am already 48 as I said, and health check at my workplace says that I need to care my health more. I can't live a "forever young" or "evergreen" life. "The end is coming". That's the fact I have to face. What can I do from now? This life... I threw my 20s and 30s, my young days into a gutter but can I make a great firework from now? Although, It must be a great life even though I can't make anything.

Could I write my dream down actually? What do I want to do... I want to do soon to go to the library to try to find any Chinese poetry books. I want to go to the cafe place near by my group home, and try to show my poems to the staff (Indeed, they would criticize/diss me. I want to welcome them). Can I read my poor poetry by my voice? (do I have to enrich the stock more?). I want to show my reading in the real life/situation, or any podcast... My dream increases. Of course, you may say that "Face the real" and "Try not to dream so much". But I never disturb anyone's life with these dreams, and also want to work steadily. Just with keeping on my life strictly, I try to go to the different way from now little by little. It won't make money, but that's OK. People might criticize my poems terribly, but it's ok. Today, TBH I couldn't write this journal as easily as always because I had an idea that "I am always writing the same truth of mine" and "This won't attract readers". Yes, I have that kind of insight... But today I want to confess my dream/ambition boldly. It might not be able to come true, but I want to live with them, instead of not waiting for the death quietly.

A Poem About Emotion

"I think of the courage, does it exist? Cam I make it easily like a fist? I try to say my love. I write it in the bucket list But that courage goes away in the end into the mist"

Yes, that's your confession. Why can I laugh at? I just want to hug you, and also give you a pat People have a hurtful emotion that says you're fat You shouldn't care about that at all. Let them say like that

As Physics says, everything must have its reaction They can answer to you when you do your action Our minds can't be divided so clearly, they have fraction

You can do what you want, just follow the emotion That honest feeling does work like a magic portion Never mind any harm they give to you that diss your proportion

[woso-fan13]

NO. 29 WHAT DOESN'T KILL ME...

Sleep Deprivation 

You staggered into the hotel like you were drunk. Even though you could legally drink in Europe, there was no way that you could be drunk. You hadn’t had time to fully shower in the last 48 hours, you didn’t have time to go out. 

“Y/N, babe, you okay?” Emily asks. 

“Just peachy, thanks,” you respond, your tone of voice indicating that you were not, in fact, just peachy. 

“Seriously kid,” oh great, Kelley’s here too, “what’s up with you? You tripped on your own feet walking inside.” 

“I’m good, really,” you assure them. “I’m just tired.” 

“I feel that,” Emily agrees. 

“I know,” Kelley sounds almost sympathetic. “Time zone changes are tough, especially when we have practice as soon as we get here. But we’re having lunch now and then you should be able to nap for an hour or so before weight training.”

“Time zones suck, but I’m pretty used to them. We had to travel a lot when I was growing up, so I got used to sleeping weird hours.”

“I forgot about that,” said Emily. “Then you should have an easy transition over. As long as you got solid sleep the night before, you should have been able to get enough sleep on the plane to count for a night. As much as I hate flying overnight, it is convenient.”

“I wasn’t able to sleep on the plane, I had a bunch of schoolwork to do. My teachers gave me all the assignments I’ll be missing for the tournament before I left, and I doubt I’ll have much downtime here.”

“That’s rough, I’m sorry kid.” Kelley says, “but missing one night isn’t too bad. As long as you slept the night before.”

You stay silent. 

“Y/N?” Kelley probes. 

“I couldn’t. I’m sorry, but I didn’t have time.”

“Babe,” Emily questions, “when’s the last time you had a full night of sleep?”

“A full night? Sometime last week. But I’ve been able to get in naps, just not for a few days.” 

“Y/N M/N L/N,” Kelley sounds mad. “No, you can’t do that. Come on, we’re taking you to bed.”

“I’ll go,” you yawn, now thinking about bed, “but you guys go get lunch. I’ll be fine, and I’ll see you at training.”

You turn towards the elevator, eyelids drooping as you wait. A warm hand on your back causes you to turn slightly, Kelley giving you a soft smile. She puts her arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her. 

“Emily is going to grab us something to snack on. I’ll get you ready for bed, we can eat, and then you can sleep. Okay?”

You nod, too tired to argue. 

Kelley looks at the elevator, wondering why it’s taking so long, “sweetheart, you know the elevator comes a lot faster if you hit the button.”

She steps forward, pressing the call button. You furrow your brow slightly as the warmth and comfort leave, but they soon return. The elevator arrives shortly and Kelley ushers you in. Once you reach your floor, she pulls you down the hall and opens a door. 

This is definitely not your room. Judging by the king sized bed and suitcases, it appears Kelley and Emily were able to convince the coaching staff that they were responsible enough to share. 

Kelley opens a suitcase, digging through slightly to find a pair of pajamas. She then quickly turns to you, pulling your clothes off and dressing you. After so many times in the locker room, you two have no sense of modesty. 

A short knock is heard before the door pushes open. Emily walks in, giving Kelley a quick kiss before kissing your head. She pulls sandwiches from a bag, handing one to Kelley and moving to put another in the fridge. The last one she keeps for herself. 

She also pulls a granola bar from her bag, handing it to you. “Eat this, then you can sleep. You’ll have something real to eat when you wake up, but you need to sleep more.” 

You quickly manage to eat the bar, looking towards the couple for guidance. Emily puts her lunch down, guiding you into the bed. She settles you in the middle, pulling the sheets over you. Within 2 minutes, you are fast asleep. 

Kelley and Emily then quickly finish their lunch, settling on either side of you. They lay down, snuggling you into them, talking quietly. You were so soundly sleeping that they could have been shouting and you wouldn’t have woken up. 

Kelley starts the conversation, “I texted Coach while you were tucking her in. Everyone is having a bit of jet lag, so weight training is pushed back 2 hours and cut short.”

Emily simply nodded, grateful for the shortened workout. Although it was nothing compared to you, she was feeling the time change. 

The two women settle fully, wordlessly deciding on a plan. Kelley sets a quick alarm on her phone, tossing it on to her nightstand. Emily props herself on one elbow, looking towards Kelley. 

“I’m obsessed with this kid. Can we keep her, Kel? Please? I promise I’ll feed her and walk her.”

Kelley laughs at Emily’s overeager child impression, “I think we have to. It’s a bit too late to drop her at the pound.”

[torturing-characters-101]

I'm not sure if this is in any of y'all's realm of expertise but I was kind of just wondering how do psychiatric hospitals function? I know a fair bit about the routine of a hospital on like the patient end but for psychiatric hospitals I'm not sure, and I want to write a character having a stay at one. I assume it's similar to a normal hospital but I don't know what differences to account for. Also, for reference I'm assuming this is a very nice hospital that leaves the character in question in a more stable mental state, not a horrifically mismanaged/abusive one that you hear people tell personal horror stories about.

A psychiatry floor or psychiatry hospital is set up a little different than a medical floor/hospital.

Lets start by saying that you can voluntarily admit yourself to a psych hospital (or these days at least, ask to be put on the waiting list... sigh) or you can be involuntarily sent to a psych hospital by an emergency department doctor, psychiatrist or another medical professional. The orders for involuntary admissions only last 48-72 hours unless a court order is obtained (this depends on local laws).

The reasons someone might get sent to a psychiatry facility against their will include the patient actively being a danger to oneself or others due to a psychiatric reason, or the patient being mentally unable to care for or reasonably protect themself from harm. Here is a screenshot of part of a document used to involuntarily admit someone for treatment:

Often, the floors (or the majority of the floors) in psychiatric hospitals are "locked" units. This means that patients do not have the freedom to leave whenever they want, and that there are physical barriers in place to prevent someone from leaving. These can include something called a "Sally Port" where to enter or exit the unit, a person must pass through 2 sets of doors, and the first set must close before the next set can open.

Physically, good psych units are long hallways or large semi-circular spaces where any space on the floor can be seen from a central location (with the exception of patient rooms). Patients may have private or semi-private (2-person) rooms. Rooms are relatively bare and furniture is usually attached to the floor or designed to be particularly difficult to pick up. The doors/showers/windows/pens/cutlery are designed so that the person using them cannot use them to hurt themself or others. This includes doors without hydraulic closures (which a patient could hang from) and pens that are short and have a rubber outer shell (instead of plastic or metal) to prevent someone from stabbing with them.

Patients have their personal items searched on the way in, and a lot of times locked in a locker to be retrieved when they leave. Some units allow patients to wear their own clothes after a search, while others require hospital gowns with scrub pants or hospital pajamas. There is often a limit to what personal items can be brought onto the floor, if any, for the safety of the individual and those they will interact with.

The goal is to create an environment where someone who is in danger of hurting themself or others doesn't have to worry that they'll get the opportunity.

During the day, there are generally group therapy sessions, education sessions, individual therapy sessions, and individual meetings with a psychiatrist. Often there is a fairly strict daily routine, with specific hours set aside for monitored outdoor time, food, exercise, appointments, groups, etc...

Staff must put eyes on each patient and document their condition every 15 minutes, day and night. Usually this responsibility is shared among staff members. Vital signs, like heart rate, respiratory rate, etc.. are taken every 12 hours or so to help determine physical response to treatment.

Usually, a component of therapy is medication, and a patient will get evaluated by a psychiatrist initially and then repeatedly throughout their stay. While they will get daily maintenance meds, they can also either ask for as-needed meds if they are cognizant enough to do so, or have as-needed meds available in case they become an active danger to themselves or others. These are frequently anti-anxiety or antipsychotic medications.

Restraints and seclusion rooms do exist, though orders for these often only last 2-4 hours for adults, at which point they are re-evaluated by the psychiatrist or ordering provider. During this time, the every-15-mins checks continue, and every 1-2 hours food, drink, toileting, and other comfort measures are explicitly offered.

Unfortunately, just like with any hospital, people in psych facilities are generally having the worst time of their lives. It's not fun to be in a facility, especially one you aren't allowed to leave (if that's your situation), but the goal is to keep patients safe and alive until they can find a stable regimen of medication, community support, and counseling that the patient can continue at home or in a group home setting.

-Ross ( @macgyvermedical )

[daisiesonafield-blog]

ATTENTION everyone attending ‘Love on Tour’ PHILLY on Sept 17 2021

COVID-19 protocol:

EVERYONE must wear masks for the entirety of the show, at all times inside the venue and while standing in any admission lines.

You must provide proof of COVID-19 immunization OR

Provide proof of a negative COVID-19 diagnostic test within 48-hours prior to entering the venue. At-home rapid COVID-19 tests will not be allowed.

Also, bring appropriate ID matching the name on your COVID-19 documentation.

You will NOT be allowed into Harry’s show (regardless of age) without proof of vaccination OR proof of negative COVID-19 test. Yes, even if you have a ticket.

For more details click here.

General admission (Cherry or Watermelon pit tickets):

Fans will be permitted to start lining up at 8AM at the Southwest Doors. This is the corner of the Arena that faces I -95 and Broad Street.

No overnight camping allowed.

Staff will be present to assist and direct fans.

Door opening times:

Doors open at 6PM. Show starts at 8PM.

Here are important policies:

Bags are PROHIBITED. Hand clutch not to exceed 4.5” X 6.5” with or without handle and diaper bags and medical bags will be allowed.

Oversized bags, hard sided bags and backpacks can be stored in lockers located on the Broad Street side of the venue. Lockers are priced based on bag size, ranging from $5 to $15, payable by credit cards only.

No professional equipment, detachable lenses, or lenses longer than 2.5” are permitted.

Outside food and beverage (except baby food and medically necessary items) are not allowed.

Coolers, hydration packs, bottles, cans or other beverage containers are not allowed.

For a complete list of policies and prohibited items click here.

Banners, signs and flag policy:

Banners, signs and flags no larger than 14” X 14” are allowed. They cannot be attached to a pole/stick. Must be constructed of cloth, paper or paperboard.

Content may not be political, ideological, or commercial in nature, as determined by Wells Fargo Center staff

Item must be in good taste, and appropriate for the event

This policy is subject to change based on Wells Fargo Center management’s discretion and without notice

For more details about signs click here.

Merch Shop & Vaccination Discount:

Fans can shop early for mech in Philly at the Wells Fargo Center, 3601 S Broad St, Philly, from 3 p.m. – 7 p.m. on Thursday Sept 16 2021

Masks required while shopping.

All purchases must be credit card only.

Get the COVID-19 vaccine and receive $10 off merch:

COVID-19 vaccinations available on-site. Schedule your appointment now with @CVSPharmacy: http://smarturl.it/LOT-CVS-Philadelphia… 

Please bring your ID & if applicable, insurance card. If you’re under 18, you will need a parent or guardian to sign the consent form.

Those already vaccinated can show proof for $10 off merch as well

Merch will be available on the day of the show too.

Details here.

[laviefantasie]

One Step at a Time

Warnings: School Shooting, death, PTSD

Summary: It was supposed to be just another normal day at school. Just 8 hours, 480 minutes, of learning before Julie and you went to the Molina’s studio and spend the day with the guys. It was supposed to be just another normal school day... but it wasn’t.

Pairings: Ghost!Luke Patterson x Alive!Reader

A/N I did as much research as I could about the subject, I won’t get it 100% right since thankfully I’ve never experienced this but I feel it is a subject that should be talked about more. Stay safe!

| MASTERLIST |

120 Hours After the Shooting

A gasp leaves your body as you sit up while holding back a scream. You feel the sweat dripping down your skin as your eyes take in your surroundings, it takes you a minute to fully recognize your room as your blurry vision finally settles. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you jump out of your bed, scared. Looking towards the source you find the hazel eyes of the lead guitarist on Julie’s band.

He looks at you with worry as he slowly starts crawling towards you, his steps were wary as if afraid you’d run out of the room any second.

He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, he is talking to you, yet you cannot hear. Your ears numb to the sounds around you.

As you feel breathing becoming a harder task your eyes fall to your hands, wondering to yourself when will this ever stop?

How could this be your life now? 

2190 Hours Before the Shooting

You walked behind Carrie to the auditorium with your blue wig on and an excited smile on your face. All the Dirty Candy girls following their leader with the nerves filling their bodies.

After many days of long hours of rehearsals, you girls were finally showing what you had worked so hard to accomplish.

As you entered the auditorium a student member of the illuminating staff bumps into you nearly throwing you to the ground. Thankfully, he catches you.

“I’m so so sorry, Y/N”

You brush yourself trying to get rid of any possible dirt in your costume before giving him a kind smile.

“Everything good here, uh...”

You stop talking as soon as you realize that you don’t remember the name of the guy you had surely seen in at least two of your classes. He notices that and the smile that had appeared on his face soon falls.

As you’re about to apologize for your bad memory, Carrie screams for you to hurry up, so with one apologetic smile you leave.

It is through the performance of Wow that your eyes catch sight of Julie and three more guys by her side. You make sure to send her a smile when she catches your eyes, nostalgia over your lost friendship suddenly making an appearance.

730 Hours Before the Shooting

Your life had definitely changed for the better, as bizarre as it was now. Two months ago you had decided to fix your friendship with Julie -three ghosts being a much needed push- while also getting to know three kind -formerly mentioned- ghosts.

You and the guys were close, probably as close as you had become with Flynn and as you once were -and thankfully were again- with Julie.

Luke and you had bonded over songwriting. Both of you making the songs for Julie and the Phantoms, something Julie liked to tease you about a lot especially when she noticed that your usual roll of eyes had turned into a deep red blush.

Of course becoming friends with Julie had put a strain on your friendship with Carrie. The strawberry blonde snapping at you at every possible opportunity yet never truly hurting you as you were her best friend.

Either way, after the growth of Julie’s band, the realization that the boys had to cross over, them playing at the Orpheum to fulfill their unfinished business, them discovering playing at the Orpheum wasn’t their unfinished business, and then their love for one another saving them from ceasing to exist and somehow becoming tangible to both Julie and you while also gaining the new ability to be seen as far as they concentrated deeply. You had learned to appreciate the little gifts of the universe more and more.

You were accepting everything it was throwing at you because so far you had loved the unexpected things it had sent.

You were in a happy place. Julie was in a happy place. So were the boys and the Molina’s. And even if she didn’t voice it, you knew Carrie was too, the strawberry blonde too proud to admit she missed Julie and hoped she could soon get close to through you.

Things were good. Nothing could hurt you guys, everything was perfect.

336 Hours Before the Shooting

Julie and the Phantoms and Dirty Candy had a gig. More importantly, the same gig. A concert was being held at the Hollywood Bowl to showcase young artists and both bands had been accepted.

It was a huge opportunity.

So as expected, none of them so one another during the week they got the news as all were too invested in rehearsing to give out the best performance they could. This event could be life changing.

But you could only spend so much time apart from songwriting -especially if it was with a certain ghost-, so you and Luke had decided to meet every two days at your room at night to write new songs. None of you could use them for the presentation though as it wouldn’t be fair to the other.

After your third meeting, Luke had accidentally asleep on your bed with you -the need for sleep being a consequence of using the newly found powers too much- and soon it became a habit that whenever he came he would stay.

So your relationship grew. And you loved that as much you denied it, Julie’s knowing smirk always reminding you that no one believed it. 

Even Carrie knew you had a crush, the strawberry blonde making sure to mention it on the next Dirty Candy rehearsal.

“I want everyone on their very best. We have to be the best performance there” she reminds them for the hundredth time “I want your concentration the following weeks on the performace. Understood, Y/N? No cute guitarists”

The blush and glare you sent your best friend’s way was enough to make a smirk appear on her face and her eyes to soften before ending the break and starting rehearsals once again. 

168 Hours Before the Shooting

You smiled as Carrie laughed loudly, proud to have been the one who made the smile appear on her face. You were the only one -after Julie- that had ever been able to make her smile like that, though the smiles Julie got were always followed by a small blush.

The two of you were having your weekly sleepover. Both of you having stated since the start of high school that every week, no matter how busy they were, they would give one day to sleep at either house to catch up. It was a good way to keep the strong bond you two had while also letting go of the problems and stress you adquire during the week.

This time both of you found yourselves in Y/N’s empty house. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that Y/N’s widowed mother was working -as she was a surgeon, her father being one too when he was alive- so she mostly spent the nights by herself.

Carrie, being Trevor Wilson’s daughter, had also spent months alone with his father going on tours or spending hours at the recording studio. You both had basically grown up with nannies, you had it better though since it was only after your father’s dead that the nannies appeared. 

