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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Words: 4,577 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, mentions of abuse, violence, sexuality, nudity, typical TWD A/N: STUFF. IS. HAPPENING! A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: The Hilltop and Alexandria are well into preparations for the war against the Saviors, and someone goes missing.

Your name: submit What is this?

A couple weeks later

It had been an eventful couple of weeks. Alexandria and Hilltop were well into preparations for the first hammer blows to fall against the Saviors, but the Kingdom, the latest community Jesus had introduced you to, had just decided to join in the fight after shit went sideways. You and Daryl had stayed there for a few days to help before heading back to Hilltop. The biggest relief was finding Carol safe and sound, although changed from how both you and Daryl remembered her. You knew it was weighing on the archer, but there was simply too much to do to spend more time there and try to figure out exactly what was going on...

The intel from Dwight so far had been untested but consistent. He was keeping you all apprised of the Saviors movements and what Negan seemed to be focused on. There had been some concern after the discovery of the bodies that you and Daryl had been responsible for out by the survivalist cache, but the Saviors seemed to think it was a chance one-off skirmish with some other group and no more heat had come your way. Of course, Negan continued to pressure and terrorize Rick and Alexandria, but they had been able to keep him placated so far with supplies. But that wasn’t going to last forever, and it was almost time to kick the hornets’ nest.

The fine weather, moderate temperatures and ample sunshine, were in harsh contrast to the anxiety and worry plaguing you as you all prepared for a war that you were sure would result in heavy losses. That particular day, Daryl found you down by the armory, helping to sort and finish weapons that had just come from the blacksmith. His tall frame darkened the doorway, and although Daryl was well aware of how worried you were, you still always had a smile for him. He stopped and leaned on the table across from you, drinking in the sight. “Hey.”

“Hey. What’s up?” you asked, setting aside some broadhead arrows.

“Ya still wanna do that pick-up from the ammo cache today?” he asked.

You nodded. “I think we have to.”

He straightened up and nodded. “Yeah. I think so too. I’ll get the gear and my bike. Ya about done here?” he asked.

“Done. Let me just drop these few off to be sharpened. I’ll meet you down by the gate.”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod and headed to your trailer to collect the gear you would need. He was just about done, zipping up his pack, when he heard hurried footsteps coming up to the door, followed by urgent knocking.

Daryl spun and rushed to open it. Jesus was standing on the top step looking deeply concerned. “I think we might have a problem,” he said.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Well, when was the last time anybody saw the little weasel?” you asked, pacing the length of the trailer anxiously. Maggie, Sasha, and Enid were gathered too.

“That’s what I mean. I’m not even sure,” Jesus said. “He’s just been holing up in his office drinking lately. By the time I realized he wasn’t around anywhere I couldn’t even tell how long he’d been gone.”

Daryl let out a low growl. “We shoulda locked his ass up. Guarantee he’s runnin’ off to find some Saviors,” he roared.

Jesus looked dumbfounded. “I never thought he’d actually try something like this. He’ll be lucky if they don’t kill him.”

You rubbed your hands over your face and shut your eyes for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t go back and stop him, if that’s really what he’s up to. The only thing we can do now is prepare for what’s going to happen.” You met Daryl’s eyes. “Our timeline just accelerated. We need to get word to the Kingdom and Alexandria ASAP.”

Daryl nodded gravely, a shadow over his narrowed blue eyes. “Did he know ‘bout that radio of theirs we’ve got?”

“No. He definitely didn’t,” Jesus said.

“Well, at least there’s that,” Maggie said. “I’ll handle gettin’ the volunteers here all armed and come up with a final defense plan. I’m sure they’re gonna be knockin’ sooner rather than later.”

Sasha shook her head, anger plain on her face. “I’ll set extra watches on the wall. Thank God we didn’t cut him in on our plans.”

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed, straightening up. “Never trusted the bastard. If I see him, he’s a dead man. We’ve got one thing goin’ for us at least. They’re gonna think we ain’t armed or prepared at all. They’re gonna think they’ll be surprising us, but they’re wrong.”

Jesus sighed heavily. “I’ll contact Rick and The Kingdom and then stay glued to that radio. If I hear anything, anything at all, I’ll make the rounds.”

You all had your plans and you watched as everyone cleared out of the trailer. Daryl turned to see you frozen and your face dark with worry.

He moved around the table and stopped in front of you, his hands reflexively landing gently on your hips. “Hey. This ain’t it. It ain’t over,” he said.

You nodded and met his blue eyes. “I know. That’s what scares me. It’s just starting. All the—all the death and destruction is coming. It’s like being on a set of train tracks with a locomotive bearing down and nowhere to go.” Your eyes turned downward, but not fast enough to hide the glassiness in them.

“Hey.” Daryl gently clasped your face and your wide eyes met his again. “Everything is gonna be alright.”

“You don’t know that…”

Daryl nodded and brushed a strand of your hair away from your face. “Ya. I do. ‘Cuz we’ve been makin’ these plans, and they’re all good. Smart. It’s like ya said. Timeline gets bumped up, but they ain’t winnin’. And I will do everything I have to, to keep ya safe. You and every one of our people.”

There was still some seed of doubt in your eyes, but your fear seemed to have diminished some and you nodded before looping your arms around his neck and hugging him against you tightly. Daryl sank into you, breathing in the semi-sweet scent of your hair and smoothing his hands over your back. “I’ve got you,” you murmured into the crook of his neck. Even despite the bad news, Daryl couldn’t help but smile.

“Mhm. And I got ya.” He was still bewildered by your constancy and how each of you seemed to carry the other when you most needed it. It was a give and take he had hardly known in his life. There were no strings attached, no deals or bargaining. You were just there.

The rest of the evening was chaotic as you rushed around preparing for what could come at any moment, but it was almost midnight and still there was no word over the radio that the Saviors were moving.

“If he went on foot, he won’t be anywhere near the closest Savior outpost until tomorrow. And that’s assuming he somehow manages to survive,” Jesus said.

You glanced toward the gate and the inky blackness beyond. “Closest ones we know about…” you said quietly.

Daryl shifted a little anxiously, your worry being his. “Jesus is right though. We best try and get some sleep while we can. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

You sighed, but Daryl saw you soften. “Yeah.” You placed a friendly hand on Jesus’ shoulder. “Wake us up if you hear a single peep over that radio.”

He gave you a tight smile and nodded. “You got it. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Daryl drawled, falling into stride behind you back to the trailer. He shut the door behind himself and simply watched you drifting about the space for a moment, getting ready for bed. You felt his eyes on you and paused, turning to read his expression.

“What are you thinking?” you asked the archer.

He shrugged and drifted toward you. “Nothin’. Tryin’ not to.”

You nodded and turned to face him, unable to stand the space between you any longer. You pushed the curtain of dark hair framing his face out of eyes and gently rested your hand lightly along his jaw. “You’re so strong, Daryl. Whatever else happens, I at least know you’re gonna come through this just fine. Hell, you’ll probably be the one to put Negan in the ground.”

“Hey.” He grabbed your hand in both of his, and marveled at how small and fragile it felt, despite how strong he knew you were too. “ What’d I tell ya? We are gonna be just fine.” He pressed your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. You smiled at the forcefulness of his assertion followed by the tenderness of his action afterwards. “C’mon. Let’s at least try and catch a little sleep.” He tilted his head in the direction of the bed and you were eager to comply, falling down heavily with your head on the pillow. Daryl moved behind you until he could press his body against you. This time he was the one who moved until he could tangle his legs with yours. He draped an arm over your waist and his fingers tickled against the bare skin of your side, exposed by the way your t-shirt was draping. His hand suddenly sought more of that contact, pressing lightly, skin to skin.

You smiled at the sensation and your heart raced a little with him seeking that intimacy.

“S’this alright?” he asked softly, his breath tickling your ear.

“Mhm,” you hummed, smoothing your hand over the back of his and pulling him more tightly against you. You shut your eyes and breathed out your tension. You felt Daryl relaxing against you too, and despite all the fear and anxiety of the day, you both were soon fast asleep, feeling safe and like you were safely at home.

_ _ _ _ _ _

By the time the sun was up, you and Daryl were both awake and busy. And it wasn’t long before Jesus came striding up with a grave expression on his face, the radio in his hand. You felt your stomach twist. “What is it? Are they coming?”

He only nodded. “They’re moving out this afternoon.”

“To where?” Daryl asked gruffly. “Just here?”

“I think so,” Jesus said. “I haven’t heard any mention of Alexandria. But if Gregory did make it and did spill everything he knows, they’ll be heading there eventually.”

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you for a brief moment before you steeled yourself again. You brought forward the image of your brother in your mind. You thought of the workers trapped in the Sanctuary with no way out, of Negan’s ‘wives’, of everything he had done to Daryl and to you and countless others… And your fear and anxiety didn’t dissipate, but it took a backseat to determination and anger. You gulped. “Fine. Good. Let them come. We’re ready.”

Daryl felt a swell of admiration for you and he nodded. “We are. That’s what all these plans have been for.” He glanced back at you, knowing you weren’t going to like the next thing he was going to say. “I gotta go check the drop-off location. Dwight might have more info,” he drawled.

A shadow darkened your expression. “What? Now? Daryl, they’re headed our way!”

“I gotta check. It was the plan. He’d get us word if shit was kicking off.”

You shook your head. “No. I don’t like it. You’re gonna go out there? What if—what if you can’t get back in time. What if—”

Jesus seemed to sense that the two of you needed a moment. “I’ll go start spreading the word, get everyone to their assignments.” He rushed off, leaving you behind staring at Daryl with renewed worry.

“Daryl, you can’t—”

He gulped, admittedly not liking the idea of separating from you while you were all seemingly standing on the threshold of potentially the hardest fight of your lives. But he had to go. He had to check. What if there was information waiting that would save lives? What if the Saviors somehow had found out you had that radio and this was going to be misdirection? “I gotta go. This was the plan.”

“Fine, then I’m coming with you!”

“Nah. Ya can’t. Everybody needs ya here. There’s too much to do to get ready.” He paused to read your expression. You looked pissed. “Ya know I’m right.”

You were wrestling with another upwelling of fear. But this was Daryl. He was a warrior. And he needed to do this. It wasn’t fair for you to try and selfishly keep him behind the walls with you when there could be critical information waiting out there. You sighed and shut your eyes for a moment and nodded. “Okay… alright.” You pointed at him vehemently. “But you come back in one piece, Daryl Dixon! I mean it!”

He couldn’t help but smile a little at you. Your tone reminded him of so many times you had scolded him for ignoring an injury or being stubborn. He nudged his nose up at you. “I will. I’ll come back to ya. Promise.”

Your anxiety wasn’t relieved but you nodded. “Okay… Come here,” you said, your tone softened.

