#AND ALSO RYAN CHEEKS (always red for fuck sake)

[tiringwritings]

so freaking cute

[luminescencefics]

you feel like home - part seven

“I know that. And I’m sorry. Just—fuck, Ryan—I need to speak with you. Please.” It’s the waver of his voice that forces Ryan to finally look into his eyes, noticing the way his skin looks taut and the bags underneath are more pronounced now than ever before. The pallor of his face is almost disturbing, and even though Ryan is still upset, the sight of him pleading with her is enough to make her concerned. 

His hand is still grasping her elbow, and when she tears her eyes away from his face and down in the direction of his hand on her body, he gets the hint and drops it, backing away slowly. Her door is ajar and with a silent nod of approval, Harry’s following her into the flat.

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*** When It Goes From Worse to Maybe Okay

In the days that follow, Harry’s never felt so alone. It’s an odd thing to say, considering he’s spent every day with his son the same way he has for the past five years. But there’s something missing this time—something that makes him feel less than part of a whole. The loneliness is deep in his chest now, and the emptiness echoes through his body until he feels a shiver run underneath his skin until he’s nothing but hollow.

He’s never felt so cold in his life. 

The hollowness grows deeper when Harry thinks about how most of this is mainly his fault. Because he has become so in tune with Ryan’s feelings in such a short amount of time, sensing her unease before she even knows she’s started fidgeting in front of him. And maybe that was his problem—he spent most of his time making sure she was okay, and in turn, forgot how to even act in front of her. 

It’s not like he didn’t try to speak to her on more than one occasion. After Ryan left his flat with his tea mug, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He could barely sleep that night, going back and forth in his mind of whether or not he should just knock on her door and kiss her. And the restlessness didn’t stop—the next morning he heard a crash on the other side of his bedroom wall, and his mind started reeling, wondering if she was on the other end of the abnormally thin plaster. Was she up all night thinking of him, too?

And then when he knocked on her door and she was wearing big glasses and her hair was a messy knot bound together by a flimsy pen and she looked so cozy, he’s not quite sure why he didn’t kiss her then, either. Because he wanted to—it was all he could fucking think about. It was as if his body movements were in sync with his heart, because they moved closer towards her on their own accord without asking his brain for permission, and it was only when he could feel her short spurts of breath on his neck when he realized he could kiss her right then and there if he truly wanted to. But her brown eyes were blown out and her bottom lip was quivering and her hands were shaking, so he backed away. He figured she was uncomfortable and how could he kiss her when he was asking her to watch his kid for a few hours?

He was a blushing mess that entire afternoon. And when he finally had the entire flat to himself and grabbed his guitar, plucking strings and making melodies that faintly sounded like Ryan’s giggles, he never wrote a song faster in his entire life. Harry found himself scribbling dark eyes and olive skin and scraped knees, messy hair and big jumpers and hallways in his leather journal. And when he pieced them together and finally started singing, the song was so obviously about her that he couldn’t even believe it. Has she always subconsciously been in every lyric he’s written since he’s met her?

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about the song until he was standing right in front of her a few hours later, looking into her dark eyes underneath big lenses, her olive-skinned shoulder poking out of her oversized jumper. His heart took over again, and when they prompted his lips to blurt out an invitation for dinner, he couldn’t even be angry with his head for not kicking into gear. He had never been more nervous for a date in his entire life—was it even a date? Did he even say the word date? 

His mind was in overdrive. Harry cleaned his already spotless flat twice over, and when he looked at the clock and saw that he only had thirty minutes until she was knocking on his door, he panicked and jumped into the shower. The entire time he was shampooing his knotted hair, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was panicking, too. Was she staring at herself in the mirror, deciding what shade of lipstick to wear? Did she change her outfit three times? Did she want him as badly as he wanted her?

After changing out of jeans and a corduroy pair of trousers, Harry knew he was fucked. His confidence was slipping, and he almost laughed at how much of a teenager he was being. It felt like he was fourteen again getting ready for his first date—giddy and nervous and practically shaking at the knees. Ryan felt like a lot of firsts for him, if he was being honest with himself. Did he feel like that for her, too? 

God and when he saw her. Her dark hair was falling down her back and the color matched her twinkling eyes, and when he noticed the subtle shade of lipstick she was wearing, it looked as if she had just eaten a perfectly ripened raspberry that stained her pouty lips. He couldn’t stop staring at the tangled gold necklaces around her clavicle—he saw the year 1993, a Greek letter that he assumed was her astrological sign, and a pendant that looked as if it had been on her neck for her entire life. He was fascinated—completely and utterly transfixed with the girl standing in front of him in the hallway.

Kissing her seemed inevitable with the way they were dancing around each other in his kitchen, the way her bare shoulder brushed against his forearm when she leaned over him to grab the rolling pin, the way she looked at him underneath the curtain of her eyelashes when she was on all fours in Jackson’s bedroom. The way she cleaned up without hesitation, the way she seamlessly fit in his living room, the way she flirted with him to the soft sounds of Joni Mitchell playing in the background.

But then he was talking about Rachel and feeling things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Talking about his unearthed hidden emotions he kept buried for five years, and suddenly Ryan was looking at him with the saddest look on her face and he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was fucking terrified. 

Because she was there and sitting in front of him and it was everything he could have ever wanted—but then she started talking about her parents and her breathing pattern shifted in a way that made Harry nervous. And when her hands started trembling and her cheeks were painted red and she couldn’t bring herself to even look at him, he knew she was panicking, so he grabbed her hand to bring her back to him. To them. To sitting on the couch with their knees touching and being surrounded by the comfort of one another. 

And he wanted to kiss her—so fucking badly that his entire body was shuddering with anticipation. But it didn’t feel right to him, not after he just unloaded his past relationship with Jackson’s mother, not when she just told him about her parent’s divorce, not when she was shaking so hard underneath his hand.

He wanted the moment to be perfect, and for the first time in days, he listened to his head instead of his heart.

But when he saw the look on her face, all downtrodden and blank eyes, he immediately regretted it. And when her hand left his and she ran out of the flat without even putting her shoes on, Harry had never been angrier with himself. 

In trying to find the perfect moment, Harry let the actual one slip right through his fingers. 

And he deserves it, he supposes. Harry’s always been a suffer in silence type of person, and after the way he treated her in his living room, he’s never suffered more. Because being with Ryan, even for the short amount of time he was given, made him feel alive again. She was quirky and different and somehow burrowed herself into his life without even truly knowing it, and when she left, he felt her absence everywhere.

Where Ryan was scared of the unknown, Harry was afraid of reliving it. Afraid of letting somebody into not only his own heart, but also his son’s, only to just leave in the end. He was afraid of needing somebody—because raising a child without much help forces you to become acquainted with the feeling of solitariness. Before he met Ryan, he felt as if he was swimming in an abyssal ocean, floating his way through life. But with one chance meeting, one awkward run-in in their shared hallway, it’s as if he’s come up for air—breathing in all the possibilities of what could be. 

Being alone is scary, but being left is even scarier—and even though he was never in love with Rachel, Harry tried his hardest to make it work because he assumed it was what was expected of him. He never wanted his son to suffer in the end, to feel neglected, to feel not good enough. 

He knows in his heart of hearts that Ryan would never treat him the way Rachel did. But for a split second, his mind went into that dark space. The space that warned him not to let his heart, or more importantly, Jackson’s, fall into the wrong hands. Because giving somebody else that power allows for the pain he shoved deep inside his chest to come back up to the surface, and he isn’t quite sure if he wants to relive it.

But the crippling feeling of regret after he saw Ryan hold back tears in the hallway was enough to make him hate himself just a little bit more.

It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Harry had been building up the courage ever since he told her he wanted to kiss her when she was in the lift to knock on her door and make it right. He wrote everything down, for fuck’s sake. An entire list of all of the things he had done wrong, of the things he wanted to do to make it better, of the ways she made his heart beat loudly inside of his chest like the bass drum to a rock song. 

But then Rachel shows up at his door unannounced, giving him the worst type of news he could have ever received. 

Without warning, she drops a napalm bomb on his front doorstep, informing Harry that she was offered a job position at her firm’s New York office. Before he could even hear her out, Harry instantly falls into defense mode—closing the door a few inches behind him so that Jackson remains unaware of his mother’s presence, folding his arms over his chest in a lame sort of protective armor, frowning deeply through his dried lips. Because once again, Rachel was choosing herself over her son. And once again, Harry was left to pick up the pieces.

So he tells her this.

“I can’t fucking hear this right now,” Harry whispers harshly, cutting her off just as the words temporary position falls from her lips. He didn’t even acknowledge it, didn’t even comprehend the string of sentences she was trying to explain to him.

“Harry, would you listen to me? I haven’t finished explaining. It’s only for a few—”

“—No! I don’t want to hear another excuse, Rachel! I’m the one that’s left to pick up the pieces whenever you fuck off to go do whatever it is you’re so passionate about. I’m the one that has to tell your son where his mum is. I’m the one who constantly puts Jackson first while he’s second, hell, practically fucking third on your list!” With every locution, he’s watching Rachel grow redder and redder with anger, and he knows it’s because he hasn’t let her get a word in edgewise.

But he isn’t in the mood to speak rationally. He’s had a week from hell, and just when he was about to go and make it better, Rachel had to show up and ruin it with ease. 

“Don’t you fucking dare accuse me of anything without even listening to what I’m trying to say to you! God, Harry you’re so bloody thick sometimes! I’m trying to speak to you like an adult, yeah? Like the way we always said we would talk to each other when we started co-parenting!” Rachel points a long finger into his face, waving it with each stressed syllable that falls out of her rogue-painted lips.

“You have to actually be a parent in order to co-parent, Rachel,” Harry spits out, and the minute he sees Rachel’s stony expression falter, he almost takes it back. 

He watches her take a deep breath, shaking the sadness from her eyes before the harsh expression replaces it. “Are you always going to make me the villain in your story, Harry? We came to the agreement two years ago that Jackson would stay with you while I finished law school. And for the past year, I’ve been doing the best I can, taking Jackson on long weekends so that you can have a break and I can spend time with him. We knew this would only be temporary until I became a practicing solicitor. This job will expedite that—I’m only needed there for six months, and then when I come back, I’ll permanently be in London. I’ll be working lesser hours, I’ll have more flexibility,” she pauses, eyes staring straight into Harry’s. “I can see Jackson for more than one weekend of every month.”

Harry’s head feels as if it’s about to explode, and suddenly he doesn’t want to be reasonable anymore. He wants to be angry. He wants to be upset. He wants to be irrational. 

“Do whatever the fuck you want, Rachel. You’ve been doing it all along.” He knows he’s being unfair, because even though Rachel has always been more selfish than Harry, she’s still a good person. She still tries her best to be a good mum to Jackson even when she’s buried in mountains of paperwork. She still tries to be a good friend to Harry even after all of the shit they’ve been through.

But Harry feels angry with the world, so he decides not to remember these attributes. Instead, he makes her the antagonist in his story—because being angry at her makes him a little less angry at himself. 

And when he sees messy brown waves behind Rachel’s shoulders in the hallway, it’s as if everything happens in slow motion. He watches Jackson run after Ryan, he hardly processes what Rachel says to him from his doorway, he watches Ryan comfort his wailing son with concerned eyes, and before he can even speed up time, Rachel’s yelling at Ryan, and Harry’s not sure how he hears it all over the sound of his heart dropping to the floor with a loud crash. 

Ryan’s gone just as quickly as she came and Harry’s left to pick up the remnants of his and Rachel’s disaster once again—scooping up Jackson with one arm to try and quell his chest-heaving sobs, closing the door on Rachel and telling her he’ll speak to her later, falling into bed with a heavy head and an even heavier heart.

That was three days ago. 

Now he sits in his dark flat, curtains completely drawn, lights still off. The wick from the sandalwood candle on the end table flickers from his position on the couch, the tiny flame creating swirling patterns along the slate grey walls, the crooning sound of Van Morrison from the record player the perfect backdrop for Harry’s dismal mood.

Gemma came to pick Jackson up for a few days after video chatting Harry and noticing the paleness of his face and the purple bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep through the grainy screen of her mobile. Her concern was evident, and after hearing Jackson mumble that daddy’s been sick for a few days (a lie both siblings chose to ignore), he didn’t even fight her when she told him Jackson was going to stay with his cousins for the weekend.

Now that the flat is empty, void of Jackson’s high-pitched laughter and tiny bare feet slapping against the hardwood flooring, the loneliness is practically unbearable to Harry. He can feel it eating away at him, and sitting on his couch listening to Astral Weeks for the third time through isn’t making him feel any better. 

Harry knows he needs to do something about it—because Ryan isn’t sitting in her flat feeling sorry for him, and out of everybody who was hurt by what happened in the hallway three days ago, she deserved it the least. 

Because thinking of her messy hair and big eyes, small hands swallowed by oversized knitted jumpers, pouty lips and red cheeks, small quips of smiles and dulcet giggles, secret tattoos scattered on olive skin—thinking of those things makes the heaviness in his head feel a bit lighter. 

And even if he ruined any hope of them ever having something, he knows she deserves an apology. Because all of this agonizing waiting and tiptoeing around feelings is only making his head spin faster and faster like a brand new top on a granite counter, and Harry can’t bear feeling like this anymore. Not when there’s any inkling of hope left.

Harry remembers hearing the sound of Ryan’s heavy oak door close almost an hour ago, and ever since she moved in practically two months ago, he’s picked up on her habits. He knows that she delegates Friday’s as her food shopping day, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he opens the curtains and flicks the living room light on, waiting by his front door near the peephole to try and catch brown hair whipping past.

And when he sees it almost fifteen minutes later, he has to blink to make sure he didn’t miss it. But there’s no denying Ryan’s tousled locks, and without hesitation he opens his door, meeting her in the hallway where it all began.

“Ryan,” Harry starts, watching the way she starts shifting her shopping bags into one hand so she can reach for her keys in her jacket pocket with the other, seemingly ignoring him. She’s trying to get out of this conversation with everything in her, and Harry knows this. But he needs to apologize. He needs to talk to her—even if it ends with her slamming her door in his face. “Ryan would you please—”

“—I really don’t think you have the right to ask anything of me right now, Harry.” It’s short, clipped, absolute. She still isn’t making eye contact with him, and Harry feels as if he’s going to burst. Once she allocates her keys it’s as if Harry works in fast motion, grabbing her elbow that isn’t anchored down by shopping bags, practically begging her at this point to just fucking look at him.

“I know that. And I’m sorry. Just—fuck, Ryan—I need to speak with you. Please.” It’s the waver of his voice that forces Ryan to finally look into his eyes, noticing the way his skin looks taut and the bags underneath are more pronounced now than ever before. The pallor of his face is almost disturbing, and even though Ryan is still upset, the sight of him pleading with her is enough to make her concerned. 

His hand is still grasping her elbow, and when she tears her eyes away from his face and down in the direction of his hand on her body, he gets the hint and drops it, backing away slowly. Her door is ajar and with a silent nod of approval, Harry’s following her into the flat. 

Luna, upon noticing a new figure entering the flat, treks over to him happily, rubbing her body against his shins and purring loudly. He crouches down and pets her quickly, watching Ryan settle her bags down on the countertop. When she spins around with her lower back resting on the counter, her arms crossed over her chest defensively, he stands up quickly and rubs at the back of his neck timidly.

“Go on, then.” Her voice has never sounded so distant, and Harry’s suddenly panicking at the thought of her wanting nothing to do with him ever again. Not even for his own selfish reasons, but for Jackson. Because he’d never forgive himself if he ruined things with his son’s new friend due to his own idiocy. 

“I’m sorry. What happened in the hallway was entirely uncalled for. Rachel had no right to speak to you that way, and I should have done more than just stand there and watch it all unravel. You didn’t deserve that.” His voice is scratchy from lack of use, and he begins wringing his hands in front of his waist due to the onslaught of nerves flushing through his system. Suddenly he’s terrified of what Ryan is going to say.

“Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t deserve that.” He feels the knife lodged into his chest start to twist, a pinching gut-wrenching pain shooting through his body. He hates it.

“I know, and I’m so—”

“—You’re sorry. I know,” she cuts him off and he’s left standing there completely unsure. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to formulate something, anything, to get her to stop looking at him like that. 

But before he can find the words, Ryan’s voice carries from her kitchen into Harry’s position in the middle of her living room. “Jackson didn’t deserve that either. And I’m not trying to wedge myself into your lives, because trust me, the message was received loud and clear. But you don’t get to stand there and judge me, psychoanalyze me, just to go off and talk about me to your mates or your ex-girlfriend. You don’t get to voice any other insecurity I have to the people in your life, to put into your songs or whatever the fuck you do with that information. Because you’ve lost that privilege. You’ve lost every and all privileges to get to know me.” Harry flinches, his eyes squeezing shut at the rib-racking pain that echoes through his entire body.

“You’ve lost that privilege when you told your son’s mother that I was the nanny. That I was kind to you with the ulterior motive to fuck you. And even if that were true, you have no right to tell people that. Because I’m fully aware that my social anxiety is crippling at times. I’m fully aware that I’m better off on my own because people intimidate me. I’m fully aware that I’m not the type of girl who ends up with boys like you. And that’s fine. I can live with that. But what I can’t live with is you deciding that on your own, and judging me just because you feel like you can. Because that’s cruel, Harry.”

It’s the most she’s ever said to him without stumbling over words or breaking eye contact. Ryan’s standing strong in front of him, cheeks void of a crimson blush, lips in a straight line. Her hands are still and her feet aren’t shifting and Harry’s never felt worse about himself in his entire life.

Her words crush through his body, bulldozing any inkling of self-guilt and anger. Because suddenly, he’s overwhelmed with the feeling of self-hatred. He want to scream, kick, and punch through every fucking wall because he’s made this woman feel like complete and utter nothingness, and the only person who deserves to feel like that is him. 

He’s fucking heartbroken.  

Before she can send him on his way for the last time, he suddenly finds the words to speak. He needs to fix this, to salvage any inkling of hope between them. Because he’s never thought of her that way, and the fact that she thinks so lowly of him because of the false things Rachel said to her when she was angry gives Harry the push he needs to tell Ryan the truth. 

The whole truth.

“I had no right to make you feel like that, and I’m sorry for that. Truly fucking sorry. But I never, ever, referred to you as Jackson’s nanny. I never spoke a word about you to Rachel or to my mates. If anything, Jackson probably talked about you and Luna with her, because god knows that boy is in love with you. That was just Rachel making presumptions and taking her anger with me out on you, and I’m so sorry she made you feel like that, and I’m even sorrier for not intervening. I would never judge you for being who you are, I just—fuck.” Harry runs an exasperated hand through his messy hair before looking at Ryan, taking a deep breath and inching closer towards her.

“I panicked. Because everything was happening so quickly and for the first time since Jackson was born, I wanted to cradle you against my chest instead of him. And that’s a fucked up thing to admit, because he’s my fucking son and he was crying and he needed me, and all I could think about was how your heart was breaking and I needed to shove that feeling down before it took over. Because it fucking terrifies me.”

There’s a sudden silence between the pair, with nothing but mahogany eyes staring into emerald. Ryan’s aware that in all of her time knowing Harry, he’s never been this open and honest with her. He’s laying all of his cards out on the table, and that revelation alone is enough to make the empty hole in her chest start filling up with each subtle beat of her heart.

Harry takes a tentative step forward, and once he realizes that Ryan isn’t backing away, he takes two more so that he’s standing directly in front of her.

“I’m not used to wanting to be around somebody else besides Jackson. It’s been almost five years, just me and him, and then when you came into the picture, I suddenly wanted to be around you. Every second. Of every fucking day.” When Harry acknowledges that her eyes haven’t diverted to the ground, he can feel the hollowness in his body start to dissipate, the coldness in his veins start to thaw out with each beam of light that radiates off of the girl standing in front of him.

“It scares the shit out of me, Ryan. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before. And I know I messed it all up by not kissing you, and I know I made you feel like I didn’t want you. But I just—I’m so scared of you leaving me, of leaving Jackson. Because no matter how many times I deny it, I’m so fucking scared of being left again. I don’t know if my heart can handle that.”

Ryan nods slowly, processing Harry’s biggest fear being laid out in front of her. She starts to feel bad for him all of a sudden, because maybe she was wrong in thinking that he didn’t want her. Because even though he’s in front of her and he’s here holding his heart in his shaking hands for her to have, part of him is terrified because he can’t only think about himself, he has to think about Jackson, too.

And that’s something Ryan possibly overlooked. Because she’s never been left the way Harry has, she’s never had to put all of her love and care into another human being who looks at her as if she hung all of the stars in the sky, she’s never had to be a parent by herself. 

There’s no rule book for that—no step-by-step instruction manual to describe how difficult that process truly was. And Harry did it because he had to. Because he needed to. Because he wanted to. 

And when she looks at him—really looks at him, at the small wrinkles around his brilliant green eyes that she wants to smooth over with the pad of her thumb, at his curly hair that somehow is still fluffy and tempting to touch, at his dried lips that she still wants to put on her own with everything inside of her—she’s mystified at how he could possibly think that.

How could anybody ever leave him?

With a small smile that somehow makes him feel whole again, she says, “Who said I was leaving you?” 

The weight that lifts from his shoulders practically makes him float through thin air. Harry takes a small step forward, testing the waters ever so slightly to make sure that she doesn’t cower away. And when she stands tall, looking at him as if she never wanted to blink again, he takes two more.

With one final step, he’s toe-to-toe with Ryan, so close that he can see the obsidian specks in her irises, the gold flecks when the light hits them just right, the gentle swoosh of her ebony lashes. He can feel her warm breath fannings against the column of his throat, and suddenly he’s reaching out, wrapping one long finger around a stray tendril of her dark hair.

“You’re wrong about not being good enough for boys like me. You’re wrong about being better off alone. Because I’ve done that, Ryan, and loneliness is shit.” His voice is low and deep, sweet like honey that seeps through her concrete walls. Ryan can feel them breaking apart inch by inch, and when he brings his other hand up to cup the underside of her jaw, she can practically hear them cracking, disintegrating beneath their feet.

“You’re so stupidly made for me, it’s fucking terrifying. And I know that I have Jackson. And I know that’s probably not in your plan. And I know this is going to sound absolutely insane,” with one last breath he leans down, the tip of his nose brushing against hers ever so softly. “But imagining another day without you is nearly impossible.”

Ryan tries her hardest not to gasp at his confession, and before she can conjure up the right words to say, Harry’s mouth is on hers. 

His left hand is cupping her jaw and the right is holding the back of her head gently and suddenly Ryan can feel the empty hole in her chest come back to life—thumping so loudly against her body she’s almost certain Harry can feel it against his own. 

Harry’s practically sweating at the rush of heat that swarms his insides, and when he feels Ryan reach up on the tips of her toes so that her chest is flush against his own and her arms lock around the back of his neck, he almost topples over at the feeling of it all. 

It’s everything and more, and part of him can’t believe that he waited this long to finally feel it—because he could write fucking symphonies about the way her lips feel against his own, the way the little hums in the back of her throat make his spine tingle, the way her fingers weave through the hair on the base of his neck so that she can anchor herself to him completely. The way he’s never felt this way kissing somebody.

The way he never wants to let go.

But they have to at some point, and begrudgingly he lets her go, watching the way she blinks against the apples of his cheeks. The flush that he’s grown to admire is back on her face, but this time it’s from another reason completely, and Harry’s almost positive that this is his favorite version of it yet.

“Should’ve done that a week ago,” Harry mumbles against her lips.

Ryan giggles and Harry’s almost certain he’s in love. “You’ve done it now, that’s all that matters.”

And when he brings his lips back to hers and wraps his arms around her lower back, hoisting her up and spinning her around until he’s swallowing her giggles with his own mouth, he knows that she’s right.

All that matters is them. Right now. Together.

***

A/N: Hi all, that was part seven of you feel like home AKA the penultimate chapter AKA the one that hopefully makes you guys smile instead of cry. I hope it was worth the wait! This was the story I wanted to tell, and I hope this clarified the frustrations we all felt about Harry in part six, as well as our first impressions of Rachel. I never wanted to villainize her, I just wanted to explore the possibility of a mother wanting to put her career first the way so many men have done in the past. I hope I did that justice.

Thanks for all the feedback and love you guys are giving this fic, it makes writing it that much more fun. Part eight will be posted on Thursday December 17, so feel free to chat with me in the meantime and tell me your thoughts! This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! See you next week for the FINAL part, and stay tuned to watch me get emotional during the entire week x

taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light @onlyphysicallypresent @dontwanttobealone @justsaying20 @elemayox @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum @kakayam @harryinsweatersandbandanas @hopelessly-harry @ficnarry @morethanamelodyy @niallgolden @harryswinterberries @caramello-styles @harrysstyle @greatestview @solllaris​ @niallgolden​ @mellamolayla​

[jewish-space-laser]

Miles & Black Coffee - Part Two

“If you’re thinking about taking the high road,

I can tell you that you’re doing it wrong,

There’s a better of way of letting it all go,

‘Cause you’ve been running from the feeling too long….”