That’s why Rose Molina’s death had hit you both almost as hard as it had hit Julie. You had both loved her deeply, seeing her as a mother figure. The Molina’s always having their house opened for the both of you, something you’d both be forever thankful for.

The fight between Julie and Carrie had been nasty and big, both refusing to ever mentioning the details, which left you and Flynn to take side neither wanting to leave either alone. Of course, when the time came you went with Carrie as she trusted you the most -her and Flynn never seeing eye-to-eye as the strawberry blonde’s crush for the cute singer grew-.

So, as you both laughed while the movie Five Feet Apart played in your room’s television was completely ignored by you both, you couldn’t help but be grateful for the girl sitting in front of you. Even though Carrie had this bad spoiled rich girl persona for the people around them to see, inside she was just an insecure kind-hearted girl who just wanted someone to care.

The laughter soon dies as you both look at each other with soft smiles, the strawberry blonde’s smile falling as she gazes at your door with a sad look in her face. The silence settling between the two.

“Do you think someone’d notice if we were gone?” She asks softly as if she was afraid of the answer.

“Of course” Your answer is quick, without hesitation.

Her brown sad eyes soon stare at you, “Would they notice if I was gone?”

The questions doesn’t catch you off guard as you often knew your best friend’s fear of being forgotten. She didn’t have a close group of friends. It had always been Carrie, Julie, and Y/N. Somewhere along the way Flynn joined, but otherwise it had always been the three of you. And then, it was you two. Nick soon joined you both but after the breakup he had been acting weird. So, Carrie only had you. She loved the girls from her group but other than Kayla she didn’t actually get along with them. So it was only Y/N.

“They would” Y/N answers without hesitation, “More importantly, I would”

That’s enough to bring the smile back to the face of the leader of Dirty Candy, her soon tackling you in a hug. Laughter filling the emptiness of your house once again.

48 Hours Before the Shooting

To say all of you were nervous was an understatement. That Saturday was the event at the Hollywood Bowl, so the two groups had been rehearsing nonstop and trying on outfits. Everything had to be perfect.

Dirty Candy was performing a new song called Sweet Melody at said event, featuring Y/N’s voice alongside Carrie’s. All the members had been surprised when their leader had given the idea, saying the chorus was better suited for your range, but neither had complained as they had loved your voice.

That’s why as you opened the door to your locker, your mouth was mouthing the lyrics in complete concentration. You were nervous of forgetting the words and freezing on stage, so you practice as much as you could.

Getting your Algebra II book out you head to your class, smiling once you see Julie and going to sit beside her. Soon both of you start talking, only stopping once the teacher walks in and starts her class.

You have a bored expression on your face as you copy what Mrs. Matthews writes on the board, only to have your attention caught by a boy entering the class completely out of breath.

“Mr. Rogers, glad you could join us” ironizes your teacher.

You look at the boy with pity, though you soon recognize it as the one you bumped into when you were on your way to perform at the school’s pep rally. Rogers, so that was his name.

“I don’t care whatever your excuses are” States Mrs. Matthews, “This is the fourth time you’re late, so please go to the principal’s office”

As soon as you see the angry look on his face you let your gaze wander to your songbook, not in the mood to watch him fight with the teacher.  You keep your concentration on the song you were currently writing.

That is until the loud slam of the door makes your head snap up, your eyes finding Mrs. Matthews’ shocked face. Your eyes find Julie’s to find the girl as lost as you as she has been doodling on her notebook.

Class continues and the bell soon rings letting you know it is time for lunch, Julie and you walking side by side.

“I read the song your mom wrote, by the way,” You add seeing her eyes light up as you mention it “It is truly amazing, Jules, it is a very powerful song”

“I’m so glad you finally read it” She smiles, “I was thinking maybe we could duet it someday? It would definitely be cool, don’t you think?”

You smile softly before turning it into a smirk, “Julie and the Phantom’s leader with Y/N Y/L/N from Dirty Candy, sounds interesting”

She nudges you with an amused look before you both enter the cafeteria laughing. None of the students making noise in the cafeteria notice the angry looking kid sitting alone at one of the last tables.

How much would’ve things changed if someone had noticed?

10 Minutes Before the Shooting

Friday couldn’t have come sooner, both groups excited for the concert that was happening the next day. Though, that day seemed to be everlasting as you and Carrie walked to your last class of the day, the only class you both had with Julie and Flynn: Music.

As you make a quick stop to your locker to grab the music sheets for the song you were presenting today, Luke appears beside you making you let out a strangled scream.

“You need to stop that, Lu” You whisper while eyeing your surroundings, “Otherwise I’ll end up joining you on the other side soon”

The guitarist laughs at your joke before leaning on the locker beside your own, a soft smile on his face.

“Nervous about tomorrow?”

You close your locker before making your way to music class, Luke soon walking beside you.

“Totally” you breathe out, “We’re going to be in front of thousands of people, thousands, Luke. Thi-this is HUGE”

The boy smiles excitedly, “I cannot believe it is happening either but I can’t wait. I’m so excited to rehearse today one last time”

“Me too, Dirty Candy’s routine is going to make the crowd go wow”

Luke lets out an exaggerated groan as he hears your lame joke referring to one of your band’s songs, a smile soon adorning his features.

“You’re coming to reahearsal today, right? Songwriting session after?”

“Songwriting session after” You promise before entering your classroom, the ghost soon disappearing to go to the Molina’s studio.

You take your seat besides Carrie, not missing Julie’s teasing smirk sent your way as she caught Luke before he poofed out. You roll your eyes at her with a small smile before paying attention to Mrs. Harrison’s lesson.

Not even two minutes later, a loud bang sounds throughout the school. The loud noise echoing in each classroom making every student freeze in confusion.

Another loud noise soon follows before the screams start. Mrs. Harrison soon jumps to action going to lock the classroom door.

“Everybody down! Against the walls! Cover your heads!” She whispers loudly as she turns off the lights, “Boys, help me move the desks in front of the door”

Everyone soon moves to do as told. Carrie, Julie, Flynn, and Y/N soon snuggling in a corner together, the four of you staring wide-eyed at one another as you feel the fear of the unknown crawling through your bodies.

You listened to the hurried steps of students running through the hallways as more screams pierce through the halls. Gunshots echoing.

“Now, I know this is scary and I know you’re confused, kids,” whispers Mrs. Harrison, “but I need you all to start sending texts to anyone outside of school. We need to make sure the authorities know what is happening”

You feel tears start sliding down your cheeks as your confusion turns into panic, your heart beating fastly in your chest as you grab your phone with your shaky hands. Out of the corner of your eye you see your best friends soon doing the same.

Everyone too scared to say something, the only sound being the muffled sobs that everyone lets out. Your breathing stops once you hear Julie’s ringtone sound loudly, the girl soon quieting it down.

“Everyone keep your phones on silence, no one needs to know we are here” their music teacher reminds them, “Remember every drill we’ve had, you have to follow three simple steps: Run, Hide, and as a last resource Defend”

Your clean your tears with your shaking hand as you try to stop the blurriness of your vision only to have more tears appear, you feel Julie take your hand and interlocking your fingers with hers.

“I’m scared” She whispers.

You look at her with tears blurring your vision, your face saying what you can’t, as somehow you can’t seem to find your voice. Another gunshot, this one closer than before, tears through the halls making you all let out strangled screams. Carrie jumping to your side -the one not occupied by Julie- and Flynn jumping to Julie’s.

The four of you staying close as tears stream down all of your faces.

From where you’re hiding you cannot see your classmates nor Mrs. Harrison’s, the soft cries being the only thing that makes you know they are there.

Another piercing scream followed by a gunshot tear through the school, the four of you letting out silent sobs. You grab your phone with shaky hands before typing fastly a text to your mom.

If anything happens, mom, I love you. -Y/N

You close your eyes as you try to calm your breathing, the thumping of your heart echoing in your ears. Another gunshot. You jump in your place with your eyes still close and a strong hold on both of your best friends.

Another gunshot and soon the doorknob jiggles, letting everyone know someone is trying to open the door. Everyone in the music room holds their breath as fear crawls through their skins.

All the laughs, the smiles, the tears, the moments you spent by your dad’s bed at the hospital, the rehearsals with the band, the sleepovers with Carrie, the time spent with Julie and Flynn, the moments you spent at the Molina’s studio, the songwriting with Luke. Everything comes crashing down.

The door is hit with force, the person trying to get in trying to make the door budge. You bite your lip hard to stop the scream that wants to make its way out of your throat.

The door is pushed one more time before steps resonate letting you all know the person is leaving. You let out a shaky breath, tears flowing neverending down your cheeks.

“I’m so so sorry, Julie” Whispers Carrie, “I’m sorry about our fight, I’m sorry for not letting you apologize and for pushing you away, I’m sorry for making Y/N and Flynn take sides, I’m sorry for taking Nick, and I’m sorry for never telling you I loved you”

You stared at the strawberry blonde with red puffy wide eyes, Carrie looking scared to death as she says what she had been keeping herself from saying this last year. Tears stream down her pale face as silent sobs shake her small body.

Julie moves quietly to get closer to her to hug her, both girls shaking in fear as they reconcile. Flynn moves to the spot Julie once resided, taking Y/N’s hand. Everyone crying softly as they wait for someone to tell them it’s okay to come out.

None of you know how long you stay there until there is a knock on the door making you all freeze with fear.

“This is L.A. P.D., everything is okay now. Is anyone in there?”

You all let out a breath of relief. Y/N closing her eyes as she lets out a loud sob, soon everyone crying their hearts out as they are soon escorted out of the room.

You hear the police ask for everyone to raise their hands, soon everyone doing as told, and to not look at your surroundings. Soon all of you being escorted to the outside in a line, though you can’t stop your eyes from drifting through the hallway once catching sight of all the blood.

You take a shaky breath as you feel the tears still flowing down your face.

The four girls hug each other tightly as they walk out into the school ground. All of your eyes taking their time to adjust to the bright sun. Faintly, you hear the police tell you all to not look back and decide to obey them this time as the glimpses of the blood and the bodies you saw inside were enough to have you struggling to breathe.

“Dad!” You hear Julie screaming in relief before detaching from all of you and running to his father’s arms.

It is when you see them hugging that your blurry eyes catch sight of your heartbroken mother, who soon runs to get to you with relief washing over her. It is until you are in her arms that the world around you starts spinning again.

The sounds become clearer and so does your vision as the pressure of everything finally leaves your body, sobs shaking your body in the safety of your mother’s arms. Out of the corner of your eyes you see Flynn and Carrie reuniting with their own parents as well as many other students.

But as you see reunions, you soon see the heartbreaking faces of realization and the agonizing screams of the losses of their children. Your sobs becoming louder.

Your mother soon falling with you to the floor as your knees give in, the weight of your body becoming too much as you try to put yourself back together. This wasn’t supposed to happen. How could this have happened? Why did it happen? Why?

96 Hours After the Shooting

Carrie, Flynn, Julie, and Y/N were cuddling together on the studio’s couch, their parents inside the Molina’s home. After the incident, the four of them had been joined to the hip only untangling themselves from the other to go sleep at their own houses. 

Julie and Carrie holding hands tightly as they all stare at the wall silently with soft music playing in the background. School was closed until further noticed and you had all bailed on the concert at the Hollywood Bowl. The members of Sunset Curve watched you all carefully with heavy hearts. They all felt guilty for not being there for either of you.

Luke feeling his heart break whenever he saw a tear make its way down your face without your knowledge. None of them could ever understand the fear that any of you had felt at that moment or how it had scarred all of you.

So they just stood beside the four of you in a protective way, making sure you all knew you weren’t alone. And everynight, as the fear of closing your eyes and hearing the echoing of the shots ring through your head, Luke would poof in and lay beside you, singing a sweet lullaby to help you sleep.

Though you always woke up in a terrified daze, the guitarist soon jumping to bring you back to reality.

120 Hours After the Shooting

A gasp leaves your body as you sit up while holding back a scream. You feel the sweat dripping down your skin as your eyes take in your surroundings, it takes you a minute to fully recognize your room as your blurry vision finally settles.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you jump out of your bed, scared. Looking towards the source you find the hazel eyes of the lead guitarist on Julie’s band.

He looks at you with worry as he slowly starts crawling towards you, his steps were wary as if afraid you’d run out of the room any second.

He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, he is talking to you, yet you cannot hear. Your ears numb to the sounds around you.

As you feel breathing becoming a harder task your eyes fall to your hands, wondering to yourself when will this ever stop?

How could this be your life now?

Silently, you stand up and head out of your room and downstairs to grab a glass of water. The sun rising through the sky to signal a new day. You gaze at it intently as you drink the water slowly, your heart calming down as it sees the beauty of it. 

You weren’t okay. Neither of you was. 

It would probably take a long time before either of you were completely okay, and even then the memory would haunt you. All you could do is take it one step at a time, trusting that the people who loved you would be ready to catch you if you stumbled. You were willing to do the same for the girls.

All of you would soon have to start attending the funerals of your classmates, of the people whose face you had all grown used to seeing, of people you had grown up with. You would have to be in the presence of heartbroken parents who screamed their lungs out in agony for the child they lost. 

Your grip on the glass of water tightens as you feel your chest become heavier. One step at a time, you repeat in your head, one step at a time.

You feel Luke appear behind you, his arms soon wrapping around your waist as his face hides in your neck. A small smile makes its way to your face, one of your hands letting go of the glass of water to hold his arm. One step at a time, you repeated.

One step at a time.

[a-student-out-of-time]

ASOOT Timeline: May 2012 (Part 1)

otherwise known as “fuck it, I finished Twilight Syndrome, it’s only gonna get more complicated from here, so might as well split May in half for now”–Timeline Anon

May 2: Mahiru asks for Hajime’s help with the Honami-Natsumi situation. Hajime, of course, agrees to help.

May 3: 

Hajime and Natsumi have a casual conversation about how things are going, but Natsumi suspects that Hajime has an ulterior motive for talking to her. Before anything can be sorted out, Fuyuhiko shows up, and Natsumi introduces him to Hajime. Fuyuhiko leaves with Natsumi, but not before quipping to Hajime that he would make a good bodyguard.

It’s Chisa’s birthday. She turns 22.

May 4: 

Mahiru vents her frustration with Honami and Natsumi’s constant fighting to Hajime as they brainstorm ideas to help them. Hajime plans to talk to Natsumi, then have her meet with Mahiru and Honami to talk things out. When Mahiru asks why he’s doing all this, Hajime replies that he cares about them and doesn’t want to stand by and do nothing in such a bad situation. He failed to help someone who needed him once, and he can’t let that happen again.

Mahiru goes to Chisa and asks her to reserve the Music Room in the Main Course building for the Hajime-Natsumi-Mahiru-Honami meeting, which is set to take place on May 14. Chisa agrees to help.

May 7:

During their afternoon gaming time, Hajime and Chiaki discuss Hajime’s scholarship dilemma. It turns out that Chiaki has figured out how much Reserve Course tuitions cost and is willing to pay Hajime’s tuition using money she has earned from a) allowance and b) selling her games. Hajime is reluctant at first, but Chiaki insists, and Hajime says that he will think about it.

Natsumi tries to enter the Main Course building, but is turned away by Juzo Sakakura, who tells her that the staff haven’t put together a test for her yet. 

May 8:

Honami and Natsumi fight again. Hajime intervenes. Natsumi threatens to kill Honami and Mahiru, then storms off. Hajime promises a distraught Honami that he will help her deal with Natsumi.

Natsumi opens up to Hajime about her desire to enter the Main Course, her feelings of inferiority due to her lack of talent, her fears of being left behind by her brother, and her dream of standing by his side. Hajime suggests that Fuyuhiko might not care as much about talent as Natsumi thinks he does and might see talent in her that Hope’s Peak does not. Natsumi, her worldview sufficiently rocked, takes her leave.

May 9: Hajime and Mahiru ask Miaya Gekkougahara to attend the Music Room meeting with them, Honami, and Natsumi. Miaya accepts.

May 10: 

Mahiru convinces Honami to come to the Music Room meeting. She reveals that Mikan, Hiyoko, and Ibuki will also be there.

Hajime leaves Natsumi a note in her locker, inviting her to the Music Room meeting.

May 11: Hajime and Chiaki are walking home from school when, all of a sudden, Hajime falls and twists his ankle. Chiaki helps him the rest of the way to his house, then calls Mikan to come and take a look at it. Mikan prescribes a few weeks of bed rest. (This is the first known occurence of the “Ankle Effect.”)

May 12: It’s Mikan’s birthday. She turns 17.

May 13: Hajime’s ankle still doesn’t feel any better. He protests to Chiaki that he has to go to the Music Room meeting, because if he doesn’t, people are going to die. He then confesses that he’s from the future. Chiaki doesn’t believe him.

May 14:

Hajime wakes up late and is horrified to discover that it’s 12:47 PM. He decides that he must go to Hope’s Peak and stop Twilight Syndrome, ankle be damned!

Mikan tells Mahiru about Hajime’s ankle situation, then accidentally trips into the doors, soaking Hiyoko in a bucket of grape juice that she was intending to use on someone else. This forces Hiyoko to go change, holding up the whole group. Mahiru calls Honami to give her an update, but her phone runs out of battery at the worst possible time.

A limping Hajime makes it to school at 1:39 PM, only to be stopped by Juzo. He begs the security guard to let him speak to Chisa. Juzo reluctantly agrees to go talk to her, but tells Hajime that he is not allowed in the main building until then.

At 1:48 PM, Natsumi arrives at the music room. Honami arrives shortly afterwards.

Hajime gives up on waiting for Juzo at 1:53 PM. He instead uses a piece of pipe to hoist himself through an open window, then sets to work on limping to the music room.

Juzo finds Chisa at 1:55 PM. It turns out that Miaya is stuck in the elevator. Juzo goes to fix it while Chisa looks for Hajime.

Meanwhile, in the music room, Honami and Natsumi are no closer to making amends than they were before. In fact, their argument escalates. 

The Twilight Syndrome conversation plays out word-for-word between Mahiru, Mikan, Hiyoko, and Ibuki.

Natsumi once again threatens Mahiru’s life, then turns to leave…but then, Honami tackles her and begins to strangle her. Just when all seems lost, Hajime bursts open the door, forces Honami off Natsumi, and pins her against the wall, leaving Natsumi gasping for air. He then gives both girls a good talking-to about how their fight has gone on long enough and needs to end before anyone gets hurt.

