#If my math is right... at least 15 years

[bigironjuliette]

Realizing there are things Wrong With Me

[eravioli]

I just started grad school this fall after a few years away from school and man I did not realize how dire the AI/LLM situation is in universities now. In the past few weeks:

I chatted with a classmate about how it was going to be a tight timeline on a project for a programming class. He responded "Yeah, at least if we run short on time, we can just ask chatGPT to finish it for us"

One of my professors pulled up chatGPT on the screen to show us how it can sometimes do our homework problems for us and showed how she thanks it after asking it questions "in case it takes over some day."

I asked one of my TAs in a math class to explain how a piece of code he had written worked in an assignment. He looked at it for about 15 seconds then went "I don't know, ask chatGPT"

A student in my math group insisted he was right on an answer to a problem. When I asked where he got that info, he sent me a screenshot of Google gemini giving just blatantly wrong info. He still insisted he was right when I pointed this out and refused to click into any of the actual web pages.

A different student in my math class told me he pays $20 per month for the "computational" version of chatGPT, which he uses for all of his classes and PhD research. The computational version is worth it, he says, because it is wrong "less often". He uses chatGPT for all his homework and can't figure out why he's struggling on exams.

There's a lot more, but it's really making me feel crazy. Even if it was right 100% of the time, why are you paying thousands of dollars to go to school and learn if you're just going to plug everything into a computer whenever you're asked to think??

[bamboozledbird]

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall Pairing(s): Stiles x fem!reader, Stiles x you (no use of y/n), Theo x fem!reader, Stiles x ofc Word Count: 7k (bbygurl got away from me oops) Tags: Hurt/a little, itty bit of comfort, angst is my lifeblood i fear, let's play a game of who can find all the noah kahan lyrics Warnings: Underage drinking/drug use (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), suggestive language, some light cheating, i think that's it?, sad girl summer :'(

Request: “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” for stiles please and thnk you!!!

Part II: after many requests, here’s the happy ending: part two A/N: i am well aware theo is way too nice, and me personally?? could never forgive him for hurting scott mccall, the light of my fucking life. but it's for the plot. the things we must do for the plot of it all. i might make a part two? but this was already long, and i liked the conclusion enough to stop. lemme know if that sounds interesting to y'all. ps: listen to strawberry wine and the view between villages for vibes.

That first night, you drove home—207 miles in less than 3 hours, sobbing the entire way. Didn’t matter that you were right in the middle of finals. Didn’t matter that you had Math 19 at 8:00 in the morning. Nothing mattered except for the ringing in your ears, the blistering echoes of, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ over and over and over again until you stumbled into the house you grew up in—the house he practically grew up in. He was all over every room, all over your entire goddamn hometown, all over you, and you had this desperate, crawling urge to scrub your skin raw. Strip everything away with turpentine until the shadows of his hands and mouth were gone, until you couldn’t smell cedar and 15 years of summer nights and Sunday mornings. 

That night you cried so hard it scared your sister. She spent most of the night with her back slumped against your bedroom door, fingertips poking through the little crack underneath, just like she did the first night your parents brought you home. She had to know that you were breathing, had to make sure that your little chest was rising and falling in your sweet bassinet—if you were inhaling in-between your fractured sobs. You eventually cried yourself to sleep—like a baby, like a broken heart—and thrashed around sweat-damp sheets and dreams of him kissing someone else on his couch. 

Months later, you finally realize it’s a bit self-involved to think that the universe cares enough about your short, temporal existence to conspire against you…but it certainly feels like it when you tie it all together with red string. After Stiles stopped wanting you, everything just…decayed, rotted, died—so quickly, too quickly for you to bury any of the remains. You’re still grieving Allison, constantly, and currently failing at least half your classes, and, oh yeah, battling literal demons at least three times a week—but mostly, you’re just tired. You’re just so goddamn tired of it all.   

To put it plainly, you’re drowning. 

That must be why the neat lines of text in your Math 20 textbook are swirling into indecipherable whirlpools. It’s just so…frustrating. You get math. Math is your thing. Derivatives shouldn’t ever send you into a bout of angry tears—but you are, you’re angry. Angry at the numbers for blurring into something unrecognizable, angry at yourself for not recognizing them, for becoming a person you don’t know or like. Your lashes clump together, and few mascara-tinted tears drop onto the glossy pages. At least, the cloudy text isn’t a hallucination now. 

 “Are you okay?”

The library is quiet, so quiet that you should’ve heard him coming, but you jump at the sound of Theo’s voice. You don’t know him that well; Theo isn’t really the kind of guy you’d talk to, at least not before everything you knew slipped through your fingers. It’s not like you ever disliked him; it’s just…he’s always been everything you’re not—focused, organized, completely in control. He’s confident but not cocky, smart but not arrogant, ridiculously good-looking but just charismatic enough that you can’t really hate him for all the maiming and scheming he pulled last year. He’s been punished enough, you think, and sure—maybe a part of you feels that way simply because Stiles doesn’t.

You haven’t spoken to Theo much, not really. Scott does most of the talking when he shows up to the occasional pack meeting, and Lydia won’t let him within ten feet of you anyway. Frankly, you don’t realize that he knows your name until he says it. His voice is soft in a way that you know isn’t just because of library conduct. It’s his eyes, you think—they’re warm with a concern you aren’t sure what you’ve done to deserve.

You nod and then blink at the fuzzy pages of your math book, eyes almost vacant, “I just…I don't understand.”

Theo sits down next to you and leans forward, scanning the text briefly, “Which part?”

You flush, “...all of it.”

He doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes like you thought he might. Instead, he pulls his chair closer to yours and reaches for a pencil. “Most people will tell you that derivatives are the ‘instantaneous rates of change.’ That’s what the book says, and it’s kind of true, but you’re right—that doesn’t actually make any sense. Things can’t actually change in a single instant, right? Obviously, change happens between two instances, so what they actually mean is a derivative's the rate of instantaneous change measured as precisely as possible.” Theo’s voice is soft in your ear as he drags his finger across your textbook, connecting the vague definitions to numbers that actually compute through your teary haze.

You sit back and just watch for a minute, a little in awe, as he makes all the squiggles into numbers again—and you haven’t been found more than a few feet away from him ever since. You guess it’s because you’re hoping, against all odds, that he can do the same for your life. At least in some small way, maybe.

It’s definitely easier to show up to Lydia's party with his hand in yours. 

You’re all back in Beacon Hills for the summer, and it’s nice. It really is. During the school year, you’re spread all across the state for the most part—you, Theo, and Lydia at Stanford; Scott, Kira, and Malia at UC-Davis; Liam and Mason, the babies, about to start their senior year of high school (it makes you want to cry if you think about it too long); Derek in…wherever he ends up for a season (it was fun to visit while he was in New York, and you secretly hope he makes a return in the fall); and, of course, there’s Stiles. He’s all the way on the other side of the country for his Quantico internship, and you still can’t escape him. His hands are all over your scent, all over every important moment of your life since pre-school. Sometimes, you think that you’ll always be one breath away from choking on the memory of him. But it’s easier, you remind yourself; it’s easier to be a minute away from home with Theo standing next to you. 

The music is loud in Lydia’s front room, thumping through your chest and sharpening the anxiety crawling through your veins—gnawing at your corneas until a haze of vape and weed and flashing lights consume your vision: pink, blue, green, red, and then pink again.

Theo tightens his grip on your hand and gently pulls you into the kitchen. It’s still loud, but the air is clearer here, and the crowd is thin. There’s a couple you vaguely recognize from high school making out on the granite countertop, too enwrapped in each other’s tongues to notice the mixer-sticky surface, and a couple boys who were on the lacrosse team gather drinks for another round of beer pong behind them. 

“You’re psychic,” you hum, resting your chin against the little dip in Theo’s sternum so that you can grin up at him, “tell the truth.”

He laughs easily and wraps his arms around your waist. The solid weight releases some of the vague unease stubbornly clinging to your synapses. “I solemnly swear that my supernatural abilities end at claws and fangs. I just know you; that’s all.” 

You hum as he sways with you a little and shake your head, “It’s only been a few weeks. You’ve gotta have some help from the other side.”

Theo shrugs and lifts you onto the counter behind him—a non-sticky patch, thankfully—and brushes your hair out of your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been paying attention for a little longer than a few weeks.”

You tilt your head and purse your lips into a pout you hope is even half as cute as the wicked gleam in Theo’s eyes, “How long?”

He shrugs again and ducks down to murmur in your ear, “Maybe since the first grade.”

His breath is warm against your cheek, but you know that’s not the only reason your face feels hot. You push against his chest, pulling a little face, “Shut up.”

Theo laughs and grabs your wrists, kissing your knuckles, “I’m serious! You were so cute with your little pigtails and missing teeth.”

You whine a little, embarrassed as you are as pleased, and hide your face in his neck. It smells good, a little citrusy from his cologne and a little sweaty from the sheer amount of grinding bodies in the house—like a man, like he can and will take care of you. “Stop it. I hated those bangs.”

He pinches your sides a little, “And the way you’d always shoot your hand up first—with the right answer, of course—I was smitten.”

You pull away from his neck and arch your brow, “Was?”

“Am,” he concedes with a soft smile, cupping your cheek and thumbing along your lash line, “am completely smitten.” 

He dips in to kiss you, lips barely an eyelash-width away from yours, when a prim cough pulls him away from his spot in-between your legs. You peer around his shoulder and roll your eyes, albeit fondly, at the stern look on Lydia’s face. She’s always been protective of you, even more so after Allison and the whole Stiles debacle, but you’re a bit tired of the Theo Raeken witch hunt. 

You slip down from the counter and rock onto your tiptoes to kiss Theo’s cheek—mainly to see the pinch in Lydia’s perfectly tapered brows. “Can you put this in the coat room,” you hum against his skin, shrugging off your baggy leather jacket. He knows the real reason you’re sending him away—of course he does, sometimes it feels like he knows everything—but he goes with a smirk anyway because, despite Lydia and Stiles’s suspicions, he’s trying his absolute hardest to redeem himself. 

“You could be a little nicer, y’know,” you reach for a hard lemonade from the ice bucket dripping a puddle of water onto the tile floor. You uncap it on the lip of the massive island and fold your arms over your chest, “He’s been nothing but the perfect boyfriend so far.”

Lydia matches your stance, brows curving, “Boyfriend?”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears. You haven’t actually discussed labels or exclusivity—you think it’s too early; don’t want to scare him off, but Lydia doesn’t need to know that. “Boyfriend.”

Her curls trickle over her shoulder like the strawberry wine in her cup as she tips her chin and purses her lips into a flat line, “Stiles is here.” 

You try not to react—aren’t entirely sure why you do—and hide your complicated frown behind a sip of lemonade. It’s extra bitter going down. “Okay?”

Lydia shifts her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other and sighs heavily, “He’s not going to like it.”

A flare of irritation sparks in your gut that you chase with a tip of your bottle. “Okay?” you mutter, wiping the excess liquid away with the back of your hand. A smear of nude lipstick is left behind, and you feel the sudden need to leave some on Theo’s neck for everyone to see. 

“I’m just warning you; it’s going to be a whole thing,” Lydia waves her hand in the air as she takes a dainty sip from her cup. Her pink manicure shines under the lights, and you wonder briefly how she can make every color look good with her red hair.

You hum and lean forward, grin a little sloppy as you sidle up to her side, “That you’ll be on my side for. Obviously.”

Lydia watches you carefully, eyes heavy, and tucks some of the hair falling in your face behind your ear. “Obviously,” she takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, and you feel a little less giggly and a lot more tender. 

You let her pull you into the crowded front room for a dance. It’s a good song, you think. Happy, lots of bass to jump to, and you’re shiny-faced and giddy by the time it’s over. 

Meandering towards the back patio for some fresh air, you pull your tank top away from your torso, gauzy material sticky with sweat and someone’s body glitter. You aren’t entirely sure where Theo ended up, but you take it as a good sign that he’s mingling with your friends—which, bless his crooked little heart, is all he’s ever wanted. 

The night breeze is so nice against your clammy skin that you feel a little lightheaded. You collapse on a padded deckchair and kick your feet up onto a keg, empty, most likely, based on its current state of abandonment. After a moment of hazy tranquility, a red solo cup filled to the brim with an unknown, potent liquid blocks your view of the winking gold embellishments on your boots. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Scott smiles at you from his slight bend over your head.

You take the cup from Scott eagerly and down about half of it to soothe the rawness in your throat—asthma is a bitch in hotboxes, makes you almost consider asking Scott for the bite. “I need about ten,” you hum, licking the little dribble of cherry-something from the corner of your mouth. It’s too sweet, but the ice is easing the beginnings of a headache forming in your temples. 

Scott sits down next to you, and you grumble a little as he nudges your side with his elbow until he has enough room to stretch his legs out too. “You look happy,” he grins at you, eyes crinkly and sweet. “Been a minute since I’ve seen that.”

“I feel happy,” you lean against his side and rest your cup against your cheek. The condensation gathered on the plastic is a godsend against your flushed face. “For the first time in…way too long.”

“Good,” Scott's voice is sincere, in the most genuinely empathic way that only Scott McCall can be, and he gently nudges your foot with his, “I’ve been worried.” He pauses and looks down at the contents of his cup, watches the ice slowly melt into whatever he poured for taste alone—you don’t like the pensive squint in his eyes. “You know I want to trust Theo, right? I really want to believe that he’s changed.”

You sigh a little, but because he only ever wants the best for everyone and, well, because it’s Scott, you say, “But?”

He gives his hands a small frown and taps his finger against the side of his drink, “Not a but, exactly. I do think he’s different now.” The mostly goes unsaid, and you watch him closely, waiting for him to finish. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to…rush into anything after, well,” Scott scratches the back of his neck a little and winces, “you know.”

“After Stiles dumped me because, ‘he needed space,’ and then started dating someone new two weeks later,” you finish for him flatly. He hadn’t even been subtle about it. His new girl was all over his Insta within the month—and she’s still fucking stunning in his flannels weeks later. Your stomach turns, but you swallow another mouthful of your dri—rum and Cherry Coke, you finally place the flavor, smiling a little at the memory of getting tipsy on the same drink at Senior prom with Scott, Kira, and…Stiles. It’s a good memory, you decide. You won’t let him take it from you.

“Yeah.” Scott sighs into his drink and then takes a long chug, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, you know? None of us do.”

“I know,” you smile at him fondly and kiss his cheek, “and it’s very sweet, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” 

Scott smiles, bright and puppy-like, and then his head cocks with his little sixth-sense tick—also puppy-like, you think with a smirk. Scott’s grin fades and he murmurs, “Three o’clock,” against the rim of his cup.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

Scott laughs, but it’s strained, and then nods towards something across the pool, “To your right.”

You turn your head, expecting to see one of your friends doing something stupid, and freeze momentarily when you meet Stiles’s gaze. His eyes are a little unfocused, murky with whatever’s in his plastic cup, but they sharpen when he sees you. He backs down first, and you polish off your drink, craving the sweet burn in your throat. “I need another drink.”

“You need to talk to him,” Scott says, and he takes your empty cup away from you, like he’s worried you can magically refill it with the simple power of desire. “If you can’t do it for him, do it for me. His brooding is really getting out of control.”

You don’t bother bringing up that Stiles is the one who ended it or that he brought his new girlfriend home with him. “Maybe,” you shoot Scott a sly grin and try to snag his drink from his hands, but your clumsy fingers are no match for his werewolf reflexes, “I do love and cherish you very, very much.”

Scott laughs and ruffles your hair, approaching noogie territory. “Should’ve gone out with me.”

You can’t help but look for him through the fog rising above the heated pool. Stiles’s face is pale in the reflection of the lit water; the shadows ripple across his cheeks when he tugs his girlfriend into a sloppy kiss—Chelsea, you recall, proud that there’s only a little bitterness coating the thought. “Don’t I know it,” you finally say. It’s the churning reflection and the smell of chlorine, you reason; that’s why you feel a bit like throwing up your last couple drinks.

Scott frowns when you don’t swat at his side or make fun of him, like you’d usually do in the face of such ridiculous teasing, and follows your gaze. “But that was never going to happen, huh,” he says quietly. “Not with the…” he trails off, face scrunching as he searches for the right words, “throbbingly in love since birth thing.”

You laugh through the stabbing sensation in your chest. “Throbbingly?”

He waves his free hand as he takes another sip of his drink, “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t think I do,” you say, a small smile twitching on your face as Scott spills most of his red drink onto his white t-shirt.

He sighs and pulls the soaked material away from his chest, head darting around as he looks for something to mop up the mess. “You guys were just like…always ahead of everybody from the beginning, you know? Brains, love, all of it. I swear you guys were actually born like 30 years old, or maybe it's some kind of reincarnation, soulmate thing—okay, it probably has more to do with the…” 

“Early on-set trauma?” you fill-in for him, sparing him the unpleasantness of bringing up dead mothers and mental illness.

Scott nods and licks his bottom lip before continuing, “I remember this kid had a huge crush on you, like way back in elementary school, and even at nine years old I knew he didn’t have a shot. It was just obvious, you know? It was always going to be the two of you. It was just always gonna end up that way.”

You almost laugh at the sight: Scott dabbing at his shirt with a pink beach towel and oh-so casually confirming that your worst fears aren’t only valid but in fact a reality. Maybe, you really can’t love someone else, not the way you loved him. Maybe, you’re just kidding yourself when you talk about it in the past-tense. Maybe, it really is just the two of you, even if it’s all in your head now. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for this,” you try to sound flippant, but your words are as shaky as the hand you're raking through your hair. It’s already a mess, but you can’t stop. Your hands need to do something. 

“Then you’re really not gonna like what’s coming next,” Scott says as he jerks his thumb towards something behind him.

You turn your head, and your eyes widen when you see Stiles trudging towards the two of you with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. The chair’s metal frame squeaks with Scott’s shifting weight. He clamors to his feet, mumbling something about cleaning his shirt, and you give him your most intimidating glower, “Scott, if you walk away from me right now, I swear to fuckin’ god, I’ll never—Hi.” Your tone is clipped, short and to the point, when Stiles stops in front of you.

“Hey,” Stiles’s voice is dull, void of emotion, and so is his face. He stares at you, and you wish you knew what was really flickering behind that burnt umber and citrine honey. There was a time when you would’ve known—when you always knew. It’s so strange, you think, so strange how quickly someone can become a stranger.

You clear your throat and tuck your legs underneath yourself, tugging on the hem of your short skirt to maintain some semblance of modesty. His eyes still dart to your upper thigh, lingering on the strip of skin that’s bared when you sit upright. It’s only for a split second—but it’s enough. He’s seen it before, after all. Felt it with his long fingers and open palms. Dragged his lips across it, and left wet, open-mouth kisses along every inch—but he still looks like he wants to sink his teeth into the supple flesh one last time. 

You swallow, hard, and stand, “So…how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” he replies flatly. “Obviously not as good as you.”

Your lips purse as your eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“First Theo Raeken, now Scott McCall: True Alpha, God among werewolves, Messiah of Beacon Hills. I’m genuinely impressed—bottom of my heart, babe. I mean, s’quite the body count if we’re talkin’ claws and body hair alone,” he spits. Despite the slight slur in his words, his consonants are barbed and serrated at the edges. They prick your skin and sting long after he finishes, and you know they’re going to follow you all the way home.

“Don’t be a dick,” you snap, wrapping your arms tightly around your biceps. The chill isn’t so pleasant anymore.  

“What? I’m just giving you the props you’ve so clearly earned. You’ve got the magic touch.” Stiles cants his head in a way that distinctly reminds you of someone else—a monster who stole the face of the boy you loved a lifetime ago. “I’d ask how good the sex is, but I already know. It’s that thing you do with your tongue, right? When you’re givin’ head? That’s how you get ‘em, huh. Suckers—” his drink spills on his shoes when he lets out a sharp chortle, “suckers. Didn’t even mean to do that.” 

You stare at him, eyes burning, and try to determine exactly how drunk he is. “Stop it.” You do your best to look more annoyed than devastated—the last thing you need is to start crying like you still care. He can't win; you won’t let him, not like this. “Just stop. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.”

Something complicated rolls over his face, and Stiles clenches his fists, “Whatever. Guess it’ll be too late to say told’ya so when he rips your heart out and broils it—or whatever the fuck psychopaths do for fun these days.” 

Your face crumples a little—not because you think Theo would ever actually hurt you but because Stiles sounds so ambivalent about the possibility. Sometimes you hate him, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot—but you’ve never stopped caring, not once. You never stop worrying about if he’ll make it out alive, if he'll survive with all his breakable bones and fragile skin intact. You find yourself staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dwelling on all the horrific, life-or-death situations he’ll end up in when he graduates from the Academy years from now. Stiles was your best friend years before he was your boyfriend. Did all that really not matter now? Just because of something as stupid as a breakup? It’s just so…high school. You really thought it’d been…more. 

Everything. You used to think it was everything.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Stiles,” you shove past him, stumbling a bit over your boots’ chunky heel and a little too much rum. 

He doesn’t follow you, and you should be glad. You should be happy that he isn’t there to witness the black smears under your eyes or the snot you’re trying to hide with a few discreet sniffles. You should be grateful that he doesn’t see Theo pull you into his side and take you home, grateful that he can’t ruin the soft kisses Theo rains down on the crown of your head and the way he doesn’t push to come inside after you say your parents are gone.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it. 

You barely manage to wipe off what’s left of your makeup with a damp towel and throw on some clean clothes before you tumble into bed. You’re still sweaty, grimy with tears and a night of dancing, but the rum is hitting hard, and you just want to go to sleep and forget he ever existed.

You’re halfway between sleep and consciousness in the early hours of the morning when you hear a loud thud against your bedroom window. The thudding continues, and with a great sigh you slip out of your sheets, hissing when your bare feet land on the cold floor. You slowly shuffle towards the bay window, trying to forget it's where you had your first kiss, and kneel on the cushioned bench. You have to rub at your eyes a few times when you see Stiles trying to break into your house. You only unlock the latch after you convince yourself that you’re going to push him off of the roof into the rose bushes two stories below, and then, of course, you sit back on your heels so that he has room to crawl through the narrow opening. 

“When the fuck did you start locking your window?” Stiles stumbles into your room and catches himself against the floor with his palm, feet still dangling over the windowsill. You take great pleasure in shoving his legs off of the window seat and watching him fall face-first onto the carpeted rug. He grunts when he lands and rubs his jaw as he sits up, “Guess I deserved that.” 

His lips part when he gets a good look at you, backlit by the moon and all his worst mistakes. You’re in an old t-shirt from middle school, bleach stains all along the left shoulder, and a pair of baggy sweatpants with ratty holes around the hem from years of dragging against the ground. Your face is still tacky with tears, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

You shift uncomfortably, pull your knees to your chest, and shiver as the night air drifts through the open window, “Still drunk?” 

“Not so much,” he holds up a mostly steady hand.

“Still a fucking asshole?”

“Probably.” Stiles bites his lip and shrugs, “Definitely.”

You stare at him, sniffling quietly, hoping that he can’t hear how pathetic it sounds, “Stiles, what are you doing here?” 

He drums his fingers against his thighs and shrugs again. You want to smack him. And hold him. And maybe drink some more liver poison until the school year starts again. “Dunno, just started walkin’, n’ I ended up here.” Stiles closes his eyes, and his lashes are so strikingly dark against his pale skin. “I always end up here,” he whispers like a vow, like a prayer, like forever. 

You dig your toes into the bench and swallow a hiccup. “Don’t,” your protest is weak, and you blame it on your sore throat. “You can’t say shit like that. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. He’s in need of a shave, you notice, or…maybe not. You kind of like the stubble the more you get used to it—your tipsy, sleep-deprived mind stupidly wonders what it’d feel like between your thighs. Stiles sighs, returning your attention to far more unpleasant thoughts, “But I just want to.” He leans onto his palms and tips his head back between his shoulders, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I just wanna say it all, all the things I thought while you were gone. Knew I would the second I saw you.”

“You’re—” your tongue is thick as you struggle for words over the conflicting emotions wrangling each other in your throat, “you’re so fuckin’—you can’t just come here and act like—” You rub aggressively at your eyes and push yourself to your feet, “You need to go, Stiles. I want you to go.”

Stiles stands with you and cards his fingers through his hair. It’s long, curling around his ears, and you turn your gaze away from him, staring at the wall and digging your fingers into your forearms to stop yourself from reaching for him. “Can we just…talk?” he whispers, whether it’s for his sake or yours, you’re not entirely sure. He looks small, scared, but you can’t tell if he’s afraid for you or of you. “Just for a little bit. I need…I just need another minute. That’s all, and then I’ll go. Promise.”

I need. I need. I need. It’s always what he needs on his time. You cross the floor with wild eyes and snap, “What do you want to talk about? Huh? How you left me for someone else, or how I’m such a fucking whore for moving on?”

He grits his teeth and grabs your wrists, long fingers overlapping around the delicate bones when you try to yank away from his firm grip. “You think this is what I want?” He doesn’t yell. Somehow, that’s worse. “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!”

You thrash in Stiles’s arms, and his pained expression is blurry through your wet glare, “You had me! I was yours! I was so fucking in love with you, and then you—you just ended it and moved on, like it was nothing.” Your chest heaves, a stark contrast to the gentle quiver in your bottom lip. Your voice drops to something almost inaudible; it's the only way you can get through this while you're crying, the only way you can force the words through your tender throat, “Like I was nothing.”

Your cries turn into sobs when Stiles pulls you into his arms, and they wrack through your entire body when he kisses your hair and whispers sweet nonsense in your ear. You struggle for a moment longer, and then there's nothing left. You've given him everything. You sag into him, legs sinking with your full weight until he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you tighter to his chest. “I got scared,” Stiles whispers against the crown of your head when your cries peter into hiccups, and your next whimper shudders through your shoulders. He rests his palms against the small of your back and inhales the sweet scent of your shampoo, ducking his head down to kiss your forehead, “You were so far away, and so, so perfect, and I missed you all the fucking time.”

Stiles pauses, but it’s not for you. It’s a stall; you can feel his knee bounce and his fingers twitch. You wait, face buried in his collarbone, too busy trying to breathe to even think about speaking. After a moment, could’ve been seconds, could’ve been hours, he squeezes you—almost until it hurts, and it feels like he’s terrified that you’re just another one of the shadows on your bedroom walls. “I couldn’t ask you to transfer from Stanford to some fuckin’ state school in Virginia, so I fucked everything up ‘cause I guess...at least then it was my choice—and I know that just makes it worse. I know that. Because that means I chose to ruin it, I decided to hurt you…and I’m so fucking sorry. Just so unbelievably, life-ruiningly sorry.”

And there it is. The apology you’ve been waiting for, dreaming of, fantasizing about in every shower, in every cafe line, in every early morning class—and it’s just so…hollow. It sits between the two of you, heavy and horridly inadequate. “You found someone else,” you whimper into his shoulder, clasping at his t-shirt and wetting the white collar with your tears and runny nose—and you wish, more than anything, that this could be enough. “How could you find someone else that quickly?”

Stiles freezes, stops rubbing your back and rocking you from side-to-side, and it’s just jarring enough to remind yourself how dangerous it is to be in his arms. You step back and wrap your arms around yourself instead, and Stiles watches you with something hopeless all over his face. “I was just trying to prove that I didn’t make the biggest fucking mistake of my life,” he says, but he says it to his shoes. You wonder who he’s hiding from: himself or you. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

You just stare at him, arms limp by your sides, and shake your head a little. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” your voice is clotted with mucus and defeat, and it breaks halfway through along with your knees. You lean against the wall and close your lids so that you don’t have to see his eyes: so vast, so deep, so damn pretty—you’re suffocating in them. “What do you want from me?”

He’s relentless. Stiles steps forward, and there’s nowhere for you to go. “I want you.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s the rub. It’s always hunger, no sating. No happy ending. 

“Nothing’s changed.” You tilt your head and wring your fingers in the hem of your t-shirt, tugging every so often, “I’m still going back to Stanford, and you’re still going back east in the fall.” UPenn. Criminology, obviously. You never got the chance to congratulate him. 

“I know,” he’s right in front of you now, waiting for you to push him away. You don’t.

The back of your head hits the wall as you tip your chin up to look at him, “And I have Theo, and you have…her.”

“I know,” he braces his hands next to the sides of your head, watching your lips move without any shame, breath hot against your skin. 

“Stiles…” you plead with him through your lashes, asking for mercy, on hands and knees begging him to turn around and leave.

