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wardenparker · 8 months ago

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 8

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Teasing, flirting, nudity, bathing together, fingering, a smattering of dirty talk. Summary: This wedding night is special for more than just the happy couple. Notes: A little light smut for your Sunday! Thanks for sticking with us this long, but these two are finally starting to get to know each other. 🧡 As always, please remember that the gif choice at the top of the chapter is not meant to represent reader's physical appearance. In this case, it's for Cameron and Wiley!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Not even the nonstop amount of work you’ve been doing for the wedding can stop how much you’ve been thinking about Marcus since he left early on Thursday morning, and obviously Sydney isn’t going easy on you. The merciless, good hearted, happy-for-you teasing started the second you and Marcus came downstairs together the morning after the rehearsal dinner and has kept going through the texting and when you appeared for the actual wedding looking like you had paid a great deal of extra attention to your appearance for tonight. Not even to take away from the bride of course, but enough to look special for the occasion.

It had been so hard to not go back to your apartment after leaving the office yesterday. He had wanted to. So badly. To pick up the conversation and possibly do more than that kiss on the cheek he had thought about the entire time he was on the golf course and in the office. Now, getting ready for the wedding, he pays special attention getting ready so he can look his best for you.

The greenery that has been brought into the gardens, the subtle lighting accents, the clover-shaped place cards, and even the Kelly green silk shirt and matching heels that you picked out to wear with your most flattering suit are all festive for the St Patrick’s Day wedding. Each time you have checked on Joyce and her bridesmaids they have been jittery with excitement but doing well, and the florist was an astonishing ten minutes early to drop off the flowers, so everything is moving along perfectly.

By the time guests begin to arrive, the groom, ushers, groomsmen, and father of the bride are all in place. Considering the chaos this wedding was thrown into just two weeks ago? It might be the best organized night you’ve executed by yourself in years.

He has no problem not being in the wedding party anymore, however, Marcus escorts Joyce’s mother down the aisle to her seat with pride. The accents of his tuxedo had been the same color as the bridesmaids, but he had willingly given them up for her father, deciding on a classic grey accent to contrast for the vest, pocket square, and bow tie.

The only two things that save you from crying during the ceremony — which you always, always do — are how busy you are and how damn good Marcus looks. Through the ceremony and photos you catch glimpses and share smiles, but it takes until cocktail hour before you get a chance to sneak up in his side. “You know it’s bad manners to show up being more handsome than the groom.”

“Don’t think that I did that.” Marcus immediately warms from the inside out at just hearing your voice as he turns towards you. “And you look like you stepped out of a fashion shoot.” He compliments. “Upstaging the bride.”

“I would never.” Just hearing his voice in person instead of over the phone practically makes you giddy, but you demure. “Thank you, though. I will pass the compliment along to David, who is my fashion consultant.”

“Well, the linen suit is perfect with the vivid emerald green.” He smiles as he motions towards the reception. “It’s wonderful and they are beaming.” He smiles at the now family pictures being taken with Joyce’s parents and a large bouquet. While Michael’s parents hadn’t shown, they had sent a flower arrangement so it had made the couple hopeful that they would be accepting of things down the line.

“As long as they’re happy, that’s all that matters.” So far nothing has gone wrong, and you’re keeping your fingers crossed that it stays that way. Or at least, that when something finally does, it will be either small or insignificant enough that you can fix it without the couple even realizing.

“You have a gift.” Marcus praises softly. “Which do you prefer? Running the inn or planning? I’m assuming the day to day for the inn.”

“I do prefer the day to day of the inn,” you admit, looking around the garden filled with reception guests. “But I think I’ll be broken-hearted if I don’t get to help my siblings plan their weddings. I do like it.”

“I can see that.” He reaches out and slides a hand around your body, resting on where the tattoo sits in the small of your back. “You are wonderful and you’ve created a day they will never forget.”

“I won’t take an ounce of credit.” Looking up at him, though, you do smile. Just about as broadly as you can. “I will steal a dance from you later, though.”

“I think we can manage that.” He nods, smiling just as wide as you are. “Let me know when you are free.”

“I’ll come and find you when things are under control enough for me to slip away.” Not that you think it will take long, but there is always potential for things to happen. That’s why you have the radio in your ear, after all. A discreet Walkie talkie on your belt is hidden by your suit it makes you reachable by the whole staff working tonight. It gives you the luxury of stepping away to say hi to Marcus without worrying about a major disaster breaking out.

“Let me know if I can help.” He tells you, knowing that you would never ask, but he will offer anyway. “I can carry a case of champagne or something.”

“You’re a guest.” Never in a million years would you ask him to do any work when he’s attending an event in space you control, and you shake your head. “Relax. Enjoy. Eat and drink. Dance. I’ll come and find you later, handsome.”

He rolls his eyes and grins at you. “I knew that would be your answer, but my offer will stand.”

“Noted and appreciated.” You lean into his side for a brief hug before slipping away again, shooting a teasing wink his way from halfway across the garden as you go.

The garden lights are on. White mixed with green to match the theme of the wedding party and Marcus has danced with the bride and her mother by the time you come back to his side. More than a few glasses of champagne in, and relaxed with his bow tie untied now.

“Having fun?” You may have snuck over to the deejay to ask him to play a slow song, but no one needs to know that you planned it.

“Enjoying myself, but now…” he turns and gives you a slow smirk. “It’s even better since you are here.”

“Oh yeah?” That has you beaming at him as the next song starts.

“Yeah.” He hears the slow, sweet strains of the song and lifts a brow. “Are you here long enough to dance before you flit away, hummingbird?”

“I’m all yours.” It sounds a bit more like a pledge than the playful thing it had sounded like in your head, but that’s okay. You still mean it. “For at least a song or two.”

Humming happily, he holds out his hand for you, watching you with almost tender affection. “We seem to be good at this.”

“Those lessons that our parents insisted on have paid off.” Those lessons don’t dictate how well you fit in his arms, though, or the way you feel drawn into him like a magnet.

“It’s like they knew.” He chuckles.

“We can never tell them,” you snicker, leaning into him a little more as the song goes on, and resting your head comfortably on his shoulder. “We’re still their children, after all. Can’t let them know we think they were ever right.”

“Never.” He had already received a call from his parents after the photos of the State dinner were published, only a case of mild humble bragging allowed before they changed the subject.

“You’ve never told me if you have siblings or anything.” The thought occurs to you almost belatedly, as the world is hazy around the two of you and you like it that way.

“Only child.” He chuckles. “Although I am possibly the only case of single child syndrome in my extended family.” He tells you. “I have twenty-seven first cousins.”

Your head nearly snaps back, wide eyes and a laugh of shock making your face look comically surprised. “I’m gonna need flash cards, aren’t I?”

He laughs, making several others look towards you, curious as to the amusement. “No.” He promises. “Most of the time, we all wear name tags.” He grins. “My family has six sets of identical twins in mix. They decided to make it a family traditional to tag us so no pranks were played.”

“Criminey.” Even on a low huff, you shake your head in wonder. All his poor aunts! “So an only child but plenty of playmates, then?”

“Always.” He laughs. “Always felt like I lived in a zoo when family was around.”

"You must have had hellacious games of Hide and Seek." The huff is replaced with a giggle, imagining little Marcus with all those cousins and all the chaos they must have gotten into. "It sounds amazing."

He agrees with you. “It was a competition to see how long we could last.” He tells you. “Had to stay on the property though.”

“Big family house?” You guess, figuring that his grandparents must have at least had a little bit of land. That’s the image you have in your head of Texas, anyway.

“Ended up having like a family compound.” Marcus admits with a chuckle. “For the summers together.”

"That sounds like so much fun." As the first song bleeds into a second, you don't move an inch from his arms. There's nowhere you would rather be than right here. "My parents are both only children, so I have absolutely zero first cousins. That's how we all ended up with best friends that basically got adopted into the family."

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Marcus smiles at the image of your family adopting friends over the years, collecting them.

"Don't get me wrong, it's great." It's how you have kept Sydney in your life, and her sister, and your other best friend from college. It's how Alex and David got so close so young, and how Junie and Kiley became so close. "It's just different, that's all."

“I know.” Marcus would never put down your experience. “You might be overwhelmed by my family and think we are all insane.”

"Or I might have a blast." You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if he's really saying that he wants you to meet his family or just postulating that someday down the line it would happen. Probably the latter. "We'll find out when we're ready."

“I’m going home at the beginning of April.” He informs you, wondering if it’s too fast. “You could always come with me.”

From intrigued to bewildered at the drop of a hat, your face morphs into something soft and your head tilts in a gentle awe. "And I thought I was always the one running headlong into relationships with my heart out there on my sleeve," you murmur, realizing that Marcus must be very much the same way. "I—I would absolutely love to."

You don’t have to come of course, but he thinks you really mean that you would want to. “No pressure, of course.” He adds. “We don’t have to be press official or anything. My family is tight-knit, they wouldn’t breathe a word.”

“There is already speculation,” you admit, though you have to shrug about it so it doesn’t upset you that people are speculating about your life at all. “We…didn’t do a great job of not looking enamored with each other at the State dinner.”

“I understand that.” Marcus has read the speculation and seen the photos. Both of you are photographed looking completely taken with the other. “However, when you decided to confirm is completely up to you.” He reminds you softly. “You owe no one anything before that. Not even as the First Princess.”

“It’s more important to me that you know I want to be with you. And that we tell our families when we’re ready. The nation can wait, it won’t kill them to not get gossip right away.” You bite your lip though, leaning into his side again as you dance. “My family is probably going to be very enthusiastic tomorrow.”

“You plan on telling them tomorrow?” He asks, slightly surprised that you would be so willing to say something so quickly. It’s not that he’s been viewed as undesirable, but often the women he dated were more cautious.

“The only thing that would stop me would be if you don’t want me to.” Otherwise, sharing this new step forward in your life with your family is just one more thing to celebrate.

“You’re my soulmate.” Marcus reminds you, smiling softly at the reminder himself. “I don’t mind telling a stranger on the street, let alone people you love.”

When Juan had told you what a romantic Marcus is, you had almost taken it with a grain of salt. A friend talking up his friend to the girl who likes him. But it hasn’t taken long at all for you to see the truth of it shining in Marcus’s eyes, or widening his smile. And a man who wants love is exactly what you have always hoped for. “I’m glad we agree,” you murmur, swallowing around the first time your heart has burst with those words. You’re not going to come out with that full-scale declaration before you’ve even gone out on your first few dates. Before you’ve even kissed.

He smiles even more, his fingers pressing into your hip and lower back, pulling you closer to his own body. It’s not possessive, more protective over you and the moment that is unfurling between you. “Just let me know if I come on too strong.” He asks, knowing that it could annoy some and he doesn’t want to do that to you.

“That’s…usually the warning I have to give.” The striking similarities between the two of you aren’t lost. The way your wishes and dreams and treatment of your partners all lines up…it makes sense why they always say that your soulmate is your ideal fit. Especially in this moment, as your arms tighten around each other and the world seems to stop around you.

He chuckles softly, leaning in and pressing his lips to the edge of your hair. “You will never have to worry about that with me.” He promises.

The way your heart stops completely for a moment at the bare touch of lips to skin before starting back up at double the speed is so telling, and so overwhelming that your fingers dig into his jacket to keep him close. “You don’t have to worry either.”

The moment is perfect and it’s one of those moments that a first kiss is almost required. Like it’s the Hallmark movie it feels like. Marcus stares into your eyes and his gaze flickers down to your lips for a moment before there’s a snort beside him.

“You two look like the newlyweds.” Joyce teases, a broad grin on her face as she leans into the arms of her new husband.

Thwarted for the second time in as many days, you swallow the disappointment but have to appreciate the irony of who’s pointing it out. “That’s your job, today, I think.”

“No way we would want to upstage the happy couple.” Marcus adds, sending them a smile.

“No reason it can’t be a happy day for more than just us,” she hums, grinning again when they turn away to keep dancing.

Marcus laughs quietly as he continues to dance with you. “I think they suspect something.” He teases softly.

“Like I said,” you laugh quietly, beaming at him impossibly brighter. “We’re not very good at hiding it.”

“No, we aren’t.” He agrees, deciding that now is the perfect time to dip you like he had during the State dinner.

The same joyful shout of laughter bubbles out of you that had then, drawing some attention again but this time you revel in it. Marcus’s soothing presence is there to let you enjoy yourself without fear, so that when you wrap your arms around his neck again on the upswing — this time there is no hesitation in following your natural impulse. Your lips find his like you’re coming home again, in a kiss as sweet and bright as the rest of this moment.

He expected the kiss, had anticipated kissing you so it’s a shock to have you initiating the kiss. Eyes widening for a split second before he closes his eyes and leans you down even more. The brilliancy of having him lean into the moment is wonderful, and you suddenly don’t know if your head is swimming from being dipped or from him. Not that you care. Not that any of it matters. Because the electric spark of it is so brilliant you could sing.

Marcus has kissed women, lots of them. Some of them women he had loved, but nothing compares to this kiss. He had always heard that soulmate intimacy is beyond description and that is exactly what this is, indescribable.

The buzzing seems to start at the top of your head and go all the way down to your toes, making you hum against his lips when you finally have to pull away. Can’t be making out in the dance floor. That will definitely be noticed. Marcus slowly pulls you upright, his lips tingling and his heart feeling like it is soaring through the clouds.

“I wanted to do that so badly at the State dinner,” you whisper, beaming at him and glowing in the moment. He knows that. You told him already. But you’re too lightheaded to care about repeating yourself.

“I did too.” Marcus confesses just as softly. It’s impossibly amazing to have someone that feels the same way and he absorbs it like it’s oxygen to breathe.

There’s a giggle in your throat, but it’s small and feels like a hiccup, making you grin even more. “But that was better than I imagined.”

“Same.” He looks around the dance floor, aware that you weren’t at a soulmate wedding before he leans in to whisper in your ear. “I had never thought touching my soulmate would be so exciting and soothing all at the same time.”

“No exciting touches while I’m working,” you chide, knowing it isn’t what he meant but unable to resist teasing him.

He snorts quietly and arches a brow mischievously. “And if I do?”

He is a tease, and he said as much to you with pride, so you just quirk a smile up in the corner of your mouth and stroke one thumb along the line of his neck. “Then you’re not staying on the couch this time.”

“Am I staying?” He asks softly, not wanting to presume anything and he grins at your huff.

“Only if you want to.” You have no intention of pressuring him, but if he wants to spend the night you will welcome him with open arms.

“I don’t think that’s a question in my mind.” He chuckles. “I just don’t want you to think that I only want to take you to bed.”

“If I thought that, you wouldn’t be invited.” Enough years of second guessing and wondering have made an impact on you that way, and you certainly aren’t going to entertain any kind of advances from someone who isn’t interested in you for the right reasons. Not anymore.

“That’s good.” He admires your spirit and self-assurance. They are traits that he always likes in a woman and he’s happy to find that his soulmate is aligned the same way. Reaching up, he smirks slightly as he touches an earring. “So what time do you get off work, beautiful?”

"As soon as the reception's over." Subtly turning your wrist on his shoulder, you check the time and press a kiss to his cheek when your heart flutters at the end of the song that had been playing. "Just a couple more hours, handsome. I hope you're one of those G-men who keeps a change of clothes in their car."

“I do.” He nods, butterflies swirling in his stomach like he’s untried all over again, even though his virginity is long past gone. “The other night was an odd thing because of just coming back.”

"I'll let my temporary roommate know you're coming up." That's not exactly the kind of thing you can spring on Agent Bailey, even if she is at the end of her shift. Her shift relief will need to know there's someone spending the night so they don't hear noises and burst into your room.

“If it’s not convenient, we can always plan something out.” Marcus immediately assures you. He knows that it has to be a little stifling at times with the agent there and he doesn’t want you to stress if there’s some reason he can’t stay.

"I just don't want an agent interrupting us," you assure him quickly. "That's all. I want you to stay."

Marcus grins. “Afraid of a shift change and the agent thinking you’re being attacked?” He jokes.

"Stranger things have happened." Unfortunately, the ear piece you're wearing to stay connected to your team crackles to life with the voices of servers get ready for the cake cutting. "That's my cue," you hum, tapping your earpiece with a slight frown. "Save me one more dance later, okay?"

“Absolutely.” Marcus lets go of you reluctantly, although he knows you are still working to make the night magical for his friends.

The wedding is as close to perfect as any event that you've organized in possibly your entire career. By the time the last guests are trickling out of the garden and the wait staff is bringing in the last trays of glasses to be washed, your work is fairly well done for the night. The overnight manager can oversee the rest of the cleanup, and you've already sent Sydney home to her comfy bed after freaking out with her over the fact that Marcus has agreed to stay over tonight. Joyce and Michael left straight for the airport to be off on their honeymoon after many, many hugs. Agent Bailey looks positively relaxed compared to some other events you've held at the inn, but you can tell she's ready for a cup of coffee and a crossword to wind down with before her relief arrives.

"Hey." You find Marcus on the porch when you step back outside, and your face splits on a big, beautiful smile.

“Hey.” Marcus turns to find you watching him, your jacket discarded somewhere and you look softer, a little worn. “I have to just give you a round of applause.” He hums, clapping silently. “You made this look so easy, even though there are a million balls up in the air at one time.”

"I'm exhausted," you admit without shame. After two weeks of basically working nonstop, you would feel like you're about to drop except that you have the promise of the rest of the night ahead of you. "Thank god I took the whole weekend off. We can sleep in tomorrow."

Marcus frowns, not liking that you’ve overworked yourself and he is immediately pulling you close and rubbing your back. “Why don’t we go upstairs and you let me take care of you?”

“Because that will require an entire reprogramming of my personality?” The attempt at a joke just makes him raise his eyebrows at you and deepens his frown, and you know instinctively you’re going to give in to him. You may not be good at letting other people be in charge of you ever, but the warm and fuzzy feelings you get from being the sole focus of Marcus’s attention outweighs it. “Okayyyyyy.”

At the almost petulant tone, Marcus smirks slightly. “Good.” He nods and pulls you closer. “You deserve to let someone do for you.” He whispers softly. “You’ve done so much for my friends tonight. Let me return the favor.”

There isn’t any use protesting, and you like the gentle security of his arms too much to leave them right now, so the two of you make your way to the elevator wrapped around each other as though there is nowhere else you could possibly be. “Did you have fun tonight?” Aside from Joyce and Michael — who had thanked you profusely before leaving for the night — his opinion of things is the only one you care about.