The Twilight quartet arrives right on cue. Mikan gets Natsumi to the infirmary, Honami apologizes to Mahiru, and Hajime’s ankle finally gives out.

Hajime wakes up two hours later in the infirmary. Mikan and Chisa assure him that Natsumi is in stable condition.

Chiaki walks Hajime home with the help of some crutches, then asks for answers. He tells her everything–his status as a time traveler, what would’ve happened to Natsumi and Honami, the Tragedy, all of it. She agrees to help him fix the future.

//You’re doing great work, plz don’t strain yourself ^^;

[todoshotoki]

➽───────❥ INTUITION ; CHAPTER FIVE

katsuki bakugo x reader

taglist: @aria-bnha @00ashpop00 @internetrashh @videogameboiwhowins @doggy-48 @tspice283 @mismatchedtwin-rachel​ @nekomxncer​

a/n: i don’t know if the usage of the weapon that the reader has is cultural appropriation (which i take very seriously) so please let me know if so and i’ll rewrite the character’s weapon design).

word count: 1K

“left,”

“right,”

“kick from under”

“watch your hip,”

you were knocked to the side but you managed find your footing again and you placed both thumbs on the middle and pulled to separate the staff into two pieces. the ends condensed into smaller more manageable sizes.

the dead time between the convenience factor and deattaching delayed you by five seconds but you had managed to evade your teacher’s incoming attacks and go unscathed. this was a first as you had always had been knocked to the ground in the process. your teacher grinned, “you’re getting quicker,”

“hell yeah, i am,” you pride yourself now switching to the offense. you twirl them around in your hands as you begin to advance, going from hand to hand, striking toward her left only for her to duck under and kick up to your chin.

your quirk queued in just in time to step back but it was faint. you had been practicing nonstop for a few hours so of course it was. your lungs were starting to burn and your chest was sore but you had to finish this last round. you were just getting better.

you backed up and engaged into a sprint, sending a jump into your toes to flip into a corkscrew to possibly choke her down with the chain of the nunchucks. but to your dismay, a collective gasp had shattered your focus causing you to overshot your leap and land on your back.

you coughed harshly as the wind gets knocked out of you. “fuck!” you roll over onto your side with a hand on your throat. you look toward the doorway to see kirishima, midoriya, and a girl a bit shorter than midoriya standing there in guilt.

“you almost had me there, (l/n),” your teacher lends you a hand. “i’ve never seen such an attempt with a weapon like that,” you took with a grimace and she pulled you upright, “work on your focus next time. you’re too anxious.” you nod and after punching your chest to stop the coughing, you glared towards the door.

“you guys messed me up!” you yelled. “i’m sorry!” midoriya immediately started to bow on instinct. “we didn’t mean to (l/n), you just looked so cool! you need to teach me that some time.” kirishima says hyped up over the skirmish you just had done.

“it must’ve taken a lot of relentless training,” the girl said. “thanks, um...” you tried to thank her but damn, what was her name?

“uraraka,” she chimes in. “yeah, that,” you laugh sheepishly. you then turn to midoriya, “did you bring the book?”

“yeah, i sure did,” he handed you a small notebook that had “hero journal no. 9” written on the front. why has he put boom boom boy in the hero section???

“thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” you thank him. “come!” you then call your weapon that was laying on the floor in the place you had landed, coming to your gloved hand to which the three awed over. “woah, you don’t need to flex on us (l/n),” kirishima whines, putting his hands up in defeat.

you shook your head at the redhead’s expression. “i’ll meet you guys back at the main building. i need to change out of my costume.” you turned and waved. you opened izuku’s notebook and flipped to the marked page.

katsuki bakugou

quirk: explosions; the sweat glands on his palms are mutant with sweat akin to nitroglycerin. he’s able to cause explosions at will. he can spark off explosions unaided as well, but his ability is undoubtedly boosted by activities that conduce sweating- so he’s a force to be reckoned with in summertime! however, he’s a slow starter in the winter! at any rate, the more sweat, the greater the power of his quirk. he has no big drawbacks and his strength leaves no heads unturned!

you frowned promptly at the synopsis. midoriya was blatantly praising this delinquent and with the sports festival not being in the winter you couldn’t take any other big steps forward to best him. from what you knew, bakugo was irrational and was full of himself which no doubt would slowly be tamed by the likes of yourself and todoroki.

you saw how dejected he looked after his match with uraraka and izuku so crushing his spirits and provoking him was the most you could possibly do. no matter how much he thought he could be strong, if something is repeated to you over and over again, you’ll believe it. that’s a promise.

“falling in love with bakugo katsuki, isnt worth it. one of you will die in the end.”

just as you were forgetting about that prediction it came to you in barely a whisper. “what the fuck?” the chills went down your spine as you buttoned up your dress shirt. this shit might actually be serious?

were you going to die?

no, you couldn’t die. this wasn’t a prediction, this was more of a condition.

you put your support item in your locker and headed to the main building.

you had english class next and you were the last one there. you were well aware of how gross you could look after training but damn, why is everyone looking at you like that? 

...

at around noon the next day, you were all doing a special class and mina and sero were more than excited to start. “i wonder what it’s going to be about! maybe we can get some hands on experience?” mina excitedly says, swinging her legs like a kid.

“a rescue training exercise,” you said, setting your pair of chopsticks on the top of your bowl, “it’s going to be in the usj. we’ll get to use our hero costumes and stuff. you guys will finally get to see my support item.”

“woah!” kaminari beams, “that quirk of yours really isn’t a fan of surprises is it?” you sheepishly shake your head. 

something seemed off about the next class. something bad was coming.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

17 or 48, both together, or just one, or whatever you want if they haven't already been requested, NSFW I guess if you don't have any problem with it. I wanted to add, in honor of Tom wearing glasses: for some reason, any silly reason or plot device you need, that makes Peter have to wear glasses, and MJ freaks out about it finding she's especially very attracted to him wearing glasses. You're super awesome btw!!!!

Thank you so much for these requests, Anons! As 48 and 17 were requested together more than once, I have included both prompts in this fic. And it’s NSFW (if you’re a perv, I’m a perv, Anon #3). And Peter wears glasses (feel free to determine the level of silliness of my reasoning for them, Anon #1 haha). Extra thanks to you, Anon #1, for your kind words! Hope you all enjoy!

This Spa Day Provided to You by Stark IndustriesPairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: E/NSFWWord count: 3752

17. “I know what I want, when I want it. So get over here.”

48. “If you want to get me naked, you’ll have to convince me it’ll be worth my time.”

Peter sighed into the phone.

“When I said the decathlon team really needs to relax beforeour next competition, that was just me complaining! I wasn’t asking you tospend money on us!”

“Yes, but that’s the beauty of being Tony Stark’s favouriteintern―”

“―only intern,” Peter mumbled.

“―I solve your problems before you even realize they needsolving.”

“I did realize,”he argued, flinging himself down onto his bed.

“And you weren’t going to do anything about it besidescomplain? That’s not very ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ of you, kid.”

“I… had some thoughts,” Peter said defensively.

“Such as?”

“Puppy room?”

“Like you rent puppies to help your pals cope with pre-competitionstress, is that the definition of ‘puppy room’ we’re working from?” Mr. Starkchecked. “Meaning you have puppies brought into your school, meaning you exposethose halls of learning to the evils of… what’s it called? Pet dander! Becausethere’s always one kid, Pete, always that one kid who’s allergic to puppies andspoils things for everyone else. And then, gee, it’s not the puppy’s fault, butnow there’s sneezing and itching and throats swelling shut, an ambulance iscalled to cart poor Timmy off to the hospital, and in the meantime, the puppieshave peed and ralphed all over the floor, thereby causing more stress than whatexisted to begin with! Then, of course, you’re blamed for the whole thingbecause it was your idea, probably kicked off the team, definitely sociallyostracized, and always left wondering, ‘Was it worth it?’”

There was a long pause.

“What happens to Timmy?” Peter wondered.

“Oh, they couldn’t save him. Anyway, doesn’t a spa day soundmore peaceful than all that?”

“Only because you turned the puppy room into some kind ofhorror movie epidemic.”

“It was a rhetorical question, since the obvious answer,”Mr. Stark informed him, “is a simple ‘yes.’ By the way, why am I having to sellthis to you so hard when I’m the one who paid for it?”

“That one’s gotta be rhetorical,” Peter said, but his mentorhad already hung up.

\\

“So, there’s, like, a sauna, a pool and hot tubs, or you canget a massage, or―”

“Living in a luxurious, fluffy spa robe for a day isbasically my dream,” Ned declared, interrupting Peter.

With a glance around the room, Peter saw that most of histeammates seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Ned, expressionssmiling and full of relief. Most of them. MJ was frowning.

“Have we done research on this place?” she asked. “When wasits last health inspection? How regularly do they test the chemical compositionof the pool water? Have there been any reported cases of―”

“It’s fine,” Peter assured her. “Mr. Stark goes there allthe time. Actually, I think he might own it…”

“And there’s never been a negligent billionaire businessowner with his fingers in so many pies that he lets standards slip at one ofhis investments,” MJ replied sarcastically.

He didn’t know where to start grappling with that, but hismouth hung open, waiting for his brain to fill it with an intelligent yetsensitive response.

“Yeah, but, MJ―” Flash jumped in.

“Michelle to you,” she corrected flatly.

“―free massages!” He raised his eyebrows like she was anidiot for having any misgivings in the face of complimentary spa treatments.

MJ rolled her eyes.

“Fine, we can focus on that, in which case, I have questionsabout the staff’s training, techniques―”

“Are you serious?” Peter said, accidentally out loud. Dumbquestion; his girlfriend was always serious.

She gave him a fixed stare.

“I’d like the person who massages me to know what they’redoing. If you want to get me naked, you’ll have to convince me it’ll be worthmy time.”

He felt the heat seeping up his neck into his face.

“I don’t want… N-notme personally…”

“I’ll do some research before we go,” Betty cheerfullyvolunteered. Peter smiled gratefully at her as she turned to face MJ, uncappingher pen and holding it poised over a pad of paper. “What were your concernsagain?”

“Happy thoughts,” Ned instructed as Peter cradled hisforehead in his hand, rattled. “Fluffy, fluffy robes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, tone striving for levity. “Robes. Right.”

What he was really thinking about was how much trouble hewas in. If MJ was this brazen in front of their friends, how was he supposed tohang out with her at the spa? Sure, they’d found enough opportunities sincethey’d started dating to make it to second base, but actually seeing her in abathing suit was a whole different thing! The robes were Ned’s idea of acalming thought, but what did people wear underneath them? Nothing! Picturinghim and MJ in matching robes was therefore not a very calming thought.

This spa day was going to kill him.

\\

“What’s next on your itinerary?” Peter asked distractedly,leaning against one of the large lockers in the men’s changing room. It wasuncanny, being in a room full of lockers without even the faintest odour offoot sweat―this spa was a distinct step up from the locker room at school.

“Couples facial with Betty,” Ned replied happily.

Peter frowned.

“That’s a thing?”

“Yes, Peter,” Ned sighed, exasperated. “Maybe you should’vespent your time doing a more thorough scan of the veritable smorgasbord oftreatments instead of concentrating on avoiding MJ.”

Peter jerked away from the locker.

“What? Avoiding her?” He shifted his feet.

Ned sighed again.

“You can’t hide in the changing room all day.”

“I haven’t been!”

“Every time I come back here to get my water or change into swimtrunks, you’re here.”

“We’re obviously very in sync,” Peter insisted. “And I wasjust leaving.”

Ned folded his arms and stared his best friend down.

“Uh huh.”

“I am! I’m going… swimming.”

“With your shoes on,” Ned checked, glancing down to Peter’ssneakers.

“I don’t want to contract a foot fungus. Better safe thansorry.”

“Can you even get a foot fungus?” Ned asked, lowering hisvoice and leaning closer for increased discretion. “Wouldn’t yoursuper-spider-ness protect you from something like that? Wouldn’t seem right ifyou could avoid supernatural attacks only to be felled by a foot fungus. Orwould it―”

“Bye, Ned,” Peter interrupted, and exited the room.

He did actually have his bathing suit on underneath therobe―Ned had been adamant about the robe-wearing―so he might as well headtowards the pool. Following the scent of chlorine, Peter turned down a quiethallway, lined with doors on both sides.

He could swim for hours if he had to. Just until―oh man, hewas totally avoiding MJ. He’d only seen her for about two seconds today afterthey’d arrived. Being gifted a spa day by Iron Man wasn’t the same as astandard field trip, so the team had had to make their own way here. (Peterwasn’t going to remind Mr. Stark that he’d blanked on providing transportationin luxury cars; Pepper would take care of that.) Too chicken to even sit nextto his girlfriend in the back seat of a car, Peter had waited until Abe offeredto pick up Flash, Cindy, and MJ before assuring a few of the others that hisaunt would be happy to give rides as well. This was pathetic.

Peter went to brush his hair back anxiously and bumped thecorner of his glasses, unused to them. Disoriented, he stopped walking tosettle them back into their proper position on his face. His arms tingled as helowered his hands and Peter became tense and alert. Quickly glancing around, henoticed that the door at the end of the hall was ajar. He flattened his back tothe wall and crept hurriedly and silently towards it.

The hairs on his arms were completely standing up once hewas right outside the door, so Peter pushed it open and darted inside, shiftingto a defensive posture and pulling the door closed behind him―one less escaperoute for whoever or whatever was in here with him. Besides the soothing soundtrackof wind chimes by the ocean.

Beyond the massage table dominating the space, a door at therear of the room opened and out stepped MJ, head down, tying a robe identicalto Peter’s. It was suddenly difficult to swallow.

She looked up and gasped, then sighed, hand to her chest.

“What the hell, Peter?”

“S-sorry,” he blurted, straightening up. “I thought… therewas something…”

Peter studied his arms, confused. He’d believed that extraSpidey sense was just, like, a space donut alert system. Now it was an MJfinder? He guessed he had been thinking about her a lot lately. Possibly, theconscious fixation plus theunconscious longing that had her appearing in his dreams most nights hadtriggered some kind of biological recalibration, thereby setting the sense toprepare for hormones instead of intergalactic battle. The potential science ofit was pretty cool and Peter tried to think about that in order to maintain hisrapidly failing composure.

MJ flipped her trapped hair out of the neck of her robe. Holyshit.

“I’m still not used to the glasses,” she said, approachinghim and sounding enviably calm. “Are you self-conscious about them? Is that whyI’ve barely seen you today?”

“No, I’m not… I’m not self-conscious,” he choked out.Clearing his throat, he continued. This was a safe topic which would aid him withnot stare at her legs below the hem of the knee-length robe. “They help my eyesrelax. Dampen stimuli. Kinda like those old black goggles I had. The ones Ishowed you―”

“―when we were in your bedroom.”

Abort. That was not a neutral memory. He revisited it―ohboy, did he revisit it―but only in private, in bed at night. Sometimes in theshower. His pulse pounded unmistakeably in his groin.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed weakly. “Then.”

“I like the glasses.”

“You do?”

MJ stopped in front of him and Peter imagined the feel ofher robe’s tie in his hand as he pulled it free of the loops. It was so easy topicture.

“Mhmm, you look… They just make you look more…”

Peter caught her eye and noticed something. She wasflustered. While MJ searched for whatever she wanted to say, she shoved her handsinto the pockets of her robe; it strained the tie, slackening the fold offabric across her body to expose a larger V of her neck and chest. Petergestured awkwardly at the bared skin, then reached out, intending to fix it forher. (The swelling in his swim trunks pleaded for him to yank the materialapart.) Her hand collided with his as she went to do the same thing.

“…sexy,” MJ concluded.

Peter’s fingers slid across her skin until his palm was flaton her chest, then he brought his other hand to the back of her neck and kissedher. They held each other with shaky hands, nervous and giddy. Everything withher was still brand new. Internally, Peter felt like he was inside one of thosepaint can agitators at the hardware store―the kind that he’d seen when May hadpicked a new colour for the kitchen and dragged him along to pack-mule the cansto and from the car―but his lips were becoming more certain against MJ’s. Andhis dick was really committing to this erection, thickening with every passingsecond.

Peter was getting lost, unable to tell how theirclosed-mouth kiss had opened up to allow their tongues to meet and tangle. MJmoaned softly and he wrapped both arms around her with urgency. He wondered ifhis glasses were fogging up, like the windows in steamy movie scenes; he didn’topen his eyes to check.

Touching his face in a way that felt more profoundlyintimate than what seemed possible for the length of their relationship so far,she pressed her body closer. Oh god. Snatching a shallow breath between kisses,Peter let his hand tumble from her neck, sweeping unevenly across the plushstretch of her robe and resting on the small of her back. He didn’t push her―wouldn’t push her―just braced herlightly as his hips rolled forward. MJ gasped, tenderly tracing his earlobewith a fingertip.

Peter tilted his head forward until his forehead and hersseemed to support each other. He listened to his thumping heart, a steady bassto balance those tinkling wind chime noises. The natural ambiance of MJ’sragged breathing was magical. But everything was moving so fast. They weren’tsupposed to get this! A parental figure should have been interrupting rightabout now, or a ringing phone. A pizza delivery guy maybe.

Uncertainly, Peter took a step back, hands still on MJ’swaist. She wrapped hers around his and he opened his eyes to see her face.

“Stark booked this whole place for us, right?”

Oh, they were talking about Mr. Stark now. Peter was thrownby his girlfriend’s lack of transition. She always did like to get to thepoint, not waste words. He jiggled the corner of his glasses.

“Yeah…?”

“All day?”

“Yeah,” Peter answered with more conviction, focusing now.

“Well, then there’s no one else coming to use this room,”she informed him. “I went through the team’s treatment schedules myself.”

Just when he’d thought he was getting the gist of thisconversation.

“You’re saying…”

“I’m saying I really like the glasses.”

Yeah, her eyes were saying a lot more than that. What wasgoing on in there was much easier for Peter to follow. Like the absoluteawareness while MJ let go of his hand to draw her wavy hair forward over oneshoulder; she knew what she was doing to him. Were spa robes any good atconcealing erections? He was curious.

To give himself a second of clear thinking (which in itselfmight be wishful thinking), Peter released her waist, arms hanging at hissides.

“Are you sure?” he checked.

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth had flickedup.

“I know what I want, when I want it. So get over here.”