“Tell me you don’t want me.” Stiles rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this.” 

“You already know,” you close your eyes and shake your head, nose rubbing against his, “you know I’d be lying.”

“You love me.” It’s not a question. He knows. He’ll always know.

You shake your head again, and Stiles can taste the salt on your lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you,” Stiles whispers, carding his fingers through your hair.

“Too late,” your lips brush against his, feather-light, and catch on the chapped center of his mouth.

He kisses you, cups your jaw like you’re ineffably precious, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months. Stiles tilts his head a little, and his tongue is gentle in its prodding, almost sweet—but he grabs onto your hips like he wants to eat you alive. You just might let him, you think, when you feel his stubble scrape against your neck as he trails a balmy line of kisses towards your collarbone. 

You wind your fingers in his hair and tug to keep yourself on your feet. “We ca—ah,” he licks along your pulse, on purpose, and you shiver, “we can’t do this.”

Stiles hums against your cheek. “And yet, here I am, sliding my hands under your shirt, trying to cop a feel.” His fingers dip under your shirt. They’re cold on your bare stomach, and you flinch a little. Dizzyingly, you remember where you are, who you’re with, and who's going to text you in the morning to make sure you’re okay.

“We really can’t do this,” you whisper, slipping your hands from his hair to his arms. You pull them away gently and tip your head back from his persistent mouth, “I’m not going to hurt Theo the way you hurt me, and I’m not going to let you do this to someone else.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, gravelly and thick. He turns away from you, paces the length of your room a few times, and throws his hands around like he can change your mind if he gestures hard enough, “You know it’s not the same.” Stiles stops abruptly and shakes his head, seemingly at nothing—and then he’s back in front of you before you can catch your breath. He places his hands on your shoulders and then slides his palms to your biceps, just holding onto you. Not clutching, not squeezing, just a light touch that you can’t seem to break away from. 

“You’ve been my best friend for 15 years,” Stiles licks his bottom lip, and you watch him with wide eyes and a blitzing heart, “and I’ve loved you for well over half of ‘em—just plain wanted you even longer.” He slips his hand down your arm to your hand and tangles his fingers with yours, lifting them to rest over his skittering heartbeat, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it should be.”

You want to say it back, you do, but you just can’t. Not with all the unresolved details wriggling in your ear. “You brought her home, Stiles. You can’t just…just introduce her to your dad and cheat on her all in the same day.”

“Technically, cheat on and then dump,” he tries to smile, but it’s not convincing. Not with the guilt dimming his eyes.

“That’s not funny,” you snap, but the guilt is good. He wouldn’t be the man you know, the boy you grew up with, if he didn’t feel at least a little guilty about the whole thing.

“Dad’s out of town,” Stiles admits quietly, and for some reason, that means more to you than his apology, than his kisses, than his hand in yours. You didn’t realize how much the thought had been bothering you until now—destroying you one post at a time. “I only brought her because I knew you were going to be here with…him.” He shrugs a little, “Frankly, I think she knows. She aced behavioral science.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” he concedes and kisses the back of your hand, continuing along the row of your knuckles, “but I’m in love with you, and it’s become abundantly clear that I always will be.”

Your bottom lip trembles with the desire to give in to what you want, but your hand twists away from him with what you know is right—even though it feels so horrendously wrong. “I can’t do this to him, Stiles. He’s been through so much, and he’s been so good to me, and he’s trying so hard to—”

“But you don’t love him!” Stiles hisses. It’s the loudest he’s been all night, but you don’t flinch from the volume. It’s the truth of it all, the vile honestly you can’t hide from that makes you recoil.

You look at the ceiling through your lashes, an old trick to fight the tears welling in your tear ducts. Some girl in middle school told you about it in the bathroom, and you try to remember her name and what cloying body spray she was spritzing instead of thinking about how easy it would be to let Stiles crawl into your bed and make you forget about everyone and everything that isn’t him. “I should,” you finally murmur throatily, biting on your lip, “maybe I could…someday.”

Stiles whips his head towards your face and takes a little stumbling step backwards, “You don’t believe that.” You’re sure that he wishes he sounded more confident, but he gives himself away with the hand rubbing the back of his neck, “Say you don’t believe that.”

“You need to go, Stiles.” You clutch at your arm with your other hand and step back towards your bed, further away from him and the wet film over his eyes. “I’m serious. I need you to leave.”

He opens his mouth and then scrubs his arm over his face, wiping away the incriminating wet gleam on his cheeks with the sleeve of his flannel. “Okay,” his throat bobs with the strength of his swallow, “yeah, okay.”

You wait until he reaches your bedroom door to crawl onto your bed. You curl in on yourself, like a child, ad press your face into your legs, your knees to your chest, your back against the headboard—but Stiles pauses before you can really fall apart.

Stiles rests his hand against the doorframe and chews on his cheek, on his words, on the thought of you, and then he says, “I’m still breaking up with her. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything—that’s fucking putting it lightly, I know—but I’m still breaking up with her.” He lifts a shoulder and smiles, a little sad but so true, “There’s no one else for me. There’s never going to be anyone else…just thought you should know.”

He’s gone by the time you look up from your kneecaps. Good. You were this close to giving in. This close to throwing yourself over the edge for someone who’s dropped once before, and you’re still cleaning up the mess he left behind. You should be proud of yourself, happy that you weren’t weak enough to say yes, yes, a million, billion, trillion times yes.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it.

[fordtato]

The Gravity Falls Timeline

All of this is based on my video, but I assume not many people will want to sit through 2.5 hours of me working this out, so here's a condensed written version.

Some rules I set for myself: If the actual name of an IP, a person or an event is referenced in J3/the Show, I included it into my math for my timeline (ex: references to Ronald Reagan or The Eurythmics, or other REAL WORLD figures). If a REFERENCE is made without the actual name being referenced (ex: in the Journal, Ford mentions Phantom Bustifiers, a reference to Ghostbusters, a movie that didn’t come out in our world until 1984), I did not put that into this timeline (I know what year Ghostbusters came out, but not which year Phantom Bustifiers came out).

With that in mind, let’s begin:

The Stans are born June 15 1951.

Evidence: 

Their Bar Mitzvah happened when they were 12 (not 13, as is typical) and their birthday is on June 15th. Because a Bar Mitzvah is dependent on one’s birthday on the Hebrew calendar and not the Gregorian calendar, this means that their 13th Hebrew birthday must land on a date that is BEFORE their 13th Gregorian birthday, something that is typically more rare (the Hebrew birthday is usually AFTER one’s typically celebrated birthday).

The only viable year where this applies is 1951, when their birthday lands on Sivan 11, resulting in a 13th Hebrew birthday in May of 1964, BEFORE their 13th birthday on June 15th

The Stans find the Stan O War in spring of 1964 at age 12 (or 1961, if you think they were 10)

Evidence:

There are two viable dates for when they find the Stan o War, depending on if they’re 10 (the same age Stan was when he started writing Lil Stanley in the Lost Legends comics) or 12 (the same age as Dipper and Mabel). I think that the way the artist drew the young Stan twins in the Lil Stanley comic looks (age 10) looks slightly younger than how they look in the series (and they are designed a little differently than they look in the Jersey Devil comic, when we KNOW they have the Stan O War already), but there is evidence for both sides.

I lean toward them being 12 because they pull out a sharpie, which wasn’t invented until 64, but there is a reference to a Bruce Springsteen song in a magazine in Lost Legends, quoted by someone named “Brucey S, age 11” and Bruce Springsteen would have been 11 in 1961, so this might be 1961 (or the magazine Ford is reading from might be an old magazine.) I went with 1964, because I think 12 parallelled the ages of Dipper and Mabel better. 

Stan gets kicked out in spring of 1969 right before they turned 18. Ford starts at Backupsmore in the fall semester.

Evidence: 

Stan makes a reference to Jackie O, which means Jackie Kennedy already remarried to be Jackie Onnassis, and is also still in the public eye, something that would be progressively less common after 1969 (she also happened to visit New Jersey in spring of 1969 and that would have made state headlines, something which is probably a coincidence, but nonetheless very interesting).

Furthermore, there is a portrait of Nixon in the principal’s office, and he would have been sworn in in early 1969. 

I think 1969 is more likely than 1970 because ‘69 gives more wiggle room for Shermie to be the baby (more on that later) and for Ford to get at least one PhD.

-Stan dates Carla “Hotpants” McCorkle,(reconnecting for another date after the one at the theater in their teenage years), probably in 1971 (if this “hallucinatey” date even happened at all; if you dont think it happened at all, disregard). 

Evidence:

We know this is a later date, when stan is an adult, because his design matches the designs on one of his fake IDs from his years on the run. It was likely 1971 because that is when the term “hotpants” was used to describe those short shorts.

The hippie aesthetic also started dying down after 1972 after the Manson attacks, so I picked 71 for the Juke Joint date.

Ford graduated from Backupsmore at the very earliest 1974, MAYBE early 1975.

Evidence:

In the journal it says he went to Gravity Falls in 1975, but we know he couldn’t have graduated earlier than 74, because we know that he played DDnMoreD in college, and he says in the journal that it was copyrighted in 1974. He also says Stanley always mocked him for playing it, which literally isn’t possible, so he’s either misremembering Stanley mocking him for an EARLIER TTRPG, or this copyright is for a later edition (though I think it must be the former, since DDnMD is a clear reference to DnD which WAS copyrighted in 1974. Still. Up to you.)

This means he completed his PhD in 6 years (or, three years ahead of schedule as described in the series). I believe many of his other PhDs were honorary degrees, and didn't bother working them into this timeline. He got them later.

Stan joins Rico’s gang in the late 70s

Evidence: 

Sometime in the late 70s, Stan gets tangled up in what is implied to be the Colombian cartel, which would have been most active in the late 70s, between 75 and 79. Following his trajectory on the map in ATOTS showing his path across the country, he headed below the border toward the end of that trackline, so it was probably later on.

Ford started Journal 3 in 1981, shortly after meeting Bill in 1981. 

Evidence: 

He says he discovered his muse in 1981 in J3. He also says he is starting J3 six years after he started investigating Gravity Falls (which he did in 75). He also says early on in J3 that he is in his 30s, and he would have turned 30 in June of 1981, three days before he started J3.

There is some fuckery here on how he’s known his muse for “two years” midway J3, and the way I explain that in the video is that the first part of J3 spans nearly 2 years, and there is ample evidence that he wrote many pages out of order. This might be a page from later on in 1982, early 83, instead of mid-81. 

We know that Reagan was already in office at this point.

 Fiddleford shows up in July of 1982. Fiddleford begins making the memory gun after the Gremloblin incident later that year. 

Evidence:

We know at least a year has passed because if you track the months, they go from June, to August, and then later on down to July again when Fiddleford is called. As for the Gremloblin incident, it happened relatively close to the bunker incident (which would have been closer to summer, since it was still hot outside) but it was followed closely by the carnival, where they had squash for sale, and squash are in season after September, typically. 

First Portal Test is on January 18, 1983

Fiddleford falls through the portal, his head poking through, on January 18 1983, the day after the confrontation he had with Ford in the diner. 

Late February, 1983 - The Portal Incident

Evidence:

There are three many reasons I chose this date. Firstly, we know it is 1983 not just because it follows the trajectory of earlier dates, but because we know that Ford has heard The Eurythmics’ chart topper “Sweet Dreams Are Made of This” because when he returns he says he is looking forward to their next one, and that came out in January of 83’, before he would have been sucked through.

Secondly, five weeks after January 18th, it would still be snowy in up-mountain Oregon where Ford is, but not that snowy in New Mexico where Stan is when he gets the post card.

Thirdly, we know at least 5-6 weeks have passed because Ford describes about this many weeks during his “paranoid era” in the journal (more than one instance of “a couple weeks, several weeks, a few weeks”, etc.). 

In the year 2000, Dipper and Mabel are born. 

Evidence:

I know most people think it’s 1999. And that is fine, but I have ample evidence that the show takes place in 2013, not 2012 (see below), so 2000 would have to work for their birthday.

But 2000 also gives a little bit of wiggle room to Shermie being the baby. (If you don’t think Shermie is the baby, disregard this section). If Shermie IS the baby, then if he was born in spring of 1969 (late 68 at the earliest), then you can barely fit two generations of Pines in the space between 1969 and 2000. It would mean that both Shermie and his kid would need to be 15 when they had a kid, which is … not great, but not impossible? I dunno man, take it up with Hirsch. (Or just assume the baby is Shermie’s kid. Follow your dreams).

In 2013, Dipper and Mabel visit their Grunkle Stan in Gravity Falls. 

Evidence: 

The Northwest ghost died in what is described in the journal as “The Great Flood of 1863”. The Northwests are trying to keep this flood under wraps in J3, because they don’t want people finding out about the lumberjacks killed in the flood. The Northwest Ghost swore with his dying breath to come back 150 yrs after his death. 150 years later from 1863, is 2013.

The 1040 form that Stan is filling out his Tax Fraud note on in the truth-telling ep is a 2012 form. To file tax returns, you use w2s 1040s labeled under the PREVIOUS year

Sevral Timez shouts "2013"

1983 is 30 years before 2013. 

Note: This would mean that the Stans are 62 at the end of the summer, which might mean that they are "pushing 70" as Stan describes himself.

Anyways, here's the full video if you have 2.5 hours. Otherwise, enjoy this resource!

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man: Epilogue

Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Chapter Summary: Corroded Coffin takes flight, and you're on air.

1.4k Words

(Master List 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15)

“Oh, is it on? Sorry about that everyone! You’d think after a year on air I’d get this cue right, but apparently we’re still working out some of the technical bugs for getting that timing right. Anyway, welcome back to LTRD, The Right Road to Good Music.” 

That was a lie, you hadn’t missed the cue. You had only ever missed the cue once on your first week on air, and the few listeners had found it so funny that you had been instructed to keep it as a bit. The radio persona you put on was a bit more air-headed than you might have picked out for yourself, but you had fun with it. 

In all the time you had tried to be on stage, who knew that you’d do better when no one could see you? The sound mixers not-withstanding, of course. 

“In studio today we actually have Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin fame here to tell us about their new studio album.” You smiled across the table at your boyfriend, who was leaning back casually in his chair, as if he’d done this a hundred times.

And he might as well have with how many times you two went over everything the past week to get ready for this interview. 

“It was going to be a garage album, but it turns out the studio doesn’t want everything recorded on a tape recorder.” He gave you a winning smile that still gave you butterflies, even now a little over a year later.

“With the way your popularity has taken off in the area, I’m sure more than a few people would be willing to shell out for that.” 

“Maybe, but we aren’t shell outs.” Eddie looked at you with the biggest grin and you had to take a deep breath. That had NOT been in your practice, and you were so mad that stupid joke almost made you laugh. 

“Welp, this has been a good interview, but we’re gonna have to cut it short- I’m joking, Merv.” You said to the station director who was shooting you a look. “So, tell us about the new album.”

“Thanks for having me on to talk about this.” Eddie said, fiddling with one of his rings. His hair had grown even longer in the past year, falling down just passed his chest now. His arms had a few more tattoos, and you knew from up close and personal experience that his thighs now had a few very nice pieces. You tried not to think about that while you were on air. “The new album is coming out this October, and it’s called Fire Shroud. The whole album is heavily inspired by a Dungeons and Dragons campaign that we all played together a few years ago.”

“Dungeons and Dragons?” you asked, pretending to know less than you did for the sake of the interview. “Pretty brave to say that on air. I think we had a few people storm the phone lines a few weeks ago for dating to mention the game.” 

Eddie grabbed the mic and pulled it closer to him. “I want people to know that enjoying fantasy, using your imagination, and learning basic math isn’t even close to the Satanic bullshit people say it is- wait, can I say that on air?” 

You looked at the clock, it was just passed 1 am. “Fuck no.” you smiled at him.

“Good.” he continued. “Listen, whatever freaky sacrificial rituals I do, happen in my off time when I’m not playing music or running a game.”

“I take it that the blood just gets all over the game board?”

“I spend so long painting my game pieces, so I don’t like getting blood on my hard work.” 

The interview went on like this for a while, and you and Eddie effortlessly went through the basic points that you two needed to hit. The albums release, how excited Corroded Coffin was to be working on this, and how excited they were to hopefully put the game that meant so much to them in a better light. 

“So, if anyone wants to come see Corroded Coffin live, where can they go to see you?” 

“We’re actually playing a few venues and theaters in the Indianapolis area next month, we’ll be sharing the stage with a few other bands. We are also going to be helping out with one of the shows at the latest Rocky Horror Picture Show revival soon.” 

Columbia (you were sure Robin told you her real name at some point, but she would always be Columbia in your mind), had staged a coup after the theater had been handed over to Left Turn. She had taken the remaining members and had gone to another theater. When news about Corroded Coffin’s graduation take-over hit, she had Robin reach out to you and you had talked to Eddie and everything came together pretty easily from there. It would only be for one night, but you found yourself really looking forward to seeing the show again. 

Merve signaled at you to wrap it up, and when the light went off you sighed and sagged in your seat. Eddie got up to get you some coffee, and you were thankful for that. Being a late night radio host had made your sleep schedule a bit weird, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“Are we still on for breakfast when you get off?” He asked. “Still doing a double date with Steve and his latest girlfriend?” 

You snorted. “As far as I know. He might sleep in again and miss it.”

“Well, if he does then we’ll just get breakfast to go and I can keep you to myself then.” Eddie said. “I’ll need a nap after this.”

“You know, you don’t have to stick around. You can go home and get some sleep.” you suggested. “Just because I’m here all night, it doesn’t mean that you have to be. You already spend most of your time down the hall with the rest of the boys.” 

“I gotta make sure no creeps call in and try and flirt with you.” he said. “Not while I’m here.” 

“Eddie, I do this five nights a week, and I’ve only had, what, maybe 3 creeps call in and most times Merv is able to catch them before they make it on air.” You reached up and scratched at his scalp. “I appreciate the concern, though.” 

Eddie yawned and closed his eyes. “I’m not leaving.” he mumbled, his eyes closing. “If I go home, I know I’ll miss picking you up.” 

“We drove here separately.” you laughed. “Go take a nap on the couch in the break room. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.” 

“Fine, but I’m taking your blanket.” He said, grabbing the fleece that was draped over your chair. Eddie leaned in and gave you a kiss. “Knock ‘em dead, baby.” 

“Only if you bury them.” you smiled back at him. 

The night went on with music, call-ins, news, and weather. When the first rays of morning light peaked through the windows of Left Turn Studios, you signed off, got your notes from Merv, and went to the break room where your boyfriend was already nursing a room temperature cup of coffee.

“Let’s get you some real coffee.” you took the flimsy cup away from him and tossed it in the trash. 

Eddie stood up and leaned in and kissed you, his hand cupping your jaw. You hummed against his lips and wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“What was that for?” you asked as he pulled back. 

“It’s a better wake up than shitty coffee.” He said, kissing your forehead. “But now I want mediocre coffee.” 

It was a surprisingly cool morning as the two of you stepped out of the studio. You said your hellos to the morning shift as they filed in, and Eddie walked you to your car. “See you at the diner. If Harrington doesn’t show up within fifteen minutes, we’re taking our food to go.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” You agreed. 

Within an hour, you were dozing off on Eddie’s chest in bed together. Your leftover breakfast pushed to the side as MTV played some song that you were glad you didn’t have to put on your show. Eddie’s arm was around your shoulders and tracing patterns absently against your skin. 

There had once been a time where you felt like a fish out of water, and then later you could breathe. Now, so long after making the dumb little deal with Steve you realized you weren’t meant for the land or sea. 

From now on, you could fly.

a/n: The End

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

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[sturniolos-blog]

In trouble again? - Sturniolo little sister oneshot

warnings - swearing, fluff, arguing

—————————

Quick backstory behind this oneshot:

When Y/n was 14, her 19 year old older triplet brothers moved to LA. Upsetting her for a while, hard not seeing them around the house.

But after a lot of convincing, when Y/n turned 15, Marylou and Jimmy agreed to let her move in with them.

Obviously, nick, chris, and matt were okay with it.

You may wonder how a girl fit in with three boys, well it was easy for her.

Nick was the one she’d go too for boys, about her period (since he bought her pads and what she needed when she was on it), she'd go to Nick about a breakup, literally about anything that Matt and Chris would freak out about if she told them.

Then Chris was the one she’d go to if she needed too laugh, needed a hug, (chris gives really good ones), He always found a way too make her laugh, even when she was crying. Although when y/n was crying chris usually got emotional with her, so they cried and laughed together.

Now Matt, matt was the one she’d go too for a lot of things. Anxiety was a big one, she had a lot, so she usually asked for tips and stuff. Y/n also gets frustrated, annoyed, anything negative really easily, (like matt) so she usually went to Matt to calm down and take a breath. Y/n also usually slept with Matt, much like chris she hated sleeping alone, so she usually slept with, matt, but occasionally with math and chris because chris was usually found in matt’s bed.

Y/n also gets in trouble at school a lot! (Bad y/n)

—————————

2:03pm

I walked inside my house with yet another write up i got this week, it's only thursday and this is my third write up this week, (new record by the way) this time was for yelling at my math teacher how she didn't know how to teach. She seriously doesn't because if she did would not have a D- in her class right now.

"Is anyone home?" I yelled out, kicking my shoes off and throwing my bag down.

I see Nick walk downstairs, "Hey y/n!" He says cheerfully, "Matt and Chris went to return the jeans you didn't like and Chris wanted to go to get a new sweatshirt or something." Nick smiled before his eyes trail down to my hand. He let's out a sigh, "Y/n...Please tell me.." He trails off, his voice filled with disapointment.

I look down at the paper too, "Umm.." I clear my throat, "Sorry I thought they would've called or at least texted you guys already. My bad. Now can you please sign it before Matt gets home?" I pleaded, handing the paper to Nick for him to sign. Matt was the worst one for when i got in trouble, he changes a lot. He's like all sweet and then his face gets red with anger. It's scary.

Nick took the paper and grabbed a pen from the kitchen table, "I'll sign it, but they took Matt's number down. So there is no doubt he got that call or text." Nick says, signing the paper with his signature like it said too do. I let out a groan as nicks eyes glanced over the quick explanation of what happened.

"You went off on your math teacher?" Nick scoffed.

"I already told Ms.Reel I don't play! She kept testing me, literally and figuratively. She tried givin' me a pop quiz like I was 'bouta do all that. Yeah no thanks." I defended. Grabbing a water from the fridge and sitting down at the island.

"What exactly did you say, n/n?" Nick asked, giving me the now signed paper.

"All i said was, 'I'm not doing this.' and when she asked why I said 'because why would i take a pop quiz from a teacher that teaches like she graduated at the university of nowhere.' and when she told me to go to the office i said, 'gladly, i'd rather have 6 months of detention then ever come back too this bootlegged not teachin us nothin' classroom. And then i got kicked out." I explained.

Matt signed the one i got on monday for going off on a girl for making fun of my friend. He told me it was okay and that i was sticking up for somebody i cared about.

The one i got on tuesday was for walking out of the classroom when my science teacher didn’t let me go to the bathroom but let a boy out when he asked. Chris signed that one for me, Matt found out about it, i didn’t know they had his number, he was upset but he said as long as i didn’t get another one it’s fine.

So after this one i am definitely getting yelled at by Matt.

The front door opens and i hear muttering, sounding like bickering.

“Wait, i left my jacket in the car, can you go get it?” I hear Chris ask Matt.

I then hear Matt mutter something along the lines of, “You fucking idiot” before walking away.

Chris then speed walks into the kitchen, “Y/n, you seriously messed up. Matt was already in a bad mood since he woke up, and then at the mall workers were giving him shit for trying to return your jeans without the tags on them, and then he got a call about how you got in trouble. So you’re actually fucked.”

My eyes widened, “Um- yeah i’m just gonna go up-” I start to walk away but bump into Matt.

“Just the person i was looking for!” Matt says. sarcastically, his arms crossing as he stands in front of me.

“Go sit, now.” He demands. I rub my forehead and nod, sitting at the kitchen table.

Matt sits down next to me and grabs the write up slip, “Nick signed it already? That’s great.” Matt continues with the sarcasm.

“Don’t bring me into this!” Nick puts his hands up in defense as him and Chris are watching us.

Matt then gives nick and chris a look that makes them both go to their rooms.

Great.

I take a breath in before starting to talk as Matt reads the write up slip, “So on a scale of 1-10 how mad-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, y/n.” He grits out.

I nod and bite my lip, i’m really fucking scared.

“You can’t- why would you- who even- where- what- the fuck!?” Matt stutters.

“I don’t even know what to say, y/n! This is the third one this week! It’s thursday! There are only five days in a school week! It shouldn’t be this hard to stay out of trouble!” Matt yells.

“I’m sorry i just-” I get cut off.

“No! You don’t just do anything, you can’t just do something like this and keep getting away with it. You don’t need to be acting like this.” Matt says, putting his head in his hands.

“I also don’t need your opinion, i mean why are you even getting so mad? Nick and Chris don’t care this much.” I say, nice going y/n.

Matt scoffs. “Go to your room.”

“But-”

“Now!” He yells.

“Whatever!” I scoff and get up, literally stomping to my room.

—————————

10:16pm

It’s been 8 whole hours since i last talked to Matt.

Which was crazy, Nick and Chris came in to ask me how i was doing but i just shrugged, i got to keep my phone so i was doing alright.

I get another knock on my door, expecting it to be Matt, i quickly say, “Come in!” But it’s Chris. I love him but i lay back down, scrolling on my phone.

He walks up and sits on my bed, rubbing my shoulder.

“I think you should talk to Matt.” Chris says, his voice soft and welcoming.

“He doesn’t wanna talk to me. He’s made it clear, we haven’t talked since the argument.” I sniffle, i was so upset.

“He does wanna talk to you, but he’s stubborn also, so he is not gonna be the first one to say something. If you go and apologize, and really mean it, like not just go in there because i told you too, then he will appreciate it and say sorry too. I promise.” Chris says as i sit up.

I put my pinky out, “Pinky promise?” I whisper.

He interlocks our pinkies, “Pinky promise.” He confirms.

I nod as he leaves my room, about 5 minutes pass and i decide to get up too.

I knock on Matt’s door, I hear some shuffling before the door starts to open, “Nick how many times-” Matt starts but stops when he sees me.

“N/n.” He says, his voice was much softer.

“Matt- i’m so sorry for getting in trouble and i’m sorry for saying that you get too and and it’s just schools been really hard and i hate it and everyone’s annoying and i don’t know what to do and i-” I sob but get cut off when Matt pulls me in for a tight hug.

“Okay, calm down baby.” He whispers, his fingers going through my hair.

I sob into his chest, that’s all it was. Stress and being overwhelmed.

“Shh..” Matt hushed, bringing me into his room with his arms still wrapped around me, kicking the door shut with his foot and bringing me to sit down on his bed.

“Y/n, listen.” He pulls away from the hug.

“You’re right, i have been harsher than normal, but that’s only because i want you to succeed, you’re in highschool! You are growing up so fast and i want the best for you. And i’m sorry that i’m not the fun one all the time. I’ll try, but if i try you have to promise that you will too, and if you’re ever feeling upset or down that you’ll talk to me.” Matt comforts.

I nod and wipe my nose with my sleeve.

“Can i sleep in here tonight?” I ask.

Matt laughs, “Of course you can.”

—————————

why is this literally the most basic thing i’ve ever written oh lord goodbye idk what happened with me today but im just gonna start dad matt tmr and it will either be done tmr or thursday (i pinky promise) hope yall enjoy this one!

[lortsyall]

Echoes of Eywa's Child.

chapter 1.

(Neteyam x Human!Reader series)

Pending....Pending....

Date: December 21st,2170.

Location: Office,Unit 4,Avatar Department,Human Outpost Biolab,Hallelujah Mountains,Pandora.

Time: 10:15 AM.

A long time has passed since I've known about this once alien planet. 4.4 light years away,a world full of life,like a lost paradise,sat idly in silence,away from the death and destruction that has scattered over Earth like a goddamn plague.

The ones before us saw the danger of it all,and yet they turned a blind eye,all because the climate change and the fractures in the atmosphere caused by the heightened levels of carbon dioxide wouldn’t affect them in the long run. They’d be dead anyway by the time it got too serious. So much for doing the right thing.

I wasn’t even born when they discovered Pandora,though until I actually got a grasp of reality and gained consciousness like everybody does at 5 years old,I’ve actually wondered if the so-called “Goldilocks Zone” existed somewhere else. If God smiled upon the universe and gave another planet the privilege of life.