That was all Daryl needed. He paced over to you, chewing his bottom lip a little thoughtfully, and just waited for your touch. Your hands rested lightly on his sides and you looked up and met his blue eyes.

“I mean it. Come back.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “I will.” His arms looped around your lower back and pulled you against him. He watched, still amazed every time, as you shut your eyes and arched up onto your toes so your lips met his. Your kiss was gentle and soft at first, but he deepened it, tangling his fingers in your hair and relished the way your lips moved effortlessly with his, the taste of you and feel of you all he needed. When you finally broke apart, your eyes stayed linked with is for a long moment.

“Be careful,” was all you could whisper. Daryl nodded and slipped from you, heading for his bike by the gate. You crossed your arms over your chest like a shield, still feeling the ghost of his hands and lips on you, and watched his broad shoulders until they disappeared.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You purposely kept yourself so busy you hardly had a moment to think while Daryl was outside the walls. You were stocking ammo at strategic locations around Hilltop when Maggie came bounding up to you with a relieved smile.

“He’s back,” she said.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding since he left. You nodded and murmured a thank you, before glancing at the pile of supplies you were sorting. She laughed. “I got it. Go on,” she said kindly, taking your place.

You reached him as he was climbing off his bike and Daryl gave you a smile that made your heart jump. “How’d it go?” you asked, nervous to hear what info he had, if any.

“No problems. Couple walkers,” he said with a shrug.

“And nobody saw you? And you didn’t see anyone?” He shook his head.

“Not that I know of. I was careful,” he drawled. “Got somethin’ though.” His tone changed. There was tension in his voice and it made the gravel more pronounced.

You felt your throat constrict with nerves. “Okay. What is it?”

Daryl pulled out a small piece of paper, left in the agreed upon location by Dwight. “He’ll be here.”

“Negan,” you said. It wasn’t a question

Daryl nodded. “Mhm,” he hummed. He looked about how you felt. Determined, disgusted, and angry.

You nodded. “Okay. So, he’ll be here. So, what? Doesn’t change anything,” you said. Daryl was watching you carefully, worried with the realization that this would be the first time you’d have to see him since busting out of the Sanctuary. It would be like if his own father suddenly showed up at the gates. It would be understandable if you were a bit apprehensive or shaken up at the idea. But instead, to his continued amazement, you just looked pissed. Maybe you were trying to hide how much it was affecting you, but Daryl couldn’t see anything other than determined anger. He licked his lips a little nervously and nodded. “They ain’t comin’ to fight. This time. They’re comin’ to give us a chance to give up. Probably think that once we realize Gregory has snitched that we’ll fold.”

You scoffed. “Not gonna happen.”

Daryl glanced down at the paper in his hands one more time. “They’re goin’ to Alexandria tomorrow. Same thing. After that, they’ll get ready to fight us if we don’t give up.”

You nodded. “I guess it’s really starting then.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah.” He reached out and laced his fingers with yours. “But we’re ready.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“I don’t understand why we’re here to chat instead of hitting them before they know what’s coming,” Simon said vehemently, matching Negan’s long strides as they approached the heavy wooden gate to Hilltop.

Negan turned a piercing glare to his lieutenant. “People. Are. A resource,” he growled. “Dead people don’t work for me, do they, Simon? They don’t gather supplies. They don’t work in the Sanctuary. They don’t do a damn thing except rot in the sun or feed the dead, do they? There is a goddamn good reason why I am in charge instead of you. And this is the last time I’m going to remind you of that. In fact you should be grateful you aren’t out on the fence after all of this was happening right under your oversized nose.” The look on his face was dangerous, vicious, his lip almost curling.

Simon hung his thumbs in his belt and averted his gaze down toward his boots. “Right. Sorry.” But he was biting back anger.

“Don’t question me again,” Negan growled, pointing at Simon with his trusty sidekick, the barbed-wire wrapped baseball bat he called Lucille. Negan of course knew that all of you inside knew he was already there, but he raised a cheerful sounding hello at the gate. “Hello! The Saviors are here!”

Two guards appeared over the top of the fence, glaring down at the convoy of trucks and assembled men. “Ah, there we go. Would you mind opening the gates and letting us in?” Negan asked, keeping his manufactured charm thick.

“We won’t be letting you in. Not today. And not ever again.” This was a new voice, and Sasha appeared over the top of the fence now too, her trusty rifle clutched in hand.

Negan laughed and grinned up at her. “Oh, I remember you,” he said. “Well, is there someone else here I could have a civilized conversation with? There are some very important matters that need discussing.”

“Everyone in here will tell you the same thing,” Sasha spat back at him. “And that’s ‘Go to Hell.””

There was a quick flash of rage in Negan’s eyes, like a lightning bolt, but it was gone immediately and replaced with another charming smile. He laughed loudly. “Oh, come on, now! I know just who you have in there that I would just love to talk to! WHERE’S MY DARYL AT?!” he roared. “Little pig, little pig, let me come in!”

Sasha only glared down at Negan in disgust.

“Huh. Not very friendly, are they, Simon?”

“Not friendly at all, Negan,” Simon answered.

“I don’t know what you think you’re hiding back there,” Negan said, gesturing toward the gate with Lucille. “Because I have all the inside information I could possibly want courtesy of one of yours.” Negan snapped his fingers. “Dwight! Bring my best friend Gregory out here!”

Gregory was pushed forward through the crowd and Dwight grabbed his elbow and led him forward.

“You see, Gregory here has already told me that The Hilltop and Alexandria are working together. And I know that there are some more of you Alexandrians hiding out here while Rick the Prick is back there plotting my downfall with enthusiasm. But the thing is you can’t win. We are better prepared, and better supplied, and there are simply more of US. So, I thought we’d come on down here and give you one. last. chance. to do the right thing and fall back in line.” He paused and looked thoughtful, keeping up his charming, amiable act up until this very last part. “Because if you don’t, we will rain death and hellfire down on you. And believe me when I say that I do not want to do that. But I will.”

You and Daryl were backed up against the outer wall on the guard stand, right beside Sasha, keeping out of sight. But Daryl saw just a split second before you did it that you were barely keeping your anger in check.

“Y/N—Don’t—” he whispered harshly.

But you couldn’t just hide anymore. You stood up and peered over the wall, immediately meeting Negan’s eyes.

You were surprised to see that he looked surprised. “We’re not taking any more of your bullshit, Negan. You’re done. This is your last chance to walk away.”

But instead of responding to what you were saying, Negan was simply peering at you for a long moment before he resumed his usual persona. “You have got to be kidding me! Y/N? My wife is with you people?” He clicked his tongue and clenched his jaw. “Ain’t that just a kick in the crotch? And here I was thinking that you just took advantage of the chaos of my Daryl breaking out to escape again… You always were the type to get restless. But it seems maybe I need reevaluate that chain of events!”

Negan seized the back of Gregory’s neck hard and yanked him forward. “You know, it’s funny, because I specifically remember asking for the names of everyone hiding out in Hilltop and Y/N, your name, never came up,” he growled.

Gregory was shaking from head to toe. “I—I’m sorry! I got her name wrong! I didn’t remember—”

Negan looked like he was ready to strangle Gregory when your laughter broke through his pleading. Negan’s eyes shot back to your face. “That should give you some idea of the quality of information you’re working with from him. You might want to rethink things,” you said, leaning on the top of the fence casually, like you were discussing the weather.

You knew that if there was one thing Negan hated more than anyone defying him, it was being made to look weak.

He ran his thumb thoughtfully over his bottom lip as he stared up at you.

“You cocky little bitch,” Simon suddenly drew his pistol and pointed it straight at you.

You didn’t even flinch, but Sasha and the two other guards all had their guns to their shoulders and aimed right back at Simon.

Negan was furious as he turned toward his lieutenant. Simon felt Negan’s eyes like they were burning a hole in his skull and he waivered. Negan spoke to him through a growl. “Put your goddamn gun down. Now. I told you, she comes back to me alive.” Simon lowered his gun.

You felt your stomach twist. You weren’t sure whether Negan had meant for it to be heard or not, but the effect on you was an instantaneous, overwhelming sick feeling. You managed to keep your expression blank, but you knew that if Negan did ever get you back alive, you would be in for a fate worse than death.

Daryl’s hands landed lightly on your hips from behind and he gently pulled you slightly back, stepping forward, protectively putting his body in front of yours, glaring Negan down.

Negan noticed and it was like he suddenly flipped a switch back to his old persona. He grinned and chuckled. “Daryl, Daryl, Daryl…” He took in how close the two of you were standing, how Daryl was guarding you, and he realized… “So, what’s this? You two? You’re together? Really? Daryl, you and Y/N? I mean, I don’t know, but that doesn’t seem to make any sense to me.” He chuckled again as he watched Daryl’s chest heave with angry breaths.

“Wow. Alright. I don’t get it but, hey, some women like dumpster diving.” You watched Daryl’s entire body tense and you laced your fingers with his, resting your other hand on his arm, wishing more than anything that you could just shoot Negan in the fucking head right at that moment.

Negan knew what effect he was having on Daryl. He saw it. And he went on, grinning. “Did she tell you about all the things we did together? Dirty, dirty things…” He bit his bottom lip and cultivated a starry-eyed and vague smile on his face, remembrance. “And she is either a fantastic actress, or she was having just as much fun as I was, because I really didn’t have to do any convincing. I mean, she is good… I still dream about it and wake up rock hard…” he trailed off, grinning widely as he saw your face burning with anger and humiliation. You couldn’t help but be extremely aware of the fact that the entire Hilltop community was standing right behind the gate, listening to every word exchanged. You felt like you’d just been outed. Daryl shifted uncomfortably, his fist clenching.

“Oh my God,” Negan laughed, his eyebrows lifting. “Don’t tell me you two haven’t fucked yet?” He chewed his bottom lip, nodding, knowing exactly how much this was torturing both of you. “Oh, Daryl. You don’t know what you’re missing! This is some biblical level shit. I’m talking Whore of Babylon! I mean, really, you have no idea what—” But Negan had to duck as Daryl pulled his gun and fired a shot that whizzed just past his head and struck the truck behind him. Instantly, about fifty guns were aimed your way. The archer’s chest was heaving with anger as he glared through the drifting cloud of gun smoke. And this time when Negan straightened back up, the cocky smile and manufactured charm was gone. His eyes were dark and cold with rage. “Now, that—that was a mistake, Daryl.”