Rather than going to her, Peter took a deep breath andbrought her to him, guiding MJ by her hips. Before he could kiss her, she put ahand to his chest.

“Just for now,” she assured him, and plucked his glassesfrom his face.

Folding the legs in carefully, MJ set them on a counter nextto an orderly line of jars. All Peter could think about was being able to kissher more roughly without worrying about his glasses getting in the way; hedecided to make a move based on the likeliness of her thinking the same thing. Hecupped her face, touching his mouth lightly to hers only momentarily, thendiving in with a firmer pressure.

There wasn’t a clear path in his mind, but he directed MJanyway, steering her by the hand on her hip while they kissed, until the solidspa table halted them. Her lips parted as though the minor impact had sent ashockwave through her body and Peter stepped right into her space, tongueteasing the inside of her lip. Incredibly (to him), his hips weren’t shyagainst hers, pressing flush, as much as the thickness of theirever-more-irritating robes would allow.

His eyelashes fluttered on her cheek as he barely opened hiseyes.

“Did they massage you?” Peter asked quietly. The room wasvery still. Seemed like the wind chimes must have run out of breeze.

MJ’s legs shifted against his, thighs parting provocatively.

“Not everywhere.”

With a groan, he squeezed her hips, not really helping asshe perched, then wiggled onto the table. MJ continued spreading her legs soPeter could come closer and his hands skipped down to her thighs, smoothing upher skin as the fabric drew apart. He almost forgot about kissing, gaze slidingdown her body, but MJ grabbed his jaw and leaned forward, initiating somethingfiery. It made his hips jerk ahead and his fingers clenched on her legs. MJ’sother hand found the tie of his robe and quickly worked past that barrier, thenthe next―which was the tie on his swim shorts. Peter inhaled a rapid doublegasp, experiencing the wonder of her hand wrapping tentatively around hiserection. More securely after his slow moan.

He broke away from the kiss, nosing languidly below her jawand down her neck as he pushed his hands to her hips. Hypothesis confirmed: peopledid not wear anything beneath those robes. Or at least MJ didn’t. Peter shapedhis hands to the front of her hips, thumbs settling into the warm crease at thetop of her thighs where the band of her underwear would’ve been. She wasstroking him now, stoking his own heat with the warmth of her palm, and he lethis thumbs descend until he could feel her pulse thumping resolutely. By then,his hands were between her legs, covering everything but the place he waslonging to touch; Peter skated one thumb towards the middle and it was slickedwith her arousal.

MJ was breathing heavily, nudging herself against his hand,so he rotated his wrist and slipped his fingers along the track of her wetness.She shuddered, rolling her fingers against his length. Peter gave her throat awet kiss. When she tilted her hips, lifting them slightly like she wassearching for something, he made sure they came back down on his fingers,easing one inside her.

“Peter,” she said,fast and sharp, and jerked her hips forward with the same desperate haste.

He released MJ’s hip with his other hand to reach into hisswim suit and tighten her grip around him, his hand over hers. Then, Petercurled the finger he had inside her, probing gently as he got his bearings.Cautiously, darting a look up at her face, he added a second finger. She made asoft, contented sound and rocked so that his fingers sunk deeper. Peter’s hipsbucked reflexively and she gave him a short pump, his hand tense on the back ofhers.

Wetting his lip with his tongue in concentration, he hookedhis fingers more insistently, tapping her taut front wall. MJ groaned, tooloose to produce an “oh.” Peter dug in, repeating the motion she’d enjoyed, andpushed his thumb against her clit. A hissing, sucked in breath from hisgirlfriend had him feeling tingly all over―seriously, his super-senses weregoing to be even more goofed up after this. Something in him had realigned,attuning him to MJ.

He worked his fingers faster, moving with her when shecouldn’t sit still. Actually, Peter started to worry that MJ was going to falloff the massage table because she kept scooting forward, so he encouraged herto lie down, gasping as her hand disengaged from his dick. Watching hisgirlfriend on her back, he forgot about missing her grasp; her neck arched whenhe rubbed her clit in a circle and every time he thrust his fingers intoher―sneaking a look to witness them emerging glossy―she thrust the opposite wayto take them, slackening the wrap of the robe until its V stretched nearly toher waist.

Peter was fantasizing about crawling on top of MJ (only fantasizing for now because theyhadn’t really talk about that yet and he certainly didn’t have a condom at theready in the fluffy depths of his spa robe’s pocket), yearning to drag hisfingers out and plunge his cock in. He was grinning, hot and hazy in his dirtydaydream, fingers wrapped around himself while he continued to, well, massageher. The word would never be the same for him.

“Mmm, god,” shesaid, legs twitching where they hung off the edge of the table.

Hearing himself faintly echoing her less distinct butequally impassioned noises, Peter was almost living her pleasure. He kneadedher clit, bent and scooped his fingers frantically within her. MJ came with anextended moan, muffled because she pressed her lips shut, and Peter swallowedthickly like he was consuming the sound.

He removed one hand from his trunks (erection still throbbing),the other from his girlfriend’s body. Panting, Peter retied the string (wipinghis fingers on his bathing suit while he was at it), then the wider band of hisrobe, not taking his eyes off her. Body limp, MJ ran a hand across her face. Hewas mesmerized just watching her breathe.

“Help me up,” she said, voice thick and altered.

She pulled the robe closed and reached out her hands forhis, which Peter eagerly provided. Their eyes met with a sly shyness once theirfaces were level. After a minute, MJ rolled her eyes and grabbed Peter’s neck, bringinghim into a kiss. She sighed against his cheek when they leaned apart.

“You wanna trade places?” she asked as she lifted her head.Her hand went to his robe’s tie, giving a gentle tug.

Peter laughed, heart beating hard.

“Yeah, I really wantto, but Ned’s going to expect to see me at the pool after his facial.”

MJ frowned and her playfully disappointed eyes made him wantto stay that much more. Glancing at her watch―the only thing she wore, besidesthe robe―she shrugged.

“I have to meet Cindy for pedicures anyway.” They exchangedwistful smiles. He couldn’t make himself turn away, let alone walk to the door.“I’m good, Peter,” MJ said. “You should sneak out of here first. Lesssuspicious that way.”

He hesitated another few seconds, then stepped back with anod.

“Ok, but I’ll see you later. Promise,” he added when sheraised doubtful eyebrows.

Peter grabbed his glasses from the counter and put them on,comfortably dampening his vision. He glanced back at MJ on his way to the door.

“Seriously, dork, get out of here,” she urged. “Thoseglasses are testing my restraint.”

Face turning pink, Peter shot her a smile and crept warilyinto the hallway. He closed the door quietly behind him, glancing back andforth as he adjusted the overlapping fabric in front of his hips.

“Hope the pool’s cold,” Peter muttered, heading there forthe second time and wondering how many laps it was going to take to put himselfback in control of his own body.

Assuming that was possible.

Well, it was another hypothesis to test.

[1dffexchange]

Uncomfortable Silences

To: Vicki @angstarella​

From: Liv @midnightcities​

Summary: It’s been 927 days since Rowie messily ended her two year relationship with Harry. 659 days since Harry Styles bared his soul and shared it for the world to hear in the form of a best-selling debut album. 173 days since his number had flashed across the screen of her phone. But finally, Rowie was starting to feel her sense of normalcy return.

It was any other Saturday morning. A half eaten piece of Marmite toast lay forgotten on the kitchen counter along with the dregs of my morning coffee. There was a haphazard pile of trousers at the foot of my bed that I had created when searching for my favourite black pair. My 10 minute snooze turned into almost 25 minutes and I was now on a time crunch to pull myself together for my Saturday shift. Despite promising myself that I would go to bed at an acceptable hour last night, I fell prey to my best friend’s masterful coercing and stayed out far longer than I originally intended. You think by now I would know better.

I was in my bathroom, scraping my hair back into a bun, when I heard the buzz of my phone. Jules, the aforementioned best friend I’m sure, checking in to either complain about her killer headache or to help fill in her hazy memory. This had become a bit of a ritual for us.

One last glance in the mirror and I deemed myself suitable enough to face the horde of Saturday shoppers. I flicked the bathroom light off and grabbed my phone that I had earlier tossed onto my unmade bed. The phone screen lit up as I brought it to eye level. I immediately dropped the phone back onto the bed when I saw the notification:

+44 7106 555555 iMessage

I had finally deleted that number almost a year ago; that’s the best way to move on according to all the break-up articles and books I have pored over the past 2 and a bit years. They don’t tell you how to delete a number from your memory though. I haven’t seen it grace my phone screen in quite some time, the longest stint yet actually. And still, it made my heart stutter erratically and my palms clammy.

What does he want now? Has something happened? Work. I haven’t seen much of him online lately. Who was that last girl he was linked to again? Work. Is this going to be some half-assed, drunk apology again? I need to go to work.

I broke myself out of my impending trainwreck of thoughts, forcing myself to throw all my effort into moving my body. I snatched up my bag and grabbed my phone once again. My eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see that damn number as I shoved it to the depths of my bag. Out of sight out of mind, right?

****

Waterstones was a staple part of my childhood London visits, so landing a job here in my first year of studying was a dream. I was lucky enough to take up residence at the Gower Street store. It always was my favourite, with its twisting shelves and hidden nooks, and it’s a bonus that it’s only a 5 minute walk from main campus for those days when I have class. As a child I always thought this would be the perfect place to play a game of hide-and-seek. And on days like today where I would rather do anything than enthusiastically suggest a middle-aged woman some egregious romance novel, the labyrinth nature of the store was appreciated.

I was tucked away on the third floor, shelving some second-hand Philosophy books. I studied each title intently, skimmed each books synopsis, and threw all my mental energy into deciphering what the philosophical knowledge each book was actually trying to impart. The upper levels of the store are the perfect study sanctuary; I have spent many hours holed up in here writing last minute essays. But today the comfortable silence was not good for my current mental state.

I had thrown my bag into the designated employee locker out the back, my phone remaining ignored in the depths. I’m sure I felt it vibrate again when I was on the tube but it stayed unopened and unchecked. I can’t do this again, I really can’t put myself through… that again.

“Um… Excuse me…” A quiet voice caught me off guard.

I turned, book still in hand, to see three girls standing awkwardly near the W-Z section of Social Sciences. They looked a little young to be browsing up here, but I reserved my judgements. “Yes, how may I help you today?” I flashed my customer service smile.

The girl in the middle opened her mouth before snapping it shut again. The one on the left nudged her, giving her a look of slight impatience. Odd.

“Are… are you…” She attempted again.

Now the one on the right shook her head and pushed herself forward. “Are you Rowena Porter?”

I felt my heart begin to stutter, my stomach clench. “Excuse me?”

“Rowie…” the girl in the middle whispered, “she likes to be called Rowie.”

“Whatever,” she shrugged, “are you Rowie Porter?”

“I’m sorry,” my cheeks felt hot and I could feel my hands starting to shake, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

The girl on the right took a couple steps toward me, clearly she was the most confident of the three. “Harry Styles has been seen coming here a lot lately. And then I remembered reading on Twitter that you work here. Has he been visiting you? Are you back together?”

My breath hitched. Harry was here? When? Why? Was it to see me? Surely out of all the Waterstones in London he wouldn’t choose this one for his bookish needs. It can’t be a mere coincidence.

The three girls stared at me expectantly, as if I was about to really about to reveal some intimate, albeit non-existent, love-life details. I placed the book in my hand on the shelf adjacent to me and took a steading breath. “I’m sorry girls, but Rowena quit working here a while back. I’m afraid I can’t help you any more than that.”

“Oh, so you just happen to look like her?” The girl challenged.

“Coincidence.”

“But--”

“Look,” my tone had become considerably more clipped, “if you have any book related questions I am happy to help you out. Otherwise I need to continue on with my job.” I picked up the half-empty box of Philosophy books that still needed unpacking and headed down the aisle and away from the girls. I prayed that they weren’t following me. It took every ounce of my self-control to not completely blow up at them and tell them, in the nicest way possible, to sod off. But now I was throwing all my focus into not breaking down in the middle of the Greek and Roman Classics section.

I pounded down the three flights of stairs, determined to hold myself together to at least the back storage area. My head was swimming, like I had just thrown back five consecutive shots of Jäger, and my face prickling with sweat.

Just as I was about the push past the registers, my unstable hands got the better of me and I dropped the box, the books tumbling out. “Shit.” I scrambled onto my knees to pile the books back up but tears began to blur my vision and I could feel the stares of customers. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.

“Rowie, are you okay?”

A pair of hands shot out and began haphazardly throwing the books back into the box. The hands belonged to Will, one of my co-workers and probably one of the only people I considered an actual friend on staff. I sat back, letting him collect the last few books, and willed my hands to stop trembling and for my tears to not spill over. Will stood and lifted the box up and behind the counter before offering me his hand. I hoped he couldn’t feel the stickiness of perspiration on my palms. “Alright?”

I shook my head. “I need to go.”

His eyebrows furrowed in obvious concern. “Do you want me to call someone? You look shaken up… What happened?”

Again, I shook my head. “Who’s on today?”

“Mara.” One small win, she was the kindest of all the store managers. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my early departure.

“Can you please just tell her I had a family emergency or something. I really need to get out of here.” I pushed past Will, past the registers, and burst through the back storage area doors.

“Is this because of Harry?” I hadn’t realised Will had followed me.

I whirled back around meeting his worried gaze. “What?”

“He was here... A few days ago.” He spoke cautiously, he could clearly tell I was on the verge of breaking. “He asked for you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Rowie, why would I? Look at the state of you right now, I wasn’t about to do that to you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to 10, and forced myself to take some calming breaths. Anything to stop the rising panic. “You did the right thing,” I spoke finally. I could see Will let out a small breath in relief. “I still need to deal with this though, please tell Mara for me.”

“Row--”

“No,” I cut him off before he could go on his usual tirade of why my ex is not worth my time, something that I normally do appreciate. “Just… Let me deal with this. I’ll talk to you later.”

Will pursed his lips, I could tell that he was struggling to keep his opinions quiet. He merely turned and walked back out to the store front. I knew he wasn’t happy, but that was something I needed to push aside for now.

I turned and made my way to the staff locker and retrieved my bag. Time to face the music. I grabbed my phone. The screen lit as I brought it to view. Four messages. All from that same number. My thumb hovered over the notification, my stomach churning at the thought of what could be contained in those four messages. I unlocked my phone.

+44 7106 555555

(7:42 am): Rowie, I know you don’t want to hear from me but can you please give me a call. Harry.

(8:09 am): Please Row

(8:47 am): im desperate

(8:48 am): i need you.

I stared at the four little blue bubbles, unable to process them. A weird sense of calm had blanketed me. My previously hammering heart had slowed, my hands were still, my breath even. Almost robotically, I dropped my phone back into my bag and made a beeline straight out of Waterstones and into the chaos of Gower Street.

im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you.

The words flashed over and over in my mind with my every footfall. My thoughts wandered to every possible scenario as to what he could need. A jostle from a stranger awoke me from my abstraction and I realised I was already on the Euston Square platform. A train had just pulled up, my train I confirmed when I glanced over at the schedule. I quickly slipped on just as the doors closed and found a free seat. I sat rigidly, the sway of the carriage slowly pulling me back into my spiralling thoughts.

****

It felt like time was moving funny. My usual 25 minute journey felt like it was over in less than 5. The encounter with those girls this morning felt like it happened hours ago when it has barely been over an hour. That weird sense of calm I felt earlier was ebbing away and I could feel the panic begin to nestle it’s way back in. And the crowded train platform wasn’t helping me to keep my impending panic attack at bay. I needed a voice of reason, someone to help guide me through. I needed Jules.

I moved with the commuters but reached into my bag for my phone, praying she would be awake. Just as I unlocked my phone though, it began vibrating. Jules’ name appeared on the screen; what are the chances. I answered immediately.

“Oh, Rowie. Thank god,” Jules’ breathless voice greeted me, “I thought you wouldn’t pick up because of work.”

“Yeah, I was there but I left. I was just about to ring you actually. Is everything alright with you?” I tapped my Oyster card against the scanner, keen to get away from the claustrophobic nature of the London Underground.

“Wait, where are you now?”

“Just got off the tube, heading home. There was… An incident at work.” I finally stepped out on the street, the fresh air felt good.

“Home?! Oh god. Listen Rowie, I’m so sorry but I didn’t know what to do.”

Jules sounded truly panicked now, enough for me to stop my brisk walking pace and throw all my attention into the call. “What do you mean you didn’t know what to do? What is going on?”

“It’s-- It’s Harry.”

My stomach dropped, for the umpteenth time today. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know! He rang me, I don’t even know how he has my number. He was asking for you, but he didn’t sound right. He had been to your flat, your old one though, didn’t even know you had moved.” Of course he doesn’t, he wouldn’t know anything that has happened to me in the past two years. “I wasn’t sure if it was an emergency, I didn’t know how to help.”

“It’s okay, you did the right thing by talking to him.”

“No, Rowie I-- Oh, I told him where you live now. Row, I think he’s waiting for you there.”

****

The last time I counted, it had been 643 days since I had seen Harry in person. That’s just over two years. And it has essentially taken me up until now to feel that sense of normalcy return which I craved back when I first ended our relationship. But seeing him sat on my flat’s front step, even from a distance, made me realise that no amount of time is going to stop that visceral, all-consuming feeling he has always given me.

He was hunched over, a beanie pulled down tight over his curls. It wasn’t even cold out yet, but I assume he’s wearing it to stay somewhat hidden. He fiddled with his phone and then tucked it away, tugged at the sleeves of the black sweater he was wearing, clasped and unclasped his hands. I could tell he was nervous. And judging from the twitches of my hands, so was I.

I crossed the street and approached him cautiously. He was so consumed with his thoughts he didn’t even hear me approach. I cleared my throat, crossing my arms in a way to steel myself.

Harry’s head jerked up, recognition immediately flooding his muted green eyes. “Rowie…” He stood. I forgot how tall he was.

“Hello, Harry.” I spoke quietly. I was surprised my tone hid my tumbling emotions so well.

“It’s…” he exhaled, “it’s so good to see you.”

I rolled my lips and nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.

“Can I come up?”

No, no, no, no. My flat was one of my only Harry-free zones. No memories were attached. Everything had been removed that reminded me of him. Seeing him up there now would bring up a slew of problems. “I don’t think that would be best,” I spoke carefully. I was still trying to gauge where he was at mentally right now; he seemed off.