-Highroad by Sir Woman

Hiya everyone! Sorry this is up a bit late, inspiration really just runs on its own clock. I’ll keep this short- giant thank you to @oh-honey-styles​ @andwhenshesays​ @for-fucks-sake-h​ for beta-ing and being so so SO supportive. If you haven’t read their fics yet, go check them out! As always, I adore feedback! (4.1k words)

xoxoxoxoxoXO Tile 

You and Harry would never be friends. You were up and down, night and day, oil and water. You just didn’t mesh. He was your roommate’s insufferable older brother, and that is all he would ever be. Well, at least that’s what you thought before….

or

the one with campfire conversations, cabin getaways, and enemies that were never really enemies after all.

Read Part One here!

TUESDAY

Charlie was still sleeping soundly on her side of the bed when your alarm went off, so you tried your hardest to sneak out of the room without making a sound. Spending all day in the sun yesterday had been amazing; your heart felt full, your muscles were relaxed, and you were ready to do it all over again. 

Unfortunately, you also felt a bit gross. Between the warm weather, lakewater, and sunscreen, your skin was feeling like it needed it a good rinse. The thought of showering in the showerhouse wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was that or the garden hose, so you gathered up your shower caddy and a change of clothes before making your way out of the main cabin. 

It was a beautiful morning, the perfect setup for another day of summer. Dewy blades of grass tickled your ankles as you cut across the lawn, a pleasant chill running through you at the contact. You’d tried to wake up early enough to have the shower house to yourself, not wanting to have an awkward run-in with anyone before you’d had a chance to fully wake up. 

From the look of it, you’d succeeded. You listened for signs that anyone else was out and about, but all you could hear were the sounds of birds chirping and bugs buzzing, the nature around you having yet to be disturbed by rowdy college students. 

Smoking on the boat the night before had turned out to be a great idea. The group had stayed out till the moon was the only light in the sky, only turning in when none of you could stop yawning. You hadn’t slept that deeply in a long time; it felt amazing to be so rested after a full school year of late nights and early mornings. 

When you finally reached the shower house, you moved to pull the door open to have it swing forward and smack into you. You stumbled backwards, balancing yourself against the wall as you stared wide eyed at the person who’d nearly knocked you over. 

“Whoa, sorry,” Ryan rushed apologetically, “I didn’t think anyone else would be up this early.”

“That’s okay,” you gulped, “I didn’t think anyone else was awake, either. I wanted the showers to myself.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he chuckled, running a hand through his wet hair, “I’m all finished though, so it’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” you giggled, “how was the water pressure?”

“Honestly?” He shrugged. “Better than I expected, but not great.”

“Lovely,” you sighed, slinging your towel over your shoulder. Ryan dragged his eyes down your frame quickly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You blushed as you realized that you were still in your pajamas. At least they were somewhat cute, little blue shorts with rubber duckies printed all over them and a plain white tank top. 

The two of you were quiet for a moment, switching places so you were standing in the threshold of the shower house. He was too cute, sleepy eyes squinting in the sun as it grew brighter out.

“So, um, I was thinking of checking out this hiking trail today,” he blurted, cheeks tinted red, “Archie was going to come with me, but he drank his weight in white claw last night, so I’m thinking he might be too hungover to stomach it.”

“Where’s the trail?” You questioned. 

“It’s on the other side of the lake, about two miles north. We were just gonna borrow a couple bikes from the shed,” he explained, playing with his hair some more, “but anyway, I was like, well, I was wondering if maybe you would wanna join me. I’d hate to go alone.”

“I’d love to!” You said eagerly. When he smirked at your excitement, you tried to play it cool. “I mean, uh, yeah. That sounds like it could be fun.”

“Great,” he chuckled, “I was thinking of leaving around eleven, gives us time to relax and have some breakfast. The trail itself should only take a couple hours, but there are a few detours I wanted to see. Is that cool with you?”

“Sounds awesome,” you nodded. 

“Fantastic. I’ll find you in a bit?”

You nodded, bidding him farewell as he made his way back to the guest cabin. The moment the door shut behind you, you let out a quiet squeal. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, and already you had a date with a cute boy. Plus, you were genuinely interested in the hiking trail; if it was anything like the forest around the cabin, it was sure to be gorgeous. 

Ryan was right about the shower pressure. It was enough to make you feel clean and refreshed, but certainly left much to be desired. At least there was hot water. 

By the time you made it back to your room, Charlie was up and about, playing upbeat music on her phone speaker and digging her toothbrush out of her bag. 

“I can’t believe I forgot to brush my teeth last night,” she pretended to gag, “I literally passed out so hard. Didn’t even hear you get up this morning.”

“It was a long night,” you laughed, feeling amused as you watched her flit around the room to get ready for the day.

“And it’s gonna be another long day,” she sighed, “long, but fun. Olivia and I were gonna tan on the docks for a bit, if you wanna join?”

“Actually,” you tried to act nonchalant, “Ryan and I are going on a hike.”

You sat on the corner of the bed, sucking your lips into your mouth to keep your giddy smile at bay. You were really excited though, and Charlie seemed like just the right person to gush to.

“Ryan, huh?” She said, face scrunching up in confusion. “I would’ve thought you’d want to spend as much time with Harry as possible.”

You widened your eyes, letting out a loud burst of laughter that had you wheezing. “Harry? No way!”

“You and him aren’t a thing, then?” She asked, zipping her suitcase shut. “He was asking after you at the bonfire yesterday, and then insisted that he should check on you when you didn’t come down.”

A frown formed on your face. You specifically remember him saying that he’d just been using the restroom. Why would he want to check up on you, anyway? Surely he was just using it as an excuse to bother you. It was his favorite activity, after all. 

“Well, no, we’re not a thing,” you said firmly.

“Ryan’s cute, too,” Charlie shrugged, “James and I had a moment yesterday, too, so hopefully we both get our cute summer romance this week.”

“Ooooh, James?” You waggled your eyebrows, happy to change the subject. Charlie flushed, biting down on her lip.

The two of you gossipped for a while longer, with Charlie organizing all of her belongings while you lounged on the bed. It was nice chatting with her; you weren’t the closest, but you’d always gotten along really well. 

New romance, new friends, sunshine and nature. You could already tell that this was going to be a week to remember.

~~~

By the time you made your way into the kitchen, almost everyone had already had breakfast. Dishes were piled high in the small sink, streaks of what looked like pancake batter smeared across the countertop. You hated when people didn’t clean up after themselves, but you chose to ignore it for now. 

What you couldn’t ignore, however, was Harry, who was sitting by himself at the table. He was also pouring a bowl of cereal, which wouldn’t have been a problem if your name wasn’t written across the box in black sharpie. 

“Is that your cereal, Harry?” 

You had a hand planted on your hip, eyebrows raised expectantly as you awaited his answer. He lazily glanced up from his phone, looking you over from head to toe before shrugging. 

“Dunno, found it in the cupboard,” he muttered, jamming a spoonful into his mouth.

“Interesting, interesting,” you droned, biting the inside of your cheek, “did you stop for a moment to think that it might belong to somebody else?”

He shrugged again, not bothering to look away from his phone this time as he chewed slowly. You could tell he was holding back a smirk from the way his dimple indented into his cheek. He knew what he was doing, he always did.

With a huff, you walked over to him and snatched the box off of the table, turning it around and pointing at your name in bold letters. 

“I wish you’d asked,” you snapped, opening the cabinet with more force than necessary to grab a bowl. 

“Just figured we were all sharing food,” you heard him say. 

You wanted to rip his breakfast out from under him, anything to get a reaction, but you just took a deep breath insead. Getting you worked up is exactly what he wanted, and you’d never give him the satisfaction

“If you’d read your sister’s e-mail, you’d know that any food that isn’t labelled is up for grabs. That cereal has my name on it.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged again, “I don’t really look at my e-mail.”

“Clearly,” you rolled your eyes.

He didn’t respond, and even though your skin was crawling with irritation, you figured it was best if you stopped talking. Even though he was being a pest, this behavior was relatively tame for him, and it would be a shame to ruin a perfectly good morning with a fight.

Well, that’s what you told yourself before you opened the fridge. 

“Harry,” you warned through gritted teeth, “did you finish off the milk… and then put the empty carton back?”

“No,” he locked his phone, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning, “there are a few drops left in there.”

That was it. The absolute last straw. 

“You are literally the most inconsiderate person I’ve ever met,” you seethed, shaking the empty carton in his direction before throwing it into the recycling bin. It didn’t seem to phase him.

“I think-”

“I don’t really care what you think,” you interrupted. 

“-that you’re being dramatic.”

You were scowling so hard that your cheeks were beginning to hurt, but you couldn’t help it. Not when he was pushing your buttons in all the wrong ways. You dumped your bowl of dry cereal back into the box.

“I’m not being dramatic,” you hissed, “you’re just being a dick, but what else is new.”

“You really need to calm down,” he snorted, “a bunch of us were going to break out the kayak and race across the lake, do you wanna join?”

You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the idea that you’d want to spend more time with him, so you just shot him a dirty look, deciding to just skip breakfast. Sure, you were starving, but anything was better than spending one more second in Harry’s presence. 

“I have other plans,” you snarled, turning your back to him and leaving the room. 

“Really?” He asked, following you down the hallway. “Do they involve… I dunno, pulling the giant stick out of your ass?”

You practically growled, stopping so suddenly that Harry nearly ran into you.

“No,” your voice was strained, “Ryan asked me to go hiking with him, if you must know.”

For the first time all morning, the unbearable smirk on his face dropped into a frown. 

“Just the two of you?” He prodded. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. Why was he suddenly so interested? 

“Yes, just the two of us,” you sighed, turning to walk away again, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be as far away from you as possible.”

He didn’t follow you this time, but you could feel him watching you go up the stairs. It bothered you to no end that he could get you so riled up. Next time, you would walk away at the first sign of trouble, because he truly wasn’t worth your energy. 

Once you finished packing up a drawstring backpack with the hiking essentials, it was just about to time to meet Ryan, so you made your way over to the guest cabin. On the way there, you saw Harry pulling a kayak off of a metal rack, passing it to James like it weighed nothing. He looked a bit ridiculous, with his tie-dye shirt and a bandana in his hair.

“Hey,” you jumped at Ryan’s voice, “you ready to head out?”

You didn’t spare Harry a second glance when Ryan started raving about this amazing waterfall that he wanted to see. The day could only go up from here.

~~~

The rain had come out of nowhere. 

It had been blue sky for miles for the entire hike, but the second you got back to the bikes at the trailhead, dark stormclouds had already started sprinkling. It had quickly turned into a downpour, soaking through your thin t-shirt in record time. Ryan wasn’t much better off as he pulled his helmet off, hair matted down on the top of his head. 

Not to mention, it had been extremely buggy. Even with bug spray, they had been relentless. You were sure you had at least twenty bug bites all down your arms and legs. 

Despite everything, you’d enjoyed yourself. You’d stayed out even longer than you planned, sitting by the waterfall and chatting. As soon as Ryan found out that you skipped breakfast, he’d given you half of his sandwich. He’d been a complete gentleman, taking your hand frequently to help you over a rough part of the trail, and even though neither of you specified, it felt like a date. 

Conversation with him was easy, which was a major improvement from your awful morning. In fact, you barely even thought about Harry all afternoon, so distracted by Ryan and his nature commentary. The only time he’d come up was when you stopped for lunch.

“So what’s the deal with you and Harry?” Ryan had asked.

“Ugh,” you’d snarled, taking a pull from your water bottle “can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Oh,” Ryan had raised his eyebrows, “so, you’re not together?”

Immediately, you had choked on your sip of water, slapping your chest until you stopped coughing. 

“Together?” You guffawed. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

He had blushed crimson, playing with the hair on the back of his head. “He talks about you a lot… and sometimes I notice you watching him.”

His comment had confused you, but you’d shrugged it off, assuring him that you and Harry weren’t, and never would be, together. 

Now, the two of you were ditching your bikes in front of the cabin and sprinting towards the door to escape the awful weather. You found yourself giggling as you stumbled into the kitchen, wet, muddy footprints trailing behind you as you dropped your pack to the ground. It landed with a loud squelch, which only made you laugh harder. 

“I had a lot of fun today,” you said, “I’m really glad you invited me.”

“Really?” He chuckled, catching his breath. “I thought it was a bit of a disaster, between the mosquitos, the rain… the mud….”

You both laughed, shaking your heads at your bad fortune. You were being truthful about having fun, though. Even though the day hadn’t gone according to plan, it was exactly the kind of adventure you’d wanted.

“Whatever,” you shrugged coyly, “I had good company.”

Ryan’s cheeks flushed crimson, and a sweet smile crept up his face. Even with mud caked across his neck, pine needles in his hair, and angry pink bug bites down his arms and legs, he still managed to look adorable. When his eyes darted down to your lips, you stepped forward.

“I’m really glad we’re both on this trip,” he said softly, placing a hand on your waist.

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning in closer. 

Just as your lips were a hair away from brushing together, a crash from behind you had you jumping apart in alarm. You yelped loudly, your heart stopping for a beat before you spun around to face the culprit. 

Of course it was Harry. 

The first thing you noticed was his sunburn; all he was wearing was a pair of light gray sweatpants, so you could see how pink his chest had gotten. He resembled a deer in headlights as he stared at the floor below him, which was currently covered in the broken remnants of a shattered plate.

“Sorry,” he slurred, tip-toeing out from where the ceramic shards had scattered. Once he was clear, he stumbled over to the broom closet, swinging it open harshly as you and Ryan watched on awkwardly. After digging for a few seconds, he emerged with a broom and dustpan that looked like they were older than you.

“You scared us,” you bit out, heart finally slowing down to a normal rate. 

“Oops,” his shoulders lifted in a shrug, He turned to start sweeping, but quickly did a double take. “What hap-… you guys look horrible. Why are you covered in mud?”

Irritation took over you as you watched him gape drunkenly at where you and Ryan were standing. Not only had he interrupted what was sure to be an epic kiss with Ryan, but then he’d nearly given you a heart attack by sneaking in and dropping the plate. Sure, it was an accident, but that didn’t make you feel any less angry. And now here he was, telling you that you looked horrible.Your foot started tapping against the floor rapidly on its own accord. 

Just as you were about to chew him out for being a complete thorn in your side, he stumbled forward and hissed, lifting his bare foot into the air. 

“Harry, you’re stepping on glass,” Ryan warned, rushing forward with a worried expression over his face, “and you’re barefoot. Why don’t you start getting ready for bed… I’ll clean this up, okay?”

He took the broom from Harry, shooing him away from the mess. You knew it was the responsible thing to do, but part of you was still disappointed that your moment with Ryan had been ruined.

“Will you help me up the stairs?” Harry asked you sheepishly, half-limping over to you, “can’t get the glass out of my foot….”

“Well, don’t try to take it out here,” you sighed with an eye roll, “let’s go up. We’ll have to clean it, too.”

“Aww, y’gonna take care of me?” He smirked.

“Don’t push your luck,” you snapped. He held his hands up in surrender, but you still wanted to slap the smug look off of his face. You turned to Ryan, who was still sweeping the plate shards into a pile, and shook your head apologetically. “See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, a sad little smile on his face. You made yourself a promise that you’d kiss him next time you were alone. It was only the second day, after all; you were positive that you’d find another moment. For now, though, you had to deal with a certain drunken fool, who was currently limping down the hall, tripping every other step as he tried to grip the wall for support. 

“Hold on, you dimwit,” you sighed, rushing forward and slipping a hand around his waist. 

“Ooh, we’re getting cosy,” he hummed. You weren’t going to dignify him with a response.

Harry’s skin was warm to the touch, a bit sticky with sunscreen but still smooth. You tried to ignore the shock that ran through you when you felt his back muscles shift… you knew he was in good shape, but you hadn’t expected him to be so… firm. Your mouth went dry.

He leaned practically his entire weight on you, nearly forcing your knees to buckle. Fortunately, you were able to find your balance and walk with him, taking one stair at a time.

“Now who’s being dramatic,” you muttered.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Harry slurred, frowning in your direction. He had one arm slung over your shoulder, and the other hand gripping the railing as he hopped on one foot.

“You called me dramatic this morning,” you reminded him, “and now here you are, needing help up the stairs because of a teeny piece of glass….”

“Heeeey,” he protested, stopping in his tracks to look down at you properly. 

A scoff escaped you as you rolled your eyes, gesturing for him to continue hopping. You were nearly at the top now.

“Is there a first aid kit somewhere?” You asked, relieved when he removed his arm.

“Yeah,” he scratched at his head, “I packed one, but it’s still in my room.”

Honestly, you were a bit surprised that Harry packed a first aid kit. You’d never stricken him as the responsible type; Callie had always seemed more put together despite being younger. 

You followed his hobbling figure into his room, which was much cleaner than you expected. He clearly hadn’t changed it much since he was young, evidenced by the lego figurines lined up on his shelves. There was also a cute framed photo of him and Callie at her high school graduation, which was admittedly adorable. 

Getting the splinter out of Harry’s foot hadn’t been a problem, but cleaning it was another story. First, he insisted that he could do it himself, but then he accidentally got neosporin all over his bedsheets. Then, he wouldn’t stop flinching away from you when you tried to stick on the bandage, claiming that he was ticklish. 

“Can you please just cooperate,” you sighed. 

“Can’t help that it tickles,” he giggled, twitching away from your hand again, “your hands are too soft.”

If he pulled away from you one more time, you’d rip your hair out. This was not how you foresaw ending your night.

Eventually, finally, he stayed still long enough for you to finish. You glared at him as you gathered up the bandage wrapper and used alcohol wipe. He was gazing at you with wide eyes, bandana slightly crooked on top of his head.

“Did I interrupt something downstairs?” He asked all of a sudden, sheepishly looking out the window.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shaking your head in frustration. “You know, Harry? I don’t understand what I did for you to hate me so much.”

He squinted his eyes in confusion, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if he hadn’t spent countless hours intentionally getting on your nerves. 

“What’re you talking about?”

“Please,” you laughed sarcastically, “It hasn’t even been two full days here, and you’ve already called me a wet blanket, eaten my food, and ruined the end of my date. You do nothing but antagonize me… why?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, and it was then that you remembered how truly drunk he was. He probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning. You don’t know why you’d asked him about it in the first place.

“I mean, I…” He stuttered, apparently unable to articulate his thoughts. 

Truthfully, you didn’t even want to know.

“Maybe we should just stay away from each other,” you told him, “I’m not a huge fan of you, and you clearly have a problem with me….”

He looked completely taken aback.

“Just… go to sleep, okay?” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I left the painkillers out, so… take those in the morning if you want.”

You were waiting for him to say something, but he just sat there, silently gaping at you with cloudy eyes, so that’s how you left him. He was still staring at you when you fleetingly made eye contact on your way out the door, but didn’t say a single word.

From what you knew about him, that was out of character. He always had something to say, another jab, another comeback, absolutely never letting you have the last word. And his eyes… the way he’d been staring at you, like he was offended and guilty and confused. You’d never seen him look like that before. 

As you got ready for bed, you tried to shake the entire interaction off. He was drunk, he probably had no idea what you were saying. The entire conversation wouldn’t even matter in the morning. 