“Nah. You made the mistake,” Daryl growled. “And ya will pay for it.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #sacrifice #daryl dixon series

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loserchildhotpants · 3 years ago

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URL Song Challenge

Challenged by @teencopandthesourwolf ✨

L - Landslide, Fleetwood Mac

O - Overwhelmed, Royal & the Serpent

S - Seven Devils, Florence and the Machine

E - Eddie Baby, Felix Hagan & The Family

R - Roll Up, Fitz and the Tantrums

C - Cool, Tigers Jaw

H - Happy With Me, HOLYCHILD

I - If I Go, I’m Goin’, Alan Gregory Isakov

L - Lyckos Dig, Nanne Grönvall

D - Devil’s Spoke, Laura Marling

H - Harlem River, Kevin Moby

O - Oceans, Seafret

T - Two Pink Pills, The Lonely Forest

P - Pining, Parker Millsap

A - Adore, Amy Shark

N - No Children, The Mountain Goats

T - the lakes, Taylor Swift

S - Somebody Else, The 1975

@mad-madam-m

@tlou15

@lucyjeannette

@samh0und

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spaceskam · 4 years ago

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From A Whisper To A Scream (6/10)

Summary: Michael has a support system whether he likes it or not.

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: toxic people bein’ toxic lmao

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

ao3

Michael woke up to a hand on his forehead.

He jolted awake at the feeling of someone touching him, only for it to be Sanders sitting on the edge of his bed and looking insanely worried. It took a few seconds of heavy breathing, but Michael settled back into his mattress and balled up more in his blankets that were cocooning him. He felt a little less like he was going to explode with power than the last time he woke up, but he was still uncomfortable.

Then again, he would probably be uncomfortable for the rest of his life.

“In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you lose control like that,” Sanders said. Michael squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. It was too early for that conversation. Technically, he didn’t know what time it was, but it felt too early. “You passed out on the floor.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael said. Sanders didn’t say anything, but the bed creaked as he moved.

“Sit up, drink some water.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re going to drink it,” Sanders said, not room in his tone for argument, “And you’re going to eat. You need to flush whatever’s in your system out somehow.”

Michael peeked up at him again. So he knew something. How much did he know? That was a question Michael constantly found himself asking when it came to Sanders. He always seemed to know way more than he was actually willing to say.

“You’re not going to school. You’re going to stay here for a couple days until your system clears,” he said. Michael shook his head.

“No, I-I have practice and‒”

“Michael,” Sanders said, “I know you won’t tell me what’s goin’ on, but you ain’t goin’ anywhere. If your mama saw the way you were last night, she wouldn’t let you out of her sight, so I ain’t either. Not until I figure out why you feel like you’re gonna die.”

“My mom did let me out of her sight.”

“For your own good,” Sanders insisted.

Michael couldn’t help but disagree. Even if she had thought it was, he couldn’t imagine how the life he was leading was better than the time he didn’t get with her. It wasn’t fair at all and it never would be. He just wanted her. He wanted her more than he ever had before.

They were quiet for a moment before Michael eventually sat up a bit and drank the water he was forcing on him. Then he laid back down and Sanders didn’t leave. After a few more seconds of sitting in silence, Michael realized Dog was laying on his bed behind him, both Dog and Sanders seeming to have no intention of leaving him alone as if guarding him.

If only they knew that he wasn’t worth guarding.

“Michael,” Sanders said. Michael looked up at him again. He never used his name like that. “Is it a person?”

“Huh?”

“What you think is tryin’ to kill you, is it a person?” Sanders asked. Michael didn’t answer, but that seemed to do all the speaking for him. “We can grab a bag and go.”

“Sanders…”

“I got people across the country that know too much, Boy, I say I need a safehouse, I can find one,” Sanders said. And, once again, it was saying more than he ever really had before. Sanders didn’t talk about those years in between losing his makeshift family and coming back to Roswell to find him. Michael had just assumed he’d stayed angry and alone everywhere he went.

Apparently that wasn’t the case.

“No, they can track me and I don’t want to put you in danger,” Michael admitted. Sanders huffed a little laugh.

“Boy, you ain’t thinkin’ if you think I’m not already in danger,” he said simply. Michael balled up more. “Didn’t say it was ‘cause of you.”

“We can’t just leave.”

“How are they trackin’ you? If it’s your phone, we can trash that. If it’s somethin’ else, I know a guy up in Montana.”

Michael laughed softly, but it didn’t come without a wave of tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what was the right thing to do. Maybe he should just leave, but what would happen if Eff found him? Or if one of the many people Eff worked with? Or, worse, he took it out on someone else that he’d run away?

“I can’t leave Isobel and Max.”

“Well, I can’t do much about that, but they ain’t my responsibility,” Sanders said. Michael sniffled and shook his head.

“I can’t leave, but you should. I-I don’t want you to be collateral damage,” Michael insisted, rubbing his eye with his fist. Sanders laughed bitterly and his hand gripped Michael’s shoulder.

“I don’t usually like you thinkin’ I’m old, but I am. I promised to keep you safe and if somethin’ happens to me doin’ that, then I ain’t collateral damage. I’m just doin’ my job,” he said like it was simple. Michael sniffled and shook his head.

He hated this. He hated this so fucking much.

“I need to go back to school Tuesday and act normal, go to my games and practice and pretend it’s not bothering me,” Michael said, wiping his face, “It’ll buy me time to figure out what to do. I just, just have to be on my best behavior.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Michael said, taking a deep breath, “But can you do me one favor? Don’t let Alex come over.”

Sanders looked at him in confusion for a moment, but something akin to understanding dawned on him and he nodded. Michael wasn’t sure what exactly he got from that, whether he assumed Alex was at fault or if he jumped to the idea that he was protecting him. Somehow, it was both and neither at the same time.

“Alright, Boy, I trust your judgement. I’mma go make you somethin’ to eat, stay here.”

Michael had no desire to move.

Alex liked having Flint around, he really did, but the silence outside of the clink of silverware was deafening.

He kept looking between Flint and his father, waiting for something to happen. He knew they wouldn’t speak about the business in front of him, but he thought they’d do something. Instead, it seemed to be full of just them staring at each other and angrily eating. If it was anything other than father and son, Alex would’ve assumed he was intruding.

Hell, part of him still felt like he was intruding.

“So, Alex,” his dad said, still not looking away from his brother, “You’re eighteen now.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said, nodding his head.

It was weirdly formal, but his father hadn’t actually acknowledged his birthday on the actual day. He never really did, especially after his mom left. It seemed like he viewed it as a very rude reminder that his wife had left him. Alex was fine with not celebrating as long as it meant he didn’t have to deal with any backlash.

“Dad,” Flint said, voice stoic, “No.”

Their dad tilted his head as he looked to Flint with nothing but sheer contempt. Alex shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The two of them stared at each other, seeming to hold a silent conversation all about Alex. He wasn’t a fan.

“In a few weeks, you and I are going on a trip,” his dad said, turning to Alex again. Alex nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dad,” Flint said.

“What, Flint? You were 18, Gregory and Clay were both 18. Alex is 18, it’s time. He’s a grown man now,” he said. It was the first time he’d spoken like Alex had any agency at all and it was still involving his own decision about what Alex needed to do. Alex didn’t know whether to be excited or not.

“I can handle it,” Alex assured his brother, smiling softly. Flint didn’t smile back. All of his light excitement from the day before was gone and he nodded once before getting up from the table.

“Flint, get your ass back here and pick up your plate,” his dad instructed. Part of Alex expected Flint not to listen, but he still came back and picked up his plate. He rinsed it off in the sink and went to head back to the hallway. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Flint took a loud breath and turned again, picking up their father’s plate and rinsing it off just like Alex had done every night they had dinner together since his brothers moved out and he didn’t have anyone to share the duty with. It was a respect thing, his dad insisted.

However, as much as he loved his brother, watching Flint wash his father’s plate forced Alex to realize just how much his brother was still under their father’s thumb.

Alex couldn’t make himself eat anymore and, thankfully, it wasn’t a night where he was going to be forced to sit at the table the whole night. He pretty quickly finished up and made it back to his room where he immediately pulled out his phone. He hadn’t been able to talk to Michael all day‒it was torture.

Alex: i miss you :(

He tugged his pillow under his head and watched his phone, waiting for a response. However, as the time ticked by, he never did. Which was extremely out of character. He clearly hadn’t been feeling well yesterday, so maybe he’d been sleeping. But he hadn’t texted him all day…

Maybe Alex was being clingy. Liz and Maria were both so sure that he was moving too fast, so maybe he was. They were allowed to go a day without speaking to each other. Even if they hadn’t since they began hooking up… Well, that didn’t matter.

He waited and he waited until he got tired of waiting. He clearly wasn’t going to get a response.

And that was… fine.

Michael kept falling asleep.

He didn’t know how the hell he was even managing it when he was so stressed. He should be unable to do anything but stay awake and worry, but it seemed he just kept passing out. He wasn’t entirely sure Sanders wasn’t drugging him to make sure he slept it off.

Still, it felt good to be somewhat rested by the time Isobel came knocking. He didn’t even get the chance to sit up and properly greet her before he was climbing into his bed. She didn’t speak or scold or question him like he expected. Instead, she crawled beneath the covers and pulled them over both of their heads. He felt young again.

“I wasn’t just paranoid when I thought someone was watching me, was I?” Isobel asked in the safety of his blanket. Michael shook his head slowly and let the two of them sit in silence for a long stretch of time.

Michael didn’t really know what to say to her. He wasn’t going to say it had anything to do with Alex, that simply wasn’t an option. Isobel would blame him and Michael was pretty sure Alex had no idea. Eff seemed convinced that Alex had no idea and wanted to keep it that way.

“You shouldn’t be around me,” Michael said, “For your own safety.”

“What about your safety?”

“Not important.”

“Shut up,” Isobel said, scooting closer. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tugged his face into the crook of her neck. She was nothing but protective as she cradled him close, shielding him away from the world.

It’d been too long since he’d spent time with her, too long since he’d had his sister. Was a guy really worth all of this? Because he shouldn’t be. No one should be worth all of this. It should be easy to cut Alex off, to go back to just handling Eff and dealing with life. So why was it such an impossible thing to grasp?

“I need your help,” Michael murmured into the soft fabric of her shirt.

“What is it?”

“I need you to keep me from talking to Alex,” he said. Isobel froze for a moment. “It’s to keep him safe. I just… need reinforcements.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Isobel insisted. She held him still as she reached over to grab his phone. She fiddled around on it for a moment and he was pretty sure she blocked his number.

He should really talk to Alex to his face and tell him they couldn’t be together, that would be the right thing to do. But, really, was anything about this right? It didn’t feel like it. It was unfair and cruel and miserable, but he did this to himself. Michael had been reckless and this was his punishment.

Besides, he had Isobel and he had Sanders. He had no room to complain.

“Can I help with anything else?” Isobel asked cautiously. Michael shook his head, taking a deep breath.

“Just, when I go back to school, make sure I don’t do anything stupid,” Michael requested.