“You know I wouldn’t normally insist but I think it would be best. If someone spots me here you’re gonna be dealing with… Well you know the routine.”

He was right. And especially after what happened this morning, the last thing I need is more obsessive fans waiting outside my flat. “Fair enough.”

I unfolded my arms and grabbed my keys from my bag. Harry followed me up the few steps and watched as I unlocked the door. My hands visibly shook as I twisted the key. I know he noticed but he said nothing. In silence, we walked up the four flights of stairs and down the hall to flat 408. I let us in, promptly locking the door behind us.

My current flat was quite different from the one Harry had known. Paying my way through a Masters degree and some other unexpected financial problems at home had forced me to downsize, coupled with the fact that I was desperate to leave those walls which were filled to the brim with memories of us.

I watched as Harry’s eyes scanned the space - the cramped kitchen with the leaky tap, the speckled counter that doubled as a dining table, the IKEA sofa I had picked up on sale last winter. I knew my living space was a stark contrast to what Harry was likely used to and I couldn’t take his scrutinising gaze any longer. I knew my somewhat cool exterior was beginning to crack, the unwanted feelings of anxiety pushing to burst through and consume me. I needed some relief.

I left Harry standing awkwardly near the doorway and stepped into the kitchen. Dumping my bag on the counter, I began searching through the drawers for what I knew I needed. I was beginning to feel light-headed again, my whole body falling prey to the shakes. Tucked snuggly next to a half-used pack of Panadol and some Strepsils was the bottle I was searching for. The safety cap proved too difficult for my unsteady fingers though. I let out a small groan of frustration.

“You need a hand?” Harry carefully took the bottle from my hands, expertly twisting the top off. He handed it back, but not before peeking at the label, something I wish he didn’t do. “Alprazolam? Isn’t that--”

“Xanax, yes.” I tossed back two pills dry, desperate for their calming effect.

“Oh. Uh, you should be careful with those. They can be addictive and--”

“Yes, I know that Harry,” I snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business but they’ve been prescribed and I only take them when the situation calls for it.”

My abrupt tone took Harry by surprise, judging from the way he shifted away from me. I could see he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say. I felt a twinge of guilt at my unwarranted outburst.

“It helps with my panic attacks,” I said quietly after a few moments. “I haven’t had a full blown attack in a while though. I’m good at knowing the signs now. Shaky hands, erratic heart rate, feeling faint.”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t know… How long have you been dealing with them?”

I sighed heavily. I knew Harry wasn’t going to like my answer. “I had my first one in 2015. They were at their worst in 2016 though. That’s when I got medical help.”

“2015… Wait…” I watched as Harry connected the dots. I moved out of the kitchen and towards the sofa, as if putting some distance between us would soften the blow of seeing his reaction. “That’s when we were together. You were having panic attacks and didn’t even tell me?!”

“They weren’t a big deal, I didn’t want to worry you.”

Harry ripped his beanie off and slammed it down on the kitchen counter. I jumped, both at the sound and Harry’s sudden, extreme mood change. “God, Rowie,” he spat bitterly, “I was your fucking boyfriend. I was supposed to worry about you. To help you!”

“It was almost 4 years ago Harry—“

“So?!” He cut me off. “I had some right to know what you were dealing with!”

I could feel my face heating up, not due to panic but because of anger this time. “What I was dealing with? What I was dealing with? You wouldn’t have been able to understand Harry.”

“Try me.”

“You were born for this life Harry, an entertainer at heart able to bounce through life without worrying about what millions of people around the world think of you. But not me. Seeing my name, my personal life, splashed across social media and in news articles. People commenting about me, online and in person. People saying I don’t deserve you. I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

Harry’s hands were clenched on the counter, frustration radiating off him. “For two years I have sat and analysed every facet of our relationship, wandering what I did wrong. Repeated that day you ended everything over and over. I wrote a whole fucking album for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” I interjected harshly.

“And if you had just told me these things at the time I could’ve helped you through it. Together, like a couple is supposed to!”

I shook my head. “I did what had to be done. It was the right thing for us. And for you.”

“No, it wasn’t. You broke my heart, Rowena.” His voice broke and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I was rendered speechless. My full name hung in the air between us, an uncomfortable silence smothering the room. It seems silly to be caught off guard by my own name, but I’ve never heard him say it. I’ve always been Rowie, his Rowie.

As we both stood there, kitchen counter separating us, staring but remaining unmoving, I felt as though I was truly seeing Harry for the first time today. With the beanie off I could see his hair looked unusually unkempt, his curls limp as though they needed a good wash. His skin had broken out, which I knew only happened when he was stressed, and the dark circles under his eyes confirmed that suspicion. His hands which were always adorned with an assortment of rings were bare. Even his clothes looked disheveled. This wasn’t the Harry I knew standing before me.

“Harry…” I said softly, breaking the silence, “what’s really going on? Why did you need to see me?”

I watched as he hunched over the counter, resting his head in his hands. His fingers twined into his hair, gripping at the root. As he ran his hands through the flat curls, he brought his gaze up to meet mine. His eyes had filled with tears and I felt that immediate pang in my heart.

Without inhibition, I joined Harry back in the kitchen and gathered him up in my arms, bringing his head down to the crook of my neck. As I stroked the nape of his neck, I felt his arms twist around my waist and pull me tight. I knew he wasn’t crying, but I could feel every ounce of emotion through his embrace. And suddenly I felt at peace, and not because of the meds. I hated that it felt so right to be here in this moment, that the one thing that could stabilise me was the thing I drove away years ago.

Harry loosened his grip and I took it as a sign to pull away slightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I furrowed my brows in confusion. “For what? I’m the one who should be apologising for being shitty and leaving without a proper explanation.”

“I should’ve seen it, the struggles you were having. You’re right, this life can be hard. And it was silly of me to just assume that you were coping with it fine. You say that I don’t worry about what people think of me, I don’t. But that’s after years of me being so caught up in it. I had to learn to ignore and move past the crap.”

“I should have told you though…” I said softly.

He drew his hands away from my waist, instead clasping my own hands in his and bringing them up to his chin. I felt the softest graze of his lips as he stared down at me, my heart skittered ever so slightly. “I really miss you, Row. Everyday.”

I nodded, unsure if I could trust myself to string together a coherent sentence.

He sighed heavily, dropping my hands and taking a step back to lean against my oven. I immediately missed the contact. “In 47 days I’m supposed to be announcing my upcoming album. Which means I have about 42 days to get the tracks laid. The first instance of them anyways.” I watched as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “And I am so fucking lost.”

I still stood quietly, unsure of what I could really say. Words of encouragement from me right now would surely feel superficial to him.

“God, last time I struggled to cut down the track list. I had such a backlog of material, it was mental.”

I knew I had some role to play with that. Breaking up with someone just as they were about to embark on launching a solo career would result in an abundance of inspiration.

“And this time I have nothing…” he continued on. “Everything I write is utter shite, and the pressure from the label isn’t helping.”

“Push back the announcement then,” I finally spoke.

He laughed, without humor though. “If only it was that easy Rowie. You remember what it was like when I was in the band, the label asking for a new record every bloody year. That was considered feasible as there were five of us. Now according to them, going beyond a 2 year break between records is ‘not recommended’.”

I snorted, and Harry looked at me questioningly. “Seriously? That’s crap. How many artists have been MIA for years and still come back with another best-selling album. Harry, you’re underestimating your talents a little I think. This isn’t like your early years of One Direction where you guys had to pump out content in order to stay relevant. You’ve put in the hard yards and made your mark, you are here to stay.”

A flicker of a smile appeared on his lips. It gave me the confidence to continue on.

“You could literally release an album that consisted primarily of whale and dolphin calls and it would number one on release day.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Not sure if the label would like that though.”

I approached him slowly. “Well, I would love it. In fact, I’ve already got it pre-ordered on iTunes and saved on my Spotify.” I stood toe to toe with Harry, my fingers reaching out to the hem of his sweater. It was taking all of my self-restraint to not stretch up and trace his jawline, to comb back his hair with my fingers.

Instead, Harry seized the opportunity. Cautiously, he placed his hand to the side of my face. I melted into his touch. His lips parted ever so slightly before rolling them together, his telltale sign that he wanted to kiss me but was unsure.

“It’s okay,” I barely whispered out. I rolled up onto my toes, bringing my arms around his neck before pressing my lips against his. It felt as though no time had passed; we were in sync immediately, our mouths moving with familiarity. I raked my nails up through his hair and he mirrored by running his down my sides.

But as sudden as we had fallen back into routine, Harry pulled away. I couldn’t help a small sound of detest escape my mouth. “Shit,” he mumbled. He unlatched my arms from around his neck and pressed them back into my chest. “I shouldn’t… I know this isn’t what you want.” He sidestepped me and moved as far away from me as possible, which was only a few meters as that’s all my flat would allow.

“Who are you to say what I do and don’t want?” I challenged.

“You just told me the enormous toll our relationship had on you mentally. And I didn’t come here to try and win you back.”

I suddenly felt like I had been used. “So, what? You have no inspiration to write some songs so you come and see me, dredge up old problems, and then run off to the studio? Is that all I am to you now? A muse of emotional trauma?”

His eyes widened. “Jesus Rowie, of course not! I needed to see you because I knew you would be a voice of reason for me. Every person that I have spoken to about this album just doesn't get it. They’re all too… I don’t know. Too close to the project? They all just think I have a bit of writer’s block. My mum told me to clear my head by taking a walk in a bloody forest or something!”

I leant back, taking up the same position against my oven that Harry held minutes earlier. “How can my opinion even mean anything? I don’t know what’s gone on with you for the past 2 and a bit years.”

“And yet, I’ve felt more at ease here with you this past hour than I have for the past 6 months.”

“What, my 3 sentences of encouragement have instantly filled you with the creative juices you’ve been craving?”

“I wish,” Harry chuckled. “But your sense of assurance helps.”

I was about to respond when the buzz of a phone interrupted me. It sounded muffled, so I knew it was coming from my bag which lay forgotten at the end of the counter. It was most likely Jules, checking in to see if I’m alright.

“That’s probably a sign that I should go.” He collected his beanie that he had thrown down earlier and shoved it back on his head, paying no attention to the way it smushed some curls flat against his forehead. “Again, I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I appreciate that you gave me the chance to talk though.” He jerked forward, unsure if we should hug goodbye or if he should just leave. I made the decision easier for him by crossing the kitchen and wrapping my arms around his waist. Pressing my ear to his chest I could hear the steady thump of his heart, a sound that I have fallen asleep to countless times. I felt Harry press his lips to the top of my head. This hug felt different, like a proper goodbye hug. Not ‘see you later’, but goodbye.

We pulled apart, locking eyes for one last time. “Good luck with everything,” I murmured.

“I’ll let you know when the Harry Styles featuring Whale and Dolphin album will be dropping.”

I let out a shaky laugh before moving around him to unlock the door. He stepped out, gave me one last smile, and turned to walk down the hall. I watched him walk until he disappeared from view, he didn’t turn back once.

That goodbye felt like it was the final closure we both needed, that now we could finally move on with our lives and be relatively happy. Maybe now I could hear and see his name and not feel a clench in my stomach. Or have those cluey fans find me and not dissolve into a puddle of panic.

But despite all these prospects, I knew it wasn’t the ending I wanted. Or the ending I really needed. My feet moved without warrant. I picked up speed, pounded down the stairs almost tripping over. I saw him, he had just stepped out of the building and down the steps. I burst through the door and he spun around, eyes wide with surprise.

“Stay.” I puffed out.

He blinked. Once, twice. “What?”

“I’m asking you to stay,” I descended the front steps and joined Harry on the footpath. “I just did the most cliché, rom-com thing and chased after you to ask you to stay. I mean, all that is missing right now is some rain and we would have the perfect scene.”

He laughed.

“Please, I’m serious.”

“Rowie, after what you said we can’t get back together. We--”

“After what I said we should be getting back together.”

Harry looked at me puzzled.

“I’m not going to be a prat now and try to shoulder all the pressure. I was stupid to not trust that you could help me in the first place. And I’ve gotten better at managing the anxiety.”

He was quiet for a while, staring down at me. I was desperate for something, even just a graze of his hand for reassurance. I was about to revoke the offer, feeling that maybe I had misread the situation, but he finally responded. “Are you sure? I don’t want you… I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“So sure that I ran down four flights of stairs and almost broke a leg for you.”

We both grinned before Harry pulled me in for a kiss. It was short and sweet but felt like home all the same.

“Let’s go up.” I said once we had broken apart.

“Oh… Uh... Actually,” Harry stammered. Oh god, have I suddenly been to forward or something? “I really need to swing by the studio. My phone has basically been in airplane mode all day and I was supposed to be there for a session at 10 am. I’ve been off the grid without even telling anyone.” He bit his lip, obviously unsure of how I would react.

“Go,” I said with a smile. Sure, the timing was crappy but I knew he would be back.

“I’ll be back,” he said as though he had just read my mind. “I’ll bring dinner tonight. Some thai food? Panang curry with fried rice?”

I smiled. He remembered my order. “Don’t forget--”

“Extra green beans in the curry.” He placed his hand on my cheek, bending down slightly to press a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, he turned and began walking up the street, his phone pressed to his ear. No doubt he was finally responding to some very concerned people on his whereabouts. I watched him until turned the corner at the end of the block. I continued to stand there on the footpath outside my flat feeling calm, finally feeling at peace.

It almost seemed silly that this morning Harry Styles was the catalyst for a tumultuous amount of negative emotion, and yet my Harry was the one that was able to calm the storm and ground me.

I suppose I should thank him for that. I’ll do it when he comes home.

[softchenlele]

swimmer!au mark

swimmer!mark & pool staff!fem reader for anon!! we hope you like it!!

style: bulletpoint

genre: fluff

warnings: mild swearing

words: 3k to open the festivities

a/n: first time writing such a thing but we really enjoyed it! hope you will like it ~

gif credit: @/neotechs

as a part-time job, you worked early in the morning or at the end of the afternoon at the swimming pool near your campus

it’s not very difficult – and most of the time, you’re just busy cleaning the floor

from time to time you take a look at the devices tracking the quality of the water or make sure that people don’t walk in with their shoes on

hygiene reasons yknow

it’s a relatively calm activity, or rather it would be if your shifts didn’t coincide with the university swim team trainings

they’re a group of 20-25 boys and girls, all with a perfect athletic body (no, you’re not jealous)

you end up being familiar with them especially a group of tall (AND LOUD) lads : yukhei, jaemin, doyoung, johnny and donghyuck.

they’re the highlights of your day, these guys never seem to run off energy even after a workout session and two hours endurance training in the water

they’re always goofing around, teasing each other and pranking each other. they’re crazy

but they’re too funny

and they like to mess with you, especially when you’re walking through the men’s changing rooms

« yn, we’re all nAKED!!! » someone screams, whenever they hear some footsteps, they always assume it’s you

already at the end of your first month of school, you’re a part of their group of friends in the campus and hang around together

just one month already… and you developed the same sense of humor as them… their idiocy feeling like some kind of strange and contagious disease

congratulations, you’re one of these crackheads

maybe you’ve always been goofy but you were probably shy and being around them unleashed the beast

and you thought you would be the confident and reckless yn forever, now… until the day you meet those beautiful doe eyes

« s-sorry » you hear before meeting them for the first time

you didn’t even frown, the dude looked so shy

« i’m a little bit lost even with this map of the campus, could you please show me where i should head to if i want to go to the nautical center? »

« the pool? you’re going to the evaluation? »

« yes, i want to be a part of the swimming team » he looks at you now with a determined flame in his eyes. wow.

only now you hear the slight accent when he speaks

cuuuUte

you find yourself all shy and awkward

«uh so… do you know where it is? »

« ah, yeah, sorry, i was… thinking about something. i’m also going to the pool, i can walk you there. »

you explained to him how you couldn’t swim for the life of you and how you were just working there until his phone rang, and he spent the rest the way talking to his mom

anyway

« here you are, good luck »

« thank you! »

an awkward silence follows before both of you decide to enter

but well… the door’s can’t handle both of you and there you go, awkward situation

« you first »

« no, you, go »

« oh, no you… »

daMN it

what are you so stupid for ?

you end up going first eventually and without looking behind you, you go to your changing room

after that, you focus on your tasks but your curiosity speaks and you can’t help but go see how the evaluations are going

your boys are here too, watching the pool and commenting each contestant’s technique

« ah, we came to see the rookies. wanna join?? »

you sat beside them. for you, everyone’s good but you know that being a high-level swimmer and doing competitions requires commitment, discipline and enough motivation to train day after day, week after week, month after month, sometimes just to win some milliseconds

yeah, you really admire these boys and girls

« nana, seems like you’ll have a rival on the 200m butterfly style, look at him. »

you all hear the coach screaming his chrono and you don’t really get it but all the boys made a surprised face

2’08’’48 seems to get respect from the boys

when he goes out from the water, you recognize momma’s boy

you find yourself proud for him, somehow?? enough for a little smile to creep on your face

« omg, yn’s crushing on 2’08’’48!!! look at her!!! »

why. are. your. friends. like. that.

exposed™

« shUT UP yukhei, i’m just looking at something i’m not used too. »

« what? »

« a six-pack. »

« OOOF SICK BURN!!! » you hear hyuck screaming through everyone’s laughter « XUXI YOU BETTER JUMP INTO THAT POOL!!!!»

rip wong yukhei

now he’s dramatically putting a hand on his chest as he let himself fall and rest his head on doyoung’s shoulder

« yn’s breathing too much chlorine, she can’t even see our greek gods-like bodies, what a pity »

« did 2’08’’48 just smile at us? »

« was he smiling at yn?? »

« what, no? he was smiling at the coach »

now the boys are arguing and you can’t help but wonder… was he smiling at me???

without any surprise, 2’08’’48 has been accepted into the team

you see him everyday but you didn’t talk to each other yet even though you would have wanted to congratulate him

you hear he’s from canada and he’s a transfer student with roots in korea, which explains why he’s fluent in korean but now you know where this cute accent is from

he seems to get along with jaemin and donghyuck but as you can see, they don’t talk to each other that much, just casual things

sometimes, they laugh together and there’s this wide smile who lights up his whole face, the whole pool, the whole world

maybe you’re a bit more distracted than you were… a swimming practice isn’t the most exciting thing to watch but it’s okay when you focus on this little moving form that is him in the water

sometimes, you spend one hour mopping the same damn spot where you have the best view of the pool

you don’t even know his name and everyone took the habit to call him 2’08’’48

until one day…

« omg mORK!!! don’t walk here, yn just swept the floor, you’re gonna… »

yeah, you’ve scolded them enough and they got the memo at some point

you turn your head and see « mork »

poor boy looks terrified

« yeah, i’m going to spank you if you don’t dry yourself when you enter this area »