“Probably the best wedding I’ve ever been to.” Marcus isn’t just saying that. The staff milled around, wearing happy expressions that weren’t painted on, even when they were busy. The entire event flowed smoothly and the atmosphere was one of celebrated joy. A lot of that comes straight from the top, how you treat your staff and the environment you’ve created. “I’ll say it again, you are amazing.”

“You may have noticed by now that I’m not very good at taking compliments.” You up at him, though, warm cheeks and broad smile making you look bashful. “But…thank you.”

“Well, I plan on giving them to you often.” He admits, admiring your beautiful face. He’s always believed in giving compliments, but he never says something he doesn’t mean.

“Then I will try to be better.” Having only kissed him once so far, the tantalizing closeness of where he hangs his head as you step into the elevator together beckons you, but you resist if only out of manners. Agent Bailey doesn’t need to be made to feel awkward in such a small space.

He can tell that you want to kiss him, but he can also see how incredibly worn out you are. Marcus shifts slightly, moving behind you so he can let you lean against him. The small, nondescript duffel bag in his hand brushes your leg, and you smile gently at the idea of waking up beside him tomorrow morning. As tantalizing as taking him to bed is, it’s the soft, domestic dream of waking up to see his sleep-mussed face that has you weak in the knees. When the elevator stops upstairs, you pause to let Agent Bailey work and then go in when she gives you the signal.

“Are the threats bad enough she needs to check the apartment every time?” He asks softly, frowning at the idea that you would be in so much danger.

“Mom is slightly overprotective,” you explain, dropping your jacket on the coat rack by the door when you come in. “I give it another month of all-clears before she stops insisting the apartment be checked every single time.”

“She loves you.” It’s not hard to see why but he also doesn’t want to minimize its effect on you.

“Oh, I know.” Turning around again, you reach for him even though he isn’t far away. “And I love her. Which is why I’ve never fussed at her for anything reasonable she’s ever asked of me. Including letting my agent check my apartment before I go inside. If it eases her anxiety to know I’m safe, that’s fine. She’s got plenty else to deal with right now.”

“It’s probably because you live alone.” He murmurs, sliding his arms around you. “When I first moved away, my Mom called every night to make sure I locked my door. And I was not nearly as pretty as you are.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” His chin weighs on your shoulder and you cover his arms with your own, wrapping them around your own waist. “You’re much prettier than me. But you’re right that it’s about me living alone. When I lived with Syd she never worried out loud. But she also wasn’t president then.”

“Maybe we will have to get you a roommate.” Marcus isn’t pushing for anything, only teasing out loud. “And a really protective dog.”

“If you want a review of how I am to live with, Syd will tell you everything, I’m sure.” Though neither of you believes in pushing the other, it’s obvious that a fully functioning and committed relationship is on both of your minds. “And you know I’m dying to have a dog, we talked about that. I just can’t do it here. There’s nowhere near enough space.”

“There is if you build a cottage behind the inn.” Marcus suggests. “Gives you space for the family and keeps you close enough to your work to still pop in whenever you need.”

For a second you just stand stock still, shocked at the idea, before you slowly turn in his arms and look up into that sharply angled face with the gentlest eyes in the whole world. “I had never thought of that,” you admit, astonished now at your own lack of imagination.

“Maybe now you will.” He smiles, happy to have offered a suggestion that might be of use to you. “It’s a perfect compromise, and then you could turn your apartment into another suite for guests.”

“It’s a perfect compromise as long as it’s something my partner also likes the sound of.” Thinking of him as a partner — a long term one, the long-term partner of your life — sends that tingle out to all your extremities all over again and you find yourself smiling even brighter. “I guess we’ll have to think about what kind of cottage we would want, if that’s something we decide to do together.”

“Stone.” Marcus immediately says. “Designed to fit in. Perhaps an old carriage house design.”

The way he offers such unfettered support softens you, and you reach up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Have you thought about it before, or are you just brilliant with improvising ideas?”

“Haven’t thought about it before but I hate when I see a historic building and some addition that’s completely modern or doesn’t match the style.” He admits with a sheepish grin.

“Then I’ll just call you brilliant and you’ll have to live with being positively adored.” He blushes at that declaration, and you end up smiling all over again. “And it’s very Sabrina of you to think of living in a carriage house. Which makes it thematic, of course, and now we have to.”

“Now we have to, huh?” He chuckles quietly and leans in to press a kiss to your hair. “Then I guess we better start designing a carriage house worth of the First Princess.”

“I don’t care.” Even though you’re shaking your head, you’re transfixed, looking up into his eyes. It’s too soon for these things you’re feeling — too quick and too untried — but they’re so honest that they catch in your throat and bubble over. “As long as you’re there, too, I don’t care about anything else.”

It’s a loaded comment and it’s one that would have him searching your eyes to see if you are being truthful but he doesn’t have to. He feels that you are. “We will decide when the time comes.” He promises. “Where we live.”

“I’m just grateful you don’t think I’m crazy,” you admit softly. “For feeling so certain already.”

He snorts and pulls you close. “When I realized that you knew we had to be soulmates, there was another reaction that I needed space from you because of.” He admits. “Do you know what that was?”

“Not a clue.” Whatever it was, he’s here with you now, so you aren’t afraid of it. “Tell me.”

“So I didn’t beg you to run away with me and get married.” He flushes slightly and bites his lip.

“Oh god…” The breath of disbelief that leaves you is as disbelieving as it is giddy. “I would’ve said yes and we would’ve been doing text message breakups from the car on our way to the nearest soulmate chapel.”

“And we are better than that.” Marcus agrees, “so it was a good thing that I left for London.”

“Long distance so that we were forced to not be impulsive.” In a very real way, he’s right. You would both have jumped headfirst into this and being on separate continents forced you to calm down. You do smirk, though, and hold him a little closer. “It didn’t stop us from bathing together, though.”

Your smirk is tantalizingly wicked and innocent, making him return it. “I was trying very hard to be good while we were on the phone together. To not think about you naked.”

"I admit," you aren't embarrassed or shy about it, though. "I was decidedly less well behaved..."

“Oh yeah?” He arches a brow curiously. “What— were you touching yourself while we were talking?”

"After." It's not something you expected to admit tonight, but you have no intention of keeping the truth from Marcus at all. "I...wasn't confident I could keep quiet if I actually did it during one of our conversations."

“So you are vocal.” He hums softly, starting to get an idea of what might be a perfect ending to the night for you.

"Maybe a little." It's definitely something you have to control to be considerate of the other person in your apartment at all times.

“That’s good.” He’s aware that Agent Bailey has disappeared around the corner, trying to give you the illusion of privacy. “I like vocal.”

Instantly, your eyes snap up to his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hums, pressing a little closer to you with a weighted smile. “Why don’t we run a bath? Soaking sounds like a good idea for you, doesn’t it?”

“Thank god my tub is big enough for two people,” you huff, immediately grabbing his hand and heading straight for your bathroom.

He hadn’t actually meant for him to soak, but it’s obvious that’s what you want. Allowing you to guide him into your bathroom, he looks around the room. He hadn’t really paid attention to the tub when he had spent the night or when he was here for the game night, so it was a charming surprise to see that the tub is big enough for two.

"Are you a bubbles or salts guy?" You have a whole shelf dedicated to bath things that you've actually started working through thanks to the frequent phone calls you shared while he was away. Before that, you barely made time to touch them.

“Either one.” He shrugs slightly. “Depends on the mood, but I’m thinking bubbles tonight. What about you?”

"Sweet Surrender or Heart of the Ocean?" The two yet-untouched bottles on the shelf have abstract names but smelled amazing in the store when you bought them, so you give him the choice. Either way, the light and airy scented candles in the room will add ambiance more than anything else.

“Sweet Surrender.” He likes the sound of it and shrugs off his tuxedo jacket to drape over the counter.

“Honey, almonds, and pomegranate,” you read from the bottle as you turn to plug up the tub and start the bath. These first moments of intimacy are so delicate, and even though you have both verbally confirmed your shared marks — this will be the first time you see them on each other.

“That sounds like the perfect scent to relax in.” He doesn’t glance up at you, slowly starting to undress in case you change your mind.

“Hey.” As soft as your voice is, your hand reaches out to touch his arm. He isn’t looking at you and you just want to be sure that he doesn’t feel pressured. “If you want to wait, we can wait as long as you need.”

“No.” He laughs at the irony of you voice his own thoughts. “But I also know you are tired. Why don’t we soak without any expectations?”

“No expectations is good.” You nod, appreciating the way he already looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “There are a lot of different kinds of intimacy.”

“My idea was to get you into a bath, maybe make you feel good, and wrap you up in my arms to sleep.” Marcus voices softly.

“Is that what you want to do?” He’s only undone two buttons on his shirt, and you rest one hand lightly on his chest to ground yourself in him and give him your full attention. You said it earlier in the night — you are both just out of relationships. If he wants to take things between you physically slow even if they are moving at emotional light speed, you’ll honor that and make sure he feels comfortable and safe.

“The romantic in me wants to wait for your birthday tomorrow night.” He admits, huffing at himself. “For sex. Not for making you cum.”

“Honey.” Your hand goes to your mouth instantly, stifling a witheringly heartfelt sigh, and you step into him immediately with a sort of lopsided smile settling into your features that tells him exactly how sweet you find that idea. “That is…quite possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And I adore you for wanting to make it special.”

“You don’t think it’s silly?” He’s been told he tries too hard or overthinks in relationships a lot and it’s something he’s worked on.

“No.” Shaking your head just once, you run your thumb over one of the buttons of his shirt and nearly sigh again. “I think it’s romantic. And it tells me you’re a thoughtful partner.”

“What do you want?” That is equally as important in this scenario as his own wistful flights of romantic fancy.

“I want to wake up with you tomorrow.” It might sound odd or even a little creepy to anyone else, but you’re confident that Marcus will understand. It’s not possessive or obsessive, it’s domestic and romantic in its own right. “Find out what you look like sleep mussed and bathed in sunlight all tangled in my sheets. Anything else that happens is a bonus.”

“Then let me take care of you tonight?” He asks softly, leaning in and kissing your forehead. “I can wait, and I want to make your weekend special.”

It’s impossibly romantic and probably the first time in your entire life that the man you’re romantically involved with isn’t clamoring to fuck you as quickly as humanly possible. Instead of making you feel less desirable, like it might have at earlier points in your life, it makes you feel special. Cared for. Like the fact that you have his focus means more than anything else ever could. “Okay,” you murmur, nodding once before you turn to shut off the hot water filling your bathtub. “If you prefer, there’s a little stool next to the sink. “You don’t have to get in with me unless you want to.”

“I don’t mind getting into the bath with you.” The idea of pressing his body against yours is incredibly erotic and sensual. “You can lean against me.”

“Okay.” Even as simple as a word is, the acknowledgement is important. Right now it’s just as important as the mounting hum of tension between you, and His your fingers prickly with the desire to continue undressing him. How you’re dying to press your bare skin to his, even if it doesn’t come with sex just yet.

He wonders if you are disappointed, if you are wanting him to just jump you and take you to bed. He wants to, but he wants to celebrate what is between you more.

"There's only..." Your hands go to your own buttons. Undressing yourself is not pressuring him, but just offering. Offering to deepen this connection and share this part of yourself. "Only one thing I want to ask...that's all. If it's okay with you?"

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He’s willing to whatever you want to make you happy. “What do you need to ask of me?”

It seems silly, all things considered, but when you bite your lip it feels like asking permission to smile. "I just want to see the marks we share. On both of us."

Marcus chuckles and nods, finishing the buttons on his shirt and he slips it off his shoulders. “The most obvious one first, I think.”

"I hope you don't hate it." His shirt lands on the stool you had offered him, and yours follows it.

“I don’t.” He promises, smiling at you. “Your explanation makes complete sense, now that I know that it’s you.” He tells you. “A Hummingbird for my little hummingbird.”

"And you know why I was never on Mate Marks now." It was something he had pointed out at the State dinner and you had felt awfully about the way he took it. Thinking that you never wanted to be found, when in fact it's the opposite that is true. It's just that it was considered unsafe for you. Now, though? Now that you have him right in front of you? You can turn around and show him your back and let him see the hummingbird for himself.

Your bra is still on, but he doesn’t mind that, watching as you slowly turn to let him see the tattoo on your lower back. The hummingbird that has marked his own skin, the exact same one. “Does it look different on someone else?” You ask, suddenly afraid to see his reaction.

Reaching out, his fingers brush over the skin, feeling the slight rise in it where the ink has been pushed underneath. His own is flat, not raised and it’s a wonderful little contrast between your tattoo and its counterpart on his own body. “It looks beautiful.” He murmurs softly.

"If I had been older than eighteen, I might have had it put somewhere else," you admit with a wry laugh. "But I don't care as long as it helped us find each other."

“It’s discreet.” He snorts, still tracing it. “If you want it to be.”

"I tend to tuck my shirts into my pants these days." His fingers are burning hot but not in an unpleasant way. More like the tension and promise of them is scorching your skin with eagerness. "Or just wear a longer top layer. No bikinis, ya know?"

“That’s why there aren’t pictures of it out there.” He huffs slightly, amused that if you had been photographed it would have been splashed in some kind expose or something.

"It doesn't matter anymore." Before, discretion had been something that was agreed upon. You didn't want someone claiming to be your soulmate falsely and your parents considered it a safety concern. But now that you have Marcus? Any claim would be an obvious lie and easily taken care of. "You're what matters."

Marcus turns so you can see the tattoo on his skin, verifying the same design to you. “You matter too, sweetheart.”

You never thought it would be such an emotional moment, but it’s only in the last few days that you realize how silly that assumption was. Of course this is emotional. This connection goes far, far beyond any that you’ve made otherwise. It is, just like the ink marking both of your bodies, under your skin. The tears are more than you were expecting, and you wipe one away on your thumb after a pause. “Holy shit,” you laugh after a second. “It’s real…”

He lights up at the giddy excitement in your voice. The yearning has him turning around and wiping away another with his own thumb as he caresses your cheek. “It’s real, sweetheart. We’re real.”

When he turns to you fully you can see the scar from your childhood surgery on his torso, the line of healed flesh where the doctor cut into you as clear as day on his otherwise smooth skin. “I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, tracing it with your fingers. “We were so young to have to carry this and know what it means…that we were always connected…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Marcus shakes his head, frowning at your apology. “I was worried about you.” He admits softly. “If I had known you, I would have been visiting you in the hospital.”

"I told you." A thin smile brightens your face, reminding him of what you said at the State dinner. "Appendicitis sucks."

“I will take your word for it.” He chuckles quietly and his fingers brush your scar. “Were you scared when it happened?”

"Terrified." You nod slightly, eyes transfixed on his fingers touching your skin. "I was six and I had never, ever felt that kind of pain before."

“Poor thing.” Kneeling down, he leans in and presses his lips to the scar.

You swallow hard as he reaches for the button on your pants, skin singing at every little bit of contact. It’s only a second before he pulls the zipper open that you frankly try to remember what panties you put on for today, but it doesn’t matter. Every stitch of clothing will be gone soon, and you’re okay with that. Losing the last barriers between the two of you is exactly what you want for this weekend.

He continues to kiss along the length of the scar, watching you looking down at him as he slowly opens your trousers. Finding it incredibly sexy that you are already breathless.

“Just had a mini panic,” you admit, raking your fingers through his short hair. “Can’t remember if I put on presentable panties today or not.”

He can’t help but laugh at the very normal fear. “I don’t care about what kind of panties you wear.” He promises with grin. “But I did wear my good boxer briefs.” He jokes. “Keep it all contained properly.”

“Can’t have you letting it all hang out.” When you laugh along with him, it comes out like a snort. “Very undignified.”

“Very.” He joins you in the laughing, his fingers running along the edge of your panties. “No erections allowed in wedding photos.”

“Fully permitted later in the night, though.” He’s still on his knees in front of you, and despite being nervous you reach behind yourself to unhook your bra. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s encouraged.”

“Well, of course it is now.” He huffs playfully, hooking his fingers into the band of your panties. The last scraps of fabric fall away, leaving you naked in front of him, and you shiver slightly without knowing if it’s the chilly bathroom or nerves that are doing it. Marcus debates, seriously debates, if he should just lean forward and bury his face into the pretty, neat little patch of hair. To use his tongue on you. When you shiver, he knows he needs to get you into the bath, so he stands quickly and unbuckles his belt.

You aren’t a virgin. You never claimed to be. At one-day-under-30, you’ve had your fair share of sexual and romantic partners, and not everyone in those two categories overlapped. Still, when Marcus pushes his boxer briefs and trousers away in one go, you inhale sharply at the first glimpse of his half-hard cock. If you hadn’t promised to let him take care of you, you might be reaching forward or dropping to your own knees — but you did. You promised. And you can barely hold back a smothered groan of regret at that fact because he’s stunning.

If it weren’t for the lusty, glazed look on your face, he might have thought something was wrong. As it is, his half hard cock twitches and hardens even more as he guides you towards the tub. “Get in, sweetheart.” He urges. “I’ll get us some towels.”

“The cupboard behind you.” They’re big, fluffy, soft things that you count as an indulgence, but they won’t be anywhere near as comfortable as having him in this bath with you. Still, you step into the hot, sudsy water without him, knowing he’ll follow in a minute.

Marcus grabs the towels and sets them close before striding back over to the tub. He’s not some Greek god, but he’s in good enough shape that there’s no reason to slump or hide as he walks towards you naked.

“Fuck.” Just one word groaned softly, but your eyes stay on him with every step. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Are you stealing my lines?” He teases, flashing you a grin as you sit in the sudsy water. “Because the only gorgeous thing I see is you.”

“We can both be gorgeous to each other,” you point out, still transfixed by him.

He had never really thought of it that way and shrugs slightly. “If you say so.” He bites his lip and watches you lean forward to give him room behind you.

The water is just a tiny bit high with both of you settled into the tub, but you don’t care. It’s not in danger of flooding the floors so you’ll just revel in being warm and comfortable with your soulmate for as long as the hot water holds out. You lean back against him, making him sigh softly in your ear and his arms come around you.

“Is this okay, hummingbird?” He murmurs quietly. “Can I touch you?”

“You know you can call me Birdie.” Settling back against him, you guide his hand around you and under the water to let him start exploring. “Hummingbird is my Secret Service call sign. Don’t wanna start accidentally moaning as a Pavlovian response whenever Agent Bailey says it.”

He chuckles quietly, a warm sound in your ear as he splays his hand over your stomach. “If you want me to.” He slowly starts to stroke your skin. “Hummingbird sounds a little more intimate, I thought.”