“God, Michael, I didn’t say give me a hard job,” she said, teasing to lighten the situation. He smiled and, though it didn’t last long, it was still welcome. “I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

Walking into school was hellish.

Michael kept his head down and stayed close to Max and Isobel. Any time he was near Alex, he avoided him. In times when Max and Isobel weren’t around, he chose to stick by his teammates who welcomed him into the group without a thought. He just couldn’t be around Alex. He would cave and that would do no one any good.

But whatever Eff had put in him was now gone and he felt somewhat normal. Or, at least, not like he was a ticking time bomb. So that was good. It also helped that Eff hadn’t shown up to take him to the shed. That part, however, made him more paranoid than anything.

He was able to ignore Alex for a few days, but he should’ve known that that time was limited. This was Alex Manes he was dealing with‒he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t oblivious either.

He showed up in his Calc class, his normal bored expression on his face. He never showed just anyone that pretty smile. That was sacred and special.

“Michael,” his teacher called, “Mrs. Doyle needs you, take your things.”

And Michael couldn’t exactly say no, could he? With a stifled sigh, Michael grabbed his bag and followed Alex out of the classroom. This was bound to happen anyway. They needed to talk.

Alex didn’t spare him a look over his shoulder as he led them to their spot. They hadn’t really hooked up in there lately, finding themselves much more reliably in Michael’s bed instead. But here they were, back in the dimly lit, abandoned office. And Alex didn’t show him his pretty smile which was probably a good thing.

“You blocked my number,” Alex said, not even bothering to beat around the bush. Michael’s eyes stayed on the ground. “What the fuck? Can’t even say you don’t want me to my face? You have to block me?”

“That’s not…”

“What? That’s not what? That’s what happened. And, look, feel free to fill in the blanks on what I did that pushed you away so fast. I mean, seriously? How do you go from building me a fucking car to blocking me in two days? What kind of bullshit is that?” Alex demanded. Michael closed his eyes and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Okay, so maybe he should’ve prepared for this conversation more.

“I just… Need space,” Michael said slowly.

“See, that’s what I thought too, at first. Oh, he just needs fucking space, cool, fun, fine,” Alex said, “But then I was like, no, my boyfriend wouldn’t do that without telling me. Then you blocked me. That-that’s not asking for space, that’s cutting me the fuck off.”

“Isobel did it.”

“Okay, and? You didn’t undo it or stop her,” Alex accused. He stopped sounding like he was going to rip Michael’s head off. He had about two seconds to think it was a good thing before he realized Alex had switched over to sounding like he was about to cry.

It was significantly worse.

“What did I do?” Alex asked. His voice didn’t crack, but it wasn’t exactly comforting. “You won’t even look at me. I hate to sound clingy, but, fuck, Guerin, you’re being a dick to me. I get it if you don’t wanna be with me, but have the balls to say it to my face.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t say that. It was so remarkably untrue.

Michael reluctantly forced himself to look up at Alex and he took in the sad expression he wore so plainly. It was honest and raw and it hurt.

“I want to be with you,” Michael said‒because he was so, so stupid. Alex, thankfully, didn’t lighten up.

“Then why are you being so mean to me? I thought…” Alex trailed off, looking at him and then the wall, “Did Flint say something to you? Because this changed after you met him.”

“No,” Michael said firmly, “I’ve just… I’ve been training and stressed and, and I won’t get scouted if I’m out. I thought it would be easier if I just…”

“If you just treated me like I’m garbage and won’t even have a conversation with me?” Alex said. Michael closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Fuck you.”

“I deserve that.”

“Why would you build me a car and meet me brother? Why would you do half the shit you’ve done if you had no intention of being with me for longer than a few months?” Alex demanded. Michael swallowed and laughed softly. Where was Isobel when he needed her to whisk him away?

“Because I didn’t know that this would be an issue. I didn’t know being with you put so many people at risk,” Michael admitted. It was probably too truthful‒he was making it sound like it was more serious than football. Because it was.

But maybe he could convince Alex that he was extremely shallow.

Part of him wished he could simply be honest. If he was around Alex, Flint would find out and he would be completely and utterly fucked. But Alex loved his brother. He was a lot of things, but mean enough to use Alex as a weapon wasn’t one of them. He would just have to push Alex away himself.

“Then talk to me! Be my boyfriend!” Alex snapped, “Don’t just fucking ghost me! We didn’t need to go public. I didn’t want to in the first place and we barely have anyway. I was perfectly content doing nothing but being with you privately.”

Michael kept his eyes on the ceiling. He needed to be rude. He needed Alex to not want him anymore. Hate me. Call me an asshole. Break up with me. You’re better than me, say it.

“You should’ve talked to me,” Alex said.

“Okay.”

Alex was quiet for what really felt like an hour, but was more likely just the worst 30 seconds of Michael’s life. This truly wasn’t fair. In a perfect world, he would get to be miserable and have Alex hold him and make him feel better about this whole shitty situation. They could take a nap together and Alex could shield him from all the bad in the world. Or, actually, in a perfect world he wouldn’t be miserable at all.

“Be nice to me,” Alex demanded. It was in the same tone of voice that he used when he said ‘touch me’, like he was telling Michael to do something that he knew Michael already wanted to do. It almost had him laughing. “I know you. I know you’re not an asshole. That guy who built me a car and let me paint his nails and dreams about being close to me just to keep himself calm is who you are. You’re… You’re not this.”

“And what if I am? What if I’m just really good at pretending to be charming?” Michael asked.

Alex kicked his shin. Not hard enough to hard, but enough to make him look at him in the eyes.

“Be nice to me,” Alex repeated, “Unblock me and be nice to me. If that means breaking up with me to my face, then do it. If it means apologizing to me and working your ass off to make it up to me, then do it.”

The thing about Alex Manes was that his eyes were insane. In a good way, of course, but they were impossible to lie to and impossible to deny. He knew he needed to reject him, that was the safe way to do things. That’s what would keep him and the people he loved safe.

But he wanted Alex.

He wanted slow kisses and warm cuddles. He wanted flirty texts and a place to nap. Alex was everything he wanted and everything he couldn’t have. But, maybe if he was careful…

“We can’t be seen together,” Michael said. Alex shrugged.

“Okay.”

“You deserve someone you can be seen with.”

“Why are you telling me what I deserve? You think I can’t make my own decisions?” Alex asked. Michael sniffled and looked around the room, trying to find the courage to deny him. He needed to. It was the right thing to do.

“We’re going to get hurt,” Michael said. I’ll probably die, he didn’t say. Maybe if Flint was feeling nice he would leave Isobel and Max and Sanders alone. Maybe he could beg. He wasn’t above begging.

“I want to be with you,” Alex said like it was easy, “I’m not afraid of saying it to your face, I don’t care if you think I’m clingy. Either say you don’t want me or act like you fucking do. I’m not here for this passive aggressive shit.”

“You’re a hard man to lie to, Alex Manes,” Michael said softly, shaking his head as he took a step forward. Alex scoffed.

“Then don’t lie.”

Michael took a deep breath and knelt on the ground. Alex didn’t ask what he was doing, simply let him move in close and rest his face against his stomach. Arms went around him and held him there. And, god, it was stupid.

But he felt safe for the first time in days.

“Alex, are you okay?”

“What?”

“You haven’t spoken about Michael in days.”

Alex rolled his eyes and threw a fry at Maria who dodged it with a laugh. For the days that Michael had been vehemently ignoring him, Alex had kept his mouth shut. Liz and Maria had both made it pretty clear they didn’t really approve of them moving so fast, so he kept it to himself when it seemed they were right.

And, well, now that they were going back to keeping it silent, he didn’t know exactly what to say. He really didn’t want to prove them right. But he liked Michael and there was clearly something going on that he wasn’t saying. He could pull the football card all he wanted, but that wasn’t what was actually going on.

Alex didn’t plan on letting him go that easily when he was hiding something that was fucking him up so badly. He’d eventually get him to speak. When he did, he wanted Michael to know that Alex wasn't going anywhere.

“We’re being lowkey,” Alex decided to say. Both girls shared a look that made him want to bash his face into a wall.

“Lowkey?” Liz asked. Alex shrugged, dipping his fry into his shake.

He felt a little bit better about the whole situation after Michael climbed into his bedroom window the night before. Any question on whether he should actually break up with him or not vanished. Michael was shaky and had lost weight, new scars dawning his skin from the last time Alex had touched him. Something was going on. He wasn’t going to let them convince him to change his mind.

“Shit came up, we’re being lowkey.”

“Alex…”

“Nope, not letting you talk me out of it,” Alex insisted, “I don’t want to hear it. If I wanted to, I would bring him up.”

They went through their whole routine anyway. “We don’t want you to get hurt” and “we just care about you” all of which were totally valid, but they didn’t have the full story. They weren’t understanding that something was wrong and he couldn’t tell them because he didn’t know what it was yet. He wasn’t going to just abandon him. Michael had known nothing but abandonment for most of his life and he wasn’t about to be another person on the list.

“It sounds toxic, Alex,” Liz said, “Especially if he’s suddenly trying to force you back into the closet.”

“He’s not forcing me to do anything, it was a mutual agreement. We want to be more lowkey, we liked it better that way,” Alex insisted. It wasn’t even a lie. He preferred being quiet. It was nicer.

And it made it easier for him to scope out what the fuck was going on.

“If you say so…” Maria said.

“I do.”

They lapsed into silence and Alex couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. They were just trying to watch out for him and he was pushing them away. He really just had to stick it out until he was able to help Michael with whatever was fucking with him.

And, more importantly, he just had to hope it was worth it.

#Malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #verse: from a whisper to a scream

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stillforests · 3 years ago

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tagged by @bizabert to spell my url with song titles:

S afer in the Forest / Love Song for Poor Michigan - La Dispute (where my url comes from!

T emazcal - Monsters of Folk

I f I go, I’m Goin - Gregory Alan Isakov

L ove Love Love - The Mountain Goats

L ife Worth Missing - Car Seat Headrest

F or Someone - Flora Cash

O ne and Done - Bright Eyes

R azzmatazz - IDKHOW

E aten by Worms - Nothing

S hrike - Hozier

T he Tourist - Radiohead

S anta Fe - Autoheart

I actually had a lot of fun with this one okay I call this playlist: songs that make you say ouch (plus a couple that are just in there for vibes)

Too tired to tag anyone you can say I tagged you if you want :)

#music #playlist #tag games

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daedeimos · 4 years ago

Photo

♕ ᴀʀᴄʜɪʙᴀʟᴅ ᴍᴀʏᴄʀᴏғᴛ II ♦ 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 ♕

the world we left behind // KSHMR feat. karra ☻ the business // tiësto ☻ can’t cheat death // the ballroom thieves ☻ hellfire // barns courtney ☻ people change // mipso ☻ if i go, i’m goin // gregory alan isakov ☻ the only boy awake // meadows ☻ to hear you talk // meadows ☻ cradles // sub urban ☻ cirque // sub urban ☻ ashes // stellar ☻ real thing // la felix ☻ aawake at night // half·alive ☻ the story of tonight // lin-manuel miranda ☻ one last kiss // hikaru utada ☻ circles // post malone ☻ my ex’s best friend // machine gun kelly feat. blackbear ☻ bloody valentine // machine gun kelly ☻ all about you // the knocks feat. foster the people ☻ habits of my heart // jaymes young ☻ graveyard // halsey ☻ almost // hozier ☻ rescue me // one republic ☻ doom days // bastille ☻ HEY CHILD // x ambassadors

╘ l i s t e n .