Trust me,I have no idea how I even got here. So much time has passed since I’ve breathed in the polluted air of Earth,but I guess it’s for the benefit of all.

Guess we'll do it like they always do,huh?Start from the beginning of it all.

Pending...Pending...

Date: January 26th,2170

Location: Home,New York,USA, Earth.

Time: 12:43 PM.

Nobody ever thought that a girl like me would end up as the head leader of the Avatar Department,or an important person in the Resistance. And I gotta say,I never quite imagined myself becoming this. I dreamt of stages full of fans,as my fingers gave birth to heart-shattering riffs. Of poetry books released under my very own name,painting the pages with complicated feelings and sensations,all of a broken and imperfect human heart. Of having my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,making my country proud as a well known actress overseas. Though all those dreams were scattered away,like a feather in the wind,the moment I decided to do what any other scared yet artistically talented person who wants to make her parents proud does.

I got into STEM. Mechanical and Biological Engineering.

And between the sleepless nights of studying,drowning myself in math equations and lab reports,I got a one-way ticket to Pandora in my first year of college,from the one and only Parker Selfridge. Head administrator of the RDA’s operation in Pandora. I can still feel the anxiety lingering on my tongue. They never came with internships for first years,so what was he here for?

He came in to give out 5 internships at my college,yet he left with a new potential piece for this chess game. Me. All thanks to a question he asked that I knew the answer of. And to think I almost didn't say the answer because I thought everyone knew it,but as it turns out,only I did. I sat in the hallway with my friends,staring dumbfoundedly at the bussiness card he gave me.

Only back then,the RDA were treated as heroes,important people who made way for a better life. For an undead Earth. The propaganda was all enough to trick a little mind like mine,though it’s funny how I always thought I was a step ahead of everyone. Life on Earth as I remember it was,to say the least…grey.

The cities were gray. The people were gray. The sky was…well,grey. And between spending the rest of my life here,with my dreams crumbling before my very own eyes,and going out there to actually fight for a new home for humanity,you can guess why I chose the latter.

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening for me here anyway. Gorgeous girl,great personality,they all said,but nobody ever settled. Nobody ever stopped in their tracks to take in the pure and total beauty of the chaos that is me,so I never had a serious partner before. And…I guess I was also excited to see if the stories are true.

How an actual human betrayed his own race for a…Na’vi tribe princess?At least that’s how they put it,and I don’t even want to mention how embarrassing it was for the RDA to come back to Earth with their tails between their legs back in 2154. No unobtanium. No money. No Avatars. No nothing. I was three when that happened,and I remember playing with my cousins with our cardboard toys as our parents watched the TV in confusion and…disappointment,so you can guess why they made Jake Sully seem like an actual demon,and the death of a colonel was a pretty big deal,after all.

Thing is,the RDA only shows you the pearl in their hands,and not the mouth getting ready to swallow you whole. And now I know why they were so understaffed. That total failure after 2154 made people lose trust in the RDA over the years. But to me?

The decision came easily. I needed something new.

What didn’t,though,was the pure work I’d have to do in just 6 months. Learning the language of the natives,the Na’vi. Getting to understand the differences between our anatomy and theirs. The fauna and flora. The tribes. The ecosystems. And…of course,Eywa herself,though I learned that from Dr. Grace Augustine’s botany books,not from the RDA’s training program. I honestly don’t know what Selfridge saw in me,when I know I have friends better in college than me,but I better not question it too much.

I tried telling myself that as soon as I got in cryo,it wouldn’t be a goodbye,rather a…see you later. Looking back at it now,I think it was just wishful thinking. For now,I was me,the girl nobody ever really took seriously. Just another face in a sea of others. Next time I wake up,I’d have to work in an entire department with people twice my age.

The cryo-sleep thaw was a nightmare and a miracle all at once. My lungs burned as they dragged in air for the first time in six years, my throat raw and dry, every breath tasting metallic. My joints ached as if I’d aged a century.

“Subject revived.” the sterile voice of the AI announced, flat and emotionless. I tried sitting up, only to slump back down against the cryo pod’s restraints. My body wasn’t mine yet—not entirely.

“You’ll feel like shit for a while,” said a woman in a crisp lab coat, her voice muffled as she checked my vitals. “Side effects of long-term cryo. It’ll pass. Welcome to the ISV Valkyrie, and congrats on making it to Pandora.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Pandora.

The next few hours were a blur of debriefings and medical checkups. My body eventually began to cooperate, but my mind lagged behind. I shuffled through endless corridors with other groggy personnel, each of us too stunned to speak. We were like ghosts wandering through a ship that pulsed with life—technicians barking orders, holograms buzzing with real-time scans of the moon’s surface, the low hum of engines preparing for atmospheric descent.

When the ship finally broke through Pandora’s atmosphere, I felt it in my chest. The vibrations reverberated through every bolt, every panel, and through me. The world outside the viewport was alive. The dense, green forests sprawled endlessly beneath the floating Hallelujah Mountains, their bases wreathed in ethereal clouds. The sky shifted from pink to blue in the blink of an eye, its colors alien yet breathtakingly familiar.

For a moment, the hum of engines and the chatter of voices faded away. It was just me and the sight of this strange, beautiful moon—a place that could have been paradise if we weren’t here to ruin it.

The ship landed with a jarring shudder, and the real work began.

Adjusting to life on Pandora was like learning to breathe all over again. Everything about this place demanded respect—the gravity was lighter, the air richer, and the biology... unfathomable. Days blurred into weeks as I threw myself into the work at the Avatar Department.

My mornings began with syncing sessions in the link pods, my mind slipping into my Avatar body like stepping into a cold pool. It wasn’t seamless—at first, every movement felt foreign. I stumbled through training exercises, my longer legs and stronger muscles betraying me at every turn. But slowly, the body became mine.

Afternoons were spent reading over files on Na’vi biology, studying their neural networks and learning their language. The words felt clumsy on my tongue, but I persisted. When I wasn’t in the lab or out on field assignments to observe Pandora’s ecosystems, I was immersed in RDA briefings.

That’s where I first heard his name again.

Jake Sully.

The briefings spoke of him like a ghost, a legend who had long since passed into myth. But here, his name was a warning.

“Resistance forces led by Sully attacked the rail line near Sector 7 again,” one of the military officers growled during lunch at the canteen. “Three shipments of amp suits lost. That bastard and his little insurgents are crippling our operations.”

The room buzzed with tension as reports of attacks piled up. Sabotaged trains, stolen supplies, and destroyed equipment—it was chaos. To the RDA, Sully wasn’t just a traitor. He was the personification of everything standing in the way of their plans.

But the more I learned, the more conflicted I felt. The propaganda painted him as a terrorist, a man who had betrayed his own kind for a primitive cause. But every whisper I caught from the scientists who had been here longer told a different story.

“Maybe Sully isn’t the villain they make him out to be,” I muttered to Dr. Ellison one evening as we worked late in the lab.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable as he pointed towards a CCTV with his head,as if to say "Shut up. They're listening."

"That’s dangerous talk,you know. Keep your head down. Do your work. They don't like questions.”

I nodded, but the seed of doubt had already taken root.

The attacks continued, each one more brazen than the last. The RDA ramped up their operations in response, sending more troops and machinery into the wilds of Pandora. But for every move they made, the Resistance seemed to be one step ahead.

And then there was the tension between the people I worked with. Some were diehard loyalists, determined to see the mission succeed no matter the cost. Others—mostly the scientists—spoke in hushed tones about the beauty of the Na’vi culture, the interconnectedness of the flora and fauna, and the destruction we were bringing to this world.

I kept my head down, just as Ellison had warned. But at night, as I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: which side of history would I be on?

Pandora had a way of getting under your skin. The longer I stayed, the more I realized it wasn’t just a place. It was a mirror, reflecting humanity’s best and worst instincts back at us. And somewhere in the middle of it all was me—a girl who had come here for a fresh start, only to find herself caught in a war she didn’t fully understand.

The attacks became more than background noise; they became a constant undercurrent to life on Pandora. At first, they were just distant explosions, reports in the briefing room, or muttered curses from the military personnel in the mess hall. But over time, the Resistance started to feel like a presence, a shadow that loomed over everything the RDA tried to accomplish.

Jake Sully wasn’t just a name anymore—he was a force of nature.

The first time I felt the Resistance's impact directly was during a supply run. It was supposed to be routine—a quick trip to outpost Beta-5 to deliver Avatar-linked monitoring equipment. I was tagging along as part of my training, mostly to observe.

But the Resistance didn’t care about schedules or safety zones.

The attack was fast and chaotic. One moment, the AMP suits ahead of us were trudging through the dense forest, their movements mechanical and predictable. The next, arrows rained down from the trees, followed by explosions that sent the towering machines toppling like broken toys.

The ambush hit like a storm—sudden, violent, and unstoppable.

One moment, I was riding in the back of the supply truck, surrounded by crates of equipment and two guards sharing a nervous laugh. The next, the forest erupted in chaos.

The first explosion flipped the lead AMP suit, its towering frame crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. The convoy came to an abrupt halt as arrows rained down from the trees, their sharp points glinting like falling stars.

“Get down!” someone yelled.

I hit the truck bed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. My mask rattled against the metal floor as I scrambled for cover behind a crate. The world around me dissolved into a cacophony of gunfire, shouting, and the eerie war cries of the Na’vi.

The guards fired blindly into the trees, their exo-packs hissing as they struggled to maintain their aim under the pressure. I peeked over the edge of the crate just in time to see one of the AMP suits stagger, an arrow embedded in its cockpit.

Panic set in. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. I wasn’t a soldier. I wasn’t trained for this. My human body was fragile here—one wrong move, and I’d be dead.

I clutched the sidearm they’d insisted I carry, though my hands were shaking too much to use it. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t supposed to be my fight.

A shadow passed overhead. My breath hitched as I looked up to see a Na’vi warrior leaping from a tree, his bow drawn, his movements impossibly fluid. He landed on the roof of the truck with barely a sound, his golden eyes scanning the scene below.

And then, those eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, the chaos of the ambush melted away, leaving only silence between us.

He stood above me, perched on the edge of the truck’s roof, silhouetted against the glowing forest. His figure was tall and commanding, every line of his body taut with a warrior’s grace. The flickering bioluminescence of the nearby trees played off his skin, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his lean, muscular frame.

His face was angular and strong, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline unmistakably Na’vi, yet there was something softer in his expression. His golden eyes, large and luminous, fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical force. They weren’t filled with rage or cruelty but something far more unnerving—calculated curiosity, as though he were trying to read my soul in that single moment.

The streaks of blue war paint decorating his face didn’t fully mask the smooth, rich azure of his skin, which gleamed faintly under the pale light of Pandora’s twin moons. His braids, adorned with small beads and feathers, swayed gently with each subtle movement, a testament to the culture he carried with him like armor.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that struck me—it was his presence.

He radiated confidence, a quiet power that demanded attention without arrogance. It was the kind of aura that made the world around him seem smaller, less significant. The chaos raging around us felt like a distant hum compared to the weight of his gaze.

And yet, beneath that commanding presence, there was something deeper—an unmistakable grief, perhaps, or a burden that someone so young should never have to carry. It was in the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth, and the way his hands gripped the bow with both precision and purpose.

“Drop it,” he said, his voice deep and steady, but with a softness that caught me off guard.

The words hit me like a command, though they weren’t barked or shouted. It was the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed—not out of fear, but respect.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. The sidearm in my trembling hands felt heavier than it should, as if the very act of holding it was a betrayal. His gaze flicked to the weapon, then back to me, and I realized with a jolt that he wasn’t looking at me like an enemy. He was looking at me like a question.

“You are… different,” he said, tilting his head slightly, the movement as fluid and deliberate as everything else about him. His accent curled around the words, each syllable infused with the lyrical cadence of his native tongue.

I wanted to speak, to ask him what he meant, but my throat felt dry, my voice lost in the weight of the moment.

He crouched slightly, lowering himself onto one knee so we were nearly at eye level. Even then, his presence dwarfed mine. Up close, the details became sharper—the faint patterns of his skin, the slight twitch of his ears as they picked up the sounds of the battle behind him, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“You do not fight,” he observed, the faintest hint of curiosity threading through his words. His eyes lingered on mine, their golden glow unwavering. “And you… fear.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact, delivered with neither judgment nor malice.

His hand shifted slightly, and I flinched, but he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he pointed at the weapon still lying on the ground between us.

The Na’vi reacted instantly. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet with startling gentleness.

“You do not belong here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Run.”

“What—”

“Go!”

He released me and darted back into the fray, moving with the grace of a predator and the determination of someone who had everything to lose.

I didn’t run. Not immediately. Instead, I crouched behind the truck, my legs trembling as I watched the battle unfold.

He moved like the forest itself, blending into the chaos with a skill that seemed almost supernatural. He wasn’t just fighting—he was leading. The other Na’vi warriors followed his signals, their coordinated strikes overwhelming the RDA forces.

For every bullet fired, they had an arrow. For every shout of anger, they answered with a battle cry that sent chills down my spine.

And yet, amidst the violence, there was something strangely... noble about them. They didn’t kill indiscriminately. They targeted the machines, the vehicles, the weapons. It was as if they were trying to make a point rather than simply annihilate us.

When the ambush finally ended, the Resistance had melted back into the forest, leaving behind a convoy in ruins. Smoke rose from the wreckage, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuel.

I stumbled out from behind the truck, my legs barely holding me up. Around me, the survivors were regrouping, their faces pale and shell-shocked.

“Medic!” someone called, dragging a wounded soldier from the wreckage.

But I couldn’t move. My mind was stuck on him—the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d spared me when he could have easily ended my life.

“You do not belong here,” he’d said.

The words echoed in my head as I stared at the destruction around me. For the first time, I began to wonder if he was right.

[bluelocksource]

Nanase Nijirō’s trivia

☆ Weapons: Initiating movement to support teammates & Passing through Gaps.

☆ Character color: Cinderella White.

☆ Birthday: 1st January.

☆ Current age: 15 (1st year high schooler).

☆ Zodiac: Capricorn.

☆ Birthplace: Ibaraki Prefecture.

☆ Family structure: Father, mother, older brother, older sister, himself.

☆ Current height: 178 cm.

☆ Dominant foot: Right foot.

☆ Blood type: B.

☆ Motto: "One Kick, One Soul."

☆ Starts playing football: At age 5.

☆ Team before joining BLUE LOCK: Rei-in bō High School Soccer Club.

零院防 (rei-in bō) lit. means Zero Academy of Defense.

☆ Hobby: Karaoke with friends. "Singing 'Tamashii Revolution' with all my heart is the best!"

☆ Favorite food: "Mom's stamina fried rice."

☆ Food he dislike: Milk. “It smells funny.”

☆ What goes best with rice: "Natto! I’m the type who doesn’t mix it!"

☆ Favorite animal: Ladybug. "My last name is Nanase, so I feel a connection."

In Japan, ladybugs can be commonly referred to as "ナナホシテントウ" (nanahoshi tentō), which means "seven-spotted ladybug". The 'se' part of Nanase's name can be written as 'hoshi', thus the connection.

☆ Favorite season: Spring. "Because insects and animals start moving, I want to move too."

☆ Favorite football player: Shinji Okasaki.

☆ Favorite song: "Rewrite" by ASIAN KUNG-FU GENERATION.

☆ Favorite manga: Slam Dunk. "The Sannoh match is always exciting!"

☆ Favorite movie: Princess Mononoke. "Yakul is too cute!"

☆ Favorite brand: UMBRO. "They have a cool logo."

☆ Frequently read magazine: World Soccer Digest and Soccer Magazine.

☆ Mushroom shoots vs Bamboo shoots: Mushroom. "I was nicknamed Mushroom because of my short bowl haircut."

☆ What makes him happy: Encouragement.

☆ What makes him upset: Criticism without explanation.

☆ What he thinks his strength is: His love for soccer.

☆ What he thinks his weakness is:  "I lose sight of my surroundings when I get too passionate."

☆ What made him cry recently: “When I was being seen off before heading to Blue Lock. I cried alone afterward.”

☆ Favorite/best subject: P.E. & Home Economics "I'm good at soldering."

☆ Weak/least favorite subject: Japanese, Math, Science, Social Studies "My grades are all 2s or 1s."

☆ Ideal type: Someone who can lead him.

☆ Number of chocolates received from previous Valentine: 1. "I have a childhood friend who always gives me chocolate, but it's just a courtesy chocolate, so it doesn't really count."

☆ At what age he experiences first love: 5 years old. "It was my kindergarten teacher."

☆ The first time he got confessed to: “In 2nd year of middle school, a girl I was close to confessed to me, but I was so surprised that I turned her down. Is there no such thing as friendship between boys and girls?”

☆ Fixation: Eyes. "I feel like I can tell what kind of person someone is by looking into their eyes."

☆ Average sleeping time: 8 hours.

☆ How he spend his holiday: “Soccer! Soccer! Soccer!!”

☆ When taking a bath, which part he washes first: His forehead.

☆ What he usually buy from the convenience store: Anpan "If I get a little hungry, this is the go-to."

☆ What will he do if he received 100 million yen: "I wouldn’t know, so I’d give it to my family."

☆ At what age he stops receiving presents from Santa: At 9 years old. "After I found out my dad was Santa, I said I didn’t want them anymore because it costs money."

☆ What was his last wish from Santa: UMBRO training gear.

☆ What will he do during his last day on Earth: Play soccer.

☆ Favorite historical figure: Toyotomi Hideyoshi. "He rose from being a farmer to ruling the country! I’ll warm the sandals too!"

Toyotomi Hideyoshi was Oda Nobunaga's sandal-bearer.

☆ If he hadn’t encountered soccer, what will he be doing: “American football. It’s so cool! It’s a clash of souls!”

☆ If he could only take one thing to a deserted island, what would it be: Shoes. "I think being barefoot would be the most inconvenient initially."

☆ If he had a time machine, would he go to the past or the future: The future! “I wonder what soccer will be like in the future. Are they playing matches with flying cleats? It sounds exciting!”

note: i want to apologize in advance for any mistake made in the translation!

source: Egoist Bible 2.

[writingsfromhome]

If you Love Something II

A/N: okayy I’m finally going to stop overthinking and just post this one. Please note the tw in part 1. Thank you all SO much for the comments and love on the original…hope this one meets ur expectations. It’s definitely more focused on the lost daughter relationship rather than you and Harry so p dense but...here it is 🫣

——————————————

Age 36:

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Harry informs me over the phone. “I went with chicken noodle soup.”

“Mmm,” I close my eyes. “I could use something hot and hearty right now. I’m freezing my ass off.”

“I didn’t need to make dinner for that.”

“So come here, warm me up,” I crane my neck to the left again. “Stupid delays.”

“I can come get you."

I’d mapped it out before calling Harry, it would take him too long to get here. “That’s alright. Doesn’t make a difference.”

The screen on the platform showed 6 minutes…for the past 15 minutes.

“I’ve either been living in the longest minute of my fucking life,” I mutter. “Or this line is taking the piss out of all of us.”

Two dozen of us had gotten off the last train when it announced it was out of service. Now the number on the platform had tripled waiting for the next one.

“Patience,” Harry says. “Is a virtue.”

“Easy for you to say in the warm flat with the chicken noodle soup.”

“It’ll be yours soon.”

Soon. I sigh and try to release the anxious energy with it. “Thank you for taking care of dinner.”

“Of course.” He replies. Like it was that simple. But being with Harry was like that nowadays.

Despite all the catching up we had to do with the 17 years we had lived separate lives, emotionally it’s like we picked up where we last left off.

I’d be lying if I said it was smooth sailing the whole year we’d been together. There had been a hard few first months where both of us felt unnerved by the peacefulness of the relationship. We weren’t used to such an easy quiet.

I’d tried to self-sabotage first by going awol and working longer hours than I needed to. I think I was scared Harry would wake up one day and realize too much time had passed and he didn’t like who I’d become so I minimized our time together. Until Harry called me out for it.

But then he went off the rails, and for a few weeks I’d been an even bigger ball of anxiety. Ultimately I had to give him the hard truth even though the last thing I ever wanted was to convince someone to stay with an ultimatum. But I’d told him, he had to at least attempt sobriety if he wanted us to work.

There were a few sleepless nights, I didn’t know if we were going to make it. But one morning he asked me to go to an aa meeting with him.

Going together, being in the same boat as a group of people gathered in the back room of a dusty church finally gelled us together. For good. He’d been sober since.

We moved in together 7 months ago. Even though it doubled my commute time—tripled with delays, I had never been more sure that I was exactly where I needed to be.

We held space for each other. Even the heavier bits; we knew what they were. What it was like to hold them on our own. We always joked about how our loads had halved despite taking on half of the other’s. Because just like our venn diagram of love, our venn diagram of hurting was the same.

“Oh god, I better not be hallucinating.” I nearly jump up and down when the twin headlights of the next train peek in the distance. The platform board still says 6 minutes.

“You’re cutting up what?”

“Nothing! Train’s here!”

“I’ll pick you up from the station.” Harry says before I hang up.

I spend the remaining 15 minute ride going over the lecture I’d given tonight.

3 years ago when I applied to be a lecturer I didn’t actually think I’d get it. But in the 10 years of my career I had collected, I had done exceptionally well. It was ironic with all the bullshit life threw at me, I had somehow channeled it into a determined work ethic. After failing many math tests in high school I had found a love for it in uni—it made me work hard, get out of my head with its constant thoughts. Harry now took to calling me a masochist for teaching something mathematical.

In reality it wasn’t that mathematical. I taught Management Econ which was a snorefest on paper but I tried to be engaging and include a whole host of ways to teach—I knew not everyone excelled with a textbook.

It had made the course popular, it went from being offered once a semester to 3 times this year because the waitlist spoke for itself. It was one of my proudest accomplishment—getting students motivated and interested. And because it was mostly first and second year students, they were still eager and not jaded by the uni system.

That was how I spent my evenings on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Otherwise I worked for the city the same hours Harry worked his creative exec job at a major firm in the city. Sometimes we met up for lunch. It was the little things like that, making time to see each other in the middle of the day even though we woke up and fell asleep to each other, that made this relationship feel so secure.

It felt like coming home each time I caught sight of his face, and knew his smile was just for me.

My thoughts drift to our daughter. She would have celebrated her 18th birthday a few weeks ago. I always lit a birthday candle for her, this year Harry and I bought a cake and a symbolic drink for her. Our baby was old enough to drink.

“Do you think she takes after her parents?” Harry had asked.

“I think she grew up alright.” I always imagined her to have. “I hope she has no reason to drink herself silly.”

“Being 18 is reason enough.”

We talk about her often. She slips into conversation as easily as inhaling. It keeps her with us.

When I spot Harry’s car at the station I nearly weep.

“Your cheeks are so cold,” Harry says after a peck hello. He holds them both in his heated hands and plants exaggerated kisses on each cheek.

“Please sir,” I kiss his mouth and continue in what Harry called my Oliver Twist accent. “Take me to the chicken noodle soup. I hunger.”

Harry responds in the same accent (although it wasn’t as good as mine) and pretty soon I’m forgetting the 20 minute delay, the lecture with 100 technical difficulties, and anything in between.

After dinner and completing my 20 step night time routine I crawl into bed beside a cozy-looking Harry.

“Whatcha reading?” I peek at his book. I can’t believe he was the reading-before-bed type. In a way it was so different from the 17 year old guy I knew. It was also a reminder that even though we knew each other through and through, there were still so many habits and stories and quirks to discover.

“It’s a boring as hell sci-fi novel, don’t ask.”

“Then why are you reading it?”

“I accidentally joined a book club at work!?”

He tells me the story of how he told some people he enjoyed reading, and then being unable to say no when they bought this month’s book for him and presented it to him a week later.

“I bet you that’s their ponze scheme. It’s like an MLM, the latest recruit has to guilt the next joinee. You’ll be doing it soon.”

Harry laughs and holds his book out to me. “That actually brings me to my next question with this very generous gift, do you like reading?”

“Nope.” I push the book away. “I also don’t like book clubs.”

He tosses the book down lightly. “Damnit!”

We laugh. I cuddle into his side and lay my head on his chest as he finishes his chapter. His heart beat is steady, like the life he’s helped me create as we committed to each other. I listen to it as it lulls me to a calmer place.

“So how was work? How’s your students this semester?”

“Work’s good. Same old right now. Teaching was interesting. It’s the second week of classes so still seeing a lot of people come and go. You start to see the regulars by week 3.”

“Full class?”

“Almost,” I tell him. “A few empty seats. There was one girl who was obviously watching tv the whole time, another guy that fell asleep halfway, and this other kid kept looking at the door like he was physically trying to decide whether he would stay. Weird lot.”

“They won’t be there next week.”

“Nope.”

“You think she’s starting uni? I wonder what she’s decided to study.”

“Mmm, I always think it’s something creative like you.”

Harry squeezes his arm around me. “I think she’s a masochist like you.”

We talk more about her, about the upcoming weekend, and as sleep visits we drift away still intertwined like most nights.

***

“Does anyone know why?” I ask the lecture hall. Just like I predicted, most of the people I knew wouldn’t make it were gone. Now there were just under 60 students in total. What had surprised me was the guy who looked nervous the second week stayed. He’d been joined by two friends who only showed up in week 4. He was probably the designated note taker.

A girl to the left puts her hand up and I point to her. “The growing gap between upper and middle classes?”

“Yes.” I give her a reassuring smile. Until I started teaching, I forgot that most answers they gave were questions. “Anyone else?”

The girl beside nervous guy puts her hand up. “The ageing population, it skews the demographic from what was initially projected?”

“Exactly,” I try not to show favourites but that was beautifully said. Maybe she didn’t need to come to all the classes.

“That would also affect the workforce,” a guy sitting in the front pipes in. I smile, pleased that a discussion was forming.

A few others join in and I nod at each point. I loved this job.

After class is over I always got a few stragglers asking questions. The nervous guy comes up to me.

“Um professor,” he hitches his backpack and glances back at his friends. “For the assignment due next week, can groups of 3 be okay?”

I glance at his friends, it was supposed to be in pairs but what the hell. “Sure. But I’ll need extra stuffing in the assignment to make up for it.”

I say it with a joking tone but he’s so wound up that he takes me seriously.

“Of course. We’ll increase the citations and make sure to include more research-“

“Philippe,” one of the girls is suddenly a few feet away.

“Thank you.” He says, finally meeting my eye. I smile and he relaxes. I turn to his friends, to acknowledge them but they stare at me like I’d grown a second head. One of the other students asks her questions and I turn my attention away—weird.

***

“Mid-terms?” Harry asks. I’m reading a textbook while I stand over the simmering pot. We had accidentally ordered 4 times the tomatoes on our online order last week and with three still left I’d decided to batch make spaghetti sauce. It had been a long time since I made it from scratch.

“Kind of.” I push the book aside. “Someone in the department wants to update the textbooks and they left notes in the old one for what needs updating. They asked me to take a look.”

“That’s cool,” Harry walks over to me. He smelled like cologne and outside, the way he usually did right after he came home on chillier days. “That he wants your opinion?”

“She actually,” I poke him. “And it is! I can’t believe I get paid to lecture about one of my passions.”

“Economics,” Harry makes a face like he smelled something bad.

“Makes the world go round,” I smile sweetly.

“Remember when you liked things that were cool like Harry Potter and Coldplay-“

“I still like them! If I recall you’re the one who motivated me to do well in maths.”

“I did?” Harry looks off into the distance but his slow smirk is evident that he was remembering. He tilts my chin up and brushes my lips. “You’re right. So how about now? Would that still work?”

“Do you want me to stroke your ego right now?”

“Amongst other things,” he muses, his hands drop down to my hips and then lower, giving my bum a squeeze.

“Cut it out,” I scold him but it’s cancelled by the smile on my face. I shake my head and go back to the simmering pot.

“Is that tomato soup?” Harry’s suddenly distracted by the pot. We’d been having a lot of it this week because…well tomatoes.

“Nope, I’m making spaghetti sauce. From scratch.”

“Hey, didn’t you make that one time? When we were kids.”

“Hm,” I think back. It felt like so long ago but something niggles at me. “I think? I used to help my mum—it’s her recipe. Maybe you had dinner on a night we made it?”

“Yes. Dinner at your place, around Easter.”

I remember that Easter clearly but not for dinner. It was a night Harry and I had talked our lives all out.

“Aw. We were so young then.” I wrap my arms around Harry.