“Whatever you want, gorgeous.” The way he laughs and the way he touches you? You’d probably agree to anything right about now.

“Is that how I get my way?” He asks teasingly. “Get in a hot bath with you and I get what I want?” His hands, both of them, slide up to fill his hands with your tits and squeezes gently, enjoying the way your nipples harden against his palm.

“Apparently.” Sighing lets your body loosen even more in his arms and you rest heavily against his torso but your back arches to press your chest into his hands. “And ya know what? I’m okay with it.”

He laughs again, squeezes and then massaging the flesh before his thumbs brush over your nipples. “That’s right?” He asks. “You enjoying this? Feeling relaxed already?” Flicking your nipples again lightly before he cups your tits again.

“Mmmmm, it’s perfect,” you hum, letting your eyes slip shut to just enjoy the sensations.

“Good.” He’s slow to explore, letting the moment expand naturally and taking his time as he listens to your soft moans. Wanting to learn what makes you hum and purr like a kitten in his hands.

“Are you going to make a Goldilocks joke if I point out what big hands you have?” You ask, humming again when his large hand spans what feels like your entire thigh.

“The better to feel you with, my dear.” He growls into your ear playfully, squeezing your thigh slightly and massaging it gently.

The giggle you let out is low and deep, but cut off sharply by a gasp when his fingers ghost over your core. He hums, more of a raspy growl as he slides his fingers through the wet curls and into your folds. Groaning at the slickness that has nothing to do with the bath you are in.

“Fuck.” One syllable, repeated as many times as you want to tonight, and you drop your head back on his shoulder with a moan. “Feels so good and you’ve barely touched me.”

“That’s it, beautiful.” He coos softly. “Just relax, I’m gonna take care of you.” The water ripples as he slowly starts to caress your folds, rubbing and stroking the velvety skin as he listens to you moan again.

Pliant is an understatement as Marcus starts to explore, gauging your reactions and keeping his other hand busy with your tits now that he’s figured out how much you love having them played with. The itch in the back of your mind that you’re neglecting him is very real, but this is what he wants tonight and what he’s ready to share with you, so you’ll just make tomorrow twice as good for both of you when you can share the sensations.

He keeps the motion of his fingers slow, sensual as they dance over your sensitive clit. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“So good—” So good that your breath is coming short, shallow pants already and only occasionally punctuated by longer and deeper ones. It’s like he can read you as easily as a book. “So fucking good.”

He hums softly, keeping the pace up and his cock is throbbing against your lower back now that he is fully hard. He ignores it and squeezes your breast again before teasing the nipple. “That’s good, baby girl.”

Your hips tilt, searching for more pressure and trying to show him where to focus his attention, but Marcus is exploring. He’s learning. And as much as you love it, it’s making you twist and pant and rub against him in ways you’re sure are not helping the hard on pressed between you.

“Ohhhh my soulmate gets eager, hmmm?” He coos, chuckling at the way you are grinding against him. “What do you need sweetheart?”

"More." You aren't above begging and he's already professed to being a tease so you just bask in it when his husky voice is right by your ear. He doesn't mind that you're eager and you don't mind that he's a tease, which means there's going to be a whole lot of fun ahead of the two of you. "Please, baby? More?"

“I’ve got you.” He knows there is a fine balance between being a tease and tormenting someone. He turns his hand, his thumb pressing against your aching clit so he can push two fingers deep inside you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

"Oh fuck." The whine that comes out of you is something unrestrained and probably louder than you meant it to be, but it hardly matters when he's stretching you out on two thick fingers. Your hands scramble for purchase, one clutching his arm against you and the other holding on to the side of the tub as he begins to finger fuck you slowly but determinedly.

“Gotta stretch you out.” He croons in your ear, his breath washing over your skin. “Get your tight little pussy ready for me tomorrow.” He curls his fingers up and continues the slow circles on your clit.

"Knew those fingers would feel amazing inside me." And after thinking about it for about two weeks solid, you're thrilled to find out exactly how right you were.

“Been thinking about that a lot?” He asks, deciding your ear lobe needs to be nibbled on.

"So fucking much." Every time his fingers dive back inside your cunt you give another wanton moan. "Almost as much as I've been thinking about your cock."

“Now that you’ve seen it, what do you think?” He’s curious because he knows you wouldn’t lie to him, he knows enough women have enjoyed him to not be too self-conscious, but you are his soulmate. Hopefully you will be pleased with the body the universe chose for you to share.

“I think I my imagination didn’t do you justice.” If it weren’t for his fingers moving inside you, you’d be riding that cock, but you can’t find it in yourself to be disappointed when he’s so fucking good with his hands. Instead you twist around, chest having as you claim a demanding kiss.

He groans into your mouth, cock twitching against your back as your tongue slides into his mouth. You taking control of kiss is incredibly sexy to him, and he pumps his fingers into you faster.

If you were flexible enough to reach in between your bodies and wrap your hand around his hard on, you would have done it ages ago. The angle you’ve twisted into to kiss him almost makes it work, but still not quite. It leaves you whining into the kiss as your legs quake, feeling yourself move closer and closer to that peak that he has aimed you toward.

It’s not as slow as Marcus had wanted. Expecting to coax you into a languid, drawn-out orgasm that leaves you boneless, you are insistent. Not that he could deny you, the entire point is to take care of you how you need it. Kissing you back with just as much fervor as you give him as he pushes you towards that pleasurable cliff.

It probably would have been more like the slow, sensual climb he had intended if you weren’t so hungry for him. So addicted to the way he tastes after barely the smallest sample that you just want to drown in him. It’s passion, and the kind of attraction that makes you feel like you’ll go crazy if you can’t have him burrowing under your skin. In the moment your hazy, pleasure-centric mind is wrapped solely around how he helps and tastes better than perfection, and how you never want it to end.

The kiss tangles deeper, winding through to his soul and squeezing it tights. Grunting into your mouth gently as he feels like he is home.

The whine in your throat gets tighter as you near that peak, glorious tension in the pit of your stomach flooding every other sense you have as you start to cum, except the unerring surety that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. Right here. With your soulmate. Home.

The way you fall apart for him is breathtaking. Marcus moans in tune to your own cries, eyes closed as your walls tighten around his fingers and pulse with a throbbing tempo of pleasure. The water sloshing around you both as you shake for him.

The words stick in your throat, and whether it’s the soulmate connection or the post-orgasm bliss, or what, they hang there as you relax backward against him in a slump. Is it really that easy? Or has it been building since we met? You aren’t sure, but it’s there. Regardless of how or why.

He feels the second you soften, body relaxing against him and his fingers slow down. Drawing out the pleasure but not forcing any kind of overstimulation. Winding down until they are still inside you as he kisses you softly before pulling back to smile at your glowing face.

“You have very good ideas.” A soft laugh tumbles out of you as you work to suppress the instinct to declare yourself to him. This isn’t the right time. Or, at least, you’re afraid that it’s too soon despite the dreams you’ve already shared with him.

“Good.” He hums softly, kissing you again. “Relaxed, sweetheart?”

“Amazingly.” You can still feel him rock hard at your back, though, and your eyes search his. “Are you sure you don’t want a hand? Or any other part of me?”

He snickers the innuendo and leans in to kiss you again. “You don’t know how badly I want you.” He murmurs softly. “But your eyes are exhausted.”

“I hate that you’re right.” Wanting him so badly that it physically hurts doesn’t make you less tired, but it does make you more determined than ever to make sure tomorrow is incredible.

He chuckles softly and kisses your forehead. "You now know how I felt a couple of days ago." He reminds you softly. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, love." He promises. "We will get there and it will be amazing."

“Tomorrow.” The tone of your voice is absolutely certainty, it the yawn immediately after does put a pin in the point. “We will get there tomorrow.”

"Tomorrow." He agrees and shifts you forward slightly as he pulls his hand away from your core. "For now, we need to get some rest so you can party tomorrow without falling asleep."

“What do you want to do tomorrow before the party?” Standing on wobbly legs in the bath takes a second, but when you wipe all the suds away and step out you’re steady enough.

"You have the day off." He hums, getting out beside you and wrapping a towel around you. "We could start off with brunch if you wanted to. Or whatever you want to do? Go to the famer's markets around here?"

“I switched my day off this week to make sure the wedding would go smoothly,” you explain. He’s large and warm and strong, and the feeling of safety doesn’t elude you. “So we have the whole weekend together if we want it.”

"I want it." He immediately tells you, frowning slightly as he towels you off carefully. Ignoring the water dripping off his own body so he can attend to you. "If you do, of course."

“Of course I do.” Grabbing the second towel off the stool, you start to dry him in turn. “Just…didn’t want to be clingy. That’s been a point against me in the past.”

"You don't have to worry about me being upset." Marcus assures you. "I have that same problem sometimes too."

“Jump in head first and get too clingy and it overwhelms them?” To find out he’s the same way is an odd sort of relief and solidarity, if you’re honest with yourself.

Marcus snorts and gives you an embarrassed wince. "I did propose in the hallway at work?" he offers. "Not some of my best romantic work, and after reflecting on it, I was feeling like the relationship was slipping away and I was desperate to save it."

“This was Teresa?” He had told you a bit about his exes — just little tidbits — during your phone calls and you hum when he nods. “No offense, honey? But it doesn’t really sound like she had her shit together in that relationship. That was not your fault.”

"No, but I held on even harder when I should have just let go." He admits, sighing softly. "Too quick to jump in, to give my heart, to plan for the future."

“You’d think I would have learned my lesson when I got cheated on.” You shake your head, drawing your towel around yourself and shrugging. “Oops.”

"I can't fucking believe someone would be dumb enough to cheat on you." He snorts, rolling his eyes at the idiocy of his sex.

“The only good part of the whole thing is that I managed to cut his cheek when I threw the ring at him,” you huff, shaking your head again as the two of you move into your bedroom together. The age-old cliche of finding your partner in bed with someone else had been your horrible reality just a few years ago. “Asshole. I hope he has a scar.”

"Me too." He huffs, "but you don't need to worry about that with me." He knows it's sounding like a complete line, but it's the truth. "I would never – I went to break up with Vanessa because just knowing you were my soulmate, I couldn't give her what she deserved."

“I…I felt like I needed confirmation,” you admit. After giving it a few seconds of thought you simply discard your towel in the laundry basket and climb into bed naked, pulling back the sheets to invite him to join you bare. “Just knowing we both had tattoos in the same place wasn’t enough. It could have been totally different designs, and then I would have been the idiot who jumped to conclusions and ruined both of our relationships for some unfounded crush. And then…at the State dinner…finding out you have my scar, too? I knew that was it. Everything I already felt for you in that moment was more than I had ever felt about anyone else.”

"I understand now." He had been hurt, deeply hurt, but he won't tell you that now. He doesn't want you upset about that, when you needed to take time for yourself to accept the possibility.

“I’m sorry if I…if I did things wrong.” Waiting for him to get in bed makes you a little self conscious but you swallow the idea that you might deserve it. “I don’t really know how to walk up to a person and tell them that the universe thinks they’re my perfect match.”

"Don’t' worry about that," Marcus slides into the bed beside and you and gathers you into his arms. Wanting to fold you against him and hold you close. "All that matters is that we know now."

“I love you.” You might have held it back before, but when you exhale this time the words come out all on their own. “I know that’s a lot, and don’t feel like you have to say it back until you’re ready. But I — I’m very grateful it’s you.”

He stares at you for a moment and then starts to laugh. Leaning in and nudging his nose against yours. "Sweetheart, I love you too." He promises softly through the chuckles. "I think I fell in love with you over board games that first night." He admits. " I just didn't let myself believe it."

Exhaling deeply, you burrow into his side and bury your face, just letting the right release of relieved laughter roll through you. Watery eyes and sniffles are nothing now. Not compared to the elated smile on your face. “You looked like a dream when you came into the inn that day. Like you’d stepped right out of my fantasies.”

"I wanted to ask you out." He confesses. "Until I learned you were seeing Sam."

“It’s all okay now.” It’s perfect now, as far as you’re concerned, and you press your lips to his with a smile curved up at the corners. “We’re where we’re supposed to be.”

"In bed, where you are fighting sleep so you can talk to me?" He teases gently, smiling back into your lips.

“Yes,” you huff at him as adorably as you can.

He laughs again, settling back into the pillows and pulling you with him, humming when you settle down onto his chest like you belong there. "Go to sleep, hummingbird." He urges quietly. "I'll be here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #love triangle

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neighbourscat · 16 days ago

Text

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄 , spencer cassadine

EVERYONE HAS A QUIET ESCAPE.

𓈒 ˙ ꪆৎ ꣹ ۫ 𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . estate owner!spencer c. X estate chef!black!fem!reader. || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. making breakfast was your way of reaching out, of letting him know, wordlessly, that he wasn’t alone. it wasn’t about the food itself but about giving him a moment of comfort, a pause from everything weighing on him .. a quiet escape.

+ cw. mature language! & indications of social status difference between spencer cassadine and black!reader. || other than that, no warnings! ( a lot of italics! & sorry if my writing of spencer cassadine is poor and inaccurate, i haven’t watched general hospital enough. the storylines are so confusing to follow /: )

+ nali’s notes; food is a love language! reader is heavily inspired by ayo edebiri || sydney adamu from the bear! reader is three flowers tall! so gen-z, so hilariously awkward, so silly, so dorky, so sweetie & so patient with cranky spencer cassadine. such a doll! reader loves sza & chappell roan & beabadoobee! i love writing a reader who rambles a lot. wordcount :: 4.0k+

+ more; short does not follow any specific plotline of general hospital!

+ to be played: normal girl, sza. || alternative: there she goes, the la’s.

EVERYONE HAS A QUIET ESCAPE.

LAWRENCE, NEW YORK || DECEMBER 4, 2023

the king’s market stood at the very edge of lawrence; a small town within a big city .. . where the paint peeled off old brick buildings, and faded signs creaked in the december wind. yet, despite its weathered exterior, the supermarket was lawrence’s unexpected gem ( as was shawnda’s boutique, toni’s kitchen, minnie’s nails, the sullivan community college, that dunkin’ on mccarter road, brunch box, and express deli ) — a place that managed to thrive against all odds. its large windows glowed warmly under flickering neon lights, as if the store itself were proud of what it held inside.

you skid to a harsh stop — your brother’s old navy blue bicycle croaked with each pedal, it practically begged to be thrown into a junkyard — and immediately lose balance. you caught yourself before the tumble could come; the bottoms of your ragged, black vans scraping at the concrete and your thumbs accidentally brushing against the bike’s bells . .. . the scratchy ringgg alerted the cluster of pigeons, causing them to flap away, and made the mother pushing her big-enough-to-walk-on-his-own toddler side-eye you.

“mornin’ . ..” you raised a shy hand in apology, leaning your brother’s aged bike against king’s dried bike rack. you snatched up your bundle of reusable tote bags from the screwed-on basket and dug into the jumble for the bicycle’s lock; the new one ordered from amazon. “o .. kayyyy,” you sung to yourself, wrapping the chain link over a rack pole. hearing it click and seeing that it remained in place, you let out a deep breath .. relieved.

king’s market is quiet, but it’s a comforting quiet, broken only by the hum of old refrigeration units and the faint rustle of a distant shopper. sunlight filtered through the small, high windows, casting a soft glow over the shelves and illuminating specks of dust floating lazily through the air — king’s market was different from what was expected. though the aisles were narrow and the checkered linoleum tiles were cracked and crumbled and lifting out of place, each row and shelf was organized perfectly.

a faint scent of earth and herbs drifted from the produce section, where vegetables sat stacked in bright, fresh columns. local greens glistened with a crispness that rivaled any high-end market over in port charles ( you believed ), their colors vivid against the worn wooden bins. tomatoes were perfectly ripe, their skins taut and glowing, and bunches of parsley and dill leaned together like old friends, filling the air with a sharp, green fragrance.

in the far back, there was a small bakery nook filled with golden loaves, round bagels, fluffy croissants, beautifully-decorated cupcakes and soft cookies made with old-fashioned love, managed by antonella cardenas. beside it, a mini flower-shop section . .. . you’ve made it your business to circle by during your early morning grocery-runs.

you ripped the bud from your ear and let the wire hang down your front, dangling and brushing against the puff of your dark-green winter jacket. “tev?” you gave the worktop a knock, not too loud but hard enough to be heard throughout the mini-kitchen. tevin’s butcher counter was simple but spotless, manned by an old man who knew every cut by heart, arranging steaks and chops with the precision of an artist.

“tee-tee?!” still, nothing or no one came to you — you knew the mini-kitchen was open. the lights were on and the faucet was running. “i’ve got some .. fucked-up, jacked-up, cracked-up shit to tell you, tev.” you were careful with your curses, not giving them their regular intensity and over-exaggeration. “tevi?! it’s work shit!” crickets. that usually worked. you stopped knocking on the cold counter and dropped back onto your heels. “i know you can hear me, tevin,” spoken under your breath and while you were unraveling your wired-headphones.

and you started onward . .. realizing that it might’ve been a good thing tevin wright hadn’t come out to the register. you weren’t the best at lying on the spot. you had a little tell of it; while for many, it was laughing or evasive smiling or rapid blinking or coughing and clearing their throat, avoiding eye contact; like looking up at the ceiling, or those self-soothing gestures or being too fidgety with their fingers and clothing, you overused defensive phrases: like “honestly,” “to tell you the truth,” or “believe me”.

with sza’s ‘sweet november’ playing faintly in your ears .. you stand in the center of a narrow, softly lit aisle; shelves of hand-drawn packaging designs, others in plain jars that let the rich red or green hues of their contents do the talking. your hands hovered over two jars — one labeled locally-made marinara, the other a small-batch pesto. your fingers grazed the cool glass of both as you considered them, your full brows knit in thought. it’s just .. fucking pasta sauce, you could hear your mother’s grating voice. pick up a jar and go.

you lifted one jar, squinting at the label, as though weighing the memories each flavor might stir up. a faint smile tugged at your lips as you remembered how your father would make a whole affair out of selecting ingredients, debating over spices and sauces as if it were a high-stakes decision. are you kidding me? this is ridiculous. you are just like your father. half-insult.

you set it back down, you reached for the other choice, your gaze thoughtful as you further debated which would give your evening dish that extra something — sza’s song of past experiences fading into chappell roan’s love me anyway — you set that jar back into place and grabbed the third option. the one with the hand-drawn design. it was cute and you made a mental note to peel the wrapping off before use.