#nycblacklistprompt #one two GO . playlist

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ianwart · 4 years ago

Text

https://music.apple.com/sa/album/if-i-go-im-goin/316335828?i=316335894

❤️

#applemusic

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gamzeenmakara · 4 years ago

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TWD - Their History ((The Beginning))

Merle Dixon and Barbra Jean Greenberg

He had lived in a small community with his family in a cabin his great granddaddy built on the edge of the woods. The spot of land was some gift from a big time farmer that couldn't pay back all the money his great granddaddy had leant him. So, from that point on the Dixon family has lived there and raised their kids there. Merle was sure his life was gonna be full of people looking down on him for where he's from and how he lives cause that's what his mama always warned him about. But you can imagine his surprise when one day, in the middle of the hottest summers in Merle's short nine years of life, a moving truck had pulled up to the one house that had been built a a good twenty or so feet in front of them. It woulda been a normal move really if not for the bright almost white blonde hair catching his eye.

At first, his interest was the mildest because it was something to do while their tv set was broken. Merle sat by the window, peeking past their curtains as sneakily as he could to watch all the movement. The burly men move around the fancy looking furniture with beards and mustaches that would put his pa's to shame. He liked to imagined the yappy dog that's rushing around sounds like a squeaky toy and that the lady in high, high heels was the one barking. She was like his pa was with all her yelling, she liked to be in charge and ruled with an iron fist. Three kids much older than Merle taking in small things in various states of disarray but excited none the less. A man in thick glasses worked alongside what Merle assumed was his wife, she was the oldest lady there and they were both dressed too nice to be anything but the owners, focusing his efforts on directing the children instead of the men. The only ones not moving around in a hurry was two kids that sat on a large blanket a couple feet from the commotion. That's where he first saw her.

The first kid he saw was small, had to be like three or four, and was fighting real hard to put any grass he gets his hands on into his mouth. Tiny face all scrunched up and red as it yelled in frustration at the other kid stopping him. And the moment Merle's eyes slid over to the other did he find himself staring in wonder. She was around his age, a little on the chubbier side from probably getting fed by fancy people all day, dressed up in a pretty sun dress like the girls he'd see in church, and a mass of long bright blonde hair that looked white in the light. Her big eyes could be mistaken for white from where he was standing and it made him wanna stare all day. How could they be so bright? What color are they really? He'd never seen someone so fancy and shiny before... Someone so close...

"Now what are ye lookin' at, Sweet Darlin'?"

Merle feels like he's jumping outta his skin at the voice of his mama right behind him. He jerks his head to the side finding her thin face surrounded by thick brown hair looked paler than before, especially from the strip of sunlight that was shining on her from beyond the curtains. Even his young mind knew that she'd most likely woke up from a bad night terror hours ago but her 'paralysis' as she called it had kept her down for a couple more. She was as exhausted as she looked.

"Nothin'..."

"That don' look like nothin', baby. Ya interested in all the ruckus this mornin'? Thinkin' o' makin' friends with 'em," his mama says knowingly. She nudges him slightly away from the window enough to open the curtain fully, the action catching the attention of the kids Merle had been watching. His mother's tiny arms bulged as she pulled the rickety window open with a good bit of effort. When she turned back to her son a smile graced her features at the confused look on Merle's face. "Honey, ya can't make friends hidin' in here now can ya? Ya gotta get out there 'fore they decide to shack up with the kinda kids who won't play with people like us."

He knew what she meant. Money made the world go round and he'd seen that for most of his young life. People were mean to people who couldn't make much and they sure loved to keep kicking when you got knocked down. Merle's pa loved to say that everything he did was toughen Merle up cause the big wide world wanted nothing more than to break him down into nothing but dust. His mama never liked how his pa treated him but she never said he was wrong for thinking like that either. So if even his mama thought the world was out to get him then how could Merle pretend that wasn't his reality?

"Yeah. Early bird catches the worm and if I ain't goin' now then 'm never gettin' no worms," Merle answers back with a hard look in his Georgia blues.

The nod his mama gives him is enough to boost his confidence and power his thin legs into rushing out the door towards the blanket. He comes to a halt a foot from the blanket, his little heart pounding and his face flushed as his determination slowly died down as he realized he had no plan beyond running up. It doesn't help either that both of the kids on the blanket were now staring up at him and-

"You're eyes are white?"

"Wha... uh, no my mama said they're grey," the girl answers back with a voice so soft and pretty that it had to be fake.

Being the type to not let shit lie Merle immediately says, "Why ya talk like that?"

"Excuse you," she says with a brow raised and her round nose scrunched up. "What's that 'posed to mean?"

"Ya voice is all soft and stuff... Why ya talk all soft an' stuff," Merle amends quickly, seeing that what he said bothered her.

"Dunno. Mama says ladies should sound soft and pretty and my voice is weird so, uh, I just do?"

"Oh, okay," Merle rubs his hands nervously against his oversized pants and wow his hands are sweaty. His mama shoulda told him to change because what is he supposed to do now that he's like a hundred degrees and is now in a hundred degree weather? Probably die from heat stroke. And push through, Merle fiddles with the end of his t-shirt as he continues, "My name's Merle. Uh, Merle Dixon and... err, heh.... Welcome to the neighborhood or somethin'."

"So yer the welcome wagon?"

He gives a high pitched laugh because this is harder than he expected and he's fumbling hard. "My mama said that I should welcome ya cause yer new and ya probably don't know nobody yet. Plus, we're neighbors so its all neighborly like to say hello."

"And ya didn't bring nothing with ya? No cookies or nothing," her voice is definitely teasing like those kids at the park he hated seeing. He doesn't like voices like that cause it always means they're making fun of him. He clenches his fists and takes a deep breathe.

"We don' got any ta give..."

"Oh, I didn't really mean- It was a joke, ya know? Sorry it was a bad one, huh? Ya don't gotta bring nothin', promise. Uh, so, ye live in the cabin," she pushes past the joke in favor of putting the other kid down and standing up. "My name is Barbra Jean Greenberg and this is my little brother, Gregory. Most people call me Babs or just Barbra and it's real nice to meet you, Merle."

The girl, Barbra, offers her hand to him and Merle plans to smack himself later for how fast he latches onto her hand to shake it. He probably feels all clammy and nasty. Barbra just smiles brightly at him though as if it doesn't matter, him noticing that she was missing a tooth on the bottom row. They matched!

"How'd you lose your tooth?"

Barbra quickly pulls her hand away and covers her mouth as she gasps, "Oh no, you can tell? Ah man..."

"What're you embarrassed fer? Ya ain't notice nothin'? We match," he exclaimed excitedly as he carefully pulls her hands away from her face. "See? Look! Look!"

"We do!"

Maybe its the relief in the realization or maybe its because she's been outside for a good couple minutes, but for whatever reason it is she starts to laugh. Its loud and sudden, like a firecracker going off, that shocks Merle into laughing along with her. Seeing his older sister and this new kid laughing causes little Gregory to burst into little fits of giggles as well. The excited laughter must catch the attention of Barbra's mother because suddenly someone's yelling.

"Barbra Jean! Gregory! Let's get outta this heat already."

The two kids look between Merle and their mother before slowly getting up. Barbra rolls up the blanket and takes her brother's hand as she turns to head towards her mother. She moves to take a step towards her before saying over her shoulder, "I'm gonna talk to my mama about playin' with ye later after we get the house all nice, okay? We'll play out here cause we're sharing a lawn and 'm sure mama will like that she can see us. We'll play again later, alright?"

"That's a promise?"

Barbra nods and quickly shouts goodbye as she drags her little brother along to the house. Merle waves to the retreating duo, a smile on his face at Gregory's shy wave. And the moment he's alone he's dancing around excitedly. He did it! He did it!

"Merle, Sweet Darlin', are you comin' back in," the sound of Merle's mama calling him makes his thumping heart jump.

"I did it, mama! I did it!"

And man, he can't wait for the next time they meet.

#TWD #Merle Dixon #Merle #Dixon #merledixon #the walking dead #zombie apocalypse #za #oc x canon #oc x canon character #my own charater #my oc #original female character #original character #short story #flashbacks #writing #creative writing #writing for fun

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vanchlo · 5 years ago

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The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Two, “Surprise, Surprise”

Find previous chapters here!

Check out the tag I have for this story here!

Sneakyyyyyyyyyyyy Peek!

“The sweetness from my dreams sticks to my body melting against his. His finger dances across my cheek, moving my bed head out of the way. A soft hum leaves his lips above me. He carries a tune I can’t quite place, but I know it’s somewhere at the back of my foggy head. Nonetheless, it relaxes me and somehow reminds me of that H word. Home. Happy, even?

His familiar smell of sandalwood goes around me like a cocoon. And a new addition of vanilla. His smell. Woodsy and sweet. The thought pops into my head before I can warrant it. His fingers clad in clunky rings make circles into my back, not helping.

I can’t think of even one reason why I’d want to leave his arms right now, or maybe ever.”

Song Inspo: If I Go I’m Goin’ by Gregory Alan Isakov (click to listen)

“Hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Within seconds, the elevator doors part to reveal the lobby. And the moment has passed.

Finito.

“Hey, d’ya know where there’s a loo, Becks? I need t’ take a leak,” Harry requests, casting his eyes down the hallways on either side of us.

“Yeah, follow me,” I tell him. Turning a corner, I pass the visitor’s desk and soon see the tiled hallway I’m looking for. “Take that hallway and it’ll be on your left.”

“Thanks, love. I’ll only be a mo’,” he murmurs, squeezing my arm. I nod quietly, keeping an eye on him until his tousled hair escapes from view.

People mill around the lobby, visiting the gift shop, coming and going, and checking in for appointments and such. Arrangements of chairs occupy corners, pictures don walls, and a grand piano is tucked away in the corner. Its lone bench beckoning me.

“Excuse me, ma’m. Would it be alright if I-?” I begin to ask the graying lady sitting at the vistor’s desk, nodding to the empty piano.