Yet, for some reason, the image of his wide eyes and crooked bandana were all you thought about until you drifted off to sleep.

~~~

If you made it this far, thank you! What do we think? Any thoughts, theories, questions, comments? Let me know! Until next time, xoxoxoxoxox Tile

[vagrantblvrd]

Destination Anywhere (1/1)

Summary: Experience has taught Ryan that being rousted out of bed in the middle of the night and into a car with its engine running is never a good thing.

Notes: Prompt fill for @demoncowedgar who asked for camping Battle Buddies. :D?

(Read on AO3)

Experience has taught Ryan that being rousted out of bed in the middle of the night and into a car with its engine running is never a good thing.

Never.

The fact that Jeremy has a shit-eating grin on his face as he’s rousting Ryan is the only thing that keeps Ryan from resisting.

Much, anyway.

“Jeremy, what the hell - “

Jeremy’s grin takes on a manic edge as he puts his body into it, shoulder against Ryan’s back as he shoves him out of their tiny apartment.

“It’s a surprise, Ryan!” he hisses, mindful of the late (early?) hour and their sleeping neighbors. “We’re going on an adventure so shut the fuck up and enjoy it!”

And then he plays dirty and jabs an elbow in Ryan’s kidney to buy enough time to lock up behind them as Ryan jerks away from him in annoyance.

“Son of a bitch!” he hisses, rubbing at his side as Jeremy shoots him a look that’s not sorry at all. “Jeremy!”

Jeremy eyes him, head cocked. Look on his face like he’s calculating the odds of taking Ryan in a fight right here, right now, and snorts. Expression clearing as he reaches up to smooth a wayward strand of hair behind Ryan’s ear.

Grins like the unrepentant asshole he is and darts in to peck Ryan on the cheek.

“Hey,” he says, stupidly soft and fond. “Trust me, okay? This will be great.”

(Famous last words.)

========

Jeremy makes up for trying to rupture Ryan’s kidney by shoving a bag of food from (one of) Ryan’s favorite fast food places in his hands once they’re in the car.

Has to be an asshole about it, though. Gives Ryan this pointed little look before it clicks in Ryan's head that he hasn't buckled in yet, and then he pulls the bag from...somewhere.

Ryan rolls his eyes as he opens the bag to poke through it as Jeremy puts the car into drive and pulls int traffic because Jeremy, suspicion rising as he realizes Jeremy got his favorites.

Buttering him up for something, or maybe he just thinks Ryan won’t be able to bitch with his mouth full, who the hell knows?

“Here,” Jeremy says, and hands Ryan a hot cup of coffee from the same fast food place. “Liquid candy bar just the way you like it.”

Alright, so he’s not doing a great job with this whole peace offering deal by being an ass, but this is Jeremy so…

“Okay, look,” Ryan says, balancing the bag of food on his lap as he takes the completely valid coffee, thank you very much. “I’m not the one who might as well be injecting energy drinks directly into my veins.”

He’s just.

Easing his way into this coffee business, nice and slow. If that means he adds a touch of creamer and sugar to it before he tosses it down hit gullet, that’s no one’s business but his own.

Jeremy scoffs, fingers tapping out a jaunty little rhythm on the steering wheel as they get caught at a red light -

“Wait,” Jeremy says, a few beats later, almost misses it when the light turns green, but that’s okay because the asshole behind them honks his horn to let them know. “Would that work?”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“No,” Ryan says, putting as much emphasis on it as he can because no.

This is like the time Jeremy asked him if he could bulk up on protein via semen, which.

It had been a Thing at a time in Ryan’s life when that was a fraught conversation to have with Jeremy, because pining. (All the pining, and the others laughing at them while they placed bets on when he and Jeremy would “get their shit together and bone, fucking hell, it’s just embarrassing at this point,”.)

“Jeremy please. Do not do the thing. I’m begging you.”

Jeremy hums thoughtfully the way he does when he’s not listening, mind turning over some puzzle or another that won’t end well for anyone.

Ryan takes a sip of his coffee in something close to desperation because Jeremy will be the death of him one of these days.

========

They stop at a truckstop an hour out of Los Santos for gas and a bathroom break. It’s a touristy little place with lots of kitschy souvenirs for sale.

Ryan takes the opportunity to root around in the trunk for clues. He finds a pair of backpacks packed with clothes and toiletries for the two of them. Bags of food and a cooler. Other assorted camping gear, including a couple of fishing poles and bag from a sporting goods store with fishing tackle and bait inside.

“Huh,” he says, because he was expecting to find a body instead.

It’s been...way too damned long since Ryan’s been camping.

Camping-camping, not a survival training exercise or mission gone wrong when they were still with the agency. Not a heist SNAFU where he has to pull himself out of a river and hike through God knows how many miles of wilderness to get to the nearest road like last month.

Just.

Camping.

He’s told Jeremy about wanting to go again one day, like he used to when he was a dumb kid and things were simpler.

Take a few days off and find a quiet spot, sleep under the stars.

Roast marshmallows over a campfire, make s’mores.

The whole shebang.

Never thought he’d get the chance, the way their lives go, but -

The sound of Jeremy’s voice brings Ryan’s head up, sees him stopping to chat with a pair of college kids struggling with changing their tire.

Infectious laugh and a smile that lights up his face, and Ryan’s gone on the asshole the way the others are always ribbing him about because he feels this swell of affection for Jeremy. (Might be heartburn though, because breakfast sandwich, but he doesn’t think so.)

Ryan closes the trunk and slips back into the truckstop’s gift shop for that mug he saw while Jeremy’s busy playing good samaritan..

========

“You saw, huh?”

There’s a rueful grin tugging at Jeremy’s lips, sunglasses on in face of the bright sunlight coming though the windshield and this little blush spreading over his cheeks.

Ryan bites back a laugh and pops open one of Jeremy’s energy drinks before handing it over.

========

Several hours later they stop at a cabin overlooking a lake. Small, quaint little thing made out of wood logs and perfect for a postcard.

Quiet spot far enough away from neighboring cabins they won’t be disturbed and Ryan loves it.

He gets a lot of shit from the others for his love of shiny technology, gadgets and the whatnot. Gets called a city boy because they don’t know, but he misses this.

“There’s hiking trails all over the place,” Jeremy says, joining Ryan on the porch facing the lake. “Spots we can set up a tent if you’d rather do that than stay here. I just thought - “

Ryan glances down at Jeremy. Catches all his nervous tells no amount of training could ever beat out of him, and feels that swell of affection for him again. All-encompassing, because they’ve been through a lot together, the two of them, and Jeremy still gets like this.

Nervous, awkward, like he has no damn idea how much Ryan loves him and that’s the worst rime Ryan’s ever committed right there.

“Jeremy, shut up” Ryan says, smile tugging at his mouth at the way Jeremy’s mouth snaps shut, the look he sends Ryan.

Eyes narrowed, answering grin curving his mouth and some snappy little comeback on his lips Ryan steals away with a kiss.

========

So, the thing about camping memories and nostalgia leave out? (Smooth over, make sure you forget about in light of the good times just to fuck you over when you least expect it?)

How goddamned annoying it can be.

Bugs and insects, for starters. Squirrels being territorial little shits. Birds literally shitting on you.

The weather taking a turn, because Jeremy forgot to check the forecast with everything else he had to do to keep this jaunt a secret from Ryan.

Rain coming down hard enough he’s worried the tent might give up the ghost on them and leave then drenched and miserable because they couldn’t not use the damn thing at least once. (It already drowned their campfire, ruined the s’mores Ryan was looking forward to, why not this too?)

Also? Goddamned rocks.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ryan mutters, shifting to get away from that pointy little rock digging into his shoulder blade.

They double and triple checked for shit like this when they found a promising camping spot for the night. Cleared out the rocks and other debris before setting up the tent and laying out their sleeping bags and still there are things trying to stab him to death.

Beside him Jeremy is suspiciously still, and Ryan reaches for the flashlight to snap it on.

Aims it at the cocoon that is Jeremy and his sputtered laughter as he glares at his stupid sleeping bag. (Dark purple with bright orange reflective stripes and Ryan doesn’t want to know how long he looked for the perfect sleeping bag, he really doesn’t.)

“You can just shut up,” Ryan mutters, little flare of rage when he searches for the stabby rock and can’t find it, even though he knows it’s there.

Like it’s some kind of damn stealth assassin waiting to attack again when lets his guard down.

Jeremy is laughing at him, quiet wheezy thing, and Ryan snarls because this isn’t funny.

“Ryan,” Jeremy wheezes, so damned amused. “Oh my God, Ryan.”

Ryan looks at Jeremy, who is mocking him in his hour of need.

Sees the helpless grin on his face and all this love and affection there for Ryan to see and he has to look away again because it’s...it’s a lot.

Always has been, and Ryan’s never sure he deserves it. (Jeremy could do so much better than him, is the thing and yet here they are.)

“Hey,” Jeremy says, soft, quiet. “Idiot, hey.”

Ryan snorts as he looks at the moron he fell in love with a long, long time ago. Always a sweet-talker, Jeremy.

“Come over here,” Jeremy says, tugging at Ryan’s sleeve. “There aren’t any rocks, I promise.”

That sounds like a lie and a trap, because Jeremy is the kind of person who endure discomfort just to make someone else suffer.

“Uh-huh,” Ryan says, but he goes anyway because he’s the kind of idiot who falls for it every time.

========

There are indeed rocks and other stabby bits, but there’s also Jeremy, so Ryan figures he breaks even on that one.

[bards-witcher]

prooooooompt? High school Ohmcat where Ohm reads in the stands and a practice throw goes /wildly/ off course and hits him? Thrown by the one and only Tyler Wine?

Honestly, I’m loving all the OhmCat prompts you guys are sending me, I like to think I’m slowly breathing life into this rarepair XD

Also, there is a bit at the end where there’s a bit of bullying and stuff so if you’re sensitive to that kinda thing you have been warned

.

[Ohm POV]

He was sat high up in the stands in his usual spot, taking his time to bask in the sun as he read through his newest book, to kill a Mockingbird, glad for the almost non-existent breeze which meant that he wouldn’t have to struggle to keep the pages fixed.

He heard the familiar screams and shouts from the football teams ‘super fans’ nearer the bottom of the stands, eager to watch the team practice before their first home game this weekend, well more so to drool at the players, and if every now and then he cast his gaze upwards to appreciate the view of a particular player all hot and sweaty, no one was there to see it.

It was easy to drown out the noises around him as he focused on his book, easily blocking out the shrieks of the group of girls when their favorite scored and the shouts from the players themselves as they maneuvered about the pitch in lieu of a game.

He was so good at blocking out his environment in fact that he didn’t hear the shouts of ‘Watch out’ aimed towards him, only feeling what felt like a brick smash into the left side of his face, sure that he can hear a crack, before he’s met with the feeling of blinding pain, thankful that he’d forgotten his glasses that day which probably would have resulted with glass in his eye.

He struggles to open his left eye fully, his vision covered with black spots as he brings his hands up to examine his face, wincing in pain at the slightest touch and noting how they came away covered in blood.

Before he could think to do anything he found himself being gently pulled, turning to see one of the players examining the side of his face before taking his jersey off to use as a way of stopping the blood coming out of his nose.

“Shit I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to throw it that hard I swear. Shit”

Without another word he felt himself being lifted and gently led towards the center aisle before he was met with the man who’d come to help him, looming over him with a concerned look on his face.

“Hey, keep your head down okay, otherwise the blood’s gonna go down your throat” He then felt gentle hands coax his head down until he was now staring at the feet of the tall player. “Is it alright if I carry you down the stairs? I just think it’ll be quicker, and you can get to the nurse sooner”

“Uh yeah sure thanks”

He felt a warm arm loop around his waist, and he was quick to brace his free hand on the shoulder next to him before he gently felt himself being lifted, the player carefully making his way down the stairs which probably would have been a greater hazard had it been him.

“Not that you care or probably want to know but, m’names Tyler”

Ignoring the command from earlier he looked up for a moment, his breath catching in his throat at the fact that he was being carried by Tyler Wine, not only the best damn football player and straight-A student in their school but also who he’d been somewhat fixated on since he first started High School.

He’d been quick to shoot down any chances he had with him, Tyler having had both boys and girls fawning over him every other day. He’d had the pick of the litter and refused them all so why would he go for the runt.

“Well I hope for your sake your aim is better on Saturday”

He didn’t expect to hear the chuckle from Tyler but despite his circumstances, it gave him a warm feeling all the same, glad that he’d achieved the somewhat impossible task of making the boy laugh, well he’d certainly have a story to tell his friends tomorrow.

“I am really sorry about that, it was never my intention to hit you”

“So, you were aiming for me?” The silence from the other boy spoke volumes, accompanied by the slight blush dusting his cheeks and he had the answer to his question, unsure whether he should feel happy or not.

Luckily they arrived at the bottom of the stairs where he expected to be placed back onto the grass to make his slow journey to the nurses’ office whilst Tyler went back to training, what he didn’t expect was for the boy carrying him to break into a run, the hold he had around the taller boy’s neck getting tighter.

In the background he can faintly hear the shouts of the rest of the team, some of them whistling at them whilst one shouted ‘Go take care of your man Tyler’ and he felt his own cheeks go red at the picture they must make.

He noticed Tylers’ cheeks had gone even redder and how they’d slowed to a walk about halfway across the pitch, a group of players not too far in front of them and he tried to ignore the shiver when he felt Tyler whisper in his ear.

“Do me a favor and flip them off for me”

Without question, he raised his hand and flipped off the group of players, the group of them and Tyler bursting into laughter before the taller boy went back into a run, apparently eager to get him to the nurse, and he couldn’t hide the small smile on his own face.

“My name’s Ryan by the way, not that you care, I’m sure you get people coming up to you all the time”

“Who said I didn’t care?” He looked up somewhat puzzled at the other boy, trying to decipher the hidden meaning under those words.

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you hit someone in the face with a football” He chuckled a little at his own joke which was cut short when he noticed the wry look on the others face, showing that the whole situation still irked him. “For the record, I forgive you, as long as you let me take a selfie with you to show my friends tomorrow”

This time Tyler did chuckle somewhat, and the noise brought another smile to his face, glad he could elicit this reaction from him. “Yeah, I didn’t exactly want it to go down like that“

“Wanted what to go down like that?” Once again he saw the blush on the others face and he couldn’t help but feel like he was missing some sort of important information.

Before he could ask any further they found themselves in front of the Nurses’ office where Tyler promptly banged the door with his foot and upon its opening quickly carried him inside to sit him on the bed.

He was surprised to see Tyler stay in the room with him despite the nurse telling him he could leave, the boy instead telling him funny stories and anecdotes from some of his friends on the pitch whilst he let the nurse tend to his wounds, wincing in pain more often than not.

He found out that most of the left side of his face had swollen up and his cheek and eye would probably be bruised tomorrow, as well as having a small cut on his cheek which was easily tended to, and worst of all a broken nose.

After he’d cleaned all the dried blood off of him he was given a couple of Ibuprofen for the pain and an ice pack for his nose for the next 20 minutes, with strict instructions that for the next few weeks this would be his life, sitting upright and putting his nose on the verge of what felt like frostbite.

He was laying down on the bed, looking up the ceiling when he heard the door to the office shut, ignoring the slight wrench in his heart at the fact that Tyler had left without saying goodbye, until he felt the bed shift, looking down to see Tyler looking at him, concern on his face.

“I’m so sorry for doing this to you, you were just-“

“Hey, Tyler, it’s okay, mistakes happen, this isn’t your fault”

“But it is if only I had the balls to go up and ask you myself instead of listening to Nogla-“

“Ask me what?”

He waited patiently, his heart doing double time as he waited to hear what the taller boy had to say. Tyler simply sighed, raking his hands through his hair and then down his face before looking at him, steeling himself for what he was about to say.

“I don’t know if you know this Ryan, but I like you. As in I want to hold your hand all the damn time and make you laugh and fix your glasses which always seem to be crooked, like you. I’ve been driving the team nuts going on about you and how you’re always there to watch us…” Tyler looked up briefly at him, casting a small appreciative smile at him which he was happy to reciprocate before carrying on “But I was a fucking pussy ass bitch and didn’t have the balls to go up and ask you out so I listened to Nogla, out of all people it had to be him, and I tried to throw a ball near you to try and get your attention and, well… you know how that went”

He noticed the boy hunch up as if defeated, as if all hope had truly left him at what he’d done and he couldn’t help but feel sympathetic towards him even as his mind was screaming at him that his crush liked him back, that the person he’d looked up to for what felt like forever felt just as he did.

“Don’t you want to ask me something then?” He had a wide smile on his face as he was met with the look of surprise from the other boy who quickly tried to compose himself but even still he could see the look of hope in his eyes. “You’re not going to make me do all the work are you?”

He had a mischievous grin on his face as he watched a slow smile form on Tyler’s face, watched the boy reposition himself on the bed until he was facing him. “Ryan” He could feel the nerves pouring off of the taller boy and he couldn’t help the warm feeling grow in his chest as he was endeared by the sight “Would you maybe wanna go out with me sometime?”

He decided not to torture the other boy much further, quickly giving him an answer of yes but only when his face no longer looked like a beach ball, which earned a small appreciative chuckle from the football player.

**********

It’s a few weeks later and he and Tyler have been on a number of dates together, happy to take things slow for the meantime as they simply enjoy their time with the other.

He doesn’t know how, but word quickly spreads around the school about his relationship with Tyler and he’s quickly met with hostility from his peers, mostly from people jealous of him, but there was the occasional person who would throw a hurtful slur his way, intent instead to ignore it and head towards his next class as quick as he could.

It’s one day between classes when he’s cornered by a group of girls, each of them quizzing him on his attributes that would make Tyler choose him and not any of them, for which he had no answer for. He quickly became overwhelmed but still, they crowded closer, unable to push past them until he felt a hand on his jacket pulling him away.

For a moment he felt relief, relief that one of his friends had come and saved him from the mass of people, but instead, he was shoved harshly against a set of lockers, wincing at how he hit the back of his head against them.

Other people were quick to join him, throwing him around between them with the occasional jab that caused him to fall to the floor out of breath, his peers having formed a circle around him, cheering them on.

Just as he’s about to be heaved up off the floor, only to be shoved away, someone else intercepts, grabbing the guy by the jacket and shoving him up against the lockers before throwing a punch at him and he can see blood fly out of his mouth.

He briefly noticed that the other guys who’d been throwing him around were also incapacitated, but he couldn’t tell by who could only see the red jerseys they wore signifying they were part of the football team.

Before he could make a move he felt gentle hands lifting him up and was met with Tylers’ concerned eyes before the taller boy was checking him for injuries, making sure he was okay.

“You okay Ry? I should’ve gotten here sooner, shit” The other boy was cupping his face gently with his hands, rubbing his thumbs along his cheeks in an effort to comfort him and let him know he was safe.

He grabbed hold of one of Tylers’ wrists letting himself lean into the touch before turning his head slightly to place a gentle kiss to it, ignoring the eyes of his peers around him. Tyler was quick to bring him into a hug, where he easily buried himself into the chest of the taller man who only placed a kiss to the top of his head before addressing their peers, his arms still wrapped tight around him.

“You lot should be fucking disgusted with yourselves. You like to think you’re all high and mighty, but the truth is none of you ain’t worth shit, no wait how rude of me, literal shit is better than you. If any of you even think about going after someone I care about again you can bet I’ll ruin the rest of your miserable lives here at this school”

With that Tyler gently pulled away from him, still keeping an arm around him as he began to lead them through the crowds of people and out of the school, telling him they were taking the day off before driving him to the nearest diner for burgers and ice cream.

From then on people paid little interest in him, letting him go about his daily business as if the events of that day had never happened, although part of it was due to the way Tyler was quick to stare anyone down who looked his way too long.

Even now he still sat in the stands to read if the weather was nice, waiting for Tyler to finish training before they went out to the movies or the beach if they were lucky enough, although luckily for him footballs never went flying his way again.

[silvertip-studio]

hi can u do a fic where theres a cute irish boy that works in a flower store and theres a rly hot muscular guy that works at a tattoo parlor with his sister next-door and they fall in love over mutual bonding over a certain flower (i like bell flowers)

Ok, this is actually Stryker bc she’s been bugging the hell out of me to finally post some of my OCs. So, here’s a random one-shot that I had written of two of my characters!!! Enjoy :)

Flowers made Ruairi happy. They were Mother Nature’s gift to the world, and were able to bring joy and life in even the darkest of places. Not only that, but there were millions of different variations of them, just like there were millions of different variations of people. It was the perfect system. His shop was brightly lit with large glass windows, and different flowers were scattered across the store. While it would appear disorganized to an outsider, he knew where every plant was and had clearly signed it so that shoppers could find what they were looking for.

Right next door to Ruairi’s shop was a very different store. It was a tattoo parlor. It had clean lines, and was perfectly organized. There was a station where two large, leather bound books of tattoo designs were clearly labeled, the walls had tattoo designs hung in cleanly cut, black frames, and there were tattoo chairs in the back or private rooms along the back wall. It was pristine, and Ruairi couldn’t help but say that he admired the organization every time he walked by to get to his car.

Of course, he had never gone in. No, he had no reason to go into a tattoo parlor, even if he admired the owners organization and the general aesthetic of the store. In fact, he had no idea who even owned the parlor, only that there was a super cute, or could he classify him as hot, tattoo artist that worked there everyday.

Ruairi was daydreaming about the brown haired, broad, muscular, blue eyed tattoo artist when his doorbell jingled, signaling the entrance of a customer. When he looked up he smiled brightly at the panicked looking man before him. He was in a pair of skinny jeans and a black t-shirt, his black hair was messy and unbrushed, and his green eyes were wide with fear.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” Ruairi grinned, glad that he never had to worry about getting flowers for a significant other since he owned the store, and since he didn’t have a boyfriend. However, he did sympathize with all of the poor souls who had come to his store in panic over the years.

“Uh, yeah, it’s my girlfriend’s birthday and her present isn’t coming for another two days, so I need something to give her!”

“Ok, does she like flowers? A specific type of flower, maybe?”

“No, not really. When we first started dating I got her flowers and she gave them to her mother.” The man sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“So, then why do you think getting her flowers is a good idea?”

“I don’t know. I’m desperate.” he ran a hand down his face. “She’s going to get home from work in a few hours, and I have nothing.”

“Lemme see what I can do.” Ruairi offered, then began wandering through the packed aisles of flowers. He scanned them, hoping to hear the customer that was trailing him make a noise of triumph when he saw one that his girlfriend might like. When he had walked the majority of his store with only one bouquet even slightly catching the customer’s eye, he turned to the man with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I have for someone who doesn’t like flowers.”

“Fuck.” his hands found residence in his hair and pulled. Ruairi watched helplessly as the man all but sank to his knees.

“Does she like tattoos? ‘Cause, there’s a parlor right next door.”

“I mean, yeah, but that’s her brother’s…and she works there. I can’t exactly go get a gift card for her when she already gets the family and employee discount.” he sighed.

“Have you asked her brother what kind of flowers she likes?”

“No, but I’m gonna now.” he turned and left the store without another word. Ruairi shook his head and laughed. It was always crazy watching what people did out of desperation. He was returning to his little counter when he heard his doorbell jingle again. When he turned, the breath was nearly knocked out of him. Beside the black haired man was the tattoo artist that Ruairi had been fawning over for the past year.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “I-I mean hi.” Ruairi raised his hand in a half wave and felt a hot blush rise on his pale, freckled cheeks.

“Hey,” the artist smiled, glancing over at his friend hesitantly before continuing, “I’m Ryan.”

“Oh, I’m Ruairi.” he stepped forward and extended his hand to Ryan, praying that his hands weren’t sweaty. Ryan’s grip was strong, and Ruairi could see the veins of his muscular hands. It was then that Ruairi realized that the tattoo artist wasn’t wearing a sweater, or sweatshirt, or flannel which he usual wore in and out of the shop. No, he was in nothing but a tank top. A tank top that showed off the thickly corded muscles of his arms, back, and shoulders, as well as the tattoos that decorated his upper arms and shoulders. God, how had Ruairi not seen his upper body before?

“Um, yeah, so I’m Matt, by the way.”

Ruairi quickly pulled his hand back from Ryan’s, looking over to Matt who, damn him, was smirking at the two flushed men. “Yeah, so, Ryan, you’re Matt’s girlfriend’s brother, so you should know her favorite type of flower, right?” The red-headed florist scratched at the back of his neck.

“Oh, well, she’s never really been a flower person. No matter what my mother tried, Erin never quite got flower fever, or whatever. No, she always hung out with my dad and I.” Ryan chuckled, his eyes glazing over a bit as he thought back to his childhood alongside his sister.

Ruairi hated to interrupt his reminiscing, but he figured he couldn’t stay away from his shop too long, so he pushed on, “Well, do you wanna walk around with me, and maybe see if I have anything that could possibly fit the bill?”

Ryan nodded, and the two began wandering the store, Matt trailing behind them. Occasionally, Ryan would point out a bouquet with a smile, but most of the time it was about a tattoo he had done and not about Erin. Despite these anecdotes being useless, Ruairi smiled at the brown haired man. It was interesting to learn about how their, oh so different, professions overlapped.

Ruairi was about to lose hope in their mission, when something seemed to catch Ryan’s eye. When he looked at the bouquet that Ryan was reaching for, he was pleased to see that the man had chosen his favorite flowers. So, he took the bellflowers from him, ignoring the way his heart fluttered when his fingers brushed Ryan’s. He quickly rung up and wrapped the flowers, handing them off to Matt with a smile. Then, he turned to Ryan, “So, why bellflowers?”

“Oh, my dad used to always buy them for our mom, and so they were always around the house. I’m hoping they’ll remind her of Dad the same way they remind me of him.” Ryan shrugged, looking at the purple flowers with a fond expression.

“Here, why don’t I throw in an extra bouquet for you? On the house.” Ruairi wasn’t sure where the idea had come from, but it felt like the right thing to say. He definitely knew it was the right thing to say when Ryan’s face lit up with a smile and color flooded his freckled cheeks.

“I couldn’t.” he waved the offer away.

“I insist.” Ruairi was already running off to get the bellflowers, returning through the crowded store to find Matt whispering in Ryan’s ear and laughing. He had to hold back his chuckle when Ryan slapped the taller man on the arm and hissed something back, which only made Matt laugh harder. “Here you go.” Ruairi quickly wrapped the flowers and held them out towards Ryan.

“Ok, but you’ve got a free tattoo whenever you want.”

“One bouquet of flowers is hardly worth the same as a tattoo!” Ruairi protested.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to keep giving me flowers.” Ryan smiled, then dismissed himself. After all, he couldn’t leave his shop unattended for longer than he already had.

After that, it became typical to find Ryan stopping in at Ruairi’s flower shop to pick up a bouquet of bellflowers and talk for far too long. Each bouquet was proudly displayed on the front desk of his parlor for all to see, not that Ruairi knew since he never visited the tattoo parlor. At least he never visited until one day he barged in with a grand idea.

“I’m gonna take you up on that tattoo!”

Ryan’s head popped up from where he had been studying a drawing a client had sent him. He looked at Ruairi, stunned for a second, before a grin spread across his face. “Finally. What do you want to get?”

“Ok, first lemme explain, ‘cause you’re gonna think it’s weird.” Ruairi said. “They’ve been my favorite flowers for years, and it’s just coincidental that it—“

“What flower is it, Ruairi?”

“Bellflowers.” Ruairi said, flushing red, “They’ve been my favorite flowers since I was little because my favorite color was purple and I thought they looked like bells. I mean of course they look like bells, they’re bell-flowers.” the red-head spoke so fast that Ryan had to strain to keep up, only managing it because of his years listening to Erin speak impossibly fast. Although, the lingering Irish accent put a strain on even Ryan’s skilled ears.

“Hey, dude, it’s totally fine. First of all, I’m not going to judge you for liking flowers, for fucks sake you own a flower shop. Second of all, I noticed when I chose them for Erin that first day that you got really excited about them. So, I kinda already figured they were you favorite.” Ryan soothed, chuckling slightly at the dramatics of the Irish man.

“Oh, ok cool.”

“Also, we can be tattoo buddies!” Ryan laughed, leaving Ruairi to stare at him in confusion. Of course, Ryan picked up on this confusion and explained, “Look, I have a bellflower tattoo too.” He turned his head and moved some of his messy hair out of the way to reveal a small bellflower tattoo right behind his right ear.

Ruairi blushed, staring at the tattoo with a slack jaw. How had he never noticed the tattoo during any of Ryan’s many visits to the flower shop? “I don’t know. Isn’t that weird?”

“Nah, people have matching tattoos by accident all the time. So, what’s the difference?” Ryan waved him off, already standing from the desk and walking over to the leather-bound tattoo design books. “C’mon, I have a few bellflower designs in here from when I got this. Plus my sister, Erin, has one too, so there are a lot of different versions in here from our brainstorming sessions. Trust me, she just couldn’t quite ‘vibe’ with one.”

As he said this, a girl appeared from the back room. Her shoulder length brown hair was braided back, and she was wearing a barely buttoned red flannel and ripped skinny jeans, and her ears were decorated with glinting piercings. “Are you slandering me?”

“What!? Of course not.”

“I totally believe you.” she threw the towel she was holding at his head. Ryan caught it and glowered at her. Watching the sibling’s squabble reminded Ruairi of his sister, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the fond memories.

“What?” Ryan turned back to him.

“Nothing, you two just remind me of my sister and me.”

“Ah, so you know my struggle as well!” Ryan laughed, throwing the towel back at his sister.

“Struggle my ass!” Erin tossed the towel onto the desk, before joining them at the design books, “Since my loser big bro isn’t going to introduce me, I’m Erin,” she stuck her hand out for him to shake, and he couldn’t help but notice the vast array of rings decorating her fingers. He shook it, noting that she also had a firm grip.

“Ruairi.”

“Ah, flower shop dude, nice.”

“You know me?”

“Of course I know the guy who saved my boyfriend’s dumb ass.” Erin laughed, “Plus Ryan hasn’t—” she was cut off when Ryan jumped up and covered her mouth with his hand. The rest of her words were muffled into his hands. Ruairi looked between the siblings in confusion, positive that he was missing some key part of the conversation. When Ryan removed his hand from Erin’s mouth he hoped to be enlightened, but he was almost cast further into the darkness. “Fuck, ok. So, sensitive.” she poked her brother in the ribs with a teasing smile.

“What?” Ruairi finally asked.

“Oh, nothing, just that I of course know the guy who keeps giving my brother his favorite flowers!” Erin waved her hand at the bellflowers on the desk. Up until that point Ruairi hadn’t noticed the familiar flowers, and when he turned to see them proudly displayed, he gaped. He had never expected Ryan to actually put the flowers anywhere in his store, let alone front and center.