“I’m still young,” Harry says. “I’m in my prime.”

I pat his cheek. “Of course you are love.”

***

“Taylor I can’t really do this right now!” I tell my sister as she whines to me. No matter how old we got we were always somehow 17 and 12.

“C’mon just call mom! Tell her you met him and he’s really awesome.”

“I’m not lying to mom so you can invite your newest loser boyfriend to dinner. Anyway I can’t talk. I have to get to class!”

“I know.” She says weirdly. And I understand why when I walk into class and see her sitting in the front row. Ugh she knew I would try to blow her off!

My sister had somehow taken up the bad habit ever since her mid-20s of having a string of shitty boyfriends. We all blamed it on her longterm bloke breaking it off around her 26th. I don’t think she ever fully let herself heal from that.

After two separate guys were invited to two separate family dinners and both ended in mum or dad exploding over something, they were banned. This new guy, as she insists, was different. Mature. He deserved an invite.

She holds up 9 fingers and mouths, 9 months! That’s a long time!

I shake my head and start setting up my laptop.

“Hiya,” one of the students, Kim, walks up to me as I do so. “Sorry I was just wondering when we’re getting our assignments back? Will it be before midterms?”

Midterms were in 2 weeks for this class. The assignments were in my bag, marked and ready. I tell her and watch the relief spread through her.

I spend the next hour teaching, and before we break at the hour I announce I’d return assignments. As I call them out student walks down to me and pick them up, leaving with a smile or a frown.

“Philippe?” He had stuck to his word and his group had gone above and beyond. It was a beautiful paper, albeit overly-sourced. But I appreciated it.

“He’s not in,” one of his friends comes down to get it. She looks at me in that same way again, with just as much fear as curiosity. It’s odd.

“C’mon then,” I shake the paper I was holding out. “I don’t bite.”

“Oh sorry,” she grabs it from me in a rush I nearly get a papercut. She doesn’t even look at the grade, turning quickly away before halting, pivoting halfway, changing her mind, and running back up the steps to her seat. That group of kids were weird. Maybe they were on drugs.

I catch eyes with Taylor and she raises her brow. I shrug and continue handing out the papers.

I don’t expect the girl to come up to me after class. Her friend stays hovering behind, close to my sister who I know must be desperate to have sat here the whole lecture.

“Um ‘scuse me. Professor?”

“Yes?” She was the last person in the small line that had formed after class.

“I had a question about the assignment? You um, you said we missed the equations for our answers but they’re um-“ her hands are shaking as she flips the pages to the last page. “They’re on the bottom here.”

“Oh,” I did remember they were missing it but my pen marks were all over the back of it. “I must have missed that, bloody hell sorry about that!”

“Yeah um, do we get the extra points?”

“Of course but I-“ I glance back at Taylor. She’s talking to the friend. I had to get her out of here before she said something ridiculous. “I have office hours after my Monday class. I’ll have it remarked by then and you can pick it up?”

“Um, okay?”

I quickly shut my things down and grab my sister, getting her out as quick as possible.

“I’m a professional,” she reminds me. “Jeez. Anyway Y/n listen it’s the longest I’ve been in a relationship since, well y’know. 9 months! It’s different with this guy. He works like you! A cushy office job. He’s serious. Please!?”

I hadn’t seen Taylor since last month’s dinner when she had tried to convince me to get on board with this guy. She’d been pleading for a month. “Fine.”

“Oh I love you!” She squeezes my arm. “Text me when mom gives the okay.”

I sigh. I’d really got myself in the middle again.

I retell this to Harry when I get home.

“She’s persistent. But 9 months is a new record.”

“I know!” Harry knew all about her string of boys, I’d caught him up months ago. “Anyway I can’t believe she sat through the whole lecture.”

“Maybe this is the guy. The One.”

“You don’t believe in that do you?”

“Yeah?” He squints at me. “Of course I do?”

“So I’m The One?”

“Baby do I even need to say yes? I knew it as soon as I saw you when we were 14. You confirmed it when you kissed me on the roof that day.”

“I can’t believe I did that. I had my first drink that day by the way so I might’ve been drunk.”

“You were not drunk when you kissed me,” Harry points his fork at me.

“Look at you getting all worked up,” I tease.

“I’ll get you all worked up,” he mutters into his plate. I grin as I stretch my leg out under the table and run it up his leg. He grips my ankle when it gets too high and the look he gives me across the table sends my heart racing.

“Oops,” I drop my foot and go back to eating.

We put on a movie after, something we can zone out to. It doesn’t take Harry long to get bored and nuzzle into me, and it doesn’t take much longer after that before the movie is just for show and we’re tangled in our sheets.

There were 17 years of experience Harry showed up with now, and it was another one of those things that made catching up on lost time all the better.

***

In the first half hour of my office hours, the girl walks in. I should remember her name but I just associated her group with Philippe. I was surprised he wasn’t here actually. He seemed to be their spokesperson.

“Hi come in!” I wave her into the tiny cubicle-like room I borrowed for a few hours every Monday. “I’ve got your assignment here all done.”

“Thank you,” she hovers over my desk and I hand it over. Her fingers fidget with the strings of her hoodie and I seriously consider the drug angle. Or maybe her and her friends had serious anxiety issues. I didn’t miss that part about being a teen.

“You wanna flip through one more time? I try not to make mistakes twice but…”

She sits down tentatively and buries her head in the paper as she flips through.

“It’s alright,” she says. Her expression is so serious it nearly makes me laugh. She had pretty hair—blunt cut bangs that I remember rocking in my early 20s, but on her they hide the expression in her eyebrows. Maybe that’s why she always looked so sullen. Her lips are painted a pretty mauve colour and it complimented her green eyes.

“I really um…your class is really interesting.”

Kids saying that was like injecting pure joy right into my veins.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it,” I smile at her. But it still doesn’t crack a smile on her end. “It’s dense material but that’s nice to hear.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know if I was gonna keep the class.” It’s subtle but she inches back in the seat. The more she talks the more she relaxes back. “But I heard it was worth taking. And people were right.”

“Are you in your first or second year?” I ask.

“First,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s covered in piercings.

“How are you liking uni so far?”

She meets my eyes for a second before they shift away. “Yeah it’s nice? I’ve never lived away from home but I have some friends here that I’ve known since before so it helps. It’s really different, less structure but I like the freedom.”

Wow, she really spoke a lot more when she was comfortable. But I find it endearing.

“That’s really nice. It’s good to have a support system, especially with such big change.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. Her eyes dart around the desk as she goes silent. I wait for her to get up and go but a minute passes and the room starts to feel even smaller.

I could ask her if she needed anything else, or maybe continue the conversation? Did she want me to ask about her? No, that would be weird.

“So um, was that your sister in class last week?”

Okay, didn’t see that coming.

“It was! My baby sister, although she’s not really a baby. Did she tell your friend that?”

She nods again. “She was talking to her.”

“You have any siblings?”

“An older sister yeah.”

“So you get it,” I say. “You love them, they get under your skin, you’d do anything for them, and the cycle continues.”

For the first time she smiles and my breath catches. For a moment…no. No, I was imagining things.

“Yeah. My sister and I were close growing up, but she’s the one person that really knows how to get under my skin. I swear she does it on purpose sometimes.”

“Probably,” I want to say something funny again. I just want to see her smile.

Back off, my inner voice says. Don’t do this again.

Some years back, when I was still in the throes of alcohol, I had followed a girl at the mall for nearly an hour. She had looked so much like my sister but with brown curly hair. I could have sworn it was her—my daughter. But after an hour of drunk stalking she had met up with her mum, a direct clone of her.

I couldn’t be obsessive again. Nobody knew about that phase. Not even Harry.

“D’you have any kids?” She asks. I don’t expect the question and it throws me off what with the thoughts looping in my head. She watches me, waiting for an answer.

“Um,” I usually answered no. To anyone who had asked in the last 18 years. But for some reason I nod today. “Yeah. One.”

I imagine it, I must have. Her face draws in for a second before she looks down. “Does she ever come to your lectures?”

“Oh no,” I feel the prick of tears and try to blink them away without being too obvious. “I’m not sure she’d find them interesting.”

“Oh.” She finally stands. “Maybe when she’s older…but I’ll see you on Thursday I guess?”

“Yeah,” I watch her go and realize she’d forgotten something. “Don’t forget your paper hon!”

She stiffens by the door before coming to get it.

“Sorry, it probably makes me a bad prof but there were two female names on the paper. Which one’s yours?”

“Bridget,” her voice cracks.

“Bridget,” I try to match the name to her face. It fit. “That’s lovely.”

She scurries out and I hear someone say “well!?” Outside followed by a “shh!”

I shake my head and try to focus back on my work, my heart racing an unusual amount.

***

It takes a couple days but I confess to Harry. He’d decided to meet up with me after class on Wednesday to eat out. We didn’t go far from the uni, a pub a few roads down. I actually spotted a couple former students there and they’d waved at me warmly.

“You’re not crazy,” Harry holds my hand on the table. “A few years ago I realized the volunteer interns we took on from the nearby school? They were the same age as her, teens? And I used to check up on them all the time, make sure they were feeling comfortable, until one of the guys on the team told me to quit being so weird and find someone my own age. I don’t know if it came across that way but…I got lost in that.”

“Oh Harry,” I squeeze his hand. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“Me too,” I pop another chip into my mouth. “But really I’d kind of pushed those memories out of my head until the other day. I can’t explain it, when she smiled it just felt like I knew her.”

“Yeah. Maybe she just looks like Taylor?”

We finish dinner while Harry tells me about a story about some friends of his I knew. We reminisce about our old friends as we wrap up and head out into the brisk November air.

We’re near the station when I gasp and clutch Harry’s arm. Standing outside one of the nearby pubs, smoking with her friends, was Bridget.

“Harry! That’s her!”

“What? Who?” He’s so oblivious as he whips his head around.

“Hushhh!” I nod towards the northwest side. His eyes scan the group. “Red beanie. We have to walk past just look at her okay? Tell me if you see it.”

Harry laughs to himself, “This feels like we’re in high school walking past a crush.”

“Is that how you walked past me?” I tease.

“I did.” He looks at me in that way that still gives me butterflies. It never got old.

“Stop making me want to jump your bones out here. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Hey I’ll still have a job to support us,” he whispers as we near closer to the group. “Feel free to do whatever you feel.”

“You’re a bad influence.” I whisper back. By now we’re a few feet away and I sense Harry slow down beside me.

Bridget’s nodding to whatever her friend is saying. Philippe is waving his drink around as he responds. We almost pass by unnoticed when someone completely different calls my name.

“Hey professor! Can we buy you a drink?”

I turn and spot a group of students I taught last semester. They were all friends, always battling out their wits during group discussions. It made my class lively, even distracting at times. But I tried going with the flow of whatever group of students I got.

“Hey kids!” I say. Then I have no choice but to acknowledge Bridget and her friends. “And more kids! Is this the new spot to be at?”

I sounded so lame but shite! We weren’t supposed to get caught.

“It’s always been popular,” one of my old students says. “Can we pick your brain? Buy you a drink? We can buy one for your friend too.”

“I uh,” I glance at Harry but he’s frozen solid. I look to what he’s looking at and it’s Bridget. They’re locked in some silent conversation and her friends eye each other. “Harry?”

“Huh?” He focuses on me, flushed and just as confused as I had looked on Monday.

“We’ve gotta get him home,” I pat Harry’s arm. “Our alcohol metabolizes differently at our age.”

“You’re not that old,” Bridget says. She seems to be surprised she said it at all and her eyes widen. “I just mean you look younger than my parents.”

“We’ll take that as a compliment.” I smile up at Harry who still looks a little lost.

“Miss aren’t you going to introduce your male friend?” One of my old student goads.

“Don’t assume,” the other chides.

“Aren’t you a nosy lot after a few drinks.” I missed dishing it back in class with them.

“Oops!” They laugh.

“Anyway. This is Harry.”

“You can call me Mr. Professor,” Harry jokes and it’s a crowd pleaser. God they were drunk. Harry leans into me, “I can see why you like teaching. They’re an ego-booster.”

“Not in a 6pm lecture on a Thursday night.” I whisper back. He hides his laugh.

“Are you guys heading home?” Now it’s Philippe. I’m surprised he was getting involved in the conversation. He was usually the quiet nervous type.

“We are. Need a good night’s rest so I’m not falling asleep in your lecture tomorrow.”

“We wouldn’t mind,” Philippe goes for joker but his face flushes. It’s cute.

“Philippe you take way too many notes during class for me to believe that.”

His two friends, Bridget and the other girl, look at each other wide-eyed before losing it. And I watch Bridget’s face transform again and I get the same feeling. I look up at Harry and he’s transfixed.

I tug his sleeve and he looks at me, swallowing like he was parched.

“Weird right?”

“Yeah,” he whispers but his mouth turns down ever so slightly.

The girls are too busy cajoling Philippe to say goodbye to so we make our exit quietly. We don’t talk much on the train ride home but Harry simple holds his hand out on my thigh, palm up, and I lock my fingers into his. Even when we didn’t have words, we never stopped staying in touch.

***

It’s exam and holiday season before I know it.

I was actually looking forward to Christmas this year. It was the first that Harry was going to join with my family. Taylor’s bloke was also showing. He had been a hit with my parents and even I could admit he was the better of all the guys she’s every brought over.

It’s the last 30 minutes of the last exam I was facilitating this year. I announce the time left to the group. There were only about 15 kids left.

Bridget is one of them. I watch her tuck her hair behind her ear and bite her lip. She’d been pretty quiet the remainder of the semester, and I tried not to let my eyes wander to her too much.

After that night, bumping into her with Harry, we hadn’t spoken much about it. The hope that was initially so buoyant turned crushing as we faced the reality that the odds were slim to none. That our wishes were just pennies tossed in a fountain, sinking to the bottom of the pool.

Dreary winter days pass by and Harry and I try to keep the seasonal depression away with regular outdoor dates, cozy nights in bed, and seeing friends as often as we could.

On Christmas we go to my parents’. It’s a loud affair as my grandparents and a few cousins join us. After dinner I go up to my childhood bedroom, it’s now a guest room but some of my things still lay around. I open the window, it was cold so I drag a blanket out and sit outside. The street is quiet, I see families in a few open windows and I watch the festivities through them. I feel a mix of nostalgia and an ache that goes even beyond that, like I was missing something.

“Y/n?” Of course Harry would find me even though I’d left the door closed and the window tilted.

“Here,” I say.

“Ah,” he struggles to hoist himself out. “Some things never change.”

“You need help?” I watch him climb on all fours.

“I’m steady,” he grins as he crawls to me. I open the blanket and he gets in.

We sit in silence for a bit.

“It was getting really loud downstairs wasn’t it?” I ask.

“I think your grandma’s in love with Taylor’s guy.” Harry says so bluntly that I burst out laughing. He joins in.

“I feel like old people get to flirt with whoever they want because it’s always harmless.”

“Maybe that’s the case with older women,” Harry grimaces. “Can’t say the same thing about old men now can we?”

“Jesus!” I laugh and then laugh even harder when Harry says: “it is his day.”

By the time I wipe my tears Harry’s gazing down at me.

“Sorry,” I lean my head against his shoulder. “You have to stop being so funny.”

“Nah,” he kisses my head. “Have I never told you how much I like your laugh?”

He had. On a night many years ago on a roof like this.

I go to remind him but he’s pulling away. I watch as he shifts to face my slowly. He pulls something out from behind him and my brain only connects the dots as he starts talking.

“Y/N, this is something I wish I could have done 18 years ago but only feels incredibly right to do now. Especially out here.”

“Harry,” I gasp. When did he get the ring? When had he planned this?

“We somehow found our way back to each other again y/n, and you know I love you more than ever before.” He clears his throat as it clouds with emotion. “Some 18 years ago I told you I knew you, because the first time I ever laid eyes on you my heart knew. You were something special. And I never ever want to spend another moment apart again. So Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honour and finally be mine? Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” If I wasn’t sitting on a roof I would launch myself at Harry. I settle for pulling his face down to mine and kissing it. “I’ve always been yours Harry. But yes, of course yes!”

He slides the ring on and it fits perfectly.

It was perfect.

When we go back down my mum knows right away, and if it was loud before it’s absolute chaos as everyone descends on me and demands to know how he proposed and how the ring looks.

“On the roof? When there’s a perfectly pretty tree here?” My grandma asks. Harry and I exchange a look then, trying not to laugh all over again.

We ring in the New Year with friends, as fiancés. I can hardly believe it. Apparently most of our friends knew Harry was going to propose and they all toast to us and our happiness.

Somewhere in mid-January, I drop by my parents’ house to drop off some groceries. That’s when my dad hands me a letter that had been mailed home.

“It came for you, I dunno who thinks you still live here but it looks handwritten.”

I take it from my dad as I say one last goodbye. I barely make it to the tube with wobbly legs. Because somewhere inside I know.

It’s a long and agonizing 2 hours that I wait for Harry to come home. He finds me sitting in the dark; the sun had set while I waited, and I’d been too busy staring at the feminine scrawl on the front of the letter to turn on the lights.

“Hello-y/n, what are you doing in the dark?”

Harry drops his things where they are when I look at him. “Y/n are you alright? Say something.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I just push the letter forward.

He walks towards it. It’s like he hits a brick wall when he puts the pieces together, he halts a foot away.

“What is that?”

“Is was…” I try to swallow so my voice doesn’t sound so hoarse. “My dad gave it to me. It was sent to the house.”

“Is it…”

“I was waiting for you.”

Suddenly he’s in motion. He puffs his cheeks out and lets out a noisy sigh. Then he paces the floor one, two, three, four times before standing in front of the couch.

“We should read it.” I say.

“Yeah,” he deflates into the couch. I want to join him but it feels like my arse has been glued to the chair.

I inch it towards me and Harry nods. He wanted me to read it.

My mouth is parched. I can barely make out any sounds as I open it up. It’s three pages folded in two, the paper itself isn’t anything very special, it’s typed up so it’s literally just ink on paper. And yet it’s worth a whole goldmine.

“Y/n and Harry,” I read before my voice breaks and I bury my face in my hands. Our baby girl had written to us. She had reached out.

“C’mon love,” Harry’s suddenly beside me and his hand squeezes my neck. The touch gives me enough strength to stand with him. He sets me down where he just sat and leaves again, returning with water and the letter.

“Can you read it?” I ask.

He settles in beside me, we touch along every edge of us. The letter sits in between us like our love, our hurting—it’s where it belongs. He begins to read in his soothing voice.

“Y/n and Harry,

I hope it’s okay I’m calling you that. I don’t know if it’s proper but ever since I found out about you two last year that’s what I’ve been calling you.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath and I intertwine my arm through his. He kisses my temple and continues.

“When I turned 15, I asked my mum about you. I started to wonder where I came from. I knew I was adopted for as long as I could remember but it didn’t mean much to me for a long time—I had a mother, a father, and a sister. I had a family so why did I need to know where I came from?

But over the last few years it’s been like an itch I couldn’t get to. See when I was 15, what set it off is that my sister decided to look into her birth parents. They were separated, her father lived in Tokyo and her mother lived in Wales. It took her a year to convince our parents to go to Wales. I went with and I found myself in the home of a woman who looked just like the girl I grew up with. The whole time it ate away at me. I wanted this ending too.

I asked my mum and dad when I turned 15 but they were weird and evasive. I turned my skills to the internet but I didn’t really know where to start.

I felt the missing part more and more as I turned 16. I used to fall asleep thinking about you two, if you were alive, what you looked like, where you were, what you did.

I love my parents. They’re wonderful and amazing, they are supportive and never made us feel like we were anything but theirs. But I wanted to know my background.

On my 17th birthday my parents gave me a letter like the one I write today.” Harry stops reading and takes in a deep shuddering breath. “She got the letter.”

His shoulder shake and he pinches the bridge of his nose. I clench my teeth so I wouldn’t cry too. I wanted to finish this letter. I wrap my arms around him and hold him.

This was unbelievable, what we’d dreamed of. Her words, in our hands.

“Here.” I take the letter from him and continue. “Let me read it.”

Harry stays hunched over, so with my hand on his back I continue, “in it you told me how much you loved me. How much you loved each other, your families, where I came from. And Why you had to give me up. For a better life. I saw the picture of you, and I felt broken and complete at the same time. I realized I was the same age as you in the photo, I had to meet you but I was terrified. And I didn’t know how.

I spent a year agonizing and looking through every google page I could find about you. I learned a lot! But I needed to meet you.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve made decisions that may not have been the best but I’ve left my number and a picture of me when I was 5 in the envelope.

I hope you call.”

With shaking hands I turn to the third page that has one of those polaroids taped to it and a phone number in the same handwriting as the envelope.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry says while tears continue streaming down his face. I can’t even hide mine anymore.

She was beautiful indeed. She had his eyes, and her curly locks in a deep brown frame her chubby face. She had my nose, she looked a little like my sister as a baby. A scatter of freckles over her cheeks confirm it. She was ours. Our baby had reached out. We knew what she looked like.

“We need to call her,” I say. “We need to meet.”

“Yeah,” Harry wipes his face. “We…we need to do this carefully. It’s delicate right?”

I wanted to call her right now but what would I do but cry into the phone? No, I had to wrap my head around this. Harry was right. “Right.”

“She’s out there,” Harry turns to me. “She wants to know us. Y/n she wants to meet us! She saw the picture I-“

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper. “Our daughter wants to—did she leave her name?”

We open the letter and flip over every piece of it but her name is nowhere.

“Maybe she didn’t want us looking her up?” Harry offers.

“Maybe she has an awful digital footprint.”

Something about it makes us laugh and we can’t stop. But pretty soon it shifts back into tears and we’re left holding each other on the couch, tender and content and anxious.

Our daughter had made contact. Would she like us? Would she be mad at us? What did this mean for us?

The thoughts continue to spiral the rest of the evening. We don’t make much of an effort, we reread the letter and try to get dinner in us. We face each other as we try to fall asleep, whispering questions into the darkness. The darkness doesn’t answer, it grows heavier as does the night, and we fall asleep for the first time in our lives knowing the weight of a decision so long ago was a tiny bit lighter.

***

It’s a few days later. All I’d been thinking about was the letter, when I woke up, at work, during my commute, during breaks, when I went to bed.

It sits on our dining table, we glance at it as we pass by. It becomes part of the decor, three pieces of paper and an envelope. It’s so much weightier than that.

I come home from my lecture on Wednesday, a slight buzz of anxiety humming in the background. It wasn’t unusual for Harry and I to get busy at work and not talk the whole day but today Harry had been radio silent. He hadn’t answered my texts or phone calls in a very un-Harry way.

I walk in to Harry sitting on the couch in the dark, staring at the coffee table. On it sits the letter.

“Hey,” I don’t even take off my jacket. I slide next to him. “Is everything alright?”

“Hey,” he whispers. He stays frozen sitting forward, elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hand.

I wait for him to speak, to say something about what was going on. I rub my hand over his back and he glances up. I tip forward until our foreheads touch. “What’s going on in that brain of yours? Let me help you.”

“It’s a lot,” he whispers. It tears me in two.

“Hey,” I remind him. “Just one day at a time. Let’s just talk about today.”

“I want to call her so bad,” he leans away and buries his head in his hands. I wanted to call her too, I’d been waiting for Harry to give the cue since I knew I could be rash and impulsive about something like this. But something was going on with him.

“We will.”

“We gave her up. What if she hates us?”

“She wouldn’t have written us that beautiful letter, or sent a photo, or left her number if she did.”

Harry sniffles and then asks what he really wanted to, “what if she hates me.”

“Harry look at me,” He unfolds slowly and I make sure he’s looking at me. “You’re her father, you’ve carried her with you for the last 18 years. You love her. She wants to know you. Why would she hate you?”

“I’ve fucked up so much!”

“You’re not your mistakes.” I remind him. I get teary eyed as I feel the echoes of his insecurities. I’ve thought about it too: what if I didn’t meet her expectations? “She’s not going to see you and see every good and bad decisions you’ve ever made. She’s just going to see her father—her biological father, and see where she got her eyes from and her hair from and every other quirk she has.”

“You’re not worried?” He asks, looking at me with grief.

“Of course I am,” I confess, tears leaking out of my eyes damnit. “I’m so fucking worried. But my curiosity overtakes that, my love for her is what I’m focusing on.”

“I love her,” he says.

“That’s all that matters.” I cup his face and press a reassuring kiss to his lips. “That’s all she’ll care about.”

Harry untangles himself from me and my heart sinks. He paces the length of our living room a few times, running his hand through his hair.

“We really should talk about the letter,” he says.

“Yeah. I know. I want to call. Badly.”

He pauses. It’s like all the anxious energy drains out of him at once. He sits back down beside me.

“What do we do?” I ask

“How about Saturday? She’s probably going to be home then right? No school—if she’s in school.”

Two days. Two more days of agonizing over the letter.

At this point the letter is memorized, seared into my brain like I had an exam on it. I want to know the person behind it.

When we wake on Saturday it’s a cloudy day. I don’t take it as a bad omen.

We sit with our phones out after breakfast, just staring at everything before us.

“You should do the talking,” I tell Harry. “I’m too nervous.”

“I think you should.” Harry says. “She sent the letter to you.”

“Only because that’s the address my mum gave…gave her mum.”

It hits me again in another wave I try not to drown in. She was eighteen, she’d lived a whole life with a whole family. There was everything of her we’d missed out on.

“Please Harry?” I was already overwhelmed with the realization. I just couldn’t.

He watches me, must hear the desperation in my voice, and slowly pulls his phone forward.

It rings, and rings a few more times. When it goes to voicemail he turns it off.

“I didn’t think that was an option,” Harry says and we laugh. It feels good.

“It’s only 10 maybe she’s asleep. Try one more time?”

He pulls my phone and tries again but it still goes to voicemail.

We sit there, unsure of what to do. We agree to try again later, in the afternoon.

But around half past 12, while Harry’s working in our spare room and I’m scrolling through my phone, it rings. I don’t think much of it and pick it up automatically.

“Hello?” It’s silent on the other end. “Hello?”

I wait, but as I do it dawns on me. Who called me?

I check my phone screen and swipe through as I say hello again. I match the number. It was her.

I run to Harry but the phone is still silent. I wave the paper with the number saying hello again.

“Is this…well you never gave us your name. But we got your letter. We’re so gl-“

The line goes dead and so does my heart.

“You called her again?” Harry whispers, his brows furrowing as he stares at the phone.

“She called.” I think about calling her back but that was pushy. She was backing out of this.

All of a sudden I feel myself giving out. I catch myself against the wall and slide down.

“She’s backing out. It must be…too much for her.”

Harry stares at a spot on the ground, a million thoughts flickering through. Finally it settles on acceptance. He sighs.

“We can’t force her to talk to us,” he says softly what I already know. But his words are like a saw to my resolve and I just start crying. He gathers me in his arms but the grief feels endless. It felt like she was slipping away again; I’d lost so much and I lost her again. She had been so close. How could she do this? Why did she reach out if she wasn’t ready?

Questions without answers. More of them piled on top of the lifetime of questions I’d built for her.

I know Harry feels the weight of them too. We carry them together. That’s the only reason I hadn’t broken yet.

But I come close to it that day. We don’t hear back from her. And we don’t try to call her back. It didn’t feel right.

It killed me she was so close. And something changes inside.

For weeks I feel like I’m on autopilot. It’s like my first semester of uni all over again.

Harry tries his best to keep me together but he struggles too. It makes me feel worse I was taking the bigger hit, not being there for him as much as I wanted. But life feels like a a million blankets covering me.

I try to keep my usual momentum for my classes, but I’m always exhausted after. It pulls me deeper into my sadness, something I loved made me so tried.

It’s a Thursday at the end of the semester and I’m marking exams during my study hours when there’s a light knock on the door.

I’m surprised to see an old student.

“Bridget,” I wave her in. “Come in, what can I do you for?”

“Hi professor-“

“Call me y/n, I’m not teaching you anymore am I?”

“No,” she says with a stiff smile. The last time I saw her was in February, I’d spotted her with Philippe and a few other friends at a local coffee shop. She had been explaining something to one of her friends from a textbook.

Now her hair was short and more pronounced with waves. I wonder if she styled it, her longer hair had been pin straight.

“I had a question?”

You already asked it, I want to joke. But she was usually wound up so I knew it wouldn’t land well.

“What’s that?”

“Um, well.” She perches on the chair and I wait patiently for her to continue. “Are you taking any applications for TA next year?”