PORT CHARLES, NEW YORK || DECEMBER 4, 2023

the kitchen of the cassadine estate was a masterpiece of traditional russian design, combining rustic elegance with a sense of historic charm. the kitchen was a vast, open space dominated by an enormous central island, topped with dark, veined marble that has been polished to a mirror-like finish. cabinets of deep, rich wood line the walls, their surfaces gleaming under the sparkle of hanging iron chandeliers with exposed filament bulbs that cast a golden light over everything.

every detail exuded craftsmanship: the hand-carved moldings, the wrought-iron handles on each cabinet, and the aged brass fixtures that gave the room a touch of vintage grandeur. pots and pans of shined copper hung in neat rows from a ceiling rack, their warm glow offset by the cool, tiled walls in muted creams and grays, which add a subtle neatness.

a massive stone hearth sat against one wall, its archway adorned with intricate, hand-laid tiles. within, a wood-fired oven emitted a faint, smoky scent. to the side, a marble-topped counter held a selection of oils and aged vinegars kept in glass jars, each label handwritten in russian script.

large windows near the farmhouse sink overlooked the estate’s gardens, letting in natural light that poured across the butcher-block counters and casted shadows on the tiled floor. this floor — worn but immaculate — was ice cold underneath your soaking wet polka-dot socks. in one hand, your pair of vans ( fiona mccall, the estate’s lead-housekeeper, and her team were stern and meticulous in ensuring that the grand halls, ballrooms, libraries, staircases, and more importantly, the floors remained pristine ), your phone with the letterboxd app still open and dropped into a shoe, in the other hand; your grocery tote-bag you were to keep in the employee mini-fridge.

you faked a bad cough, in attempt to fake clear your throat — “sorry, goodmorning .. mr. cassadine.” — still, you grabbed his attention. spencer cassadine stood at the central island with his elbows resting on the chilled surface, his head lowered, lost in thought. the weight of family expectations pressed heavily on him, and the stillness around him offered a brief moment of respite .. before hearing your voice, of course.

your presence filled the room with a sense of . .. . play and awkwardness. spencer studied you: your winter jacket over a simple, faded-once-graphic t-shirt, wrinkled mom jeans, hints of gold jewellery, your box-braids loosely tied back with baby pink crochet yarn, giving you that .. ‘relaxed’ look, he guessed you were going for. it wasn’t effortless, it was messy. spencer’s gaze switched to your shoeless feet .. as did your own eyes — you took one large step to the left and landed behind a counter, only letting your upper half show.

“fiona-ms. mccall, i mean,” you began, your shoulders tense and your arms cramping from the hanging shoes and bags of groceries, “and those-sorry, your floors, sir. she’s serious ‘bout ‘em, that one. i mean, her team too. they’re like .. so serious about th’ floors .. i had’ta walk around in my socks-“ you stopped before continuing on. seeing him stand there with that signature blank, cold look on his face only shut you up ( you opted not to speak on how you dropped your dunkin’ coffee on the way here ) and drove sickness deeper into your heart.

you looked away from a moment, taking a shaky breath. “i should, uhm ..” you faced him again, “sorry, mr. cassadine .. my arms are, like, getting ready to snap off. like, actually.”

spencer watched you waddle off into the shared-employee closet. he straightened a bit, his fists carefully drumming at the marble surface as he waited for your return — though, he wouldn’t admit to anyone that he had been ‘waiting’ for you. after a moment, he took a step aside and tilted his head slightly, giving himself a clear view into the employee closet; with its array of lockable, highschool-style cell phone lockers . .. . you were shoving your winter jacket into the available top shelf, struggling on your tip-toes.

when you landed on your heels again, spencer took his previous position; leaning against the central island — “so, um . ..? sorry, but why are you back here, anyways?” you called out, but gave spencer not even a second to process the question. you peeked your head out of the employee closet, braids no longer tied back but cascading over your shoulder. “sorry, this is your family’s kitchen. you have, uhm .. every right to be back here. sorry.” you disappeared into the employees’ closet again, leaving spencer to be alone and to .. somewhat try and understand you.

“you apologize a lot?” he asked, his voice steady and even. not a question, but more so a statement.

dropping your hands from your braided bun, you moved away from the wall mirror and out of the closet saying: “trauma response,” unapologetic and freely, fixing your white button-up and fresh apron, “i can’t help but feel bad for a person literally every-time i-“

“what?” a deep grumble. too forward. he’s not one of your friends, you reminded yourself. you can’t speak to him like he’s on your level — rather, like you’re on his level. “sorry, mr. cassadine.” again with the sorry.

spencer huffed and in a low tone, “you can stop with the ‘mister’.” not a request, but an instruction. unsure of what to say next, in bad habit; “i’m sorry?” his eyes narrowed and you bit down on your lower lip, stopping yourself from the ‘m’ word and the ‘s’ word. “i actually get asked about that .. like, a lot. the ‘s’ word, thing. i’m kind of working on it. kind of.”

“kind of?”

“mhm-yeah. takin’ it day by day . .. . kind of. you know what i mean?” no comment, no further movement. your shoulders drooped, but you were okay. you were in an okay mood this early, december morning even after dropping your dunkin’ coffee. you had on new, warm socks and had beabadoobee in one ear — “you still use ..” with a hand, spencer gestured toward his own ear, “wires?”

you stared down at your phone, the adapter snug in the charging port; ‘pictures of us’ by beabadoobee at its first full minute. the slander on ‘wired headphones’ was so unnecessary and so childish. without thinking: “i’m sorry?” you paused a moment to recollect and what looked to be a smile began tugging at spencer’s lips. “i mean-who doesn’t? .. who doesn’t like wires?”

“many people.”

a weird chuckle, “what? literally so many people like wires. i don’t-? what is so wrong with wires?”

“what isn’t wrong with wires?”

“i don’know? that’s why i’m asking you ‘what’s wrong with wires’?

“everything.” and that was that. spencer had the last word, though your disagreed completely. silence fell for eight seconds, maybe nine, before he asked; “what are you, uh ..?” shoving his veiny hands into the front pockets of his dark jeans, “who are you listenin’ to, anyways?”

“beabadoobee.” you paused the song. “her beatopia album. it’s so good, seriously.” a part of you considered sharing the unused earbud, but that would require closeness and sharing wired headphones was an intimate gesture, a chance to bond with another — that couldn’t be done with airpods or those chunky beat headphones. “i’ll come over to you-you just stay there.”

spencer met you halfway around the marble island, going against your statement without a second thought. the gap between you and spencer was intentional, on both ends. he kept himself from standing too close, as did you. “okay, so, if bea’s not your cup of tea, or, uhm, you don’t like her sound or somethin’ .. justttt, uh, don’t say anything-y’know?” spencer listened intently, hands at his sides and the soft skin of his fingers rubbing the stitches of his dark jeans. “sorry, that wasn’t exactly ‘polite’-“

“play the song.”

“mhm. yeah.” your index finger tapped down on the rewind button .. pictures of us started, the acoustic guitar entrance soothing and inviting — “the words take awhile to, um . .. actually begin, sor-nope.” spencer smiled faintly at your effort, giving a light thumbs up. you appreciated the gesture, warmth slowly growing within your chest, causing you to chew the inside of your cheek.

with the pad of your thumb, you dragged at the progress bar, watching the thin line skip forward in small jumps, stopping at the right mark. you let your finger rest, satisfied as bea’s lyrics finally filled the air.

“i’ve watched that.” right under the music widget had been a notification from letterboxd: w-katie02 liked your review of the elephant man ( 1980 )! “it’s one of my favorites,” he continued, almost hesitant. “yeah?” a little, genuine smile as your fingers brushed the edge of your phone. “yeah.” spencer ended there, seemingly restricted; as if he’d just given something away he hadn’t meant to.

“do you have letterboxd?” just the most important app on your cellular device. well, one of them, certainly. by the glint in your eyes, spencer could feel the unmistakable love you held — because for you, it was so much more than just a platform; it was like a never-ending journal of emotions, insights, and memories. your perfect profile was filled with entries — some thoughtful and delicate and passionate, others scattered and messy and raw, like snapshots of your silly life in film. you’d spent many hours logging your thoughts after each movie, capturing how it made you feel, who you’d watched it with, what kind of day it had been . .. . you never missed a detail.

“what’s a .. letterboxd?” you unlocked your phone in under a second — “it’s like goodreads, but for movies,” you said as you clicked the app open. spencer, though confused and having never heard of goodreads, kept his lips locked and waited for your explanation: “letterboxd is immediate, like no other platform.” you held out your phone and he took hold of it; mindful of the need to avoid physical contact.

“social media in a way that’s like-“ spencer’s finger swiped up and you inched inward, lifting onto your tip-toes to watch as he did so. “-ultra safe and super cuddly. there’s no politics, close-minded straight men, or mentions of global crises, the sad stuff essentially, y’know? .. well, okay, actually-i guess, if you’re on the wrong side-“

“there are sides?”

“so, it’s . .. . yeah.”

“mm.” — pictures of us faded into don’t get the deal — your gaze shifted between his working finger and his face. you didn’t know what he’d been doing exactly, but you paid attention to how his eyes zipped side to side under his eyelids and how his brows lightly scrunched and how he sniffled softly every now and again and how his tongue darted out to bring moisture back to his lips. and in this very moment, this quiet moment of, what you assumed was nothing, he looked . .. . approachable. it surprised you how easily he fit into this small moment, his attention focused on something so trivial.

spencer cassadine — extra polished, effortlessly confident, someone who belonged to a world you’d only ever seen from a distance — handling your phone as though you and him were two equals. the four fingers of his right hand nearly covering every collected sticker.

to you, he really was someone you had heard about in passing, the kind of person with a surname people spoke of in hushed tones, heavy with history. he seemed so different up close, less like a distant idea of wealth and reputation, and more like just .. a person, with his own subtle quirks and quiet intensity — it felt like a rare glimpse beyond his guarded expression, easing the image you’d carried of him.

you tried not to overthink it, letting yourself just be here, grounded by the purr of the kitchen and beabadoobee in the background and the heat of his presence . .. .

then came a muffled ping; spencer returned your phone and retrieved his own from his back pocket. that dry, somber demeanor was back and whatever that quiet moment was, was long gone. you clicked off beabadoobee — your eyes searching his face for a hint of what could have been troubling him. “can i make you something?” a sweet offer. a sweetness that spencer cassadine had not known, or been at all familiar with.

he blinked up from his screen. “what?”

“have you eaten breakfast yet?”

spencer shook his head.

“food always helps.” just as you pivot and circled the counter, he spoke: “i’ve already taken too much of your free time. i’ve interrupted your routine,” clearly trying to brush off your sweet offer, though his stomach growled in response to the idea of food.

“it’s fine.”

“i can’t let you ..”

“seriously?” you stopped in your tracks, barely smiling. “come on, seriously. c’mon. i can prepare somethin’ quickly. i don’t mind, really,” you reassured. and spencer felt a flicker of thankfulness at your inclination; you weren’t offering to impress him or because he was who he was, but out of the kindness of your heart. “thank you.”

with a nod, you moved to the large refrigerator, opening the door with purpose. you pulled out a few eggs and some vegetables, your movements deliberate and calm. the rhythmic sounds of your chopping and sautéing completed the kitchen.

as you worked, spencer was leaned over the counter .. having just downloaded letterboxd and putting together his own movie lists. he found your account, remembering the username in the top left corner, and added a few of your saved movies to his new “to watch” list. “how long have you been cooking for?”

“mom put a knife in my hand at five, so i’d say since then,” you replied, glancing up briefly and laughing seeing the concerned look on his face — you weren’t joking. “it’s therapeutic,” you said then, eyes down again. “i find real comfort in it-a quiet escape, like my letterboxd. plus, feeding people is a nice way to show you care.”

your words struck a chord with him. he could see how the kitchen was your sanctuary, just as it had become a momentary refuge for him. “i can understand that,” he admitted, his gaze wandering to the window, where the light falling snow touched down and melted. “i’ll find my ‘quiet escape’.”

“you don’t have one now?”

“unh-unh.”

“that should be impossible. what do you look for when you need a moment?”

“i walk around and sit in silence.”

“that sounds awful.”

“it’s not the worse thing ever.”

“no, i guess not. but what do you love to do? like really, truly love to do-imagine, ‘kay, it’s your very last hour alive .. ‘nd you’re trapped in a dome with only th’ materials needed for your number one hobby, what is it?”

spencer’s mind went blank for a few seconds. he didn’t write, he didn’t read, he couldn’t draw, he couldn’t paint — “i like the gym.”

“okay .. cool.” you smiled and scratched at an eyebrow, “um, but seriously. what’s the hobby?”

“.. nothing.”

“-shit.”

“yeah.” a hopeless shrug. “i never got into an art or instrument. nothing that requires serious skill and talent.” spencer turned off his phone and held his hands together, fingers interlocking.

“well . .. a hobby doesn’t have ‘ta require serious skill or talent. and it doesn’t necessarily have ‘ta be an art.” you told him, matter-of-factly; knowing and practical. “like bird-watching. don’t have’ta be in your sixties to do it.” dropping your spoon onto a paper towel, you went for one of the five spice cabinets and dug inside. “i collect cool things.” you were a collector of very fine whatchamacallits, doo-dads, and trinkets; which ranged from mail stamps, pink paper clips, buttons of all shapes and colors and sizes, unique beer bottle caps, and stickers — your junk-sticker phone case is evidence.

“what-like rocks?”

“sometimes. marbles too.”

“marbles?”

“marbles.” firmly, “mancala pieces.”

“what’s a mancala piece?”

“y’know ..? mancala?”

“what’s mancala?”

“what’s mancala?” in disbelief, you released a defeated sigh and shook your head. “i have a mobile version, i can explain the game after this.” yyou stretched your arm over and with a knuckle, tapped down on your phone screen; you had little over an hour left. “jus’ta confirm, i will be explaining the game.”

no objection.

“but back to hobbies-“ spencer heard your voice and instantly flipped his phone back over. “-what’s an instrument you’ve wanted to play?” piano, there was no need to think about it. the first time spencer had heard a piano, the melody was soft and almost a whisper, beckoning him away from the clamor of the gala crowd. he drifted toward the sound, drawn in as if by a spell —

— he saw the grand piano in the corner of the room, its sleek black body gleaming under the warm lights. a man was seated there, his fingers gliding over the keys with such fluid grace that spencer could hardly believe it . .. . and in that moment, he felt an overwhelming urge .. not just to listen, but to touch the keys, to know how it felt to draw out a sound so moving and pure. but he was only a child, and the instrument seemed impossibly large, as if it belonged to another world.

and years passed .. life had filled up with other obligations and distractions, and the closest he’d come to a piano was brushing his fingers over the keys of one owned by a close friend or at another sprawling event. but every now and then, when he heard the low throb of a piano in a restaurant or wherever, he felt that same pull, that longing that had begun in the corner of a crowded room so many years before, waiting patiently for him to return.

“piano,” he answered. though he had no idea what happiness looked like for him, he was sure that starting with piano would make that discovery easier — he was so incredibly detached from himself and the more you spoke to him, you could tell.

“i know you can learn,” you said, kindly.

“i don’t have the time.”

“not even five minutes? you can download an app and start slow .. memorize piano stuff.”

“you have a piano app?”

“no, but i can find one for you.” his dark eyes brightened imperceptibly. “i bet there’s a lot. there’s an app for everything .. unfortunately .. kind of.” you mumbled the last bit, plating his breakfast with care. “.. here. simple, but it’ll help.”

in grabbing himself clean silverware — for the first time, he felt the possibility of letting someone in, even if just a little.

#nali’s ᡣ𐭩 #black writers #black reader #black women #short stories #spencer cassadine #general hospital #spencer cassadine x black!reader #fanfiction #fanfic

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bitchinbarzal · 2 years ago

Text

Last Christmas | M.Barzal

this is my entry for @antoineroussel christmas fic exchange!

this is for you, @lhugh! happy holidays annie 🎄🤍

this fic does use they/them pronouns as they are annie’s pronouns! 🫶🏼

word count: 2,461 words

Last Christmas, you walked into December planning every festive activity possible; the Rockefeller Christmas tree, Nutcracker at New York City ballet, Radio City Rockettes even letting Mat show you up at skating.

That was until Mat dropped the break up bomb on you. You couldn’t really comprehend it all, too confused and hurt at once.

You were supposed to spend Christmas with Mat and the team at the Martin’s. You never answered Sydney’s texts after the breakup.

You spent Christmas alone.

You were thankful the islanders tanked their 21/22 season. It meant that they all left to go home as soon as possible.

That meant no islanders, no jerseys, no chants on the train home from work.

No Mat.

He went home to Coquitlam two days after the islanders lost to Tampa.

Mat spent his first summer in seven years bouncing around from place to place. He was out on the lake with Tyson for a few weeks and he visited Anthony and Emma when they bought their new home in Quebec.

He wasn’t home long with his family until he got a call, from Brock. His dad had died.

He asked if you and Mat could attend the funeral, his father really adored you both in the time he’d met you and he knew Mat well. Mathew agreed to attend, claiming you were busy but sent your well wishes.

He flew into Minnesota the day prior, dropping off flowers to Brock’s mom and she welcomed him into her home giving him a drink and thanking him for coming.

“He always liked watching you play, unless you played against Vancouver of course” she laughed, Mat gave her a smile “It’s a shame y/n couldn’t come”

“Yeah, it’s a shame” he mumbled.

Next he saw her was at the funeral, listening while she stood talking about her husband, the love she had for him, how much she missed him already.

All Mat could think about when he heard her words were you.

You were his best friend.

You were the person who knew him best.

You were supposed to be around forever.

When Mat got home after that trip he didn’t do much, he was no longer in the mood to go out partying, celebrating with friends.

Mat returned to Long Island in the end of August.

He frequented the coffee shop you guys often did and he even walked the route in the morning you did. He didn’t see you.

It wasn’t until week 3 of attending the same coffee shop that the barista, Logan said to him

“Mat, they don’t come in here anymore I’m sorry. Said they needed a fresh start after the breakup”

He silently nodded to the girl, hoping she hadn’t caught his face falling. He simply took his flat white from the counter and exited to building.

Contract talks started in mid-september.

The organization called in May to the office to discuss; throwing around money and perks.

He took the time to digest the information. He called him mom and dad to see what their opinions were on the whole thing, called his financial advisor and even called Anders but the number he kept hovering over belonged to you.

Everyone’s advice was along the lines of “you need to see yourself settling down in Long Island with a contract term like that” and he did, with you.

The deal was signed on October 4th.