Ryan smacked his sister in the arm, but then turned to Ruairi with a smile. “I mean I told you they’re my favorite flower, and they give the shop a bit of color, so, yeah.” he said, turning away from the florist and scratching the back of his neck. When he turned back he said, “Anyway, let’s get back to your tattoo.”

“Ooh, he’s getting a tattoo?”

“Yeah, Erin, that’s why he’s here. What else would he be doing?”

“Well, he could’ve been visiting his—"

“Don’t you have a client to talk through tattoo care?” Ryan cut her off as he flushed red.  Erin shrugged, but retreated back to the private room nonetheless. Both men stared after Erin, too scared to look back at each other considering the implications of Erin’s comments.

Finally, Ryan broke the silence. “So, bellflower designs. Of course, I’ve got my favorite design behind my ear, but my second favorite, is this one.” he flipped open one of the heavy books to a page that was covered in various pictures of bellflowers. For a second, he scanned the page, then pointed to one of them. It was two bellflowers with their stems overlapping and twisting together to form a heart. “I mean, we can change what the stems do if you want, but yeah.”

“No, no, I love it.”

“Ok, cool.” Ryan noted the design’s number in a notebook, “When do you want to get it done?”

“Oh, um, when are you free?”

“I could do it tomorrow evening, after closing, that way you don’t have to close early.”

“You-You’d do that for me?”

“Yeah of course,” Ryan hesitated, “you’re my friend.”

Ruairi didn’t quite know why, but his spirits drooped a little. However, when Ryan smiled at him, he felt them lift again.

“One, final, but really important question.”

“Shoot.”

“Where do you want it?” Ryan laughed when Ruairi’s mouth fell open. The florist hadn’t thought about that. So, he made a split second decision, and tried his best to pass it off as having been planned.

“On the inside of my forearm, I’m not totally sure which one though,” Ruairi extended his arms and turned them over so that he was baring the area to Ryan. He watched as Ryan shifted into artist mode, studying each arm and then thinking.

“I think I’d go with left arm.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Once they had discussed some of the details of Ruairi getting his first tattoo, Ruairi returned to his flower shop. However, he found it ridiculously hard to focus on caring for both his plants and his customers, instead daydreaming about the man who was going to give him his first tattoo tomorrow.

**********

Ruairi closed down the flower shop in a hurry. He’d spent the whole day in excited anticipation of the evening. When he walked into the tattoo parlor, he was grinning so hard that his cheeks were aching. However, the tattoo artist was nowhere in sight. “Ryan?” It took a few seconds, but Ryan suddenly emerged from a back room that Ruairi had never realized was there.

“Ah! My favorite client!” Ryan smiled brightly at the Irishman, and waved him over to one of the chairs in the back of the shop. It was already set up for Ryan to give him the tattoo. Ruairi seated himself in the chair and discarded his sweater so that he was in nothing but his t-shirt, arm resting on the armrest.  Ryan cleaned off the inside of his forearm with disinfectant. “You ready?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Good to hear.” Ryan brought the needle to Ruairi’s skin and started the long, painful process. Immediately, Ruairi had to grit his teeth against the searing pain lacing through his arm. When he glanced up at Ryan’s face he was immediately comforted. His tongue was sticking through his teeth and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. Ruairi couldn’t help but find it endearing. “We can talk if that makes it easier. A lot of people like to talk.”

“Ok, yeah.” Ruairi agreed. However, what he didn’t expect was for them to end up playing twenty questions. He didn’t expect to learn that Ryan’s first kiss was a boy named Alex in freshman year of high school, nor did he expect to tell Ryan that his first kiss was with a boy named Derek in his sophomore year of high school.

When Ryan finished the tattoo, Ruairi still had one question that he was dying to ask. So, once Ryan walked him through taking care of the fresh tattoo, he asked. “Can I see your tattoos?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back.  

“Yeah, sure.” Ryan said with a smile, and Ruairi was immediately comforted. “Can I ask why?”

“Oh,” Ruairi blanched, “I don’t know, I was just curious. Just, I don’t know, I’ve never really seen them all and I’m…I don’t know.”

“Whoa, hey, don’t worry, I totally get it. When I got my first tattoo I was super curious about other people’s tattoos too.” Ryan gave him a reassuring smile then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Now, Ruairi could see so much more of Ryan than he had been able to see when he wore the tank top, and Ruairi knew he’d made a mistake in asking. Especially as he stared at the wolf head on Ryan’s left shoulder, then the mountain range on his back, and then the three patterned bands circling his right bicep.

“Wow.”

“You like?” Ryan looked over his shoulder at Ruairi, who was still staring at his tattoos. He smiled, proud to see the awestruck look on Ruairi’s face. When Ruairi saw Ryan smiling at him he nodded, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Do you want to see some of my other ones?”

“You have more?”

“Hell yeah.” Ryan laughed, turning to face Ruairi and lifting up his left arm to reveal four hearts forming a four leaf clover on his ribs. Then, he lowered his arm and turned it over to reveal a tree that appeared to grow from the inside of his wrist up his forearm. Ruairi couldn’t hold back any longer and reached out his hand, lightly touching the tree. His fingers traced up the trunk and then the branches of the tree. He realized what he was doing and was about to pull his hand away when he felt Ryan’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“I-I’m sorry, I got distracted and—“

“No, no, it’s perfectly ok, Ruairi,” Ryan whispered, keeping Ruairi’s fingers pressed to his tattoo. Ruairi instinctually stepped closer, head still bent down to look at where his fingers were tracing the tattoo. Suddenly, Ryan’s hand was no longer holding his wrist, but tilting his head up to look at him. Then, Ryan’s lips were pressed to his and Ryan’s hand was in his hair, pulling Ruairi down into the kiss. Ryan pulled away from him, eyes still closed and breaths coming in pants. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.“

“No, Ryan, I’m—it’s…fuck it,” Ruairi surged forward, one hand on Ryan’s cheek as he bent back down to kiss the tattoo artist. His other hand moved up Ryan’s arm to his bare back, pulling him flush against his chest and deepening the kiss. With the reassurance that Ruairi shared his feelings, Ryan pushed Ruairi against the wall of the parlor. Ryan’s hands shifted from Ruairi’s hair to his shoulders, holding him against the wall as his mouth shifted to Ruairi’s jaw, then neck. “Mm, Ryan, fuck,” his hand had moved into Ryan’s hair and he tugged on the strands when Ryan nipped at the sensitive skin of his pulse point, “Not here.”

Ryan finally pulled away from Ruairi just enough to speak, “What?” he asked, resting his head against Ruairi’s collarbone and nuzzling his nose against the base of Ruairi’s throat.

“Come over to my place. We can have dinner, and continue this more comfortably.” Ruairi breathed, pressing a gentle kiss to Ryan’s cheek and trailing his hand down to rest loosely against the side of Ryan’s neck. After a few seconds, Ryan nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Ryan pulled away, then went up on his tiptoes to place a quick, chaste kiss on Ruairi’s lips. Then, he grabbed Ruairi’s hand and dragged him out of the tattoo parlor to Ruairi’s waiting car.

*************

“Somebody got laid!” Erin sung leaning over the front desk of the parlor as Ryan walked in, fifteen minutes late.

“What are you talking about?” Ryan scowled at her.

“Oh, c’mon, you guys weren’t even subtle.” Erin came around to the front of the desk, standing in her brother’s path, “The shirt you forgot in the heat of the moment,” she held up the shirt he had abandoned the night before, “And, oh, what’s this?” she pushed the hood of what she guessed was Ruairi’s sweatshirt off of his head, “Hickeys! You and Ruairi sure had a fun night.”

“Shut the fuck up, Erin.”

“Seriously? Ryan, if you’re going to have a make-out session in the shop at least have the decency to own up to it, or delete the security footage!” she cackled, dancing away from his attempt to smack her.

“Shut up, it’s none of your business.” Ryan grumbled. At that moment Ruairi walked into the parlor, a fresh bouquet of bellflowers in his hand. Erin hid a smirk behind her hand as Ruairi came up behind Ryan, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I got you fresh flowers, love.”

Ryan blushed, shooting a glare at Erin before turning to face his new boyfriend. “Thanks, babe.” he took the flowers and swapped them out for the old ones that had still been in the vase. When he turned back around, he found that Erin had approached Ruairi.

“So,” Erin started, and Ryan dreaded whatever she was about to ask, “can I see the tattoo?” Ryan sighed with relief and Erin was already looking excitedly at the part of Ruairi’s arm that was covered in a bandage.

“Oh, yeah. Ryan did an amazing job!” Ruairi grinned, peeling away the bandage to expose the fresh looking tattoo to Erin. She smiled, taking in every aspect of the tattoo, from the intricate petals all the way to the heart that the stems formed.

“I love it! And look, we’re tattoo buddies!” She pulled off her purple flannel to show him the ring of bellflowers that circled her bicep. Ruairi noted that, like her brother, she was cut. Erin also had tattoos decorating her arms and shoulders, and he saw the edge of a tattoo peeking out from the back of her racerback. “Ryan, you’re the odd one out!”

“What? But he has a bellflower tattoo too.” Ruairi protested.

“Yeah, but not one on his arm like us!”

“Wow, if it means so much to you, Erin, I can get one on my arm.” Ryan sighed, leaning back against the front desk. “Where would you like me to get it?”

“Ooh, you’re letting me do this!” Erin was shocked, but she quickly transitioned into smiling with glee at her brother, “Sit down! I’m doing this now.”

“Erin, what about actual clients?”

“We don’t have any appointments for a couple of hours!” she argued, “Don’t worry, Ryan, it’s gonna be great!” Erin tugged on his arm, attempting to drag him back to one of the chairs. He resisted, raising his eyebrows at her.

“I think I’ll leave you two to it.” Ruairi began to back away towards the exit, “I have to actually open up my own shop.” he smiled and gave them a half wave.

“Wait!” Ryan broke away from Erin and raced after Ruairi, grabbing his hand and pulling him into his chest. He pressed a quick kiss to Ruairi’s lips, then mumbled against them, “Have lunch with me?”

“Of course.” Ruairi smiled, gave Ryan one last kiss, then left the parlor.

“I ship it.” Erin cooed as soon as the door shut behind Ruairi.

“Fuck off.”

[bxebxee]

Easy Woman

Note: cannot believe this is finished wow dude. title and concept based on a specific scene in the drama Another Miss Oh. Also, this is very much reader-centric rather than member-centric. I hope you’ll still like it though. 

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: Romance Warnings: none (but if we’re being real, internalized fatphobia, insecurity, slut-shaming if you squint) Word Count: 7582 Rating: E, for everyone (but caution because it’s a romance, and there are kissy-kissy times)

*

“The problem has nothing to do with how you look. None of that really matters- well actually it does kind of matter, but you don’t have to worry about the looks portion, seriously…” Yoongi pauses, eyeing you cautiously as if you’d explode at his words. “You’re too easy.”

Your kneejerk reaction of incredulous disbelief blooms into heated indignation on your face, and Yoongi holds up his hand to stop you from releasing a seventy-two-words-per-minute rebuttal. You are, probably, the purest form of Extra Virgin Olive Oil at your age; and you haven’t even gotten to the point of kissing someone in bed let alone sex (“At Your Age! At Your Age!” your brain likes to shout at you), so how Yoongi can call you “easy” is beyond logic – if anyone was asking you.

“I mean,” he clarifies, with a tired sigh, “You are way too easy with your heart.”

*

Another year, another break up. You would think that after Break Up Number Four you would feel a little less shitty about the same, damn conversation happening at the same, damn place.

It always happens at a coffee shop.

You want to line up your exes and ask them one by one why they always picked coffee shops to dump you. Was there some sort of national shortage of public venues that you should be aware of? Because it has come to the unfortunate point where you now associate coffee with heartbreak and abandonment; which is a terrible shame that leaves you disgruntled given that you are an addict who needs a large cup of caffeine tar every morning before 9AM to function.

It never gets easier.

Namjoon is direct and to-the-point, not wasting words on sparing your feelings, but not going out of his way to be cruel to you. He’s going for the clean break. No, the two of you will not remain friends; he’s just aiming for a definite end with as little bitterness as possible. He’s not trying to hurt you, but everything hurts all the same.

“Stay warm,” Namjoon says after a short pause. The two of you have now agreed to call it quits, and you’ve gotten moderately good at pretending it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. “Don’t get sick.” And he gets up and leaves. What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon. 

Six hours later as you lay in your bed, you wish that you had the strength to be the one to leave first. At least you didn’t have to change your facebook status to read “single” again. Namjoon was the type to be blasé, near ambivalent, about SMDA (Social Media Displays of Affection), and as much as it irked you when you were in a relationship with him, you’re a little grateful for it now. There is less mess.

You reach for your phone on the side table, thumb ghosting over the lockscreen from muscle memory. You ignore the red 300+ notification from your messenger app because the people in your College Buddies group chat never shut the hell up. Instead, you browse through restaurant listings and reviews because you have a need to gorge away the upset. Unfortunately, your mood worsens because every place with a decent rating is advertising a couple special or deal.

As recently un-coupled, it’s akin to getting salt rubbed on your wounds.

“Fuck this,” you mutter, lips curving upwards into a bitter smile because Namjoon disliked it when you cursed. “I hate how we’re so fucking obsessed with shitty-ass couple aesthetics. Give me a fucking break.” It feels good to say it even though no one is listening. “Fuck.”

It’s with ire and not a little hunger that you end up in tent for some street food. You couldn’t bear to go to a restaurant right now, by yourself, and have to eat dinner while couples canoodled with each other.

“I’ll have one of everything,” you tell the middle-aged woman manning the shop while she eyes your artful ensemble of pajamas crossed with a leather jacket. “And a bottle of soju please.”

“You’re going to eat one of everything?” she repeats, blinking away the skepticism. “You don’t get a refund just because you can’t finish something.”

“I know, I know,” you sigh, “But I got dumped today, and I’m hungry. I was on a constant diet while dating that bastard, and I just want to eat.” You’re oversharing, and if it were any other day you’d probably be embarrassed.

The woman just shrugs and hands you a bottle of soju. “Pick a spot.” There are many. “I’ll bring over your food.”

You’re not kidding in the slightest when you said you were on a constant diet while dating Namjoon. He never said anything about it, and you could have been projecting, but the inferiority complex had hit you hard when you saw what his exes looked like. There wasn’t much you could do about your face, but weight was one thing you could control. And for months you oscillated between eating clean for week and then relapsing into your regularly scheduled carbs.

Despite periods where you truly feasted, you could remember how hungry you felt all the time, hungry for food and for affection, neither of which you could comfortably find with Namjoon.

You crack open the bottle of soju and thank the lady as she brings over bowls of food and shot glass.

“When you throw up, make sure to do it outside,” she tells you matter-of-factly.

“I will…thank you for the concern,” you respond.

“I’m not concerned.”

Harsh. It’s fine though because you dig into Bowl Number One, and it tastes like salt, carbohydrates, and artificial flavoring, a.k.a. Heaven. Your mouth is alive from the heat and the spices, and it feels like a near religious experience when each gulp is better than the last. You wash it down with half a shot of soju, and, fuck yes that’s the stuff. That’s the Good Stuff.

And you’re in such a good mood from being fed and watered that even your intense desire to die after the break up feels less pronounced. You open up the snow app and choose a cutesy filter, one that would hide the ugly acne marks on your face. One selfie collage and Instagram story update later, you inform your followers through caption that you’re done dieting, and you take another shot, and then another, and then another, until you’re calling for one more bottle of soju. (She hands you a bottle because it’s money, but she sincerely hopes your puking will happen outside of her establishment.)

“Fucking hell…” A familiar voice calls your name after a while, distracting you from digging into the rest of the food splayed around the cramped table. You look up mid-chew, cheeks puffed from stuffing your mouth too full of food.

“Yoongi,” you greet, your cheeks warming up from the shots. Because your mouth is full, his name ends up sounding more like “nnn-gi” when you wave. You swallow, uncaring of how the food was not chewed enough. You simply wash it down with a little more alcohol. “Come here, come here!!”

And you actually get up, take his hand, and drag him to sit down at the table on the chair in front of you.

“What the hell- Are you eating all of this?” he asks, face scrunched in mild confusion.

“Yup!” you answer, lips popping over the syllables because you’re on your way to drunkenness. “Did you see my Instagram story?” you ask in rapid-fire, “Is that why you’re here? To check on me? You’re such a good friend. Are you hungry? Do you want some-”

Yoongi can’t get in a word edgewise, and it’s not until a whole group of your mutual friends from the same graduating university class pour into the tent that you realize, that no, he wasn’t here for you. It was probably a group meeting you skipped out on because you didn’t read your messages.

“Oh…”

Eunji spots you and waves excitedly. “I thought you weren’t coming! Guys let’s just eat here for old time’s sake.” (Old time’s sake meaning back when all of you were broke college kids.) Your face falls because you’re not in the mood, and they’re going to pry about why you’re eating like a pig and drinking all alone while dressed in your Ryan pajamas. And then you’d have to tell them about being dumped, and then they’d try setting you up with Loser Woohyuk who’s also here with the same, beady little eyes and suspicious intentions.

Before you can prepare to put on your Happy Face, Yoongi gets up from the chair abruptly, letting the plastic drag across the floor in a loud, screeching sound. “Are you crazy? I suffered for four years in college eating street food and ramyeon, and I’m not eating a single bite willingly if I have to. Can we please just get meat like normal people?”

He chances a glance at the Lady of the Tent, who doesn’t look offended at all. There are murmurs of agreement, and it’s with relief that the entire group plus Yoongi leave. Thank heavens for solitude.

“Ahjumma, one more?” you ask, holding up your empty soju bottle. This would be your last bottle because you know your limits. “Pretty please?”

“Don’t act cute,” she deadpans, handing you bottle number three.

“Of course not,” you chirp, acting cute anyway. Your stomach feels like it is three seconds away from bursting. You pick at the rest of your food with a little bit of regret because you did order way too much to handle by yourself. And you couldn’t even take it with you.

“I cannot believe you.” You look up to see Yoongi is back again, and this time without the whole crew. He’s frowning as he takes in your glassy eyes and attire, and plops back down to sit in the spot he vacated just a few moments ago. “I had to lie that I had diarrhea in front of Sooyoung-noona to get them off my back for ditching.”

It’s not your stomach that’s about to burst, it’s your tear ducts. As soon as Yoongi gives you one of his looks trying to figure out what’s wrong with you, you feel your eyes well up. You’re not even embarrassed about the tears because you think you did a pretty good fucking job of holding back the upset this whole day.

“I got dumped,” is your watery response. You’re just about to crack open the new soju bottle, but Yoongi confiscates it.

“You okay?” he asks, knowing full well that you’re the furthest thing from okay, but having the emotional insight to know that maybe, just maybe, you might want to rant.

You wipe your tears away and try breathing through your nose to calm down. It wasn’t a lot of tears so you’re able to control your breathing and find your chill. And when you open your mouth to vent, Yoongi listens to one hour of Post-Break-Up Rant. He’s a good friend.

*

“I should have dumped him first,” you grumble again for the third time because you’re running out of things to say. 

Yoongi has eaten all of whatever you couldn’t finish, and the table is a lot less cramped without all the bowls spread out. He’s stacked them to the side neatly so that the older woman could come collect it later.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snorts. Yoongi has done his duty as friend and listened to your rant, and in his humble opinion, it was getting to be too late in the evening to continue Namjoon-bashing.

“For once I would like to be the one doing the dumping,” you huff, “And how am I being ridiculous?”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and plays with the cap of the unopened soju bottle. “You could never be the one to dump someone first. It’s not in your nature.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh because you know me so well.” The moment you say this, it doesn’t escape you how dumb you sound because…

“Yeah. Yeah, actually I do know you that well.” He cracks open the soju with a smug look. The older woman wordlessly brings him a shot glass, and he thanks her with a little bit of the charm that keeps him popular. Min Yoongi probably knows you the best out of anyone that’s not you at this point.

Despite having met him later in life during year two in university, you had discovered that a friend you purposely kept in touch with during adulthood somehow meant more than the friends you grew up with. And Yoongi had been there for all of the momentous, important things in your adult life, and you had shared in his moments as well.

“Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t dump anyone,” you concede, holding out your own shot glass so that he fills it. “But then, what is wrong with me? Why do people always leave me? What the hell is the problem? No, not the problem, My Problem? It’s because I’m fat and ugly-” Yoongi glares at you, and you reign in your self-hatred after a sip of alcohol. “Okay, okay. I know I’m pretty above-average when it comes to looks, and I’m just saying this because I’m mad and I want validation. But seriously, what the hell?”

He sighs, and you know you’re not going to hear what you want to hear.

“The problem has nothing to do with how you look. None of that really matters- well actually it does kind of matter, but you don’t have to worry about the looks portion, seriously…” Yoongi pauses, eyeing you cautiously as if you’d explode at his words. “You’re too easy.”

Your kneejerk reaction of incredulous disbelief blooms into heated indignation on your face, and Yoongi holds up his hand to stop you from releasing a seventy-two-words-per-minute rebuttal. You are, probably, the purest form of Extra Virgin Olive Oil at your age; and you haven’t even gotten to the point of kissing someone in bed let alone sex (“At Your Age! At Your Age!” your brain likes to shout at you), so how Yoongi can call you “easy” is beyond logic – if anyone was asking you.

“I mean,” he clarifies, with a tired sigh, “You are way too easy with your heart.”

Well. There is that. He’s not wrong.

“I can’t help it,” you reply bitterly, “I’m a fucking softie.”

Yoongi nods. “It’s not a bad thing though.”

You scoff because a fat lot of good it’s done you. “I wish I could be cool like you. So that I can, like, break people’s hearts and not feel bad about it.”

“Don’t. You’re perfect as you are.” And you physically let out a raucous laugh at that piss-poor attempt to cheer you up. Yoongi kicks your chair because he’s being serious, and here you are taking him lightly. “Also, I would never break someone’s heart and not feel bad about it. I’d feel very bad.”

“But you’d still break their heart,” you quip, “And I wanna do that.”

“It’s a lot less fun than you think,” Yoongi lectures, “All of a sudden they’re crying in front of you because you said you didn’t like the way they chewed. And then three weeks later they send you an essay about how they’re perfect for you.”

You purse your lips. “Um, don’t eat bread in front of the hungry. I’m still mad over Namjoon, and it sounds like the fucking dream to have him cry in front of me and send me emo texts after I crush his heart and ruin him for all women in his future.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond to you this time. Instead he refills your glass and his. “Let’s drink this and get you home. You look embarrassing.” 

“That’s because these are his pajamas,” you tell him, refusing to use Namjoon’s name again. “Cheers.” You clink glasses and throw back the bitter alcohol. 

*

Yoongi takes you home when you’re a staggering mess after five bottles (yes, count them: one, two, three, four, FIVE), and you wake up the next morning with a pretty mild hangover because you never drink this much even though your tolerance is pretty good. 

“Morning sunshine,” he yawns when you stumble out of your bedroom and see Yoongi hovering over the coffeemaker. 

You nearly freak out when you feel your face and realize that you never washed your face before passing out. “Who told you you could stay over?” 

“You did. You even held onto my leg when I tried to leave.” 

You have zero recollection of any of this, but you’d take Yoongi’s word for it. After all, people have told you in the past that you get affectionate when drunk. 

“Thanks for listening to the wishes of a drunk girl then. Hey did you make coffee?” 

It feels good not to be alone, and you’re secretly grateful beyond measure that Yoongi stayed over. Having to deal with a Sunday morning hangover while obsessing over the dumping would not have been fun to tackle all by yourself. 

“No offense but... you need a shower,” Yoongi tells you in a bland tone, as if commenting on the weather. “You smell like depression.” 

“Shut. Up.” Despite the way you roll your eyes and glare at him half-heartedly, you do as he says because he’s right. You needed to shampoo your day four hair anyway. 

In the shower you cry some more. You only got to cry a little yesterday, so you let yourself draw in deep, shaky breaths as the hoarse sounds of your weeping echo against the bathroom walls. You let the water run over your hair and face while your head is slumped over, and despite the tears that leak out you can see the whorls of water filtering down the drain the clogged bits of hair you’ll need to scoop out later. The tile feels cool when you lean against it, and you promise yourself that you’ll try your hardest not to wallow too much. 

Yoongi hands you a glass of water wordlessly when you come out of your bedroom after the longer-than-normal shower. 

“You didn’t leave?” you croak, wincing at the post-ugly-cry voice of yours. 

His eyes soften as you gulp down the water. “What and leave you to drown in the shower? I don’t think so.” 

It’s precisely these moments in which you marvel at the pure luck you had for fate to pave your way towards meeting and befriending Min Yoongi. And while you know that first impressions weren’t everything, you’d never forget his cool way of handling disrespect from the first boy who dumped you prior to even knowing you at all. 

(Sometime Ago In Those Distant College Years: It was only four days after Joonyoung kicked you to the curb, so to speak, and he was already hitting on every single girl around you during one of the mandatory department mixers. No one had the guts to speak up about his abhorrent behavior except for Yoongi, a newcomer to the department, and therefore, wholly unaware of all the nasty, complicated particulars. It felt so damn good to watch him chew out your ex with only a few words.) 

“You’re a really good guy, Min Yoongi. You know that?” 

“Of course I do.” 

*

Getting over Namjoon doesn’t happen overnight. 

Yoongi eventually leaves you on that Sunday morning post-breakup, having been called to an emergency at work. (”Sucks to work at a start-up,” he had sighed.) But you feel at peace in the solitude because his company had already lifted a large weight off your shoulders. 

Still, there are many days when you find yourself functioning on autopilot, body and mind moving in rote memory. Wake up, wash, work, drink, home; it felt like an endless, monotonous cycle. Some days you miss Namjoon; other days you miss being in a relationship with anyone at all. 

You’re not as young as you used to be, so daily drunkenness takes a toll on your body. Your skin suffers, and adult acne makes a comeback. There are three angry pimples lining the fine lines on your cheek, one smack in the middle of your forehead, and another at the border between your neck and chin. This breakup is a disaster. 

But you’re not yet out of your destructive mood, and Yoongi reluctantly agrees to come meet you out for drinks. He’s not keen on seeing you drink away your liver, but he’d much rather you do it under his supervision than alone. And you’re not without a conscious, so you feel horrible, downright awful, that you monopolize Yoongi’s time like this. He still meets you for drinks at least a couple of times during the week and always on Fridays, without complaint. 

“I’m lonely, but I don’t know why or what I even want,” you sigh on another Friday evening at the Tent, frowning at the shot glass with the logo of a beer company fading away. You’ve been to other bars and restaurants, but you like the anonymity and casual comfort the street food tent gives you. Plus, now that you’re a “regular” the older woman supplies you with a plate that’s a little more full than other people’s bowls. 

Yoongi nods, sympathizing but not egging you on. “That’s normal,” he tells you, “Every one of us on the cusp of thirty is going through an existential crisis right now.”

“I’m moping here,” you huff, and Yoongi’s laughter is enough to make you consider closing up shop for the Misery Brigade for this evening. 

Yoongi feeds you a piece of hot rice cake without you asking for it. “Then by all means,” he tells you, the laughter still not out of his voice, “Mope away.” 

“At first I thought it was because I wanted friends. But you’re here with me all the time, and I participate in the group meetings - sometimes, and nothing’s changed,” you start, emboldened by his permission. “And then I thought it was because I wanted to be in love, but that was so not it. Nothing I do leads me anywhere, and it’s frustrating because I still want so bad not be feel this way....” 

Somewhere along the lines, the break up with Namjoon had dug up old fears, old regrets. You are at a point where you don’t know if all of the crying and raging is because of Namjoon, or because of the fact that you wanted something to fill the growing void in your life, and nobody wanted in. Your rational mind tells you it’s the latter because the notion that you are unwanted is enough to get you gulping down half a bottle of soju real quick. 

“Maybe,” Yoongi starts, “Maybe you should stop focusing on where you’re going to end up. You don’t need to get to any place.” This is said gently, tactfully, and accompanied with a soft “cheers” and a toast. 

“What does that even mean?” You have a guess, but you’d rather him tell you because Yoongi’s voice was always a ten out of ten. 

He sets down his glass. “Did you love Namjoon?” 

“No,” you answer immediately. 

“Do you want to be with him again? Start over?” he continues, not quite explaining his point. 

“Fuck no,” you answer even quicker than the last response. 

Yoongi gestures as if to say “there you go”. “If you didn’t love him, and if you don’t want to get back together with him, then he’s not important. You may not know what you want right at this very second, but at least you know it’s not him.” 

“That’s a start,” you murmur. Maybe. “Process of elimination.” 

Yoongi smiles. “That’s my girl.” 

You smile back, and yours is considerably faker than his. “Would Sooyoung-unni like to hear you call me that? Hmm?” 

Much to your disappointment, Yoongi neither blushes or deflects. “Probably not considering she wants to date me, but I’ll risk it.” 

Your mouth falls open from the sheer confidence behind his words. “Min Yoongi,” you hiss, lips edging upwards into an admiring smile, “You’re bad. Have you been...?” 

“Have I been texting her? Yeah.” 

You lean closer to him, intrigued. “Like dirty stuff?” 

“No, you giant pervert. Just talking about normal shit, jeez.” Yoongi is more conservative than he lets on, and you love that about him. It makes teasing him all the more fun. 

You tap your glass, signalling him to pour another for you. “I’m impressed. Wasn’t she like the most popular upperclassman among the guys?” Her legs were, and are still, legendary.

Yoongi nods, “Yoona-noona was a close second though. She texted me too, by the way.” 

“And? What did you even talk about?” You lived for other people’s drama. 

He smirks in shy, happy cockiness. “I told her I’d love to go her gallery opening and that Sooyoung-noona had already invited me as her plus-one. She left me on read.”

“You’re so unexpectedly popular,” you muse, picking up your chopsticks to play at the small bits of vegetables floating around in the spicy sauce. The rice cakes are all gone now, and neither one of you likes the vegetables too much. 

He rolls his eyes, not the slightest bit offended because he’s had the same thoughts as you. Sooyoung and Yoona (and Eunji, and Joohyun, and Chaeyoung, and few others more) were impressive, beautiful women, and he had no idea what they saw in him. 

“You know... I used to have the biggest crush on you,” you chuckle all of a sudden, interrupting his thoughts. You recall the short period in time where you nursed heart eyes for Yoongi after he so viciously and satisfyingly ruined your first ex-boyfriend. You down your shot with a satisfying cringe and hiss. “Did you know by any chance?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Of course I did. You’re really obvious. Do yourself a favor and never play poker unless you feel like giving money away.” You cover your face with your hands at his response, mortified for your early-twenty-something year old self but finding the whole situation hilarious in all its uncomfortable glory.

“Oh my god…” You pull yourself out of your Five Second Pity Party when a thought hits you. “Hold on. I call bullshit!”

“What the hell are you yapping about now?”

You narrow your eyes. “There’s no way you knew I liked you.”

“Oh trust me, I knew,” Yoongi snorts.

“But you were so… so… so… normal with me. You didn’t act any different or treat me like I was weird.” Yoongi had always been your good friend, a near constant in your life.

“And why should I? Yeah, I knew you liked me. So what? You were still my friend.”

You blink in surprise. “But weren’t you weirded out by it?”

“At first, yeah, a little,” he admits, “But who you like is your choice, your business. And you never confessed to me, so I figured that was my answer.”