I wasn’t expecting that. She always found a way to take me by surprise. I stare at her for a few seconds, trying to remember what year she was in.

“Aren’t you in first year? If I do TAs they’re usually 3rd or above.”

“I know,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. “But seeing that one of my majors is in econ and my gpa is really high, and I did well in your class, I wondered if you would consider me?”

I hadn’t done TAs since my first year of teaching. I found I liked the work because it got me more familiar with the class.

“What’s your other major?” She had said one of them was econ.

“Sociology, I’m pre-law.”

Ambitious. “Why TA for my class?”

She balks as she meets my gaze. There’s something that flits through her face that I can’t quite read before she drops eye contact.

“Um, I really enjoyed it. I did really well. I think you’re super smart and would learn a lot by TA-ing for you.”

“I don’t give special lessons to my TA,” I let her know. “You’d typically attend some of the classes, mark assignments, and maybe teach exam tutorials, and have office hours of your own for students.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Why should I pick you?”

She pushes her shoulders back, “I’m responsible, dependable, I submit all my assignments on time and have experience teaching.”

“Teaching?”

“I used to tutor when I was in high school. I didn’t really get an allowance so I found a way to support my hobbies.”

“What are your hobbies?”

She blushes a little, was she still nervous? “I love reading, books are expensive.”

I nod. For Harry’s birthday I’d told him he could get any books from Waterstones and it had been over £100 for 3 only.

“I also enjoy cooking. And um, it’s been a while but my friends and I sometimes go to like. Do you know comic con?”

“Yes,” I’d seen things online.

“Yeah we liked to dress up for that sort of thing. We used to make our own outfits and usually the cost varies depending on what you’re making and how realistic you want it and…” she trails off as I smile. She was really enthusiastic about it. I couldn’t help it.

“Tell you what. Leave your number with me and I’ll think about it. I haven’t had a TA for the last few semesters but I am going to take this into consideration.”

“Really?!”

I laugh. “Yes. Really.”

“Um…” she starts to fidget again. “Can I leave my email? I’m getting a new phone soon so I-“

“Sure. Anywhere I can reach you.”

I expect her to get out a pen but she says it verbally and I type it out.

“Um, are you alright?” She asks out of the blue after I type in the last letter.

“Alright?” I raise my brow.

“I mean, you seem…I just heard, um.” She tries to backtrack but I ask her again and she spills. “Some people just said your last few classes seem scattered. Not that people don’t like you. I just…that’s what they were saying. And I don’t know if having a TA would help? And I just wanted to ask if you’re okay sorry I shouldn’t…it’s none of my business.”

God, this girl was so awkward. But she was sweet for caring, I think. “You’re not applying for the role because you feel bad that I seem…scattered right?”

She blushes. “Sorry. I think I said too much.”

I want to laugh but it strikes me that my students had noticed. I’d let it affect their learning. It didn’t feel very good.

“Life’s hitting me hard recently,” I tell her simply. “But I’m alright. Thank you for reaching out Bridget.”

As I finish up the semester I think about her. It wouldn’t hurt to have her TA for one of my lectures, see how she does. I didn’t care for TAs as a lecturer but something about her is compelling and I find myself emailing her in the middle of the night in June. She responds back a few minutes later,

Thank you!!! You’re the best. I’ll do whatever you need just tell me I can do anythingggh

Sent from iphone.

I laugh to myself as I put my phone away and go back to bed. My guesses were she was drunk at a party.

Harry’s asleep beside me and I reach out to touch his back but think better of it. He’d been busy at work with a project nearing its deadline and I didn’t want to accidentally wake him.

I turn around and try to drift off, thinking about my daughter, about how Harry and I hadn’t really talked much in the last two weeks, about my teaching, and my new TA.

Age 38:

It’s a depressing summer. The air of dashed hopes still hangs around Harry and I. It’s less thunder clouds and more of a fog.

One weekend morning, it’s one of those mornings that start off heavy. I can’t get out of bed, but I hear Harry pattering about doing his weekend morning thing. I hear the dishwasher turn on, and soon after he walks in with our laundry folded in a basket. I feel awful as I normally do, but not awful enough to get up and do anything about it. I think I’d have to feel less awful, to do that.

I don’t expect him to get in beside me once he’s finished putting everything away. He smells like laundry and shampoo, I must smell like rot and decay.

“Y/n,” he says gingerly. I just look at him in response. I felt too heavy to even reply. He sits up and calls my name again.

“Mm,” I say.

He sighs. Despite months of this Harry’s been nothing but understanding but this morning seems different.

Suddenly I’m being pulled up by my shoulders and I find myself sitting up in bed.

“Y/N,” Harry says again. I fold my arms as the duvet slips down and the cool air raises goosebumps. “I love you, which is why it’s so hard seeing you like this. You have to get on, my love. We have to move forward. It’s been months.”

All I could remember after our daughter hung the phone up on us was when I almost got to hold her. Right after she was born, I almost got to hold her but they took her away. And that piece of me that followed after her was nearly returned. It was that almost that was a death blow.

“It’s hard,” I feel myself tear up. It was hard not to these days.

“I know baby,” Harry scoops me into him. “I know. It’s hard for me too but we have to get better. We have to live our lives. She’ll come back to us, I just know it. She’s scared, we’re hopeful. Fear’s gonna keep her away. Hope keeps us patient.”

I cry into his shirt and he rocks me.

“I’m sorry,” I say into his shirt.

“It’s alright,” he grips the back of my neck.

So for Harry, for us, I try to get back to myself. I start to pick up my outdoor hobbies, I try to keep conversations going with Harry, I reintroduce my multi-step night routine. I look forward and re-light the candle of hope, even though I ache to blow it out before it can burn down to its wick.

My wounds inside stay tender.

We had booked our wedding for November and as the days approach we find ourselves with one thing on our mind.

Harry and I finally talk about it.

“I always thought she’d be there at the wedding once she reached out.”

We’re sat in an outdoor space near King’s Cross, coffees in hand as we people watch. We’d just come back from a cake tasting and neither of us felt like going home with such a glorious August day. Kids splash in the water sprinklers and couples sit around arm in arm. I touch shoulders with Harry unconsciously.

“Me too. I think that’s what’s kept me from mentally committing to the fact that the date is coming closer.”

“It can’t be forever,” Harry says. “She reached out. She just needs time. She’ll call again one day and we’ll meet her.”

“I know.” I lean my head on his shoulder. This was a realization I’d also been slowly digesting. I’d waited 18 years, what was a few more months, another year? Her baby picture lived on our fridge, at least we were one step closer.

And the love, I had to remind myself in these moments. Hold onto the love.

***

“I can’t stay for this class,” Bridget tells me. It’s the second week of classes and there were still 10 minutes until it officially started.

“Is everything alright?”

“Not really,” that’s when I notice her nose is red and her eyes are too. “My um, my parents had to put my dog down. She…she wasn’t feeling well yesterday and the-they found cancer? And she was in a lot of pain but she never showed it? And-“

I put my hand on Briget’s shoulder and lead her to the exit. There was no reason for the whole class to see this.

“Sorry. I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” I rub her shoulder. “I understand. Take the time you need I have this covered.”

True to her word, Bridget had been a loyal TA over the summer. I considered it a trial run not expecting much but she had shown up, aced marking, and I’d gotten good feedback from the students at the end of the semester.

I’d also taken to her. She’d join me during my 2 hours every Monday and when no students would come she would loosen up. She’d told me all about the dog she grew up with, she showed me costumes her friends and her made, I’d asked her about the books she was reading and the classes she was taking. It was like having a younger sister again, except I was mature enough to appreciate her.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Bridget says and this statements seems to be the breaking point. She curls in on herself, shoulders shaking. I don’t even think, I just pull her into me like I would for Harry, for Taylor, for any of my friends.

“You have a lifetime of memories with her,” I hold her. At first she stiffens up and I almost let her go but she only breaks down further and wraps her arms around me. Tighter than I expected.

“I wish I said goodbye,” she says into my shoulder.

“I know hon,” I squeeze her against me, something maternal washing over me. “I know.”

After a minute or so she regains her composure, wiping her face with her sleeve. When she looks at me she looks so much younger, her face grief-stricken and regretful.

“I’m sorry-“

“Don’t be.”

She seems to want to say something more but whatever it is, she swallows it and takes a step away.

I don’t see her for two weeks and I miss her.

When she walks into the lecture the first week of October I try not to rush her but I’m overjoyed seeing her face. It had become so familiar to me.

She smiles shyly when she walks up to me and I pull her into a hug. This time she doesn’t stiffen.

“How are you?” I whisper. Students were still trickling in so I use the time to catch up.

“Okay. Better than that day I cried all over you sorry again. I went home last week, thanks for letting me take it off.”

“Of course. You forget I’ve been doing this without a TA before you. I can hold down the fort.”

She cracks a smile, her dimple making a rare appearance.

“By the way, week 10’s lecture is supposed to be cancelled.” I tell her later during office hours. “But I wondered if you wanted to hold a tutorial that week for some of the material?”

“Really?” A light comes on in her eye. It’s fiery and bright with excitement.

“Yeah! You know the material! I’ll leave you with slides and you can go about teaching them.”

“I’d love to!” She grips her laptop close to her. “Wait why is it cancelled?”

“I’m getting married that week!”

The light dims. Or maybe I imagine it.

“Oh! I thought you were married already?”

“No,” I’d referred to Harry as my partner any time he was brought up. “We’re getting married in November. You’ve met him actually, kind of, that night we ran into you and some students at the pub. Last year?”

“Oh yeah I remember,” she says but her eyes are somewhere else. “So you’re getting married?”

“Yes Bridget,” I laugh. “Married. Tying the knot. You alright?”

“Yeah,” she blinks and she’s back. “You never mentioned the wedding. Do you have a dress?”

“Yeah! Just finalized the tailoring last week. Most things are ready, we’re just finalizing the rings!”

“Cool!” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Is it in London?”

“Yeah, it’s not too big but we didn’t want people travelling too far. This is where Harry and I were born and raised so this is where we want to marry too.”

“Wow,” she seems lost in thought and she stays pretty quiet the rest of the time. I didn’t realize my news was that surprising.

Maybe I still didn’t have Bridget completely figured out.

***

“Harry I can’t pick them up! I need to get home and then head back out to class!”

“Y/n it’s on your way home!”

“Not really! It’s a 30 minute detour. Why can’t you do it?”

“Because you can still get to him right before he closes. I won’t be done here until after he closes. I’m sorry love!”

“Agh and why can’t he do tomorrow?”

“He’s off until Saturday! We need it today.”

It’s the Wednesday before we marry and our rings are still at the jeweller’s. He’d finished them last weekend but we’d been so busy with other things we hadn’t had time to pick it up. And now it was either today and be late for class, or the day of the wedding.

I had gotten delayed at work and missed Harry’s texts explaining the situation. I’d only responded while on the tube, but going out of my way for 30 minutes meant I’d be 30 minutes late to get back to class. And since I’d left marked assignments at home that the kids needed for next week’s tutorial, I had no choice but to head back.

The idea hits me at once.

I hang up on Harry and ring Bridget. She picks up right away.

“Bridget, I’m on a crazy tight schedule. I’m going to be late to class by half hour at least.”

“Oh no. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah it’s just wedding thing but can you do something crazy? And feel free to say no okay?”

“Okay?”

I explain to her that if she rode to my flat, Harry would be there by then and she could pick up marked assignment. She can delay class by taking them up.

She’s silent but eventually I get a yes. “Okay. Can you text me your address?”

“Yes! Yes. Thank you Bridget. I owe you your trip fare and lunch or something. I’ll text you now, leave as soon as you can!”

I call Harry again and confirm he’d be home by the time she arrived. Everything works out.

I get the rings, and have to head home so Harry can try his on. The jeweller was expecting both of us, and let me know he couldn’t do adjustments if I didn’t text him by today. Just my luck!

When I get to the flat I tell Harry not to read his inscription but to try it on and thankfully it fits.

“Hey,” Harry calls out as I try to rush back out the door.

“What?” I was out of breath and frantic.

“Slow down,” he pulls me into a lingering kiss and despite being breathless before, I get some air into my lungs when we part.

“Sorry, so hectic.”

“I know I’m sorry,” he strokes my cheek. “I would have gone if I could make it. Also don’t be mad.”

“Be mad?” I let go of the door handle. “What did you do?”

“Your TA stopped by, Bridget. I forgot she was coming so I didn’t have your papers ready. I invited her in and she was in the living room looking at our pictures and she stopped in front of the baby picture. Of our daughter.”

“Okay,” did Harry tell her our history? I get antsy. “And?”

“Well she asked if that was our daughter. And I didn’t know what to say, if you’ve said anything to her? I panicked?” Harry runs his hand through his hair. “I just changed the subject.”

“Okay, that’s not bad. What’s the bad part I don’t get it?”

“Well. I changed the subject and told her she should come to the wedding.”

My jaw drops. “Harry.”

“I know! I know I’m sorry! I know she technically works for you, she was a student, all that! You’re so fond of her though maybe it’s not a bad thing?”

“Harry that’s…she was my student! I’m a prof at that school I…is that even allowed?”

“Yes? I panicked and googled it.”

I groan, “I swear you’re getting worse the closer we get to the wedding.”

The other week he had tried to buy out a whole bakery in case there wasn’t enough cake for our guests.

“You can tell her we have a full guest list? I don’t know what came over me! She just looked at me with those puppy eyes and she asked about the picture and I tried to talk about something else but the only thing on my mind-“

I kiss him. Just to shut him up. I was getting really late.

“This is like that book club you were tricked into joining all over again-“

“Hey I really like that book club now! It might be a good thing!”

“We’ll talk later.” I shake my head at him. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal. It’s weird but what’s one more guest?”

“I also said plus one.”

I let out a long exhale and then kiss Harry again. I didn’t want him spiralling while I was gone.

“Baby don’t worry, it’s okay. I’m fine with it. We’ll talk when I get home?”

I mull over it on the ride to uni. But I can’t find a way to uninvite her without it being awful. I text our wedding planner if we could squeeze in two more seats and she gives me the thumbs up.

I did have a soft spot for Bridget, and technically I’ve known her for over a year now.

During office hours, we get a few people in for the first half hour. Then we’re back to just the two of us.

“Thanks for taking over today,” I tell her. “I really appreciate it.”

“That’s alright. Happy to help out.”

An awkward silence slithers in.

“So my partner invited you to our wedding.”

“Yeah! I didn’t know if that was serious am I…?”

She looked so hopeful I couldn’t shoot her down. “Yes! I have a couple people from the faculty coming. And some colleagues from my day job. You’ll probably have to sit with them but?”

“That’s fine!” She’s chirpy Bridget again. “I’d love to. That would mean a lot.”

I watch her as the smile stays on and she gets out her phone, typing away. Maybe her friends, her plus one.

I realize I’m not entirely against it. It had happened, and I was okay.

***

I stare at myself in the mirror, smoothing down my dress in a nervous habit. I never thought I’d get married twice, I always thought after Tatum I was done with marriage, but Harry would always be the exception.

I feel a flutter of nerves thinking about him. Walking down the aisle to him. We started talking on a rooftop one day, we had just been two kids.

“You better not cry,” Taylor threatens as she walks into the room. She had gone to fetch lash glue after my teary eyes loosened an edge.

“I’m not,” I say weakly.

She stands beside me in the mirror, “They’re all waiting downstairs.”

Just 30 minutes ago this room had been a chaotic mess. From my mum, to my friends, to the wedding planner. I’m kind of glad my lash came loose, I’m able to ground myself in these few minutes of silence.

Taylor talks about our family downstairs as she fixes my face. I get up with her help and she beams, but her eyes look misty.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing!”

“Why do you look sad what happened?”

“Oh my god calm down, I just can’t believe you and Harry are getting your happy ending! I’m just…emotional.”

“Aww,” I cup her face even though I want to squeeze my baby sister against me. But my white dress, although not entirely traditional, would be ruined for the ceremony.

A ping on her phone—mum. We rush out. It feels like getting caught when we were younger and quickly getting away from the scene of the crime. I grip my sister’s hand until I stand in front of the doors leading down the aisle.

I don’t remember walking, it felt more like floating. Even if there was a chimpanzee and a talking dog in the pews I wouldn’t have noticed. My eyes are locked on Harry’s teary ones, they anchor me as I glide towards the man I’ve never stopped loving. Who always saw all of me.

When he reaches for my hand I grasp it and I know I made the right decisions. Even the painful ones. After all, I wanted to be nowhere but here.

“Y/N,” Harry reads his vows to me and I try not to cry as he sweeps me away with his delicate words about our love story.

“To be so deeply known by another, without even saying a word, shouldn’t make sense and yet with us we have a language that goes beyond words. A brush of your hand or a look in my direction, it can be enough to unload whatever burden I’d just been carrying. I promise to do the same for you, and to never end this dialogue between us. To love you and to cherish you forever.”

Harry couldn’t keep the tears in and they slide down his cheeks as he reads his words out to me. I reach out instinctively and brush his tear away and he laughs because I was doing it again.

“You’re can’t make me cry in my makeup,” I tell him and our guests laugh.

I had sat and thought so hard about my own vows. In the end after 50 versions, I’d settled on short and sweet.

“Harry, when we first spoke on the rooftop of that party in high school,” I say at my turn. “You told me everything you wanted. One of them was to make the world a better place. And I don’t know if you still want those things as much now as you did then, but one thing is true. You’re made my world a better place. I can’t imagine doing life without you. I love you with all of my heart, there’s no equation that could calculate how much.”

Harry grins at me and my breath catches. My man, he was my Harry.

We finish our vows with a kiss and a lot of noise from the crowd. When we turn to everyone I’m struck by how lucky we were.

The absence of our daughter was tough but when it came to love we had an abundance of it. I see it in every smiling and shiny face in the crowd. It’s like photographing a sunny day with one of those old school films, the sun is covered by a dark spot but the rays still wash everything in gold.

Harry squeezes my hand and I look up to him. He’s already looking at me.

He holds his hand up and lets out a whoop before he pulls my face towards him again for an even longer and borderline inappropriate kiss. I feel myself start to blush in front of the crowd.

We start down the aisle and this time I beam at every guest I catch eyes with.

My mum and Harry’s wave with tear-streaked faces. My friends from high school shout out, always the biggest supporters of our relationship. I catch eyes with Bridget, forgetting for a second she was here. Philippe is beside her, but what’s surprising is her blotchy face. I didn’t take her for someone who got emotional at weddings. I throw her a wave and she smiles through the tears.

Whoever ordered weddings to have a small break between the ceremony and the reception deserved a billion dollars. Harry and I spend the quiet moment doing our outfit change but afterwards we hold each other and let the moment sink in. The day sink in.

“We’re married,” Harry whispers when I tell him we should get going so we weren’t late.

“We took the long way to get here didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” he tucks me under his chin again and even though we would be late we just sway together for a little while. Our own private first dance, before the one for our family and friends.

“We did it all quite backwards actually.” I look up to him.

“Yeah, but we were never ordinary.”

“No, and I don’t think anything we’ve ever done is either.”

“Including our kid. I really wish she were here.”

“We’ll tell her all about it one day,” I promise him. His face eases into a loving smile, the fact that we’d made it to a place again where I can comfort him about this said a lot. Said we’d make it through everything, despite.

“I don’t want to do life with anyone else y/n, I have everything I need right here.”

“Remember that day at Whole Foods?” I remind him. “The first time we bumped into each other.”

“It’s a core memory,” Harry remembers. “I feel like the sun never set on that day. Getting to see you after all those years…it’s cheesy but it felt like coming home.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Me too. I recognized you by the back of your head did I ever tell you that?”

“Stared at it enough in maths, of course you did.”

“That’s probably why I did so poorly that year remember,” I laugh. “Just staring at the back of your head.”

“That’s why I never sat anywhere but in front of you.” He swipes lightly down my nose and I smile. “Now I get to see every angle of you whenever I want.”

“Oi,” I slap his chest. “Save it for tonight.”

He brushes my cheek. Under his gaze I’m stripped naked. There was nothing to hide with him, ever.

“I understand how long it took you to get ready,” he says in his deep silky voice. My stomach flips. “So I can’t do anything right now. But y/n, our wedding night will turn into a wedding dawn, and then to day again. I promise you.”

I tip-toe, even in my heels, and brush my lips along his cheek. In his ear I whisper, “I don’t expect anything less.”

I step away, feeling unravelled by the look of desire in his eyes. I’m sure I had the same look of want. But before we can give in to what we wanted to do, I open the door to our suite and embrace the gust of cool air.

“You should get some air too,” I say and he laughs, following me behind.

***

“Bitch!” Taylor comes up to me on the dance floor later that night. We had dinner, Harry and I had our first dance, there’d been toasts and tears in between. I was finally letting loose as the wedding party crowds the dance floor. We had been taking pictures all night, after this next glass of champagne I was going to call it quits on photos lest anyone captures anything that’s not an elegant bride.

“What?” I turn away from Harry to face Taylor. She’d been running around all day making sure my wedding day was perfect and seeing her just warms me with love. I squeeze her against me despite her protests. “I love you Taylor. Thank you for everything!”

“Ugh c’mon,” she wriggles out. She’d never been very affectionate.

“Where’s your bloke?” I look out for him.

“He taking a call. Anyway don’t change the fucking subject!”

“What subject!?” I ask as someone dances past me, fluttering their fingers in my direction. I blow them a kiss.

“C’mere,” she’s annoyed I’m distracted. She drags me off to the side and I hold a finger up to Harry as he watches us. “When the fuck were you going to tell us about her? And you invite her to your wedding and everything and nobody knows anything!?”

“What?” I was drunker than I thought or Taylor was making no sense. “Wha?”

“The girl you just took a photo with? Don’t act stupid Y/N jeez I can’t believe it. You hid it from me when it happened but why are you still hiding…”

My sister grows more upset as she talks, I realize it was serious. Taylor rarely allowed herself to get this worked up in public.

I put my hand on her shoulder but she shakes it off. I think hard about who she was talking about. Who had I just taken photos with?

Some of Harry’s friends took a picture lifting us up, then there was a photo with my cousin but that can’t be who Taylor was talking about. There was Andie, a few other friends and their partners, then Bridget and Bridget and Philippe.

Bridget.

“Wait what are…who do you think that is? Taylor I work-“

“Your daughter! Why are you still acting fucking clueless!”

“What’s happening?” Harry walks in mid-way into the conversation.

“God you too!” Taylor turns to him and hits the back of her hand on his chest. He rubs the spot and stares at her like she’d gone crazy.

“Me too what?”

“Harry?” His mum walks up to us, her brows pulled together the same way Harry’s does when he’s confused.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s that girl? With the brown hair? Purple dress?”

She’s eyeing Bridget who’s laughing with Philippe.

“Bridget?” Harry glances at me and Taylor grows more pink.

“Bridget? That’s her name?” Taylor blinks away tears. “Really y/n? I get when it happened I was a child, you and mom kept it from me. But she’s, you invite her to you-“

“Invite who?!” I shout. What the hell did Taylor think.

“Y/n,” Harry puts his hand on my lower back in warning.

“Your daughter?” Taylor says with teary eyes and a look of betrayal on her face. “That’s your daughter isn’t it? She looks just like…”

“Jesus I thought the same thing,” Anne looks at all of us. “Harry?”

“That’s not-“ he stops talking and we all look over at her. I had to say, right now she really could be. With her hair curled and wearing what she’s wearing. She could be family.

“She’s my TA. I’ve known her for a couple years guys I’ve bloody taught her. That’s not our daughter. She wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight? Harry invited her last minute.”

They all turn to look at me. Taylor looks miffed, she bites her lip as she looks at her one last time.

“That’s weird. Nevermind.”

She leaves like she didn’t just make a big scene. Anne covers her hand with her mouth and shakes her head. “I’m sorry loves, I didn’t mean to upset anyone-“

“You didn’t do anything,” I reassure her. Taylor did. And she couldn’t even say sorry.

“Don’t worry mum,” Harry pays her arm. She fades into the crowd and Harry stands in front of me so all I see is him. “She’ll get air, she’ll be fine.”

“But how could she just cause such a big scene like I’d hide something like that from her? On my wedding day! And then leave without even apologizing ugh! She is still such a brat sometimes!”

“I know, she’ll apologize later just let her be.” He knew Taylor enough. He knew her at 13 and he knew her now. That’s exactly what she would do. “We’re getting you a shot.”

“That’s the last thing I need! I’m already kinda tipsy Har.”

“This won’t tip you over c’mon. Shake it off.”

He leads me to the bar and we take a shot. I nearly spill half of it, it was awful whatever it was. I lose Harry as we get back to the dancing and end up behind Bridget instead. Philippe noticed me first and slows his dancing, which signals Bridget to turn around.

“Y/n!” Her smile is so bright it hurts to look at. It dims as I just stare at her.

It would be crazy. It was a big fat coincidence. She had a mum, a dad, a sister, she told me all about them. Her childhood dog and the time she twisted her ankle playing football in year 4. She wasn’t who we wanted her to be.

“Are you alright?” I read her lips. There’s only ringing in my ears. “Hey! Y/n!”

Philippe is suddenly on my other side and I’m being led to a chair. He disappears and Bridget pulls a chair beside me.

“What’s,” my voice sticks and I clear my throat. “What’s going on between you two? He’s your date?”

“Philippe?” Bridget’s brows draw together and I can’t stop looking at where they meet. I knew her. I didn’t know her. I was too afraid to ask. “No just friends.”

“That’s not the way he’s looking at you.”

“What?” She tucks her hair back. “No we’ve been friends since high school. It’s not like that?”

“What would you do if he got a girlfriend?” It was a random conversation to have, here and right now but it helps me from tumbling anywhere else. Especially into a pool of what-ifs.

“I’d,” she shrugs but a flicker passes through her face, for a second her jaw clenches. “Be happy for him.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not! Why are you asking?”

“You two like each other. I see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. Why did you invite him tonight?”

She shrugs, picking at something on her arm. “I dunno. He’s good at being a plus one. He always supports me? He’s always been there for me.”

“Sorry,” he shows up with a glass of water. “I swear the guy behind the bar was ignoring me.”

“Thank you Philippe,” by now I didn’t really need the water but I hold the icy glass in my hands. “Let’s see the pictures you took. I want them in my inbox or something soon. We don’t get our official photos for months.”

“Oh yeah here,” Phillipe hands over his phone after opening the photo. There are a couple of all of us, and then a few with just Bridget standing between Harry and I smiling.

I look between all three of us and feel something in my gut. But it’s too scary and big to unpack right now. I shove it away. I couldn’t do this. Not today, not tonight.

“You look beautiful Bridget,” I touch a lock of her hair. “Did I already say that?”

“Yeah,” she smiles awkwardly. “You said that before the photo.”

“You do. And so do you Philippe. Thank you for attending my wedding.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” Bridget looks at me wide-eyed, like she’s about to say something but when Philippe’s hand lands on her shoulder she looks down.

“What?” I ask anyway. Her eyes dart like prey to me, to Philippe, and down to her hands. I grab her hand and force her to look at me, like I could read something in her eyes. Like I would know. “Bridget.”

She looks up and her eyes well with tears as we look into each other’s eyes. My throat feels tight like I was having an allergic reaction, it travels down to my chest, I inadvertently feel myself squeezing her hand.

“I’m so-“

“Bridget,” Philippe’s voice cuts through whatever Bridget was going to apologize for. I look up at him and he’s burning a hole staring at her that hard. Over his head I see Harry.

“Oh look I see my husband,” Harry’s spots me too, relief in his features. His eyes stay on my face as he walks towards me and his eyes keep my steady. I want to tell him something, but everything that just happened was so non-verbal and unreal that I think I made it all up. I must be because this was insane and there was no explanation other than I was drunk, and sadder than I realized. “Gotta go kids. Have fun. I think I need another shot.”

I remember the rest of the night in snapshots. I forget myself later, giving myself up to Harry after that. We actually make it to dawn in a mixture of love and declarations, filthy words and I love yous, laughter and deeper conversations. It’s everything we were. It’s just like he promised.

***

Life moves on and I don’t bring anything up to Harry. I couldn’t, either I’m wrong and get his hopes up, or he thinks I’d gone insane in my sadness.

I feel like Bridget avoids me the week after, I return to class and she sits there, even takes questions after class, but she makes an excuse of studying during office hours and I barely get a few words with her. The week after she has an exam and she skips out after class.

I’m antsy. I want to know more about her; from her. I’m tempted to find a way to access her profile, get more info via the school. But I wait.