“Oh if you know how to, yes please do. We’ve been without a regular pianist for too long. A song would be lovely,” she chirps, a smile spreading on her fuschia painted lips.

It sparks one on my own, and I thank her as I pull out the raven-colored bench. It takes me a minute to get comfortable, testing the pedals and warming up my fingers. My lips curl into a smile when the ivories welcome my return, warming under my touch. I play a few warmups from memory, and peek to see if anybody’s watching.

Exhaling, I’m relieved to be left alone in the corner, to my own devices. Inhaling, I steady myself and let my fingers remember. A few seconds in I stumble, but I recover and soon close my eyes. The music falls over me and my muscles play their memories. I feel the music pour out of me and into my fingers, then onto the keys and soon surrounding me. It greets me and asks why I’ve been gone so long. I’m not sure, but it feels like it’s only been days since I’ve touched a piano. Not years.

I’m broken from my reverie when I hear clapping. My fingers stutter to a messy halt, stopping me. Inhaling quickly, I turn my head and find him standing there. Harry, beaming with a smile dripping of pride. He tongues at his bottom lip as he leans against the wall behind me.

“Holy shit,” he utters with a breathy laugh, throwing up his hands. “When were ya gonna tell me yer a piano prodigy?”

“I-I’m not, I don’t know what you’re saying,” the words tumble from me sloppily. Closing the cover over the keys, I avoid his stare that burns into the back of my head.

“Becks, yer a bloomin’ Bach, for Christ’s sake!” his exclamation is accompanied by his incoming footsteps. I gulp, unsure of when to face him, or when to admit it. Laughing, he continues, “I mean, ‘ve wrote a few songs on tha piano, but nuthin’ ever like that. Bloody hell.”

“I didn’t write it,” I argue, wringing my hands in my lap. They ache to touch the keys again, and to dance over them. It’s hard to stop once you’ve started and especially to leave a song unfinished.

“Then who did, huh?”

“Um, another person in the world named Rebecca Holte,” I admit meekly, my head dropping.

“Becks!” Harry chuckles, the delightful sound tickling goosebumps on the back of my neck. Jumping at vibrations on the bench, I find him sitting down next to me. “That was fantastic, love! I can’ believe ya wrote that.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I’m lost for words. My word bank is at zero dollars, or more like, negative five. But it doesn’t feel so bad when he lifts the cover and pokes at a key. “It was a long time ago,” I mutter, inching my fingers towards the ivories again.

“Ya neva told me ya played, how come?” Harry chimes, his toothy smile visible from the corner of my eye. But I don’t face it, because I can’t. My silence grows awkward, and he looks away. “‘m sorry, ya don’ hafta talk ‘bout it if ya don’ want.” his voice is quiet and the polar opposite from before. It prods at my heart, opening up bottles of guilt that spill amongst the walls.

My right hand settles into a shape on the keys, and pokes out a small melody. I see his head turn to watch, but then I stop. A few moments pass before I hear him stroke out a melody with his long ringed fingers.

“My grandpa taught me when I was 6, the one who passed. He was a musician and had a piano at his house, a family one that was passed down,” I begin, playing a little ditty once his ends. We go back and forth, echoing the other with our playing. Sometimes playing over the other, but for the most part, just to ourselves.

“I’d always wanted t’ learn. I picked up sum from lessons, but notta whole lot. ‘m betta on guitar, I guess,” he says softly, notes following his words. I feel my head start to loosen up, and I begin to sway with the piece I play. My arms relax and I fix my slouch, moving closer to the keys.

“It’s hard, the lessons. I had them twice a week with practice at home, and then eventually the practice would be an hour each night. ‘Oh, forget about your maths homework, you need to practice piano. You’re not sitting up straight enough. Your hands are too rigid. You’re playing the keys too hard. No, you can’t go to your friend’s house tonight, because you need to practice piano. No, you can’t play this sport or that sport, because they might hurt your hands . . . ,’” the words open a door I thought I had shut long ago. The tinny taste of blood in my mouth reminds me it never was. Exhaling, I relax my mouth and release the inside of my cheek I didn’t realize I was biting.

“Fook ‘m sorry, Becks. Tha’s no life fer a kid. Ya were jus’ li’l, wanted t’ play outside an’ be normal - not confined t’ a bleedin’ piano,” Harry murmurs, assigning words to my thoughts. My head goes up and down with a confirming ‘yeah.’

“Doesn’t seem like it was yer dad with how well tha two o’ you get on. Was it yer mum then?”

“Mmmmhmm,” I reveal, playing one last key.

“‘m sorry, Becks. I rememba when she rang that day when ya first started workin’ fer me, and she upset ya real bad,” he mumbles, plunking out ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ softly. “Figured maybe it had sumthin’ t’ do with her not bein’ here with yer dad. Are yers divorced too?”

“Yeah,” I confess in a whisper.

“Mmmm. How long did it go on with her bein’ like that with tha piano?”

My fingers freeze and slide off of the keys. They escape into the confines of my sleeves. The bench squeaks as I stand and turn away. I hear him say my name, but I’ve set my path. And I walk away. The sound of pounded keys follows and I see the visitor’s desk lady give us a look. I ignore it. But I can’t disregard the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.

“Becks, what ‘s it? Wha’d I say?” Harry wonders aloud. But I don’t stop, and I don’t answer him. I keep walking, and without meaning it, away from him. “Don’ do dis ‘gain,” he implores, his volume rising. And that’s what gets me - what gets me to stop. But it doesn’t turn me around to look at him.

No, it can’t be that easy, can it?

“Do what?” I ask feebly, hiding my hands away in the pocket of my jumper.

“Shut me out, Becks,” he sighs, both perturbed and upset. “Ya were jus’ lettin’ me in ‘gain. So don’ push me away now, not again.”

Peering up at the cream-colored ceiling, I reflect his sigh. And I know he heard it when my head falls, confusion filling it. Because he groans and I’m sure he’s shaking his head behind me. Words tickle at the edge of my lips, but I try to shake my head free of them. “Stop,” I retort under my breath.

“What, ya gonna gimme tha silent treatment now?” he questions, anger framing his voice. I hear a ruffle of his clothes and the shifting of his feet, a few steps behind me. “If ‘s too much, then tell me, Becks. Tell me ‘m pushin’ too far, don’ jus’ ignore me. If ‘s too hard t’ talk ‘bout, then tell me. I can’t read minds, but I can tell when ‘m not wanted ‘round.”

But his words don’t make sense and there are too many sounds around me. And my stomach is growling from hunger. My neck and back ache from sleeping on that damned sofa. My head turns at the sound of a phone ringing, and then obscenities leave his lips. I move out of the way of people coming off the lift. The one we rode down on. Leaning against a wall, I cross my arms over my chest stubbornly. A minute passes of pouting and trying to hear what he’s saying to the person on the phone, when suddenly they stop. He mutters a ‘fuck’ before huffing loudly.

“I gotta go, me case has been moved up. Tha one befo’ me finished early. I can’t do brekky, but ‘m not sure ya even wanted t’ anymo’,” Harry announces, clucking his tongue as his voice rifles through emotions. I hear what sounds like him pounding or slapping his hands together mindlessly. Listening to it distracts me from the mixture of disappointment and guilt bubbling inside of me. “So g’bye then.”

Gulping, the sound of his harsh voice disappears into thin air. Words are a jumbled mess inside of me, so much so that I wouldn’t know what to say if I wanted to talk. But I’m not sure of that, either. Seconds tick by as I try to decide what to do, or say, but decisions have never been my strong suit. Then, something inside of me clicks together, and my feet move.

“Harry, I’m sorry.”

But when I turn around, his green eyes aren’t staring back at mine. Searching the lobby frantically, I just catch a glimpse of his figure stepping past the automatic sliding doors leading outside. And my heart drops further than it’s been in what feels like a long time. Although I know it’s only been a day or so, it’s because he dug it back up from the depths when he got off that lift last night. And now look at what I’ve done.

I did what I’m good at. I pushed him away, again. I fucked it up.

The words pour from my fingers, only stopping to scratch at my nose. But then they pause abruptly, and a blinking cursor stares back at me. Running a hand through my hair, I stretch my arms above my head. Hearing my joints pop and crack, I yawn and slump further down on the sofa. Casting my eyes to the right, I find my dad’s peaceful face snoring across the room. My lips bend into a small smile at the sight. But it dulls when I remember his vomiting episode from earlier. Although brief, it upsets me that it still happened. Rubbing the back of my hand against my drooping eyes, I let them fall shut. Closing my laptop, I set it down on the floor beside me and sprawl out on the sofa. His rattling snores lull me into a fast sleep.

I awake slowly, nuzzling my face back into the pillow. Unsure of how long I was asleep or the time, I try to return to my slumber. My dad’s snores fill the room along with the soft hum of the telly. Some football match, or something or other. Although the door is ajar, I still can hear the sounds of the oncology floor.

Beeping. Footsteps. Voices. Phone’s ringing.

Unbeknownst to me, my eyes snap open. With goosebumps tickling my neck, I turn around to face the door for a reason I can’t name. The scene in front of me is hazy, but after a couple of blinks, it comes into focus. My eyes flit to the dark doorway and fix themselves on something there. Or somebody.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” they murmur in their raspy drawl. Drowsy happiness paints my face instantaneously. “Truce?”

I stare for a few moments, unsure of what I’m seeing. But I decide to believe my eyes. “Mmmmhm,” I nod, yawning. Stretching, I groan tiredly. The tiredness begs me to stay on the sofa and go back to sleep. But he pulls me away, just like he so often does. This time it’s his voice, and well, his return.

Getting to my feet, I wrap my violet knit blanket around my shoulders. “C’mon, li’l one. I brought dinna,” Harry murmurs, nodding his head behind him.

Shuffling my feet over to him, I don’t stop. I run into his chest and encircle his middle with my arms. The blanket just so happens to join the party. “I’m really sorry for earlier,” I mumble into his satiny blush button-down.

His arms come around me, a bag of food bumping against my back. “‘s okay . . this time,” he returns in his breathy laugh, a smile heard at its edges.

“Hmph. I said I was sorry,” I pout into him, below his collarbone. His deep chuckle graces my ears again, as his chest rumbles under my cheek.

“I know, love. Yer cute all sleepy an’ tired, so I guess I can forgive ya.”

“Thanks,” I sigh happily.

The sweetness from my dreams sticks to my body melting against his. His finger dances across my cheek, moving my bed head out of the way. A soft hum leaves his lips above me. He carries a tune I can’t quite place, but I know it’s somewhere at the back of my foggy head. Nonetheless, it relaxes me and somehow reminds me of that H word.

Home. Happy, even?

I can’t think of even one reason why I’d want to leave his arms right now, or maybe ever.

I blame it on the ‘having just woken up’ bit.

Um, Becky, are you forgetting what he just said to you? His choice of words?