“It wasn’t a burden?”

“Nope.” Yoongi’s answer is easy because it’s truthful. “Not once. Listen, none of us choose who we like. Our hearts are wholly ours to deal with. Since we have to take responsibility for how we express our feelings, we have the right to feel however the hell we want for whomever or whatever.”

Well damn. Here was Exhibit A of why you liked him so much back then. Min Yoongi was, and still is, so fucking cool. You could definitely see why Sooyoung would spend her time texting him when she’s had literal celebrities asking her out.

“And I didn’t want to be That Guy,” Yoongi continues quietly. He pours himself a shot and downs it quickly. “I didn’t want to be a piece of shit that abandoned a friend because of something outside of anyone’s control. What is so wrong about having feelings for a friend? Is it a crime? Is it a sin?”

“But what if I did confess to you?” you ask, burning with curiosity for what might have been.

Yoongi smiles and shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Maybe we would have dated.”

You gape at his flippant answer. “Y-you… You can’t just-” You make a choked noise of frustration and yank the bottle of soju out of his hands. “I can’t believe you,” you mutter and dump the rest of the alcohol into your shot glass.

Yoongi laughs openly at your flustered annoyance and orders another bottle of soju as you shakily tip the contents down your throat. “Don’t get so worked up. I said maybe. Don’t tell me you still have lingering feelings...”

You shoot him a look. “I’m being serious, Yoongi.”

“So am I,” he responds, thanking the older woman who brings over a fresh bottle of soju. “A lot of things could have happened. Truth is…I don’t know what I would have done. Everything is a maybe.”

“You are so lame,” you groan because Of Course he would give you a complete non-answer. That is so like him. “You think you’re being all deep or some shit, but you’re just so, so, so, so lame, Min Yoongi. I take back everything good I said about you. Sooyoung-unni deserves better.”

You mean none of this. He’s still the Coolest in your book.

“But you love me,” he replies in a sing-song voice while smiling ear to ear. You don’t trust that smile one bit.  

“Don’t push it,” you snort, your heart beating just the slightest bit faster. You reason that it’s the alcohol and trip down memory lane. 

*

And that is how you get over Namjoon and your existential crisis bit by bit. 

You are big enough to admit that this reliance on Yoongi’s company may look weird to outsiders entrenched in the belief that there was no such thing as friendship between men and women, a grossly heteronormative, stone-age assumption. If you liked Yoongi as more than just a friend, would you have encouraged him to go on a few dates with his long-time crush from university? You’d say Hell Fucking No given your propensity towards possessiveness and insecurity. 

You give him your blessing to continue talking to Sooyoung, even giving him tips on how to respond. 

Yet when Yoongi cancels a Friday drinking session with you in favor of going to the movies with Sooyoung, there is an uncomfortable sensation that swirls around your gut. You spend the rest of the night uneasy and sober. (And maybe, you think, maybe it’s because suddenly it’s Real that he’s out there not giving a damn about you that has you feeling wonky and out of sorts. This is the ugliest feeling, and you try your hardest to wipe it from existence.)

He still meets up with you for the regularly-scheduled lunch date on Saturday, and he tells you all about the movie, and nothing about her. 

Yoongi speaks, and you hear him loud and clear, but your gaze drifts down to his lips – something that hasn’t happened in a long, long time. You find yourself distracted by the shape and the color, blinking softly at how sensuous Yoongi’s lips look when he speaks in that slow, soothing drawl. It’s the small hitch of your breath that catches at the back of your throat like a cough and the warmth that bubbles up from your chest up to your neck that alerts you to the fact that you’re fantasizing about your friend.

The pieces fall into place almost too perfectly once you’ve identified that nagging feeling you’ve had for a while every time you looked at Yoongi or saw him text Sooyoung. Denial is a powerful tool for crushing feelings, but it can only go so far. With a racing heart and a sickening sense of déjà vu, you realize history is repeating itself, and you’ve already fallen again for Min Yoongi. 

You might be moving on from Namjoon, but he’s just getting started with Sooyoung. The timing is absolute shit, and you hate how fucking easy it is for you to fall into someone after they’ve been nice to you. 

You make the decision that you need to distance yourself as you watch him slurp ramyeon noodles happily. What was it that he told you before? Men don’t eat messily in front of girls they want to date? 

Flecks of soup stain his shirt, and you are so, so fucked.

Yoongi takes a breather from his noodles to ask you a question. “No but seriously... should I even be doing this?” His face looks too serious for you to make any jokes. 

“What do you mean? Doing what?” 

“Dating Sooyoung-noona. We’ve met a few times, but should I really start something serious with her?” Yoongi asks, and your whole body freezes up. 

Without thinking, as if some demon came around and possessed your body, you actually nod and answer, “I think you should. She’d be good for you.” 

Yoongi blinks at your quick response. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.”

*

Stupid. It’s not okay. It’s the furthest thing from okay. 

Sooyoung posts a picture on instagram of Yoongi sipping coffee, and you want to physically hurt something. It’s a visceral reaction of jealousy that feels so ugly and wrong. You know you have no right to be feeling this way when it was your own fault to begin with, but that doesn’t stop you from ignoring Yoongi’s texts and telling him that you’re too busy to see him these days. 

He’s a man of action and consideration, so you don’t know why you’re so surprised to see him fuming in front of your apartment door one evening. 

“Are you dead or dying?” he inquires when you let him in. “No, scratch that. Have you been fully incapacitated with no access to any communication devices for the past two weeks?” 

“What the fuck are you on about?” you shut the door slowly to buy yourself time for the inevitable, ugly confrontation. 

“Can you cut the bullshit and just tell me why you’re avoiding me?” Yoongi snaps, neck red with anger. When you open your mouth to answer, he cuts you off, “And don’t say you’re busy with work! Because we both know that’s a lie.” 

“It’s not,” you argue, trying your hardest to stick to your story. “I’ve been getting slammed with projects.” 

Yoongi’s jaw clenches as he just stares at you after hearing your lame excuse. 

“This is about Sooyoung,” he says, hitting the nail on the head. Five hundred points to whatever the fuck his pottermore house was. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I started dating her. I’m not a fucking idiot. Spill. Why? Is she a psycho or something? Do you know something about her that I dont?” 

If mortification was turned into a human being, she would take on your form because that’s all of what you’re feeling at this very second. 

“I,” you swallow, “I don’t kn-”

“Tell me.” Yoongi rarely demands anything from you, but he is adamant at getting honesty. He has a feeling as to what you think of his potential girlfriend. Being friends for more than ten years during adulthood would do that to a person.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You have no idea why you chose to say that, and you kick yourself from the stupidity. You should have just made something up and moved on instead of alerting Yoongi that you had some Serious Opinions when all it was was you pining over him. 

Yoongi reacts with predictable curiosity. “I’ll deal with the hurt. I just want to know.” His heart pounds heavily, and he finds it hard to push down the anxiousness mixed with hope that bubbles up from his chest.

“I…” You falter when Yoongi stares you down with so much sincerity. You worry over his heart, and you worry over your own heart too while you consider what to tell him. “I don’t think she’s right for you.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi grinds out through his teeth. “Try the fuck again – with a little more honesty this time.”

You despise the position he’s put you in – this vulnerable, awkward, contentious position where you’re forced to show your hand or fold. It is a terrifying feeling to realize you are on the cusp of being caught red-handed over unrequited love by the object of your affections. And there was no way Yoongi hadn’t noticed; he wouldn’t act this way at all if he didn’t have evidence to support his suspicions. You recall your tipsy late night conversations with him and how he let you manage your youthful, collegiate crush over him by yourself so that you wouldn’t have to risk humiliation.

But he’s not doing that now. Yoongi stands before you with eyes boring into your own as if to hypnotize the truth out of you.

“You already know,” you mumble, wishing you could look away from his piercing stare. “Don’t make me say it.” Don’t ruin this, is what you’re really saying.

And for a tense seven seconds all you can hear is the sound of quiet breathing.

“You really know how to give a guy mixed signals,” he finally says with a scoff. “Do I have to remind you that you were the one who suggested I give her a chance?”

No, he really didn’t need to remind you of that painful fact because you had regretted it every day since the words left your mouth. You had already kicked yourself more times than you could count. You had also fantasized a great deal about what it would have been like had you understood your feelings and confessed to him instead of being buried in feelings of inadequacy and fear. It was an exercise of masochistic self-flagellation, but you liked to imagine that maybe things would have been different if you were a different person altogether.

“I thought you weren’t into me when you told me to go after her,” Yoongi continues. “I thought I was losing my goddamn mind because I thought- fucking hell…” he trails off and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

Your heart feels like it’s being compressed, and suddenly it becomes very difficult to breathe properly.

“Of course I’m into you,” you whisper, wishing your voice was louder, but whispering is all that you can manage right now. Your throat feels clogged and tired.

“Then why the fuck would you even-”

“Because I thought you would reject me.” The words sound ugly and pathetic to your ears, but it’s probably the most blatantly honest thing you’ve said to him today. It also sounds like an excuse. You see the muscles in his jaw tick as he grits his teeth together, his face an unreadable mask of “Min Yoongi Has Entered Thinking Mode, Everyone Fuck Off For A Second.”

He could curse you out right now, and you wouldn’t blame him. Thinking about it now, you’ve probably played with his feelings just as much, and you had been too obsessed with protecting yourself that you had hurt him in the process. Or maybe that was some sort of projection of your own selfish desire to remain relevant to him by thinking you had some sort of emotional hold over his thoughts. Maybe he didn’t care at all.

“You said that you’re into me,” Yoongi repeats, and you nod. “So, that means you’re still into me. Not past tense.” You nod again because nodding is easier than saying yes. He exhales loudly, and it’s more than a sigh. It’s like he deflates, and Yoongi looks tired beyond measure.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say after a pause. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your words. You acknowledge that it sounds ridiculous at this point, but you really are sorry. “Listen, you can… you can reject me, or cut me out, or whatever. But just know that I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I want.” That has never been what he wanted.

Yoongi takes one step towards you, but one step is enough to cross the line between safe, polite distance and invading your personal space – not that you minded. He places one hand on top of your head, the weight a familiar feeling from when he’d mess up your hair from time to time. Your heart aches from how fast it’s beating, and try as you might, you cannot kill the hope that grows.

He is right there in front of you.

“What do you want?” you ask.

Yoongi smiles because that is the right fucking question. He takes another step towards you, and the two of you are almost touching from the proximity. He moves his hand from your hair to cup your face, and you can feel your temperature skyrocket from the touch.

Fuck your insecurity. Because there’s no way you’re misreading him when he’s bending his head slowly to kiss you just like how it happens in those goddamn romance movies he loves to tease you about. You can feel him breathing; you can see him blink as he maintains eye-contact with you.

Your eyes widen when he pauses just short of actually kissing you, and it’s because he wants you to do that stupid percentage thing you went on and on about months ago. He’s already come more than halfway. Before you overthink this, you close your eyes quickly and press your lips on top of his in a manner that’s surprisingly graceful and, dare you say it, perfect.

Your heart beats too fast and too hard for you to enjoy the kiss properly, and it’s really more of just one pair of lips smushed on another pair of lips than any sort of passionate display of emotions. But inside you are flying. And it’s not even a dream.

Yoongi pulls away first, his face much more relaxed than before.

“Don’t make me do everything myself,” Yoongi says in an exasperated plea. You see the corners of his eyes crinkle while the ire continues to fade from his face. It’s hard to pay attention to what he’s saying exactly because you’re still reeling from the knowledge that your feelings are, in fact, reciprocated. Yoongi’s lips move like slow motion as a smile spreads across his face while he continues to talk, and you think you catch some words about liking you for a long time (or something).

This is real. This is actually real, and it is happening.

You don’t let yourself think too much anymore. With a thumping heart and a surprisingly clear head, you cup his cheek, mimicking his actions from just a moment ago. Yoongi pauses mid-sentence, eyebrows flitting upwards for a millisecond in mild surprise before his expression evens out again. You allow yourself to run your eyes over the gentle arch of his nose down to his lips – the same lips you’ve kissed so many times in your dreams, but only once in real life. It feels thrillingly voyeuristic to look at him without fearing that you’ll be caught. (He’s already caught on, and he’s into it – into you.)

Don’t make me do everything myself.

You slide your hand over from his cheek to cradle the back of his neck and pull him gently towards you, not that he needs much encouragement. You see Yoongi’s lips tilt into a smile disguised as a smirk, and you smirk right back when you feel those pretty lips press against your own in a soft touch, waiting for you to act.

Try the fuck again – with a little more honesty this time.

You smirk because you’re going to kiss that look right off his face. You feel the boldness spurring you to action, and you realize that you can’t wait to kiss him senseless. He won’t know what hit him.

“I really, really, really like you, Yoongi,” you murmur, letting your lips drag the indentations of the words straight onto his lips. “But you know that, right?”

You take the moment when it presents itself, and you nip at his lips as he parts them in true surprise this time.

“I-You-I-” he stutters, eyes fluttering shut when you suck on his lower lip and place a hand on his chest.

There’s little response after that other than the way he circles his hands around your waist and holds on because that is the only thing he can manage. You own the kiss; he did tell you not to let him do all of the work himself. You move slowly, pressing against him with purpose and deliberation in each glide of your tongue inside of his mouth. It’s the type of kiss you’d give a guy when you wanted to go further, and you could truly count on one hand the number of times this has happened.

But this is your first kiss with Yoongi, and it already feels like you’ve kissed him enough times to know what would make him lose it. There’s a sound that bubbles up from his throat, something like a cross between a groan and a sigh. Yoongi presses his thumbs down hard on the dips of your waist when you let your mouth pull away only to settle on his neck. His pants are like music to your ears, and you’re near giddy with excitement to know that you have effectively reduced Min Yoongi to a hot mess with one kiss.

You go easy on him, pressing baby kisses up and down the column of his neck to calm him down more than anything.

“I’ll be more honest with what I want,” you tell him, kissing his jawline. “Just be patient with me?”

Yoongi gulps, lips feeling numb with pleasure. His face is a mask of incredulity and bemusement. “You have me in your pocket.”

“I am the luckiest girl in the world,” you hum after he takes his turn to kiss you senseless. Your body is thrumming with exhilaration and heat.

Yoongi snorts quietly, smugly. “Happy?”

“I’m fucking elated,” you answer with hooded eyes before pulling his head down to meet your lips once more.

Yoongi is pretty fucking elated too.

*

*

*

(Way Later: Sooyoung’s not surprised when she gets an essay from Yoongi apologizing profusely regarding some recent developments. She tells him not to worry, and to send over a bottle of wine if he’s that set on repenting.) 

(The Follow Up)

[vziii]

Happy Saturday, have an Egobang fic.

Bromeo and Dudeliet AU by @therubyjailcell and inspired by @writergrump ‘s version.

Also this is my first Egobang fic. Please tell me where I can improve.

“Hear ye! Hear ye! The fine work of collaboration between Verona’s wealthiest names has finally been completed. Gaze upon the newly-made pure golden statues of the departed Arin Neverbone and Daniel Sexbang, two star-crossed lovers born from a woeful family feud. Look upon them and feel the forbidden love they had for each other despite the hands of fate.”

“Oh, my! Such detail on these fine statues!”

“Such tragedy indeed! How short-lived their lives were!”

“Disgusting! Two men in an unholy affair?!”

“Giuseppe! If a man and a woman are more than accepted to have an innocent love, why not two men?”

“At last, the feud of Neverbone and Sexbang has come to an end! There shall be no more woe in this fair town!”

“Cheers to peace in Verona!”

“Huh. They really did make gold statues of you guys,” Brian grumbled, though a hint of surprise could be heard.

“They’re fucking Neverbones. Of course they’d blow money on those,” Dan chuckled.

“You gotta admit, they look pretty lifelike even from here,” Arin replied in unironic awe.

It was quite astonishing that the beauty of the recreations could be seen so far away as to the top of Mantua’s cathedral, though perhaps they were pretending so for amusement.

“Yeah, they got your tiny dick on it.”

“Oh, you wish you could see that in person!”

Perhaps the latter, Brian enquired.

“I guess they bought it, didn’t they? The faked deaths,” laughed Dan whilst his darling wrapped his arms tighter around Dan’s waist and pressing his face closer to the older man.

“Well, I saw the mannequins, and damn Brian, you guys did so well with them. It was kinda scary,” Arin’s muffles, which quite miraculously reached Brian’s ears.

“Yeah. Suzy and Holly did awesome with those,” the older man agreed with a smirk.

“Speaking of which, they’ll be able to come over, right?” Dan asked.

“Maybe, maybe not. They may need to stick around to help the families get over your deaths.” Brian grimaced. “But I’ll try to get them here when I go back to Verona. I bet they’re dying to see you both, too.”

“Yeah! Thanks, man!” Dan and Arin understood this a bit too well. Sexbang and Neverbone had much to mourn over. After all, for past generations, they had gotten all they had wanted, which made sense that they would ask for more, that they demanded so much dispute and bloodshed.

The death toll of the two families had crossed the line one fine day. From Matt and Ryan to Ross, from the casualties who had only been in the marketplace to the names’ reputations… it snapped the patience within the remaining. Lady Suzy, Ninja Brian, Samurai Barry, Commander Holly, and anyone else with the brighter mind in Verona, they realized then and there a feud would only be the end of Neverbone and Sexbang.

It was time to end the immature hatred, the youths of the day decided.

A tale of two young men in love wasn’t going to be enough, it seemed, to quench the love of drama of Verona's most wealthy. And so, when poor Dan’s name was banished over an impulsive act and three bloody bodies, a convoluted plot was discussed the night before his departure. Giving Arin a sleeping potion to play a heartbroken death over his cousin Ross, two lifelike mannequins of the two lovers filled with red, thick liquid of berries growing nearby the church. Arin then had awoken after a few days of being carried to the Neverbone family tomb to be replaced by cotton and

All this for the sake of a tale of love-crazed boys who couldn’t stand being apart due to their birthed inheritances.

And yet, seeing the wondrous view of Italy from the tallest floor of Mantua’s cathedral with the one he quite literally gave his life for, Arin decided the awakening in this old family’s tomb may have been worth it.  

“...hey, Dan?” Arin lifted his head to gaze into beautiful brown eyes.

“Hm?”

“You think we can have that happy ever after?”

Dan, with a gentle uncalloused hand, caressed Arin’s cheek.

“Of course! We’ll have that life of a normal couple, in a normal town, with normal lives.”

“... that sounds awesome.”

God, Brian thought, they’re so cheesy it actually hurts in the stomach. Suppose he’ll have to get used to it.

“I love you,” Arin whispered into a brief kiss.

“I love you, too. Forever and always.”

Brian understood their feelings all too well. For Dan and Arin, ‘I love you’ meant so many things, so many wonderful things.

‘I love you’ meant that they didn’t care about the names Neverbone or Sexbang. It meant that they shared the same dream of getting away from those labels and the tragic drama that comes with them. It meant that they’d stay by each other as brothers at the very least, as partners, as lovers, as two young men who aspired some sort of normalcy that they couldn’t touch upon when they were standing on balconies.

And now that they were here… ‘I love you’ meant another beautiful thing: they’ve made it. If they got through bloodshed and quite the literal death, they can get through everything together, be it a new dream or adventure with their friends.

And Brian would be there for Dan and all he believes in, now and for the rest of their lives.

[jeremichal-archive]

oooh gosh combine 40 and 28 for Jeremwood? you're a blessing thanks love

carve your marks into my door; feel free to ruin the wood

40. exes meeting again after not speaking for years au28. knocking on the wrong door au

honestly, this is the first jeremwood fic i’ve ever written and i can’t believe it’s taken me this long to write something for them. Also, an alternative title for this could be “Work Through Your Issues Like Adults Please Boys” because honestly.

Pairing: JeremwoodWarnings: Swearing

On the inside of his elbow, written in small black cursive lettering, is the key to how Ryan’s going to survive this next month.

Every so often, he’ll scratch at it; framing the black letters in red lines, doing his best not to wear away the words. Thinking about it now, it probably wasn't the best place to put it, but at four in the morning, while the cold air bit at his fingertips, it seemed like his only option. Plus, it didn't help that his careful planning had been thrown into the wind the second he’d heard the sound of his landlord’s- fuck, ex-landlord's- feet against the cold concrete landing. So, while this might not be the best plan, it’s the only one he’s got.

An address, or, more accurately, Geoff’s address; scribbled down in haste, copied from an old party invite from Geoff’s last birthday. An address, that based on his sources, Geoff hasn’t stayed at in months.

Fourth floor, just right of the stairs, room 408.

Ryan sighs. How Geoff can afford to rent out two damn apartments is beyond him, but then again, he should just be fucking thankful that he can. Doesn't matter that the last time he saw Geoff, the other man was fifty grand in debt and seriously considering selling an organ on the black market.

A lot of things can change in ten months, Ryan guesses, picking up his pace as he climbs the stairs, especially since he’s enough proof of that himself.

It’s on the third floor that Ryan’s mind drifts off. His boots thud with each step he takes and it’s almost scary how close the sound is to that of gunshots. He wonders if this neighbourhood is as bad as his last one, wonders if flashing police lights and ambulance sirens will become another constant in his life. Or maybe, he’ll be able to sleep through a full night here.

Either way, though, he can’t help but wonder what it says about him that he no longer jumps at the sound of gunshots, whether they're real or not.

He’s glad to be rid of the stairs when he finally makes it to the fourth floor, so of course, it's just his luck that trips on the last damn step. His hands blindly grab for something to steady him, but there’s nothing but empty air and an old bannister around to keep him from breaking his neck, so he ends up stumbling. He catches himself before he goes down, but something twists in his ankle and a sharp current of pain shoots up his leg. He lets out a hiss, gingerly testing his ability to put his weight on it as he steadies himself. There’s an embarrassed blush warming his cheeks, but he thanks God for small miracles though, because at least there’s no one out in the hallway when he hobbles out of the stairwell.

He stops by the door for a moment and rests his palm against the drywall, giving his traitorous foot a moment to rest. A small part of him considers leaning his forehead against the wall as well, but he's smart enough to think better of it. It's an apartment building, and a cheap one at that, they're not really known for their cleanliness. Who knows how many germs this place is hiding.

He pulls his hand back, wiping it against his thigh like it’ll make a difference.

There’s something strange about being back here, almost like he doesn’t belong. But then again, he doesn’t. The sudden urge to just yell overtakes him, and he barely manages to hold it in. He wants to test the echo of the hall, wants to see if he can get another tenant to come outside. He just wants to do something. It feels like he hasn't done fucking anything since he left college, and it burns him from the inside out.

But instead, he settles; mumbling out a low, “I really hope they haven't cut the power yet,” as he straightens himself out, tentatively adding a bit of pressure to his ankle.

Habit makes him swipe at his nose, looking for blood where it’s not. He huffs, staring down at his clean fingers with something akin to disappointment. Honestly, he’s not all too sure if that’s actually the right emotion, but either way, he should really stop doing that.

There's no blood there anymore.

Ignoring the throbbing in his ankle, he pushes forward, moving down the hallway with careful steps. His eyes scan the rooms, and when he catches sight of it- a small unassuming wooden door with what looks like a crack running through it from the base up- Ryan’s heart skips a beat.

Deep down, he knows Geoff won't mind. Hell, he’s probably not even going to notice that Ryan’s been there at all, even if he does care. But still, Ryan can't help but worry. It's not as if they’ve really kept in contact in the recent months, so it’s not like Ryan would really blame him. All he can really do is promise himself that he’ll be gone by the end of the month, all the while silently hoping that he’s not just lying to himself.

He hesitates in front of the door when he gets to it, wondering if he should knock first just to make sure. It should be empty, he know’s it’s empty, but it would be awfully awkward if he happened to pick the lock just to find Geoff in his underwear on the other side waiting for him. So he knocks- three quick raps against the wood- and starts counting to ten, just to be safe.

When he reaches seven, the door swings open.

It’s cliché. God, it’s so fucking cliché, but then again, Ryan’s only ever been like that around him and it’s hard to be original when his heart is clawing its way out of his throat- so when he meets Jeremy’s gaze, time just seems to stop. Two and a half years. Two and a half years since they last saw each other- not that Ryan’s been keeping track- and he can’t help but latch onto the fact that Jeremy looks so fucking different now.

Lighter, happier, stronger, he’s fucking bald for Christ’s sake; Ryan can’t take his eyes off of him.

The thought as to why Jeremy’s in Geoff’s apartment doesn't even cross his mind, rather, he just stares, because that’s all he can really do. Which leaves it up to Jeremy to break the awkward silence that’s settled over them.

“I- You- What are you doing here, Ryan?” he asks and Ryan realises he’d forgotten how his voice had sounded. He wants Jeremy to talk again.

“Geoff’s… I was…” he frowns when Jeremy raises a confused eyebrow at him, “what are you doing in Geoff’s apartment?”

“What? What are you talking about, this is my apartment, Ryan.” He runs a hand over his shaved head and Ryan knows that if he still had hair, he’d be tugging at the strands. “Geoff’s is down the hall, I think, or at least, it used to be. I haven’t… talked to him in a while,” he admits, rather sheepishly.

“Neither have I, really,” Ryan mumbles back, shuffling on the spot. Changing the pressure on his ankle sends a spark of pain shooting up his leg, and he hisses through clenched teeth. He’s got no real reason to keep standing there, to be honest. He should just say goodbye and leave things there, but he really doesn't want to.

While they didn't part as enemies, they weren’t really friends either, and Ryan wants to fix that.

“How have you been?” he asks and Jeremy shrugs, slipping his finger inside the belt loop of his jeans. He rests his hip against the door frame and Ryan’s glad to have his full attention.

“I’ve been fine, Ryan.”

“You still running?”

A shadow passes across Jeremy's face. “Uh, no. Not anymore.” He doesn't elaborate, and Ryan doesn't push.

“Ah, okay…” he mumbles, hating how awkward things are between them. He wants to go back in time to when Jeremy would tell him everything, back to when they’d spend whole days tangled up in bed, lazily kissing every inch of the other that they could reach. Seeing Jeremy again, he realises that he hasn't quite moved on as much as he thought he had.

“Go anything published yet?” Jeremy asks, and Ryan can't help but flinch. No, he wants to hiss, of course fucking not. You were all right, so I gave up trying, but he holds his tongue though because his bitterness is his own to keep. “I won't lie and say I haven't been keeping an eye out,” Jeremy continues and Ryan’s heart skips a beat, “you were writing that, uh, that sci-fi book, right? when we… uh-” he shakes his head- “what I mean is, have you finished it?”

“Nah, I think attempted two drafts of it before I realised it was a lost cause.” That's a lie, he tossed it in the trash five days after Jeremy moved out. “It was a waste of time, anyway,” he mutters.

“But, you loved that damn book,” Jeremy replies and Ryan just shrugs.

“You loved running, but I guess love isn’t really enough, is it?” He replies, and Jeremy blanches. He doesn't mean his words to be that poetic, especially when they hit so close to home when it comes to what they were, but then again, Ryan’s always had a way with words. Just not enough to make a living from them, apparently.

Jeremy’s gaze drops to the floor at his words, and Ryan realises he’s put his foot in his mouth. He waits for the lad to tell him goodbye, to close the battered door in his face and leave him standing alone in the hallway, but he doesn't. He looks back up at Ryan, chewing on his bottom lip. “Why were you looking for Geoff, Rye?” he asks and the nickname is unexpected.

He doesn't know what makes him tell the truth. Maybe it’s because he’s trying to trade a secret for a secret; maybe he’s just sick of pretending everything is alright.

Or maybe, it’s because he wants to interact with Jeremy like they used to. Wants to be close again; wants Jeremy to trust him again.

“I know he doesn't live there anymore, I planned to- I wanted to crash there for a month. Just until everything… gets… better?” he mumbles, but it comes out as more of a question than he hoped. Jeremy watches him for a moment, brown eyes seeing right through him, and then he sighs.

“I guess we’re both a bit fucked up, aren’t we?” he whispers, but before Ryan can reply, he steps back and retreats inside. He leaves the door open though, and Ryan takes it as an invitation to come inside. He follows after Jeremy, eyes skimming Jeremy’s apartment as he walks just so he doesn’t have to look at the lad himself. He feels like he’s trespassing, pushing his way into Jeremy’s home even though he’s already had his chance, and even worse, lost it.

“Do you want a drink?” Jeremy asks and Ryan snaps his gaze up to look at him. “I have diet coke, if you’re, uh, still into that…” he mumbles, fidgeting with the can in his hands. Ryan nods, shuffling over towards the kitchen bench before hovering there awkwardly. Jeremy passes him the can, but it’s obvious in the way he deliberately avoids accidentally touching Ryan.

“So…” he begins, staring down at the counter and Ryan wonders why he even bothered to invite him in if his presence makes him so uncomfortable. He’s seconds away from muttering his goodbyes- heart squeezing in his chest- when Jeremy continues. “Is it bad if I… if I say that I’ve missed you, Ryan?” he mumbles, glancing up at him, “I know you’ve probably m-” he cuts himself off, “I mean, it’s been what? Two years?”

“Two and a half,” Ryan corrects and Jeremy snorts.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. It’s just… whatever, doesn't matter.” He shakes his head, thrumming his fingers against the bench. There’s another moment of awkward silence between them, one that Ryan doesn't really know how to break, but for some reason, he still tries anyway.

“I’ve missed you too, Jeremy,” he replies, and Jeremy watches him for a moment through the corner of his eye.

“Why’d you wanna stay at Geoff’s place, Rye?” he asks, and Ryan sighs.

“I got kicked out of my apartment,” he replies, shrugging and Jeremy frowns. “It’s either Geoff’s or I… yeah. I’m screwed either way, I guess.”

“Oh, that fucking sucks,” Jeremy replies and Ryan huffs out a bitter laugh. Now that’s an understatement, he thinks, taking a sip of his coke. Jeremy’s eyes track his movement, following the can up to his lips and then back down again when he sets it on the bench. Habit strikes at him again, and when he swipes at his nose, Jeremy rears back like he’s been hit. Ryan only just catches the frantic look in his eyes before Jeremy's turning away and he moves without thinking, leaning over the counter to grab his hand to stop him from grabbing for the tissue box behind him.

“Stop, Jeremy stop. I’m fine. See?” he holds out his hand for Jeremy to inspect, “no blood.”

It takes a moment, but Ryan watches him relax.

Jeremy lets out a humourless laugh; neither of them let their hands drop. “Sorry. Do you… do you still get them?” he asks and Ryan shakes his head.

“Nah, not anymore. They changed my medication,” he whispers. Slowly, carefully, he starts stroking his thumb against the skin of Jeremy’s palm, tracing small shapes into his skin. Jeremy's gaze falls to their hands, and Ryan hesitates for a moment, movement stopping, but when Jeremy doesn't say anything he starts again.

“I got into a car accident, Ryan” he mumbles, and the suddenness of his words make Ryan flinch. “I got, uh, T-boned, about a year ago? This asshole ran a red light, hit me at 50 miles per hour. Nearly fucking killed me,” he whispers and Ryan’s stomach drops.