Harry notices, as we prep for our honeymoon booked over the holidays, he continues to ask if I was alright. And I try to convince us both I was.

About 3 weeks after the wedding, it’s a Saturday afternoon. Harry’s making lunch and I’m sitting in a pile of our books trying to decide what can be donated.

“Can you get that?” Harry asks.

“Hm?”

“The door?” He says just as there’s another knock. I’d been so entranced in the book I’d randomly started reading a passage of I hadn’t even heard.

I scramble to get it before the next knock and nearly stumble back when I find Bridget at the door.

“Hiya,” she says with an awkward wave.

“Hi…Bridget. What…come in what’s going on?”

“Sorry? Now that I’m here I should have called first.” She comes in and I go further in, waiting for her to follow. She hesitates before peeling her wet boots off.

“Harry? We have a guest,” I announce as I take her further into the home. I guess she’d already been here once before. “Bridget what can we do you for? Did you need something?”

“Bridget!” Harry pops out of the kitchen into the adjoined living room when we get closer. “Nice to see you again! I’m nearly done lunch, did you want to stay?”

What was it with Harry randomly inviting Bridget to things that were not pre-discussed.

“Um, I no. I probably shouldn’t. I just, came by to talk?”

“Sure,” I lead her to our dining table. “Is it about school? Did something happen?”

I sit across from her and Harry mumbles something, turning the dials down on the stovetop before sitting beside me.

Bridget’s eyes dart everywhere, from me to Harry, to the pictures on the wall, the kitchen, the books all over the floor.

“I was just doing a clearout,” I say to fill the silence. “Hey you like books right? Look through that pile there later if you want any of ‘em.”

“Actually,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. I feel Harry tense beside me. “I have a book for you.”

She leans down to where her tote rests and pulls something out. She lays it on her lap first, where we can’t see it. When she looks up to us she has tears in her eyes and her chin quivers.

“Please,” she whispers before pausing. My stomach drops as I take her in. Her face is blotchy and her hair hangs around her face, hiding half of it. She’s definitely cried before coming here, and I almost feel like deja vu as she places the book on the table. “Please don’t hate me.”

She slides it across to us. It’s just a simple leather hardcover, about 30cm by 30cm. The thing in my gut, the suspicion or the intuition, it turns into a cackling ball of energy and moves up to my sternum. I put my hand over it, and then move it to Harry’s leg. He’s frozen like a statue, staring at the book.

“Please open it?” Bridget says with tears streaking her face.

When Harry doesn’t make a move I pull it the rest of the way towards us. I open the first page to a few baby pictures.

I’d never held her in my hands, never even saw her. I’d pushed her out into this world, into another’s arms. But somehow I know who this is.

“Bridget,” I don’t even look at her. I start to frantically flip through the pages. The baby grows, 2 months, 6 months, 1 years old. Another girl joins in some photos, she always has an arm around the other child. I flip and flip and flip and even though I’m expecting it the photo stops my breathing.

I stare at the clone, or the original, of the photo on my fridge.

I’m frozen until another photo is slid towards us. It comes into view: two teenagers on Halloween night. The guy is dressed like the girl, the girl is dressed like the guy.

I throw my chair back and in the time it takes to walk to Bridget she stands too.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs but I just do what I wanted to do the second she was born.

I hug her. I hold her to my chest the way I never got to over 19 years ago. She belonged here. She never got to be here.

She was finally home. My daughter.

“Bridget,” I cry into her hair. Harry’s hair. She had Harry’s hair, his eyes. She got my nose and everything else. I was holding my daughter. She was in my arms, finally.

She really did look like Taylor as a baby.

“I’m sorry,” she cries again. “I was so scared and I screwed up and-“

“No.” I say fiercely. I push her out of the hug so I can grab her face. I wipe her tears and I nearly cry again. How many tears had I missed? Over skinned knees, playground taunts, first crushes and friendship breakups. How many tears had I missed? “Don’t say that. You’re here. You’re—Harry!”

I turn to him, why wasn’t he here?

He’s sat exactly where he was before. Frozen, staring at a spot between the picture of us and Bridget.

I let go of Bridget and move back to him.

“Baby,” I touch his arm and he springs up. Tears coat his lashes.

“‘Scuse me,” he brushes past me and heads out into the hall. Away from us. I want to go after him but I don’t want to leave Bridget—our daughter, alone.

“I’m sorry I knew I would ruin things I-“

“Please,” I want to go after him so bad but I go to Bridget and pull her into a gentler hug. When we part I keep hold of her shoulders. I never wanted to let her go. “He’s just processing it. He’s fine. He’s not mad at you I promise. Promise.”

She bites her lip, it reminds me of Taylor. She was a bit of everyone I knew and loved. She was the love that Harry and I always had. She was ours.

“I just got so scared when I tried to reach…I didn’t mean to deceive you. I didn’t. I felt terrible every day.”

“It’s okay,” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing to be sorry about-“

“But I saw you,” she cuts me off. “After I finally called you back and then just like, ghosted you. And every time I saw you at school it was like…I knew I was to blame. And it made me want to tell you even more but I got more scared any time I came close to it. I almost said it at your wedding—it would have been so stupid. Philippe stopped me.”

“I understand,” I did. I also didn’t care about any of it. She was here. That’s all I cared about. I wanted to know everything about her, I needed Harry here though. “Look Harry…your…Harry. I’m just going to check on him. You stay here and just…”

I trail off and leave. I had to be sure he was okay.

He’s not in the bedroom, or the office. I try the door to the toilet and it opens, he’s sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands.

“She leave?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Oh baby,” I crouch in front of him. “No. She’s still here but I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m pathetic,” he buries his hands in his hair. “I’ve been waiting my whole adult life for this and all I do is freeze. Her first impression is of her dad just freezing and then running away.”

I try not to laugh at his dramatic retelling. “Har you know that’s not true. She’s known you before this. It was a shock-“

“You were fine.”

“You know I…always suspected. Especially after the wedding.”

He looks up at that, finally. “You never said.”

“Harry, I felt crazy. Saying it out loud would have forced me to check myself into the psych ward. We all react differently, it doesn’t matter though. Our baby girl is here. The day we talked about!”

He takes a deep breath, and then another one. I guide him to stand and he looks so limp and sad that I squeeze him in a hug. “She doesn’t care how you reacted. She just wants to know you.”

Harry sighs again, he splashes his face with water and we walk out. I was nervous for him.

We walk back into the living room and my heart sinks when Bridget isn’t there. But her things are?

A few steps further and she’s at the stovetop, stirring a pot.

“Oh sorry,” she steps back and nearly throws the spatula into the pot. “It was boiling a lot and-“

“Bridget,” Harry ignores most of what she’s saying and she freezes at the sound of her name. He’s a foot away from her now. I watch him raise a hand to her face and then drop it. His face is a cross between heartbreak and awe as they drink each other in. I wait in anticipation.

“Hi,” she finally says shyly. But it breaks the ice. Harry pulls her into a hug and she returns it tenfold from the looks of it. I can’t tell who’s crying, but I give them their moment as I turn the dials off on the stovetop.

It was just a regular Saturday, except it wasn’t. Our worlds exploded with our past and was putting itself back together again, all the old broken pieces were being mended back together with love. My chest drowns in it, I can barely breathe. In Harry’s arms, there’s no denying she’s ours.

***

“Thank you,” Bridget says as we tuck into dinner. Harry’s lunch prep had gone cold as we’d all sat down and talked about how Bridget found us (looking me up, finding out I was teaching a course she was interested in, forcing her friend Philippe to take it to see if I was who she thought I was), and going through her album. I found out more about her sister Louisa and her parents. It was weird seeing pictures of them, in my mind they were the people that took my baby as their own and for Bridget they were mum and dad.

We finally decide to do something about food when our stomachs rumble. Harry goes back to cooking, showing Bridget what he’s doing until she leaves to take a call. I recognize Philippe on the caller ID.

I take Bridget’s place but I’m more of an extra weight tied to Harry’s back as I hug hun from behind. We don’t even have words on what this all means to us. For now, just touching each other keeps us grounded, it keeps is in what was happening together.

Bridget comes back from the call when we’re nearly done.

“I just want to say I am sorry—and I know you said not to be,” Bridget says quickly before I can get a word in. “But I never meant to deceive the both of you. My plan was to take your class, leave the letter and then talk. I Googled you so much it felt like I knew you. Yet when we spoke in your office that day, you felt familiar but In a different way than the person I studied. I just liked you so much, and I wanted you to like me. I was scared maybe you wouldn’t. So I just screwed the plan and messed up everything.”

“Hey,” Harry hands her a tissue and she takes it. Under the table he squeezes my hand. “It’s in the past.”

“I know. Still made me feel awful. And I couldn’t tell you but I also couldn’t stay away. I applied for TA and, it felt like having a friend and a sister and a mentor all in one. And I…I screwed up. I took it too far. And then you invited me to your wedding—I got to attend my parents’ wedding! It was so absurd. I couldn’t stop crying.”

Sounded like me. But I don’t say anything. We listen to her attentively.

“I only told my sister. I wanted to tell you two before I told my parents.”

I think about my parents. Harry’s. I didn’t want to overwhelm her but I couldn’t wait to introduce her to everyone that already loved her.

“I just hope…no, I know I hurt you two a lot. I didn’t mean to. I am really sorry about it all.”

“Bridget,” Harry’s hand comes down on hers. “What’s done is over. There are so many things we wish we did differently but ultimately it’s all done. All that matters is you’re here, now. You’re our daughter we never got to meet and you’re finally here.”

Harry’s voice cracks on the last word and he sits back and laughs away the tears. “Sorry. I’m a mess today aren’t I? Your first impression of me is a crying mess.”

“That’s not my first impression,” Bridget laughs but her eyes also fill with tears. “That night at the pub. When I saw you two together I nearly bloody fainted! When I looked you up y/n, there’d been an old wedding registry with another bloke. But then seeing you two together?! I just couldn’t believe it—I thought I dreamed it. And then I nearly cried because my bio parents were somehow together?? And the way you just stared into my soul it felt like you knew who I was.”

I laugh, remembering but also knowing exactly what look Bridget was talking about. “He does have a piercing look doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. It could gut someone!”

“That makes it sound awful!” Harry laughs. “Don’t say that.”

“It nearly gutted me! I really thought oh shite—“ Bridget freezes and looks between us like we were gonna scold her for swearing and I nearly leap across the table to hug her again then. “I uhm, I thought you knew who I was.”

“We thought it then,” I let my eyes roam over her. I realize I’d always been a mother, despite not having my daughter. Holding her earlier had awoken an instinct in me and now every time I look at her I feel a rush of love and something fierce. I wonder if Harry felt it too. “But we thought we were mental!”

Her phone chimes as we laugh. She flips it around and then tucks it into her purse.

“You need to take that?” Harry asks.

“No it’s just Philippe. He was at the wedding? I was just talking to him, I hadn’t texted him in a while he wanted to know how it went.”

“Philippe,” I say with a knowing smile. Bridget blushes and Harry asks what he’s missing out on so I fill him in.

“He sounds like a good lad,” Harry comments.

“A good lad?” I repeat. “Are you hearing him?”

Bridget laughs behind her hand and I can’t stop staring at her. I have to force myself to go back to eating.

“He is. I might have told him about how I felt?”

“Wow,” I put my fork down. “You’re confessing an awful lot lately.”

She blushes even deeper. And suddenly I’m grateful of the weird and layered way she’d come into our lives. Despite hiding the truth, it had allowed us to get to know each other as people first. Without any baggage or give me any inclination to fit who I thought she should be onto who was in front of me.

I got to know her for the young woman she was first, so did Harry in a way. And I would be forever grateful for that despite all the pain in between.

“Sorry,” I get up. The affection was overflowing from my cup. “I’m going to give you another hug because I just can’t believe all this.”

“Ohh,” Bridget stands to meet me and we wrap our arms around each other. Here was a girl I already knew, here was my daughter waiting to be known.

“God, she really is our daughter.” Harry quips from his side of the table. He explains when Bridget looks over at him, “y/n is known to be a big touchy person, I’m kinda like that too.”

“Oh my god,” she smiles at us. “I’m like that too! My sister hates hugs. My dad’s 2 pats on the back man, 3 if he’s feeling a lot. I always wondered if…”

She trails off. It seems to hit all of us all over again every so often. For me it’s when she talks about her mum and dad and it’s not Harry and I. The reminder that she went 19 years becoming her own person that we now were catching up on.

For her, it seems it was realizing all the parts of us that were in her.

“You got Harry’s hair, and eyes.” I comment.

“I did! I realized that as soon as I saw a photo online. But I do look a bit like you.”

“You do! I should show you some younger pictures of us and our families. You’ll see more similarities.”

“Wow. So you have a younger sister. How about you Harry?”

“Older sister. Seems we all have sisters.”

Bridget and I make eye contact, remembering a conversation we had what feels like ages ago about having sisters.

We continue our dinner, swapping stories and filling her in on anything she wants to know. She leaves after, claiming to have to get back home, she had an exam on Monday to study for.

When she leaves Harry and I can’t stop talking about her. Or gushing would be more accurate.

“Did you see the way she laughs?” I’d tell him. “Pure you!”

“The way she tucks her hair back,” he would retaliate. “Just like you. You did that especially back in secondary.”

We talk until we’re exhausted, crawling into bed just staring in wonder. There were still so many details to figure out, so many things to cover, it could drown a person thinking of it all.

But like an anchor in the sea, Harry and I fall asleep with hand clasped together. We keep each other buoyed amidst it all.

It was going to take time for this all to sink in but all I’ve ever had was time, and questions. I think I was finally getting time and answers.

Age 39:

Harry’s pov: Having our daughter in our lives is simple and complicated at the same time. At first there were a lot of things to untangle but as time went on, the knots loosened until our lives became their own knots, tangled into each other.

Meeting her parents, the people I met once many years ago, was likely the strangest part. They already felt so familiar as soon as they greeted us in a warm embrace, as if we were there own children. I guess the last time they saw us we were.

“Oh look at you,” Bridget’s mum had squeezed us tight. Her dad had pat us three times and we took it to mean as much as a hug.

In my mind they were always the age they had been then. They were probably around the age we are now. Seeing them sport greys and fine lines, it was like stepping into a time portal.

Lou, Bridget’s sister, eyes us for the first little while before warming up and sharing all kinds of stories—especially the embarrassing kind with us.

When Bridget meets Y/n’s family, I can tell they’re loud and overwhelming at first but we’re all surprised when Taylor embraces Bridget and takes to her immediately.

She brings out old pictures they had of Y/N and I, but every time she says, “your mum and dad…” when she talks about us through the pictures, I notice y/n protesting less and less.

It makes me feel funny, I keep thinking I was going to wake up and find out it had all been a dream.

“This feels very full circle to me,” y/n’s mum says. She’s watching Taylor talk about her baby bump—she was 3 months along. “I saw Bridget as a wee baby when they handed her over to her parents. I remember running late to hospital and making it to the room just in time to see it. I blinked and now she’s in my living room!”

“Sometimes I feel the same way,” I confess.

My family is slightly quietier but they all fuss over our daughter. They ask a million questions and when it’s all over we take Bridget for ice cream. It’s a pseudo-recreation of a life we never had.

Bridget eases into it too. At first she had bouts of disappearing on us. No more than a couple days. But we give her space, understanding it was overwhelming.

Every time I see her, I see her mum—y/n. I was never there when y/n gave birth. We had to drive up from London when we got the news and by the time I got there the dust had settled.

I never even had the potential of seeing her. I’d always been more sympathetic of y/n; her loss had been physical, mine was slightly more abstract.

Even though I’d spent every year since regretting that I wasn’t there to at least glimpse her, I’m glad now I hadn’t been there to see her. If I had to live the last 18 years with this feeling in my chest I don’t think I could have lasted that long. I don’t know how y/n did it. It’s a concoction of deep unconditional love, and tenderness, and recognition, wrapped in a shell of protectiveness. It took me a while to sort through it all but I had a conversation with my parents one night at dinner Y/n and I had visited. And they’d laughed because they had told me that was simply what being a parent was.

“Maybe she regrets it,” I had said the second time she ghosted us. Really it had just been over a day where she hadn’t gotten back to us. But I couldn’t help the overthinking, being tuned into any potential of loss with our daughter.

Somehow, y/n was the cool headed between us two in these moments. Maybe it was being a mum, maybe it was knowing Bridget beforehand, but she was very in sync with her.

“She needs space. The last thing we want her to be is overwhelmed too. Now don’t overwhelm yourself love, at least she’s in our lives.” She’d say.

It takes us the start of the summer and all those meets later for Bridget to finally feel at ease.

We invite her on a road trip, we were renting a place in the Cotswold for a few days and told her to bring Philippe. When she doesn’t even hesitate to say yes Y/n tells me we’d done it: she was finally more comfortable than overwhelmed.

“Y/N made me a better man,” I say after a couple drinks. We’re all sat around a fire outside the house. Despite it being a warm day of hiking the night had cooled significantly and we’d decided that boozy hot cocoas was the way to go. “I’ve lost my ways a lot of times as an adult. But she’s always been my north star. Even when we got back together she led me to being sober and getting my shite together.”

“Oh…” Philippe looks down at his drink. “Are you…”

“No,” I laugh, Philippe was the most-conscientious teen I’d ever met. “I got sober to get my life in order. But…it’s in order now. I haven’t done anything crazy for over a year now.”

A little before our wedding I decided I wanted to end my sobriety. It had been a thought for months, and I had waited before giving in. But I really felt more in control of my life. I faced my life decisions head on, I confronted my past with y/n’s help, and I didn’t think I’d lose control again. It had been a shaky first week but I was right. It was a proud moment for me.

“You two really have something special,” Bridget comments.

“They do,” Philippe adds. “I can’t believe you got your happy ending after so many years!”

“Yeah,” y/n says as I lay my hand on her thigh, palm up. “Y’know what they say about loving someone and letting them go.”

“I guess you did that with me,” Bridget says so quietly we almost don’t hear her. But out here in the countryside we do.

“We didn’t want to,” I remind her.

“No I know.” She smiles, it’s a bit sad. Philippe tugs her closer. I could see how much he cared for her in that small gesture. “I’m not saying it like that. I hear your story and I just imagine how different my life would have been if I was raised by my, by you two. I wouldn’t have this life. And I really like this life.”

She looks at Philippe and I feel y/n squeeze my hand. She often said they reminded her of us when we were younger; the kind of love you’d do anything for.

“But you two loved me enough to let me go. To let each other go. It’s fucking sad but it’s beautiful. Life’s weird.”

“Here here,” Y/N raises her nearly empty cup of hot cocoa. “Life’s weird, sad, beautiful, but lately my life’s been full of so much love. I wish I could sell all the excess, I think I could solve a lot of world problems with it.”

“Wow,” I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “That’s one hell of a speech.”

“I have a speech,” Philippe stands, a little tipsy, and clears his throat. Bridget rolls her eyes but they shine for him. “Bridget you’re the love of my life. Since we were 13. But Harry and Y/N, I think I love you too. Ever since we were 15, I’ve watched Bridge struggle for answers about her past. And you two have given her all the answers, welcomed her—and me actually, into your lovely life. I’ve watched her become old Bridge but even more confident. I’m falling harder for her these days. And I can’t thank you guys enough.”

“Aw Philippe come here,” y/n lets of my hand to walk around and give him a hug. How quickly strangers became family.

Bridget grumbles about being left out and joins the hug. Soon I join in too. I want to create a mold of this moment, I think as I squeeze them against me, I’d make it out of plaster and let it dry. Any time we wanted, we could always find our way back to this moment here.

Age 40:

Y/N and I watch our daughter cross the stage. Beside us are our parents and in front of us sits Bridget’s parents and her sister. She has a whole army cheering for her. This was the first milestone event we could all really show up for, and show up we did.

“I can’t believe this,” I was so proud of her. I know the kudos went to her parents, and herself, but I beam with pride. Honestly Bridget could spin in a circle in front of me and I would be a proud dad.

“We need to get photos,” mum leans over and says so seriously, as if we hadn’t planned on getting a million already.

We have a framed picture in our hall, Y/N and I on our wedding day, our daughter in between us. Her graduation photo is definitely making it. She makes fun of this wall, calls it the Styles hall of fame, and I never mention it but she always lingers a few second longer in front of the photo of the three of us.

I do too.

“It makes me so sad you won’t be so close to me anymore,” my mum tells Bridget later. We’re all piled in our flat, drinks and celebratory cake in everyone’s hands.

It reminds me of mine and y/n’s 40th birthday, we had gathered our family and friends here and it was some of their first times meeting our daughter. Today is more intimate, and focused on Bridget.

“I know it makes me sad too, but I’ll be here often, visiting Philippe.”

“Only visiting Philippe?” I raise a brow.

“Is there someone else I’m supposed to be visiting?” She mirrors my raised brow.

As Bridget’s gotten more comfortable, me and her could banter for hours if you let us, it’s one of those things that brought us closer together—having the same sense of humour. It’s allowed us to have just as deep heart-to-hearts, a handy joke always close to the surface.

Y/N always says seeing me like that, thoughtful and silly, reminds her of the boy she fell for. I can’t deny that I’ve been feeling closer to my 20 year old self than my 40 year old self lately.

“She’s too cheeky,” Bridget’s mum says. “But I have to say I’ll be glad to have her back.”

Lou, Bridget’s sister, was moving to Wales. Apparently she wanted to know more about her background, and take a trip with her bio mum to visit her bio dad.

I think Bridget was moving back to Coventry to keep her parents’ loneliness away; she said she would commute to Birmingham for school. Even though she got accepted into law schools in London, going to a uni close to her parents just showed me how close she was to her parents. It was a bittersweet feeling.

“I’ll have somebody to watch cricket with again,” her dad says.

“Ohh,” Bridget throws her sister a side-eye. “I love cricket…”

We all laugh at her complete lack of concealing her true feelings.

Later that night, it’s just Bridget’s parents and us. The kids are on the balcony talking.

“I know we’ve said it before,” I say after a long silence. We’d just been watching the kids talk and laugh outside. “But I want to say thank you again.”

Bridget’s dad shakes his head. “It was the greatest pleasure of our lives getting to raise those two girls.”

He looks over at his wife and they smile at one another. Seeing them interact, I’m grateful that somehow fate had led us to them. While Y/N and I were figuring life out, while I fucked up a lot of things, she was raised on a steady and stable foundation.

“She’s incredible,” I murmur. “She’s gonna be a lawyer. She’s going to change the world.”

“She sure will,” her mum says. “We should be thanking you two. For giving us Bridget. I know it wasn’t easy, you told me you thought about her nearly every day. But we can’t imagine our lives without her.”

We sit in a comfortable silence, looking out at the kids until they notice and start to ask questions through the glass.

“She’s happier,” her mum says smiling at Bridget and Lou exaggerating their words through the glass. “She stopped being like this before she left for uni. We thought we lost her but…I think everything worked out for the best.”

Y/N glances at me. Her eyes crinkle when she finds me looking at her first, her eyes steady me as she says what I was thinking, “I think so too.”

Age 45

Your pov: “When did she say she would be here?”

“6?” Harry says for the tenth time.

“It’s 6:20 do you think something happened? She hasn’t texted has she?”

“My love,” Harry puts down the cutlery he was arranging on the table and holds my face in his hands. “They’re driving from Coventry, they probably hit some traffic.”

“Maybe I should call her?”

Harry sighs and squishes my face.

“Don’t! You’ll make more wrinkles.” I warn.

“I love your wrinkles,” Harry kisses my forehead right where the pesky wrinkles had been growing deeper over the last few years despite the additions to my night routine.

Harry always said our wrinkles were just the stories of our lives showing through. I told him to get himself undereye cream.

“You don’t think I’m aging handsomely?” He strokes the moustache he started growing last year. At this age, even I couldn’t deny it made him even more attractive.

“Well it’s no good if you’re ageing handsomely and I age like a troll.”

“I will love you if you age into a troll.”

“But will you love me if I turn into a worm?”

“Do you even have to ask? I’d buy you the best soil and keep you in a beautiful pot.”

“You wouldn’t take me fishing?” I ask. He sighs. Last year while we were taking a trip up north for Lou’s wedding, we’d gotten into a fight and when I asked him the question while he was still stewing he said he’d take me fishing. It had, ironically, broken the iciness of his anger and we’d laughed about it so hard he’d nearly had to pull over.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he wraps me into his chest nearly suffocating me.

I’d spent half my life with a lot of difficulties, but life now felt easy compared to it. I had the privilege of getting older with the man I adored, got to watch my daughter flourish as an adult and a lawyer, watch her get married to the love of her life, and all the while live comfortably in the heart of this city I called home.

When Bruno starts barking though, I gasp and push myself off of Harry, “that’s them!”

Bruno continues to bark as I rush to the door. We’d got him a couple years ago as a pup and I can’t believe it had taken us that long to get a dog. He filled our lives with laughter and long walks. We loved him.

“Down.” I say to him. I open the door and hold my hands out while Bruno runs in circles beside me.

“Ahhh sorry we’re late!” Bridget steps into my hug and I tug Philippe’s hood so he can join. Bruno goes for Philippe when they walk in, he’d gotten obsessed with him after Philippe took care of him while Harry and I took an anniversary trip last year.

“Where are my hellos!?” Bridget says to Bruno and he barks, standing on his back legs to paw at her leg.

I hadn’t seen the two of them since March, that was 6 months ago. It had been their wedding, and they’d gone on a month long honeymoon after that, after which Harry and I had taken time off to road trip around Europe with Bruno, and then time had just zipped by.

After a hearty dinner, Harry and I carry out the birthday cake we’d been hiding.

“You didn’t have to do this!” Bridget fans her face but we treat it like we do any special occasion, plus making up for all the ones we’d missed. We get photos and exchange presents, she cries reading the cards and the whole time she says she had a present for us.

It’s a small bag, Harry and I guess that it was something for Bruno but when we take out a box it doesn’t sound like much when we shake it.

“Is this a prank gift? There’s nothing in it?” Harry asks.

“Open it!” He was making me antsy.

“You open it,” he hands me the box. Bridget and Philippe stare intently at my hands.

I undo the bow and slowly open the box. There’s a small square of tissue paper, and then a piece of paper. I remove both but something catches my eye.

I flip the paper over and stop breathing.

“Is that-“ Harry stops talking too. We stare at the piece of paper in our hands. It looks so much like one I had held 28 years ago. But it’s not.

“Bridge,” I look up at the couple. The parents-to-be.

“We’re having a baby,” Bridget says. Philippe and her are gripping hands and I throw everything off of me to launch myself at her.

“A baby!” I hear Harry say and joining us. “You’re having a baby! Y/n!”

“I never thought we’d be grandparents,” I look up at Harry.

“Those wrinkles were coming in for a reason,” he teases.

We never did have any other kids. Quite frankly, neither of us wanted any. When we first got together we were just starting to get comfortable with the reminder that we had a daughter out there and we could talk about her freely with each other. It felt like having a third person in our little family.

After Harry proposed, while we planned our wedding, we talked about it but we never thought it felt right. We both had first marriages where a lack of conceiving had just put a strain on the relationship we didn’t think we needed. We’d also felt like it was betraying something, before we met our first child.

When Bridget did reach out, it became about catching up on lost time. And then with her in our lives we knew what we suspected all along. We had each other, and that was enough. Bridge was our bonus. And getting to be aunt and uncle to our nieces and nephews it was enough. It was a full enough life.

We never even dreamed in our 20s we’d get to be parents and now we would get to be grandparents! I never realized until this moment that I wanted this. Really wanted it.

“Do you know the gender?” Harry asks.

“No,” Philippe answers. “We were thinking of doing one of those reveal parties? But not for a couple months.”

“Wow,” my hands drift down to Bridget’s belly and I remember I had something. I leap away from the group and find the box in my closet, it’s painted pink with random collages from old magazines. It hosts old diaries, photos, a hospital bracelet, and an ultrasound.

“This was you once,” I show her the picture when I get back. “I carried you like that once upon a time.”

She takes it with teary eyes, holding it close to her face to make out the shape of her. She hands it to Philippe and grabs my hands.

“I’ve thought about it before, but when I got pregnant I couldn’t wait to tell you-“

“She kept telling me I had to make a trip out to London just so she could give you the news.” Philippe interrupts, eyes scanning the ultrasound still.

“No really,” Bridget laughs. “I did. It’s like I got this new perspective.”