@ny_islanders: “I love It here” says Mathew Barzal, after signing his 8 year extension to stay here in Long Island 💙🤍🧡

You read the tweet, saw the posts and the stories from your mutual friends. You wanted to text him — tell him congratulations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

So instead, you simply put an orange heart emoji under the islanders post about his extension and scrolled on.

Mat saw it. His heart soared at the simplicity of it but yet the fact he knew you were still thinking of him, that you in some way still cared.

Late October, the leaves were starting to fall and hockey was beginning again. Mat wasn’t playing his best — missing goals, easy passes and a lot of falling over.

People started doubting him; calling him a fake, a money grabber and claiming they wished Lou hadn’t even drafted his extension papers.

Mat started to doubt himself too.

was he good enough?

should he have signed the papers?

was he worth the money?

was Long Island better off without him? were you?

There is was! The real problem.

Ever since that last December his mind had been stuck on you and really it shouldn’t have because it was his fault, he broke up with you.

If anyone asked Mat why you broke up he would say “We just wanted different things”

If Mat was honest with himself he would say “I was scared I wasn’t enough for them”

The first few months of hockey came and passed with not a single goal from Mat.

Lambert pulled him aside one morning at practice to tell him “You better get your head out of your ass son because one more game the way you’ve been going and you’ll be benched for the rest of this year”

The last game in November, against Philadelphia Mat was a healthy scratch.

His punishment was over by the next game but Lane told him in no specific terms he had to step up. Mat just groaned and mumbled a “Yeah, I’m fucking trying” before leaving the office.

It was harder now that it was December.

In summer he could just pretend things weren’t different.

You weren’t at his families house? You had to be with your mom.

He was alone at the casino event? You had work.

But Christmas, that was different. Christmas wasn’t something he could sweep under the rug and pretend you were busy.

You’d spent every Christmas together since Mat was eighteen years old. Your first Christmas in New York was an overwhelming experience and Mat thought it adorable at how excited you were about everything.

He bought you a necklace that year. It had his number on it, the gold chain necklace held the number thirteen on your chest and you never took it off.

It was a staple piece in your collection, whenever someone at one of your fancy work dinners or meetings would ask

“Hey why does your necklace have the thirteen on it?”

You would smile so bright, in such adoration and reply “My boyfriend, mat. He plays hockey for the New York Islanders and he’s number thirteen! but always number one to me” and everyone would laugh and call you cute.

You’d left that necklace behind the night you’d packed your stuff up to leave. Mat found it when he returned home from Boston on an away game to find you’d obviously been in and cleared out your belongings too while he was gone.

He took the necklace and posted it to your mom’s house, the only address connected to you he knew. He never knew if you’d gotten it back, not that it mattered much anyway because why would you want to wear it after you’d broken up?

Mat’s no goal streak continued up to the last game before Christmas, December 23rd and he was goal-less.

He was so frustrated at everything he couldn’t think straight about getting this goal. He was spending Christmas alone for the second year in a row — alone, without you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. How you’d been here tonight wearing a silly Christmas jumper and cheering about the last game before Christmas.

They tanked the first period, Tkachuk got away with the puck leaving them up one by the end of the first. There were so many penalties, stupid penalties. It was a mess.

Second period, they equalised in the first few minutes with a goal from Beau before Brock got them up another which was matched not long after by Florida.

When the third period hit it was like something went off in Mat, that he had a surge of energy.

He got a goal, his first season goal! Then another and another with only a few seconds left on the clock.

Hat-trick. He got a hatty.

He’d done it. He finally scored a goal this season, they won the game and he got a hat-trick!

So why didn’t he feel like it was enough?

When he got back to the locker room, Mat pulled his phone out of his bag and looked at his notifications; texts from friends and family congratulating him on the goals, random emails but it was as though he was searching for something.

He clicked through the phone until he landed on what he wanted and pressed it before holding the phone up to his ear.

It rang twice before it connected

“Hello?”

“Um, hey! This is weird and I’m not sure why I’m doing this but I felt like I had to because, well because I scored my first goal of the season tonight. I scored my first season goal and I got a hatty too which I mean is a lot but I don’t feel like it’s enough”

Mat sighed, completely blocking out his team-mates listening to this conversation and looking on with sympathy

“It’s not enough because I know you’re not here-“

“-Mat-“

“No, please let me finish it’s taken me long enough to get the courage to call you. I was stupid for what I did last Christmas and I will wholeheartedly tell you that this year has been the worst year of my life and maybe you call that karma, I call it a wake up call that you… you’re the love of my life and that I want to be with you, I was scared and stupid but I’m better I will be better for you! I’m ready to be the man you need”

After his spiel, Mat took a deep breath awaiting your answer but instead was met with a dead line.

You hung up on him.

Mat looked dejectedly at him phone in hand before he got up to get dressed as he was very spitefully aware of the media and press awaiting him outside the door.

He breezed through media by giving them one word answers and a bored look, they usually let him away early when he did that.

Collecting his bag from the now empty locker room and sulking down the hallway towards the car park.

He wasn’t even looking up, instead opted for the wonderful view of his scuffed shoes. Paying so little attention he didn’t even see you standing at the end of the hallway.

“Nice shot!” His head whipped up, locking eyes with you almost immediately.

You watched his face go through a multitude of emotions before it softened and he muttered “What-“

“I was here Mat” is what you said, gesturing to the stairs you’d descended from your seat “I was sat up there and I watched it, I was cheering you on”

Mat was speechless, fumbling over his words and his eyes flickered across your body, trying to drink you in while you were stood in front of him before his eyes landed on your neck.

Lay on your black shirt was a necklace, the necklace.

The number thirteen lay to elegantly on your chest “You got it”

You looked down and smiled “Oh yeah, my mom sent it to my apartment” playing with it between your thumb and pointer finger.

A soft silence settled between you both, it wasn’t weird or awkward — it could never be awkward between you and Mat.

Until Mat broke the silence by asking

“Why are you here?”

You smiled gently “The islanders last game before Christmas has always been my tradition since I moved to New York you know that and so I never changed it this year, despite the circumstances” the last bit was a little snappy and he knew that.

“I meant what i said on that call by the way” you nodded curtly as a reply before holding out your hand for him to take

“How about you drive us around that neighbourhood with the good Christmas lights and we can talk, in the car eh?”

The Christmas lights, another tradition between you both.

Mat reached out, clasping his hand in yours and nodding “Yeah, let’s do that”

The lights on peoples home’s had somehow gotten better this year and you admired them all in a childlike fashion from the passenger seat of Mathew’s Range Rover.

“This is one of my favourite traditions we started” you say, still looking out the window. Your hand rested now on the console in the middle of the car.

Mat slipped his hand into yours, taking a leap of faith which paid off when you clasped it in yours and squeezed it.

“Yeah, i love it” he muttered, pulling the car into the side of the road now you’d reached the end of the street.

You turned to him now, waiting for him to say something.

“Listen, this is all really weird and I wish I was better with words because I would like to be able to tell you the million and one ways in which I absolutely adore you and regret what I did last Christmas every single day. However, what I can do is promise you, I promise you that I will work everyday to prove to you how much I love you and how sorry I am — I ruined Christmas and I think that’s what hurts the most is that I tainted something you love so much-“

You cut him off then, your hands resting on his cheeks; forcing him to look at you and you said “Christmas is not ruined, Christmas has brought me back to the boy I love with my whole heart and being. Don’t you ever think that you ruined Christmas because sure it wasn’t fun last year but we will have a million more Christmas’ to make up for it”

He nodded, head moving slightly so he could press a kiss onto your palm “I’ll make every Christmas the most special just for you”

“As long as I’ve got you, baby any Christmas is special”

On Christmas, when Mat arrived late to the Lee’s for Christmas with the team he walked in smiling

“Sorry, sorry I’m late I had to pick something up!”

“Dude it’s Christmas Day where could you possibly have gone to pick-“ Anthony cut himself off when he saw you enter the house, gifts stacked up in your arms that you placed on the table next to the door before grabbing Mat’s outreached hand.

“Oh my god, it’s a Christmas miracle!”

#mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine

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choicescommunityevents · 4 months ago

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Thank you for joining our first Choices Picnic! It was a lovely event!

Here is how our picnic turned out:

10 fandom members contributed to

28 MCs, OCs, and LIs joining the event who brought

15 different types of food

10 different types of drinks

21 different types of desserts

15 different games/activities

[Event prompts and info] [Full list of community prompts, polls, and quizzes]

Who joined the picnic? [x]

@cadybear420

Aiden x Evie

@dr-colossal-pita

Ethan x Oliver

@gutsfics

Noah x Devi

Thomas x Avalon

@jerzwriter

Ethan x Kaycee

Tobias x Casey

@lovealexhunt / @theartoflovingthomashunt / @storyofmychoices

Bryce x Olivia

Keiki

Mal x Daenarya

Thomas x Alex

@masked-alien-lesbian

Aislinn x Verity

Hana x Raelyn

@peonyblossom

Ajay x Matty

Emmett x Brooklyn

Ethan x Sydney

Thomas x Jackie

@pulpitude

Mia

Lia

Joss

Linc

Abel

@trappedinfanfiction

Ethan x Celia

Trystan x Sophia

@tveitertotwrites

Derek x Charlie

Ethan x Claire

Thomas x Brooklyn

Tobias x Adelaide

What will we be eating + drinking? [x]

Food

Banana Chips with light maple syrup

Buttermilk Fruit Scones

Charcuterie Board (2)

Chips

Fresh Baked Bread

Fresh Vegetable Quinoa Salad

Gamja-Salad

Grilled Meat Skewers

Ketchup Chips

Korean Fried Chicken

Pasta Salad

Pizza

Pineapple

Sandwiches (2)

Strawberries

Trail Mix

Drinks

Alcoholic Drinks

Cabernet Sauvignon

Chocolate Milk

Coconut Custard Pie

Fruit Salad

Nanaimo Bars

Non-Alcoholic Drinks

Orange Infused Cold Brew

Sodas

Strawberry Lemonade

Sweet Cocktails

Sweet Iced Tea

Wine selection

What are we eating (desserts) [x]

Apple Pie

Berry Pinwheel Pasteries

Coconut Cake

Fresh Fruit Popsicles

Fruit mixed in pudding, yogurt, whipped cream

Golden Griddle milkshakes

Haupia

Honey Cake

Lemon Cake

Mint Ice Cream Sandwiches

Pie

Pup Cups

Red Velvet Brownies

Red Velvet Cupcakes

Rum Cake

Strawberry Cheesecake Parfait

Weed Brownies

What are we playing/doing? [x]

Badminton

Capture the Flag

Charades

Drink Mixing

Enjoying flowers

Frisbee / Disk Golf

Frisbee with pups (2)

Horeshoes

Karaoke

Kite Flying

Lawn Chess

Nature Crafts / Flower Crowns

Paint and Sip

Toss + Catch

Volleyball

What's our picnic playlists? [X]

What 3 things are a picnic must? [X]

How will a little rain impact the event? [x]

How did MCs, OCs, and LIs document the event? [X]

What else was submitted?

I was going to make a masterlist, but since most entries were just reblogs to the community posts it seemed silly... especially since all the extra entries were mine 🙈. Felt weird making a masterlist for just me! If more individual works are added, I'll make a separate masterlist.

@lovealexhunt / @theartoflovingthomashunt / @storyofmychoices

Bryce x Olivia picnic (art)

Bryce x Olivia beach picnic (edit)

Mal x Daenarya beach picnic (edit)

A Late Night Picnic (Mal x Daenarya) (writing)

Thomas x Alex Hollywood sign picnic (edit)

@peonierose : Art on the Beach with Bryce x Luna

#choices picnic #choices picnic 24 #choicespicnic24 #choices community events #choices #playchoices #choices game #choices fandom events

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fancyschmancyopinions · 11 months ago

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SYDNEY SWEENEY at the Miu Miu Lunch on May 22nd 2023 in Cannes wearing MIU MIU

I absolutely loved Sydney's look at the Miu Miu lunch. It was fresh and pretty, a really beautiful and fun dress. The look is giving a bit of Sophia Loren vibes.

I really loved this entire outfit. Her hair is a beautiful messy updo, and I love the blue eyeshadow that matches the dress. The dress is a beautiful color, and I love the knee length. The white flowers are simple, but it really looks like a perfect dress for early summer.

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susanaveryworld · 6 months ago

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Fresh flowers Sydney-wide from Susan Avery

In Sydney, Susan Avery is the place to go for beautiful fresh flowers. With our exquisite floral arrangements, which are painstakingly created to enthrall and thrill, you can elevate any occasion. Susan Avery has the ideal bouquet for any occasion, whether you're showing thanks, commemorating a significant occasion, or just wanting to add some elegance to your surroundings. Our florists source the best flowers with a passion for quality and meticulous attention to detail to create arrangements that are sure to make an impact. With fresh flowers Sydney-wide from Susan Avery, you may bring the beauty of nature into your life and let us assist you in creating beautiful, joyful, and memorable moments.

#fresh flowers Sydney #Sydney #cheap fresh flowers sydney #fresh flowers

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ladespeinada · 1 year ago

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Tagged by @postmodernau to share an excerpt for WIP Wednesday 🌟

Technically, my only WIP at the moment is my Tina / The Bear fic, Before The Next Teardrop Falls, so the excerpt beneath the cut is from that. I have various bits & bobs for other The Bear fics that I’ve taken a step back from for the time being, happy to share snippets if people are interested (and because I kind of want to share what exists but also don’t want to finish anything just yet, lol).

Marcus & Luca, Long-Haul Truckers AU (thank you, Orville Peck)

Only You, Darling sequel

Sydcarmy “divorce” fic

Sydcarmy canon divergence where they meet in NY during Syd’s food tour

Won’t tag anyone explicitly but if you’re working on something and you want to share a snippet, please feel free to use this post as an excuse! 👀

“Hey, Chef, is there like, a family shelf or something?”

“Shelf?”

“Si, como, la comida extra para usar para comida familiar,” Sydney asked kindly.

“Ah, si, la comida familiar. Fuck off,” Tina spat before stalking off.

Sydney looked all of 15. Tall and slender, with her braids pulled back with a bandana. She moved through the kitchen with only the barest hint of hesitation. She loomed over Tina, both in stature and in stance. Her voice in Spanish was soft and girlish and that was the final straw. Tina hated her already.

Tina knew she was being unfair, but her self-awareness wasn’t going to get in the way of her annoyance. Carmy and Sydney were glaring reminders that Mikey was well and truly gone, and never coming back, and she couldn’t forgive them for it.

She had fooled herself for months, as the weather turned warmer and spring erupted in flowers and rain, that he was just on vacation. Maybe moved, temporarily. Just taking a break from The Beef, and he’d be back, eventually.

She imagined him near water, having traded the shores of Lake Michigan for an actual beach. Maybe Hawai’i, maybe California, taking up surfing and eating fresh fish every day instead of the mountains of beef they went through. Maybe the coast of Italy, swimming in the Mediterranean, the prodigal son returning to his ancient home to fucking finally learn Italian.

But there was no longer space for Tina to fool herself, not with two new bodies flowing through the ragged system of the kitchen, not with every seat taken during family with no space left for Michael Berzatto. He was gone, and he would stay gone, and nothing, no one, could ever, ever change that.

#tag games #sorry i'm a few days late k!#fanfic writing #the bear #the excerpt is from a future chapter of BTNTF that i probably won't get to for a while #i found the loose paper where i jotted the start of the excerpt at the bottom of my bag the other day so it felt right to share lol #tina 'light of my life' marrero #one could argue that i could use this ~funemployment~ time to write more and i wish i could - really i do #but unfortunately my brain said no because it has to read 😅#and work on finding work but that's less interesting

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thefloralstylistblog · 2 years ago

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Florist Choice - small gesture bunch

Can’t decide? Leave it up to us to create a gorgeous selection for Mum

Choice and composition will be selected by one of our florists - Seasonal flowers and foliages will be used.

Petite in size and wrapped the Copper Beech way

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backpockct · 2 years ago

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INTRODUCING SYDNEY “SYD” MÜLLER WRITTEN (AND LOVED!) BY CORRIE

MILENA TSCHARNTKE. SHE + HER / have you ever heard of THE REELING by passion pit, well, it describes SYDNEY MÜLLER to a tee! the twenty six year old, and FLORIST AT MY LITTLE PEONY was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say SHE is more RESERVED or more GENTLE instead? anyway, they remind me of peaceful and quiet early mornings, waves lapping against a shoreline, bouquets of fresh wildflowers and hair tied back with a ribbon, maybe you’ll bump into them soon!

triggers: mentions of murder, infertility, depression and divorce

THE BASICS:

full name: sydney claire hayes (née müller, uses her madien name professionally)

nicknames: syd

birthday: 3rd april 1996 (26 years old)

gender: cis woman (she/her)

sexuality: heterosexual

relationship status: married(ish) to wyatt hayes ( @pullumtendies )

BASIC INTRO:

sydney was born and raised in london, she’s lived here all her life, she’s the middle child of three. she’s got an older sister and a younger brother.

her father is german and her mother is from the uk, they met through friends, when her father was doing a study abroad year in london and the rest was history.

when her mother was pregnant, they were told that they were going to have a boy. so they picked out the name sydney, they really liked it, but then surprise, she wasn’t a boy.

but they really liked the name sydney, they thought it suited her and so the name stuck. a lot of the time she just gets called syd.

she’s always had a passion for the outdoors and flowers, making little bunches of flowers for family members & loved ones!!

syd decided randomly one day that she wanted to be a florist and she’s stuck with it ever since. now she works as the assistant florist at my little peony, she loves it!!!

when she was ten years old, she locked eyes with a young man across the school playground, wyatt hayes, she was smitten.

that was it, the pair became inseparable, they started out as best-friends and eventually as they got into their teen years, they began to dating.

things got incredibly serious, when wyatt’s parents were murdered, obviously syd stood by him and supported him.

a few years after his parents death, the pair got married, they were very young but neither of them cared, they wanted to do this.

they were happy for a few years until they decided that they wanted to have kids, that hasn’t worked out for them.

they TRIED A LOT but every single attempt was met with nothing, which was very upsetting for the both of them.

syd became depressed, worried that there was something was wrong with her, she struggled to tell wyatt how she felt.

the more they tried, the more arugments enused, more tears, wyatt started sleeping on the couch.

eventually the pair decided it’d be good for them to have some space from each other, so wyatt moved out.

they’ve danced around the idea of divorce but they are still very much in love with each other and she doesn’t want to end things, she doesn’t want to loose him.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

siblings:

friends:

childhood friends:

good / bad influence:

neighbours:

co-workers:

if you’d like to plot with any of my muses then feel free to hit me up on discord @ corey in wetherspoons ™#0678. thank you!!