« sp-spank me ? »

oh gosh, there you were talking to him the way you would talk with the boys

« that wasn’t the only part you were supposed to catch, mOrk »

you smirk as you walk away, laughing to yourself

mork, lmao, what kind of name was that? but since lucas was the one calling him that you were p sure there was some kind of joke behind it

meme name for a meme boy

you begin to know him better, just by observing him

not only was he bad at orientation but he was the most airheaded guy ever. you often saw him returning beside the pool after he changed himself because he forgot his bottle of water or his flip-flops. one day, he managed somehow to go to the training and ask everyone if they could lend him swimming goggles and a swimsuit because he forgot his swim bag at home, if there was something left in the lockers, it was often his… wow

one day, you also see his clumsy side

you hear someone call out your name from the men’s changing room and you go there, only to find mr. mork with a bloody forearm

« what happened? »

« oh, it’s nothing, i just scratched my skin against the liner or the swimming pool » he giggles

maybe it was superficial but you were quite impressed by the long lines of blood staining his skin

« the coach said you had the key of the infirmary? »

« yes, yes, come with me »

he follows you to the lifeguard’s room and instinctively, you take the lead

« where is the first-aid kit? oh, here »

«  you know.. »

« cotton… »

« i can… »

« scissors! »

« yn? »

you stop yourself and glare at him

« i can handle this »

« mork »

he winces

« tell me again who did this to you »

he blushes, not finding anything to reply

softly, you wipe the blood off this skin with alcohol

you see him bite his bottom lip when you touch the wounds but he doesn’t make any sound

« you’ve done well, mork »

you smile at him while freeing his arm

« it’s unecessary to put any bandaids or anything, it’s very superficial but it, i will tingle a bit when you’ll return in the water »

« thank you, yn. i… can i ask you a favor? »

« yeah sure? »

« a big championship is approaching and i need to train harder. are you willing to stay for one hour more after the night training? until the competition? »

those eyes

it’s like he was talking to you from soul to soul

if you weren’t on a chair, your knees wouldn’t have supported this intense gaze

« i don’t really know if i can and… you know, i’m pretty busy… »

« i know i’m asking you a lot but if for my part, i could do anything to help you in return, i’m willing to do it »

you can tell how passionate he is

that’s a bit scary… and very attractive at the same time

« please… you don’t have to tell me what do you want now, but just know i owe you one if you accept »

« when is this big competition? »

« the inter-regional championship? uh… in like, two weeks? »

« two weeks… »

« please yn, please, please, please… and i could treat you to dinner!! there’s that nice jjajangmyeon place down the street, i don’t know if you’ve been there, and-- »

« shh… » you pinch his lips between your fingers, effectively shutting him up. « you had me at jjajangmyeon. »

and that’s how you sold your soul to the devil (for jjajangmyeon)

believing you just entered the gates of heaven with the beautiful smile he served you

girl what wouldn’t you do for these noodles

mork and you find your own routine

you go to work like usual then you stay later only to see him push himself during his training

the coaches don’t really approve but nothing can go in between this boy and his goals

you begin to notice the radical difference betwen mark lee, the champion and mOrKie, this one dork who treats you dinner every night

he tells you more about him, about his life in canada

about the friends he had there and how leaving his swimming team felt like leaving his brothers and sisters behind

about the amount of snow who never stopped them from going to school, things like that

as a girl who’s never been abroad, you drink up his stories and still can’t get enough

« we can go together one day, during summer, so you won’t die frozen »

so thoughtful, wow :’)

you lost track of the days, it could have been one week, two weeks, three months since you were staying with him, who knows (not you)

you were just enjoying these moments… you were comfortable being with mark

you don’t really know what the two of you are

is he just honouring his word and being nice to you?

is he considering you a friend? a good friend? or… more?

girl, let me tell you one thing: the boy might be lowkey

but you’re also pretty blind

because there’s obvious proof that mr. mark lee caught feelings for you

but don’t worry,, (actually, do worry) your boys have your back !

« i can’t believe you made yn your personnal manager, mark »

« wtf, i’m not »

« so… yn, are you okay if we stay too? »

those guys.

« oh, and we’ll also stay for dinner » adds hyuck.

those guys

they knew.

« only until the inter-regional championship, guys, ok? »

every pair of eyes focus on you each one with a different expression from the others

jaemin giggles « what do you mean yn? it was one week ago!! »

mark can’t find nowhere to hide

that little bastard

and the boys seem find the scene really entertaining

« —actually,… » mark begins

« the championship was one week ago??? and you didn’t tell me???  you made me stay for another one week??? care to share why??? »

some would say the answer is pretty obvious but again, you’re notoriously blind as a bat

and mark is praying to anyone out there to just. let him disappear then and there

you’re still looking at him with that questioning look and the guys are about to get some popcorn because it’s just too fun

at some point markie is red as a tomato and you’re wondering if he’s okay

until

“becauseilikeyouthatswhy”

sorry what was that

you just stood there wondering what just happened while the guys were cackling like maniacs

“ i uh. i like you. and i didn’t know how to say it, and it was so nice spending time together every night and and-- ”

“ ok stop. stop rambling. you know what? i like you too. “

cue lucas and co cheering loudly and haechan going finally, it’s been 84 years, i thought my ears would fall off if i heard him whining about you one more time

way to be dramatic

and that’s how you and the cute transfer student got together with a lil push from your loud ass friends over a plate of (delicious) noodles

[flynnerider]

Day in The Life AND Special Announcement!

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it.”- Steve Jobs

Hi everyone!

Sorry it’s been so long since my last update! It really is true what they say- no news is good news! I still LOVE my job, and that’s what I’m here to talk about today! A lot of people ask me what exactly I do, and when I was looking into the DCP I had the same kinds of questions, so I’m here to walk you through a day in the life of a Slide Operator at Blizzard Beach!

First, hours. I usually work five or six days in a row, then have two days off- rarely the same days each week. Blizzard Beach is open from 10AM-5PM every day, so when I work I always get off at 5:30 PM. There’s four possible Slide Op shift start times: 8AM, 9AM, 9:45AM, and 11AM. 8’s and 9’s are assigned “morning jobs” like filling water coolers, cleaning sand areas, and occasionally slide testing to help get the park ready for guests. 11’s are “breakers” (more on this later), and 9:45 is a “normal” start where you clock in, go to our morning meeting, or “breakout”, and head to your first stand. I started at 9:45 this morning!

Every morning I get up, get dressed in my swimsuit, Disney Parks polo, and blue shorts:

Then I eat breakfast and pack my backpack. Here’s what’s in my bag:

From left to right: My lunch (today, Trader Joe’s pepperoni pizza mac and cheese; usually, salad or a sandwich) and a snack (tortilla chips today), my wallet, my hip pack and water bottle (we don’t say “fanny pack” at Disney; my hip pack always has sunscreen, a towel and rubber gloves, and a tiny rubber ducky to bestow upon a kid who needs it), my sunscreen AND backup sunscreen (I’m loyal to the Trader Joe’s brand but I just ran out yesterday), my whistle, my nametag, a padlock for my locker, my keys, and my hat. As you can see, I have a lot of little accessories that I need for my role! Not pictured: my watch, which I wear out the door, and my sunglasses, which I keep in my car.

At Disney, starting at 9:45 doesn’t mean clocking in at 9:45; you have to be in the park, in uniform, ready to work at EXACTLY 9:45. I leave my apartment 40 minutes before my shift start time each day. It takes me about 20 minutes to drive to Blizzard. Once I’m there I can clock in 15 minutes before my shift and pick up my assignment 10 minutes before my shift.

Your assignment is the rotation you are on for the day. There are six Slide Op “rotations”; each one has three “stands”, or positions. You rotate through these 3 positions in order throughout the day. When we open at 10, the 9:45 starts on the first stand, the 9 starts on the second, and the 8 starts on the third. When the breaker comes in at 11, they go to stand one and “bump” the 9:45 to stand two, the 9:45 bumps the 9 to stand three, and the 8 takes their first break. Then, when the 8 comes back from break, they go to stand one and bump the rotation through and the 9 gets their break, so on and so forth. Make sense?

Today, I was on Tike’s- my favorite rotation! The Tike’s rotation is Summit Plummet/Slush Gusher bottom, Tike Solo Top, and Tike Tube top, so at 10 after morning breakout I went to Summit/Slush bottom to start my day.

My job is to sit there between the slides, welcome riders when they reach the bottom, make sure they exit the catch areas, and push the green “dispatch” buttons to let the Slide Ops up top know it’s safe to send down the next person. It’s fairly easy- watching two slides at once takes a little getting used to, but I got the hang of it pretty quick and I don’t mind Summit Bottom at all!

Now to the place that gives Tike’s its name- Tike’s Peak! Tike’s Peak is our play area for little ones 48 inches and under and their families. There’s a very shallow wading pool with fountains, a play structure with some teeny tiny slides for our smallest skiers, a racing slide for guests of all heights, and two slides for folks 48 inches and under only. 

When the breaker comes to Summit bottom and bumps me off I go to Tike Solo, the first of the two slides.

Tike Solo is so easy it’s criminal- I sit in a chair, check heights (no big kids or parents allowed!), make sure kids go down on their backs or bottoms, and watch to see that they’re clear of the slide before I let the next kid go. It’s a really relaxing stand and you get to have so many cute interactions with kids.

When the next bump comes through, I go to Tike Tube. This one is also 48 inches and under only. I stand in the pool at the top of the slide (about two and a half feet deep). Kids bring their tube up and hand it to me, and I help them get seated the right way- legs out in front, handles facing in. The tube may be a circle, but contrary to popular belief, it does matter which way they sit! Then, when the lifeguard at the bottom gives me the all clear signal, I guide the kid’s tube into the slide and watch them go! Good, clean, cute fun. My lovely friend Aimee was kind enough to take a picture of me on Tike Tube today- here I am in all my fully-uniformed Slide Op glory!

(My whistle is backwards because otherwise when I bend over to help kids into tubes it hits them in the face, but I promise it’s there!)

Then I took my first break, a glorious half hour, at about 12:45, and did it all over again! I took my second break, a fifteen, around four. I ended my day out on Summit bottom. After we close at 5, we do “closing jobs”: my closing job today was cleaning the bottom of Summit Plummet with magic erasers. Living the dream. Then we have our evening breakout and I go home!

In the evenings, I’ll either go home and relax in front of the TV or go out with my friends or roommates! We obviously love going to the parks (I go two to four times a week at least), but we also love going to dinner (the staff at our regular Pei Wei recognize us; one time they gave us free donuts!) and shopping at Trader Joe’s. Tonight I went into Downtown Orlando with my roommates Misty and Georgia!

We went to the library and got frozen yogurt!

Speaking of fun and parks, I have a big announcement! Blizzard Beach closes for refurbishment every winter, and this year, when we close on October 27th, all of the Blizzard CP’s will get sent to new roles and locations! We’ve all been very anxious to find out where we’re headed, and the wait is finally over!

Yours truly (and a couple amazing coworkers) are moving to Main Street to bring a little extra magic to the holiday season! Main Street Daily Ops is an umbrella term that covers a number of locations; Cast Members are responsible for Parade Audience Control (PAC) for the fireworks and parades throughout the day, running the Sorcerers of the Magic Kingdom game, checking FastPasses at Town Square Theatre for guests meeting Tinker Bell and Mickey, and operating the Magic Kingdom Railroad! Because we’re arriving so late in the season, we’re expecting to just be PAC, but my friends and I are SO excited to be in the most magical place on earth during the most magical time of the year! I start in Magic Kingdom in late October- come see me in my new digs!

Thanks for your continued support, everyone! I appreciate all of your encouragement and interest in my life. Coming soon (for real this time): my Disney do’s and do nots! This is something I’m very excited to share- should be coming about two or three weeks from today!

See ya real soon,

FR

[everlark-your-own-adventure]

Powder Keg - Ch 8

Merry Christmas everlarkers (or for those of you who don’t celebrate Christmas - Happy Monday!) Welcome back to the adventure we’re all everlarking together! Fallen behind in the story? Here are the previous chapters:

Chapter 1 /// Chapter 2 /// Chapter 3 /// Chapter 4 /// Chapter 5 /// Chapter 6 /// Chapter 7

Last week, our cinnamon bun and his huntress spend some cheese bun time rebuilding their friendship and the trust between them. But at the end of Katniss’s medical leave you, everlarkers, voted in the narrowest margin possible for her to keep her reemerging romantic feelings to herself. Quelle horreur!! What’s going to happen now? Are everlark doomed to dwell in the friendzone forever? To answer your questions (maybe), @xerxia31 takes the helm for this Yuletide chapter of Powder Keg. Grab your wassail and settle in for the continuation of our saga. And remember, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, December the 27th. Vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go…

When the alarm goes off, I’ve slept no more than three hours and all of them fitful. I tossed and turned nearly all night, my mind full of Peeta, frightened by how quickly all of the warm and curious feelings from three years ago have come back.

A hundred times in the dark, I decided I’d tell him how I feel. A hundred and one times, I talked myself out of it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so conflicted. My life, or at least my life since my childhood was cut short, has been a straight line of survival, one single path with no deviations, each day moving forward, the only goal staying alive, and keeping Prim and my mom alive.

But my life is different now. My mother is working, and though it’s early, it seems like this one might stick. She seems more grounded, more present, and if not happy, at least content. Stable. And Prim has grown and flourished, turned into a wonderful, strong, independent young woman who doesn’t need me to protect her anymore. For the first time in my adult life, I have a little bit of space to think about my own needs. My own heart.

A pillow smacking me in the face, followed by a bout of girlish giggles, has me rethinking my assessment of my sister. “Come on, Katniss,” Prim laughs, climbing into bed with me. “It’s time to get up. Your ride will be here soon.” I roll my eyes at her inflection, she’s as subtle as a truck.

“I know,” I groan, but I snuggle up next to her anyway, enjoying the comfort of a quiet morning with my favourite person in the world. “What do you want for Christmas, Little Duck?” The big day is less than two weeks away; I haven’t done any shopping yet, too engrossed in working and, honestly, in Peeta.

“I want my sister to be happy,” she says, tugging on my bed-headed braid. I shake my head, but hug her hard. “And maybe a ticket to the Mockingjays concert?” she says into my collar, and I laugh.

o-o-o

The drive through sleepy, snowy Panem to the medical centre is quiet. Peeta showed up at my house just before noon, bearing cheese buns and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Part of me wonders if he’s as sad as I am about the impending end of our carpooling arrangement. But I’m too much of a coward to ask.

The doctor fits me with a brace to give my knee just a little extra support, then clears me to resume normal activity. It’s what I want, what I’ve wanted the past three weeks. But when I tell Peeta, who waited for me in the waiting room, I can’t even muster up a smile. Neither can he.

Back in his truck, Kelly Clarkson crooning her grown up Christmas wish through the crackly speakers, Peeta exhales loudly. “Since neither of us have to work today,” he says, “do you maybe want to test out that knee?”

My heart thumps wildly for five, ten, fifteen seconds before I clue in that he means go for a few runs down the ski hills. My stomach flops with the strangest mix of fear and anticipation to be back on my skis, and disappointment that Peeta didn’t have something else in mind. As if sensing my hesitation, he glances sideways at me. “You have to get back on the slopes as soon as possible, before the fear takes hold. Isn’t that what you told me once?”

I did tell him that, in what feels like another lifetime, when he was recovering from a badly twisted ankle. And he trusted me then, even though he was afraid. Trusted that I would be by his side, that I wouldn’t make him face it alone. “Yeah,” I say. “Okay, sure.” He smiles, just a little, then pilots his big truck up the highway, towards the lodge.

It’s still early when we arrive, there are a few people on the slopes, but not the crowd we’ll have later this afternoon. Peeta parks the truck, and scampers around to open my door before I can wave him off, even offering me a hand for the climb down. And while I don’t really need his help anymore, I take his hand, enjoying the warmth and solidity of his palm against my own.

My gear and his are still tucked into our respective lockers, we kit up quietly, then head out. Though I know I’m fine, can feel snug neoprene safeguarding my knee, I can’t help but be nervous. “Why don’t we start with Victory Tour,” Peeta says softly, nodding towards the green-level run that’s popular with recreational skiers. Its wide, lazy turns gently undulate down the mountain. It’s pretty, but not too challenging.

We share a chair, and I fidget as we begin our ascent, but Peeta grabs my gloved hand, and that simple act born of friendship and compassion calms me. I'm so glad to have him in my life again. As I clutch his hand tightly I realize that no matter what else I feel for Peeta, this is enough. Just having his friendship is enough.

Standing at the top, gazing out over the sparkling white valley below, it’s like being five years old again. Like the first time my dad stood me at the top of the bunny hill, the unknown spreading before me, infinite possibilities, if only I was brave enough to reach for them. And now I need to be brave again. “I’ll be with you the whole way,” Peeta says. With a deep breath, I plant my poles in the snow and push.

The first couple of turns are slow, tentative, as I get used to the feeling of moving again. But muscle memory kicks in fast, and before I know it, I’m flying down the mountain, laughing as loose snow peppers my face. Exhilarated. Alive.

I skid to a stop at the bottom, spraying snow in a graceful arc with my skis, still laughing as I pull off my helmet and tip my face up to the winter sky. True to his word, Peeta is right there with me, beaming. “You did it,” he laughs, pulling off his helmet. “It’s like you haven’t missed a single day.”

I look up at Peeta, his handsome face is sporting the first real smile I’ve seen all day. I’m practically euphoric, breathing heavily, chest heaving as the adrenaline and sense of achievement embolden me. And I decide I can be brave one more time.

He leans in at the same time as I reach for him, our lips meet in a kiss that’s nearly three years overdue. A kiss that tastes like affection and jubilation and maybe even a little bit of anger. He moans against my lips, low and guttural, gloved hand gripping the back of my neck, tilting my head authoritatively. There’s no hesitation in this kiss, no gentle discovery. His tongue plunders my mouth, demanding, taking. And I meet him stroke for stroke, greedy for the taste of him after so long.