She puts my hands on her belly and covers mine with hers. I feel everything at once then, all the heartbreak I ever went through to get here.

“I can’t imagine giving this baby up. And it’s barely 3 months. What you were willing to do to give me a better life-“

She breaks off and Philippe squeezes her shoulder. I watch my daughter try to gain control of her emotions. I remember when I was pregnant with her, anything would set me off.

“It must not have been easy. After carrying me like this for 9 whole months. Thank you-“ she looks up to where Harry’s standing. I barely register his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you as my mum and dad, for making the hardest decision I can imagine ever making, so I could have something you knew you couldn’t provide.”

I reel my tears in, save them for later that night in bed while Harry holds me tight against him.

Right now I kiss my daughter and tell her what a good mother she will make. I tell her and Philippe how proud I was of them, how excited, how wonderful this was.

Age 46

The day we meet our granddaughter is seared into my brain. We get the call at 8:35pm, Harry and I were staying in a B&B in Coventry despite Bridget’s mum insisting we stay with her. We’d been here all weekend, booked it all week, not wanting to miss Bridget’s delivery date.

“Y/N she’s here,” her mum whispers into the phone. Her voice is filled with joy and giddiness. “She’s here.”

“We’re coming,” I say. Harry’s already at the door and we rush out into the night to see our granddaughter.

She has the perfect little face, and when she finally wakes up I gasp when I see Harry’s eyes looking back at me. I turn to him, to see if he noticed, but he’s teary-eyed and gazing at the baby in awe. I soak it in for a second, imagining this exact look if we’d kept our baby so many years ago.

Bridget’s parents had given us the room, to give us a moment alone, and I can’t be more grateful. Bridget encourages us to hold her and as her soft body is pressed into my body I let out a sob and hand her over to Harry. I excuse myself and step outside the room.

Lou’s kids sit on the floor outside, playing with whatever toys are spilling out of a miniature backpack. I focus on the flashy colours, trying to calm down, counting the number of toys falling out.

My life was a 180 from 10 years ago. This moment would go down in our history books as one of the best days of our lives.

But I can’t deny the bittersweet. The experience threatens to push me into the bitter past of not even getting to hold Baby Bridget. But with it comes an undeniable sweetness of getting to experience this now.

I take a deep breath and walk back in. Harry and Bridget stop mid-sentence and turn to me. Bridget’s face is streaked with tears, Harry’s looks concerned but I smile. He sits with the pink bundle to his chest and I ache.

“Don’t look so obvious you were talking about me,” I try a joke.

“Are you alright?” Bridget asks.

“May I hold her?” I ask in return.

I sit on the edge of the bed and she’s placed in my arms; she’s perfect. Just as perfect as Bridget must have been.

“She’s got Philippe’s hair,” I gently stroke the wispy blonde strands.

“She’s got my eyes, her grandpa’s eyes.”

I look at Harry. And he catches the stricken look on my face when Bridget tips forward and whispers to her baby.

“Look baby, this is your mumma’s mum, and your mumma’s dad. You’ve got his beautiful eyes. Say hi to grandma!”

My throat tightens. “Bridge.”

She leans away, her eyes dart between us. “I know I call you Y/N and Harry. It made it easier at first but…you are my mum and dad. Even though I have another pair. You are my mum and dad. And I want her to know you like that.”

“Oh love,” Harry leans down and kisses the top of our daughter’s head. She keeps her green eyes trained on me, grasping my hand that’s wrapped under her baby’s.

I mouth a thank you, my voice couldn’t pass through the block in my throat. She squeezes my hand and it sets the baby off. Remembering when my nephews were this young, I just hand her back to Bridget knowing she only wanted her mum.

Harry and I stay in the waiting room. We couldn’t go home, even though we had spent our allotted time we had inside the room, we stay there.

We watch Lou’s kids as Bridget’s family gathers in her room. We stay as they fall asleep, draped over us. I remember when Taylor’s kids were this small, they would fall asleep anywhere.

We talk in whispers, I don’t remember what about exactly. Mostly how excited we were. How there was so much to look forward to. How different our lives looked a decade ago.

“One day we’ll tell our grandkids,” I remember Harry saying. “We’ll tell them all about us, how we met, how our love burned so bright it shone in the sky. We lost each other but our love was always there to guide us back home.”

“We’ll see them grow up, all the memories we missed.”

“We’ll change diapers.”

“We’ll change diapers,” I giggle, half-delirious by the lack of sleep. It was probably 2am and I was tired.

When I gaze up at Harry I remember him holding our granddaughter. I replace her with Bridget. For a minute I allow myself to imagine how that would have been.

“I think you would have made an amazing mum if we did things differently,” Harry whispers into my hair.

“You too.” I whisper back.

“An amazing mum? You think?” The edge of his lips tug upwards.

“Harry,” I warn. We had kids sleeping on us we were trying not to wake.

“I love you.” He says in response. “To the stars and back.”

On our drive home I can’t stop looking at him. I always wondered how it would be like to grow old with someone; when I was younger and watch my own parents celebrate anniversaries. And then when I was older and my first marriage was so rocky.

But thinking about it now is like a simple mathematical equation. You take two lives, two individuals, and you bracket them in love. You add an exponent—the decision to continue choosing each other. And you get a lifelong commitment. No matter the situation, no matter the challenges or the changes, you choose to choose each other.

His side profile lights up by an oncoming car. For a second he’s the same boy I feel in love with, a few more gray hairs, a few more wrinkles, and a moustache. But he’d always be the boy I followed out to the roof, who held my hand in our high school hallway, the one who turned an I into a we when I got pregnant, I see the man I had coffee with after a run-in at the Whole Foods, I see the broken heart from a harsh life sitting on the steps of a church, I see a bookworm, I see a father, a husband, and now a grandfather. I see the one person who knows me like the back of his hand. The one I am home with always.

“What is it?” Harry asks as we pull into our b&b. “Have you been asleep this whole ride or have you been staring at me?”

“Staring at you?” I ask. “You think I was staring at you the whole ride?”

“Well you were really silent. And facing me

“I was thinking.”

“About me?”

“Why are you so desparate!? Do I not show you enough love regularly?”

“I could always use more,” Harry looks half asleep as we reach our door.

“The people are right: you give someone a hand and watch as they take the whole arm,” I tease.

“When you gave me your hand, I made you a wife.” Harry retorts.

“Ooh,” I poke him. “I have to say that’s a good comeback for being half-asleep.”

Harry grins back. “You keep me sharp.”

“And you keep me happy. Now open the door so I can stop freezing out here!”

We walk into the warmth of our b&b.

For so much of our lives, our past decisions haunted us. We let so much go. Now life was repaying us, returning it all back, with interest.

***

In a small b&b in the middle of a town called Coventry, two lovers crawl into bed. They’d just become grandparents and they carry an exhausted buzz about them as they try to fall asleep. They’re both thinking of the other, of their daughter, of the tiny bundle they held in their arms today.

Some 20 minutes away their daughter lays in a hospital bed, an exhausted buzz putting her to sleep. She dreams of her mother who gave her up, how she had found her parents in the end, and dreams about the kind of mother she’ll be.

A few doors down lay her newborn daughter, she doesn’t dream of much, not yet, but she’s in for a lifetime of love.

Most of life is what we made it. Y/N and Harry loved deeply enough to make it.

———————————————

TAGLIST: @quinnwritezz @unknownnbihh @dilfhrrys @umadirectioner @hermionelove @anonymous-91 @meganxfddf

[multbasa]

Thinking about Sidon and how old he might be, there are actually a couple of clues in Breath of the Wild.

Link's childhood friends from Zora's Domain remember him very clearly even though it was over 100 years ago:

"We used to swim together when I was but a child... Remember? Well, it has been 100 years since then. And now I'm over 130 years old."

–Rivan

"What is the Big Bad Bazz Brigade password? Fluffy white clouds! Clear blue...[Zora] [...] The only people who know that password are members of the Big Bad Bazz Brigade!

–Bazz

"We...used to play together all the time."

–Gaddison

Sidon, on the other hand, only has a fuzzy recollection:

"I recently remembered something...a fuzzy memory from my early childhood. There was a swordsman that came by every so often and spent a considerable amount of time with Mipha."

–Sidon

Rivan states that he was a child when he, Bazz, Gaddison and Link all played together as part of the Big Bad Bazz Brigade while Sidon says he recalls a "swordsman" in his early childhood.

Link was skilled with a sword from a young age and Bazz mentions that Link taught him sword fighting, but to call a Hylian child of 4 a "swordsman" is quite a stretch. Therefore, he must be recalling Link after he had the Master Sword when he would visit Mipha which was at least 3 times according to her diary since he acquired the sword.

Also Link must have been part of Bazz's brigade when he was a child because he did not visit the domain so often after getting the Sword according to Mipha's diary which states that it was ages between two visits. Sidon also recalls that Link spent so much time with Mipha when he was there that he felt Link was stealing Mipha away from him, so Link wasn't running around with Zora children saying things like "fluffy white clouds, clear blue Zora" when his responsibility as the chosen hero was heavy on his shoulders. Link was skilled in combat since he was 4, so he likely trained with Bazz while they were both kids as well since he had more time and freedom to do it then rather than later.

Therefore I assume that Rivan, Bazz and Gaddison were all part of the same generation along with Mipha and Kodah (another one who knows Link from his time in the domain), so I don't think it is a stretch to assume that they would be of similar ages.

In my previous post about Zora lifespans and ages, I used the developer note for Paya's age to determine Link's age since she was made to be around his age: 18-20 years old. We know Link is at least 17 and born before Zelda because he ascends Mt. Lanayru with Zelda on her 17th birthday, and only those of 17 or older may ascend the mountain.

I also determined that the Zora may grow at half the rate of Hylians, so 40 years old would be about the same development stage as a Hylian at 20 years old. Mipha, who is an adolescent actively growing to full size as she was never considered unusually small for a Zora, would have been a similar development age to Hylians of 15-17.5 years old which places her around Zelda developmental age at the time of her death which falls in line with what Urbosa says about her, Zelda, Link and Revali:

"Zelda, Revali, Mipha, and Link are so young. They are Hyrule's future. Daruk and I hope to help them see that future."

–Urbosa's diary

I placed Link at 19 years old in my last post simply because it was right in the middle of Paya's age range, so I'll use that number again to simplify my math since him at age 4 would have been a nice 15 years before the Calamity.

If Mipha was at least 30 but no older than Rivan whom I considered about 35 at the time of the Calamity, then she would have been 15-20 years old when Link was 4 assuming that he is 19 at the time of the Calamity.

This means that Zora like Rivan can recall things 100 years ago when the are around 20 years old, so Sidon would have had to have been younger when he saw Link in the time leading up to the Calamity.

If Sidon was born around the time that Link first came to the domain, then he would have been old enough to remember Link around the time of the Calamity. Even if Link was 17, Sidon would have been 13 when the Calamity struck. If Link was 19 then Sidon would have been 15.

Therefore I think placing him at about 10 years old when the Calamity struck would be more likely as that would be the equivalent to a Hylian of 5 years old which would be well within an age of fuzzy recollection.

The elephant in the room is Mipha and Sidon's mother who is never mentioned even once. We know that Zora hatch from eggs because Muzu makes a reference to "hatchlings", so whatever happened to Sidon's mother could have been from even before he hatched.

If Mipha did write about her mother or her brother's birth in her diary, it would not be unexpected that the paper pages were damaged by water in the domain while it was lost for 100 years. It's surprising that her paper diary could have survived at all in the Zora's Domain—I wonder where she left it...

[edit] actually Mipha's mother is mentioned once on one of the Zora monuments about Mipha's birth, but there is no mention of what happened to her or when Sidon was born.

Anyway...I think it would make sense that Sidon was about 10 years old and vaguely recalls Link when he would visit Mipha. This is very speculative of course—all that we know for certain is that Rivan is over 130 years old and recalls when he and Link swam together as kids but Sidon cannot recall Link very much at all 100 years ago.

[kpop---scenarios]

Linked (1)

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun x Y/N

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Eventual Smut, Mean people, Language.

A/N: I'm back baby! I hope you all enjoy the first chapter!!

"Miss Y/N?" A woman says, breaking you out of your concentration of looking at tikok’s. 

Startled, you look up and standing before you is a very pretty, well dressed woman holding files between her petite fingers. "Are you ready for your interview?" She asks. 

Taking a small breath, as you nod your head and smile at the woman. "I'm Ava, and I'll be conducting your interview on Mr. Byun's behalf." She says, walking through the office hallways. It's so plain, the white walls just dying for at least a pop of color, or even a picture of some sort. Ava leads you into a plain white room, nothing in it but the necessary items. Did you really want to work somewhere so boring? You were lost in your thoughts again after answering only a few routine questions. 

"I think you'd be a perfect fit for this job." Ava smiles. You'd only been talking for 15 minutes before she decided. 

"Thank you." You smile. 

"I'd like to offer you the position as the Senior Data Analyst. You'd be working directly under Mr. Byun." She tells you. 

"Sure. Yes, thank you so much." You say. One thing checked off your list. Find a job, find an apartment, and get settled in this new town. Luckily you had an apartment view right after this interview, and considering you were hired on the spot you had an extremely good feeling. 

The apartment sucked, but you took it anyway. You would try your best to make the small studio apartment feel like home, but you weren't quite sure how. You weren't the most stylish, if you really had to describe yourself, you were quite bland. You knew the clothes you wore were a size or two too big, but you had no urge to change yourself. For what, or for who? You had no one in your life to care about, you didn't even care about yourself.

You laid in your bed that night, staring at the popcorn ceiling, as you remembered why you moved here in the first place, and your heart broke all over again. 

**

Slowly and quietly you pressed your ear to the bedroom door at this party. 

"Stop telling Y/N she has a chance with me. Please, it makes me sick to even think about it." You hear Hongjoong laugh loudly. "I can't even listen to her talk for more than 30 seconds at a time. I don't know how you do it. Her voice is so fucking annoying." 

"Right? I swear to go sometimes I feel like my ears are bleeding. And you should see her when she cries. So fucking ugly." You hear Maya giggle. 

"And is it just me or is she fucking dumb? How could she love me for all these years and not realize how repulsed I am by her?" He asks. 

Ouch. 

“I know math isn’t her best subject but Christ, can't she add up all the things you don’t do around her and see you’re not into her, and never will be? I mean, you try to leave the room whenever she enters." Maya laughs. "So there's no chance of you leaving me for her?" 

"You think I'm gonna leave a goddess like you, for that thing? Come on, baby, you should know me better than that. Plus, she doesn't have a set of tits like these." He laughs. 

As quickly as the hurtful words began, they stopped. You weighed your options of what to do but your body still felt too numb to move. 

You stood there, your ear pressed against the door feeling your stomach sink. You wanted to run away but it was like your feet were glued to the floor. 

The floor that made your knees feel weak as you turned the door knob and pushed the door open to see Maya, on top of Hongjoong. 

The music that was once pounding in your ears was now quiet. It was so muffled as you began to only hear your own shallow and fast breaths. You could hear and feel your heart pumping at a pace you were sure was off the charts, while also slowly ripping into tiny pieces. 

You felt like you couldn't breathe as his hands gripped her body. They hadn't heard the door opening. 

The walls were suddenly caving in as he slowly slid his fingers up and down her curves moving over her ass to squeeze it. 

Tears fell from your eyes as you watched him touching her in ways that you had once dreamt about. 

Your face begins to burn in complete embarrassment. The fucking betrayal you felt from someone who said they loved you. Maya was supposed to be your best friend. She was the one who was by your side when you cried, wondering why he didn't love you back. She held you as you sobbed into her lap, she wiped your tears away and always had comforting words for you. She would laugh at his Instagram page with you and acted as if she didn't even like him.

But here she was ripping you apart with him for their own enjoyment.  

**

Tears streamed from your face as you rolled over in your bed. You hated remembering that day. The day you lost your best friend. It hurt so bad and you know you needed to move on but that's always easier said than done.

The next morning you woke up, exhausted and not ready for the day but you had your first day of work. You'd tried to look up Mr. Byun last night, but there were no pictures of him anywhere. You thought that was a little odd, but didn't chalk it up too much. You got ready for the day in record time, putting on your too big skirt, with your too big shirt and oversized blazer. You put your hair up the best you could and avoided all makeup. 

Slowly, you walk into the building, making your way to the 35th floor, where your office was supposed to be. The entire floor was empty when you arrived. Just the way you liked it. You popped in your airpods, started your music and got to work organizing the 5 items on your desk. It took you roughly 3 minutes. You glanced at the clock, 6:55am. You still had 35 minutes until you were technically supposed to start, but it never hurt to get a head start. You worked for a little bit, listening to your favorite songs before you barely noticed a few people entering their cubicles. You mostly ignored them, offering a small nod of acknowledgement before getting back to work. You hadn't noticed anyone walking into the all glass office in front of you, until you felt your heart tug. A feeling you had never once felt before. You looked up and saw the most handsome, stone-cold looking man you'd ever seen. You couldn't take your eyes off of him, it was like you were drawn to him. 

"Handsome, huh?" You hear, breaking you out of your trance. 

"Who? What?" You say, looking up. Standing in front of you is a thin, blonde bombshell with a smile that could make you forget any worry in your life. “Hi. I’m Y/N.” You cough. She was so beautiful, it made you extremely nervous. 

"Hi, I'm Lisa, I work in that cubicle to your left." She says with a smile. “I just wanted to bring these over for approval from you, and introduce myself.” She explains, showing a small pile of papers in her hand. You were listening to her, but you had a hard time keeping yourself engaged in the conversation. Your eyes continued to dart towards the man who took your breath away and Lisa definitely noticed. She let out a small giggle to regain your attention. You swiftly looked back at her, giving her an apologetic smile. 

 "That's Mr. Byun.” She tells you. “Do your work, don’t get in his way and don’t question him and you’ll be just fine.” she tells you. 

“He looks mad.” You say, taking a quick glance at him before looking back to Lisa. 

“That’s just his face I think. He always looks like he’s got a painful stick up his ass." She whispers. 

"Why did you start whispering?" You asked. 

She sets the pile of papers on your desk, looking back towards Mr. Byun's office and looking back at you. "He hears everything." She whispers again, walking out of your office with a smile.  

Your eyes turned over to Mr. Byun, you were having a hard time turning your gaze somewhere else. There was just something about him that was driving you crazy. You watched as he shouted at someone on the phone, the veins in his neck and hands popping out intensely. His dark brown hair flowed perfectly on his head. His suit fit him perfectly, you could see the muscles all over his body. 

Suddenly he slammed the phone down onto the receiver, you were surprised it didn’t break with the amount of force he used. He rubs his eyes before running his fingers through his hair. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours without hesitation. Your heart pulls toward him. You wanted to get out of your seat and slip your tongue into his mouth. You wanted to be near him, holding him and you didn't know why. His eyes are still on yours as he walks out of his office, heading straight for you. Your heart begins to pound as he gets closer to you. 

"Who are you?" He asks, abruptly. You're looking directly in his eyes, you can’t help but almost get lost in them. They’re so dark, like they're filled with pure hatred. 

"Uh, I'm L/N Y/N. I'm your new Senior Data Analyst. " You respond. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Byun." 

"We’ll see about that. Get to work Miss. L/N." He says, walking out of your office and back to his. Your eyes meet again as he brings down his shade, his eyes still glued to yours. 

The rest of the day, you couldn't get him off your mind. You had a hell of a time trying to focus on any of your work. You just wanted to see him again. Anytime you let your mind wonder, it went to him immediately. You felt like you loved him but you didn't even know him.

After you had finally finished all your work, it was dark outside. You let out a big, loud yawn as you stretched your body from your desk. You gathered all your belongings and turned the lights out to your office. As you walked by Mr. Byun’s office, you noticed the lights were still on. You peaked in through a small patch of glass that was uncovered from the shade and saw him sitting at his desk with another extremely handsome man, sitting across from him. You knew you shouldn’t have been peaking in, but your curiosity got the better of you. Within seconds, Mr. Byun’s head whipped around, his eye’s shooting daggers towards you. 

You let out a small screech before you quickly take off to the elevator, hoping that either it comes fast or he doesn't come out of his office after you. You get onto the elevator and press the close door button as quickly as you can.

You made it home that night without incident and without Mr. Byun yelling at you for being nosey. You just needed to mind your business and not do that again. 

You dreamt of him that night. His hands gliding over your body, his tongue licking you everywhere, how he tasted, how it felt to have him on top of you. You woke up in a puddle of sweat the next morning. You had so wished it was real. 

The rest of the week went by, and he paid you no attention at all. He didn't even bring up your little snooping issue. Whenever he had a request from you, he sent Ava to ask you. Obviously he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself. You hated that. You wanted to see him again. 

He kept the shades of his glass office down, further avoiding any contact with you. It wasn’t until the next week that you’d finally be able to see him again. Lisa had ever-so apologetically placed a stack of papers on your desk, minutes before 5pm. You weren't one to just leave the papers for the morning, and honestly, you had no one waiting for you at home so why wouldn't you stay late and do them. Around 8pm, you’d finally finished and you were carefully planning Lisa’s murder for the next day. You were exhausted. You grabbed your coat off the back of your chair and rubbed your eyes while you walked towards the elevator. You were so tired you didn’t even look in Mr. Byun’s office as you passed it. You had expected him to have left hours ago anyways. You pressed the down button on the wall and waited silently. It wasn't until a few seconds later you felt someone standing behind you. The doors to the elevator ding, sliding open. You turn around and see him standing there, an unimpressed expression plastered on his face. 

He looks at you and at the open elevator doors, motioning for you to get in. your brain finally clicks and you get on as he follows behind you. You press the button for the first floor and prepare for an uncomfortable and silent ride down 34 floors. Mr.Byun takes a deep breath as he stands next to you, your arms just almost touching. “Why are you here?” he murmurs under his breath. You barely didn’t quite catch what he had said. 

“What was that?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. 

He sighs. Turning towards you, taking a few steps until you're backed into the wall. He places his hand next to your head, leaning himself in closer to you. 

“I said.. Why are you here?” he whispers, his lips so close to yours. “Do you have any fucking idea what youre doing to me?” he asks, breathing heavily. His head moves closer to you, his lips narrowly escaping yours as he places his head onto your neck, inhaling deeply. It was like he couldn't get enough of your smell. Before you could say anything the elevator dings, and he moves away from you as fast as he can, walking out into the lobby, leaving you there wondering what the fuck just happened.

**

Over the next several weeks after that incident, he kept trying his best to ignore you. Everyday. Occasionally you’d catch a glance of him, and the eye contact was so intense you could feel heat running through your entire body. Everyday that you didn’t see him, your heart hurt more and more. You couldn’t explain why but it felt like it was breaking you. You knew it was ridiculous, he was your boss, how could you love him? 

You didn't have an answer to why you did, but you did and you really didn't want to.

After working at your office for a few months, you decided you needed a change. You were tired of looking frumpy and exhausted while everyone around you looked bright and amazing. You needed to reinvent yourself, and spice up your life and you needed to do it now or you wouldn’t do it at all. That weekend you took the plunge. 

You went to the salon first. you got your hair done something that was better suited for you, a new style and new color. You went to the mall, and completely changed your wardrobe from the baggy clothes you were wearing to things you normally would never wear. You bought outfits that actually fit you, and showed off your body instead of hiding it. You bought proper bras and sexy panties. You felt good and different, but a good different. You couldn't wait to showcase the new you. You had never felt so confident in yourself before, and you loved it. 

Monday morning, you strutted into the office, your dress hugging your curves, your hair bouncing as you walked. You could feel all eyes on you as you walked to your office. You had never felt everyone watching you in a good way before and it felt amazing. You placed your jacket on the hook and sat in your chair to get to work. Lisa walked into your office with her mouth hanging wide open. 

“Girl.” She squeals. “You look phenomenal!” She eye’d you up and down, admiring your outfit.

You could feel your cheeks get hot from the compliment. “Thank you.” you laughed. “It feels weird, but good.” you tell her. 

“It should feel all good, girl. You look great.” she smiles. “Also Ava is out today, so i've been instructed to tell you that Mr. Byun needs to see you in his office.” She says, side eyeing his office.  

You try your best to swallow the lump in your throat as you nod your head. You hadn't seen him when you walked in, and you anxiously wondered what he would possibly think of your new look. You stood up, smoothed out your dress before heading towards his office. You stood in front of the door, breathing heavily as you knocked lightly on his door. 

“Come in.” you hear from a gruff voice. 

You turn the handle to his door and walk in and it’s like you can’t breathe. He sits there, his hands in his lap, leaning back in his chair. Fuck he looks so good. 

“You wanted to see me?” you ask. 

“You changed yourself.” he points out. His eyes trail your body up and down as he admires you. 

“Just a few things. What did you need to see me for, Mr. Byun?” you ask. You wanted to get out of there as fast as you could. Your heart was racing, you could feel the sweat covering the palms of your hands. 

“Call me Baekhyun.” he says, getting out of his chair. He walks towards you, almost in slow-motion, like he was gliding towards you. You step back as he gets closer to you. His head reaches out, caressing your face. 

“It’s getting too hard to fight, Y/N.” he whispers, looking deep into your eyes. “I don’t want to want you.” 

“I don’t want to want you either.” You admit. 

“You feel it too? The pull, the urge, the desperation?” he asks. You can’t speak, you can only nod your head. “Then it’s true.. You are my mate.”  

“I'm your what..” you ask. Before he can answer, his door swings open. Baekhyun backs away from you and in walks a brunette bombshell. She was absolutely stunning and you’d never seen her before. 

“Jennie.” Baekhyun says, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

“Poor girl looks frightened, Baeky.” she smiles. “I hope you're not scaring your staff too much.” she giggles. 

“Who are y..” you begin before she cuts you off. 

“Oh!” she laughs. “I’m Jennie Kim.” she announces, moving closer to Baekhyun,  wrapping her arm around him. 

“I’m his fiancee.” 

[lovelyjasmari]

Twisted Wonderland Reaction Part 17 ~ Special Edition

Hello everyone! 

So…it’s been a while since I’ve made one of these. Almost 2 years to be exact. But after book 5 forever changed how I engage with twst (for better and worse), I haven’t really been up to doing reaction posts anymore. Also after book 5 I actually began focusing more on the jp server since there were many things in the official translation that I found…lacking to say the least. 

But when twst jp released this mv on April fools day, I just knew I HAD to talk about it! I’m actually surprised more people aren’t. Probably the biggest thing about this mv is that in a lot of ways the narrative of book 5’s ending has changed now we have context to how NRC Tribe performed. I’ve seen a lot of posts on the bird app saying things like it makes sense now why they lost the VDC. 

I will say, this is definitely NOT a perfect performance. But as a former dancer with WAY too much time on their hands, I decided to analyze this.

So for context, Ive done a mix of ballet and jazz for eleven years, from age 4 to 15. Even though I gave up going to classes, I still did para para and anime dances with my friends. And in 2017, I decided to return to dance and have been dancing consistently ever since. I’m mostly versed in ballet but I still do some jazz, hip hop and took up kpop last year. To judge this fairly, I watched the MV several times, four times per member, (do the math and feel free to judge me). And with that, here are the things that stuck out to me the most. 

He is beauty, he is grace, HOW HE HELL DID HE NOT KICK EPEL IN THE FACE?!

Synchronization/symmetry 

The lack of synchronization was the first thing I noticed, ESPECIALLY in the first 30 seconds. The footwork is sloppy and Deuce and Ace in particular aren't as sharp with their moves as the other five. Rook seems to be the only one doing the choreography correctly because one point at 0:25 (and again at 3:31) where he bends his knee higher than the others and thanks to those fuckass uggs standing out so much, I couldn’t unsee it. At 1:03, 1:07, 2:07, and 3:00 Ace’s form is noticeably off as well.

And this may just be a personal hangup of mine but I found lack of symmetry between the boys at 1:14 very odd. Like, I don’t know how I can describe it but the way Epel tried to take center stage during his and Vil’s duet gave me the impression that wasn’t originally in the routine. At 1:13 there’s a split second where you can actually see Vil looking down at Epel like “...wut?” I immediately thought about that moment right before they go on stage where Epel offers to take on Vil’s solo’s because he looks so weak but Vil refuses. I wonder if Epel trying to take center like that is a callback to that exchange. Unfortunately, since the boys were perfectly symmetrical for the rest of the song, it stands out as awkward all the more. 