He doesn't like that, he really doesn't like that. Just the idea alone of Jeremy dying makes his skin crawl, but what makes it worse, is that he probably never would have found out. Dodging Geoff’s calls, ignoring Jack’s ‘surprise’ visits; Gavin pretending he doesn’t exist and Michael to busy to care about how badly Ryan’s fucking up his life.

They’d forget to tell him. They’d forget to fucking tell him that his ex was dead, and Ryan would just continue on, as if the best thing he’d ever had wasn’t gone.

He wants to say something, wants to tell Jeremy just how much it hurts to ever imagine something like that happening to him, but Jeremy just keeps talking. “But, uh, it didn’t,” he huffs, a bitter sound, “it just fucked up my right leg, pinned it and I can’t tell you the medical terms they used to explain it- cause at the time I wasn’t- I wasn’t in a good place, Rye- but I can say, it was really bad,” he whines and Ryan’s up and moving around the kitchen counter within an instant.

He grabs for Jeremy and tugs him towards his chest and Jeremy goes easily, melting against him. He presses his face against Ryan’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut and Ryan rubs long strokes up and down his back, holding onto him for dear life.

“Can’t run anymore. Fucking- took me months of physical therapy just to walk again, but when it comes to running, I just… I can’t manage it for more than a few minutes.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “I hate it, Ryan. I hate it so fucking much. I feel so useless, so fucking angry all the time. Sometimes I run just so it hurts, just so I feel like I’m doing something.”

Ryan knows that feeling. He understands exactly what Jeremy’s trying to say. The thing is though, Ryan understands because he’s a homeless, failed author and not because he sustained life threatening injuries. So he can’t help but feel guilty for comparing himself to Jeremy, because really, Ryan’s fine.

Yeah. He’s… fine.

He squeezes Jeremy tighter and holds his tongue, because he knows him well enough to know that Jeremy doesn’t want his pity. He doesn't want his platitudes or his apologies.

He just wants Ryan.

Which, when he thinks about it, is the complete opposite of what he wanted when they broke up two and a half years ago. Mutual, he reminds himself, it was a mutual break-up.

Heh, he doesn’t think either of them really believe that anymore.

“You’ll be able to run again,” he whispers, “I know it’s daunting and terrifying, and it makes you feel like you’re being pulled under, but fucking hell, you were made to run Jeremy. It’s in your blood, and while it might take some time, you’ll be able to run again.”

Jeremy’s fingers grab for his arm, nails biting into his skin as he clutches at Ryan desperately. “You say it like it’s so easy, Ryan.”

“I’m not saying that tomorrow you’ll be able to miraculously get up and run a marathon again, but one day-”

“One day, huh?” Jeremy huffs, pulling back from Ryan. Something like deja vu sparks in Ryan’s mind and his stomach drops. “Fuck off. I don’t need this shit from you of all people. Where’s your book, Ryan? You said, and I remember, of course I fucking remember, that you were going to, and I quote, ‘make it’” he spits, finger quoting his words.

Ryan takes a step back, and then another, putting distance between them. He keeps his mouth shut, because the last time he didn’t and he ended up fucking everything up.

“Did you make it Ryan? Did you do everything you wanted to do? All the stuff that of-fucking-course you couldn't do with me. Was it worth it?” he hisses, closing the distance that Ryan tried to put between them. He glares up at him, but Ryan can see the hurt that’s hiding behind his gaze.

That somehow makes things worse.

“No. No, I didn’t make it, Jeremy,” he breaks, voice cracking. He sucks in a deep breath and tries to give himself a moment to settle, but Jeremy doesn’t let him.

“Was it worth it?” he repeats, not breaking eye contact.

“I threw that book out about a week after you left,” Ryan spits, clenching his hands into fists by his side. He’s so damn tired of holding it all in, he’s so damn tired of pretending that their mutual breakup wasn’t entirely his fault. “I never finished it. Everything I write nowadays doesn’t make it past the first five pages and I can’t write romance scenes without thinking of you.”

Jeremy lets out an exasperated breath. “God, you’re an idiot. I really don’t understand you, Ryan,” he replies, shaking his head.

His hands move quickly, gravitating towards his head; he lets out a strangled sound, spinning sharply to lean his elbows against the counter, turning away from Ryan. He ducks his head, fingers interlocking as he sucks in a ragged breath.

“You fought me for that book, Ryan. I mean, it was your novel, I wasn’t going to stop you from writing it,” he replies, shrugging helplessly, “but you just didn’t stop. How many times- how many fucking times did you chose that damn thing over me, just to throw it out!” he hisses, slamming his hands down on the counter.

“You were so much more than I was, Jeremy. You were running marathons, and you were training for the Olympics, and I was working in the tech department and barely scraping out a couple hundred words each week on a book that was everything I had. I was scared,” he spits, “I was so scared, and jealous, and envious because you were going to achieve your dream and I wasn’t-”

“And that’s my fault, then is it?!” he yells, body pulling taut like a live wire. Ryan doesn’t need to touch him to know he’s buzzing with electricity.

“No, God no, Jeremy-” he tries, but Jeremy’s not having it.

“It is, of course it is. I was the horrible needy boyfriend desperate for your attention. I was immature, always kept pushing for something. ��Let’s go on a run together, Ryan!’” he mocks, and Ryan feels sick, “‘Sign up for the marathon with me!’ ‘Let me read a chapter of your book’ ‘Pretend you still love me for a moment and let's do something together, I’ll let you decide what.’” He heaves out a breath, meeting Ryan’s gaze directly, “Fuck me, right? For wanting to include you in my life.”

“It’s not like that, Jeremy,” he pleads, and this time it’s his turn to close the distance between them.

“Yeah, it is. And now I’m nothing, no career, no future, just me and my fucked up legs,” he says and the anger drains out of him slowly. Ryan watches him curl in on himself, unshed tears in his eyes as he rubs at his face. “You must love it, knowing that I’m never going to be better than you.”

“I’m not, I’m not better than you. I’m a shit person, Jeremy. I got so overwhelmed-”

“Please don’t,” he mutters, resting a palm against the counter, “I don’t want to hear how sorry you are, Ryan. It’s done. I don’t care. I think you should go.”

“Just listen, please. Just give me one chance to talk, and then I’ll go if you still want me too, I swear,” he begs, and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut. After a few seconds, he opens them again and sighs; Ryan doesn’t risk wasting the opportunity.

“I got so overwhelmed with the idea of failing,” he begins, “that I took it all out on you. I’m not going to make excuses, Jeremy. I was an idiot, I handled everything wrong and at the time, I blamed it all on you. I was so hung up on the idea that I was thirty-four and going nowhere fast, that when I saw you succeeding, it felt like you were rubbing it in my face.”

He glances over towards the front door, staring at the ruined wood as if it’ll help him somehow. “I’m thirty-six now, Jeremy. I haven’t written anything in six months. I lost my job, my apartment and you. So at this point in time, it’s safe to say I’m a failed author. I’m not getting published; I’m not going to ‘make it’. It hurts, and as much as I try to pretend it doesn’t, lying just makes it worse,” he whispers, “the thing is, I don’t know how to make things better, I don’t what to fucking do anymore. You said that you’re angry all the time and so am I, Jeremy. I just- I can’t do anything fucking right anymore and it’s eating me alive.”

“You want me to forgive you?” Jeremy asks and Ryan looks back at him.

He can see them, if he tries hard enough.

Not them now, what with their bitterness, and their hurt and their issues, but what they used to be. Back when they’d first started dating. When things were easy and new, and sweet. Back when Jeremy would blush whenever Ryan asked him to stay the night, and when they’d burn their dinner because they were too busy kissing.

He can see them, but that doesn’t mean he can be them again.

“No. No, I’m not asking for that,” he sighs, pushing himself away from the counter. Jeremy watches him closely, but stays quiet, “I just don’t want you to give up hope just yet. You’ve still got plenty of time, and like I said, you were born to run. You’ll be fine, Jeremy, just don’t rush yourself.”

It’s cowardly, but he doesn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he just turns on his heel and takes a few steps towards the front door. It’s better this way, he tells himself, even though with every step he takes away from Jeremy feels like his heart is being crushed. He’s better off without you.

So he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t hesitate, and he doesn’t turn around. At least, not until Jeremy calls out to him.

“Ryan,” he says, and Ryan freezes just a few steps away from the door. “I- I wasn’t lying earlier… when I said I missed you. I-” he pinches the bridge of his nose- “I’m not going to lie, I really tried to hate you afterwards. You made me feel like shit, made me feel everything was my fault, but I couldn’t.”

He shakes his head, a faraway look in his eyes. “But the thing is, we were both horrible at being in a relationship, Ryan. You were the first person I’d ever really loved, and I just, I gave you too much of myself to fast, just trying to keep you with me. And you had your own issues, your own problems and I just-” he sucks in a breath, and Ryan stares at him- “I think it was too soon, wasn’t the right time. You know the saying Ryan, right person wrong time? Yeah... I think that was us.”

“What are you trying to say,” he replies, and Jeremy shrugs.

“I’m not suggesting we try again, at least, not yet. I just think, if you honestly believe that I still have a chance, that one day I’ll be able to run again and that it’ll just take some time, then why can’t it be the same for you?” he responds, and Ryan’s caught off guard by his words. He opens his mouth, looking for the words to disagree with Jeremy, but the lad just watches him with a soft gaze.

“You’re not dead yet, Ryan, and neither am I. That’s gotta count for something, right?” he adds, and Ryan feels his heart skirt a beat in his chest. He stands there for a moment, utterly unsure about where they go from there.

He’s caught between leaving and staying, and in the end, Jeremy makes the decision for him.

“Go crash in Geoff’s apartment. Call him and make a date to catch up again. Start writing again. There’s still plenty of time, Ryan, don’t waste it by feeling sorry for yourself. And if you want to, come back around in a couple of days and we’ll go get lunch together, as friends this time, and we’ll see how we go from there.”

Ryan nods and the pressure in his chest lifts just enough for him to breathe. He takes a moment, letting himself memorise the little parts that make Jeremy, Jeremy. The way he stands, the way he looks, the way he sounds and moves, just so he won’t forget about them again, and then he turns around.

He’s halfway out the door when he hesitates, tossing a look back over his shoulder at Jeremy. “I’m really hoping that this is the right time then, Jeremy,” he whispers, and Jeremy blinks back at him.

“Yeah, me too, Rye.”

[kahnah23]

Prompt III

Another prompt for my patrons over at Patreon!

61- “If you go anywhere near them, you’ll have to deal with me!” Project NEON Lads

77 - “You shouldn’t have even been there!” Project NEON Lads

The Lads are 12 years old

 Michael didn't even know what was happening until it was too late. It had just happened so damn fast!

Now they were in the back of some van with a bag over their heads and bound hands. Fuck.

The gents had been busy today, some big weapon deal or whatever, and Michael didn't mind it as much as he had before. He trusted Jack not to get into too much trouble during such small missions, and it helped being in Jack's apartment. Everything there just reminded him of Jack so much, the scent and the photos, and if Michael was honest he mostly stayed there when he could anyway. But not today.

Ray had been feverish and on the brink of being bedridden for a couple days and if Geoff had a choice he wouldn't have left him out of his sight, but the deal was important. So he had brought Ray to the base because Gavin was there, working on the next big heist. That way both of them would have company and Gavin could alert them in case Ray's condition worsened.

So Michael had taken a taxi to them because that sounded like more fun than chilling at Jack's place.

Apparently he had ran straight into a break in.

The worst of it was that both Gavin and Ray had the thing under control. The had pinned both of the guys down by the door, aiming their guns at them, and it would have probably worked if Michael hadn't stepped right in then. He should have reacted faster but he hadn't and just as quick he was in a headlock with a gun pressed against his head.

Great.

Now they had been driving for quite some time, sliding around with each turn and he was fucking pissed. It didn't help that Ray sat beside him, and he could clearly hear how hard he was breathing. The boy was sick, for God's sake! Couldn't they get a break?

Michael had turned enough to tangle their hands and Ray's felt sweaty and warm but he squeezed back

When they finally stopped it seemed like they'd drive since hours and Michael was roughly pulled out of the van. Now that the sound of the engine was gone he could hear barely anything else. No cars or the buzzling city.

Not good.

The ground beneath his shoes wasn't tarmac but dirt and it smelled different here. Where the fuck where they? Certainly not in Los Santos anymore.

At least whoever was guiding him wasn't very rough with him, they even watched out for his glasses when the bag was pulled from his head.

When Michael was able to see again night had fallen so they really had been driving since quite some time. He couldn't make out much more before he was pushed into a shed. The other two followed and then the door was locked behind them.

The shed was made out of dark wood, and it was fucking dark in here as well. Michael blinked in hope that it would help, but it didn't, not really. By the looks of it the thing was empty and barren besides two dusty boxes.

Just four walls to keep them inside.

Maybe they could work with that.

"Ray?" Gavin asked, and Michael also turned around to check on him. It was hard to in the dim light, but Ray did look a little pale.

"You okay?"

"Peachy," Ray snarled and tugged at the rope still binding his hands together. "I was taking a fucking nap when they barged in, what assholes!"

Michael snorted before heading towards the door. Sturdy wood, nothing they could break with pure strength.

"Is someone coming?" Gavin asked, and Michael pushed his ear against the door to listen.

"I don't think so, but it can't be much longer," he said and watched as Gavin crouched down. He had to bend awkwardly but finally pulled out a switchblade out of his shoe.

For someone normally not in combat Gavin always had a variety of weapons close or on him, all thanks to Ryan's training, and Michael didn't want to admit how often that had already saved their ass.

"Don't use it yet," Ray told him as he slid down the wall to sit down. "Let them get their first batch of threats out because afterwards they will let us stew because we are just oh so afraid. Perfect timing to get out of here."

Gavin nodded and hid the knife behind one of the boxes. Just in case they decided to pat them down again.

He waked towards Ray and then slid down next to him, close enough to let their shoulder brush against each other. Now that Michael slowly got used to the little light he had he could tell that Ray's face was sweating and pale with two red spots on his cheeks.

They had to get out of here soon because stress certainly didn't help Ray's condition, but first they had to play their cards right. The knife was good and helpful but they couldn't carve their way out of here with it.

"Gents are probably already on the way," Gavin said after a while as Ray leaned against his side. "I was meant to report back to Geoff every half hour so they know by now that things are fishy. They just need some time until they reach the base to check on our chips."

"And to get here," Michael reminded him. "I think we're somewhere in Fuckville or whatever."

And it was his fault. Shit!

If he could he would kick his own ass but that would have to wait until they got out of here. He couldn't believe he had been so easily taken down! Their kidnappers probably laughed about it!

Well congratulations, they managed to snatch three kids, one of which belonged in bed. Great achievement, guys.

Grumbling, he continued to listen at the door but for a while nothing happened.

He kept an eye on the other two at all times and what a strange picture they made.

Gavin had started wearing expensive designer clothes a couple months ago and even after their hourlong drive he just looked a little rumpled. On the other hand Ray sat there in his pajamas with bunny prints that Geoff had gotten him and bare feet.

Not ideal when they had to flee.

But they got what they got and would have to work with it.

A noise from outside made him turn around and when he recognized steps he quickly retreated from the door.

"Someone's coming," he whispered and the other two also looked up.

The door opened a moment later and a man stepped inside. It was a bit funny how he checked them out, like they were any threat to him, but Michael could clearly see that the other was carrying a gun.

They could take it maybe, it would surely help after they lost their weapons, but they were just three kids and the guy was big and bulky. No, conflict wouldn't help them here.

The man closed the door behind him and then turned towards both Ray and Gavin who were still sitting on the floor together. Michael tensed and stepped closer but didn't yet interfere.

He had to keep calm, surely for now the guy would just threaten them some before letting them stew. Old torture school and all that.

The stranger crouched down in front of both of them and rummaged in his pockets until he held something out. Michael had to shift a little until he could make out the pills in the palm of his hand.

"You got a fever, right?" the man asked and Michael was a bit surprised how nice his voice sounded. It was deep but kind and reminded him a little of Jack. He hated the guy instinctively. "Take those, they will help."

Ray just stared at him, face unmoving and sarcastic as if he wanted to ask if he looked stupid enough to risk that but it fell short. His chest was rising and sinking too fast and Michael could see sweat run down his neck.

"Seriously, we need you three alive and nobody ca-"

Gavin's foot shot up and Michael heard the clack of the guy's teeth as Gavin kicked his jaw close. The pills flew from his hand and rained back down, rolling over the wooden floor.

The slap when the stranger back handed Gavin echoed through the little hut next and Michael saw how Gavin's head snapped around with the force before he crumpled to the floor.

"Hey!" Michael screamed and took a step, but Ray was already surging forward. He didn't have his hands and not even shoes to properly kick and so he just plunged his teeth into the stranger's arm.

The guy yowled and fisted Ray's dark hair to tear him off and throw him like a sack of potatoes.

He hit the ground heavily but Michael didn't wait to check on him, he pushed himself between this stranger and the other two immediately.

Now that the man stood he was way taller than Michael, he was nearly double his size and Michael had to crane his neck to look at him, but that didn't stop him.

"If you go anywhere near them," he hissed, "you'll have to deal with me!"

It probably wasn't much of a threat, Michael was twelve years old and a bundle full of anger, but that would hardly bring this guy down. He didn't think about that though because he could hear the soft groan coming from Ray and Ray was sick and should rest! He had until those guys came to interrupt them.

How dare they!

"Don't make me laugh, boy," the man scoffed and grasped his collar. It was easy for him to pick Michael up just like that, but even when he barely stood on his tiptoes, he kept eye contact because he meant it. Nothing would happen to his little brothers, not if he could help it!

Maybe some of that showed on his face because in the next moment he was shoved away and stumbled backwards. He bumped against something soft, probably Gavin, and his hands tried to move to catch himself but they were still bound. He fell hard on his ass and was ready to jump right back up again and fight but the stranger was already back at the door and left.

All three of them stayed quiet, watching and listening in case the guy was going to charge back in any second but the steps retreated and then they could only hear the wind in the trees around.

Finally Michael took a deep breath and looked around.

Ray was sitting up in the corner and looked more pissed off than hurt, Gavin was crawling from beneath Michael's legs and shook his head when he sat up as if to get clear again. There was an angry red handprint on his cheek.

"You guys okay?" Michael asked and when both of them nodded, he surged forward into Gavin's space.

"What the fuck, dude?" he snapped. "There was no need for that! We are supposed to stay levelheaded in situations like this!"

"Who knows what kind of pills those were," Gavin fought back.

"Neither of us would have taken those! We're not stupid!"

"Says the one who shouldn't even been there!" Gavin snapped, and Michael had to press his lips together in anger. Gavin was right after all, if he wouldn't have charged into the base like that, they probably wouldn't be in this situation, but that was no reason to do something so stupid!

But the longer he watched Gavin, the more he understood and he forced himself to calm down.

Gavin had those sharp eyes again and he was hunched into himself. There was something dangerous and waiting in him, like a spring, ready to charge.

He was fucking pissed off and Michael knew why.

Geoff had asked Gavin to look after Ray while he was away, but Gavin hadn't been able to protect him. His little brother was sick and now in danger, and Michael could understand the anger coursing through Gavin now.

So he left him to it and turned to Ray instead.

Ray had already crawled towards the boxes and was fishing the knife out from behind them. His hands were clammy and shaky, but he easily cut through the rope.

"Stop bickering," he told them as he went to free them as well. "Also nice kick, Gav."

"Was kinda hoping he'd bite off his tongue."

"Dude, you'd be the first to throw up if that happened," Michael told him, and Ray nodded thoughtfully.

"Even though it would have been fucking hilarious if a piece of tongue would just drop out of his mouth. Kinda like a bonbon or whate-"

Gavin gagged loudly and Michael couldn't help but snort. He pulled his hands free and rubbed his wrist as he looked around.

Now they were free which was great, but they still had to get out of here.

"Any ideas?"

"I got the knife, my part is done," Gavin said simply and also got up. He looked stupid with the handprint.

"I bring the jokes," Ray said wisely, and Michael rolled his eyes.

"Then check on the boxes," he ordered but grasped Ray's arm when he tried to move past him.

The younger looked a bit surprised but didn't squirm when Michael checked him over, not even when he leaned ahead to press his forehead against his.

Fuck, Ray really did have a fever.

"Take it slow," he told him before letting him go.

Ray nodded and then sat down next to Gavin and watched as he tried to tear the lid of the box away.

What if there was nothing in there? Or at least nothing they could use?

Well, they had to think of something new then.

He went around the hut, feeling the walls. Rough wood, old wood, probably dark and grey from rain and the forest around.

How cool would it be if he could just kick right through this?

He took a step back to wind up but didn't really know what he expected. When his boot actually went right through the wood, he spluttered in surprise and had to hold onto the wall to not stumble and twist his leg.

"Holy shit," Gavin mumbled in awe, and okay, maybe that had been worth it. Only that now he was fucking stuck.

"Fuck," he mumbled and try to pull his leg from the hole he'd created, but it was hard while trying to keep his balance.

"Be careful," Ray told him as if he didn't know that, but he still needed Gavin's help to get his leg free again.

All three of them dropped to their knees to peek through the hole and nearly bumped heads, but yeah, sure enough they could look outside.

"That's so cool," Ray mumbled, and his hair brushed against Michael's chin. It was sleek with sweat and the boy was trembling a little.

"Step back," Michael ordered them and then went to work on the hole, tearing it open and kicking new ones in the old wood. It was working surprisingly good and he just hoped that whole thing wouldn't collapse on their heads.

When he was done, he crouched down again to look out and he could make out the forest a couple feet away. It was dark but not as dark outside and he could squeeze through the hole no problem. If he could, the other two could as well.

He was out of breath when he turned around and Gavin was looking straight at him in worry.

Ray had curled into his side, his eyes half closed while Gavin rubbed his arm.

"Come on," Michael told them and kicked some pieces of wood out of the shed. "Let's get out of here."

He crawled outside first and then helped Ray along, all while looking around. Nobody was screaming at them which probably meant they hadn’t been spotted yet.

Gavin also squeezed through and stood.

"Come on, bud," Michael mumbled as he pulled Ray up. The boy was shaky on his feet and it would help no one to let him walk on his own. The fact that Ray didn't even protest as Michael pulled him onto his back spoke volumes. The other really had to feel bad, and now that they were closer, Michael could hear his panting even louder.

They had to get him home!

"What now?" he asked as he looked around. Just as he figured, they were in the middle of fuck all, a forest stretching dark around the shed and the only light was flickering down the road. Probably a house where the kidnappers were hiding right now, planning to do whatever.

There was a dirt path leading there and maybe they could snatch the car and drive away... if they could drive that was. Fuck, Michael could barely reach the pedals.

So that was not a solution and sure, they could follow the path that would hopefully lead to some street, but that was what they'd expect, right?

"You think we could walk next to the path and stay hidden?"

"Don't know. But it felt like we were driving in circles up here. If we can just cut straight through the forest we will be faster."

"We'll get lost in five seconds when we enter..." Michael trailed off because he had turned around and found Gavin staring upwards in concentration. He also tilted his head and watched the stars above. Out here, away from the city there were a million and some more, brilliant against the black sky. Fuck, Michael was pretty sure he could see the milky way!

But that was good, they could use this to orientate themselves. People had done that for centuries, right? He just had no idea how to do it but then Gavin already pointed to their left.

"Pleiades," he said, and Michael had no idea what he meant with that, but that was Gavin's expertise and not his. "It should point us north or north east at least."

"And how do you know we have to go north?"

"I don't but we can at least make sure we're going in a straight line."

"Fine," Michael nodded. "Let's get away from here."

They jogged until they reached the edge of the forest and then stopped unsure. They could maybe see the first three rows of trees but everything after that was pitch black as if no light whatsoever could pierce it.

Going in there made everything in Michael hesitate and Ray also made a distressed noise. He shushed him down and knew he would have to make the first step, otherwise Gavin wouldn't follow and he quickly swallowed down his fear.

"Let's do this," he mumbled and stepped between the trees. Gavin shuffled next to him and if Michael didn't have his hands hooked beneath Ray's knees he would have gladly reached out to the other. At least Gavin thought the same because seconds later his hand curled around Michael's upper arm and squeezed.

The darkness swallowed them five steps later and Michael heard his own breath catch in his throat.

It was eerie, no, even worse, it was terrifying.

He couldn't hear anything besides Gavin's unsure steps and Ray's labored breath, his own pounding heart. It felt as if they were all alone in this world besides the creatures lurking in the shadows all around.

And fuck, he wouldn't even know they were there until it was too late because he couldn't see or hear them. It was as if they stepped right out of their world and into another.

They moved at a snail's pace. Gavin lead them, tugging him this direction and that. In the little light they got, he could see him look up here and there, searching for their waypoint.

Fuck, maybe they should have tried their luck in the shed! It couldn't take that much longer until one of their guardians showed up, right?

Something moved through his right, an animal hurrying through the undergrowth and Ray's arms tightened around his throat as if he wanted to choke him. Gavin's fingers dug into his arm, sure to leave marks and Michael just stared into the darkness, waiting for eyes to stare right back.

They didn't, of course not!

"Just a squirrel," he whispered and even that seemed to loud in the forest around. Ray buried his face in the crook of his neck, a feverish warm point of contact and that reminded Michael that they had to hurry.

"I don't think squirrels are acti-"

"Squirrel," Michael interrupted Gavin and nodded ahead. "Let's go before it steals your nuts."

"Michael!" At least there was some amusement now even if it was shaking.

The wind picked up soon after and only made it worse. The leaves above danced and twirled, making sounds as if the ocean was close, like distant waves. Or like huge fingers, brushing through the canopy above.

The one further down brushed against their arms and neck, and Michael could feel Ray jump more than once.

Licking his lips, he pushed on and briefly wondered if he should start talking. Just running his mouth because he could do that, he was fantastic at that, and surely he could make the other two laugh, but he didn't dare. Raising his voice against the darkness might just make it mad, might just alert whoever was out there of their position.

There was some splashing of water somewhere, most likely a tiny stream and not a bottomless pond. Not something they could slip in and never find out of, and Ray couldn't even swim, less of all in his condition!

No, surely just a puddle of some kind, barely enough to get their socks wet.

Still, when Gavin vanished from his side he wanted to scream. It got stuck in his throat and he froze solid, scared that he would drop into a pond or down a steep hill, cracking his and Ray's skulls. Scared that whatever was out there would also snatch him up and pull him into an even deeper darkness before he even knew it.

He just stood there and felt the scratches on his arm where Gavin had tried to hold onto and heard his own heart pound. Fuck, he could feel Ray's heart pound against his back and neither of them made a sound, tried to stay hidden right where they were as if whatever was out there to hunt during this time would have any problem seeing them.

Then he heard a little groan, not all too far away and he turned there.

"Gav?" Ray asked and Michael nearly had a heart attack by how sudden his voice was. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." came it back but Gavin's voice was shaking. There was some shuffling and Michael figured the other was picking himself up. "I just slipped. I think I found the path again."

Michael reached out with his foot, carefully testing the ground and sure enough there was a slope down. When Gavin's hand brushed against his side, he jumped and nearly tumbled down.

"Let me help you," Gavin offered and Michael took a deep breath before taking his offered hand. He had to let go of Ray but Ray just clung tighter to him, not budging in the slightest while Michael slowly climbed down.

Gavin was plastered to his side a second later and that was pretty fine with him. The leaves swooshed above them but there were no trees close to them and the ground was pretty even. Maybe this really was the path they had taken in the car, and Michael was ready to just follow it.

Fuck this forest, maybe he didn't know exactly which direction they should follow and not end back by the shed, but it was better than the stupid forest again!

"Michael," Ray whispered into his ear and he turned around just in time to see light coming through the trees. Could be the headlights of a car or flashlights or whatever but surely someone looking for them.

Shit, didn't take them long.

He took a tighter hold on Ray and ran. Gavin was desperately holding on to him at least until Ray grasped his hand and pulled him along like that. That was good, they were cutting straight through the forest now and they couldn't lose each other.

He wasn't even sure if they were running into the right direction anymore or not and the water got louder, somewhere to his left. It was one of the few things he could hear besides their pounding steps and harsh breaths. He wanted to turn around, check if someone was following them, but he didn't dare, too scared of what he might see.

A sudden light appeared in front of them, blinding him and in the next second he hit the ground. Ray held onto him for dear life and Gavin stumble but stayed on his feet, blinking against the brightness.

At first Michael couldn't see a thing, just shielded his eyes against the light and tried to catch his breath. Then there was Gavin, his nice clothes dirty with mud and two leaves sticking in his hair.

When he saw the skull in between the trees he was sure his heart was going to stop right then and there.

He would have nightmares for years about that, he was sure of it, and Ray also buried his face into his shoulder to hide away.

Gavin just made a happy noise and ran at the figure, arms outstretched.

Ryan.

Oh God, it was Ryan, and Michael had never hated that fucking mask more than in that moment. Still he got to his feet and crashed into the other, wrapping his arms around him.

Ryan made a noise of surprise and nearly fell backwards from the force of it because now Ray also clung to him and Gavin hung from his neck like a baby monkey, but neither of them dared to let go.

"I found them."

[thekittyviking]

So in GTA V let’s play breakdown I noticed that Gavin had a pink gun and that got me thinking about Ray since ‘thing’ was his pink sniper rifle and his pink weapons. That got me thinking.What if ray just left in the middle of the night and all that was left was his pink weapons? So here is the kinda aftermath of that thought. It kinda didnt even follow the point i was making but ya know. Enjoy!

“Ray?” Ryan asked while knocking on the other’s door. Silence. Ryan opened the door and was met with a surprisingly made bed with Ray’s hot pink weapons scattered on it and a note. Ryan gingerly walked in and picked up the note.

Ryan, I know you will probably find this and I know you will be mad but I can’t live like this anymore. I’m sorry. I won’t be needing these anymore so I hope you put them to good use.

Ray

Ryan was shell shocked. Ray was gone. Ray left.

Ryan was pulled out of his own head by a knock. Jack was leaning against the door, her hair in a small bun.

“Where’s Ray?” The words felt like ice in his blood. He felt tears run down his cheeks as he stayed standing, mouth open. He felt the note get pulled from his hands and a gasp fill the air. He heard Jack run out of the room and knocking on people’s doors. He heard Geoff scream in disbelief. He heard Michael’s hand collide with the wall. He heard the sounds of pain fill the penthouse as the news spread