We kiss and kiss, completely oblivious to our surroundings, to the cold that freezes sweaty tendrils of my hair into icicles, to the other skiers who zip by. Lost in each other, making up for all of the time we’ve wasted. It’s only when some stupid teenager calls out to us to get a room that we reluctantly break the kiss. But Peeta doesn’t let me go, instead he pulls me in as tightly as our skis and gear allow, pressing kisses to my cheek, my cold ear, my temple.

I wish I could freeze this moment, and live in it forever. But I’m starting to shiver, standing still in the wind and with my helmet lying in the snow. Peeta too is trembling. “I have dreamed of doing that for so long, Katniss,” he whispers, hot puffs of air lifting goosebumps on my skin. With one last squeeze, he pulls away and reaches for my helmet and his own. “Once more?” he asks, his voice a little gruffer than usual, and I raise a partially frozen eyebrow at him. He laughs, a real, free, joyful laugh, the first I’ve heard in years. “Come on, Everdeen,” he says, still chuckling. “Let’s see how you do on the double diamonds.”

We ski for hours, sometimes racing, sometime carving patterns together. On the cold chairlift rides back up, he wraps his arm around me and we talk, really talk, catching up on three years of friendship. We don’t kiss again, don’t talk about dating or relationships or anything scary like that. Which is good, because my determination that right now we should only be working on making our friendship stronger is fading fast.

When the slope lights flicker on at three-thirty I’m shocked. Time has always passed quickly, effortlessly when I’m on the hills. And apparently also when I’m with Peeta. “Ready to go in?” he asks. “I think I’m done for the day.” He grabs my hand and makes a show of towing me towards the lodge while I laugh. And he keeps holding my hand, even as we ditch our skis and helmets.

We’re still holding hands when we walk into the staff lounge. Johanna is curled up in one of the shabby cast-off chairs, she glances over at our arrival, and I squirm, waiting for some smart-ass remark about our entwined hands. But I don’t get one. “You medically cleared, Everdeen?” she asks, and I nod. “Halle-freaking-lujah,” she says. “I have a buttload of tourists coming in from Topeka tomorrow.” She sighs. “None of them have even seen a mountain before. They’re going to be keeping you all busy for six solid days.”

Peeta and I look at each other, and matching grins crawl across our faces. Six fully booked days of private lessons? That’ll make a huge dent in the earnings I missed out on. It couldn’t come at a better time. I’m just about the suggest a celebratory hot chocolate when Johanna continues. “Staff Christmas party is tomorrow night.” The lodge’s annual employee Christmas gathering, the very same one where everything Peeta and I had been building towards three years ago fell apart. The timing is ironic. “I put you down as bringing cinnamon buns, Mellark,” Johanna says, oblivious to my discomfort.

Or maybe not so oblivious. “Better be the good ones.” She climbs out of her chair, sauntering towards us and making a big production of licking her lips and rubbing her stomach, before turning to me. “Everyone wants his buns,” she says, and the intentional double entendre is not lost on me. I pull my hand out of Peeta’s and wrap my arms around myself. “You coming too, Brainless? I didn't see your name on the sign up board.”

And just like that, all of the pain of three years ago comes rushing back full force, along with every old insecurity. The slamming of the staff room door cuts off Johanna’s cackling, replacing it with a tense silence. “I’ve never done anything with Johanna,” Peeta says beside me, barely a whisper. I nod at my ski boots. I’m sure he hasn’t, Jo loves to torment me, to tease me about being too straight-laced and hard to swallow, that’s all her little show was about. But it doesn’t stop the unease. His reputation as a player is, after all, well-earned, and hard to forget. “Katniss? Please look at me.”

I do, and his expression nearly guts me. It’s the same defeated expression he wore in the cave, the same one I used to see when his mother would pick on him. “I know you said you wanted to be just friends,” he whispers. “And I promised myself that I wouldn't push you. But you have to know, I’ve never gotten over you. I want…” He closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath. When he reopens them, they’re so full of pain that I can’t look away. “I want to erase the past three years. I know,” he shakes his head. “I know it’s not possible. But maybe…” he trails off again, as if his silver tongue has failed him completely.

The need to comfort him rises up again, and this time I don’t push it away. When I squeeze his arm, he lifts his gaze, pinning me with a look of earnest intensity. “I want a do-over, Katniss. Come with me to the party. Let me fix what I fucked up three years ago.”

I have no doubt he’s completely sincere, I can see the fear and determination warring in his expression. I’m terrified too. Three years ago, we found ourselves in exactly the same situation, and we both got burned. We’re older now, wiser, maybe even a little braver. But we can’t actually go back in time.

What do I do? Go to the party with Peeta, trust that he’s not the player he seems to be, open my heart up knowing that if it doesn’t work out I’ll be shattered? Or play it safe, go Christmas shopping for Prim instead of to the party, and keep working on building a solid friendship with Peeta for now?

[rain0205-blog]

Terminal State

Summary:  She tried leaving, submerging herself in work to escape the horrors she had seen. The horrors she kept seeing. She never wanted to go back to that life. But when the Empire takes her home, she's forced to face her past. Can she move on? Can she cope? Or will she require a bit of help? still bad at summaries, still working on it. ever so slightly more than slight AU gadioxoc

Prologue

...

The stagnant odour of vomit entered the room as the monitors beeped in a frenzy. Humming lights were drowned out by the sounds of retching and screaming. The man on the bed was done emptying his stomach of bile and began to spasm. Nurses piled in to hold him down, pushing medication through the intravenous tube attached to his arm. The temperature in the air was rising from the many warm bodies inside. They yelled orders in a frantic attempt to calm down their patient. His screaming persisted, the monitors joining in as they whined in despair. The gurney shook, making the room feel as if it were undergoing a tremor. Then it was silent.

A pair of hazel eyes looked around, observing the now-sedated patient. He was completely bald, overweight, and pale, with eyebrows that were furrowed in pain. The oxygen mask under his nose eased his troubled breathing and he glowed in the light, skin coated in a thick sweat. His rounded face had been lowered into a flat position, making his extra chins smooth back out into a neck. The man's arms were limp and red from his earlier struggle. Nurses and cleaning staff had moved to clean the vomit from around him and sterilized where it had seeped onto the floor. The monitors showed that he was stable but what would happen when he woke up?

Dr. Virum looked down at her scrubs, covered in the man's bile. She could feel it in her hair, and as she did her eyes shot toward the clock. Her shift was nearly over and all she would have to do is write up the paperwork for this patient, clean up, and go home. Virum grabbed a disinfecting cloth to clean her skin and face, then ran her hands through the alcohol-based hand dispenser and rubbed them together. Once her hands were dry she grabbed his chart, noting the man's health issues. She looked back at the patient thoughtfully, grabbing her pen from the pocket of her lab coat. It, too, was covered in vomit. She sighed, threw the pen in the garbage, and walked toward the nurse's station to grab one of the pens there.

"You reek," said the resident nurse sitting at her computer, "What do you have for me?"

"48 year-old male presents with severe abdominal pain, dehydration and shortness of breath. Set up oxygen, administered fluids and it resulted in rejection. All over me," she said, signing off on the chart and handing it to the nurse, "Patient was very anxious and began to seize, pushed three milligrams lorazepam. Anxious behaviour continued, so we gave him two milligrams of ketamine. Patient is sedated and resting. I'm ordering a CBC, an EKG, and a stool sample."

"You got it."

"You'll have to transfer him, my shift is over."

The nurse looked at her watch, "So it is. Are you actually planning to go home this time?"

"I think so. Getting puked on was definitely a sign I shouldn't be here this long."

The nurse laughed, "I praise you. Try and get some sleep, okay? You look like a zombie."

"You look pretty too. Have fun."

Virum hurried away, hoping to escape the hospital before another patient arrived. She wasn't so lucky.

"Incoming!" another nurse yelled.

Virum looked behind her as the doors burst open. Two paramedics were wheeling in a stretcher with an unconscious young girl on it. Her neck was in a brace and the medics were squeezing oxygen from a bag into a tube running through a hole in the girl's neck. She wasn't breathing on her own. Close behind them was the girl's mother, frantically following the stretcher. An orderly kept the hysterical woman out of the treatment room her daughter was brought into.

"Talk to me," Virum said as firmly as possible.

"13 year-old female, car accident, GCS: eight, blunt trauma to the sternum, not breathing, severe blood loss," answered the medic.

"Alright, transfer her on my count."

They put a bed right beside the stretcher, the paramedics on one side with the doctor, three nurses on the other side. Another nurse continued to pump oxygen from the bag. They gripped the backboard tightly, getting ready to lift.

"One, two, three!"

It only took a few seconds to hoist the girl onto the gurney. The paramedics quickly got their stretcher out of the way as the nurse continued on oxygen duty. After getting her hooked up to the monitors, they noticed she had a dangerously elevated heart rate. Virum ordered the nurses to find some medication to slow it down, then gave directions to the head nurse.

"Prep the operating room, her lungs are crushed and we need to relieve that pressure. Grab some blood from the bank and replace what was lost. Fill in the mother and do a full follow up with the relief doctor."

"Yes ma'am," said the nurse.

Porters came to wheel the bed out of sight with the mother following behind like a hawk. Virum sighed again, taking off her gloves and putting her hands through another round of sanitizer. She walked out of the treatment room in near defeat. What a day it had been. Most of it had been so quiet, with the usual mix of drug-seekers and hypochondriacs. She should have known it would get hectic later on. Vomit crusted the top of her head and the thought of it made her cringe. Dr. Virum finished signing off on the paperwork and handed it to the same charge nurse.

"Get out of here," the nurse said.

"Already gone," the doctor replied, hands up in defeat.

Virum walked toward the locker rooms as quickly as she could, definitely unwilling to get pulled into another job. She didn't even register the people she passed, the exhaustion of sixteen hours of work finally settling in. Graveyard shift was bad, and even more so when she ended up working until mid-afternoon. But then, if she were at home she would just be finding an excuse to come in any way. It wasn't like she had any sort of life beyond her work. Virum walked into the locker room, nodding at the doctor coming to relieve her. The two didn't speak, the look on her face suggesting she was in no mood for talk. Not like she ever really was any day. She punched in the combination to her locker, opened it, and took out a change of clothes. Grabbing her personal cleaning supplies and a towel, she headed into the showers.

Steam billowed out from the stall almost immediately. A blissful sigh escaped her once the scalding water touched her skin, turning it red instantly on contact. Her eyes closed once she was surrounded by the heat, providing her with the long sought-after comfort only achieved in such a scorching environment. Moments like these were peaceful, allowing her to lose herself and chemically recalibrate her mind. They were never long enough, and it was with agonizing regret that she forced herself to leave the tranquillity of the shower's warmth.

The doctor ran the towel over her head after getting out, drying her hair and face off a bit and then wrapping it around her tiny frame. She grabbed her fresh clothes and took them to the counter where the sink was. The mirror was a bit foggy, but not enough to hide the reflection that stared back at her. Layers of hair reached to just under her chin. It was a light dirty brown, with blond highlights running through it. Her skin was pale and her eyes were bloodshot with dark circles smeared under them. The zombie comparison made more sense now. Even the scar running from her mid-neck down her collarbone stood out more than usual. Her gaze bore into it for a few moments, her head awash with unwanted memories before she tore her eyes away from the mirror with disgust.

The towel was fairly time consuming, so she grabbed a blow dryer to get it over with quicker. It didn't take long and now the hair flared out from her face, covering the back of her neck. She dried off the rest of her body and slipped on her jeans, socks and boots that ran up to her mid-calf. Pulling on the long sleeved v-neck shirt, her eyes searched for her most important item. She removed the pendant she had worn during her shower, a silver chain with a disc encircling a tree. Her leaf-shaped earrings returned to their rightful place, at the base of her ears where they tended to dangle and move with her head. The rest of her earrings - a dragonfly in her left ear, an anchor at the top of her right ear, and a silver hoop in her right earlobe - never needed to be removed. She applied the light coating of makeup she usually wore, in a vain attempt to look more lively if anything. Virum looked herself over and at last packed up her things, satisfied that she at least looked less zombie-like than before.

She placed her bag in her locker and pulled out her purse. The satchel-like bag was placed over her shoulder, the bottom of the bag hugging her right hip. Next came her grey and black striped fingerless gloves, and then she put her arms through her black form-fitting light leather jacket. The locker door was closed with a bit of a slam before making sure it locked and then walked briskly out of the room. Virum was passing by the emergency department, ready to make the break to her car when the charge nurse stopped her.

"The Bossman needs you," said the nurse.

Virum frowned. "What about?"

"He didn't say."

She sighed. "Thanks, Gin."

The nurse nodded, turning back to her desk as the boss arrived at the nurse's station.

"Leaving?" he asked. He was a stocky man, balding on the top of his head and sported a mustache - although it didn't fit him at all.

"End of shift, sir," she said in her most pleasant voice, "I've been here sixteen hours."

"I need you to go to the Citadel," he said, completely unaffected by her words.

"What? Why?"

"They need a doctor to fill in there, being short staffed with the war and all. You're the only one we can spare."

"But sir," she protested, "I just finished a sixteen-hour shift. You had all that time to find a relief for me."

"I know, but the King asked and you know I can't say no."

"Why can't another doctor do it? Or even yourself? I specifically requested to never work at the Citadel."

"To be perfectly honest, Doctor Puinon asked for you."

Virum sighed, "Very well."

"I'll switch your morning shift tomorrow to the afternoon if I can. I'm sorry, but… King's orders."

"Yeah… " she replied dryly.

The Boss nodded and walked away. Virum groaned, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before she begrudgingly left the hospital and headed toward her car. She started the engine, put on her seat belt, and then nearly collapsed on top of the steering wheel. Fatigue wore away at her and she knew that there was no way the Boss was going to move her shift to the afternoon tomorrow. He knew she was a total pushover, that she would work 24/7 if allowed to. But her body was protesting. At least at the Citadel there usually weren't any emergencies, just Kingsglaive and Crownsguard getting a few bumps and bruises during training. She might even be able to relax a little for once. With that fresh excuse in her mind, Virum pulled her head up and began the drive to her third consecutive shift.

There was no trouble at the gate, her hospital badge allowing Virum to enter with ease. The overenthusiastic guard had known she was coming and directed her to the closest parking lot. She thanked him with a smile, not having the heart to tell him that she already knew where she was going. Puinon's usual spot wasn't taken, so she parked her car there. He obviously wasn't going to use it and she had no desire to drive around looking for a free space. Virum then opened up her trunk, grabbing the spare work clothes she kept packed inside. Yeah, she was definitely a workaholic. On her way toward the clinic she stopped in at the cafeteria, grabbing herself a small latte. Ordinarily, she didn't put caffeine in her body but given how long she'd been working, her willpower wasn't up to its usual standards.

The Citadel was buzzing with all kinds of workers. There were easily close to a thousand people living there, including the King and his son. Although she had heard his son no longer lived there, she was sure he visited on occasion. Virum hadn't met with any of the royals or their Kingsglaive and Crownsguard in quite some time, nor did she want to either. Not anymore. She walked the familiar path toward the clinic, ignoring the memories within her that wished to resurface. That life was behind her. The doctor walked into the entrance of the clinic and reported to the nurse's station. The charge nurse looked way too happy. It must have been early in her shift still. Virum tried to not look too envious as she allowed the nurse to lead her to the changing room.

Virum spent the first four hours mostly sitting around, tending to a couple of sprained ankles and one broken arm. She was happy with that, using the extra time to finish up the paperwork that she was falling behind on from the emergency department. The nurses in the clinic were very thorough with their examinations and didn't need Virum's guidance very often. At least she had been right about this being an easy shift. She even got a couple of short naps in between patients and managed to finish the backlog of hospital work that she didn't even have to do, with only an hour before she could go home. Something she heard one of the nurses say made her frown. They were speculating as to whether or not the rumours about her were true, apparently unaware that she could hear them. This was why she liked working in the emergency department over at the hospital. Everyone there was far too busy to gossip and the few that already knew about her past didn't bother to share it.

"Doctor, we have another patient for you," said one of the nurses, coming in to hand over a clipboard with a chart.

Dr. Virum smiled sweetly at the woman as she walked to the patient's room, hiding the irritation she had felt from overhearing them. She closed the door behind her, not even looking up and grabbed her pen to correct mistakes written by the nurse. Down went the chart and on went her gloves after washing her hands before she picked up the chart again, still not looking up.

"Okay, 23 year-old male presenting with a head wound and possible concussion," she muttered, mostly to herself, "Cause of injury: sparring. We definitely haven't had a lot of that today."

"Not here of all places!" she heard someone say, laughing.

Virum placed the chart down and looked up. There were four men in the room, three seemingly uninjured and one with the laceration. On the right of the patient was the smallest of them. He was the one that had spoken, his face red under the eyes that were freckled. The unruly blond hair on his head gave him a more youthful appearance. On the left was a more stern-looking man, with sharp features accented by the glasses clinging to his face and dirty blond hair swept up at the front. He had green eyes and was dressed quite formally. Standing just slightly in front of him was a boy she recognized from the pictures to be Prince Noctis, the son of King Regis. He had a mess of navy hair with angular blue eyes and a sullen look on his face.

The patient of the group was by far the largest of them. Even sitting down he towered over the other three. His arms were as thick as small tree trunks and covered in tattoos. His hair was shaved at the sides but spiky on top as well as long at the back. He sported a beard around his jaw and gentle amber eyes. Although he was smiling, his mountainous form still made him quite intimidating. The laceration was on his left eye, starting from his forehead and reaching diagonally down to stop just under his cheekbone. It looked like he'd been lucky; managing to miss his eye socket. It had been cleaned previously, which meant he was only here as a precaution. Virum walked over to him, taking his chin in her hands, her hazel eyes scrutinizing the injury. While it was unlikely to be necessary, she wanted to make sure there was no damage to his actual eye. She let his face go then, taking a step back.

"Okay, Mr..." she glanced at the chart, "Amicitia. Want to tell me what happened?"

"He wounded his pride, that's what," said the boy on his right, giggling.

"Prompto," the stern man spoke with a warning tone.

"We were sparring and I won," explained Prince Noctis with evident pride.