#nottinghillintro #☆ﾟ*・ﾟ you can always edit a page. you can’t edit a blank page — ↳ ooc #murder tw #infertility tw #depression tw #divorce tw

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wardenparker · 8 months ago

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 5

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Flirting, probably incorrect White House descriptions, this is almost definitely not how receiving lines actually work, celebrity chef cameo, the tension is building. Summary: Marcus pulls out all the stops at the State dinner, and June accidentally spills the beans. Notes: I unapologetically love this chapter. The State dinner is straight out of An American President and we even have a West Wing character sighting as well!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4

If Sydney hadn't gone and called in that favor with one of the stylists she knows, you sincerely doubt that you would have been ready for the dinner in any way, shape, or form. The gown, the jewelry, the shoes — all of it is lovely and sumptuous in a way you think you'll never get used to, but you will be sending this particular stylist an enormous thank you gift from the local chocolatier for all the wonderful work she did on you. Despite the help, though, you're feeling remarkably nervous as you pace around your apartment waiting for enough time to pass that you can actually leave to pick up Marcus.

It almost feels wrong being picked up by you for the State dinner. He understands that it’s not a date, just a friend doing another friend a favor, but he was raised as a gentleman. He was taught to show up to the door of a lady’s house, escort them and show them a good time and then deposit them back onto their doorstep safely.

It's a sleek, black car that shows up in front of his apartment building. Nondescript in that way that reads definitely government issued but also not important enough to follow, and of course that is deliberate. It isn't your car. No, he's seen your little blue sedan several times already. He wouldn't even know it was you if he hadn't gotten your text and spied Agent Bailey in the passenger seat. When his buzzer goes off a second later, it's distinctly your voice on the other end.

“I’ll be down in two seconds.” Marcus promises, grabbing the small brooch he had seen when he was at an antique store running down a lead on a case. While it might not be protocol to give you a brooch, he felt like it was more appropriate than flowers for the occasion.

"You might want to let me up!" You counter, quickly before he walks away from the speaker. "I have something for you."

“Oh, uh, sure.” Marcus flushes even though you can’t see him and hits the buzzer to unlock the security door.

In what feels like just a few seconds, you rocket upstairs in your full gown and best peacoat. It wards off the February chill nicely and has pockets deep enough for your best gloves without crushing them. The little white cardboard box clutched in your hand was retrieved this morning, and you hope he appreciates the small, albeit grateful gesture.

Marcus checks his reflection in the mirror next to the door and opens it quickly. He isn’t sure if you know what apartment he is in and he doesn’t want to leave you guessing.

"Hey." He looks devastating the second he opens his front door, dapper and clean cut in his tuxedo with what looks like a fresh haircut to boot. There is a little less guilt when your stomach flips at the sight of him and you feel a flutter in your chest, but you tell yourself that it's just nerves for the night to come. "Please accept my heartfelt thanks for tonight, in the form of the best muffin you will ever eat," you offer, holding out the bakery box and hoping he hasn't forgotten your little bet.

He tilts his head in confusion for a moment before a slow smile breaks across his face. “We’ll have to see about that.” He vows as he takes the box as gently as it if were a priceless work of art. “You can’t eat mine, but I also picked up a gift for you.” He explains as he sets the box down and picks up the antique velvet box. “I was in this little antique store on Tuesday, and as soon as I saw this, I knew it was made for you.”

"You really didn't have to." Even standing there in the entryway of his little DuPont Circle apartment, the heat in your cheeks spreads all the way down your neck and shoulders instantly. Carefully cracking open the velvet box reveals a stunning circular brooch with the Presidential seal set in gold in the center, surrounded by small but stunning stones that shine either clear or light blue when you turn them to hit the light from different angles. "Marcus, it's stunning."

“I thought it was perfect for tonight.” He explains, overjoyed that you like it. He had talked himself out of giving it to you three different times but then thought that it would be rude not to give you something as thanks for allowing him to take part in such a historic occasion.

"I wish I could wear it tonight." Apologetically, you pluck at your burgundy-colored skirt where it sticks out under the bottom of your coat. The soft blue and deep purple-red would clash entirely. "I'll have to make sure I pick the next dress specifically to match it."

“No, I didn’t expect you to wear it.” Marcus hastily corrects. “I just thought it was appropriate for the occasion.”

"It's wonderful." Though it doesn't keep you from wishing you could, and you slip the jewelry case into your jacket pocket for safe keeping. "Thank you. For the perfect gift and for being my lifesaver tonight."

“I don’t think escorting you to the State dinner is anything like lifesaving.” Marcus jokes. “But I’m here for you.”

"Are you ready to go?" You won't debate with him all the ways that he has very definitely saved your skin from an enormous amount of worry and explanation. Just as long as he knows that you're grateful, that is all that matters.

“Absolutely.” The key fob in his pocket is simply to get into the door and he has left his gun locked in his safe, but his badge is in his breast pocket. He holds out his arm. “Shall we?”

"No time like the present." The offer of his arm is elegant and old fashioned, and the two of you step into the elevator together. Agent Bailey is there waiting, of course, and ushers you back into the car to make sure you get to the White House on time.

Marcus nods politely to the Secret Service agent. “Agent Bailey, nice to see you again.” He murmurs, aware that the woman is working and cannot spend too much time chatting with him.

"Special Agent Pike." She nods back, the acknowledgement appreciated as much as the professionalism. The car that the President sent came complete with a chauffeur so she at least does not have to split her focus between driving and protecting. "We're right on schedule," she tells you both, once everyone is back in the car — then promptly raises the privacy barrier in the sleek town car.

“Well.” Marcus chuckles at the gesture and looks over at you. “We’ve been dismissed.” He jokes and adjusts in the seat slightly so he can talk to you and not crease his jacket. “Should I be offended?”

"Not at all." Although you can see how someone else might think so. "I think she's nervous. The first State dinner is a big deal. We're all a little nervous."

“Everything will be great.” He assures you, resisting the urge to take your hand and squeeze it. “I understand it’s a large undertaking, but security will be on top of their game and everything will move like a perfectly trained team winning a World Series.”

The baseball metaphor makes you smile, and you carefully buckle yourself in just before the car pulls out into traffic. "I think the kinks in the system they're worried about are me and my siblings," you admit ruefully. "Just because we were good on the campaign trail and for the inauguration doesn't mean we will be now, so they're just waiting to see if we all behave."

“I think that you and your siblings want nothing more than to make your mother proud and that is a reflection of her through you.” He observes, having listened to your stories about your brother and sister.

"You have far too much faith in my brother." The small laugh from your lips as you sit back is pure amusement, but he's right. None of you would ever do anything to interrupt so an important night. "Maybe if there wasn't royalty coming tonight. Because Alex is an agent of chaos, but only the good-natured kind."

“What young man isn’t?” Marcus snorts.

"His partner." You chuckle slightly, knowing how calm and collected your brother's boyfriend is by comparison. "Alex isn't out publicly. But he's known his soulmate since they were kids, and David just goes everywhere with him as his inseparable best friend. He'll be at the dinner tonight, too."

“It’s good that he can be with him tonight.” Marcus nods, not even having to say that your brother’s secret is safe with him. He wouldn’t dream of misusing that information.

"David's a sweetheart." He's good for Alex, and an active member of the family just like Sydney is. They were essentially adopted into the fold very early on. "He's going through law school with Alex at Georgetown. Family law, like adoption cases and child welfare. And I really think he's going to be a great lawyer." It's easy with Marcus, you reflect again, watching the streets of DC pass by the window beyond his profile. These are things that you hadn't even told Sam until a month or more into the relationship as you had been very careful about guarding your family's secrets at any cost. With Marcus you just seem to...open up.

“That’s great.” Marcus agrees. “I have a lot of respect for the good lawyers that are trying to make a difference in the world.” Marcus has met a lot of lawyers over his career and he can tell a difference in the ones that are genuinely there for the law and people’s rights and ones that aren’t very scrupulous.

"Then you and David should get along swimmingly." Feeling the nerves in your belly as the car pulls through the busy city streets, you offer him a warm but thin smile. "Sorry if I'm talking a lot," you offer. "That's my way of being nervous."

“Nothing wrong with that.” He assures you. “You talk out all your anxiety and I will listen.” He bites his lip and again is wondering why he has such a strong urge to comfort you and hold you close while you babble.

"Watch out." There's a softness in the way you smile so reflexively that you just sink into it, wishing you could reach for his hand. "Or I just might invite you to more of these things if you're going to be such good company."

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh no.” He snorts. “I would hate to be invited to amazingly historical events as a bystander and not work.”

"We'll see how little work you think it is when my family has gotten used to you and you start getting tapped into family debates." You snort right along with him, knowing that if he does come around your family often enough — an idea that you somehow don't hate even one single bit — it will happen fairly quickly. Nobody adopts their kids' friends quite like your parents do, and nobody likes debating as much as your parents, either.

Marcus laughs. “Sounds like dinner time conversation in the Pike household.” He admits, grinning at the memories. “My mother always believed in ‘healthy’ arguments so we debated early on and often. Even if she agreed, she could take the opposite positions just so we could rationalize what the other view would be thinking.”

“Sounds just like my house growing up.” You snort, though, rolling your eyes. “Hell, it sounds like them now, forget then. I had to negotiate my own damn birthday party because debates and negotiation are how everything gets done in my family.”

“Birthday?” He raises his brows and smiles. “You have one coming up?” He asks, wondering how old you will be. He thinks late twenties but he could get wrong, not exactly remembering the whole spiel on the first family during the election cycle.

“Thirty.” When you nod your head it comes with a slight shrug. “Next month. My parents tend to…it’s Mom, mostly. They make a big deal out of birthdays. And personal achievements. And pretty much anything else they consider important in life. It’s part of their philosophy of uplifting their kids, but it can get…heavy.”

“I get feeling that celebrating is great, but sometimes you would just like to do your own thing?” He asks, tilting his head. “Perfect birthday?” He challenges.

He's completely right, but there is a sort of naked and vulnerable feeling to admitting that he understands you so well this quickly that makes your heart skip and your palms sweat — not necessarily both positive feelings. "Sleep late, pancakes for brunch, then a ball game in the afternoon and dinner with my partner. Anything else that happens is extra, but those are the pillars of the perfect birthday." It's a little bit of a pipe dream, all things considered, but you smile nonetheless. "Oh! And cake. Birthdays have to have cake. Even if it's just a cupcake, it's got to be there."

“That sounds perfect.” Marcus groans, nodding. “Well—I have….” He pauses, wondering if he would overstepping boundaries. “I have season tickets for the Nationals, even if they aren’t my team.” He flashes you a grin. “You’d be surprised how many favors I can pull with a pair of tickets, field level.”

“Honestly? I don’t think I would be. A day at the park is kind of the perfect relaxer. To me, at least. Everything lifts away and you can just breathe.” Laughing, despite yourself, that lift is in your chest right now. Wondering if he’s really offering what you hope he’s offering. “I probably sound silly. But I just…I love going to baseball games. It almost doesn’t even matter who’s playing. It’s the experience of going that I love.”

“Eating ballpark dogs, drinking overpriced beer.” Marcus nods. “Have to get a bag of peanuts, it’s a crime not to.”

“I’m a Cracker Jack girl. Always have been.” It’s nostalgic and silly, and being able to just chat without tension has pulled the anxiety away from your bones. “The people around you are in a good mood, the game is fun, and hopefully you get to go with someone you enjoy. It’s the perfect afternoon, or evening, or whenever.”

“Best way to spend a Saturday night in my opinion.” He flashes you a grin. “Quick, tell the driver to drop us off at the Navy Yard.” He jokes. “We’ll go to the game in formal wear.”

“If I hadn’t promised my mother that I would behave, I might take you up in that.” It draws a groan from you, playful and light, and when you glance out the window to find yourselves pulling up to the White House already, you laugh again. “That was a fast drive.”

This time Marcus does reach over and take your hand in reassurance. “You will be wonderful. I’ve seen you around the inn, you’ve got this.” He squeezes gently and lets go. “You have a natural ability to put people at ease.”

“You’re…incredibly sweet.” This time the pang of guilt in your heart isn’t about how handsome his smile is, it’s how much you want to just hold onto his hand and not let go. It’s about how good touching Marcus felt, even for the briefest second. It’s…about the fact that you haven’t technically broken up with Sam yet because he’s been so sick.

“Thanks.” The smile he gives you covers the resounding gong of disappointment in his heart. Reminding him once again that the seemingly perfect woman for him isn’t available. You are dating an up-and-coming congressman and he’s gone out with Vanessa two more times. Both of you agree that it’s a little awkward how close the playing ‘seven degrees’ goes, but that it shouldn’t hamper the two of them from enjoying the other’s company. “That’s me. Sweet.” He tells you with a grin right as the car comes to a stop.

“Sweet is underrated and underappreciated,” you tell him honestly, waiting for the door to be opened and a hand to appear that will help you out in this enormous dress. “More men should be sweet.”

“I guess that’s true.” He snorts, reaching out to help with the back of the dress so you don’t have any mishaps.

The flashbulbs seem unnecessary, but with the help of the man helping ladies from their cars and Marcus with your dress, you pass through the line of new arrivals in no time. The agent at security checks your name off the list and inspects Marcus’s ID closely even after you hand over your invitation that formally lists both your names, but that’s protocol. Next step is the metal detectors and soon enough you’re being escorted to the receiving line. “Ready?” You ask Marcus quietly, knowing this might be the first President he’s ever met and recognizing that for the important occasion that it is to him.

“I am.” Marcus has met many esteemed members of congress and governors, but a president is a new on for the books. “Are you?” He asks, looking over at you earnestly. “Let me know if you need a break and I’ll need to use the bathroom or something.”

“The receiving line is going to be the most daunting part, I think.” There was some back and forth about whether or not your escorts — you being the kids — would stand with you in line but in the end your father made the case that Alex should be able to have David with him so it was all in. “But I’m okay. This is just going to be a lot of smiling politely as you stand between me and my brother. Probably a lot of telling people your job title. Then we’ll get to eat and drink and that will be worth it.”

“Hopefully no one asks if I can fix a parking ticket for them.” He snorts. “It’s kind of concerning how many people think the FBI can influence traffic tickets.”

“If anybody asks that,” you lend him a smile and slip your hand into his arm again. “You just refer them to me. I can’t do anything about it either, but they’ll either feel special or laugh.”

Marcus laughs as you guide him towards the small room where he assumes the family is assembled before the beginning of the dinner.

"There she is!" It's your father who spots you first, pulling you forward and into a tight hug as an attendant nearby takes your coat and Marcus's as well.

"Hi Dad." It's not as if you didn't see them just last night, but really and truly — everyone is nervous. "Everybody, this is Marcus." The ‘be nice’ is implied, but only because you said it explicitly last night. "Marcus, this is...everybody. My Father, my little sister June, my brother Alex, David and his brother Noah, and...of course...my Mother."

“Nice to meet you all.” Marcus doesn’t fawn over your mother, giving them all a warm smile and reaching out with a handshake for them all. “Junie, right?” He asks the younger girl, smiling when she hums and nods. He greets Alex and David by name as well, making your brother shoot you a questioning look before he moves on to your mother and father. “Your daughter has nothing but wonderful things to say about all of you.” He assures your father and then your mother. “Her pride in her family is obvious every time she speaks.”

“Oh Birdie, you didn’t say he was handsome,” you mother teases, knowing you did not say anything about the young man’s appearance one way or the other. He is your type, though, and she wonders in the way a mother does, if there is anything you haven’t told her. “Special Agent Pike, we are very glad to have you here tonight. My daughter has spoken nothing but wonderful things about you as well.”

“Happy to be here.” He admits, wincing slightly. “Although I hate that the congressman is sick.” He mentions Sam so the family knows that he is aware of your relationship status. “When Birdie called, I was happy to do her the favor.” He wonders at the nickname but doesn’t ask, knowing he didn’t hear it during game night, so it must be a family thing.

“Anybody else ready to embarrass me right off the bat?” The nickname is…less than ideal, given that you still haven’t talked to Marcus about your — potentially shared — tattoo, and you try not to flinch. “Dad? Alex? You guys up next?”

“Relax, Slugger.” Your Father flashes a grin even as he steps forward to shake Marcus’s hand. “We have the whole night to mortify you in front of your friend. No need to rush.”

Marcus laughs and feels at ease in the presence of your family. There’s a very happy sense of unity that is rare. “I promise I won’t hold the embarrassing stories against you.” He promises you with a wink.

“Very gracious of you,” you huff, but it’s all toothless. They’re your family, and even though they’re merciless sometimes, you love them. It keeps you all honest.

“I know.” He likes the fact they all chuckle and move back to your side. “Are there any protocols I need to be aware of?” He asks seriously, shifting the conversation back to the dinner. “I do not want to accidentally cause an international incident.”

“The king and queen are your Majesty the first time, and after that it’s sir or ma’am,” your Father explains, silently approving of the question with a glance and smile in your direction while he talks to Marcus. “Other than that, mind your manners and find any of us if you need a rescue. Birdie has your back and so do we.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Marcus nods and looks over at you. “Ready?”

“Mom?” Of course, she calls the shots. And the fact that she’s here in the room with you and not being escorted from the West Wing straight into the dinner is fairly impressive.

“Let’s line up.” She nods, gesturing for Junie and Noah to be first. “Kids in ascending order, and the king and queen will join us in the ballroom.”

Marcus offers you his arm again, wanting to formally escort you to your position, even if he is a supporting player tonight. Of course he will be written about, but he doesn’t focus on that, this is about the President having a wildly successful first State dinner.

"Madam President." The aide that appears looks official and tense, signaling that the night is ready to begin. There is...what would you call him? An announcer? A man in a tuxedo introducing each of you as you enter the room. When it gets to you and Marcus there is an odd sort of haze on the whole thing, and you swear you're trying not to think too hard about how much you like the sound of your names side by side like that. It feels just like when you were in middle school and doodled your name in your notebook next to your crush's.

Marcus straightens slightly and he reaches over and covers the top of your hand with his gently. “It’s kind of surreal.” He admits, whispering to you.

"The inauguration still feels like a fever dream," you murmur back, squeezing his fingers a little to show support. That you completely agree and understand. "Just smile and look like you're having fun and you'll be fine."