Hello?

Anybody home?

Shutup, I tell the annoying voices in my head, trying to savor the moment. And not read into it. Before another stupid voice ruins it, once and for all.

“How’d your case go today?” I wonder aloud into the wrinkles of his shirt. His heartbeat is faint under my skin. Making this all the better, or perhaps, all the worse. That thought rings true when I begin to feel the warmth from his chest underneath the thin fabric.

“Good, thanks fer askin’. Jus’ openin’ statements. Ya don’ get real far afta tha hassle o’ choosin’ a jury, and openin’. Bloody hell, yer like a li’l heater,” Harry answers giggling, his chest falling with a sigh. The hummed tune now forgotten in the wind. “‘m starvin’, le’s go eat.”

A lone whine leaves my lips, reciprocated with his melodic giggle. “C’mon, sleepyhead. I ‘ave tacos,” he brags, messing up my hair. Pulling away, my face feels scrunched into a line. My eyebrows, my lips, my cheeks - my everything. His sparkling smile meets my eyes, once again. “No no no, don’ gimme dat look, you.” His thumb and forefinger pinch my chin, as he grins with blush peppering his cheeks.

I take him in with my eyes officially, but he’s just a little more disheveled since this morning. Waving the bag at me, he takes a step to walk into the hallway.

“Fine,” I groan. Shivering from the sudden loss of heat, I wrap the blanket around me tighter.

I follow him down the hall, passing a couple of nurses and visitors. Giggling, I watch him take a wrong turn at the next corner. After a few directions from me, we finally come across the family room from last night.

“Your case must be interesting if you strayed all the way to Wolverhampton,” I announce, my words framed with a yawn.

“Um yeah, ‘s computer crime. ’m representin’ tha boss who has pretty good evidence their employee stole sum classified information from their work computer network,” Harry answers, his boots announcing their arrival as he walks ahead of me.

“Oh wow,” I answer, plopping onto the gray sofa. Toeing off my faux fur brown boots, they fall to the floor with a clatter. “You must feel pretty confident having taken their case then.”

“Ya, I do. They uh, presented me with loads o’ tha evidence durin’ our consultations. Kinda sold me right then an’ there, makin’ it hard t’ say no,” he replies, taking a seat next to me.

“That’s good,” I murmur, unsure of what more there is to say.

He shrugs off his matte blazer, and goes to unbutton the cuffs of his button down. His humming of that same song fills my ears as I reach a hand into the white paper bag, touching a warm taco.

“Do you want hard shell or soft shell?” I inquire, laying down a spread out napkin on the table.

“Always soft. I dunno how ya can eat those hard shells, Becks. They always tear up tha insides o’ me mouth. They’re not very impressive anyways when most o’ tha time they’re soggy by tha time ya get t’ ‘em.”

Humming a little laugh, I take out another taco to set it down.

“Heeeeey, look at what I found,” Harry chirps, walking back from a shelf with a box in his hand. My eyebrows fall in confusion, trying to make out the words on the box. “Looks like we’re gonna see who’s tha reignin’ champ afta all dis time.”

Shaking the box at me, I hear little things move around inside. The blocky yellow words tilt away from the ceiling for me to see. A bubbly feeling grows in my tummy, bringing a smile to my lips. “Oh God,” I mutter, shaking my head with nerves dancing across my face.

“‘s gonna be me, y’know. ‘m always playin’ Words with Friends on me phone. I got dis one in tha bag, Becks,” he brags, dropping the box to the table with a thud.

“Sure you do. You couldn’t even guess how many times I’ve played that very game all the times I’ve been here.”

“I can only imagine, seein’ as yer always snoozin’ tha day away in there,” he chortles, his nose wrinkling. I roll my eyes at him as I hand him a wrapped softshell taco.

“Thanks,” he says. Stacking the tacos on top of each other, he pushes them over to one side of the table. The crinkling of the wrapping fills the room, before his chewing replaces it. “How many tiles d’we both get ‘gain?” he questions, his voice muffled with food.

“Seven. Hey, I thought you claimed to be a pro at Scrabble,” I reply, sniffling my nose at him in disbelief. Biting into the crispy taco, I resist moaning at the culmination of missed flavors. “The local place makes good tacos, but none are as good as the ones we’d always get at Pedro’s back in London.”

“I couldn’ agree mo’. I don’ think I could ‘ave a betta taco than theirs,” Harry agrees, sliding a tile rack over to me. His knee knocks into mine when he places the black bag of tiles in between us. Something warms inside of me when he carries on, taking another gigantic bite of his taco without mentioning it. I like this comfortable chaos with him, although sometimes I’m not sure what is. But labels always ruin things, don’t they?

“‘Kay, I got an ‘e’, yer turn t’ draw.”

“Well, are we going high or low?” I say, raising my shoulders as my free hand dives into the cloth bag.

“I dunno, thought we always did low card. Like in otha games when yer closa t’ one,” he replies, wrinkling his brows at me, as if I should know this already. His long fingers disappear into the paper bag, coming out with a tortilla chip that crunches between his teeth.

Bringing my legs up onto the sofa and under my blanket, I criss cross them. “No, we always did high card, you goof. I bet you’re just saying that so you can go first,” I argue, pointing a finger at him as the wooden tile sits clasped in my palm.

“Get that finga away from me,” he giggles, swatting my hand away. I scoff, setting down my taco in anticipation to draw our tiles. With that, my finger journeys into the collar of his shirt, tickling his warm freckled neck.

An adorable titter sounds from between his strawberry lips as he traps my finger in his neck. “Stop it, ya know I don’t like bein’ tickled,” Harry insists, but the delightful sounds gracing my ears tell me otherwise. Forgetting the mystery tile on the table, I attack his sides with both of my hands now. His giggles only encourage me, making my fingers dance across his ribs next.

“I don’t remember you being ticklish,” I tell him dumbfoundedly, my lips pressing into a confused line. With my head cocked to the side in astonishment, he tries to curl up into a ball to escape me. But after the tickle fights I had growing up with both Skye and Robbie, he can’t get away from me that easily.

“Becks, s-stop it!” he exclaims, turning away from me. The blanket falls from my lap as I get up on my knees, digging my fingers into his soft belly next.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” I laugh back, sure of my words so I don’t have to go without hearing his wonderful laugh. They dance off his lips and inject my own with happiness. My cheeks hurt as his face crinkles beneath me, my hands venturing to the crook of his neck again.

“‘Kay ‘ve had enough o’ you,” Harry chuckles, suddenly turning to face me. He catches me off guard when his hands grasp my arms and push me onto my back.

His name escapes my lips with surprise as my head hits the back of the sofa. “‘s yer turn now, cuz if I rememba correctly, there’s anotha person in dis room that doesn’t like t’ be tickled,” he smirks above me, his face reddening from exertion.

“No no no no! Please!” I beg, my voice rising in pitch, ending with a giggle. He shakes his head in response, and his actions accompany his words. Loud uncontrollable laughter pours from my lips when his strong fingers stroke my ribs. “Harry!” I laugh, his delighted face blurry as I try to escape his grasp.

Kneeling over me, he clucks his tongue at me. “Not so fun, now ‘s it, li’l one? Ya should listen t’ yer elders, y’know,” he shrugs, a devilish snicker gracing my ears.

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re like ten years older than me,” I reply, trying to kick at his stomach with my socked feet. Soon, I regret it when his other hand comes around both of my ankles. He lays a leg over my own to secure them, another snigger leaving his smirking lips that reach the sky.

“Yer really in fer it now, Becks. Ya should be mo’ careful with dat li’l mouth o’ yers,” Harry mutters with a disappointed tsk-tsk. “Wha’s with ya always goin’ on ‘bout me age anyways, hmm? ‘m only three years older than ya, ya dork.”

Dislodging his quiffed curls, his head goes from side to side in disbelief. His fingers run across my sides, then that of my neck, and my belly. I squirm under his touch, but try as I might I’m not getting anywhere. “Stop! Stop!” I almost shout, recoiling from his electric touch.

“Would ya shuddup, yer gonna get us in trouble! Bloody awful ya are, shoutin’ inna hospital,” he tuts, looking down at me with a mixture of disappointment and glee.

His rings are cold on my lips when his hand comes to cover my mouth as I huff loudly. Hints of taco sauce tickles my nose, as well as that vanilla scent that follows him. Giggles flow from his lips and I try to think this isn’t so bad, but his fingers send jolts all over my body with their touch. The look of pure enjoyment and happiness painting his face kind of makes it all worth it. I can’t believe it’s all because of me, I think silently amidst all of the laughter. My heart fills with the sight towering above me, and I can’t recall the last time it felt this close to being full.

“Are ya gonna apologize fer callin’ me old, hmm? Cuz y’know, ya’ll hafta do it ‘bout ten times fer how many times ya’ve called me it,” he instructs as his pointer finger dips into my sensitive neck.

His fingers stay pressed over my mouth as my head whips from side to side. Both in an attempt to buck them off, and in answer to him. The tickling ceases, but only for him to wag a large finger at me. “‘m disappointed in you,” he sighs dramatically before the hand dives back into the flesh of my stomach.

Groaning under him, I try to free my legs, but he continues to pin them down. Although he’s got a good seven inches on me in height, it doesn’t hurt. Somehow he’s always been that gentle giant. My gentle giant. Laughs trickle from my lips faster when his hand leaves my mouth, and both hands attack me.

“Don’t say that!” I argue, but then he tickles faster. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I admit in between storms of laughter forced from my lips.

Suddenly, his fingers stop. Sighing, I try to regain my breathing as his giggling wafts over me. “I couldn’t be disappointed in ya if ya tried, love,” he smiles, curls toppling onto his forehead. “Yer a funny one, Becks.”

My features squish into a pout at him, which only makes him laugh harder. Soon, they fall into a sigh, but I don’t let up.

“You put that pout away, li’l one. Yer not gonna get me with it dis time,” Harry decides aloud, but little does he know.

“You’re the worst,” I whine, with a ‘hmph’ finishing my words.

His eyes widen as his mouth falls slack into an ‘O’. “‘m not, you take dat back right now!” he exclaims, a high-pitched intake of air following.

“Uh-uh,” I shrug stubbornly.

“I don’ rememba bein’ tha one who started tha tickle fest in tha first place, young lady.”

“Hmph,” I hum, my bottom lip sticking out to add to the effect. “Fine, you’re not the worst. But I don’t like being tickled.”

“Coulda guessed dat, love. Neither do I, it feels all weird,” he admits, a smile breaking onto his lips. “C’mere, you, le’s eat these tacos before they grow cold.”

He hooks his hands under my arms, almost like a child, and pulls me up to sit. I don’t relent, and stare back at him pouting. “Would ya stop doin’ that? Makes me all sad,” he whimpers, his features soon falling into a mirror of mine.