Kalim and Jamil

Lowkey, Kalim and Jamil both carried this performance after Vil. The little magic with the mic was a super nice touch and Kalim shines the most during the dance break. He seems to be having fun with it despite being in agony. What’s interesting is that after Ace and Deuce, Kalim is the most out of sync but he pulls it off well since I can tell he’s been on the stage before. Both he and Jamil are natural performers. 

Vil’s movements

So, this has been something of a headcanon of mine but it seems to have been proven correct with this mv. Vil has always struck me as someone who probably has a lot of classical dance training but little training in other styles like hip-hop or jazz. His movements are very graceful and elegant but almost…too elegant? I don’t know if that makes sense but they seem very smooth for this style of choreography. And because he’s in the center the most, it stands out the most.

AND THAT FUCKING GRAND JETE!!! Absolutely flawless but it feels SO out of place here! I will give him credit though, that is one of the most difficult jumps to pull off in ballet, and the fact he did that in fucking 5-inch heels right after the most mentally and physically traumatic episode of his life, it’s beyond impressive. And the fact he landed perfectly and so seamlessly moved into his final solo is even more remarkable. Still, that was the most jarring element of this choreography and I think it would still be out of place even if this was a “perfect” performance. 

Now here’s where I potentially piss people off

All in all this is a perfectly imperfect performance. Being completely objective and not taking my love for these characters into account, I honestly still don’t see how they lost. Well, I understand why but it still is fucked to me. I can understand Vil feeling like NRC Tribe didn’t perform their best since they were exhausted and hurting from dealing with his overblot. I can also understand that they were probably a lot more polished in rehearsal. But here’s the thing,  for a group of amateurs, I would probably expect this quality of performance even if they hadn’t had to deal with Vil’s overblot.

First off, while the choreography is rather simple from a dancers perspective, it can be pretty complex for beginners. For one, it requires a lot of synchronization to look correct. But as a beginner, perfecting synchronization alone can take months and, in larger groups, sometimes even longer. If NRC Tribe can look like this after only ONE MONTH of training, taking into account only three out of seven of them have dance experience, that’s extremely impressive.

To give an example, last year at my dance school for our end of the year showcase, the K-pop class did a cover of TWICE's Can't Stop Me. Because our class is made up of students with varying levels of experience (some none at all), it took us the better part of eight months to learn. We had to learn everything in groups of three before we could learn and practice together. And even then, we still fucked up a lot because none of us are professionals and some of us were dancing for the first time. Look at this video and tell me if you could learn this in only ONE month. Vil, can you train me please?? XD

And that brings me to the next point, the experience of all the members. Now, in Rook’s most recent birthday vignette, he mentions learning ballet and in book 5 we see Epel and Deuce taking ballet lessons. But in ballet, as a beginner, your earliest lessons are going to be almost exclusively barre work and depending on age, you might not do center work/combinations for weeks. I’m going to assume Vil is really the only one with solid dance training with Jamil and Kalim also having the most experience just dancing in general. As for the others, they were going to need a lot more training if this was going to look more polished. ESPECIALLY Ace and Deuce.

As for having to perform right after beating OB Vil’s ass, again I was expecting to see A LOT more noticeable errors. And knowing what they all just went through honestly makes me admire this all the more. The thing is, it’s easy to be beautiful when everything is right and perfect in your world. But being able to smile even when you’re struggling and your heart is breaking is even more beautiful still. Personally, I don’t think I could perform even half as well if it were me. 

It’s unfortunate that we don’t have a MV of Neige’s performance so I could do a fully fair analysis. But if we look at all the evidence, it seems to me that NRC Tribe still gave a better performance. And I think the true tragedy here isn’t even that NRC Tribe lost since I think that was always a given considering the dynamic NRC and RSA has.

The true tragedy, I think, is that Vil could be convinced that this perfectly imperfect performance was still inferior to Neige’s. But I’ll leave that for another time. 

[fangirlynjunk]

Adding more to my thought process about Jerry, Jeri, and Max because I know some people might be squinting about ages, and the way I understand it the best personally.

I am using the starkid wiki to get these ages so I’m trusting the fandom

Ok, from my understanding we KNOW Ted is 35 in Time Bastard.

18 years ago he’d have been 17, which is presumably the right age to be going to camp idontwannabang.

We don’t seem to have any clear idea how old Jerry and Jeri are, but Jerry mentions Ted in such a way that implies to me he has personal beef with Ted.

If I had to guess knowing Jerry, he invented a scenario in his own head about Ted flirting with Jeri much like how he is currently projecting onto Pete. Because I can’t see a time where Jeri and Ted would have interacted outside of school.

Meaning, I believe Jeri and Jerry were 15-17 during the conception of Max/Lumberaxe

Young, yes, but this is Hatchetfield.

It could also be that Ted has hit on Jeri sometime after he adopted his sleazeball personality, so it’s not concrete evidence

But Ted did seem to know Lumber Axe was out there, and Jeri mentions Axe was massive by the time he was 2, hence why I assume they were 15 or 16 when he was born, and therefore 17 or 18 by the time Ted was in camp.

Which also makes sense for Max

However, this is the only age we have for Ted pre time displacement , and we have two for Paul

Paul is 31 in TGWDLM and 33 in NPMD

This is because of the two year gap in the timeline.

Which means we have to make sense of it, though I would say with confidence that I doubt that Emma and Paul ( or rather Emdroid and Paul 23) would get married after only dating for a few months. I’d wager they would at least be 32.

This only changes the math to subtracting 17 from 35 which would make Ted 18, which would make more sense as he does seem to be making Pete go at the age he did.

I’m also relatively hoping that Jerry and Jeri are about Ted’s age because younger just gets perhaps too tragic because while they do seem to kind of suck , I can’t fully blame them considering their circumstances.

Now why is Max well.. Max? My guess, a birth complication causing the Jerries to go to the hospital or someone coming across them in the woods (hidge maybe?)

[mirai-e-jump]

Masato Yano Photobook: TONE (translations and select pages below)

Publication: March 15, 2024

Masato Yano's 132 Q&A About 13 years ago, "Masato Yano's Style Photobook" was published with a Q&A. Now, a 32 year old Masato Yano answers nearly the same questions again.

1) What's your nickname? Yanocchi, Masanii, Masati

2) When were you born? December 16, 1991

3) What's your blood type? Type B

4) Your zodiac sign? Sagittarius

5) What size family are you from? I come from a family of 4

6) How tall are you? 173cm

7) Your shoe size? 26.5cm

8) What are some of your strengths? My jokes

9) How do you spend your days off? I'll drink the night before, go to the gym

10) What subjects were you worst at? Math and history

11) What are your favorite foods? Sushi and tsukemen

12) What's your assessment of your own personality? I'm easily obsessive and bored. I'm actually shy, but I'm trying my best so you don't think that way (laughs)

13) What are some of your weaknesses? I'm not good at remembering things like people's birthdays or names

14) What are you proud of? That I made my debut in "Shintokumaru"

15) What's your favorite color? Red and white

16) What type of woman do you like? Someone with a good core, someone who eats beautifully

17) What instruments can you play? None

18) What's your special skill? That I can guess who someone is just by their voice

19) What's your best feature? My double eyelids

20) What do you wish would disappear from the world? War

21) The first impressions that are often said about you? That I look scary

22) The person that you respect? Tsumabuki Satoshi-san and Fujiwara Tatsuya-san

23) What do you have a habit of saying? "~nanoyo" and "oh no"

24) Your least favorite type? Someone who only talks about themself

25) What's your treasure? The wallet I received from Tsumabuki-san

26) The ideal self that you desire to be? I want to be liked by many people

27) What's your "theme song"? Recently it's been that I'm the "most powerful king"

28) Your favorite artists? WATWING, the Carpenters, Eric Clapton, GENERATIONS

29) What do you do when you first wake up in the morning? Put on my glasses

30) What do you do right before bed? Put on the radio

31) What habits do you do unconsciously? Touch my nose, do things like suck on the end of a straw

32) What do you usually perform at karaoke? I tend to sing alot by SMAP

33) What foods do you not like? Shiitake mushrooms

34) What's your favorite thing to drink? Mets Grapefruit

35) What was the first CD you ever bought? Jet Coaster Romance by KinKi Kids

36) What do you like to watch and what's your favorite anime? Great Pretender, soccer games

37) How long does it take for you to bathe? 1 hour

38) What's your favorite season? I don't do well with heat

39) When do your emotions become intense? They don't

40) What are your hobbies? Muscle training

41) Do you cry easily? When I feel like it

42) Do you have a pet? What's it's name? I had one. It was a cat named Chaco

43) How many children do you want? I want two. A boy and a girl

44) What's the first thing you look at when entering a convenience store? The bento corner

45) What do you usually buy from a convenience store? Water and spicy ramen

46) What really makes you angry? Nothing much

47) What's the number one thing you want right now? Muscles! (laughs)

48) What have you been secretly interested in recently? The Korean language

49) What's the one thing you'd take to a deserted island? A lighter

50) How do you relax at home? Burn incense and listen to some records

51) What's necessary for world peace? Love

52) What do you wonder about? Why is there a Ladies Day, but not a Men's Day?

53) What would you do if the world ended today? I'd overdo things as usual

54) S? M? I wouldn't say I'm an M💦

55) What's your phone background? Currently it's King-Ohger (for the past 2 months)

56) What animal would you compare yourself to? Some kind of reptilian I guess

57) What are you into these days? Cilantro

58) What do you like to collect? Miniature food sets

59) What's your favorite scent? White musk types, Savon by SHIRO

60) What's something expensive that you bought recently? A vintage varsity jacket

61) How often do you go out shopping? At the very least I go out once a month

62) Can you cook? I do it often

63) What kind of present would you be happy to get from a friend? I'd be happy with anything

64) What would make a girl happy if you gave her a present? Aesop

65) What's your fetish? Legs

66) What would the ideal confession be? Saying it on the way back home after going out for meals a few times

67) At what age do you want to marry by? Hopefully by 40 (laughs)

68) What's something good you do for your body? I go to the gym

69) What's something you always have on you? Chapstick

70) What's the ideal spot for a date? A buffet

71) Which do you prefer? The sea or the mountains? Both the sea and mountains have alot of bugs

72) What scares you? Roller coasters, horror, cockroaches

73) When does your excitement rise? When my work goes well

74) What's your favorite place? Home

75) What's your favorite store? It's a secret ❤️

76) Are you a meat eater? Vegetarian? Are you a fan of cabbage rolls? I eat bugs

77) What's your favorite onigiri topping? Salmon roe

78) What do you usually get at a cafe? I don't go to cafes

79) What's something tasty you've eaten recently? The umeboshi Fukuyama-kun gave me

80) What have you been paranoid about recently? That a big earthquake will hit Tokyo

81) Where do you start washing your body from? My head

82) What's your favorite type of fashion? Things that give off an "American casual" feel

83) At what moment do you fall in love with someone? Sometimes it's not really apparent

84) What words make you happy to hear? "Your performance was good"

85) What's your favorite movie? Grave of the Fireflies

86) What person do you really want to meet right now? Ninagawa-san

87) What's something that's alittle luxurious? Sushi that doesn't come from a conveyor belt

88) How would you describe yourself with a single (kanji) character? "Think," because no matter what I do or say, I have alot to think about.

89) How long does it take you to get up in the morning and leave your house? On a work day it takes 20 minutes. I usually don't go out on my days off (laughs)

90) What changes your mood? When I'm left out

91) What would you consider (if they did) to be cheating on you? If they did a deep kiss (laughs)

92) Are you sensitive to the heat? To the cold? I don't like either

93) Emails or phone calls, which is better? Writing is best

94) What do you frequently use on your phone? Instagram, Twitter, Uber

95) How old were you when you first fell in love? What kind of person were they? It was a kid who lived in my neighborhood when I was in my second year of elementary school.

96) What gestures do women do that make you feel excited? When they put their hair behind one ear

97) Are you enjoying work right now? I want to have fun (laughs)

98) What's your favorite TV program? Programs that only feature comedians

99) What's your favorite sport? Soccer

100) What's your least favorite sport? Baseball

101) Are you the type of person who likes park rides that cause you to scream? I don't do well with them, but if I'm asked to ride one, I will (laughs)

102) Are you good at athletics? I think I'm a good at it

103) What do you take photos of? Tsukemen and sushi

104) What's your favorite flower? Gerbera

105) What's your favorite event of the year? It's New Year's Eve, I'll have a party with my friends and we'll eat alot

106) What's your top 3 favorite stalls at a festival? Beef skewers is #3, grilled squid is #2, okonomiyaki is #1

107) What was your most stressful experience? Performing on opening day for Shintokumaru

108) Your favorite donburi? Beef bowl

109) Are you good with your hands? I wonder~?

110) How long do you sleep in a day? About 3-7 hours. I sleep alot longer on days when I don't work

111) Is your sleeping position good? I think it's okay

112) What's your favorite ramen? I love tsukemen. I have a "cat's tongue" though

113) What color would you compare yourself to? Purple

114) Do you like scary stories? I don't like them in any way (laughs)

115) What subjects were you best at? Gym and art

116) What club activities were you involved in? The soccer club in middle school and the dance club in high school

117) If you were reborn, would you rather be male or female? I'd still want to be male

118) What part time jobs have you had? A bread factory, an Izakaya, a festival stall

119) What do you want to do when you're 40? Meet fans at events

120) What were your favorite school lunches? Nanbanzuke, meat sauce

121) Have you ever seen a ghost? I might've (laughs)

122) What's something you'd like to try that you've never experienced before? Travel overseas

123) Where would you like to take a trip to? Hot springs, Korea, Italy

124) What's your favorite ride at an amusement park? The exploration based ones

125) How many times in one day do you send emails? Currently, I exchange about 30-50 LINE's a day

126) Were you the type of person who finished their Summer homework early? I always felt like I was rushing to finish it at the last second💦

127) Are you more likely to arrive early for a meet up? Or do you arrive late? For work I'm early, in my private life I'm late

128) If you want to go out with someone, how many years older are you okay with? I've never thought about it in terms of age

129) What's an essential item you need when traveling? Earphones

130) What do you do when you can't sleep at night? There are so many things that I'll just give up. I actually thought about this questionnaire when I couldn't sleep (laughs)

131) What do you think about while brushing your teeth? I imagine that there's red paint on my teeth, and then I'll imagine how I have to get it off

132) If you only had one week left to live, what would you do? I'd eat a bunch of the foods I like. I'd meet up with the people I like as much as possible. I'd leave a secret audio farewell message for everyone

[its-murderous-business]

An Introduction to Nonverbal Learning Disorder

Happy disability pride month! I am celebrating by trying to educate people about my learning disorder, because it is one of the least known learning disabilities and deserves more recognition.

What is Nonverbal Learning Disorder?

Nonverbal Learning Disorder (also called Non-Verbal Learning Disability and other variations on the same name), often shortened to NLD or NVLD, is not a new concept, but the idea of it as its own diagnosis is relatively recent. A common misconception upon hearing the name is that people with NVLD are non-verbal, but this is not the case. The name essentially refers to the fact that people with this disability are affected in almost every area except verbal and language skills, where they often excel.

What areas can NVLD effect?

NVLD can take a lot of forms, and not everyone with it will be affected in every area, and other areas are also able to be affected this is just a general list:

- exceptional skills in the areas of comprehension (understanding) and production (ability to utilize) of verbal language. Basically, we are really good at reading, writing, speech, spelling, and have large vocabularies.

- difficulties with visual spatial processing skills. Fun fact, NVLD was briefly called Visual Spatial Processing Disorder! Visual spatial processing is a term that describes the process of seeing things and then understanding how they relate to one another in space.

- difficulties with understanding non-verbal forms of communication such as tone, facial expressions, gestures, metaphors and exaggerations, and (sometimes) context.

- difficulties with math, including arithmetic, fractions, geometry, telling time, pattern recognition, and much more. This can be very similar to dyscalculia.

- difficulties socializing (often presents similar to the social difficulties faced by autistic people)

- other miscellaneous neurodivergent traits such as hyperfixations, difficulty regulating emotions, distress when faced with change, sensory overload, motor skill and coordination deficits, attention deficits, and executive dysfunction

How does that affect people with NVLD on the day to day?

Let’s use me as the example. I love to talk to people but I often run into issues because I take things very literally, struggle to read social cues, and can have trouble connecting with others. Growing up I was always in advanced English and literature classes, but was in special education for math due to my extreme difficulties with it. I have a lot of trouble dealing with last minute changes in my plans and loud noises bother me A Lot.

I struggle greatly with visual spatial processing skills, specifically for me that can manifest as not knowing where my body is in space (causing me to bump into things a lot), difficulty navigating maps, struggles with knowing left from right, a complete inability to use the knowledge of how an object looks from one angle to visualize how it would look from another angle, and many other things.

NVLD can present in a number of different ways and affect different parts of peoples lives. I have multiple neurodivergent comorbidities which can make it difficult to tease the exact symptoms apart from one another, but there are plenty of articles online where people discuss their own experiences if you look for them.

Is NVLD in the DSM/an official diagnosis?

ehhhhh it’s complicated. NVLD is not currently it’s own differentiated diagnosis within the DSM-5, however it can be diagnosed (as it is with me) under the DSM-5 as Specific Learning Disorder with Impairment in Mathematics which serves as a sort of catch all for any learning disability that affects math or areas other than reading/writing.

NVLD as its own diagnosis is a relatively new idea, as historically it’s been lumped within other diagnoses (typically autism, adhd, or specific learning disability). However over the last 15 years and especially the last 5 years, there has been a significant increase in academic literature and acknowledgement of NVLD as its own distinct diagnosis. Columbia University has been conducting research on the disorder alongside the NVLD Project, which is the only organization that exclusively does advocacy, education, and research around NVLD. These groups are doing a lot of work to attempt to get NVLD classified as its own diagnosis in future editions of the DSM.

How common is NVLD? What causes it?

NVLD is uncommonly diagnosed due to lack of official DSM recognition, misidentification as other neurodiverse conditions, and lack of awareness of NVLD from neuropsych evaluators. However one study from earlier this year estimated that between 1-8% of children have NVLD depending on what diagnostic criteria is used.

There has been some early evidence that NVLD is the result of dysfunction in the right hemisphere of the brain or more specifically the inability of the right hemisphere of the brain to effectively communicate to the left hemisphere.

Why are you telling me all of this?

The majority of people do not know that NVLD exists, and as such those of us with this condition often get left out of neurodivergent and disability communities. I would like to be included in advocacy and understood by the community since we all face very similar challenges! I really encourage y’all to learn more about Non-Verbal Learning Disability

Here are some links to learn more!

From the Child Mind Institute

Psychology Today article

From ADDitude Magazine

Article from Very Well Mind

Medical News Today article

Learning Disorder Association of America article

From Learning Disability Association of Ontario

And of course the aforementioned NVLD Project website!

[lync-lay]

my cute barista

ੈ✩‧₊˚ - barista jake! x coffee hater reader!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ - word count: 2.1k

ੈ✩‧₊˚ - not proofread

ੈ✩‧₊˚ - genre: fluff

ੈ✩‧₊˚ - synopsis: your best friend, jay, drags you out to the local coffee shop on campus for a study session. the catch is, you hate coffee and no barista has ever successfully made you something you actually enjoyed. until, one does. as each day passes, you return to the shop, not only for the drink, but the cute barista who makes it.

summer has just recently ended, marking the official start of comfy sweaters and ugg boots on campus. the leaves are starting to change colors and the weather is much colder. this is the time of year that calms you down and keeps you in bed all day. and i love it.

its morning, and as i'm laying in bed casually watching a movie, i feel my phone begin to ring next to me. rolling over to grab it off the charger, i see that my best friend, jay, is calling. jay and i have been best friends since elementary. we are inseperable and were lucky enough to be accepted into the same university.

"hello?" i say into my phone.

"goooooood morningggggg y/nnnnnnnn!" jay says, on the other line, accentuating his words. ever since we were kids, he has always been a morning person. me on the other hand, is not.

"omg jay why are you so loud its like 8 am right now." i expressed.

"its a great morning. im honestly surpised you're even up at this time."

"yeah same but i woke up like an hour ago and couldn't fall back asleep. so im just watching a movie and admiring this very calming weather."

"well im glad you're up because i was wondering if you would want to go to the cafe on campus with me and study?...please?" he asked.

i hate coffee. the taste is bitter and unpleasant and occasionally, the smell gives me a headache. jay knows this so to say that i am surprised he even asked is an understatment.

"jay i-"

"look y/n i know you despise coffee but please. you don't have to get that, theres so many other options. and i also need my study buddy with me...please?" he pleads.

jay isnt aware of how many times ive been to a coffee shop, ordered something other than coffee, and hated it. so i doubt i will be ordering anything but he's my best friend so, i agree to go.

"fine, i'll go with you but i can't guarrantee ill have a good time." i say with a sigh.

"be so for real y/n...it's a study session, you won't have a good time. but ill be there, so you will have a good time." he explains.

silence hangs over the call for a few seconds.

"jay...im gonna hold your hand when i say this...that made no sense" i confess.

"mhm i know. ill be at your dorm in 15" he hangs up.

jay arrives when he says he will, 15 minutes. and next thing i know were off to the campus coffee shop. i'm kind of dreading going because i don't know what i'm gonna get. probably just an ice water. at least i can try and get some work done.

on our walk, jay tells me about a girl he's trying to impress and i give him advice per usual. he then goes on to explain how he really needs to study some form of math formula. im too busy admiring the autumn weather to respond. suddenly, we arrive at the coffee shop.

walking in, the aroma of coffee hits me immediately. the sound of cups shaking, ice, and brewing machines reminds me why i stopped coming to coffee shops.

"what are you gonna get" i ask jay.

"im gonna get an iced americano" he responds.

"what is that..."

"it's like cold black coffee poured over ice water"

"that actually sounds terrible. how do you enjoy that?" i ask, my facial expressions scrunching.

"it wakes me up niceeeee and gooooood." he taunts me.

"next" the barista yells.

oh my gosh. the barista is hands down, the finest man i have ever seen in my entire life. as jay and i walk up, i have suddenly lost the ability to speak. my legs feel like jelly and my heart is beating out of my chest.

"what can i get for you guys" the barista asks. my eyes suddenly make a b-line from his face to the name tag on his apron. jake, his name is jake. while jay places his order, my eyes are glued to jake. the way his hair is slicked back with a strand hanging by his forehead, the way his veiny hands type in the order, the way he flashes that perfect smile. i'm so entranced, i didn't even realize that he asked me a question.

"im sorry what did you say?" i apologize.

"i asked what i can get for you" jake asks me, flashing that deadly smile of his.

"um, i actually really dislike coffee. so i don't really know what i want."

he shakes his head slowly and places a finger over his mouth, obviously thinking of an alternative to my problem. wow, he is beautiful.

"this is gonna be a little risky but i'm gonna recommend that you try a matcha latte. it's kind of a hard drink to describe but i really enjoy it and its nothing like coffee." he explains.

"okay, i'll try that." i respond with a smile, my cheeks heating up from our small interation.

"alright perfect, so just an iced americano and an iced matcha latte. and because its your first matcha, it's on the house. so the total is $4.50" he states.

"omg really? thanks bro. this girl has hated coffee for so long so hopefully she'll like this." jay says with gratitude.

"no problem! i hope she likes it too." he flashes me a warm smile.

"whats the name for the order?" jake asks.

"jay".

"alright, that'll be done here shortly".

we walk over to find an empty table and take out our school stuff to start studying. all i can think of his jake and his charm. i turn over to see him taking orders and working on drinks. the way he moves around to different stations is so attractive.

"y/n will you please stop making googly eyes at the barista?" jay says, snapping me back to reality.

"i can't help it. he is actually so cute jay." i expressed with a sigh.

only a couple minutes pass when jake suddenly calls for jay, notifiying that his order is ready. jay grabs the order and the entire time im looking at jake. jay grabs the drink from him and jakes eyes pan over to be, giving me that smile once again. he's so attractive.

"here, he says he made it extra special in hopes that you would like it". jay hands me my drink and sits back down.

i'm a little nervous to try it. the green color is very offputting and i almost don't want it. but nonetheless, i gain some courage and take a sip. jay eyes me very seriously as i do so. i can understand why jake said it was a hard one to describe. i contemplate about the flavor, going back in for another sip.

"do you...like it? he asks me.

"suprisingly, yeah i do. a lot actually" a smile forms on my face as i continue to drink it.

"thank god you actually like something. now lets get to work".

unbeknownst to me, jake was behind the counter watching me. his heart began to be beat and smile creept on his face once he noticed that my drink was almost half way gone.

the sun rose slowly the next morning and the thought of going to class is killing me. all day yesterday, i couldn't stop thinking of that insanely cute barista, jake. his smile lingers in my head and that drink he made me was so delicious.

as im laying in bed, im suddenly hit with the craving of that drink and the cute barista who made it. i throw on my clothes for the day, grab my bag, and head to the coffee shop before my first class of the day. i have no idea if jake is working but i sure hope so.

as i walk in, i immediately see him. my heart begins to beat and my face is turning red. i realize that this time i dont have jay to hide behind and i contemplate if i should turn back. but it's too late because his eyes find mine, and he gives me the same sweet smile from yesterday.

the lines moves quickly and im suddenly at the counter, face to face with jake.

"hey, there." he smiles.

"hello." i smile back.

"no boyfriend today?" i give him a confused look. boyfriend? what boyfriend? oh, he must be thinking of jay.

"oh jay hahaha, he's not my boyfriend. he just my best friend who followed me to college." i laugh.

"oh okay i wasn't sure. it's not often a pretty girl like you walks in by herself." he tilts his head and winks.

oh. my. god. my cheeks begin to heat up and i can't help my smile from coming out. y/n get yourself together.

"well what can i get for you" he leans down on the counter, now being eye level to me.

"well i still hate coffee but i loved what you made me yesterday so that's what i would like." i say with a smile

"haha the iced matcha latte, you got it pretty girl. whats the name for order." he asks, eyes never leaving mine.

"y/n. and how much?" i ask.

"don't worry, i got this one."

"what? no, you got it yesterday jake. let me pay for it." i pleade.

"nope, like i said, i got it. it'll be done soon" he explains.

"thank you." i walk over to an empty table and immediately text jay. i explain to him how jake thought we we're together, then how he called me pretty twice, and gave me my drink for free. minutues pass and me and jay geek over mine and jakes interaction when i feel a soft hand being placed on my back.

"here ya go y/n," jake says with an endearing tone.

"oh thank you. i wasnt expecting you to bring it to me." i explain to him.

"well it's not busy so i thought i would come see you before you left." this man's charm is insane. his smile is something i could look at forever, and the way his aussie accent rolls off his tongue is so attractive.

"well thank you for the drink, im off to class now."

"will i be seeing you here again?" he ask, his brown eyes sparkling with hope.

"yes, i'll be back jake." i say with a laugh.

and i kept my word. everyday for the next two weeks, i went back to the cafe. i love my morning matcha (that he never let me pay for) but i also love seeing jake. his charm keeps me coming back for more.

this particular morning, i wake in the cafe to see jake already waiting for me with the matcha in his hand. the place wasn't busy so the boy walked straight up to me, and embraced me. his touch is warm and he smells of warm coffee and autumn spices.

"well isn't this a pleasant surprise" i say with a laugh as i reciprocate his embrace.

"we havent been busy and i was missing you so i made your matcha so you wouldn't have to wait." he confesses, cheeks turning slightly pink.

"aw well that's very sweet jake, i am actually in a rush so this is perfect" i smiled at him.

"well i wanted to ask you something, but you're in a rush so i wont keep you" he states, looking a litte disappointed.

"wait tell me, i can make some time for you." i expressed.

his eyes lock with mine and i can see a little bit of worry and nervousness in his expression.

"well, i know we havent known each other long but i really enjoy having you around. i come to this job everyday in hopes of seeing you every morning. i love making your matcha for you. and i want to get to know you more. what im trying to say is, would you want to go on a date with me?" he confessed, his entire face in worry.

"awww jake i absolutely would go on a date with you. i hate coffee but why do you think i come here everyday? to see your cute face" i explain.

he pulls me in for another hug. "oh my god, im so happy". he pulls away to look at me.

"it wouldve been really embarrassing if you said no cause i um, already wrote my number on your cup."

who wouldvr guessed that my hatred for coffee would turn into me falling for a barista who smells just like it.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ - a/n: hellooooo. hopefully you guys somewhat enjoyed this. this is my first fic after not writing since um...2020...so its definitely not perfect but i wanted to get something out there. nothing too long but i still hope you enjoyed.