“Would it be wrong if I did enjoy myself?” He asks softly, wondering if you really hated events like this. “Maybe if you pretend to be undercover, it will help make it interesting?”

"It wouldn't be wrong." Once you fall into place beside Alex, you take a deep breath and smile — smiling at Marcus is remarkably easy and you decide not to think about it too hard. "These things...the spotlight, I mean?" You whisper to him, making sure not to move your lips too much so anyone watching can't tell what you're saying. "It just makes me nervous. That's all. I'd be glad if you actually enjoyed yourself."

“I only enjoy myself if my partner does.” Marcus leans in to murmur into your ear, explaining his view. “So it’s my duty to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

"I'll try not to make it too hard for you." The feeling of his breath fanning over your neck should be criminal, and it takes everything in you not to shiver and to lift your eyes to meet his instead of shying away. "But I get the feeling you don't shy away from a challenge."

“Never.” He promises. “Not even if it takes all night.”

He can't have meant it as an innuendo, but for the first time all night you're grateful for the voluminous skirts of your dress. No one has any idea that you just squeezed your thighs together wishing it was. "I'll remember that," you hum, turning to pay polite attention when the President is announced entering the ballroom.

Marcus realizes that it could have been taken another way and straightens as quickly as possible. His cheeks burning and he hopes that he didn’t offend you, even though you don’t seem like the type to easily be offended.

"I hope you can dance, G-man." Alex murmurs from Marcus's other side, quiet enough that you can't hear him and sending your escort a knowing smirk. "The girl has princess fantasies a mile wide." He's thrilled to not see Sam but won't say so until he knows the self-centered Congressman is out of the picture entirely. Instead, he'll play his hand quietly from the sidelines.

Marcus hums and glances over at you as you straighten your spine even more as the doors open. “She certainly looks like one.”

"Attaboy." Your brother laughs softly, giving Marcus an approving nod before he, too, straightens out of respect for his mother.

He can’t respond, but he wonders why your brother would say something like that. Only pondering on it for a moment before there are one thousand flashing lightbulbs making halos appear in his vision.

With the receiving line in place, the guests of honor are introduced next, and they make their way down the line with polite interest. So far, they have only met the President and First Gentleman. When they reach you and Marcus, you curtsy and thank god for all those times you watched The Princess Diaries as a kid. You're at least not blanking out on how to be polite to monarchs.

Once the line starts, it seems like it will never end. Marcus shakes hands and recognizes faces, all of it becoming a surreal blur after a bit. Trying to take the time to check in with you, his hand finds your back and he presses gently, offering comfort when he notices that you shift slightly.

If he had any idea his hand was right over your tattoo, he might have felt differently about the gesture. You can’t know for sure, of course. All you do know is that every time he touches you, you want to wilt into his arms like some ancient damsel and there’s no way to logic yourself out of it. There’s no explanation or reasoning beyond wanting him. But — you remind yourself each time you glance up to meet his eyes and silently tell him I’m okay because you’re here supporting me — he’s dating Vanessa. He’s with someone else and this is just a favor for a friend.

Marcus feels guilty, so fucking guilty because he’s absolutely in-tuned to you. He tries to be observant and thoughtful, but unlike with his ex, or even Teresa and Vanessa, it’s so easy with you. It’s like he can sense your emotions and adjust to them. Hating that he wants to see you look at him like he is wonderful every day and not sure why he feels like you should.

By the time the line ends you aren’t just mentally exhausted, you’re hungry to boot. “I have no idea how many people we just met,” you admit in a whisper, when you take his arm again to be escorted to your seats. Your father had smartly separated each of his children to a different table tonight to cut down on potential shenanigans, so you and Marcus have been placed with a few members of your mother’s staff and a few esteemed guests. There are no judges or members of Congress here, so conversation should stay light and entertaining.

“Three hundred and twenty-six.” Marcus supplies as he walks with you to the table. “And I’m absolutely in need of a roll and a drink.”

“You kept count?” It’s impressive and just a dash nerdy, making you reach for the nearest passing waiter to snag two glasses of champagne in appreciation. “Pretty cool that Antonio Banderas and Javier Bardem came, though. I’m bummed Pedro Almodóvar turned down the invitation.”

“I’ve seen some of his works.” Marcus nods. “He’s a good visionary.” He had been impressed with the foreign dignitaries and celebrities alike, finding it to be slightly overwhelming. “It will be interesting to see who is sat with us.”

“He’s remarkable.” The last few things you’ve seen from the Spanish filmmaker were truly moving, and you had happily dragged Sydney and Juan along to the theater with you. “Apparently he’s working on something new. So he couldn’t be here tonight.”

“I think that’s a good reason to not be available to attend.” He murmurs, smiling slightly as you tip back the champagne. His own is still untouched. “Here.” He offers to exchange glasses.

“You said you wanted a drink?” That had been the entire reason for grabbing the glasses early, and you tilt your head at him. “Don’t worry, there’s a five-course dinner to soak it up.”

“Your glass is empty, though.” He insists. “I can wait for the waiter to come around. You’re still thirsty.” He doesn’t mention that you still seem nervous as well.

“Be careful,” you warn, as playfully as you possibly can while your stomach knots at the thought. “If you’re too good at this I’ll want to bring you to every fancy dinner and party.”

He chuckles, knowing that wouldn’t happen because of your relationship with Sam. The congressman will be the one to escort you next time. He exchanges glasses with you with a smile. “There.”

“Come on.” After another grateful sip, you slip your hand back into his arm and feel that gentle lift of tension again, the same way you’ve felt each time he’s touched you tonight. It goes hand in hand with the fire in your belly. “I see my mother’s deputy chief of staff at our table, but he’ll be up and down a dozen times during dinner.”

He wonders if the seating arrangement was made when he wasn’t attending and Sam was. It would make sense and it’s another reminder that he doesn’t actually belong here, with you. “Then you will have time to relax.” He reasons.

“I’ll be okay.” You can promise him that, despite his attention and seeming insistence to the contrary. It’s like he can sense your nerves, but you don’t want him to miss out on any fun because he’s babysitting you all night.

He doesn’t argue with you, aware that you have more experience in these situations than he does, so he just nods. “Are we sitting down now, or can we escape to the bathroom?”

“I think we have a few minutes, if you need it.” There will be speeches and the like before the first course is served, and there is wiggle room to be found. “Do you need me to show you?”

“Would you mind?” He knows you could probably use a breather, even if you don’t want to mention it. There are a lot of people who fawned over you and your siblings simply because of your proximity to the most powerful person in the country and he imagines it’s exhausting.

“It’s this way.” On the edge of the ballroom in an alcove of sorts, with a Secret Service agent whose name is temporarily escaping you standing by in a tuxedo. “I’ll wait for you. This place is a maze if you’re not ready for it. I got lost in the residence for an entire hour on my first day there.”

“That had to be fun.” Marcus snorts, shuffling slightly. “I don’t really have to go.” He admits. “I just thought you might like a moment.”

“You are…remarkably good at taking care of me.” A fact which is slightly disarming, in as much as it is infinitely comforting. The trouble is that it makes you lean into him in a way that seems far too intimate for the moment. But you’ve chosen not to care if you so much as even think about it for a second. “It is…deeply appreciated.”

“I’m glad you don’t find it annoying.” He admits with a small laugh. “My ex sometimes told me it felt like I was undermining her autonomy.” He quotes.

“She objected to being cared for?” That makes you frown instantly, wishing you could reach back in his past and soothe the hurt left by an ungrateful partner. “I can’t imagine that. At all. Hell, half the time if I didn’t have Syd right there in the kitchen to feed me, I would probably forget to eat. Workaholic’s curse, I guess?”

“Oh absolutely.” He nods. “Sometimes the best feeling in the world is just someone calling up and asking if they should bring home dinner, right?” He asks. “That’s all I was trying to do. My dad would be exhausted after work and he’d still call Mom to see if she felt like cooking or if she wanted him to grill something or pick something up.”

“It’s caretaking.” Something you see so deeply in your best friend’s relationship with her soulmate and you have silently started to wish for yourself. Something that you yearn for the way you see it around you. It’s what your parents always strived for, although they sometimes fell short. Their strengths are elsewhere. “I’m…not used to it,” you admit after a pause. “And I appreciate it. Wholeheartedly.”

“Good.” He flashes you a relieved smile. “Although, if you get annoyed or I overstep, you just tell me, okay? I know it’s not my place, that’s Sam’s, but for tonight, you’re in my care.”

“It’s—” You have to swallow the objection, knowing that it wouldn’t be right to tell Marcus before you even tell Sam what your plans are. And while the impulse to confide in him is deep, you have to wonder if it’s because you might have that soulmate connection, or just because you have a crush. “Just for tonight,” you offer instead, choosing to embrace that with open arms.

He nods and tries not to read anything into it. Hating how he hopes that is longing in your eyes. It’s not fair and he smiles. “Do you need to powder your nose?” He asks teasingly.

“I might as well.” Glancing around, there are eyes everywhere and you know they’re watching. Plus, it would probably do you well to step away from Marcus for a second and calm the fuck down. “Someone is probably watching and it will get remarked on in some gossip column if neither of us does.”

“I can step inside the bathroom then, after you go into the women’s room.” Marcus offers, not wanting to put your reputation on the line.

"If nothing else we should probably wash our hands after that receiving line," you offer, trying to diffuse any tension that surely lives only in your head. "I'll be right back."

“Good call.” He flashes you a smile and waits for you to disappear into the bathroom before stepping into the men’s room. “Get it together, Pike.” He huffs to himself as he stares into the mirror. He had shaved right before you arrived and had gotten a haircut this morning to make sure he looked his best. “You gotta get over this little thing.”

A mere ten feet away, you're staring yourself in the mirror giving yourself almost an identical short, stern lecture and shaking your head. This thing is going to get out of hand. And maybe you can't rein it in completely, but you have to at least behave your damn self until you can properly break up with Sam. Marcus washes his hands and dries them, straightening his bow tie before he steps out of the bathroom to wait for you.

"Let's go back to the table." You appear only a minute later, having lectured yourself silently in the mirror long enough and washed your hands thoroughly for good measure. "My father played with the seating chart a little so there would be some people at the table for you to talk about art with."

“That will be fun.” He doesn’t mean that sarcastically, aware that he learns odd facts and titbits about art.

"Hopefully you mean that." Lending him a smile, you nod your head and put out your hand to him. It's an offering if he wants to take it, and if he doesn't that's okay too. It will probably help you chill the fuck out to have a small gesture rejected, if you're honest with yourself.

He doesn’t think you want to hold his hand, so Marcus takes it, squeezing it gently and then wrapping it over his extended arm. “I get to be formal tonight.” He jokes, sending you a small wink.

In absolutely no way is that a rejection, and your cheeks burn as you absorb that small gesture and walk with him back to the table. You manage to sit just as the speeches are beginning, and survey the table for anyone you recognize while everyone is paying rapt attention to the stage.

Josh, your mother's Deputy Chief of Staff, is seated to your left. Guests you recognize as being staff members at the Spanish embassy are seated on his other side. Beside them are the counselors from the State department who are apparently staples on the White House guest list and have been for the last eight years. You have no idea who they are beyond that, and the random detail that your father mentioned they are foodies. Which makes sense, as they are seated next to famous chef José Andrés and his wife. Considering they are seated next to Marcus, you must deduce that these are the art lovers your father was so glad to introduce to your new escort.

Marcus makes note of the exits, the Secret Service positioned strategically and for a brief moment wonders what it would be like to protect someone like this. He doesn’t know if he has the fortitude for it, becoming emotionally attached to the people he works with. It’s what made him an effective leader but also would make him a poor protector as a career. He glances back at the podium and listens carefully.

The speeches are...a bit endless. After what must be thirty full minutes of gratitude and platitude, well written jokes that are mostly poorly delivered, and even a few self-deprecating cracks, all the speakers seem finally to be done and the waiters pour out of the woodwork with the first course. Every course is influenced by your Spanish visitors and the menu is printed out neatly on a card at every seat, which you know very well you will be keeping in a stack in a shoebox in your apartment as the best keepsake from every single White House event.

“It looks delicious.”

Marcus smiles at the woman who speaks up as the plate is sat in front of her. “I can only imagine the chaos that is occurring in the kitchen.” Marcus replies. “They have been working hard and it shows.”

"Every meal I have ever had from that kitchen has been exemplary," you promise them, knowing that you are currently the table expert on the quality of the White House kitchen. "The whole menu sounds very promising." Gazpacho with garlic shrimp for the first course, and the traditional Spanish tomato soup is garnished with lovely bits of the fresh vegetables that make up the refreshingly cold puree.

“And that is saying something, considering her best friend and business partner is a culinary artist.” Marcus brags. “She eats fantastically every day.”

"Oh?" That catches the attention of the chef sitting two seats over from Marcus. He and his wife both perk up measurably to find those who love food nearby. "Please say more," he chuckles.

"I...run an inn." Apparently you're going to spend at least part of tonight chatting with a world-renowned chef that Sydney is going to be so mad she missed this. "And my best friend is the executive chef of the restaurant on property." The chance to brag on her behalf will absolutely not escape you. "She was just nominated for a James Beard Award, actually. She's absolutely remarkable."

“I can attest to that.” Marcus seconds as he picks up his spoon. “Her food is absolutely incredible. I’ve not had such good food since I was actually in Italy. And it might be better.” He boasts. This is his friend’s wife and better yet, he’s not stretching the truth. Her food is that good.

“Better than in Italy?” Chef Andrés’ eyebrow raises in discerning interest. “We may have to visit. If it is possible?”

“Possible?” You almost choke on air at the request, but manage to hold your composure long enough to nod in a reasonably human manner. “We will make sure that it is possible. It would be an honor.”

“You won’t regret it.” Marcus promises. “You should honestly book a night at the inn. Their brunch is probably my favorite but their dinners are amazing as well.”

“You should hire your boyfriend to do your PR,” Andrés teases, the smile on his lips stretching wider when his wife rolls her eyes in amusement. “If it is as good as you say, I must try it, yes? Bring my wife?”

Marcus chuckles, hating how he almost perks up at being called your boyfriend. “I’m afraid that I’m just a friend.” He explains with a smile. “But I know good food and a charming, romantic atmosphere when I see one.” He tells him. “You take your wife for a weekend and she will be singing your praises.”

The two guests beside him seem to tut at Marcus’s correction but say nothing else on the topic, instead beginning to eat along with the rest of the table after you delicately pass them a business card from your clutch.

“So what is it that you do?” The chef’s wife asks, glancing at Marcus.

“Oh.” He’s a little thrown off by the question but he smiles. “I’m the head of the Art Crimes department for the FBI.” He explains. “We investigate thefts, forgery rings and work with Interpol.”

“How fascinating!” Her eyes light up with the declaration. It obviously isn’t a polite interest, which is nice for utter strangers seated next to each other at dinner. “To investigate these forgeries you must be very well versed in all sorts of art.”

“I have learned my fair share and the some about art.” Marcus admits with a chuckle. “Honestly, sculpture is my favorite. Although there are not a lot of forgeries in that area.”

“I imagine it would be much harder to accomplish,” she agrees, seeming to consider the thought before going on. “Do you create art as well? Or stick to protecting it?”

“I am a phenomenally bad artist.” Marcus snorts and laughs at himself. “Stick figure bad. So I try to just protect the art created by others.”

“I bet you’re better than you think.” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, but you just can’t imagine that Marcus Pike is bad at…well…anything. He seems to radiate positivity and confidence.

Marcus sends you a warm, amused look, positively happy that you would try to protest that. “I’m afraid that my fingers are only good for playing instruments.”

Tutting and rolling your eyes playfully, you nearly huff at him but end up grinning. “You say that as if it’s deficient in some way. Playing an instrument is extraordinary.”

“Three.” He admits with a grin.

“Three?” Your jaw nearly drops out of indignation, as though he were keeping something from you. Which is patently ridiculous. “I only knew about one!”

He bites his lip playfully. “Guitar, bass and….” He snickers quietly. “Violin.”

“No.” When you nearly erupt into giggles you have to stifle it behind your napkin. “That’s discipline! Or did you decide it wasn’t cool enough and that’s why you picked up guitar and bass?”

“Actually….” He shrugs. “There was a girl.” He can look back and laugh now. “She didn’t think playing guitar or bass was ‘real music’ so I made a bet that if I could perform Bach’s Violin Concerto in E Major, she would go out on a date with me.”

The rest of the table has faded into the background, with a hall of focus encompassing you and Marcus entirely. You’re not sure when it happened but everyone else just became a smiling face and white noise compared to the man next to you. “Please tell me it worked. That would be a shame if it didn’t work.”

There’s a flash of something bittersweet, there and gone before most can even register it as Marcus nods. “We were married for three and a half years.” He looks around the table and grins, trying to make sure no one feels sorry for him. “Think that was a good play.”

“Oh.” Embarrassment floods your system immediately and your cheeks burn with it. “It…was your wife. Of course it was your wife. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—that was thoughtless of me.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Marcus is adamant about that, reaching over and patting your hand. “I admire your stance on non-soulmate relationships.” He admits. “Even if my ex wasn’t my soulmate, she’s a wonderful woman and I grew in our relationship together. More people could use that.”

“It’s just that I think everyone should be able to choose,” you admit, having been struggling with the topic as much as you have recently. “This idea of only having one perfect match chosen for you? It doesn’t mean it’s the only way to be happy. My parents are soulmates, my brother has a soulmate, our friends are soulmates — I’m happy for all of them. But not finding your one preordained needle in the haystack of the world shouldn’t mean you don’t get a shot at happiness.”

“No,” Marcus agrees. “Happiness shouldn’t be tied to one person or one thing.” He longs for his soulmate, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t open himself up for others.

“That’s all.” There is no show to put in here. No soapbox to stand on. It isn’t a campaign event or even an interview. It’s just talking — and talking to someone you suspect more and more might be the needle you were meant to search for. “I would love to meet my soulmate,” you admit after another moment. “But I want it to be my choice to love them, not the world’s.”

“If it weren’t for the tattoo, I would wonder if my soulmate existed.” Marcus admits. “The scars, I can’t even remember whose is whose, but…my soulmate doesn’t want to be found and I will respect that.”

“What would make you think they do want to be found?” The idea that whoever is tied to Marcus wouldn’t want to be found by him seems ridiculous now that you know him. But you know that’s personal bias.

“Never been on Mate Marks.” Marcus shrugs. “Not once. Just figured they aren’t interested.”

“Not everyone can be on Mate Marks.” You remind him gently, but deflect right away. “Maybe she’s a movie star.”