~~~~~

Each crew member took a weapon. Gavin with the special carbine. Ryan with the sniper rifle. Geoff with the pistol. Jack with the assault shotgun. Michael with the rocket launcher. It was an unspoken rule that they rarely used the weapons. They almost refused to speak about Ray. Media and news obviously noticed the disappearance of Ray. Whenever any news anchor or reporter talked about him, they were found dead a day later.

They all knew it was eating them up inside but they refuse to talk about it. They all heard each other cry in the night. They all knew the bags under each others’ eyes. They didnt blink when someone would leave with a pink weapon and a slam of a door. 

~~~~~

It was only 2 years later when they all fully recovered. When they could pull out a hot pink gun and not feel anger. When they could talk about Ray and his weed addicition.  When they could look at the pictures in their phone from years ago and smile. 

It was also 2 years later when Ryan saw Ray again. It was after a huge heist and the crew retreated to their individual safe homes. Ryan’s was in the middle of Austin, Texas for the sake that he knew that no one would could possibly track him here. He and Ray used to go here after big heists like this. He didn’t know why but Ray always liked Austin. He said it felt like home to him.  He showered the blood off and was going out to get food after 20 hours on a motorcyle. 

He stepped into H-E-B, a frozen pizza and ice cream the only thing on his sleep exhausted mind. He grabbed one of the baskets and made a beeline to the frozen section. He opened one of the freezer doors when he heard a  familiar laugh. A laugh that he has recordings of on his phone. A laugh that he used to cry over. 

Ryan looked over to see Ray and a girl laughing over a sausage, both wearing matching purple hoodies. The girl was shorter than Ray and had longish brown hair. She looked at Ray like she was head over heels inlove with him. By their side was a Shibe sporting a red harness wrapping over its torso. 

Ryan fiddled with his phone as he quickly took a picture of them as Ray and the girl kissed. He put his phone away and smiled at them. He was glad that Ray had a life that the crew only dreamed about. A family. 

He was about to approach them when Ray looked over at Ryan. Ray jaw dropped and turned to his girlfriend. Ryan watched as he said something to her before walking over to Ryan. They stared at each other before Ray engulfed him into a hug. 

“I’m sorry.” Ryan heard the younger whisper into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around him. Ryan laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t be. It makes sense now.” Ray pulled away and shook his head, wiping away a tear. 

“No. I shouldn’t have left like that. I should have to talked to you guys. You guys-”

“-would have stopped you. You have the life that we dream of. A girlfriend and a dog living peacefully in fucking Texas.” Ray smiled and nodded his head. Ryan looked over to see Ray’s girlfriend giving the shibe kisses. “So who’s she? Does she know?” 

Ray looked behind him and smiled. “That’s Tina. And yeah she knows. When we used to come here, I used to go out with her. I met her online a while ago and we talked a lot. She understood about everything. She was the first person outside of the crew who didn’t judge me for the shit I done. She helped me. I couldn’t thank her enough. She made me start streaming. The shit I used to do back when we had free time in between heists and I wasn’t high. Soon I was making an audience and she offered for me to leave and I took it.” Ray sighed and looked down before looking back up at Ryan. “Do you want to meet her? She probably want to learn about one of people who i’ve talked her ear off about.” 

Ryan smiled and nodded. “But first, can we take a picture together? i’m sure Geoff would love to see that you are alive and happy.” Ray nodded. Ryanpulled out his phone and took a picture of them. He sent it to the Crew group chat along with the picture of Tina and Ray kissing and a text saying 

He is okay He is happy Ill tell you more when I get back

“Now about this streaming thing, how do you join?” Ryan asked, putting his phone away and walking to Tina. 

~~~~~~

“5 dollars from SortaMaliciousGaming. Ryan, I didn’t know you were here. How are you doing?” Ray spoke as he bashed in a zombie’s skull in. He waited a few seconds before looking at the chat. 

SortaMaliciousGaming: good Jackie says hi :p 

Ray chuckled and smiled. “Tell her that I miss her and that she needs to come over sometime soon. Everyone does.”

[redheadedcashew]

We Slip Away. (1/?)

Graduation was fast approaching and a few acceptance letters were currently lining the family dinning table. Amanda turned over slightly and stared at the digital clock on the bedside table and sighed, summer couldn’t come quick enough, she was done with the endless hours studying until it felt like her eyes were going to pop out. Kicking the blanket off she finally put her legs over the side of her bed and rubbed her eyes before slipping her glasses on and grabbing her phone, a text waiting for her.

“Ryan and Tom have practice, I’ll pick you up.” She sent Sarah back a quick reply saying she’d be ready in about half an hour. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a random t-shirt form her bedroom floor that passed the sniff test, she covered herself in some deodorant and grabbed her bag before heading downstairs. “Ma! We got any bread left?” she was hopping into her Vans when her mother flicked her with a tea towel, “did I raise you as a heathen!” Katherine’s Irish accent was still thick as ever and as much as she tried, her Catholic ways had never taken hold of her daughter. “Sorry Ma,” “And yes, we do have bread, already made you some toast. Grab it quickly, Sarah just pulled up.” A small beep sounded and Amanda kissed her ma’s cheek before putting the toast in her mouth, grabbing her bag and running out the door.

“You look like shit,” Sarah greeted her, reversing out of the driveway. “I know, had fucking nightmares of acceptance letter’s strangling me.” Her best friend laughed, “you decided yet?” “Nope. Ma is pushing me to go to Queen’s University Belfast, I had no idea she’d put an application in. She reckons it’d be a great experience for me and we have a shit tonne of family there.” “Ireland?! What’s ya dad say?” Amanda shrugged, “da ain’t dumb enough to argue with her. He just said it gives them an excuse to go home more often.”

As they pulled in to the school car park, she looked at Sarah, “so, where you off to? You said you’d tell me today.” She waited for Sarah to look at her and she tilted her head to the side as it all clicked into place, “holy shit, London Film School sent you the massive envelope didn’t they?!” Her grin ended up matching Sarah’s, “dude! That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!” “I gotta tell Ryan and I think I wanna go there single…” She nodded, following her friends thought process, “makes sense, he wants to stay close to home, you wanna explore the world. Besides, isn’t this when we’re supposed to have all these amazing experiences?” “Wow, way to support my relationship possibly ending.” “Hey, you know I don’t think high school sweethearts is a thing, you’re 18 for fucks sake, this one of many love’s you’re going to have.”

Lunchtime rolled around quickly and Amanda was the first one to reach the table they all sat at. She had a book open and was zoning out to the noise around her when someone dropped down beside her, “sup nerd?” shoving her right elbow out, she connected with ribs, “not much, faggot.” She looked to her right and smiled at Tom who was pretending her elbow had actually hurt him, “do not be damaging these goods!” “Well I guess it’s lucky you’ve already passed your medical then isn’t it?” Tom had already has his enlistment interview, he was shipping off to basic the Monday after graduation. “This is true, you coming to the grad party at Ryan’s, be the last time we’re all together for awhile.” She shrugged, “thinking about it, but frankly, getting plastered with the football team and its fan club isn’t very appealing.” His hand tapped her thigh as he chuckled, “you say that, but you always end up enjoying the parties. I mean, the last one we found you curled up in Jeremy’s cupboard. Moments later they were joined by Sarah and Ryan who were laughing about something she missed because he attention fell to the hand still resting on her thigh.