"He got the best of me this round," added the patient, "Iggy already cleaned it up but he said I was better off coming here,"

"Well, Iggy was right to be careful," she agreed, "I'll also compliment him on how well he cleaned it," she placed the stethoscope on his chest and commanded, "Breathe."

Amicitia complied and continued to do so with all of her wishes during his examination. There appeared to be no obstruction in the lungs or airways. Satisfied, Virum removed the stethoscope and placed it around her neck once more. Carefully, she placed her hands underneath his chin to feel for any sort of swelling or tenderness. He didn't react and she took that to be a good sign. The next thing to be examined were the lymph nodes, where she felt some abnormalities. But they were faint and nothing to worry about. She ran her penlight once over his right eye, then carefully opened his left eye and ran it over that. The results were conclusive with the swelling she had found in the rear of his head.

"Follow my finger with only your eyes," she instructed.

Virum held up her left index finger and moved it from left to right slowly. His amber eyes followed her more so than her finger. She managed to keep a straight face in spite of it. Virum then moved the finger up and down.

No issues there, so she prompted, "Now with your entire head," and repeated the movements, noting his the discomfort as he moved his head. She could only assume he was trying to put on a brave face for his friends in the room.

The report on the patient said that he had been given a potion after the sparring match and that he had a cut and a minor concussion. The laceration was very thoroughly cleaned, this Iggy character was very professional, but it would still need stitches to heal properly. The doctor picked up the chart and a pen before beginning to write.

"Mr. Amiticia—"

"Gladio," he corrected.

She smiled insincerely, "You have a small concussion and that cut of yours will need stitches. I need to prepare a few things, but then I'll be back to patch you up and send you on your way."

He grinned, "Thanks, Doc."

Virum nodded a little stiffly before exiting. She made the trip back to the nurse's station, clearly interrupting a conversation they'd rather she didn't hear.

"23 year-old male," she explained, "minor concussion, small laceration to his head on the left side. Can one of you please prepare the repair kit while I finish my report?"

"Yes ma'am," a nurse said at once, taking the chart and hurrying away.

After a glance at the other nurse - who was still staring at her - Virum went to the bathroom. Splashing water on her face was tempting, but her makeup was still mostly intact and she wanted to keep it that way for just a little while longer. Beats per minute in her heart was increasing thanks to the anxiety of the ensnaring gossip. But her hands had remained steady. Good, because once she was done stitching up the Crownsguard she could go home. That was the last time she would ever work 24 hours straight. As much as she loved immersing herself with the distraction of work, she did need time to try and sleep her usual hour or so here and there. Slapping her pale cheeks lightly, she took a large breath and willed herself to focus.

Virum walked back into Mr. Amicitia's room, his friend's joking comments stopping after she opened the door. She was about to pull up a stool but decided against it. Amicitia was much bigger than an average person. The nurse had laid out the tools she needed and stood at the side of the room, waiting for instructions. Dr. Virum grabbed a cotton swab and dipped it in the blue fluid, running it along the laceration gently, a numbing agent.

"Please be still," she advised.

He didn't move, so she began threading the first stitch through. The needle moved through the skin without a problem. The doctor could hear the young boy, Prompto, making noises while the Prince looked away uncomfortably. Iggy, however, was watching her with the same intensity that her patient was, although Virum was sure it was for different reasons. Iggy appeared to be trying to learn her technique while Mr. Amicitia was clearly just fawning on her. She largely ignored them both but was still a little distracted by the warm breath on her neck as she worked. It just reminded her that she was cold, she was always cold. Once she was finished, she cut the remaining thread before expertly tying it off. The doctor's pen came out one last time to write down a prescription.

"You're all set. Take this for the pain and try not to exert yourself for the rest of the week."

"Thanks, Doc," he said again, his fingers brushing against hers as she handed him the paper, "You wanna grab a beer?"

She swung around, looking at him incredulously. It was for only a very brief moment, as she smiled again.

"Sorry, I don't date patients."

"I'm discharged, remember?" he held up his prescription with a grin.

She took off her gloves and sanitized her hands, "I don't date Crownsguard," she spoke again before closing the door firmly behind her.

"Oh, swing and a miss big guy," said Prompto, laughing.

But Gladiolus's eyes didn't register defeat. He was still smirking at the door she had gone through, not even really hearing Prompto and Noctis laugh at him. As her words were spoken, there was only one thought on his mind. Challenge accepted.

...

thanks for reading. i’m not a medic of any kind so if i make a mistake please feel free to let me know.

[themurphyzone]

Oneshot: The Girls’ Choice Dance

Since these two asks were asking for similar scenarios, I’m putting them together!

Milo had been a good dancer, she had to admit. Even when a roll of toilet paper tripped him, he managed to make stumbling around the gymnasium while trying to find his balance look great. 

His moves that night wound up inspiring a new dance craze on social media. 

Being in charge of the planning, the decorations, the cleanup, and food? Easy. 

Dealing with Murphy’s Law when everything slowly unraveled from her color-coded schedule? Not as easy, but she was learning to be more flexible. 

Learning that a Girls’ Choice dance would be held Friday night and Melissa had somehow taken over her job for the planning committees before she could blink? Frustrating didn’t begin to describe it. 

Then there was the fact that Girls’ Choice dance meant the girls had to choose their partner for that night. Lydia had been not-so-subtly hinting that Amanda should ask Milo to the dance. 

If she hadn’t saved Amanda from soul-crushing anxiety countless times before, then Amanda would’ve taken her revenge by sending her poorly written fanfiction of Christine and Raoul. 

Curious, she typed “Girls’ Choice Dance: How to Ask Boy” into her search bar. A blog post on the official Fireside Girls’ website was the first result. Sighing, she clicked on it and settled back in her chair. 

Fireside-Chihuahua: Hello! I know this blog is used for showing off patches and how to succeed in all your Fireside Girl endeavors, but today I’d like to share with you advice on how to ask a boy out to a Girls’ Choice Dance. See links at bottom for asking boys out to summer cotillions and holiday celebrations. 

The first and most important rule: Do not panic. It won’t be the end of the world if you try to ask him. Is there a possibility you’ll be met with disappointment? Yes. But it’s better than never trying at all. And hey, if he can’t see how awesome you are than he ain’t it worth it girl! 

Number Two: Timing. If the boy you want to ask is in space trying to locate that new star he got from the Internet, then it’s better that you wait until he comes back to Earth. Also, do not console teenage girls over their romantic woes with a rocket’s videophone.  

Number Three: Patience. Life gets in the way. Both of you have obligations, and that’s understandable. Keep trying, never give up, and you can do it!

The Fireside Girl Troop 46321 supports your efforts! Go for it!

Amanda sighed. Unless Milo was trapped in a rocket and launched into space at some point this week, there was no way it could be applicable to her. 

She pulled an empty schedule out of her drawer. 

Or was there? 

“Milo and I are in 3rd period history together,” Amanda murmured. “We also share music class. Either one would work. If he’s late to history, I’ll ask him when class is over. If that doesn’t work, I’ll ask him while we’re putting our instruments together.” 

Yup. She was certain this was going to blow up in her face. 

After all, what could possibly go right?

Just another case of the Monday blues. The ones where the students collapsed in the hallway and panicked because they procrastinated over their essays for the past 48 hours as they made a half-hearted effort to scribble something that was technically legible. 

The coffeemaker in the teachers’ lounge broke for the seventh time in the past two weeks, so they all knew to tread lightly around Principal Milder for the day. When she didn’t get her caffeine, not even the staff was safe from withdrawal-induced ‘I once knew a student’ stories. 

She was doomed. 

“Cheer up, Amanda,” Lydia said. “What are you gonna do?” 

“Ask Milo,” Amanda mumbled, wanting to curl up inside her locker forever. 

Lydia huffed. “Okay, not the delivery I was hoping for. Where’s that confidence I’ve seen you muster up when you’re planning your day out by the second?” 

“Confidence can’t answer you right now,” Amanda said. “It’s buried somewhere in an elephant graveyard.” 

“Relax. Look. It’s easy as pie!” Lydia exclaimed. She whirled around, jumping in place as she commanded the attention of the rest of the class. Amanda wondered if she could turn a shrink ray on herself. “HEY, CHAD! WILL YOU GO TO THE GIRLS’ CHOICE DANCE WITH ME?” 

Chad gaped at her before fainting with a lopsided grin.  

Lydia snapped her fingers. “Told you it was easy.”

“You made him faint!” Amanda protested. 

“A technicality,” Lydia shrugged. “And here comes Prince Charming in three, two, one.”

Amanda inhaled deeply as Milo entered the classroom, humming a light tune as he headed to his desk. “Hey, Amanda!” he said. 

“Hi, Milo. Um, I was wondering if you would, that is, if you want to-”

Several loud screams cut her off. 

Jodi and Crystal scrambled for the door as a huge swarm of bees slowly trickled in through the half-open window. Amanda grabbed her bag and hightailed it after them, the rest of the class following suit. 

Except for Milo, who remained in the classroom while he donned a beekeeping outfit. The class watched through the small window on the door as Milo carefully guided the bees outside with two sugary drink cans. 

When the last of the swarm was gone, Milo shut the window. He flashed a thumbs up at the rest of the class. 

Before any of them could return to their seats, a smoker dropped out of Milo’s backpack, the lid undone. White smoke poured out of it, setting off the sprinklers and triggering the fire alarm. 

Amanda clapped her hands over her ears, shuffling towards the nearest exit. The voice inside her head was almost screeching as loudly as the fire alarm. 

She hadn’t planned for a fire alarm. She would have to restructure her schedule for the rest of the school day, which left no time for asking Milo to the dance. 

And to think there was still four days of despair to get through....

Since Amanda and Melissa shared their lunch period on Tuesday, Amanda thought it would be good to ask if she could plan something for the dance, if only to get some steam out of her system. 

“So do you need help with any of the committees?” Amanda asked. “I mean, it’s a lot of work and there’s only so much time before the dance.”

Melissa shrugged. “Well, there is one committee that still needs a head. Nobody’s been up to the task so far.”

“I’ll take it!” Amanda exclaimed. “You have no idea how much I need this right now! Where’s the paper?” 

Melissa set the official sign-up form on the table with a sparkly magenta pen. Amanda hastily scribbled her signature, slamming the pen down with a satisfying thud. 

“So what am I in charge of?” Amanda asked. 

Melissa smirked. “You’re the Head of the Ask Milo Out to the Dance Committee. And I structured it so you’re the only member.” 

Amanda glared at her. “How did you even get that past the main office?” 

“It’s easy to sneak things past Principal Milder when she doesn’t get her coffee,” Melissa said. 

As if that explained everything! 

“Milo doesn’t know about this by the way,” Melissa winked. “Girl secret.”

At this point, Amanda didn’t know what was worse. Calming her nerves so she could ask Milo a simple question, blatantly straying from the schedule, or that she didn’t read the fine print for the sign-up. 

How did Melissa even know that she was trying to ask Milo? Did Lydia blab? Maybe they’d bugged her room over the last week. That had to be it. They must’ve snatched a schedule, snuck into her room at a time she’d be out, and bugged the place. 

Seemed plausible enough. 

“And speaking of Milo....” Melissa nudged her. “...here he comes!”

Melissa moved to her left to make room for Milo. As he sat down, his foot got caught on the metal bar that held the tables together. Amanda leaned back as he tugged his foot free, almost hitting her with his backpack.

“Sorry about that,” Milo laughed. “Didn’t mean to almost hit you.” 

Amanda stared at her rice, slowly clamping the lid on the container as she slowly lost her appetite. “It’s fine,” she said meekly. “So, would you like to-”

Violent retching came from several tables. 

Students quickly rushed for the nearest trash cans and restrooms. One boy wasn’t so lucky and threw up directly on Milo’s head. 

Amanda and Melissa gagged at the sight of the mystery meat. It was a revolting shade of brown, and was that a piece of plastic in there? And Milo didn’t seem to care that someone vomited on his head! 

Maybe he’d been through worse. 

Milo pulled out a large paper bag and gave it to the poor soul behind them. He nodded his thanks and rushed off, heaving the rest of his lunch into the bag. 

“Sorry, I’m gonna go wash up,” Milo said, standing up. “Maybe we can chat tomorrow!” 

“Yes, tomorrow,” Amanda gasped, plugging her nose at the horrid stench. 

And there went her chances. 

She reminded herself to check the cafeteria menu and make sure the so-called food was compatible with people’s digestive systems so she could pick a more ideal day to conduct important business. 

The less said about Wednesday, the better. 

She couldn’t take her disappointment out on Mrs. Murkawski’s desk no matter how much it was that stupid piece of wood’s fault. 

It was Thursday and she was running out of time. But her plan was simple. Ten minutes biking to Milo’s house, an hour to chat, another ten minutes biking home. If she couldn’t ask during school due to unforeseen circumstances, she would try after. 

Amanda rang the doorbell, fixing her headband as she waited for Milo to answer. 

The door opened. 

Amanda inhaled sharply, then blurted it out. “HiMilodancewithmeplease?” 

“Oh sorry, Milo isn’t home right now.” 

That’s it. She was crawling under a rock and never coming out. On second thought, she decided to make it a huge boulder in the Himalayas. 

Sara waved her inside. “So, what’s this about my brother?” 

“Well, the Girls’ Choice Dance is tomorrow and I wanted to ask Milo out but Murphy’s Law happens. Without fail. Every single time,” Amanda said, burying her head in her hands. 

Sara patted her back. “Milo should be coming home from his band practice soon. Just Getting Started’s gonna be the next big thing, just you wait! But in the meantime, grab the bubble wrap out of the closet and start putting it over the couch. We’ll Murphy’s Law-proof the living room so you can ask Milo out!” 

“You’ll help me out here?” Amanda said, surprised. 

“Amanda, right?” Sara grinned. “Milo talks about you a lot. He says you’re really good at organizing stuff. And that you rock magenta.”

Amanda blushed. “He talks about me?” 

Sara clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles, a strange look in her eyes that said she knew something Amanda didn’t. “You heard me, girl. Bubble wrap everything!” 

She grabbed a roll and unraveled it, throwing one end over the couch as she started tying it around the legs. Why would Milo talk about her? Unless he complained about her obsession with order to his family....

No, Milo wouldn’t do that. He was far too nice for his own good.

He thought she looked good in magenta? But she had to wear magenta. No ifs and buts about that. 

He looked good in a tuxedo. He helped save the last school dance. He was a good opera singer. 

Just as she finished covering the couch, there was a loud bang from outside.

“I’m back!” Milo exclaimed, throwing the door open so hard it broke off the hinges. “Whoops, don’t know my own strength. Anyway, there’s a purple bike out there that got fried by the power lines. Do you know who owns-”

“My bike!” Amanda yelped, rushing outside. 

“Amanda?” Milo said, surprised when she flew past him. 

Two power lines had fallen across what was supposed to be the handlebars of her bike, now reduced to a pile of heap of charcoal and ash. 

Amanda could only stare at the wreckage while Milo still seemed confused. “Sorry about your bike,” he said softly. 

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s it!” Amanda screamed, facing away from Milo. She wiped a tear away, removing her headband to let her hair fall in front of her face. Less embarrassing to cry that way. “I tried, I really did! I can’t plan this dance, my bike is ruined, and I got interrupted every time I tried to put myself out there! What else is going to go absolutely, catastrophically wrong?” 

A fence board fell over from a house across the street. 

“Thank you for proving my point,” she mumbled angrily.

Then Milo was in front of her, offering her a handkerchief. She sniffed, quickly brushing her hair aside as she took it. 

Their hands briefly brushed. 

Was it just her imagination, or was he...no, that light tinge of red was unmistakable. 

Milo was blushing. 

Amanda carefully pressed the handkerchief to her cheek, wiping her tears away. She wasn’t sure why, but suddenly she was feeling so much better. 

“Sorry. I-I wasn’t mad...at you,” Amanda murmured. 

Milo smiled. “Sometimes you just need to let it out. No worries.”

“Now that’s it quiet, mind if I ask you something?” Amanda fumbled with the handkerchief, bracing herself as she made eye contact with Milo. 

He nodded. 

“Would you go to the Girls’ Choice Dance with me tomorrow?” 

Milo grinned. “Yes! I’ll go! I’ll wear my best tux! And we’ll dance until we drop! Sara, I’m dancing with Amanda tomorrow! Is this a date? This counts as a date, right? Do we need something that matches?” 

Sara was rapidly typing on her phone, her fingers moving in a frenzy. She squealed loudly. 

“Oh my gosh this is just like the anime with the bike and the handkerchief and the dancing and the hints and it’s so romantic! Blogging about this straight away while I remember all the details!” 

She flew upstairs, almost tripping on the last step in her haste. 

Milo and Amanda laughed. 

The Girls’ Choice Dance wouldn’t be a disaster after all! 

It took a few minutes, but Milo and Amanda were able to figure out how to hold each other’s hands while on the dance floor. They fared better than Lydia and Chad, who kept tripping over each other’s toes. 

Even Murphy’s Law couldn’t dampen her spirits. 

“Okay, everyone!” the DJ exclaimed. “Taking it down a notch for any budding couples out there!”

Amanda blushed. 

The frantic beat of the techno music faded away, replaced by a rock ballad. As the opening melody played, Milo grinned.  

“May I have this dance?” he asked, bowing low. A true gentleman. 

Amanda pressed a palm to her cheek, taking his hand and putting it around her waist. There were gasps from the dance floor as everyone turned to watch them. 

“I should’ve known, from how I felt, when we were together,”

Though they didn’t speak, there was a balance. Milo pulled her gently away from the beat, encouraging her to transform the song into something new. Amanda brought them back to form, so that they moved at just the right tempo. Not too quickly to outspeed the music, but not too slowly that they were bored. 

“And even more when we were apart,”

Every girl dreamed of a fairy tale dance. This was hers. Maybe not with the Prince Charming she envisioned as a child, but there was no need for Milo to be one. 

“You tiptoed in, and you got under my skin,”

Murphy’s Law was a common annoyance, but Milo always tried to do whatever he could to help his classmates. The majority of accidents weren’t his fault. Some understood that, others didn’t. It would be understandable to lash out at the world and be angry with his constant bad luck, but Milo never did that. He was the most optimistic, kind-hearted person Amanda knew. 

“You snuck your way right into my heart.” 

They broke apart when the power suddenly cut off after the end of the first verse, but Amanda didn’t care. Good karma had caught up to her at last. 

The Girls’ Choice Dance had been worth the wait.