“Maybe.” It hurts him in a very raw way so he changes the subject. “Perhaps there’s supposed to be some kind of dramatic meet cute.” He shrugs, turning towards the Chef and his wife. “How did you two meet?”

“She was hanging out with her friends.” Andrés regards his wife with a warm smile. “At my restaurant. Many, many years ago. But I could not take my eyes from her once I saw her. I was—” He pauses for a moment, searching for the word, and then grins when he finds it. “A goner. For such beauty, how could I not be?”

“Love at first sight.” Marcus hums at the romanticism and whimsy of it. “You are a lucky man.” He admits. “There is something so beautiful about that.”

“There are many beautiful ways to fall in love.” The chef contends with a shrug, as if to say any love is good. And he does have a point. “Sometimes the one best suited to us is directly under our nose, sometimes they are a surprise. But always, they are worth finding.”

“Love is always worth it.” On that, Marcus can completely agree. “I’ll drink to that.” His champagne glass has been swapped for a new one and he holds it up. “To love, in all forms.” He offers. “The world is better for it.”

“Here here.” On your other side, Josh raises his glass and the rest of the table follows suit, all of you drinking a toast while your mind begins to work.

Marcus takes a sip, noticing that you look introspective and he wonders if you are thinking about Sam. Instead of prying, he sets his drink down and takes up his spoon again, listening to the conversation start around the table again and this time, it’s not focused on him.

The courses go by like clockwork. Every bite is delicious, every sip of accompanying wine is refreshing. Conversation becomes easy with the rest of the table and as all the guests relax the atmosphere becomes more and more party-like.

Watching your mother begin the dancing with a king is something entirely surreal. There’s something sort of spectacular about seeing this woman that you know as everything from determined to downright silly getting up there and whirling like she hasn’t a care in the world. She glows in that spotlight, soaking it up and radiating the same appreciation back out to the rest of the room — but she only gets brighter when the song changes and your father steps up to take her hand for the next dance.

Marcus watches the First Gentleman bow slightly, the grin on his face making him look years younger and there’s a moment where Marcus is envious. He wants a life like that, a life like his parents have. Love is love and he appreciates that, but he wants love. Vanessa isn’t in love with him, and he’s not in love with her. Not in a way that would have him picking out wedding venues with her. They have companionship and fun. He gets the feeling that she’s trying to get over someone and that’s okay, but he wants to have someone light up when they see him like the President just did for her husband of over thirty years.

As other couples start to join in, you see your siblings join the dance floor — probably to gossip, that's in keeping with a tradition they started when your mother was Governor of Pennsylvania — and your hand twitches on the table wishing you were brave enough to just reach for Marcus like you want to. To find out if he dances as well as you've dreamt that he does. Because that thought has permeated every single dream you've had this week.

It must be a tradition to have the entire first family on the floor and Marcus decides that you won’t break it. He stands and offers you his hand as he moves around the chair. “Shall we join them?”

A shaky breath passes your lips, but your hand settles in his before you can second guess yourself. You want to dance with him and you can dance with him. It isn't overstepping or cheating or anything of the sort. "I promise not to step on your toes," you murmur, not bothering to temper the brightness of your smile. Though that is partially because you really can't feel how much you're glowing in this moment. It's not something you've ever felt before — not like this, at least.

“I have a feeling you are a better dancer than me.” He guides you to the edge of the floor with quiet pride and bows.

"It's just practice." The smile of assurance on your face as the do the formal thing and curtsy never flickers. You take his hand and let him guide you to the floor, knowing that it isn't necessary here for most people to learn ballroom dance. No one is expecting a perfect tango out of the couples on this floor. As long as you and Marcus can make your way around the floor in a reasonable facsimile of a dance, all will be well. "Haven't you seen Sabrina? Just pretend you're David Larrabee."

Marcus smiles as he steps close and settles his hand on your waist. “Did I mention my father insisted that I learn to dance?” He asks as he starts to move to the song. “Dancing helps coordination.”

"How could I possibly be a better dancer than you now?" Have you had lessons? Sure. Of course you have. All three of the First Kids of Pennsylvania took them so as not to embarrass their parents at formal events. But all that knowledge seems to leave you in a flash with Marcus holding you close like this. You're pretty sure you even forget how to breathe for a second. "Is there anything you can't do? And don't say art, because I still don't believe you."

“It’s really bad.” He promises with a laugh. “I never graduated beyond first grade stick figures.”

"Well..." As the two of you begin to turn in time with the music, the breath returns to you only to be whisked away again with every turn. "Your dancing is..." With your cheeks burning again, you feel like you can barely look him in the eye. "It's top notch, I promise."

“Then the lessons paid off.” Marcus laughs. “Dad said they would. Didn’t believe it when I was seven, but now I see the light.”

“If I ever meet your Dad, remind me to thank him.” Whoever the couples around you are, whatever the band is playing, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Everything about this moment is perfect, and there really is no talking yourself out of it at this point — this crush you have on Marcus Pike is officially out of hand.

He smiles and nods, no comment needed as he sweeps you around the dance floor and he tightens his grip on you. “Hold on.” He warns, right before he dips you low.

A collective gasp from the room full of spectators is followed by titters of laughter and exclamations then punctuated by applause, but you are holding on. You’re holding on to Marcus with an iron grip on his shoulders, laughing in your own right but it’s disbelief and a sort of bubbling giddiness that you can’t quite describe. It’s all-consuming just like your focus on him, so much so that you don’t even notice the flashbulbs going off in the ballroom.

It’s been a long damn time since he could say that he has had this much fun dancing. You are a great partner, seeming to fit into his arms perfectly. Moving with him naturally and his matching grin when he pulls you upright is beaming.

“I—” What can you really say? If you weren’t in a room full of people and if you weren’t still technically in a relationship, that’s the kind of move that would have you reaching up to kiss him in a heartbeat. As it is, you barely manage to stop yourself from licking your lips a little at the thought. His eyes and his smile are brilliantly bright and you wish you could just let your pounding heart speak for itself. But all that comes out as he starts to whirl with you again is “Wow.”

“You like that?” He asks, even though his tone makes it clear he is aware of your astonishment and delight. “Figured you needed a moment where you can look back and pretend that you were the princess at the royal ball.” He jokes. “The glass slippers are in another room though.”

“You’re never getting out of this,” you tease, feeling the burning in your cheeks even as you get your footing back, and with your eyes still locked in Marcus. “Four more years of these things if you’re going to dance with me like that. Get ready, Pike.”

He could tell you that he would gladly dance with you, but he doesn’t. He just laughs and steps away so he can twirl you around.

All it does, besides give you that feeling again of being a princess floating on air, is seal how doomed you really are in your mind. When your twirl back into Marcus’s arms, you swear you actually sigh outright. It’s all just too dreamy and you’re forever in Sydney’s debt for making you ask him.

The song is quickly coming to an end, and Marcus is aware there are too many speculative eyes on the two of you, so he doesn't spin you or dip you again. He doesn't want to cause issues with Sam, just enjoying the dance with you and got a little carried away. His mother would accuse him of subconsciously showing off and that might be true, but he brings you to a stop when the music ends and hates that he hates when his hands slide away from you so he can clap politely. "Sorry." He hums as you both clap. "Got a little carried away."

“You never need to apologize for having fun.” You assure him, knowing that you certainly aren’t sorry for your part in it.

"I'm sure the press corps absolutely loved it." Marcus laughs. "At least your Agent Bailey didn't think I was attacking you. That would have been mortifying, being tackled to the floor for dipping you." It's a joke, not particularly a good one, but he needs to get over this feeling of rightness. To distract himself from the want of pulling you close and pressing his lips to your stained ones. Obviously he needs to not do that and corny jokes puts a little distance from him and that thought.

“Don’t let Bailey fool you. She’s a softie.” The other half of that thought is that she would never mistake a romantic gesture, but it’s just wishful thinking to one dance to be a romantic interlude.

The music has a thirty second delay to allow dancers to join or exit the floor and in that time, Alex comes up to the pair of you. "May I cut in?" He asks, standing beside Junie and David's brother that Marcus hadn't caught his name. "David doesn't want to dance, for obvious reasons."

“The reason is his two left feet,” you tell Marcus with a knowing grin. “I’ll be right back. Unless everyone mobs you for a dance after what they saw you can do.”

"I'll dance with him." Junie offers with a matching grin towards her sister. She hadn't missed the dreamy look in your eyes and wants to see if it was because of the dance or the man. "If you don't mind?"

Marcus shakes his head and looks towards her date for the evening. "May I?" It might me a little archaic, since Junie has full autonomy over who she dances with, but it was polite manners who ask the escort for their blessing and Marcus was nothing if not polite.

“Go for it,” Noah’s answering nod is easygoing, and he has to admit he’s curious too. There is speculation amongst them now and he wants to know what Junie has to say after dancing with him.

Marcus offers his hand to Junie, bowing just like he had with you before sweeping the younger girl into his arms. "Your escort is a friend?" He asks, curious since he looks so much like David.

“Pretty much family at this point,” Junie confirms, taking the elegant bow to mean that she should attempt a curtsy just before she gets pulled into the dance. She wobbles a little but makes it. “He’s Alex — our brother’s — best friend’s little brother.” Not being sure how much you may have told FBI Marcus Pike about Alex or the family, she carefully doesn’t say more. “So we’ve known each other a long time.”

"It's a shame that David has a case of the left feet." Marcus glances over at the table where the law student is passionately talking to a judge that had been seated with them. "Hopefully Noah is not the same?" He admires the protectiveness of the younger girl's tone and approves of it wholeheartedly. You protect family and that’s something special amongst siblings.

“Not at all. That’s why he’s here.” She laughs at that, realizing it’s silly, but doesn’t quite care. “We all had to have someone with us for this one, and I’m not much for the dating scene so Noah gave me a rescue. He’s basically my other brother.” The steps are easy enough to be led through, or else Marcus Pike is a very good lead, and June turns with him a few times before she starts thinking that smile on her big sister’s face was about the dance as much as the man. He’s good, but he’s not Fred Astaire, so it has to be a combination.

"Very nice of him." Of course there would be a million different selfish reasons why he would want to come, but it's also a very nice gesture. "Friends that are family are the best." He agrees.

“Firmly agree.” June nods with authority, holding on tight as Marcus turns her around in the dance. She can see why you liked this so much — those fairy tale fantasies you think are secret must have loved being twirled around a ballroom.

There is a moment where Marcus could dip June, but he doesn't. He knows that people are speculating and he keeps a respectable amount of distance between him and your younger sister. Knowing that it could be taken out of context if someone really wanted to stir up trouble. He does spin her though, making her laugh as he pulls her out of it.

“Oh, you’re going to get yourself invited to all of these,” she laughs. It’s a little archaic in her opinion, but a pretty face with good manners and talented dancing shoes is like an endangered species at these things. Especially one who passes the background checks. “Did Birdie tell you about her birthday yet?”

"She did." Marcus laughs. "Talked about having to negotiate." He wonders at the nickname again and glances over to where you and Alex are dancing and laughing together. "Where did the nickname Birdie come from?" He asks. "I've only heard family use it."

“She was a giant ornithology nerd when she was a kid,” June explains easily, not thinking any of the question. “Bird feeders everywhere in the backyard of the house in Philly. There’s a bunch at the inn, too. She even got a bird tattoo when she was old enough. Mom freaked out.”

Marcus doesn’t stiffen, which is a credit to his undercover training. But he’s instantly on alert. You have hummingbird feeders at the inn. “Oh?” He manages to keep his tone causally interested. “What type of bird?”

“It’s this hummingbird and flowers design that she got on her back.” June shrugs again, even in the dance. “Why would you get a tattoo on your back where you can’t see it? That never made any sense to me.”

“On her shoulder?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Shoulder tattoos are pretty popular. You can show them off or cover them up.”

June snorts, lowering her voice. “Who even gets a tramp stamp anymore? Her shoulder would have been way better.”

It’s like the world fucking stops when he hears June’s confirmation of what he had suspected. You are his soulmate. The undeniable attraction and need to be around you is suddenly explain. Though, you had to have known, and worse, you kept it a secret. Marcus feels his heart clench, although he smiles and chuckles at the horror on the younger girl’s face. “Easy to conceal.” He offers, making it seem like his whole world hasn’t shifted off its axis. He’s hurt, deeply, but he cannot make a scene - nor would he.

The song ends either in the nick of time or far too soon, and a Junie thanks Marcus for the dance before trotting off to disappear into the crowd and out of sight. This is a very easy room to disappear in, after all.

Marcus needs a drink, but he waits on the side of the dance floor as Alex brings you over. “Nice dance?” He asks.

“Nice enough.” Alex had talked your ear off about something David said at dinner and then asked a million questions about Marcus, so you’re feeling a little warm in the cheeks and a little knotted in your stomach. “You?”

“Absolutely.” He paints a smile on his face and offers his arm as he turns you from the dance floor. “Your sister is a charming young woman.” He compliments. “I need a drink, how about you?”

“Please.” What you need is courage, after talking to Alex, and a drink is that in liquid form. “And…I wanted to ask you something? If that’s okay.”

“Your sister has already warned me I will the attending these from now on.” Marcus jokes, although he’s not sure he would want to attend. To know that you were aware of the potential soulmate connection and not breathing a word of it hurts in a way he cannot describe. Especially after the conversations you’ve had about choices. You’ve taken his own choice away from him in a sense.

“Yeah…” A huff of a laugh comes out of you, and you take Marcus’s arm to walk away from the dance floor but it isn’t as relaxed as before. You have to wonder if more of this sounds that terrible to him. Or more of you? “Dad said that any friend we have who was a good dancer was going to end up on all the invitation lists by default.”

“Of course.” A subtle, slapping reminder of what he is to you goes a long way to not saying something. The bar is thankfully devoid of too many people and he quickly looks towards you. “What will you have?” He asks politely.

“A Manhattan with Statesman?” You glance over at the bartender and he nods and sets to work. Asking Mar is what you want to ask is so loaded and terrifying that you really are going to need that courage.

“And I’ll have a triple Statesman on the rocks.” Marcus adds, knowing that a double won’t be enough.

"Was Junie really that bad?" you tease. But if the answer is yes you'll be furious.

“No, she was wonderful.” Marcus assures you. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

“I wondered if I could ask you something?” You’re practically shaking in your heels, but you may never get the courage to ask again and short of straight out asking to see his tattoo, this is the next best thing for confirmation. “At dinner you said you have scars? Yours and your soulmate’s and you’ve sort of forgotten whose is whose?”

“Yeah?” There’s no way you can know how the casual question rips him apart but he shrugs slightly and tilts his head curiously at you. “They are old.”

“Like from when you were a kid?” The ache in your chest is undeniable, wanting so badly for him to confirm things for you. The scar from when your appendicitis operation is fairly unique. The surgeon must have desperately needed new glasses or worse.

“I know the scar right here is from my soulmate.” He points to his side and shrugs. “Assuming their appendix burst or something.”

The smallest breeze in the world could knock you over right now. A single breath would be enough, but neither you nor Marcus seems to be breathing at the moment. The only noise between you is the pounding of blood in your ears and the dull thud of two glasses hitting the bar beside you which knocks you out of your trance. “Appendicitis sucks,” you manage to murmur ineloquently, and rummage frantically for a tip in your clutch.

“I’ve never had it, so at least there’s not a double scar.” Marcus hums, watching you search through your bag. “I’ve got it.” He promises, reaching to his wallet and pulling out a bill.

“Thank you.” Even a few seconds to shut your eyes and take a drink isn’t enough to steady you, but you have to fake it. Right now you’re shaking like a leaf. “Soulmates are…they’re interesting…” you manage, trying your best not to just burst out with it in the spot. You have to break up with Sam first, you tell yourself over and over.

“Sometimes.” Marcus agrees, wondering why you are talking about this now. Is it to rub it in? To test him? He picks up his drink and takes a sip.

“I’m sorry.” Taking your drink away from the bar, concentrating on not spilling it will help you not shiver or shake as much, but you still shake your head. “I guess I’m…distracted. And that’s not fair to you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Marcus promises you softly, wondering why you are having such an extreme reaction right now. Like you are having an internal crisis. “I’m here for you.”

“You can’t possibly know how much that means to me.” And how much it makes you ache in turn. How much you wish he would be there for you as a partner. As a lover. But he might not even want you. Just because you’re soulmates — there it is, you’ve admitted it to yourself — doesn’t mean he will choose to be with you. He might be ecstatically happy with Vanessa.

He smiles and takes another sip of his drink, honestly unsure of what to say right now. Taking a drink seems like the safest option and he wishes he were brave enough to down the smooth whiskey in one belt and order another.

There really was a solid chance that you would be able to keep your head on straight but then you looked at him again. The way your resolve crumbles in the face of those big, brown puppy eyes is laughable. “I decided I’m breaking up with Sam,” you blurt out, instantly squeezing your eyes shut and berating yourself internally for it.

He’s nearly spitting his whiskey out when you say that, choking slightly and coughing. “I— I’m sorry.” He murmurs, patting himself on the chest. “I hope that it’s not because I came with you to the dinner?”

“What! No. No…I—” You can’t say it has nothing to do with him because that’s a lie. Meeting Marcus was the catalyst that led you to the decision. Meeting Marcus has been tumultuous and eye opening. “The decision has been coming for a little while, I think.”

“Okay.” He is relieved about that. “The last thing I wanted was to cause issues with you and the congressman.”

“And I don’t want to cause any between you and Vanessa.” As much as you may wish he wasn’t seeing her, it isn’t for you to decide. His life is his choice, entirely and completely.

It’s interesting that you would say that. Considering that he’s never said anything beyond inviting you to dinner. “You won’t.” He promises.

“Right.” The confidence he says it with makes you feel utterly small, and you force yourself to laugh just so you don’t say anything else stupid. “Of course not. That was a silly thing to say.”

“It’s not silly.” Marcus doesn’t like the way you seem to deflate slightly. “I just mean we are all adults.”

“Yes. We definitely are.” The way it stings your heart is very real, but this is not the time or the place to feel that feelings in its entirety. Instead, you remind yourself to smile and calmly sip your drink.

It feels like the night has gone sideways for multiple reasons and Marcus isn’t sure why. He finishes his drink and looks over at you. “Need another?”

“I’d rather dance again,” you admit. But it’s partially because you know you shouldn’t have too much to drink. That wouldn’t be a good look when so many eyes are on you.

“Then let’s dance.” He sets his empty glass down and offers his hand to you again.

______

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