The fuck?

This was weird, because Tom was not the touchy feely kind of guy. Every girl he’d ever hooked up with learnt real quick that he wasn’t going to be holding your hand and carrying your bag down the hallway. Shit, usually he only had a quick fling with a cheerleader before he was bored. Choosing to ignore this odd behaviour, she tuned back into the conversation as Ryan directed a question at her, “oh um ma’s pushing me to Belfast,” the grip on her leg got slightly tighter, “you’re kidding?” Ryan asked, his arm around Sarah’s shoulders as she ate. “Yeah she thinks it’ll be good for me to live there for awhile. I haven’t decided, got a bit of time still.”

---

The days suddenly flew by and suddenly the four of them were getting into their graduation gowns. Their parents were all waiting to take photos and the four of them posed together, separately before the boys ran off to join the football team for whatever they had to do. “Jesus, it’s finally here.” Amanda nodded at Sarah, “you talk to Ryan?” Sarah nodded, “yeah, it fucking sucked, but he’s being an adult about it, we gonna part ways when I leave, both not ready to say goodbye just yet.” “Good on ya, and you never know, you may end up crossing paths again down the track.”

The two of them began to move towards where they needed to line up Amanda made a passing comment that had Sarah stop dead in her tracks, “excuse me? The fuck did you just say?” Amanda raised her eyebrow, “I said I’m going to get laid before I go to uni.” “Well that came outta no where, who is the lucky man? I mean I gave it up to Ryan because he was hot and he ain’t gonna get better than me.” The two to of them smirked, both knowing Sarah also had major feels for Ryan so that had helped her decision process. “Not so much lucky but I figured Tom would correct the situation for me.” “Tom? As in Tom? Man whore Tom?” Amanda nodded, “least it wont be shit and there’s no chance of feelings cause he’s leaving.” “Jesus Christ girl… does he even know?” “Not yet. But I doubt he’ll say no.” “I mean you could’ve picked worse, he’s easy on the eyes that’s for sure… don’t tell Ryan I said that.” Amanda laughed, “secrets safe with me.” “Oh this is so exciting! My little girl is growing up finally!”

Later that night Amanda was standing in front of her wardrobe looking at all the clothes in front of her, Marilyn Manson playing loudly in the background. Tom had agreed to pick her up to make sure she actually went to the party but he was still clueless to her plans. She knew Sarah would’ve clued Ryan in which would possibly work in her favour, Ryan was all about helping other’s get a bit of somethin’ somethin’. “Fuck it” she muttered pulling out a band t-shirt, jean shorts and her doc martens, she wasn’t going to try and impress these people now and Tom had seen her looking much worse and he’d fucked much, much worse. Her hair was a long, red mess but that was nothing new. She let out a long sigh before she took her glasses off and left them on her bedside table, they’d only end up broken by the time the party was over.

A car horn sounded and she looked outside her bedroom window, seeing Tom’s car in the driveway. Was that the time already? Shit, she really had to stop getting caught up in her head. She shoved her phone in her back pocket as well as her house key and headed downstairs calling goodbye to her parents but not stopping to receive the lecture her ma had prepared for this occasion. “Finally, thought you’d got fucking lost.” “Thought I’d make you wait, anticipation is key. Come on, I’m sure Ryan’s got something special for the occasion.”

---

Tom was standing out in Ryan’s backyard with a bunch of the other guys from the team with a beer in his hand. This was going to be the last time he partied with this crowd. The last time he got drunk at a fucking high school party and blown by a stupid cheerleader who most likely had no future beyond this fucking small town. In two days time he was getting on the bus to basic training, leaving this place and his colourful reputation behind him.

He turned as he felt a tap on his shoulder and followed his best mate away from the group of guys, “here,” Ryan passed him a freshly lit joint, “something special for tonight, be outta your system by the time you leave.” Excellent. “So, I was told to keep my mouth closed, but you know me, I’m a helper.” Tom raised his eyebrow in suspicion as he took a generous pull of the joint, “oh yeah?” Ryan nodded, “a little birdie told me that you may just get to pop a v-card tonight, you know, something you haven’t done in awhile.” Tom laughed, “the fuck you on about? Aint no virgins left in…” he didn’t get to finish his sentence as his brain ticked over all the girls he knew. “Fuck off mate, you’re full of shit.” Ryan laughed, before lighting up a cigarette, “I have a very, very reliable source my good friend.”

Tom looked towards the girl in question, who was leaning on the porch railing drinking a shitty beer and laughing at something Sarah had said. “Come on dude, we been friends for way too long.” “So?” Ryan countered, taking the joint from Tom for a moment before handing it back and putting the cigarette back to his lips, “no one wants to run off to college a virgin dude. And she’s very aware of your reputation.” Ryan couldn’t stop his laugh during the last part of his sentence. Tom pondered this information a moment and smirked, friend or not, he couldn’t deny that it’d nice to sleep with a red head before he left.

As the night worse on, the music got louder and the party got more intoxicated. No one would call the police though; this small town knew exactly what was going on. Tom spent his time almost stalking after Amanda, wanting to see if he could catch any kind of hint that Ryan had been right. There was no way to tell and she hadn’t come up to him at all, they hadn’t spoken since he’d picked her up. But a moment of opportunity presented itself when she separated from Sarah to sneak off to the bathroom upstairs and Ryan took Sarah off for some alone time. Tom followed into the bedroom and shut the door behind him, flicking the lock.

He leant against the bedroom door, arms crossed over his chest. He couldn’t control the sudden excitement he felt. He’d never really thought of her in a sexual sense, but the more he toyed with the idea, the more he was keen on it. The bathroom door opened and out she walked, jumping in surprise as she saw him. “Jesus you scared me, the fuck you follow me for?” He could tell she’d had a bit to drink, she swayed slightly and her eyes were heavier than usual, her hair more messy than usual from her running her hands through it.

He didn’t say anything, just pushed himself off the door and closed the gap between them. She blinked a few times, just watching him and he noticed the subtle change in her breathing as his hands grabbed her hips. “What-“ he used his lips to silence her, holding her steady as she almost lost her balance, her hands gripping his upper arms but she surprised him by kissing back, eagerly. He moved one hand up her back to the back of her neck where he could grip some of her hair keeping her to him. The kiss deepened and suddenly he felt hungry for her, all these unfamiliar feelings coursing through him. He heard her moan softly in her throat and his confidence shook slightly as his senses were filled with only her.

This hadn’t happened to him before.

Trying to remain the stud he was, he moved them back the few steps to the bed, smirking as she laughed as they landed on it but he quickly moved over her, their lips connecting again, her eagerness to kiss him was rising a need in him he couldn’t remember feeling before with someone, and he’d had a fair amount of experience. His head dropped to her shoulder as she undid his pants and her hand slipped into his boxers, a little shaky at first, “little tighter” he groaned as her hand wrapped around him and began moving. Had she done this before? Cause it felt fucking amazing.

His hand was up her shirt a second later, cupping her breast while he kissed her neck. Her hand came out of his boxers and then their hips were grinding together and Tom had to think of anything else to stop himself from finishing then and there. Unfortunately a loud banging on the door bought the two of them out of their heated moment. “Amanda! Your da is here!”  And just like that, the moment was lost and she was moving herself from underneath him, trying to straighten herself up, “fuck me,” she muttered, without a look back she left the room.

Tom fell onto the bed, facing the ceiling trying to will his boner away. He ran his hands over his face. The fuck was that about? He could smell her deodorant on him, he couldn’t shake her. He got off the bed adjusted himself and did his pants up before leaving the room, his hand running through his hair. As he got the bottom of the stairs, he ran into Ryan who had an expectant look on his face and a shit eating grin, Tom simply shook his head with a shrug before going in search of beer. This night was fucking strange.

---

Beware by Deftones was blaring through her stereo as she lay on her bed the next night; she hadn’t stopped thinking about what had almost happened. Every spare moment she was daydreaming about Tom’s hands all fucking over her. Her parents had been pissed off that she hadn’t been home by curfew and had dragged her away before she’d gotten to know if the rumours about Tom were true. They’d certainly felt true.  The hours ticked away until she sat bolt upright on her bed.

No. She had a plan and she was going to stick to the fucking plan!

She pulled on a clean t-shirt and a clean pair of grey trackies before slipping into a pair of vans. She jogged downstairs, “be back soon!” she yelled, again not waiting for a reply, knowing her parents would be distracted with some random movie playing on TV that night. She couldn’t tell if she was feeling something else towards Tom or if she just wanted to finally cross this off her list before she entered the adult world. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

Stopping outside of his family’s home she took a deep breath before walking up the steps. There were no cars in the driveway, just Tom’s parked on the lawn so she knocked but there was no answer. She could hear the faint thump of music so she just tried the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. That wouldn’t happen in her household. Shutting the door behind her she walked the path to Tom’s room where the music was coming from. The door had been left open slightly and she could see Tom sitting on the side of his bed, shirt off looking at something she couldn’t see.

Taking a step forward she went to push open the door but another person appearing stopped her dead in her tracks. Amy fucking Smith was suddenly straddling Tom’s lap in all her naked glory. Amanda tore her eyes away from the scene unfolding and tried to quietly exit the house but as she got closer tot eh front door, she tripped and fell. “Fuck,” she cursed, getting up quickly and high tailing it outta there and running until she could no longer see his street.

What the fuck?! Why was there an ache in her chest? She didn’t like him in that way. It was just shock, yeah, just the shock of almost seeing him fuck somebody. She ran the rest of the way home, trying to burn away this odd feeling and when she threw open the front door her parents starred at her confused, their daughter never fucking ran, “I’m going to Belfast, give me the acceptance letter, I’m leaving!”

Unknown to her, Tom had seen her bolt from his house. Soon as he’d heard the bang in the hallway he’d moved Amy off him ready to hit an intruder but there was no mistaking the red hair running away from his house. For the first time in his young life, Tom cursed himself.

[bards-witcher]

So I finally managed to get some form of internet to deliver you part  7 of the Ohmtoonz fic. I’m really sorry how long this has taken but a mix of bad internet and a crazy workload has meant I haven’t done as much as I wanted.

This chapter is a bit longer and has quite a bit of dialogue which I’m going to apologize in advance for, it’s really not strong suit.

As always, hope you enjoy it :D 

First Part

Previous Part

He woke up to the sounds of arguing outside their door, he couldn’t be bothered to listen to who it was or what they were saying, instead content to snuggle closer to Lukes’ chest. His sleep that night had been broken, his body not used to sleeping at night or for such a long period of time. Luke had been there whenever he woke up though, soothing him with soft words and rubbing his back softly, pulling him ever tighter into his chest.

He felt Luke groan below him before the bedroom door opened and Jon came rushing in, tray in hand and disgruntled shouts sounding after him. The bed dipped next to him as Jon started to shake him gently, talking excitedly in his ear. He could only muster the energy to grunt which turned into a whine as he felt Luke move from under him.

He turned his head and squinted his eyes open as he saw Luke all but grab Jon by the ear and drag him out of the room before shutting and locking the door. It wasn’t long before he felt Luke get back into bed and pull him close.

“Sorry ‘bout him, he means well, he’s just missed you is all…we all have”. He felt Luke almost crush him into his chest as he spoke, his voice cracking over the last few words.

He leaned up on Lukes chest, barely making him out in the morning din of their room as he felt Luke cup his face, turning into it and kissing his palm as he simply enjoyed being held in the older mans arms. He doesn’t know how long they stayed like that before they were interrupted by his stomach rumbling.

Luke laughed before he leaned over him and when he lay back down he held a croissant in hand. He simply stared confusedly at the food now in Lukes’ hand, eliciting another chuckle from the older man. The sound causing a warm glow to grow in his chest.

“The guys made you breakfast, they were gonna wait until you were up but apparently Jon was chomping at the bit to see you”

He couldn’t help but giggle at that, quickly turning into a groan as Luke took a bite of the pastry.

“You’re getting crumbs everywhere” He tried to sound as disapproving as possible as he started to swipe the duvet, Luke simply taking another bite and replacing the crumbs he’d just removed.

“Don’t give a fuck” He reaffirmed that statement by taking another bite, adding to the growing pile of crumbs. “All I care about right now is you”

He couldn’t hide the blush that now covered his cheeks, instead choosing to lay back down over Lukes’ chest as the older man started rubbing his hand through his hair. He couldn’t help the small moan that left him at the fingers combing through his hair, too happy to be in his arms than to be embarrassed about it.

The next thing he knew the half-eaten pastry was shoved into his face, and he gingerly took it before muttering “’m not hungry”.

He felt Luke kiss his head before he heard the soft plea “Please. Just a couple bites? for me?”

He looked up and saw Luke smiling softly at him, whilst he didn’t feel like eating his body was telling him something different, given by the pang he felt in his stomach.

He took a small bite, chewing slowly as he took in the flavours, another kiss on the head from Luke was enough encouragement to take another bite and another until eventually he’d finished the pastry.

He got a whispered thank you before they readjusted so that they were lying back down on the bed, Luke was rubbing soothing circles into his back as he starting to feel the beginnings of sleep start to take over again.

He was almost asleep before he heard a quite knock on the door, turning his head to look at the door when Luke shouted for them to come in. Light poured into the room from the doorway, and he’s sure he could make out Anthony before that thought was quickly replaced by the small dog now practically mauling his face.

It took him a moment to fully realise the situation, barely holding the young dog back to get a look at him before the pup slipped through his hands and continued his assault.

“Tiny?”. He heard a couple of small grunts from the dog as he kept licking his face before moving his attack onto Luke.

“Not me you little shit, your daddys’ there” Ryan tried not to laugh at the older man holding the squirming dog away at arm’s length, deciding to free him and take the dog himself, holding him close.

“How? I-I saw G..I saw him…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, and clearly Luke didn’t want him too either.

“When you didn’t come back…” His heart broke to see how much pain Luke was in at that thought, he cuddled up closer to the older man to provide some sort of comfort. “… when nobody had heard a word from you we went to take him in. Anthony’s been looking after him, those two are thick as thieves most of the time. I know this is a lot for you to take in but when you’re ready, I’ll explain everything we know”

He let go of Tiny to hug Luke closer to him, just taking in everything that was essentially Luke for the first time in months.

“When they first took me, they tortured me for months. The pain was indescribable but bearable, and I was never going to give them what they wanted. But, the worst thing they did, the thing that almost broke me was when they killed Tiny. After months of getting nothing from me they decided to punish me, they tied me down and forced me to watch it…I begged and pleaded but they only laughed and they…”

Luke shushed him as he started to cry into his chest, Tiny who had taken to sniffing the breakfast tray seemed to sense his distress and came bounding over to start licking his face. All he could do was hug Tiny close to him as he let Luke comfort him.

“You’re okay now baby, both you and Tiny. I promise those fuckers are gonna pay for every last thing they did to you”

He only hummed in response, too overwhelmed to say anything as he simply enjoyed having Luke and Tiny in his arms, the two things he cared about most who had somehow returned to him after thinking he’d lost them.

They stayed like that long after his cheeks had dried of tears and his voice hoarse from crying before Luke shook him gently.

“C’mon lets get dressed, I know the guys are eager to see you and I think it’ll be good for you to see ‘em again. After you’ve caught up with ‘em we’ll explain everything, okay?”

He simply nodded against his chest before placing a kiss against Tinys’ head and then Lukes chest before getting up, Luke quickly following after him and wrapping his arms around him before placing a kiss on his temple. The older man then walked to the closet and pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a loose-fitting tee before handing them too him. He was surprised to recognize them as his own clothes and he looked up to see Luke blushing and looking somewhat sheepish.

“I kept all your stuff, even took your favourite stuff from the apartment before you blew it up, nice work by the way” He huffed a laugh as Luke continued, “Sorry if they smell a bit, I sorta slept with them a bit in the beginning, almost like you were here again. It’s a bit sappy really but I can get them washed if you want and find something else for you to wear?”

Ryan could see the embarrassment colouring Lukes face but could only feel his own cheeks heat up a little and his heart speed up in his chest. He walked up to Luke and wrapped his arms around him, Luke burying his face into his neck, trying not to giggle as the older mans beard tickled him a little.

He weaved his fingers through Lukes hair, scratching his scalp lightly, feeling that warm glow in his chest again as he felt Luke moan a little and bury himself even closer against him. They gave each other a final squeeze before separating, Luke reaching into the closet to pull his own clothes out. They made quick work of getting dressed, both blushing slightly as they cast quick appreciative glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

When they were dressed they wrapped an arm around each other’s waist and called to a now resting Tiny who quickly came bounding after them as they left the bedroom.

When they reached the living area they saw half the guys lounging around the TV playing what looked to be Mario Party whilst the rest were just milling around, through various stages of drinking their morning coffee. They slipped in as quietly as they could, Anthony being the first one to notice them, who quietly slipped his way across the room to give a quick hug to him.

“Thank you for looking after them Anthony”

Anthony pulled away, bright smile on his face. “We’re just glad to have you back man, anything you want I’m here for ya, but I won’t squeeze your weiner, I’ll leave that to Luke”

Both him and Luke turned bright red, Luke seemingly choking on nothing as Anthony burst into his loud infectious laugh, quickly followed by his own little giggles.

“Dammit Jiggles, that was the one thing I wanted” That only seemed to make the man laugh harder, their exchange having notified everyone else of their arrival and it wasn’t long before Jon was ambushing him for a hug again.

“For fucks sake Jon do you have no restraint” Although trying to sound angry, Ryan could still hear the fondness in Lukes’ voice. In all honesty he didn’t mind it too much, too happy that these people still wanted to be his friends after everything that happened.

“Shush up, you two are always frickin’ stuck together how else am I supposed to get a chance to hug him” Ryan only hugged him closer and by the laughs he heard he guessed that Jon also stuck his tongue out at Luke.

When they parted Jons place was quickly taken by Evan “Nice use of the explosive by the way, just wish I could’a been there to see it go off, by the time we got there the place was pretty burnt up already. Would’ve been able to see it if it wasn’t for this one taking forever to sort his hair out.”

He heard Jon give a shout of indignation at the remark, but he could tell Evan wasn’t really bothered by it.

After that he got a quick hug from the rest of the guys and a couple of questions about how he was doing before they invited him over to the couch to join them.

Led by Luke they made their way over, the guys giving them ample room on the couch but in his need to be with Luke he decided instead to sit on his lap. He blushed as a couple of the guys gave them wolf whistles, choosing instead to bury his head into Lukes neck as the older man pulled him closer against him.

He let himself be wrapped up by Luke as the other guys carried on with their game, only when they’d finished their current round did Luke ask them to pause it.

“I know there are some things we need to sort through, but I just want to take the time to go over everything now, so it’s done and out the way.” Luke then shook him gently until he lifted his head off of his chest to look at him. “What do you wanna know Ry?”

He lifted his hand to cup Lukes face, thumb rubbing his cheek as he smiled softly at him. “How are you here? I..I shot you…I saw..”

“It’s okay Ry.” Luke then took the hand cupping his cheek and kissed his palm. “We knew of G’s plan for a while, knew that I was your final mission and that he’d let you go when you killed me. We received intel from the inside about what was used on you, we spent ages trying to find a cure, but we couldn’t do anything...”

Ryan grabbed Lukes hand and held it tight in both of his, offering some comfort to the man in front of him.

“…We knew they had a date, most of the guys tried to talk me out of it, said to wait until they found something solid to help you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t go on letting G use you like that when I could’ve stopped it, so I went, and hoped that you were still in there to stop yourself, and you did. You barely scraped my scalp, but it was enough. We got the guys to take me back to base and from then on kept a tail on you whilst you were in the hospital.”

Luke then reached down his shirt and pulled out a bullet on a chain he was wearing as a necklace, giving it to Ryan to look at. Upon inspection he saw the Omega symbol he carved into the bottom, simply staring at it before he felt Luke clench his fist around his own hand and kissing it. The both leaned into each other, foreheads pressed against each other. It was then that Evan spoke up:

“We almost lost you at the hospital, Jon and I were away for a minute tops and when we came back you were gone, was a good thing Anthony was paying attention or…” Evan cleared his throat, and he could almost swear he saw tears brimming his eyes before Jon rubbed a comforting hand on his back. At first he couldn’t make sense of it but then the other memories of that day came crashing back.

“Wait, so in the car park..”

“Yeah that was us” Evan interjected, “just about got there in time to stop their guns”

“So those traps were yours? You were there? And you helped me?”

“Yeah, we wanted to bring you back then but there was too big a target on your back. We didn’t want to let Gs’ guys know we were helping you, it would’ve been safer for you and Luke this way, even if we didn’t agree with it”

Ryan noticed the quick glance Evan shot at Tyler and the tension in the room become so thick you could slice it with a knife.

“Wait, if you guys were trying to help me then why did I see Tyler and Lui that day aim a gun at me, and Scotty and Marcel chase me with a car?”

It was Tyler now that spoke “Like we said since you left the hospital we’ve been tailing you. I’ll admit you lost us for a while, you’re a slippery little bitch when you wanna be. We were just going to your spot under the bridge when Gs’ guys beat us too it, we only showed ourselves because a group of em were heading your way and you needed to get outta there.”

“So, you scared me off to get me away from Gs’ guys?”

Tyler huffed a laugh “Yeah, as for Marcel and Scotty, we were finally gonna bring you back to the base and tell you everything, just didn’t think you’d run off like that, or for G’s guys to be right on our asses.”

He could only nod as he processed the information, thinking of all that had happened over the last few weeks, before Tyler interjected again.

“For the record Ryan, I’m sorry” Ryan looked back towards Tyler who rubbed a hand down his face before looking back up at him and smiling slightly. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save you sooner..that we couldn’t help you sooner..”

“It’s okay Tyler, I’m here now and it’s thanks to you guys. There aren’t enough words to say how grateful I am for that”

He felt Luke kiss his temple and rub a hand against his back, he hummed at the touch, closing his eyes as he once again simply enjoyed having Luke with him.

He heard someone in the room cough and he opened his eyes to see the guys all looking at them, he was embarrassed to say that he’d forgotten they were there, too wrapped up in Luke and the moment to consider them. Needless to say, they both turned bright red as their friends cast them smirks and knowing looks across the room.

“I mean I know you guys were close, but I didn’t think you watched each other fuck”

He didn’t need to see who it was to recognise that voice, he’d been hearing it for the last few months after all. In a second he was off of Luke and sprinting towards the now scared looking figure standing in the doorway. He was moments before landing the first punch when Tyler grabbed his pulled back arm, trying to hold him back. He was about to use his other hand to punch the man in front of him when he felt Brian grab his other arm, the both of them forcibly holding him back as Luke went to stand between him and the intruder.

“Luke you don’t understand, he’s with G, we have to stop him” Even as he was speaking he was trying to get out of Tyler and Brian’s hold on him, even though he knew it was futile.

“He was just like you Ryan, he’s the only reason we knew about you in the first place. He’s on our side, trust us.”

He stopped his struggling as he stared between Luke and the younger man, who looked like nothing more than a terrified teenager. A part of him felt bad, he’d seen the boy around G and fulfilling his orders, but from the outside wouldn’t it appear that he was also working for G.

“Jon, Mark, can you take Squirrel somewhere else please”

They waited until the three of them left the room before he felt his arms being released.

Luke grabbed his shoulders, rubbing them slightly before sliding one of his hands up his neck to cup his cheek. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you but please just trust us on this. We found him on the street, he recognized Mark and asked him for help, we were sceptical at first, but he told us everything. Everything about what G was doing, what he’d done to him, what he was doing to you…Without him things probably would’ve been a lot different, I might actually be dead..Please, just give him a chance.”

He took a deep breath, looking deep into Lukes eyes as he evaluated the situation. He nodded, seeing Luke visibly let out the breath he was holding before pulling him in for a hug. He wrapped his own arms around the older man, putting his trust into the man he loved so much, after all he hadn’t led them astray yet.

“Alright ye lovebirds, it’s time to start thinkin’ of how we’re gonna beat this focker. Lui get the other guys, Mini get the snacks and we’ll meet back here in 5”

Everyone just stood and stared at Nogla, casting glances at the other guys in the room, unsure if they should follow what he said.

Luke pulled away from him and faced the guys in the room “Well you heard him, get to it”

Everyone then went into some sort of mad rush, most of them deserting the living area to do goodness knows what whilst he saw Mini raiding the cupboards and fridge. He’s sure he saw him pull down Brians’ secret snack stash and pull a few items out before tossing a wink his way and making his way to the couch.

Luke grabbing his hand pulled him out of watching his friend steal the rest of the gang’s snacks “C’mon Ry, let’s get this fucker”

He cast a small smile at Luke before squeezing his hand, allowing himself to be lead to the couch as they waited for the rest of their friends to join them.