Shaking my head, I stay silent. And my arms remain crossed over my chest. He tries and succeeds to lift me and turn me to face the table again, suddenly making me weak in the knees at his strength.

“Fine, you can go first, ya pout. Now stop being sad an’ be me happy Becks ‘gain,” Harry announces with a theatrical sigh, nicking another taco.

The pout soon disappears and a warm excitement colors my face. Grabbing my half-eaten taco, I turn away slightly as I take a bite. My heart fills again as thoughts whir around inside of my head, showing across my body in goosebumps and shakiness. The good kind of shakiness, that from happiness. Him saying I’m his, in a way. His hands all over me, although not in the way I’d prefer, but I can’t be picky. Just, all of it. I never thought this would be happening, let alone seeing him again, after everything that happened.

But as I turn my head to peek a look at him, the sight of his adorably confused face at the tv makes my heart leap inside of my chest.

Surprise, surprise.

The rest of the taco disappears between my lips, and I go to grab another one. But as I do one of my eyes grows hazy, and rubbing it with my knuckle doesn’t help.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” I tell Harry, setting down my taco. “Will you give me seven tiles, and don’t cheat?”

“‘Course,” he smirks before filling his mouth with another bite of his taco. “Ev’rythin’ okay? Yer not still mad at me fer ticklin’ ya?”

“No, I’m fine.”

He nods at my answer before his fingers delve into the black bag, pulling out a small handful of wooden tiles. The sound of the tv he turned on grows farther and farther away. My shoes barely make a sound when I tiptoe into my dad’s room, and escape into the bathroom.

“You better have given me good tiles,” I state, announcing my return.

“Ya get what ya get,” is all he says as he turns his tile rack away from me. I hear the beginnings of more words start on his lips, but then the sound stops.

“What?” I ask, fingering the tiles on my rack as I move it out of his vision.

“I guess ya weren’t lyin’ dat one time when ya said we could be four-eyed friends,” he comments, pulling my attention to his smiling eyes.

“Go ahead, make a comment. They’re dorky, I know. My contacts were bothering me too much, so I took them out.”

“No, they’re not dorky. I quite like ‘em actually, makes me think I should try purple next time I get new ones,” he notes, turning his head back to his tiles. I feel like he thinks he’s hiding it, but I see the curl at the corner of his mouth.

“I think you should too,” I agree lightheartedly. I lift my fingers from the tiles to touch the clear lavender of my glasses. “Do you want to try them on?”

Harry lifts his head to look at me, that amused smile budding on his lips. “Sure,” he answers shortly, but eagerness hints in the background of his words.

He plucks the glasses from my hands and slides them onto his face slowly. Flipping non-existent hair off of his shoulder, he turns to look at me. Bursting out laughing, my hand comes to my mouth as he purses his lips. He makes a pose before trying another and several more.

“What d’ya think, could I rock ‘em?” he asks, adjusting them atop his nose. “Oooo, I look good.” I find myself agreeing with him as I admire the round tortoise shell frames on his face complimented by the lavender. He smiles at his reflection open on his phone’s camera app. Giggling, I watch him inspect his appearance and take a few selfies.

Shaking his head, he presses his eyes shut tightly. “My God tho’, Becks, ya ‘ave sum shit eyes, love. Yer prescription ‘s bloody strong,” he sighs, sliding off the glasses to hand back to me. “It looks like ya can’t gimme a bad time anymo’ since yer fookin’ blind from tha looks o’ it.”

“I am not blind,” I chuckle, pressing my glasses further up my nose again. My choice of tiles fall with a clack onto the game board.

“Sure ya aren’t.”

“Am not,” I argue harmlessly, arranging my tiles from the star down to make a word.

CARED

“Are to, afta tryin’ those headache inducin’ things on.”

“Am not!” I continue, announcing my score and writing it on a piece of scratch paper we found.

“Are to, ya blind bat,” Harry states, dropping a few tiles at a time onto the board. With his large fingers, the tiles shrink in comparison as he wields them. His word builds off of my A, making my word look foolish.

DOORWAY

“I think ‘m already winnin’.”

“Don’t get a big head this soon into the game,” I sigh, jotting down his score after I checked his math.

“What can I say, ‘m jus’ a natural at dis game.” Shaking my head, I cluck my tongue as he rummages around in the bag to replace his tiles.

Words fall onto the board and points rack up between us. Minutes pass by spent with laughs as episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S play in the background. The competitive streaks within us shine brightly with our scores being neck and neck. Our knees knock against each other often, and sometimes they stay touching without either of us really noticing.

Soon, with almost four episodes under our belts, our board is almost filled to the edges. “I dunno, Becks, ya should prolly jus’ give up now. It’d be less embarrassin’ fer ya dat way, love,” Harry insists with a smirk in his voice.

“I’m good, thanks. I’m not giving up yet,” I answer, setting down a few tiles to create a lousy word, but it’s still a word.

FEW

“Heeeey, ya stole me spot!” he whines, to the right of me. Giggling, I add on that to my score.

“I’m sorry.”

“No yer not, ya liar,” he huffs, hiding his chin in his palm. “What ‘m I s’posed t’ do now? I was bettin’ on dat word fer tha last twenty minutes it took ya t’ come up with dat spot.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I leave him to whine and cast my eyes to the tv. Phoebe and Ross sit in the coffee shop as he proudly tells Phoebe he didn’t actually get the annulment like he told Rachel he did. A laugh forms on my lips at Phoebe’s reaction.

“This is why I love her, she’s so hilarious,” I chuckle loudly, playing

with a piece of my hair that reminds me to ask Skye for a haircut. Having not heard a response from Harry, I don’t bother since I assume he’s scoping out his next attack. Then, something tells me to check on him and when I do, I find his eyes on me. “What?” I ask him, quirking an eyebrow in question.

“N-Nothing, ya jus’ gave me an idea fer a word. Her,” he replies, tripping over his words. The pink rising to his cheeks tries to tell me otherwise, but the laughing on the tv pulls my attention away. “But yeah, tha’s why I like her so much. Her funny moments remind me why she’s tha best character on there.”

I nod in response, giggling as Phoebe shoves Rachel into a taxi. It whisks her away, leaving Ross and Phoebe to talk about the annulment more.

“Becky?” a voice says. I look to Harry whose head is just raising, but his eyes aren’t on me. Following his line of sight, they flit to one of my dad’s nurses standing a few feet away.

“Oh hi, Andrea. Is everything okay?” I reply quickly, swallowing. An itchy heat suddenly grows on my back as I wait for her response. Looking for something in her middle-aged face to tell me what she knows comes up dry. I barely register Harry’s hand on the small of my back, drawing circles into the fabric of the hoodie I’ve worn all day.

“Yes, everything is great, actually. I was looking for you and remembered you said you might be here sometimes. Dr. Fisher has decided to discharge your father, since his antibiotics are working and the vomiting is getting better. I’m sorry it’s a little later, but we figured you’d both do good sleeping in your own beds tonight. If you want, you can join us in a minute to go over some paperwork and instructions for at home care,” she smiles, taking away the heaviness that was growing on my shoulders. A sigh whooshes from my lips and I feel Harry squeeze my hand.

“Thank you so much, that sounds great. I’ll be there in a minute,” I tell her, watching her nod before walking away in her forest green scrubs.

“Tha’s great,” Harry says, pulling my attention back to his presence. His lips bend into a small smile, his fingers falling from my hand.

“Yeah,” I echo him, staring at the floor in front of me mindlessly. An unnamed number of seconds pass as I space out, registering the information. Then they cast over to the tiles in front of me, and on the board. “Oh, our Scrabble game. I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Oh ‘s fine, love. It was gettin’ too hard, anyways. You jus’ leave it, ‘ll clean everythin’ up. Go be with yer dad,” he hums in his honey-like voice, patting my back once.

Turning my head, my eyes land on him, and find a bittersweet smile lining his lips. Scooping tiles into his hands as he whistles, he keeps his eyes downcast and away from me. Peeks of the black ink I only rarely see, make an appearance from under his sleeves. His movements are slow, calculated, and quiet. Before I can stop myself, I grab his hand to stop him. Pushing it down, I encircle his middle with my arms.

His neck smells like the remnants of a bonfire, smoky with a hint of honey, when my nose brushes against it. The soft baby hairs above his ear tickle my cheek as I dive into him. A startled sound leaves his throat, telling me I caught him off guard. Our height difference leaves me to settle into his shoulder, the ribbony fabric meeting my cheek. Slowly, his hands come around me, and I can tell his long arms aren’t sure where to go. A rare feeling covers me like a blanket when his hands find homes on my back. I feel safe, and the thing I’m about to go and do, feels less important right now compared to being in his arms, and at the same time it feels easy although I know it won’t be. Quickly, my eyes grow damp at the thought and at the meaning of this hug.

Goodbye.

“Thank you,” I whisper into his warm shoulder, feeling choked up. The hints of ink across his flesh tease at the corner of my eye. Closing them, I let the moment engulf me, with the hopes it’ll make it feel longer than it really is.

“Yer welcome,” he answers into the hair above my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin.

“No, I mean it, Harry. For yesterday and today. For putting up with me. For the food. For coming. For-,” I begin, trying to transform my thoughts into tangible words. They stop when his shoulder leaves my cheek, and looking up, I find his face coming into view.

“I know, ‘kay?” he interrupts, his murky green eyes reminding me how easily I could get lost in them. And how much I’d really like that.

“You don’t, Harry.”

“Hush, you. I do know,” he insists, pressing a finger with chipped black nail polish to my lips. “An’ I know ya woulda done the same fer me, Becks.”

My head goes up and down, having lost the ability to speak. Because this man has a hold on me like he wouldn’t believe, and like I hardly do sometimes. And I want more than anything right now to step over that invisible line between us, and press a kiss to that finger.

“We’ll make up fer it with anotha game soon, ‘kay?” he suggests, pulling another nod from me. His cheeks grow taller as his lips lift, the dimples falling into them. “Go home an’ get sum rest, inna proper bed.”

Our laughs fall together easily, brushing his finger away. His arms call for me to return to them, but I know in that moment that I wouldn’t be able to leave them if I did that.

“Drive safe, li’l one,” Harry mumbles, squeezing my arm. Standing, I pick up my blanket and pocket my phone.

“You too, Harry. Goodnight.”

“G’night, Becks,” he smiles, but this time the dimples aren’t there anymore.

As I walk away, something pulls in my chest to look back. When I do, he’s resting his head on his fist, staring at the tiles he dumps into the bag. That same song floating from his lips into the air, one that’s still a mystery to me.

When I arrive at my dad’s room, I can’t stop wondering why I didn’t stay and kiss him until the dimples fell back into his cheeks.

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